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He gets up, shuffling over in his sweats. He undoes the four locks and opens the door to reveal... you.

"Uh, hey," he says, cracking the door wider. "Everything okay?"

It's late. You shouldn't be out now, even if the sun hasn't gone down yet.

Jason frowns when you sway in the doorway and don't respond.

Then you flash him the sweetest smile he's ever been on the receiving end of. Wow. Sure, Jason's seen you flash your pretty teeth before. But not like this. And not at him.

"Hi, Jaylove. Hi."

"Uh." He watches you walk right past him, into his apartment. He shuts the door. "Hi... What's goin' on? You alright?"

You turn to face him. "Why wouldn't I be? After all, you're here."

"What?"

You walk to him and take his hands in yours. Jason's eyebrows rise.

"Hey...?" Jason says, looking at your joined hands. You lace your fingers together.

"My prince," you say happily. "Your eyes are beautiful. Like emeralds. And you have a beautiful mouth. Your whole face is beautiful. I'd like to paint you."

"Are you on drugs?" Jason releases your hands to hold your face. He gently pushes your eyelids up to inspect your pupils. You just smile.

"I feel high when you touch me," you say. "Just being near you is drug enough."

Yeah, Jason's now feeling a healthy amount of paranoia. It's not that you don't stop by or that you're not nice. No, you're the sweetest creature Jason's ever had the pleasure of meeting.

But wanting to touch him? Thinking he's beautiful? Calling him your prince? Either you're drugged or he's died again and found paradise.

Then again, he probably wouldn't still be in Gotham if this were paradise. You'd definitely be here, though.

"Right. Your eyes are fine." Jason lets go of your face. "You sure you didn't take anything? Drink anything? Run into anyone?"

"I drank tea," you say, gazing up at him. "And I petted a fat orange cat. Don't you want a cat?"

"I surely do. You drank tea?"

"Mmhm. It was almost as amazing as you."

Jason nods and takes your hand. "Okay. We're going to the Cave."

"How come?" you ask, but you don't protest as he leads you out and into the elevator.

"Because I wanna make sure you're okay," he says, pushing the button labeled one. You're definitely not okay, but he doesn't want to worry you.

"Oh." You lean against Jason's arm. He stiffens and looks down at you. You just burrow into his side. "'Cause you love me?"

Breath catches in his throat. You can't mean that. Do you even know what you're saying? No, impossible.

You look up when he's silent for too long. "Jay-Jay? Didja hear me?"

"Yeah," he says slowly. "Yeah, I did."

You look at him, big eyes sweet. "Don't you love me too? I love you."

Jason swallows hard. "I, um, don't think you're in your right mind."

Your lip quivers. Oh, God. No, please don't cry, please don't—

"You don't love me?" you ask, tears welling.

"I do love you," Jason says quickly, panicking at your distress. "I do. Shit. Please don't cry, honey. I do love you."

You frown, cheeks wet. "You're just saying that! You hate me!"

Jason shakes his head. "No, no! Oh, never, I could never hate ya, honest! I was just... um, this is the first time we've said it to each other, y'know? I do love you. Have for a long time now."

He strokes your cheek with his thumb, soaking up your tears. You sniffle but accept this, nodding.

"Oh. I'm sure I've told you that I love you before. I love you so much, Jason. I'll never love anyone the way I love you."

God, this is fucking torture. As the elevator reaches the ground floor, Jason takes a deep breath, lets you link your fingers with his, and leads you out to the street. The universe is intent in never granting him a normal night. Noted.

There's no way you're in your right mind. Jason's figured this from the start. But that doesn't make the way you look at him, like he's anybody worth looking at, any less painful.

He pulls out his phone, shoots a quick text to Dick. ETA 10 min.

Dick responds two seconds later. What's up?

Possible Code 12.

Jason pockets his phone, running through potential reasons for what did this to you. Ivy's not wreaking havoc tonight, as far as he knows.

Meanwhile, you're in another world, humming and holding his hand. Jason's thought about this many times, holding your hand and taking you for rides, you adoring him, hugging him, kissing him. He's nothing if not a masochist.

"Okay, sweetheart," Jason says, and you immediately turn to him, like a flower showing its face to the sun. Jason is no one's sun, though. He's more like the worm under your boot.

"Hm?" you ask, stroking his arm. Jason does his best to be normal about it.

"We're gonna, um, go to the Cave. You okay on my bike?"

You glance at his bike, and there's a tinge of apprehension on your face. Jason reaches for your shoulder, stops, then forces himself to touch you. You're not going to recoil from him, not in this state. And he's not doing it for himself; he's only touching you so that you'll let him take you to the Manor and figure out what's what.

He's not a bastard for holding your shoulder, right? He's doing it just so that you'll be safe.

(It doesn't matter. Jason knows he's a bastard for being in your life at all.)

You lean into him when he touches your shoulder.

"Never been on your bike, Jay," you say.

"I know. But I swear to you that you're safe. You know I'd never let anything happen to you, right? Never."

You nod. "Yeah. You always look out for me. 'S part of why I love you so much."

Good God. Jason's going to be a ball of self-hatred for the next millenia over this.

He puts his spare helmet on you, helping you fit the chin guard underneath.

"Okay?" he asks.

