#timberkonstephbart

hey @aliteralchicken and @cooki-dough, i finally posted it!! 

it being a timberkonstephbart fic. only it’s currently only timsteph but whatever. 

“Hey Timmy, Tam” Steph says, glancing up from her batter. Tim walks towards the back of the apartment and into the guest room, usually used by Duke or Connor. He peels off his tie and throws it onto an armchair, followed by his vest. 

He can hear Tam’s voice in the kitchen, saying something about Moscow, before someone starts running the sink and the sounds are drowned out. Tim steps out into the living room to see Tam grabbing her peacoat, looking at her phone in one hand. 

“Tim,” she says, “Mom just called. Tiff broke her forearm so I’m just gonna…” She gestures with her thumb towards the door, calls out ‘bye’, then leaves, the click-clack on her heels loud on the linoleum, even through the door. 

Tim shrugs away the quick exit, opening Cass’ fridge and grabbing a bottled orange juice. “Stephie?” 

“Yeah?” 

“My friends from Grieve invited me out tonight. Wanna come?” He unbuttons his button down as he opens the bottle with his thumb. 

Steph glances up from where she’s pouring the batter into a waffle maker, one waffle already steaming on a plate beside her. “The witch girl and the organ pirates dude?” 

Tim huffs a laugh, heading to the bathroom to put on his favorite earrings, simple black jewel studs. “Yeah, Darla𑁋well, Laura now𑁋and Bernard. You’ve met them.” 

“Yeah,” Steph agrees, piling the new waffle on the plate, and putting more batter in. “Before the shootout. Are they still all sunshine and puppies?” 

“No.” Says Tim, who’s applying natural eyeshadow and trying to get Cass’ cat, Assa, to let go of his lip gloss. 

Cass started therapy with some lady from Boston and she apparently recommended a service dog. Dogs were too much work for Cass, who worked as an assistant librarian with Babs and as Black Bat, a frequent hero in Hong Kong, and sometimes member of the Outsiders, so she got herself a cat. Her breed was Birman, and she was an asshole. Cass had named her after her favorite tea, Assam. 

Steph also had a cat, Gemma, a Norwegian forest cat who loved fish way too much. Tim had recently gotten a cat, but the cat lived at Steph’s place so he almost never saw her. 

Over the past three weeks of Steph and Tim’s new relationship, they had tried having sex, mostly because he wanted to get over his fear. He’d known Steph for years, there was no reason to fear her. He knew she would push. (His hands sometimes forgot that𑁋they pushed her away while his head was occupied with shoving away the cloud of fear.) They had only succeeded in actually doing it once. Tim still had an aversion to any form of bondage and not being in charge. Steph had been so fucking nice about it, it made him feel guilty, so he bought her a new waffle maker. 

“Laura is… a whole lot grimmer. Very sarcastic. Bernard is basically the same, though. He’s like Bart, unshakeable.” 

“Laura sounds cool.” Steph says and Cass scurries past him to grab her Black Bat uniform. Babs probably texted her if she’s going to be Black Bat early, at only 5 PM. 

“She is. You’ll like her.” Tim finally manages to take the lip gloss bottle from Assa and applies it liberally to his lips. The bottle is technically Cass’, but she doesn’t wear much makeup and she prefers neutral-colored lipstick anyways. Steph likes pink lip glosses and Tim prefers darker pink and red. He grabs the mascara bottle. 

“Cool. Want some waffles?” Tim pads into the kitchen, dress shoes tapping on hardwood. 

“Yes, please. Can I borrow your sweater, Cass?” Steph passes him a plate of waffles, two, piled with blackberries and whipped cream. 

Cass must be feeling slightly less inclined to talk today, because she just signs ‘Yes’ and climbs out the window and Tim can hear the fire escape sliding. Over the years he’s learned that no amount of stealth can hide you from a creaky fire escape. Steph sits beside him, her plate piled with four waffles, blueberries, raspberries, and Hershey’s chocolate sauce, and inhales harshly yet involuntarily as she picks up her fork. 

“Are your hands acting up?” 

