#jaytimweek2016

Jason looked up then and startled Tim with the openness in his expression. "You found and captured sides of me I didn't think I had anymore - sides I didn’t even know I had at all. You defined me through your lens.  And you demonstrated how clearly you see me, how well you know me, in spite of all of the masks.

"You found me through your lens. And with those photographs you have proof of that - reminders of what I really am, who I really am… no, not proof… you have…" Jason trailed off, searching Tim's face blindly as he searched for the right words.

"You have pieces of me to save and carry around and relive whenever you want. But I don't have any of you. And I want to."

Jason blinked, then blushed as he turned his focus back on Tim. "I want to have pieces of you to carry with me; photos to remind me of you and remind me of the times we’ve spent together; images to refresh the memories when they get hazy."

He let out a long breath and tilted his head back against the headboard, closing his eyes. "I've been trying to find inconspicuous moments to snag photos of you, or good excuses to ask for a copy of a group photo or something, but so far it's been a total bust. I just never know when to pull out my phone or when you wouldn’t mind being photographed…"

Jason shook his head minutely against the headboard. "And then when Stephanie mentioned earlier that she was going to try to get a real human expression out of you before the night was out, I just couldn't help myself, even though I knew you hate being photographed, that you hate the feeling like you’re being caught with your guard down and you have no control over your image...

"I feel so bad for not feeling bad about getting those shots. I'm so pleased with how those pictures turned out…" Jason tilted his head forward, shocking Tim further with how contritely he admitted, "...but I feel so bad for taking them without your consent when I knew how much it makes you uncomfortable.”

Jason paused, then looked Tim straight in the eye. “I'm sorry. A few photos aren't worth upsetting you or betraying your trust." Jason pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and brought up the photos. "That's my bad. And I'm deleting them right now."

Tim darted out a hand, quickly wrapping his fingers around the device. He nodded to it wordlessly. Jason picked up on the unspoken request and allowed Tim to pluck the phone from his loose grip. Tim considered the displayed image for a long moment before flipping to the next and then, finally, the last, Jason’s favorite. Jason watched in silence.

After a long minute, Tim backed out of the photo - returning to the gallery - and swiped into the menu.

"Hey, babe, you know you can delete the photos from the full-screen view, right?" Jason murmured uncertainly, leaning in to assist.

"I know," Tim answered, deftly selecting the camera function from the menu. Jason blinked as the screen briefly mirrored the bed in front of them, before Tim toggled to the forward lens and stretched out an arm. He screwed up his face into an awkward grin, snapped a quick photo, selected the viewer, then angled the screen back towards Jason. "What do you think?" He asked, his grin warming into something a little more genuine at the honestly dumbfounded expression on his boyfriend’s face.

Jason stared at the image blankly for a moment until Tim's intent finally caught up to him. His expression crumpled into a troubled frown. "Babe… Babybird you don't- " he began slowly.

Tim blithely ignored his objections, returned the phone to camera mode, and began wiggling closer. He pressed himself up against Jason's side and stretched out an arm, struggling to hold the phone as far away as possible while keeping a finger in place to take the photo.

"Tim, you really don't have to-"

"You know,” Tim cut across him, laughing into the camera, “it should really be you holding this phone, if we both want to fit into this selfie." Tim leaned even closer and smiled - a real smile, the second one in less than twenty-four hours - and that was enough to stun Jason into a halfway decent expression for the picture. Tim snapped the photo then brought the phone back to his lap, flipping to the gallery and making an approving sound before extending the phone back to Jason. Jason’s frown returned as he took the phone and considered the image.

"You didn't have to do this." Jason looked up to Tim. "You don't have to force yourself for me. I understand if being photographed makes you uncomfortable." Jason’s thumb hovered over the delete button, but Tim quickly reached out to stop him.

"I wanted to," Tim responded soberly. Jason looked up, searching Tim's face. He still seemed unconvinced.

"Tim…"

"I wanted to, Jason," Tim repeated. "And I'm sorry." Tim dropped his gaze to where his fingers fiddled with the sheet pooled in his lap.

"I enjoy photography so much, myself... And I’ve taken for granted all the opportunities - not to mention your consent - to take photos of you, both in and out of costume... I really do have so many photos of you…

"It's unbelievable that I’ve never considered that you might want pictures of me in return,” Tim admitted. “Or that anyone else might feel the same way I do when I capture moments I’ll want to save through the lens of my camera..." Tim let the words trail off, raising his eyes to meet Jason's stare unwaveringly.

"So, yeah, this is okay. I want you to take pictures of us - of me.” He paused, then added, “No matter how awful I feel I might look in them." Tim laughed and Jason visibly relaxed at the gesture. "I want to have pictures of us together, too," Tim admitted, the hint of a smile peeking through his hesitant expression.

Jason’s face lit up and he reached for Tim’s hand, squeezing it gently. Jason flipped through the night’s photos with a goofy little grin Tim was sure Jason didn’t even realize he was wearing, and Tim let himself sag back against Jason’s side, head resting on Jason’s shoulder as he watched quietly for a few moments.

"And I know it isn't much," Tim added in murmur, "But I hope this" - he gestured with their linked hands to the phone - "is a good start towards making it up to you."

Jason paused. "Babybird," he sighed, his expression amused and fond as he turned to consider the younger man. “I’ve never blamed you for being camera shy and you haven’t wronged me or whatever by taking pictures and giving none in return. You don’t need to try to ‘redeem yourself’ to me or whatever.”

“But I’ve been so self-centered about it... As if it’s really okay for me to take pictures of everyone but never let other people take them of me... Damn. How selfish and inconsiderate can I be...” Tim muttered disgustedly.

“Well, maybe it feels that way to you, but I’ve never had any problems with you taking pictures of me - well...” Jason paused. “Okay, maybe a little, right after I found out about your stint stalking the ‘Dynamic Duo’,” Jason teased lightly, smiling and prodding Tim with their linked hands until Tim couldn’t keep the frown on his face anymore.

“Jason! Stop, I’m se-”

“But,” Jason pushed on, turning somber, “that was more me being upset that I never noticed you were there shadowing us. The pictures themselves, and the fact that you had taken them, never bothered me. And all the pictures you’ve taken since then - even the ones I didn’t find out about until afterwards - don’t bother me.”