You give him a thumbs-up. Jason smiles and puts his own helmet on.

"You gotta hold on real tight, okay? As tight as you can. Don't worry 'bout hurting me."

"Mmkay!"

He helps you mount the bike first, then follows. As soon as he's on, you wrap your arms around his middle and smush your helmet into his back.

How long has he dreamed about this? Taking you on late-night rides, feeling you pressed against him, squealing as he floats through traffic (he'd never speed the way he does when he's alone; Jason doesn't give a shit about his own body, but your safety matters).

"The bike is loud, so I'm not gonna hear you if you say something, but if you want me to stop, tap my shoulder three times, okay?"

"Okay, Jaylove." You squeeze him in what's clearly a hug. "Ready."

Jason's not sure he is. It's been a long time since anyone's touched him, much less someone he's head over heels for. You're so trusting, it makes him ache. Jason's just glad he's the first jerk you laid your eyes upon instead of the magic you're under pushing you into the arms of someone dangerous.

He starts up his bike. Jason's had guests on his bike before, mostly his brothers and, once, the old lady who runs the tea shop down the block.

He's never had a lovely thing like you snuggled up to him, clinging to him. Jason feels rabid. He feels like he needs to be shot and put out of his misery.

He follows all of the road rules so you won't be scared. You don't tap his shoulder or shake, so Jason figures you're fine. He's good. He's being good for you.

Jason slows as he goes down the ramp to the Cave entrance. He stops at the mouth of the Cave and dismounts first, pulling off his helmet.

"You alright in there?" he asks, offering his hand.

You wrap your arms around his neck and Jason wobbles as he recalibrates and snakes an arm around your shoulders instead and helps you off that way. He removes your helmet. You blink at the new light, then look at him, moony-eyed once again.

"I was kinda scared," you admit. "But I trust you, Jaybee. Always."

"Got you here in one piece, didn't I?" he says, winking at you.

"Uh-huh!"

Jason sees what you're going to do before you try. He sees the way you look at his lips, how you rear back, ready to leap and kiss him.

He redirects you immediately, preferring that to making you cry again. He hates it when you cry. Your soft mouth lands on his jaw instead.

Jason smiles, strained. You're annoyed at the fact that you missed, and Jason can see that you're about to try again when Dick and Tim come into view.

He's never been more thrilled to see his brothers.

"Fellow bretheren," Jason says. He knows his voice is thin. "Funny seein' you here."

You're briefly distracted and wave to be polite. But then you force Jason's left ear to your level and catch the lobe between your teeth.

Holy fuck. Jason nearly buckles at the sensation. He's never understood the ears as an erogenous zone before—now he gets it. He's ashamed of how heat pools in his gut as you nip his ear.

Jason balances you with an arm around your waist, gingerly trying to both hide his reaction and separate you. He accomplishes neither. Tim's eyebrows are at his hairline; Dick's mouth is open, no doubt ready to make a smart-ass comment.

"Well, it's nice to see you two so... affectionate," Dick says, holding back a grin.

Jason rolls his eyes. "I need you to run tests. They showed up to my door like this, all over me."

"Yeah, that is weird," Tim says.

"Thank you very much for that, Timbit," Jason grumbles. You kiss under his ear and weave your fingers through his hair. Jason manages to get your hands off, but your mouth is still firmly planted on his neck. He clears his throat. Normal!

"I dunno, Jason," Dick says. "It's not that weird. People fall in love every day."

And, okay. Jason can do teasing. He can even do borderline psychotic remarks. That's part of having siblings. He's made a few in his day. They've all stabbed or shot each other.

But now Dick is just being cruel.

Jason scowls. "Take their blood so we can fucking get this over with. They're clearly under a love spell."

His scathing tone surprises Dick, but it really startles you. You've moved away from his ear (Jason is both relieved and disappointed) and return to cradling his arm. You're alarmed by his reply.

"Jaylove?" you ask. "What happened? Are you mad?"

Jaylove? Jason sees Tim mouth. He forces himself to focus on you, be gentle for you.

"Hm, no, not mad at ya, sweetheart. Sorry 'bout that. But we need to run some medical tests on ya, 'kay? Can we do that?"

"Sure," you chirp, linking your arm with his.

Dick and Tim slip into Work Mode. Jason appreciates that. His nerves are frayed. He senses a self-destructive episode coming on after you're cured. Maybe he'll throw himself into a bar fight tonight.

"Symptoms?" Tim asks, going to the computer.

"Being in love with me," Jason says dryly.

"Besides that. Any physical symptoms like dizziness or nausea? Recklessness?"

"No, didn't notice any sickness. Not reckless; they did everything I said." Jason swallows, says the next part quietly, fearfully. "Probably jump into the Hudson if I asked."

Tim nods sharply. Dick prepares to draw your blood. Again, you're apprehensive. But Jason soothes you, pets you, and you're leaning into him like a cat in its favorite patch of sun as Dick takes your blood.

"I wanna get married," you say as red fills the second vial.

Dick shoots him a sympathetic look. Jason looks away.

"Soon, honey," Jason says, ignoring how his stomach's a pit.

He didn't think about love or relationships when he came back. Didn't care, not when he had revenge to plot.

But after all that was over, after he met you, after he found a reason to keep living, Jason started thinking about it.