“Yeah, they are. And my back. Fuck.” Steph shoves her plate aside to bang her head on the counter, then moves her plate back. Things Bruce Often Tries To Forget #1: Torture means chronic pain. If you survive. Tim knows for a fact that Bruce’s back hurts when it rains, which is often because this is Gotham. Cass’ back also hurts and Dick gets migraines. Tim’s pain mostly affects his hands, because there have been sometimes where he’s held his staff too long𑁋thirty-four hours or more𑁋or pounded his fists into cowhide too long𑁋stress relief. Steph is affected everywhere, much like Jason, back, chest, hands, head. Even Damian has pain, which makes Tim indescribably sad, so he doesn’t think about it too much, but his back always hurts when it snows. Duke is too young𑁋in vigilante experience𑁋to have chronic pain, but that just means his hands sting from the fresh bruises and his stomach is always mottled with bruises instead of scars. 

“Want me to do your nails and makeup for you? Maybe a massage?” 

“Yeah, thanks. Do your hands hurt?” 

“I wore gloves all day. They kept me warm, stopped the pain a little.” 

They finish their waffles, taking turns playing Subway Surfer on Steph’s phone and talking a little about Steph’s med studies. 

Sitting criss-cross from each other on the guest bed, Tim first turns up the thermostat, and digs his thumbs into the backs of Steph’s hands, then paints Steph’s hands glittery green while she curls and uncurls her non-occupied hand. 

“Okay, what do you want for your makeup?” He says as he dumps an entire basket of makeup products on the bed. 

Steph hums, picking up a bottle of bright blue eyeliner. “I don’t know… Maybe something a little dramatic?” She spins the vial between her fingers, only stuttering a little bit. 

“Sure.” Steph looks gorgeous with her black smokey eyeshadow, light green cat-eye eyeliner, fake freckles on top of her real, almost invisible, freckles, and raspberry pink lip balm. 

“Holy fuck, Tim, you got good.” 

“Yeah, Dick taught me a little bit. And Alfred, surprisingly.” 

Steph gives him a side-eye from where she’s looking in the mirror. “Alfie knows everything, Timbo. Everything.” She even hisses the last ‘everything’ like a cat and Tim giggles, falling back on the bed, hands covering his mouth. 

His chest is lighter than it’s been all day, and even though his hands are starting to tremble and slow, and Assa is scratching his head because he almost landed on her, he grins. The grin re-splits his lip and Steph laughs at his frustrated curse. 

Two hours later sees the waffles burnt off by a walk through the Diamond District to the restaurant, Steph’s hair in a beautiful curly braid with metal rings going through it that had taken the better part of an hour, and Bernard and Laura sitting across from them at the high-end Japanese place, near the Red Lights district. 

Steph is rolling her head side to side, trying to work out the kinks in her neck, which makes her dangling earrings jingle and Tim is plucking at a stray string hanging from the sweater he borrowed from Cass. It’s a lavender color and fits snugly over his white button down. 

Across the table, Bernard pretends to read the menu, but is actually staring at Steph from behind his sunglasses. Laura is blowing bubblegum bubbles, uncaring as she looks Steph up and down rather obviously. Laura and Bernard hadn’t seen Steph since before the gang-war-to-end-all-gang-wars-that-didn’t-actually-end-all-gang-wars and a lot of things had changed since then. 

Steph’s eyes were paler then they were before and Tim still wasn’t sure if it was because of that one time she died, because she lost her adolescent innocence, or just his own imagination. He was 78% percent sure he hadn’t imagined his eyes growing lighter in the mirror. 

A waitress, name tag reading ‘Sophie’ pops up, wearing glaringly bright makeup and jewelry𑁋the kind of stuff you buy in bulk for $2 in Otisburg. Everything in Otisburg is cheap but usually good quality, the pro to the con of living near numerous Rogue hideouts. 

Laura orders for all of them, popping bubblegum once again before spitting it out to take a sip of her icy Coke. 

Conversation is still stilted amongst them; Tim’s not sure if Laura or Bernard even remember Steph in the mess that was their sophomore year. 

Probably not. 

“So, Bernie,” Tim says because he likes tempting fate𑁋”Timmy”𑁋”What are you doing? College or som’thin’?” 

“Maybe, Timmy,” Bernard says, smiling jaggedly in a way that makes it impossible not to wink back, leaning closer. Laura groans and leans back in her chair and Steph looks vaguely curious in that distant way she has. Steph’s emotions are always dialed up to 11, but she learned not to trust in Crime Alley as a toddler, and not even acting like a civilian with her boyfriend’s trusted friends can hide it. 