Tim blinked, then opened his mouth to protest, but Jason raised his voice and ran right over him. “Having my picture taken is just something that doesn’t bother me. Period. But it’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. If it’s your preference to avoid being photographed, then that’s just how it is.” Jason shrugged.

“But-”

Jason made an annoyed sound but grinned down at him. “Look. I don’t mind being photographed. You do. Those are personal preferences. It’s okay for us to feel differently about something, as long we’re up-front about it, right?” Jason asked, smiling down at him jauntily.

Tim had to fight down a jerk-knee reaction to laugh at the ridiculous expression on Jason’s face so he could consider Jason’s take on the situation seriously. Logically, Jason’s assertions made sense, but it still felt to Tim like he had let Jason down; if not with the lack of pictures itself, then for never even considering Jason’s feelings on the matter in the first place.

"You have nothing to make up to me and nothing to prove,” Jason said, cutting into his thoughts. Tim opened his mouth. “Really," Jason added, his teasingly bright smile mellowing to a more genuine grin. Slowly, Tim returned the fond grin, huffed a laugh for his own stubbornness, and nodded his acquiescence.

"However,” Jason deadpanned, drawing out the word, “so long as you want to offer me snapshots like these" - he waved the phone with a pleased expression - "then I'm perfectly content to take them."

Tim laughed. “Definitely. Take, uhhhh... all the snapshots you want. Anytime.”

“Ok, ok, ok let’s not get carried away,” Jason replied with a grimace and a long-suffering expression. “Even I would have a problem if someone tried to take pictures of me at any hour of the day, in any position.”

“Uhhhh...”

“No, don’t even go there,” Jason cut in, shaking his head. “Taking pictures of me as Robin doesn’t count. You took a lot of pictures of me without my knowledge, but you never took a bad picture of me.”

“Well...” Jason rolled his eyes. “You’ve never tried to take photos of me right after I wake up or on the toilet or after I’ve fucked up and come back bruised and dripping blood.” “Ok, yeah, fair,” Tim laughed. “So...yeah. For now, how about we stick to occasional selfies and casual shots of each other when we hang in private? I’ll ask first in any other setting. Sound cool?”

Jason waited until Tim nodded then reached awkwardly with the hand holding the phone to flick the lamp on his side of the bed off, plunging them into semi-darkness. "Come on, Babybird, I'm beat. It's about time we go 'undercover'," Jason said with a wink. He pulled the sheets up around them and wrapped an arm around Tim to pull him down. Tim shook his head at the dorky quip, but allowed Jason to pull him in, curling in close so that he could rest his head on Jason's chest once more.

Tim had almost drifted off when the low rumble of a laugh under his cheek abruptly pulled him back. He lifted his head groggily and cracked an eye to see Jason holding his phone over his head, swiping through the recent photos. Jason stopped on the last picture, the one of both of them - Tim smiling genuinely for the second time in less than six hours while Jason looked like someone had punched him in the face - and murmured, "Almost beautiful."

"What do you mean 'almost'?" Tim grumbled, half-amused and half-offended, pulling away to squint at the other man in the darkness.

It was only a minute before Tim realized that Jason wasn’t fighting beside him anymore, but it was a minute too long. Jason had hit his head on the way down and wasn’t awake to struggle or float.

Tim pulled Jason out of the river with arms aching and a new appreciation for the sturdiness of a good belt. He’d almost strangled Jason with his own jacket a good few times before getting a good grip on Jason’s belt, and he hoped Jason would be as grateful for it as Tim was when he woke up.

Tim refused to let himself think ‘if he woke up’. Jason would wake up. He had to.

Jason opened his eyes to a room with a straw roof and windows with no glass to filter the bright light shining on him.

“You’re awake!” a voice said from somewhere he couldn’t see.

“Am I?” Jason muttered, and looked down at himself. He was wearing his own boxers and a loose shirt that must have belonged to the man who spoke just now. “Where am I?”

“You’re here because you need something,” the man said, coming into view from behind a curtain. Jason could see a glimpse of a bed, before the curtain dropped. He was old, laugh lines strong on his face. His face looked familiar, but Jason knew he’d never seen the man before -- it was the sort of familiarity born of seeing the same expression in different faces over the years. This man was a teacher, and the good kind: the kind who would rather his students have the achievements than he get praise for it.

“They always are,” the old man added, and swept off before Jason could ask who ‘they’ were. He returned holding something wrapped in a bright white cloth which was a bit longer than a paper towel roll but enough like it in width that Jason had to blink a few times to make sure it wasn’t one.

“This is for you,” the man said, handing it over. The cloth was soft; Jason took a few seconds to feel it before he started peeling at the free end.

Jason unwrapped, and kept unwrapping, until he finally felt there was something hard in the middle and there was brown staining the white cloth. The bottom of Jason’s stomach dropped out suddenly; he’d seen that color on cloth too many times to be really unsettled by it, but it seemed wrong to see it on all that white.

He found out why there was blood stiffening the fabric when he got to the middle and found a knife lying there, covered in dried blood. It was a combat knife, serrated on one side and a sharp, straight edge on the other and just as black as the Batman’s cape under all the blood. It had been a beautiful knife one day, before someone had put it away without taking care of it first. For a fleeting moment, Jason was tempted to hunt down the owner and give them a lesson in proper knife care, but that was overshadowed by his confusion at the situation.

“Why did you give me this?”

“It’s yours,” the man answered.

Jason had never seen this knife before, and if this was a gift he’d be asking for the gift slip in about two seconds, because this was not a good state for a knife to be in.

“I can’t use it,” Jason said. “It’s got blood all over it.”

The old man smiled kindly. “So do you,” he replied. Jason looked down, but there was no blood on him. “The blood doesn’t make it less of a knife, does it?”

Jason rubbed at the knife, but nothing happened. “The blood’s not coming off,” he pointed out, frowning.

The man handed him a map and grinned. “That’s where your quest comes in. You’re going to wash it in the Fountain.”

“What’s the Fountain?” Jason asked, and then looked down at the map. The Fountain was marked; it was a lake which looked perfectly circular.

“It’s the only water that can clean all that blood off,” the man said. He looked up suddenly. “It’s time.”

Jason glanced up too, wondering if there was a clock on the ceiling now. There wasn’t; still only the beams under the thatching. “Time for what?”