And what he realized is that he's never getting married.

By choice? Yes, sure. Jason loves pretending he has a choice in anything. Sure, he chooses to abstain from marriage, like normal people out there do. But really, he avoids attachment because it wouldn't be fair to anyone. He knows he's not made for that. His death made him unsalvageable. It's a miracle he's here at all. How dare he ask for more?

And inside, he chokes on a vine of hatred for everyone else who can find someone. Who's capable of loving and being loved. It even, to Jason's shame, has reared its head at you, whispered in his ear about how you're not damaged, so of course you'll find someone one day. Of course you'll leave him eventually. It would be stupid of him to hope otherwise.

"When?" you ask as Dick starts on the third vial. You don't even notice. Dick could probably drain you dry as long as Jason's in front of you. "When can we get married?"

"How 'bout next month?" Jason says without thinking. He would. He'd marry you tomorrow.

You think about this for a moment, then nod. "Yes, that would be good. I've always wanted a fall wedding."

"Yeah? I always liked the idea of marrying in the spring. All the flowers."

"No," you say. "Pollen's out. You'd be sneezing your head off."

Jason laughs, then wants to cry, because you know that he's allergic to pollen.

"Yeah, y'right," he says, voice thick. "Fall wedding's better."

"Alright, all done!" Dick says, forcefully cheerful. He removes the needle and puts a Bandaid on the inside of your elbow. You rest your head on Jason's arm. Jason tries not to boil himself in a fire of misery. You probably won't even remember this.

Dick watches you both, then tugs your hand. "Hey, you mind helping me fill out some info? For the tests."

Your mouth shrivels. You look at Jason, and he can't believe he's your North Star, magic or not.

"I don't wanna leave Jason," you say.

"He'll be right here," Dick says quickly. "Won't leave your sight for a second. But I need your help."

"Just for a minute?" you ask.

Dick nods. "One minute."

You sigh and turn to Jason. "I'll be right back."

Jason nods, tries to smile. "Sure. I'll be here."

He'll be here. Forever and ever and ever...

Wait a second. Tea. Jason jolts.

"Tim. They said they drank tea. Could be something there."

"On it," Tim says. "Dick, we need a mouth swab."

"Right." He turns to you. "Can I—"

"No," you say, and march back to Jason. "You said a minute."

Jason would laugh at the pout on your face, the way you plop yourself next to him and curl around him like he's a new toy. He would laugh. If he could find the humor.

Dick looks at him. Jason sighs.

"Honey?" You hum. "We just need one more test, yeah? Q-tip on your tongue. Not the most pleasant, but it'll be quick. Promise."

"Okay," you say immediately, hugging his arm.

Jason knows it's a spell, or maybe a lab-made chemical. But he's still awed by how quickly you acquiesce. How you show no worry when Dick approaches because Jason's right there, patting your hand.

Dick swabs your mouth. You cough three times after, most of your body on Jason.

"Interesting how they're not lustful," Dick says.

"What," Jason says.

"Okay, the ear thing was..." Dick shrugs. "But it's not mindless. It's actually the most reasonable love spell I've ever seen. Like, their desires for you don't feel manufactured, they feel—"

"Don't," Jason snaps. "Don't fuckin' say it."

Dick holds up his hands. "It was just an observation. You've seen Ivy's pollen doses. This one seems different."

"Fine. Ivy's taking a break from the orgies. Doesn't mean this is real."

Jason's not stupid enough to hope.

"It can't be Ivy," Tim says, and Jason almost startles. He forgot Tim was there, so wrapped up in you. "No reports of Ivy attacks. And the substance, whatever it was, wasn't inhaled. It was injested."

You wrap your arms around Jason's neck and smush your face against his. You're warm and smell good. Jason feels feral.

He holds you with a hand on your back, mind turning.

"Sweetheart," he says. You hum. "You said you drank tea after work. Where exactly did you go?"

"Dunno," you say, spacey. "Went into a tea shop that's never been there before. And an old lady invited me in. She said I looked so sad. And I was, Jaybee! How did she know?"

"I don't know, honey," Jason says quietly, even though he has a suspicion. He's never letting you walk home alone again.

Tea shop. That's what he gets for trying to be a good Samaritan. How dare she drug you?

"Hm. Well, she gave me a tea sample, said it would make all my problems disappear. Then I petted her cat named Darcy. Like that book you like!"

God, Jason just wants to hug you tight and kiss your face. It's awful of him to think of you as cute in your state, he knows.

"Track their routes," Jason says. "They take two different ones home. One crosses Bank Street, the other goes over the bridge."

"I'd call you a stalker but I really have no right," Tim says, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"No shit," Jason mumbles, letting you play with his fingers.

"Jason," Dick says quietly. He glances at you, then at his brother. "If it's too much, we can sedate them."

"No. We don't know how it'll react to the tea. It's not Ivy's brew."

Dick frowns. He knows Jason's right. Jason knows he's right.

"Okay, I got something. Magic signatures from a building on Tenth Street," Tim says. "And I think I'm onto an antidote."

"I'll check it out," Dick says, going to suit up. He looks at Jason. "Are you-?"

Jason nods. "I'm fine. Go."

So Dick does. Tim is able to make an antidote within the hour. He gives it to Jason who injects it into your neck. He feels guilty even though this is what’ll cure you. You wince at the pinch but you don't so much as whimper, endlessly trusting.