Conversation picks up more, and Steph and Tim end up switching seats so she can talk to Laura more easily. Tim is too engrossed in his discussion with Bernard about the benefits of gay representation in media if done wrong to care what they’re talking about, only catching the words ‘annoying’, ‘materialistic’, and ‘God, her walk’. 

Which means they’re probably thirsting after some new model even though they know her personality’s shit. Tim knows because he and Dick do it often. 

They’re only interrupted thrice. Once by someone who recognizes him as Tim Wayne, at which he and Steph pretend to be surprised at his own identity, inevitably scaring the kid away a little cruelly. (The upside is Bernard can’t stop laughing.) The second is by the food which is delicious though the waiter is a lot more boring than the waitress and doesn’t laugh at Bernard’s jokes, and the third is Laura’s phone. 

Tim, Steph, and Laura have been checking their phones all night, mostly because crime𑁋and the occasional alien invasion or breaking of Hell’s gates𑁋never sleeps and a little because Laura has a hot date. 

When Laura answers her phone, however, her face doesn’t do the light up-pouty lips thing, which means it isn’t Nick. Which means it could be trouble. Laura doesn’t talk and the phone call lasts twenty seconds at most, ending in Laura’s weary but sharp “Fine.” 

She stands, grabbing her purse and tossing her long glossy hair over her shoulder. “I gotta go, guys. Eddie called, something’s happening with one of the members of my little club.” 

Laura says the last word with relish, they’re some very devout Catholics sitting behind her and it’s clear what they think ‘club’ means, because of the way she’s dressed𑁋leather, fishnets, and a crop top. Laura really enjoys messing with people, but Tim’s usually too busy trying not to laugh out loud to care. Steph and Bernard don’t have his reservations and collapse in giggles as the Catholic trophy wife angrily asked the interesting waitress for a new table. 

Dinner ends with the three of them stumbling out of diner, laughing a little too hard at one of Bernard’s unbelievable but much-too-true anecdotes from high school. He’d gone to Gotham Heights High after they’d torn down Grieve in their junior year and graduated from there. 

Bernard makes them promise to ask him out again but before he can leave, there’s a telltale zip in the air and Tim’s hair whooshes forward slightly. A speedster. 

Tim runs through the list of options in his head. It could be Barry, or Wally, but neither would stop for them, unless something was really wrong (excluding last date’s events). Maybe one of the lesser-known speedsters? Or the obvious option: Bart. 

“Hey, guys!” Bart yells from behind them, walking at normal speed. “Fancy seeing you here!” He winks very unsubtly at Tim, and Steph’s hand in his own twitches as she fights the urge to facepalm. 

“Hey, Bart. What’s up?” Bernard has a very confused expression on, so he adds, “Bernard, this is my friend Bart, from San Fran.” 

Like Steph, Bart’s secret identity was revealed after he died, but he died as an adult, and the Flash, so even if the public suspect he’s been resurrected, they’ll be looking for redhead adults, not teens. Either way, Tim can see the cogs in Bernard’s head turning, trying to find out where he knows Bart from. Whether he even knows about Steph is still an important question. 

But whatever. Tim hasn’t seen Bart since the last time he went to the Tower, which was way too long ago. “Bart!” 

Bart takes his invitation for what is and runs at a slightly-too-fast-to-be-human speed to hug him. 

“Why are you here?” Tim whispers into Bart’s ear. His cheek and temple are scraping Bart’s pastel hair clips and fancy earrings. 

“No reason. Just wanted to see you.” Bart whispers back. 

“Cool.” He says, and pulls away. There’s an indent of his earring studs on Bart’s cheek. 

Bernard is still looking confused but has put on a happy smile that’s not entirely fake. Only about 50%. 

Analyzing him, it’s easy to see that Bernard is uncomfortable in this environment𑁋one where he doesn’t know the people surrounding him and is unsure how to proceed. Tim feels slightly guilty, he hasn’t seen Bernard for any significant amount of time in years, and when he did spend that time with him, he seemed incredibly comfortable with every person. In recent times, Bernard seemed to flinch at every stranger’s touch, especially those he did not see coming. 