“You have to start now,” the old man ordered, pushing him through a curtain which lead outside; Jason stumbled over the grass just past the threshold.

The sky was completely covered with clouds, but still as bright as a sunlit day. Jason was used to Gotham skies, so this was normal to him. The only problem was, he knew Gotham like the back of his hand -- but this place? He’d been counting on the sun to show where north was, when the man had first given him the map.

“How do I know where I’m going?” he asked, and the man grinned, mischievous and even brighter than anything Jason’d seen on his face yet.

“You’ll figure it out,” said the old man. Then he disappeared behind his curtain again.

Jason looked out at the world around him, and down at the blood-caked knife. He shrugged, picked a direction, and started walking.

It was about twenty minutes, he judged, before he stopped and checked the map.

There were supposed to be fields around him right now, not a forest.

“You’re going the wrong way,” someone behind him pointed out, and Jason whirled around. He recognized that voice.

“Damian?” he said, like it was a question, but Jason already knew it was him.

The Brat Wonder was perched on a branch, swinging his legs and smirking at Jason like he’d finally found the way to literally look down his nose at the world.

“How did you get here?” Not that Jason knew where ‘here’ was, but still -- someone ought to keep their eye on the pint-sized terror.

“I walked,” Damian said. “I knew you’d go the wrong way. It’s very like you, Todd.”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Jason asked, almost offended.

“Only that you never seem to go where you want to go,” Damian replied, and let himself fall. Jason’s breath caught in his throat; but Damian landed safely and smoothly rose to his feet.

“You’ll have to go the right way this time,” Damian told him.

Jason growled, and kept his voice calm in his next statement with great difficulty.

“Which way would that be?”

Damian smirked, and pointed in almost the exact direction Jason had come from.

“Of fucking course,” Jason sighed, and paused just before he turned around. “You want to come with me? Maybe show me the way?”

“No,” answered Damian. “The way is yours to find. But perhaps I could shadow you, stay out of sight and tell you if you lose yourself again.”

“I would appreciate that,” Jason said. And maybe he’d be able to get Damian back to his family this way, after he found the Fountain everyone wanted him to visit.

He set off and Damian disappeared again, into the trees like he’d decided against following Jason after all. Jason knew Damian was still following, though, somehow.

Jason continued until he came to a fork in the road and he muttered, as though to himself, “And which way am I supposed to go here?” He was rewarded with a rock which seemingly threw itself down the right path, and Jason ducked his head so his invisible companion wouldn’t see his grin.

He came to a clearing filled with dandelions, and the clouds were so bright that the dandelions lit up like they were the ones glowing.

There was a man there with his back to Jason. Jason thought he would’ve recognized him even if the man hadn’t turned around when he heard the grass rustling.

“Dick,” Jason said.

Dick smiled, somehow happy and sad at once. Jason knew that smile; it was the only one he’d gotten from Dick lately, on the rare occasions Dick did smile.

“Hi, Jay,” said Dick, almost as quiet as the dandelions shifting in the wind.

Jason didn’t know what to say without something immediately wrong to talk about. Words bubbled out of him. “I have Damian with me,” he said. “He’s safe.”

“I know,” Dick replied, letting his lips curve up a little more. Then, “Let me see your knife.”

“It’s not mine,” Jason objected, because he took better care of his knives, but fumbled it from his belt anyway. The blood on it looked even dirtier against Dick’s hands.

Dick ran his fingers along the flat of the blade and rubbed at a particularly dark spot, watching it flake off. Jason frowned; he had tried that, and it hadn’t worked for him at all. He didn’t have time to wonder why it worked for Dick, because Dick stopped in the next moment and gripped the knife’s handle tightly.

“You have to keep going,” Dick told him urgently, and stepped closer.

For a short, panicked moment, Jason thought Dick was going to use the knife on him. He flinched back, and Dick paused for a long second before slowly offering the knife to Jason by its blade.

“Uh. Thanks.”

Dick hadn’t managed to get much of the blood off, but it was something. Jason didn’t know what was up with that.

“Go,” said Dick. Jason frowned, but he went.

There was only one path from there, which was lucky because Jason was pretty sure he’d left his guiding shadow back with Dick.

It started to drizzle, as the trees thinned out; not enough to make him wish for an umbrella, but the damp made it feel a little more like Gotham. It was too bright still, but he could close his eyes and pretend, if he wanted to.

It wasn’t long before he found another large clearing, and with it, he found Tim.

Tim was wearing his Red Robin suit, cowl down and hair mussed like he’d been wearing it only seconds before. It was a familiar image; Jason couldn’t say how often he’d seen Tim like that, both in the real world and in his imagination.

“What are you doing here?” Jason asked.

Tim grinned, wide and bright.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m here to help.”

“You practice saying that, don’t you,” replied Jason, amused by the thought.

“Shut up and take help when it’s given,” Tim suggested primly. It sounded like he was imitating Alfred; the latter part was something Jason had heard said to Bruce many, many times.

“How are you going to help me?”

“Give me the knife and I’ll show you,” said Tim.

“Of course,” Jason muttered, sighing. He handed it over easily enough, and watched Tim fiddle with the knife for a few seconds. Despite the rain to help, the dried blood wasn’t coming off any easier for Tim than it had for Jason. He found himself unexpectedly disappointed by that.

Tim frowned at the knife, then looked up toward the clouds above them and smiled. He weighed it in his hand for a second before lifting it to his own throat in a motion too quick for Jason to stop.

“Tim!” Jason lunged, but Tim dodged his reaching hands as easily as he ever did. “Don’t --”

“Don’t worry,” Tim echoed himself, laughing, and turned his hand so the blade lay flat against his throat.

Jason stopped his attempts at the knife. His hands were suddenly adrift in the air; his thoughts fizzing out like the last dregs of a soda just on the edge of going stale.

“What...”

Tim let his hands drop. There were flakes on his neck now, and the rain distorted the sight so it looked almost like fresh blood, or gemstones, rust-red against his skin.

“You have to take it to the Fountain now,” Tim said quietly. “Don’t stop again until you get there. It’ll be worth it.”

“Worth it,” Jason repeated with narrowed eyes. “And how exactly would you know?”

“I’m very smart, you should listen to me more,” replied Tim, eyebrows raised like he was challenging Jason.

“Yeah, I’ll start doing that as soon as I can,” said Jason insincerely. “Mind pointing me in the direction of this Fountain?”