"They'll probably crash soon," Tim says, out of your earshot. "I don't know if you should risk the bike."

Jason sighs. Tim's right, and it makes him all the more agitated that his brothers have been helpful and even kind of nice during the whole thing.

You're going to crash soon. Jason has no choice but to bring you up to the Manor.

"Come on, sweetheart," he says, taking your hand and standing.

"Where're we goin'?" you ask, yawning.

"Goin’ t’bed, honey. Aren't ya tired?"

"Hmm. Mmhmm."

"Yeah, thought so."

Jason leads you up the stairs and out of the Cave. He helps keep you steady as you trip up the stairs. He's tempted to just carry you, but he feels like that might be overkill.

Once at the top of the stairs, Jason stops. Swallows.

He hasn't been up here in a while. He slept in his room once after he returned, after a nasty encounter with Scarecrow.

"Wanna sleep in your bed, Jay," you mumble, cheek against his arm.

Jason sighs. "Yeah. Okay, love."

You go to his room. It's clean, as usual—Alfred never let it get dusty. Jason had hoped that if you ever saw his room it would be in much different circumstances. Normal circumstances.

But, well. Here you are.

"Hmm, 's nice," you say as Jason pulls back the bedspread and helps you out of your shoes. You start to take off your pants and he panics.

"Uh! Uh, baby, maybe keep the pants on. You might get cold."

You frown in confusion. "Doesn't feel cold."

"Yeah, but, whew, Alfred blasts the AC! Jus' keep 'em on."

Jason cannot handle seeing you in your underwear. He draws the line there.

"'Kay," you say, and flop onto the sheets. You wiggle around, getting comfortable.

Jason sits in the fat armchair in the corner of the room. Immediately, you sit up.

"Why're you over there?" you ask, eyes wide.

Oh, boy.

"Oh. I was, um, gonna read for a bit. I'll come in in a while."

Your lip trembles. No—

"Don't leave me, Jaybee. Don't leave! Stay with me. I love you!"

Jason rubs his forehead. "Honey—"

"You hate me! You do! I annoy you." Tears gather in your eyes.

Jason hurries to the edge of his bed, climbing in in his jeans and socked feet.

"No, no, love, we covered this. I don't hate ya, hm? Where'd ya get a silly thing like that?"

You quiet as he scoots in beside you. Then you throw most of your limbs over him. Jason stiffens.

"Just got scared," you say, and kiss his chest. "Promise you won't leave?"

Jason breathes in. Breathes out.

"Yeah. I promise."

And he stays.

You wake up with a faint headache and a dry throat. Sunlight peeks through the blinds. You feel warm and safe and well-rested, despite the slight pains.

You stretch, expecting air. Instead, you touch skin. You open your eyes.

Oh. You're in a bedroom.

No, scratch that. You see framed pictures of the Bats, books on shelves.

You're in Jason Todd's childhood bedroom. With the aforementioned tucked under your arm and leg.

You jerk away so hard, you land on the carpeted floor below.

Jason's up instantly, head poking over the bed. His eyes widen.

"Shit! Y'alright? C'mere."

He gets up and practically scoops you into a standing position. Your brain short-circuits: big strong man strong big good nice. Then you recover.

"Um," you say. "Uh. Hmm. Hi."

Jason smiles tightly. "Hey."

"What... how-?"

"Right. How much do you remember?"

You try to think. You remember walking home, drinking tea, an affectionate orange cat. You remember hands on your face and your stomach swooping on a motorcycle and a gentle voice. So gentle.

"You were magicked," Jason says quickly. "It was a, uh, tea shop. Dick's checking it out. You, um, came to me and I took you here and you got an antidote and you didn't want me to, um, leave. So, yeah. Sorry."

You tilt your head. "Why are you apologizing, Jason?"

He sighs. "Just 'cause."

You have no idea what that means. But you feel like Jason's telling you a very condensed version of what happened.

"What was the magic?" you ask.

He winces. "Love spell. You thought you were... in love with me."

Jason says it like he's the one who charmed you. Like he's ashamed of it.

"Oh," you say. Well, you certainly didn't need a spell for that to happen.

"Yeah." Jason's staring at your and his shoes by the door. "But everything's fine now. I can take you home. Dick and Tim'll take care of the tea shop witch."

He doesn't wait for a response, darting to the door. You rush forward and close the door as Jason opens it. He looks at you in confusion.

"Jason," you say softly. "What happened?"

"Whaddya mean? I told you."

"Jason. I've known you for three years. You think I don't know when you're not telling me something?"

He looks at his feet. One of his socks has a hole in the toe.

"There's nothin' to tell," he mumbles. "Magic stuff. Happens all the time. Business as usual."

You frown. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Jay. I admittedly don't remember a lot."

Jason's expression is relief but there's a heaviness to his shoulders. "Well, 's for the best, really. Magic messes with your head."

"Did I make you uncomfortable, Jason? Not letting you leave and—God, I can't imagine how I was on the spell."

He shakes his head fervently. "No! No, no, my God, no. You didn't—you could never—I mean, I wasn't... fuck. No. You didn't make me uncomfortable."

"If you're sure," you say.

He nods. "Hundred percent."