Bernard, the most tactile Tim’s ever known, flinches when people touch him. Tim doesn’t want to admit it freaks him out. It’s not that Tim doesn’t have… quirks. He hates watching movies with sexual stuff, he punches too hard in cases involving rape, and everytime someone mentions Centenniel Park in Metropolis (where Kon was buried) or the stadium in Central, or even the Hall of Heroes in Titans Tower, he feels like he’s going to throw up. When he wakes up, he either takes too long to open his eyes, evaluating his surroundings, or wakes up screaming. Everytime Damian and Jason make a sudden movement toward him, he flinches so hard he drops whatever he’s holding and he still carries around a needle of sedatives just in case Bruce rebounds. He fears the Joker more than Darkseid. The Anti-Life Equation, the Clench, Tim is well aware he has issues. 

Bernard has issues too. Laura has issues too, but Tim is unused to trauma in anyone but vigilantes, who brush death off like mosquitoes, something to ignore in the moment, but come back and pick at later. 

Bart turns out to follow Steph and Tim back to Tim’s theater. The three cuddle up together-Bart in the middle, Steph sitting sideways with her leg slung over his lap, Tim’s leg under Bart’s, his arm around his shoulder-and watch Frozen. Steph laughs and makes jokes until she passes out unceremoniously on Bart’s shoulder and Tim leaves halfway through to answer a call from Pru. 

Steph glances over her shoulder and smiles, notes and study guides spread before her, the smell of hot chocolate wafting from her pink and blue flower-patterned cup. “Hey there, boy wonder.”

“Ex-boy wonder.” He corrects, feeling the right side of his lips crook up slightly in an uncontrollable smile.

Steph hums, spinning in her seat and setting her cup down on the counter. “Nah. …Maybe boy toy wonder. Damian still hasn’t stolen that.”

Tim laughs too loudly and collapses on her couch, pulling off his full face cowl and running a hand through his damp hair. He starts peeling off his boots and cape as a commercial starts up on TV.

“So,” he says, moving out of her living room and into her bedroom. He opens the closet door more, sighing at the Batgirl costume lying haphazardly on the floor of it. He pulls out one of her oversize sweaters. It had once belonged to Dick, who had given it to Tim, who had it stolen from him by Cass, who Steph stole it from, and now he’s stealing it back. He buries his face in it and breathes in the scents of wildflowers, which means Cass has worn it recently. Steph prefers lavender.

“So,” Steph echoes. The clouds finally break outside and rain starts pouring; Nickelodeon starts playing the third season of Avatar: The Last Airbender again.

“I’m bi. Sexual.” Tim says as he rolls down the top part of his costume, putting on one of Steph’s tighter black tank tops and then the sweater, thick green wool.

There’s a momentary silence before Steph says in an odd voice, “Oh yeah? Me too.”

Tim walks back into the kitchen barefoot because Steph’s wearing her fluffy gray bunny slippers so he can’t steal those. He still has his uniform rolled down around his waist but he designed it to be comfortable for a reason.

He plops back down on the couch and Steph finally abandons her notes to flop next to him, head resting on his shoulder.

“Are you seeing anyone?” He asks, because he refuses to run from this conversation. It’s long overdue, but to be fair, they’d been a little busy for a long, emotional talk.

“Well…” Steph starts, fingers playing with his. “I have this friends-with-benefits thing goin’ with this junior cop. But no, no’ really. You?”

Tim thinks he should maybe mention Lynx, but he’s pretty sure everyone already knows anyway. “I… Do you think we’re ready?”

Steph is silent for a long moment and the episode of Avatar ends while she thinks. The volume is turned so low, he can barely hear the credits track. The pale curtains over her window flutter because Tim left the window slightly open when he came in.

Steph pulls her head off his shoulder and looks𑁋really looks𑁋at him, blue eyes sharp and clear. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we’re ready.”

“Cool.” Tim says, because he’s an awkward son of a bitch. “I should𑁋I want… I should mention𑁋I don’t know if Cass’ told you.”

He swallows awkwardly and his fingers intertwine to hide the tremble in his hands as he speaks. Steph puts her now-empty hand on his knee, sliding impossibly closer to him, the scar over her eyebrow twisting as she frowns.