“It’s that way” -- Tim pointed -- “and it’s close. You’ll find it soon enough.”

“Soon enough for what,”Jason muttered, but Tim ignored him. Jason shook his head and started walking in the right direction, taking note of the shape of the clouds in that way. It wasn’t as accurate as actually knowing which way north was, but it was better than nothing.

“Don’t you want a goodbye kiss?” Tim was grinning, his head ducked mischievously and his lip caught between his teeth. It was a good look on him.

Jason stopped in his tracks and turned to look at him fully. “Are you asking for one?”

“Yeah, I am,” Tim told him.

Jason glanced down at the blood flakes on Tim’s neck, then back up at the soft smile on his face.

“Okay,” said Jason. He stepped in to rest his hand on Tim’s cheek and press their lips together for a moment that seemed both too short and just right.

Tim’s eyes were still closed when Jason pulled away, the ghost of his smile pulling the corners of his lips up.

“I’ll see you when it’s over,” Tim said, and Jason nodded wordlessly, hearing it for the goodbye that it was.

Jason started walking the way Tim had shown him. It was growing darker; either the trees above him were blocking the light better, or the sun was going down behind all the clouds. Jason guessed it was both. It gave the forest an eerie quality, and even the slightest rustle had Jason on his guard.

Jason wasn’t surprised when a shadow slipped from behind a tree to join him.

“What took you so long?” he groused, glancing at Bruce sidelong.

Bruce didn’t have the costume on, discarding that in lieu of a white shirt and dark jeans, but his serious expression held all of the gravity of the Batman. It was enough to make Jason’s hackles raise -- not that that was hard; Bruce’s mere presence was enough for that, most days.

“I was waiting for you,” Bruce replied. A more relaxed man might’ve put his hands in his pockets, but Bruce let his arms move only slightly, like he was a toy soldier brought to life who hadn’t quite gotten the hang of elbows yet.

“That must’ve been hard for you,” said Jason, irony dripping from the tone of his voice.

Bruce only looked at him, that patient blank face that he always used when he wasn’t putting on some mask or other. Jason itched to do something just to make Bruce’s expression crack at the seams a little, but he must’ve grown as a person because he didn’t let himself act on the impulse. Progress.

“Do you know where this Fountain is?” he asked instead.

Bruce nodded and strode on ahead, shoulders shifting slightly in that way which would’ve made his cape flare out dramatically if he’d had the costume on. He always used to do that at home when he wasn’t being Brucie, let the edges of Bruce and Batman blur into each other; Jason found himself suppressing a small, fond smile.

Jason didn’t have to follow Bruce for long, which was good -- he’d started to look idly along the path for little pebbles to throw at Bruce’s back. They came upon a cobblestone area that was lit up like it hadn’t noticed the sun was setting on the rest of the world around it, and in the center of the stones was a wide basin with water spilling down gently from a bowl in the middle.

“So, this is it, huh?” It didn’t seem all that impressive to him. It sure didn’t deserve the capital letter he’d just known his family was giving the word. He’d seen fancier drinking fountains in Gotham.

“Yes,” said Bruce. “This is it. Give me the knife.”

Jason set his jaw and leaned back a bit, evaluating Bruce with narrowed eyes. Taking orders from Bruce still rankled, even now when they were both trying.

“Please,” Bruce added, seeing Jason’s mulish expression.

It was enough. Jason gave it to him, hoping this was the last time he’d have to hand the knife over to anyone. He’d grown oddly attached to it by now, even with its stains and dull edges. He almost hoped he really would be able to get it clean, and then keep it afterward.

Bruce only glanced at the knife for a second before wiping the blade across his white shirt and leaving a wide red-orange streak. Jason had to blink a few times to convince his brain that the streak hadn’t formed a bat on Bruce’s chest.

“You’ll have to wash it in the bowl,” Bruce said. “The basin’s not going to be good enough.”

Of course it wasn’t. Jason rolled his eyes, and couldn’t help but needle Bruce. “You’re too lazy to do it yourself?” he mocked.

“I can’t touch the water,” said Bruce matter-of-factly.

Jason let out an amused huff in the next breath. “What? You can’t? I don’t see anything stopping you, B.” He took the knife back despite his words, shaking his head.

Bruce didn’t answer, choosing instead to step back and nod toward the bowl like he was offering it its chance to take the spotlight. Jason snorted, and stepped in carefully, trying not to slip on the tiles at the bottom of the water.

The bowl wasn’t far from the edge -- only just far enough that he couldn’t have reached without stepping in. Jason dunked the knife in the water and watched, dumbfounded, as the old blood floated off like there’d never been any trouble getting it off.

“Huh,” said Jason. He checked over the knife to make sure it was fully clean, then stowed it in his belt so he could get out easier.

He tried to walk toward the edge so he could get out -- but when he went to turn around, Jason found that he couldn’t lift his feet.

“Bruce,” Jason said, feeling his pulse kick up and his throat get tight, “Bruce, I can’t move. I can’t move, Bruce, help me.”

“I can’t touch the water, Jason,” Bruce said. This time, it looked like it hurt to say. “It’s all yours. I can’t help you with this, you won’t let me.”

“But I want you to help me!” Jason yelled, trying desperately to yank his feet from the bottom.

With a sick feeling, Jason realized the tiles under him were sinking. Water was rising up out of the cracks in the bottom. It stayed at the same level while he and the bottom went down, down, down.

Bruce looked like he was two yards away and a million miles at the same time. “You’ll have to tell me that.”

“I just did!”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Bruce. “You’ll have to talk to me, Jason. I can’t help you now.”

There was something about his voice that reminded Jason of Doctor Fate’s. It had to have been Bruce being confusing that did it. Jason was confused -- and scared.

“I’m drowning. You can’t help me, and I’m drowning,” Jason said blankly.

“No, you’re not,” Bruce pointed out. “Not anymore. Tim got you out.”

The water was at his neck now, and Tim was nowhere in sight. Jason would have scoffed, but he didn’t dare.

“Help,” he croaked, “please,” as the water tickled his chin.

“I’m sorry,” was all Bruce said before everything went black.

“You’re awake,” is the first thing he heard when he opened his eyes. Tim’s voice, close to him, relieved. It’s a good sound to wake up to.