Jason doesn't sound like he's lying. You're pretty good at detecting it, especially when it comes to his feelings.

So why is he acting weird?

Well, duh. A love spell. You probably freaked him out, especially since you really do love him.

"I hope we can still be friends," you offer.

Jason turns to the door.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "'Course we're still friends."

It shouldn't make you ache. Jason's perfectly in the right to not reciprocate how you feel. How can he reciprocate something he doesn’t even know exists?

"You, uh..." Jason scratches the back of his neck. He faces you once more. "You said last night that you were sad. When you were coming home. I just wanted to say, y'know... you can talk to me. 'Bout anything."

This will make all of your problems disappear, she had said. It'd tasted like kombucha—you hadn't had a lot of faith.

Jason begins to open the door. You slide in front of him and slam the door shut with your back. He steps back in surprise.

"Wh—"

"I have to tell you something!" you blurt.

Jason stills. "Okay."

"I adopted you a cat," you say.

He squints. "What?"

"Well, she's still at the shelter but I put her on reserve. Of a sort. I have a friend who works there. She's black and white and likes to cuddle and has two different colored eyes but she can't see very well. Her name is... whatever you want to name her. Because she's yours. And I think you'll love her."

He nods slowly. "I, uh, thanks. Thank you. I was thinking about adopting a—"

"I was sad last night because I kept thinking about how you're gonna love this cat I got you but you'll never love me, and how that's the fucking worst feeling in the world."

You've stunned him silent. Shit.

Seconds tick by. A minute. Two minutes.

"Okay," you say, wanting to jump out of Jason's two-story window. "I'm gonna go drop off the face of the Earth now. Bye."

You open the door. Jason closes it by caging you against it.

And then he kisses you.

Jason pours everything into the kiss. He's not a perfect kisser but it's good. It's magic. He holds your face completely, shuts out the entire world. Kisses the breath out of you.

Yes, you could go on. It's fantastic. It's fireworks. It's sunbeams.

Dick's smile drops so fast you nearly laugh. "My other girlfriends?" He plants one gloved hand against his chest like you've wounded him. "Wow. Okay. That's crazy, actually." You can hear the grin coming back into his voice before you even see it, bright and dazzling. "I have one girlfriend. One. She's mean to me, actually. Borderline abusive. Steals my clothes, teases me, a real mean lady"

"I am NOT mean, Grayson. This has been my hoodie for like ever."

"It says Gotham University. Pretty sure," he drawls out loudly, ever teasingly, "you didn't go there, baby. I would've never missed someone as gorgeous as you."

You laugh before taking a sip of your water, and Dick laughs with you, the sound softening when he drops down onto the ledge of the building. He sits as if gravity has never particularly applied to him, one leg dangling over the side while the other bends beneath him, phone balanced casually against his knee. For a little while, neither of you says much. You answer an email and fix the cuff of his sweatshirt where it's starting to fray. Dick watches the city below, shoulders finally relaxing now that patrol has slowed down. Every so often he looks back at the screen just to make sure you're still there, and when you catch him doing it for the third time, he doesn't even pretend otherwise.

"What?"

"Nothin'." His mouth curves into that softer smile he saves for you, chin resting against his fist. "You look cute. I miss you." There's a pout at the end of that. He's almost hinting to come over afterwards to steal your entire morning.

You roll your eyes and take another sip.

"You can come over later."

"I was already planning on it." He grins before putting in his earbuds. "How about I bring breakfast?"

✩ Jason Todd ᯓ★

Jason Todd has never played Stardew Valley in his life, yet somehow he has become deeply invested in your little playthrough. You've got Discord open on your laptop while your phone sits propped on your desk, giving you an excellent view of him midway through a workout.

Shirtless, broad shoulders and old scars shifting every time he moves, the white streak at the front of his hair damp with sweat and falling into his eyes. "So you gotta greet every chicken every day?" he asks from the floor, forearms planted against his mat while he holds a plank.

"Yes." You continue to clack away, occasionally showing him the coop.

"Sounds needy, like you. You need me to check on you every day"

You glance over and catch him looking at the phone instead of the floor. Specifically watching to see whether you're looking at him. A bead of sweat runs down his chest, and Jason's grin only grows more when your eyes linger half a second too long.

You immediately turn back to your laptop.

Cocky asshole.

"Well, this one's named after you." You circle your character around a fat brown chicken wandering through the grass, and Jason's attention snaps over immediately, squinting at the screen.

"Which one?"

"This one."

He cranes his neck toward the screen without breaking his plank. "Yeah."

You stare at him. "Yeah?"

"Handsome little guy." His timer goes off and Jason drops flat onto the mat with a grunt, cheek pressed to his forearm for a second before rolling onto his back. His chest rises and falls while he reaches blindly for his water bottle, takes a long drink, then wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist. "How long've you had me?"

"The chicken?"

Jason lifts his head and gives you a look. "Careful."

You grin a little, biting your lip before looking away. "Like two in-game years."

"So we're serious."

He pushes himself back up and slings a towel around his neck while you move onto the next creature in your coop. "And this one's Grayson-"

Jason's brow furrows "Why's he blue?"

"Because he's a blue chicken?"

His face suddenly fills half your FaceTime screen, green eyes flicking between you and the game while one hand braces against his hip. "Yeah, but those are the rare ones."