“When I was… when I was with Ra’s, I…” Tim hunches down and Steph moves silently and quickly to sit on the back of the couch. She places warm hands on his neck, hands moving steadily down over his shoulder blades to massage his back.

“Ra’s. He… he wanted another heir.” And Steph can’t quite hide the sharp intake of breath she takes but Tim’s too trembly to care. “He has a half-sister, you know? I didn’t. I thought he didn't have any family left except Talia and Damian.”

Steph pushes harder against his back and he jolts every time lightning strikes outside. “He tied me up and𑁋and told her to…” He lets out a quiet sob and he feels wetness on his shoulder when Steph slides from her perch to wrap her arms around him from behind.

“Shh,” Steph coos in his ear. “It’s okay, ya don’t have to talk about it.”

“Cass saved me.” Tim gasps, wanting to tell Steph everything before he falls under the crashing waves of darkness in his brain.

“I don’t know how she knew. I don’t𑁋I don’t𑁋I don’t think I want you to touch me yet.” He says and Steph must understand what he means because she doesn’t pull away from him, just lets him bury his face into her forearm and melt sideways into the couch. He doesn’t want her to touch him sexually. He knows it’ll make him uncomfortable. He’d gone to a club in the Narrows two days ago, intent on taking someone home, but as soon as the girl, Molly, had touched him, he froze up and started crying.

Molly had taken him to a diner two blocks away and stayed with him for an hour, holding his hand as he sobbed. He had seen her the day after too. She had nodded at him from across the street and he’d smiled weakly back.

On the TV, some cartoon about talking ducks starts and Steph starts singing in his ear, the old Gotham lullaby about the Court of Owls. It’s creepy for sure, but Tim grew up with it. It helps him fall asleep, even though he still jolts at the thunder.

Tim wakes up to what passes for sunlight in Gotham, pale white streams of light from the smallest break in clouds overhead, falling on his bare torso. The apartment is silent and Steph had clearly changed him while he slept. His sweater was folded next to his head, the two-inch long slice on his side covered by butterfly bandages and an off-white square bandage. His uniform pants were gone too, replaced by low-slung gray sweatpants that showed off the line of his boxers. On the coffee table sat a cup of lightly steaming earl gray tea, a container of pot ready to be smoked, and a bowl of yogurt and raspberries. The blue blanket that had hung over the back of the couch was tangled in his ankles.

Tim drank the tea, smiling at the Natural Geographic whale documentary muted on the TV screen and headed for the bathroom. There were four toothbrushes in all different colors on the counter, but he’d been here enough times to know blue was Dick, pink was Steph, orange was Cass, and yellow was for Harper Row. Tim used the pink toothbrush and Dick’s special whitening toothpaste.

He forewent makeup, instead applying moisturizer and heading back to the couch to eat his cereal. By the time Steph came back, four hours later at noon, half the pot was gone, the dishes were washed and drying in the rack, her laundry had been done, Tim had solved three of Duke’s homicide cases with him via Zoom, showered, and was trying to apply soothing lemon honey-aloe vera balm to the mottled purple and yellow bruise that was his back. The pot had been diluted enough to only make him feel light, not get him really high.

Steph came in through the front door, black boots clicking on the wood floor, thigh-length brown coat flying behind her at her brisk walk.

“Tim,” she said warmly as soon as she saw him, whole body relaxing. Tim finished with the balm, returning it to the bathroom right as Steph stepped into the shower. Tim had known Steph long enough to know she performed a very specific process before she showered if she could. Tim and Steph had never been the fuck-everyday shower sex couple, but Steph and he got concussions often enough that they showered together once every few weeks, holding each other up and scrubbing their hair and skin much too harshly, often times still partially-clothed.

When she had time, however, Steph preferred to fill the bathroom with diluted pot, play her YouTube The Neighborhood and Arctic Monkeys playlist, and take a while, doing her skincare and haircare and maybe paint her fingernails. Steph only ever painted her toenails in the one week during Gotha summer when she could wear flip-flops out and not freeze. It was currently mid-November.

Tim put water on the stove as she took care of herself, door open so he could hum along to Afraid and breathe in the pot. She left the bathroom wrapped up in a towel and changed in her room. Tim pulled out her basket of nail things and went to the living room where the TV had been turned off but radio turned on to play One Direction. Steph stepped out of her room in jogging pants and a cropped flannel untied around her waist over her pink sports bra.