“Yeah,” Jason breathed, looking around. They were in Tim’s apartment, in Tim’s guest room if Jason wasn’t mistaken. He thought he recognized the bookshelf, at least.

He was really here. He’d been asleep. Or --

“Did I pass out?”

“That’s what happens when you can’t breathe,” Tim said, looking half-tempted to throttle him. “You could’ve drowned. There was a gunman who got your helmet and then you threw it at him. And then you were pushed in by another man who’d snuck up from the side.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Jason told him, sorting through his blurry memories of what had happened. He tried to sit up, but couldn’t -- both because his body was too weak, and because Tim had barred him from going upright with an arm across his chest. Jason sighed. “All right, what’s the prognosis, Doc?”

“Leslie’s already been,” said Tim smugly. “Lots of bedrest, lots of soup, no strenuous activity, and a checkup in a few days with some house visits in store if you develop pneumonia. Which is likely.”

Jason stared at him for a second, then asked, “She trusted you to make soup? She’s braver than I thought!”

“Oh, shut up, I can make soup from a can,” Tim informed him, rolling his eyes.

“Or you could ask Alfred to package some,” Jason suggested, but he was interrupted in the middle by his own yawn.

Tim shook his head and stood up. “All right, back to sleep. I’ll have some food and water for you next time you wake up.”

“But I just woke up,” protested Jason despite his eyelids growing heavier by the second.

“And you need rest,” Tim said.

He leaned in and kissed Jason on the forehead. Jason closed his eyes to savor it for a moment and sighed.

Tim pulled back and smiled fondly at Jason, running a gentle hand through his hair. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

—

Ughhhhh.

Tim grimaced at the spikes of intense pain that shot through the dull ache in his head as he moved in an attempt to sit up. He squinted into the gloom, straining to make out his surroundings through the blurriness that fogged his sight.

“Hey,” a voice spoke from his left. Tim’s vision cleared enough for him to notice Jason approach from the side, phone in one hand and a small flashlight in the other.

“Good. You’re awake. I was about two minutes away from calling in B or stuffing you into civvies and dragging your ass to the nearest hospital no matter what kind of questions it would raise later,” Jason said, kneeling down to peer into Tim’s face.

Tim stared blankly at the other man for a few hazy seconds before his memory began the mad scramble to catch up. He had been on patrol and then…

“How long was I out?” Tim still couldn’t remember much, but he could feel the knowledge hovering at the edge consciousness. Beneath the dull ache his head felt fuzzy and tight, like it was stuffed full of cotton or clouds or…

“Nearly an hour,” Jason replied, flashing the light into Tim’s eyes mercilessly, ignoring his pained flinches. “And you’re definitely concussed, but your vitals were strong and your reactions have been ok, so I didn’t want to jump the gun on taking you in.” Even if Jason had called B, they still would have had to take Tim to a hospital; there just wasn’t much B or Alfred - or even Leslie Thompkins - could do if they suspected a severe traumatic brain injury.

Tim nodded gingerly. Jason stood and stretched with a groan, working the tension from his shoulders. Tim looked around slowly, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. “Where are we?”

“One of my lesser-used safe houses. It’s more or less a bolthole, it’s that small. But it’s a well-equipped bolthole, and on that note…” Jason wandered off deeper into the dim space, leaving Tim alone to take in his surroundings.

He lay on a long, well-worn couch, his legs covered by a single pilly blanket. He was still in his Red Robin suit, but Jason had removed his cape and cowl and they were nowhere in sight. Tim’s vision spun as he sat up just enough to peer into the gloom beyond the back of the couch. He fought down a wince at the pain that shot through his side at the movement.

Pain in his side… the blows to my ribs! Tim’s eyes widened as the rest of the night flooded back to him.

He had been having a pretty quiet night on patrol and had eventually decided to head home early. The only thing he had wanted to do before officially calling it a night was to head over to Red Hood’s territory so he could ask him a few questions about a case they had worked on together a couple of weeks back - just a few quick questions he had wanted to clear up face-to-face while he had had the free time to track Hood down. So, of course, just as he was heading over to find Hood, he had run across a group of thugs roughing up what had seemed to be a rival faction.

Tim had thrown himself into the fray hoping that at least one side of the fight would take advantage of the interruption and flee, but instead they had seemed to take great offense to his interference, and wasted no time in focusing their combined energies on him instead.

To make matters worse, what had originally looked like an altercation between three or so guys on one side and four on the other had turned out to be more than twelve people combined after they all turned on the meddling vigilante. Oh, and they had been well-trained, he couldn’t forget that.

Tim shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose with a grimace. A twelve-on-one fight with trained mercenaries. He sighed. It’s always something, isn’t it?

He winced again at the twinge of pain that ran through his side and the memory of the multiple blows he’d taken to it during that overwhelming onslaught.

“Hey. Your head still bothering you badly?”

Tim jumped and lowered his hand from this face. He was so out of it that Jason had walked around the couch and right up to his side without him even noticing. Tim shook his head as Jason knelt beside him, Jason’s worried expression darkening regardless.

“No, it’s actually starting to clear up now. I can remember the fight and everything after up until the point I passed out.” Tim huffed a laugh. “Sorry for ignoring your calls; I was a little out of it, you know?”

Jason narrowed his eyes at Tim’s ill-timed attempt at humor and studied him intensely. The searching look went on so long that Tim started to feel uncomfortable meeting the other man’s gaze, but eventually Jason seemed to come to some sort of conclusion, rose again with a sigh, and grabbed the first aid kit and cold packs he had brought over. “It hurt anywhere else?” Jason asked.

Tim used a hand on the back of the couch to pull himself up further, fighting down another wince as he did. He raised his eyebrows at Jason as he hovered closely, one hand held out to steady Tim should he fall over or pass out again. “I took some pretty hard hits to my ribs that are bothering me, and I’m sure I’m banged up elsewhere and can’t feel it yet, but I don’t think I’m bleeding anywhere,” he answered. He finally pulled himself fully upright, then swung his legs over the side of the couch gingerly.

Jason nodded. “No, not externally, at least.” He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his already messy hair. “Ok, let’s get you out of that suit, then, and see what we’ve got.”