There's a pause, and you slowly turn toward your phone. Jason realizes his mistake approximately one second too late.

"How'd you know those are rare?"

He presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek to break the smile forming on his face before looking down at you.

"Answer my question first."

You immediately start laughing.

"Nah, don't laugh." Jason points accusingly at the laptop. "Why's Dick special?"

"He's just blue!"

"And I'm brown."

"Jason. Wait - I can explain - "

"Regular-ass chicken." He announces loudly. You can hear a small giggle from Steph in the background.

"Damian is the dinosaur! I just pick what makes sense."

That shuts him up for all of two seconds. Then Jason's brows shoot up. "Okay, that's bullshit. I should be the fucking dinosaur, and you know it."

You're laughing hard enough that your character starts running useless circles around the coop. Jason finally cracks too, shaking his head as he grabs his phone and carries you through the manor toward the kitchen.

"Alright, what'd you make Tim?" he asks, pulling open the fridge. You go suspiciously quiet. Jason pauses with one hand still on the door. You cover your mouth.

His eyes narrow. "You made Replacement a rabbit?"

You immediately start laughing again.

"Of course you did." He snorts, digging through the fridge. "Lemme guess. Steph's a duck? Loud as hell too, always yappin'. Yap, yap, yap."

"You can't say things like that!"

"What?" He waves a hand around the kitchen, completely unbothered. "Tell me I'm wrong."

He props your phone against the fruit bowl and starts pulling leftovers from the fridge, still complaining while he works. He's stirring something on the stove while giving you increasingly unsolicited farm advice from YouTube videos he's been watching.

"Have you been Googling this?"

"No. And you tell nobody about this." He takes a bite straight from the pan and points the spoon at you. "Eat your dinner."

A week later, you get a notification from Steam that Jason Todd has purchased Stardew Valley. Two weeks after that, there's a dinosaur wandering around your shared coop named Jason.

The first time you mention it, he threatens to sell the void chicken he named after you.

۶ৎ Tim Drake :꣓

Tim almost always calls you through Discord because Discord is practical. He can share whatever nightmare of a spreadsheet he's working on, you can stream your screen, and neither of you has to hold a phone for four hours straight. FaceTime is different. FaceTime usually happens when you're in bed and Tim is still very much refusing to be.

"Should I mute myself?" he asks, glancing down toward where his phone is propped against a stack of case files beside his laptop. He's hunched over his desk in an old Gotham Knights shirt, dark hair hanging over his eyes until he pushes it back with one hand. The shadows beneath them look almost bruised in the bluish light from his monitors, and there are at least two empty coffee mugs within arm's reach.

You can barely keep your eyes open anymore, cheek mashed into your pillow. "Why?"

"My keyboard." Tim types another line, pauses, then looks back at you. "It's probably loud."

You listen to the rapid click-click-click coming through the speaker. "No."

"Okay."

And that's apparently all he needed.

For another twenty minutes, the two of you barely talk. You watch him through the phone, eyes already half-lidded with sleep while Tim works through case notes, shoulders curling tighter whenever he gets particularly focused. Papers shift. His chair rolls backward. Every few minutes he mutters something under his breath, deletes an entire paragraph, then starts typing again. You're somewhere between awake and asleep when your phone slips sideways against the pillow.

Tim notices immediately. "Hey."

You blink. "What?"

"Can't see you."

You stare at him with a deep sigh and fumble around until the phone is upright again. "There."

"Thanks."

And then he goes straight back to work as though that wasn't deeply pathetic. You watch him for another second. "You got something for watching people?"

"Mhm... mostly for watching you, though."

Your eyes start drifting shut again, and Tim continues typing until he catches you rubbing your face into the pillow. "You tired?"

"No." Your eyes betray you by closing.

"You sure look tired. Want me to come tuck you in?"

"Shut up."

He smiles without looking away from his screen and reaches for one of the coffee mugs. Your eyes open immediately at the scrape of ceramic against his desk.

"Absolutely not."

Tim freezes with the rim halfway to his mouth. "What?"

"Put it down."

"It's coffee."

"It's almost two in the morning. We have a nine a.m. lecture together."

Tim looks from you to the mug, weighs his options, and then very intentionally takes one loud sip.

"Timothy."

"Don't government-name me."

You groan and roll onto your side, propping yourself up with one hand while the other reaches toward the red button. "I'm hanging up."

His head snaps toward the phone. "Nooooo. I'll miss you... stayyyyy."

You start laughing into your pillow because the whine is so dramatic and so completely at odds with the expressionless little detective who's been staring at case files for three hours. "You cannot be serious."

"I like watching you sleep."

"That sounds horrifying."

"It helps me relax."

"I'm sure YouTube has sleeping ASMR, Timothy."

"Not the same."

You reach over and turn off your lamp, leaving your room dark except for the faint glow of your phone. Tim's face is still illuminated by three monitors, one hand resting against his cheek while the other keeps scrolling through reports. "Goodnight. Please actually sleep tonight."

"Mhm."

"Tim."

"I heard you."

"You'll hate yourself tomorrow."

"Not if I see you."

You settle farther under the blanket, looking at him through half-closed eyes. "Goodnight."