She silently rubbed off her old, chipped nail polish as Tim painted his own nails glittery blue. Halfway through, Cass came in through the window, disturbing the blinds and curtains. She stripped off her Black Bat uniform until she was lying on the ground by the couch, smoking a diluted pot cigarette in her striped underwear, fuzzy cat socks, and a too-big Blüdhaven Bloodhounds shirt.

The three stayed up all afternoon, though all the lights were off and curtains closed, so it looked like night. Cass left at nightfall, Black Bat uniform stuffed in a big brown purse as she borrowed Steph’s black fishnets and leather shorts, hair messy and high worn off.

Tim had painted Steph’s nails black with bright yellow suns on them and she had braided his hair back, holding back the shorter strands with pastel, flowery hair clips.

At 4 AM, Dick picked him up for an undercover stakeout mission with Damian and the Outsiders and Steph kissed Tim’s cheek as a goodbye. Tim smiled shyly at her.

Ten days later saw Tim’s mission over with nothing more serious than a sprained wrist and a black eye, his nails painted rainbow thanks to Bart, three business deals signed for WE, and four criminals put away for life at Gotham State, but Killer Croc free from Blackgate.

It also saw Tim and Steph masquerading as a couple of regular people in a Sundollar coffee shop. They sat across from each other, as regular people do, Tim’s back to the door because he trusts Steph more than he trusts himself. Then again, he trusts Lex Luthor more than he trusts himself so that’s not exactly a big deal.

Steph wore a pretty magenta skirt and off-the-shoulders white crop top that made Tim jealous of her curves and tanned skin because he hadn’t worn white since sophomore year. It made him look too washed-out.

Tim was out of his suit, thank God, and in acid wash skinny jeans𑁋he could wear acid wash, just not plain white𑁋and a black Pink Floyd T-shirt. Steph’s white tennis shoes beat against the tile to the rhythm of Tim’s fingers on his own forearms. Every six taps, he blinked and Steph tilted her head in a different direction. See? Totally normal couple that are definitely not vigilantes. Tim’s gray zip-up slips off his shoulder as he rotates his shoulders slightly to analyze the worker that just came off break and he covers the movement with a smile at Steph. Steph’s gaze slides around the room at lightning speed, looking for anyone suspicious.

The thing about being a Bat was that no one really knew what normal was. The ones who were closest to normal were Duke, Harper, and Cullen, but even they skidded away from normal quirks to Bat paranoia at the speed of Kon on a slow day.

If anyone stared at Tim and Steph long enough, they would tell something was wrong, only they’d probably assume one of Mad Hatter’s mannequins before a member of the Batclan. Tim periodically glanced at the window and Steph politely raised her hand towards one of the waitresses, ordering two pumpkin spice lattes and one caramel mocha.

One of Steph’s hands lands on Tim’s as they talk about Steph’s med teachers at Gotham U, taking careful sips from her sweet-smelling drink. Tim sipped from his mocha as Duke Thomas walked into the store, in the business long enough to have his shoulders tense with paranoia, but not long enough to hide it from civilian eyes. The cashier immediately clocked him. Luckily, he’d probably think something along the lines of a recent Rogue attack, which was… kind of true. Tim’s lips twitched.

Duke sat down across from him and next to Steph, not reaching for his cup, instead rubbing his thumb over his dad’s college ring. Tim pushed his tall cup over to Duke. Duke didn’t like pumpkin in coffee so the mocha was for him. However, Duke could never drink all of the coffee so Tim always drank a fifth of it for him anytime they went out. The second cup of coffee was for Steph, who had finals coming up soon, and Tim was to drink what remained of her half-empty cup because he was already jittery from the two cigarettes he’d chain-smoked that morning and didn’t need more energy.

Duke’s hand shook on the table, leftover adrenaline. Duke probably hadn’t slept since he had gone on patrol at 3 AM and ended it at 7. He’d gotten a haircut since Tim had seen him last, curls slightly shorter on his head, new waves shaved into the side of his head. It looked good on him. There was concealer on under his eyes which meant he probably hadn’t been sleeping well. Maybe more dreams of his parents?

Duke took his coffee and Steph slung a bracelet-covered arm over his shoulder.

“Hey soldier,” she drawled and Tim snickered, head ducking. “Ya look tired.”