Tim stood and Jason steadied him as he swayed dizzily. Together they picked their way through all of the various traps and zippers of his suit, and then, after a few minutes of creative wriggling and pained gasps, Tim finally managed to extricate himself with minimal aggravation to his wounds. He lowered himself back onto the couch slowly, closing his eyes at the pain as he leaned back into the seat. He heard a hiss and snapped his eyes open again to see Jason standing a step back, absentmindedly clutching Tim’s balled-up suit in his hands, and wincing as his gaze swept over Tim’s exposed body.

“Holy shit, Babybird. You look like you took a tumble in a dryer filled with rocks.”

Tim followed Jason’s wide-eyed gaze down and winced at the sight of various bruises rising up on his skin from ankles to neck. They looked worse than they felt at the moment, but now that the excitement and adrenaline were wearing off he was sure the rest of the pain would catch up to him soon. The great part about his kevlar-reinforced suit was that it would take the brunt of a hit and disperse it across a wider area, but the downside was that you still tended to bruise pretty badly.

The nastiest-looking of the bruises stretched across his ribs and torso. Jason reached out towards them and Tim gave a silent nod of permission for Jason to approach so he could feel at the splotches darkening across Tim’s chest. Jason watched Tim’s face carefully as he slid careful, calloused fingers along each of Tim’s ribs, noting the flinches and pained twitches Tim tried to tamp down as he prodded the more sensitive areas.

“Well, it doesn’t feel like any of your ribs are snapped outright…” Jason trailed off, biting his tongue between his teeth as he felt at the bruising across the rest of Tim’s torso. Tim frowned at the soreness, but thankfully there was no stabbing pain, tightness, or stiff bloating which could indicate there might be more serious bleeding underneath.

“And it doesn’t look like the rest of these have any internal bleeding underneath, however,” Jason continued, backing off again and reaching behind him to grab a bottle of water and a bottle of painkillers. “Your ribs are pretty badly bruised, probably hairline fractured in a couple spots, and the rest of you is so banged-up that I say you should probably take it easy for the next couple of days. Okay?”

Tim hated the idea, but Jason’s assessments sounded spot-on and his suggestions made sense, so he couldn’t disagree in good conscious. He took the bottle and swallowed the pills in silence.

“You can rest-up here tonight, and if you try to keep ice on most of…” Jason gestured to all of Tim, “…this, then you shouldn’t be hurting too bad come tomorrow.”

Tim groaned. He pulled the ice-packs up onto his chest and over onto the largest bruises on his leg, then laid back and turned over to curl up on his undamaged side, forehead pressed into the back of the couch. “Ok, Nurse Jay. Will do,” he grumbled. He closed his eyes, pressed his face further into the cushion to block out all traces of light, and concentrated on trying to will away his pounding headache.

“Hey, hey, hey, no falling asleep yet, grumpy-ass,” Jason laughed, tugging on Tim’s shoulder and leaning over him so he could peer into Tim’s face. “Or did you forget that your brain is as bruised as the rest of you?” Tim turned his head far enough to blink up blearily at the smirking man, then gave a drawn out groan as Jason started to tug him upright again.

“I’d let you stay in my bed, but this place is so small that this is the bed, and wouldn’t you know it, it’s the only chair too,” Jason quipped, offering another ice-pack that Tim ignored morosely. “So move on over a bit; I’m going to wiggle in behind you and wake you up every hour so you don’t die in your sleep.”

Tim shot him a dirty look, but scooted down the couch just enough to allow Jason room to slide in behind him. Jason slid one leg in-between Tim and the back of the couch, and let his other leg hang over the side, leaving Tim seated comfortably between his legs.

Tim tensed for a moment at the feeling of entrapment when Jason reached an arm across him to pull the blanket up over their legs, but relaxed as Jason eased him back against his chest. They started out pressed back-to-chest, but as Jason shifted around, first to shove away the first aid kit, then to dim the side-table lamp, and then to pull out a book, Tim let himself slide down until his head was more or less resting in Jason’s lap, his body securely wedged between Jason’s warm legs.

He flinched slightly when Jason unexpectedly moved the last ice-pack to cover one side of his face - apparently to cover some nasty bruises on his cheek and temple he hadn’t started to feel yet; bruises that had probably come from the same blows that had also bruised the inside his head - but within minutes the cooling numbness of the packs, the soothing warmth of Jason around him, and the heavy feeling in his chest and limbs that pulled him down into the plush cushions of the well-worn couch lulled him into sleep. He let his eyes sink closed listening to Jason hum quietly as he turned another page in his book.

The last thing Tim was conscious of before he drifted off that first time was the feeling of Jason’s fingers gently sifting through his hair.

—

A little over a week later, Tim had finally gotten the all clear from Leslie to go back on patrol. His concussion had been moderate and Leslie had been less than pleased that Jason hadn’t brought Tim to her right away, regardless of the time-of-day or situation, but she had seemed content enough with how Jason had handled it, in any case. Tim had been grounded entirely from his patrols and caseload - Bruce had even made him take days off from Wayne Enterprises work - but after a few days of rest and observation, it looked like he was good to go again.

His bruised limbs and sore ribs were another story. Leslie confirmed Jason’s tentative diagnosis of hairline fractures in his ribs and recommended that he go easy on them whenever possible. The rest of his bruises were slowly fading, but much of the soreness and tenderness remained, not that a little residual soreness would keep Red Robin indoors when there were streets to prowl.

It was only Tim’s second night back when some chatter came over the comms about something big going down at the docks. Tim was on the other side of town, and just about finished with his patrol, when an urgent beeping in his earpiece prompted him to switch to their emergency frequency.

It was Oracle. “Red Robin, I need you at the docks. NOW.”

On his way over Tim learned that Jason had been following a lead that had turned out to be related to a case Batman and Robin were investigating down in the warehouse district. The three of them had moved in on the info, which had led them straight into a well-laid trap, and then, apparently, things had turned nasty fast.

B and R had made it out relatively unscathed and pursued their target from the scene, but Red Hood had reportedly taken the brunt of the beating and Oracle had recently lost contact. Worried that Hood might be in over his head, Oracle was sending Red Robin in to back him up or extract him, if necessary.

On a positive note, by the time Tim made it to the scene, the fighting had ended and he could clearly see Hood limping away from a gaggle of hog-tied criminals.

On a not-so-positive note, as soon as Hood stepped under the lamp of the closest streetlight, Tim could see the evidence on his body of just how rough that fighting had been.