His expression softens a little, a pout pulling at his mouth before he turns back toward the screen. "Night."

You hang up. Your room stays quiet for approximately twelve seconds before your phone buzzes.

Tim: just say you hate me :(

Another buzz.

Tim: would've hurt less honestly

And, before you can answer:

Tim: sleep well <3 I love you.

Dick:

Moving in with Dick Grayson has had its hiccups. 

He has the oddest sleep schedule known to man, for one, and every time he tries to cook anything beyond what a 13 year old can, it seems to end in smoke and sheepish apologies. 

Collectively, you now have more coffee mugs than you do forks, which speaks more to the amount of cutlery you’ve curated than it does to decorative mugs. 

Nothing however, in the two weeks you’ve been living together, could have prepared you for this. 

Nightwing stands in your bedroom, frozen in shock after having climbed through your window. You stand on the opposite side of your bedroom, the baseball bat Dick keeps by his bed clutched in your hands. 

“Woah, woah, I’m Nightwing, I’m one of the good—“

Nightwing is real?

“What the hell are you doing in my bedroom?”

And where the hell is Dick when you need him?

Nightwing raises his hands in surrender, a slightly-familiar sheepish grin on his face. “You’re not gonna hit me with that, are you?” He pulls out one of his own escrima sticks and tosses it on the bed, “at least use that, it’ll hurt more.”

You blink, unimpressed. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“Dead serious.”

Despite your trepidation, you lean forward and snatch the stick off the middle of the bed. You turn it over in your hands, examining it. 

Dick breathes a sigh of relief, happy his distraction worked. He’s dead tired, and he’d gotten sloppy on the way home when all he could think about was getting out of his suit and into bed with you. 

He didn’t even think about what he was doing until he’d slipped his second leg through the window only to be met with the sound of you shouting. He’d by lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little proud at how quick you were to get out of bed and start threatening the fully grown vigilante in your room. 

“If you’re done yelling,” he says cautiously, “I’ll just be going, I’m clearly in the wrong apartment.”

“The wrong—“ You laugh incredulously, “you don’t double check before breaking and entering?”

“Hey, you try doing this in the dark in the middle of the night.”

Your eyes roll. Dick’s never wished more that he could reach out and kiss you. 

“I’ll be taking that,” he says, reaching over the bed and grabbing his escrima stick from your hand. “Uh, maybe don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Embarrassed?”

“Something like that.”

And before you can say anything else, he’s maneuvering back through your window and disappearing into the night. You latch it tightly behind him before crawling back into bed, your heart still racing.  

Grabbing your phone, you start typing out a message to Dick. You’ll never believe what just happened to me. 

Jason:

You thought he was a myth. Some silly tale passed around from criminal to criminal like parents warning their children of the bogeyman. But if he’s a myth, then why is he standing in your living room?

 It was hard enough to come to terms with Batman being real, but seeing Red Hood in person is almost as absurd as if Santa Claus himself had broken into your house.

You hold your breath, pressed against the wall, the glass of water you’d snuck out of bed to grab clutched tightly in your hand. Your hands are shaking, your knees are shaking—fear wracks your whole body. And then the glass slips, shattering across the floor and spreading glass and water everywhere.

Any hope Jason had that you didn’t see him dies in his chest. Fuck.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says, and for once, he wishes his voice was just a little softer under the mask. 

“T-then why—“ You take a breath, trying to quell your fear. “Why are you in my boyfriend’s house?”

Jason wishes he had a better answer, something beyond ‘I’m a fucking idiot who didn’t think before I broke into my own house in full costume while you were there.’ He comes up empty.

“Jason is…” His own name sounds foreign on his tongue, “he left something here for me. He didn’t say anything about you being here.”

At the sound of your boyfriend’s name, you suddenly remember the glass of his you just broke and the water seeping into his nice floors. You drop to your knees, cupping your hands and trying to stop the spread of the water.

Red Hood is crossing the room in the instant, footsteps heavy so as not to startle you. “What the hell are you doing?” 

“Cleaning, I—I can’t believe I broke that.”

“You’re going to cut yourself,” he sighs, going to the kitchen and grabbing the roll of paper towel he keeps on the counter. He’s semi-grateful for your panicked state keeping you from questioning how he knew where that was. “Here, let me.”

And before you can argue against it, Red Hood starts soaking up the water with paper towel. When he’s satisfied the floors are dry, he gets to work on the glass, gloved hands carefully picking up every last shard and wrapping them in another piece of paper towel.

You can only stare in utter disbelief as Red Hood—the notorious anti-hero, this broad man who’d broken into Jason’s house—cleans up your mess as if it’s the must mundane thing in the world.

“T-thanks,” you stutter out, rising to your feet as the masked man discards the used paper towel in the trash. 

“Was my fault you dropped it anyways,” he mumbles out. “Tell Jason I’ll come back a different time.”

With that, he’s disappearing back into the shadows of the room, leaving back through the window he came from. You stand there, still shaking slightly, utterly shocked by what just happened.

You’re still standing there twenty minutes later when Jason runs through the door, having ditched his gear off with Bruce. He’s frazzled, a hand running through his messy hair. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, what are you still doing up?”

“Your—“ You swallow, looking at your boyfriend with equal amounts of excitement and fear. “Your friend stopped by.”