“I am.” Duke groaned, resting his head on her shoulder for a quick second. “Ya should see my workload. How’s someone supposed ta work an’ go ta school a’ the same time?”

Steph’s lip quirk, amused. Duke’s only a year younger than Tim and a year and a half younger than Steph but he is still as amusing as Damian was𑁋as soon as he got over his Kill Everyone phase. Steph’s still trying to convince Dick to let watch The Purge.

“Here’s an idea,” Tim says, because amusement isn’t what Duke needs right now, “go over to Cass’ place later tonight and ask her to relax, ‘kay?”

Interest lights up Duke’s eyes. “Okay.”

Steph calls the same waitress over and orders a platter of croissants and Duke stands to leave.

“I can’t.” He says remorsefully, “Still on a diet until I get cleared to take care of myself.”

Tim and Steph share commiserating glances. For the first few months of training, Bruce pretty much controls your life, including the foods you eat. It’s also a test to see how people react to stress, because not having croissants makes people testy.

Tim grabs Duke’s hand as he leaves, smiles reassuringly at him. Support systems can be everything, he knows. Duke smiles back and soon the engine of a Batcycle starts up. Duke’s civilian motorcycle is black and was spatter-painted by the Row’s and Jason. Speaking of…

“Have you heard from Jason?” He asks Steph, who’s eating her croissants. Tim fingers one, unsure.

“I guess?” She answers, “Last I heard he was in Monaco. With his other friends.” She means Roy Harper and… perhaps? No, Kori’s working a mission in Blüd with Dick and Bizarro is in Smallville for the Thanksgiving coming up. Maybe the Amazon? Diana doesn’t celebrate American holidays. Oliver Queen is on a road trip, currently single, poor, and sad. Dinah broke it off with him ages ago and Hal Jordan has been in space on a diplomatic mission with Kyle Rayner for months now. Tim only knows because Connor Hawke’s been sad his (boyfriend) “roommate’s” gone. Mia has been staying in Titans Tower or with Guy Gardner and Carol Ferris, who he thinks are either sharing an apartment with John Stewart and Hal or dating.

He doesn’t really care. Superhero relationships are known for being either secret and long-lasting or fleeting. One expectation is Lois Lane. All her friends think she’s in a polyamorous relationship with Clark Kent and Superman, even Lex Luthor. It sounds fun.

“Cool.” Before he can say something else, his hair ruffles and the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He doesn’t turn, but only because Steph traces a lightning bolt into the back of his hand, followed by a W. Wally.

“Hey, Wally,” Steph says cheerfully, back straightening even more from her picture-perfect posture to painting-perfect posture. Steph had met Wally during the Black Lanterns fiasco, during which Wally had had a mental breakdown and accidentally killed Roy, who got resurrected by the ring, then transported to another dimension, and was somehow still alive. Wally’s mental health had stabilized, according to Dick, thanks to the help of Garth and Donna Troy, who he’d started rooming with after the incident.

Tim had only worked with Wally during emergencies and liked him well enough. He was kind and nice and smart, and he had helped Dick out plenty of times. He was also an OG Teen Titans, which was enough to earn Tim’s respect. Wally had sheared his red hair close to his head but still long enough to be pulled on. His skin had darkened since Tim had seen him last, and his freckles were more prominent on his face. His eyes were back to pale hazel-green, warm and kind.

Wally smiled at them, taking a seat next to Tim. “Hey! Have you guys seen Dick? He’s not answering my texts.”

“Oh yeah,” Tim responds. He signs the rest, not willing to say it out loud with somebody sitting directly behind him. ‘He’s undercover.’

Out loud, he says, “He’s with Kori in ‘Haven.”

“Cooooool. Coolcoolcool.” His neck must hurt from nodding like a bobblehead, Tim thinks, then again, maybe it’s a speedster thing. “I’m gonna order coffee, then I’m gonna go. Have plans with Vic and Tora Olafsdotter.”

He heads to the back of the line and Steph sighs dreamily, staring at his butt. “Must be nice to have superspeed. It’d make things a lot easier.”

“I don’t know.” Tim says, “He’s still managed to die twice.” The man behind him had left during his and Wally’s conversation and the girl behind Steph was AC/DC blaring through her headphones.