Hood was favoring his left side heavily. There were scrapes, scratches, and mars in the kevlar panels of his armor. One side of his leather jacket looked like a wildcat had taken its claws to it. The helmet he held under one arm was scratched down to the bare metal and was dented so much on one side that it couldn’t have been wearable anymore. Instead, Jason’s identity was concealed by his strikingly red domino, but beside it there was also the sheen of strikingly fresh blood streaking down one side of his face. Familiar words sprung to Tim’s mind as he took in the damage.

“…Holy fuck, Hood. You look like you took a tumble in a dryer filled with rocks. And a few angry cats.”

“Fuck you,” Hood shot back, grimacing, but with a little huff of a laugh for the recycled sass. Tim moved in to help but waited for the silent nod of approval from Hood before he wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled Hood’s arm over his shoulder to steady him as he swayed on the spot.

“What happened?” Tim asked.

Hood - Jason - explained as they made their way back to Tim’s bike, and then in snatches as they rode back to Tim’s apartment - further away than Jason’s, but larger and better stocked, in Tim’s opinion - of how Jason had arrived at the scene on his bike only to find that the dynamic duo had already gone in without him and that the whole place was in utter chaos.

Within seconds of his arrival, some idiot swung a crane - complete with heavy payload and an obnoxiously large boom - over the scene in a wild attempt to hit one of the vigilantes and that had forced Jason to dump his bike while coming in at fifty miles per hour. Tim shook his head in chagrin as Jason recounted barely managing to jump clear of the sliding vehicle before he and the bike had skidded at roadway speeds into the warehouse complex, scraping across ragged concrete and patches of torn-up asphalt along the way. Well, that explained the scratches.

The rest of the fight after that hadn’t been much better. Rather quickly they’d figured out that the info they’d dug up on the meeting had been planted with the specific intent to lure out as many vigilante “problems” as possible so they could be eliminated. The sheer number of thugs and hired guns they’d had to go up against had made the trap part of that pretty clear pretty quickly.

He and Batman had managed to intercept most of the thugs, giving Robin a chance to clear a way out, but in the end even the three of them couldn’t hold out against such numbers. Jason had taken some heavy hits to his left side and leg. Robin had been limping, too, after an explosion had thrown both he and Hood halfway across the yard. Batman had taken at least one bullet in one of his thicker armor-plates, and Jason had taken at least two. Some idiot with a baseball bat had gone after Robin near the end and Jason had been irate and stupid enough at the sight of it to intentionally jump between them; he had taken a swing right to the helmet before he ripped the dented piece of scrap off and bashed the bastard over the head with it.

The bosses they had been after had torn out of there not long after that. Batman and Robin had run off right on their tail, leaving Jason to mop up the rest, much to his chagrin and annoyance.

Guiding Jason into his apartment and starting a more detailed assessment, Tim had to admit the man looked every inch as beat up as he had described. Suit and jacket shredded, cuts to his face, hunching over one side, limping and probably bruised over most of his body under the battered suit; Jason looked utterly spent and Tim couldn’t blame him.

Pulling off Jason’s suit piece by piece a minute later, Tim felt grateful for the sturdy kevlar clothing. As predicted Jason’s arms and torso were a spectacular mass of bruises - especially the side on which Jason had mentioned taking those heavy hits - but gentle prods to Jason’s ribs gave Tim hope that at least one of them had managed to make it through the week without rib fractures.

Jason’s lack of headache and quick responses to stimuli soothed Tim’s fears that he might have sustained a head injury, something entirely possible even with a helmet to absorb most of the blow from that bat.

What surprised Tim were the little scratches Jason had all over - probably from dirt and microscopic gravel that had snuck in around collars and though the seams to rub against Jason’s skin from inside the suit - and the friction burns that ran up and down one side of his body. It must have be a long skid indeed to give Jason burns inside kevlar. Jason winced tiredly at the way the fabric scraped across tender skin as they pulled it off.

The taller man didn’t even bother pulling on fresh clothes or cleaning up much beyond wiping a washcloth across his face - Tim had to bat it away so he could disinfect and butterfly shut the shallow laceration that had sheeted blood down the side of Jason’s face earlier - before he trudging off to Tim’s bedroom and falling into bed without preamble. Tim took a few more minutes to clean up Jason’s clothes, strip out of his own suit, and lock up before heading to bed himself.

Washing up quickly - no point to showering if Jason was sleeping in his bed having not - Tim hovered in the doorway of his bathroom, studying the tangle of limbs on his bed that constituted his friend, his partner, his lover. Jason moaned from underneath an arm thrown across his face.

“You comin’ or you just gonna keep standin’ there watchin’ like a creeper, Babybird?”

Tim huffed a gentle laugh. “I was just thinking about what a pair we make right now; beat-up and bruised in every color of the rainbow.” He let a wry smirk lighten his expression.

“And you know, I’m not sure I want to get into bed with all those arms and legs you like to throw around in the middle of the night. I’m still pretty bruised up myself,” he teased softly.

Jason grumbled unintelligibly in response, bringing both hands up to scrub at his face. The only words Tim caught were something along the lines of “too quiet” and “speak up”. So he did.

“I’M. BRUISED. YOU. KICK. AT. NIGHT. YOU. ASS.” Tim repeated loudly, amused more than annoyed by Jason’s put-upon grumpiness.

Jason snorted softly and dropped his hands to shoot Tim a cracked grin and a mischievous look.

“Hey, Bruised, I’m Battered,” Jason bantered, winking cheesily. “Care to join me in bed so we can be ‘Bruised and Battered’ together?”

Tim groaned, but couldn’t hold back a smile that was mirrored in the affectionate one Jason wore as he watched Tim suffer through his poor attempts at humor. Jason stretched out his arms to beckon Tim into them. Tim lowered himself onto the bed gingerly, then wriggled in close.

“Ouch.”

“Dammit.”

“Uhhhh, if you…move that leg…”

“Wait, Tim, stop, STOP!”

Relaxation was Tim's favourite part of his weekly yoga class. Of course it was. It gave him time to let his body accept the fifty-minute session and allowed his mind to flow free of all the negativity of the previous seven days. Pure, necessary bliss.

Originally, he had been reluctant to start the classes. Yoga had never really interested him too much, and even if he had wanted to start, he could've done it in private, at the manor. But no. Dick had insisted. 'This guy is the best', he'd said as he pulled out the it'll-be-fun grin, 'you're so stressy right now, you could use the time out'.