Tim: 

You’re watching Netflix when you hear the distinct scraping of your window opening. Illuminated by the light of your tv screen, you can just barely make out the face of Red Robin, sleepily sliding a leg through your window.

You blink, almost entirely unphased by the sudden appearance of the vigilante. “Um, are you here for me?”

His head snaps up, mouth falling open. Shit. Tim had been so tired, so out of it, he hadn’t even realized his brain was on auto-pilot to your apartment until you’d said that. Shit. 

He’s not sure whether he’s relieved or not by how unphased you are by a vigilante breaking into your house in the middle of the night. 

He scratches the back of his neck. “No..?”

You hum, your own tired brain working to interpret this information. “Okay,” you say simply.

“Okay?”

You nod, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Tim fully commits, letting himself drop into your room and lean against your windowframe.

“You’re not gonna ask why I’m here, or..?”

“Are you here for something nefarious?”

“Well, no—“

You yawn, “then I don’t care. Do what you need to do.”

He mentally makes a note to talk to you tomorrow about stranger danger and what to do if someone breaks into your house in the middle of the night. For now, though, he’s slightly grateful for your nonchalance. He glances around your room, taking in the plushies you keep on your bed and the tv playing at half-volume, displaying a show a little too familiar to him.

“Shit, are you watching Voltron?”

“Rewatching,” you admit tiredly, finally sitting up in bed. “Are you a fan?”

And Tim suddenly wonders how this has never come up in all of your conversations with him. How is he just finding this out as Red Robin of all things?

“You could say that,” he laughs slightly.

Then you’re patting the bed, inviting him further into your room. Tim knows he shouldn’t, knows he has a dozen other things to look into tonight and yet, he finds himself settling in on the side of your bed he usually sleeps on to watch Voltron.

“What are you doing up so late, anyway?” 

You shrug, “was waiting for my boyfriend to text me but…”

Guilt pangs in his chest. He hadn’t realized he forgot to text you back until right now, his phone feeling heavy in the pocket he’d tucked it into. Tim kicks off his boots and fully leans against your bedframe.

He really shouldn’t be doing this. He knows it’ll only lead to more trouble for himself both as Robin and Tim Drake and yet, he can’t bring himself to leave.

“There’s snacks on my kitchen counter if you’re hungry. Soda in the fridge.”

“You’re feeding me after I broke into your house?” “Figured you work up an appetite running around the city,” you slide back down into bed, lazily splaying your limbs across the mattress. “Could probably use the extra fuel.”

Tim can only smile, “I guess I never thought of it like that.”

Wally:

Wally doesn’t realize his error until he’s skidding to a stop in his own living room only to be met with you, mid handful of popcorn, looking utterly shocked. Well, fuck.

He’s exhausted, lungs burning from all the running he’s done tonight, and the blood trickling down his side is definitely staining the carpet Iris and Barry had gifted in when he moved in. Double fuck.

“Are you—“ You tentatively rise to your feet, looking around as if you’re the one that’s in the wrong place. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” No.

Your eyes scan him, from the big logo on the middle of his suit to the hand he has clutched over the tear on his side that is definitely dripping blood all over Wally’s floors. You start towards him, equally concerned as you are flabbergasted. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m—“ He takes a breath, a weak puff of air leaving his lips, “clearly in the wrong house.”

“You’re bleeding,” you repeat, and you’re so close now you can very visibly see the cut on his side. Nothing too deep or serious, but painful looking nonetheless. “Do you—I think my boyfriend has a first aid kit around here somewhere.”

Under the sink, Wally thinks. But he wouldn’t dare let you get too close to him right now, not when he’s sure you’ll be able to sniff out it’s him every moment. His heart pangs as he thinks of how awkward a conversation that’ll be.

Before he can say anything, you’re disappearing down the hall, coming back with the first aid kit lifted above your head like a trophy. Wally can’t help but smile a bit. You’re so damn cute.

You order him to sit on the couch, laying down a towel you’d stolen from his bathroom to keep him from making a mess. “I’ll try and be quick,” you promise. “But not all of us have super speed.”

“As long as it means you won’t maim me.”

You’re careful as you patch him up, gentle touches along his skin as you clean and disinfect the wound. Wally sits there, resisting the urge to pet your head and kiss your forehead. 

It’s a few minutes of oddly comfortable silence before you’re pulling away with a grin, gently patting the wound. “There,” you proclaim. “It’s not perfect, but it’ll feel a little better, at least until you can leave.”

“Thank you,” he says, rising to his feet and twisting his core. “It feels way better already.”

“Um, before you go,” you smile sheepishly. “Do you think—could I grab a picture with you?”

He raises a brow under his cowl.

“It’s just, my boyfriend is the Flash’s biggest fan, and I think he’d just really love to see proof of you in his apartment.” Your eyes widen slightly at the look on his face, “but if you’re too busy, I totally get that too. This is silly, actually, sorry for even—“

The Flash grabs your phone out of your hand, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side. He’s quick to snap the picture, throwing up a peace sign before handing your phone back to you.

“Um, be careful out there.”

He laughs, “always am.”

He offers you a two fingered salute before he’s disappearing from your living room, leaving nothing but a trail of lightning in his wake. You smile at the picture on your phone, Wally is gonna freak.

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