And who was Tim to refuse Dick on - well - anything.

But it had all worked out well in the end. Tim had been attending the sessions for six months now and was really reaping the spiritual benefits. Plus, it was nice to get out of the mansion for a reason that wasn't work or patrol.

And now, lying peacefully on his back, eyes closed, knees up, feet planted, was one of the times he absolutely relished his new hobby.

"Today we'll work to ground you during your relaxation session." Josh, the smooth-voiced teacher, addressed his class. "Grounding occurs through your root chakra, which is positioned between your thighs. Take a few breaths to see if you can locate and acknowledge this chakra."

Tim couldn't help the small peaceful smile that took his lips as he took a shallow inhale and visualized the energy of it spiralling down his spine and to the aforementioned chakra. He could almost see the red colour of it flood his closed eyelids. It was truly serene.

"Now start to feel your body sinking into the mat... Deep into the ground..."

Tim sighed peacefully at the calming instructions and allowed his body to follow them with little to no thought.

"I don't know about you but the ground isn't half as exciting as something else I'd like to be sinking into right now." The hushed teasing voice in his ear had Tim's eyes snapping open and pushing up to sit. He hoped his sharp intake of breath hadn't disturbed any of his classmates, and glanced around to find that luckily everyone in the room - instructor included - remained laid down, eyes shut on their mats.

"Jason!" He mostly mouthed at the man between his raised knees (who had obviously pulled back from being leant over Tim when the smaller boy bolted upright). "What the hell are you doing?"

"Dick let slip our ickle bro was taking yoga lessons and I couldn't resist stopping by to check out that pretty ass of yours being forced out and up at all angles. Apparently I missed the good part though." Jason shrugged through his whispered words that had Tim's eyes flicking around the room in paranoia. But it seemed that Josh's voice accompanied by the relaxation music over the sound system was loud enough and focusing enough to keep anyone else from hearing them.

"You have to go. Now!" Tim ordered near-silently.

"Awh, but you look so good in those tight, little pants!" The compliment had Tim blushing brightly, especially when Jason casually added, "Can almost see that pretty cock of yours through them..."

"Jay! Out! Now!" Tim hissed lowly. "If you leave right now I'll stop by your apartment on my way home and model them for you?"

"A tempting offer..." Jason hummed quietly, eyes raking up and down Tim's bent body. "But I live for the here and now, Timbo." He then leaned in and captured Tim's lips in a slow, deep kiss. It took all of Tim's restraint not to moan into the too-good contact. And he swore he was descending into madness when he actually submitted into the kiss and pushed a hand into Jason's hair.

"Fuck you and your compliments." He whispered against Jason's lips.

"So easy. Just need to call you pretty and you're hard, horny putty in my hands, aren't ya?" Jason's smug smirk against Tim's mouth made Tim bite at Jay's lips to try to get it out of his expression. It didn't work.

"So not a bad thing, pretty bird." Jason's hand was now on Tim's crotch, palming him through his yoga pants, and Tim's secret exhibitionist side was soaring at the idea that they could get caught at any second.

He couldn't actually believe he was doing this. And worse, he couldn't believe Jason's had convinced him too so easily. He really had to work on his resisting skills. This was pathetic.

But the whole situation was kind of hot... And dirty... And Tim hadn't done anything hot and dirty in a long time.

He rolled his hips up to meet Jason's palm and leant back on his hands. He relished in the hungry grin in Jason's expression. And more so, the obvious lump in his skinny jeans. He bit down a whine just about, at the thought of turning Jason on, pleasing Jason. That was his favourite thing.

"Good boy." Jason purred in a near lecherous tone. "Say my name, baby."

Tim bit harder into his lip and shook his head, forcing his eyes open to check if they'd been spotted yet.

"Go on, pretty boy. Moan my name." Jason leant forward to growl in Tim's ear. "Cum for me, and sing my name like the perfect, little bird that you are."

Tim worried his lip with his teeth a little more before releasing it reluctantly.

"J-Jay..." He barely breathed.

"Louder." Jason snarled possessively. "And I thought I told you to cum for me."

The orgasm rushed into him in that moment and he felt himself tighten everywhere, his throat shutting off and trapping the sound. But, of course, not for long. He shuddered through the climax, relaxing for the slightest millisecond. This allowed his voice to be freed again.

His voice was loud and absurd and he didn't even care or realize.

"Jason! Ah-"

...And in that moment, his own voice woke him. And he was back in his real class. With everyone staring at him. And no Jason. And Yogi Josh attempting to hide his sniggering. And a growing wet patch soiling the front of his yoga pants.

Oh god.

"I-Umm..." He felt his face flush hot. Could this be any more embarrassing? "Excuse me!" He squeaked, bundling his mat up in a second and rushing from the room.

He prayed no one in his family ever heard about this.

Especially Jason.

-----

"I'm telling Jason." Dick stated definitively between his fits of laughter.

"You can't!" Tim hissed, keeping his voice as quiet as possible whilst attempting to maintain its harshness. God, he didn't need anyone else knowing about this.

"You had a sex dream about him!" Dick laughed, emphasizing the exact words Tim did not want to be emphasized.

"It was just a dream, Dick! Please!" He resorted to pleading now, hoping this would be more successful. "It didn't mean anything! You can't tell him! Please! Please, I'll cover your Damian-sitting duties for a month!"

"Oh no, you cannot bribe me out of this!" Dick seemed way too smug with himself and it totally tore Tim resolve to pieces.

"Dick..." He whined pathetically, burying his face in his hands. "He'll torture me with this until the day I die! A death that'll probably happen because of this situation! Please!"

"Or..." Dick waggled his eyebrows in a way that proved that literally every part of his body was more flexible or agile than Tim's own. "He'd take you up on it. Show you how he'd really get it done."

-----

Three days later, Tim sat at his desk at WE, working through some disgustingly boring paperwork. The previous incident had been forced from his mind. Eventually. And he'd managed to throw himself into his work. Until he was distracted by the vibration of his cell.

Sighing at the irritation, he blindly reached for his phone and glanced at the recipient. He almost dropped the phone at the sight of the contact name. Worrying his lip in anticipation, he opened the message shakily.

He sucked in a breath at the words and felt his heart jump a little.