Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Wake the fuck up.”

Tim groans and rolls over, throwing an arm over his eyes. There’s a sudden bright light, and a pressure on his shoulder, someone violently shaking him.

“What the fuck,” Tim croaks out, feebly shoving the hand away.

“Get up, dammit.”

Tim sits up and blinks his eyes open blearily, rubbing them with the back of his hand, as he tries to remember where he is. Tim props himself up against the grungy wall, groaning.

“Fucking finally.” Jason is standing above him, scowling. “We need to move.”

Right. He’s in Jason’s safehouse. They passed out here last night, after barely making it to cover. Tim’s on the floor, tangled in a blanket. He’s only wearing the things he wears under his suit, an undershirt and a pair of shorts, and both are sweaty at this point. Sunlight is filtering through the sides of the boarded-up windows, and Jason’s turned on the kitchen lights. Jason’s suited back up, guns in holsters, looking ready to rip someone’s head off.

Tim notices all of these things. But much more importantly, he notices what Jason’s holding.

It’s a paper coffee cup, like the kind you might get at a gas station.

Jason shoves it in Tim’s general direction, and Tim reaches out to grab it like it’s an actual lifeline.

“Here,” Jason snaps. “Hurry the fuck up, replacement, we haven’t got all day.”

“I’m comin,” Tim mutters, waving Jason’s grumpy words away with his hands. Jason stalks off to the other end of the apartment, and starts shoving supplies into a bag with entirely too much force.

Tim takes a sip of the coffee.

It’s terrible. It’s burning hot and tastes of cheap, acrid, burnt beans. On top of that, it’s slightly stale, like it’s been sitting in the carafe for hours.

Tim drinks it like it’s fucking holy nectar, guzzling it down.

He drags himself out of his makeshift bed on the floor and into the derelict bathroom, getting suited back up himself. He takes sips of coffee in between putting pieces of armor on. Soon enough, all the terrible gas station coffee is gone, and Tim feels so much better. Not great , mind you. Fleeing for your life and sleeping in your underpants on a dirty floor never makes for a great morning. But he’s more awake now, more alert.

Tim gets back in his suit and joins Jason in the living room “Ready?” Tim asks.

Jason nods tersely, grabbing his helmet and putting it on with a click . “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Tim nods in agreement, following Jason as he goes to one window and shifts boards to the side.

“Hey, Jay?”

Jason turns to look at Tim over his shoulder.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Tim says. It feels like a dumb thing to say. But still, he feels like he should say it.

Jason pauses. Tim can’t tell what he’s thinking, with his face covered by the helmet.

And then Jason turns back to the window.

“Don’t mention it,” Jason says, his voice in that weird, robotic, modulated tone from the helmet. Jason rips a board off and chucks it to the side, then gestures toward the window. “After you.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Tim nimbly jumps up onto the window ledge, and shoots a grappling hook to the next building. He jumps and swings. A beat later, he feels Jason follow him.

…

Jason thinks that this case might kill him.

Well, lots of his cases might kill him. He’s got a dangerous fuckin life. But this one might kill him out of pure frustration.

He’s been tracking weapons shipments in and out of his territory. It’s always a good idea to keep an eye on the arms trade, especially when it’s mixed up with the mob. Jason doesn’t want to shut it down, but he does want to keep it manageable.

But these guys. These fucking guys , they’ve gotten slippery. And they’ve grown some serious balls, if Jason’s sources are right. A little bit of gun smuggling is just business as usual in Gotham, but shipments of this size? Someone’s planning something. And Jason can’t figure out what if he can’t find the damn guns .

Jason gets back to his apartment and he’s about ready to collapse. He’s been chasing leads all night, but he may as well have been chasing his own tail. The untracked shipments are like a threat hanging in the air, and Jason is tense all over. But the sun is about to rise, filling Gotham with a dirty gray light, and Jason is dead on his feet.

There’s a manila folder on his kitchen counter.

Jason frowns at it.

And then he points his gun at it.

The folder just keeps sitting there.

Jason checks it over carefully, but it doesn’t appear to be a bomb. Never mind that this is his civilian apartment, or that he’s got an Oracle-approved security system. You check the fucking mysterious package to see if it’s got any goddamn bombs.

There’s no goddamn bombs, though. So Jason flips it open.

There’s a handwritten note sitting on top of a thick stack of papers. Jason picks up the note. It’s not a handwriting he recognizes. It’s cramped and messy, and it looks like it was written in a mad rush.

I found your fence. They’re loopholing, they’ve found a legal route through a military weapons manufacturer. Their corporate contact is Harold Barnett. From there, it’s the family business selling on the side. I don’t know what they’re planning, but I know you can take it from here.

Jason blinks.

He starts thumbing through the pages. It’s all here, all the evidence he needs. Contacts and meeting times and fabricated inventory statements. It’s the fucking jackpot.

Jason feels his shoulders relaxing, letting go of a tension he didn’t even know he had. This is fucking excellent. It’s everything he needs to take them down. The person who wrote the note was right- he absolutely fucking can take it from here. Jason loves a good mob takedown, and he’s got it down to an art.

There’s just one question.

Jason goes to check his security feeds. He’s half-expecting that the person who broke in to leave him evidence might have scrubbed the feeds- but no.

Instead, there’s Tim, climbing through Jason’s window, quietly disabling the alarm with the override code. Jason watches on the computer screen as Tim leaves the file folder on the kitchen counter, then carefully pads away without touching anything else.

As he’s about to climb back out the window, Tim glances up. He gives a small smile and a little wave to the security camera, and then he slips away.

Jason lets out a long, slow breath, and feels himself starting to grin despite himself.

That little fucker. That brilliant fucking bastard.

Jason owes him one.

…

It’s a cold, damp Gotham night, and Tim is really wishing that they never had to do in-person stakeouts.

Usually, he can get away with cameras and drones and bugs. But not always. Which is why it’s a bitter, windy night in November, and Red Robin is freezing his ass off in the warehouse district.

Cameras are great. But they can’t get the drop on someone as soon as they step out of the perimeter. So Tim is waiting. Waiting for an opening that might not ever come.

It’s stressful, and boring, and cold .

There’s a dull thud a few feet behind him on the roof, and Tim blinks. It’s not too uncommon to have a Bat or two drop in during business, but that felt almost like-

“Well, this looks like a party,” Jason drawls quietly.

Tim rolls his eyes. “Yep. I hope you brought champagne poppers.”

Jason laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, baby bird. Got one better. Special delivery.”

Jason reaches into the inside of his brown leather jacket, and brings out a small thermos. It’s a dark grey, scratched and dinted metal. Jason passes it over to Tim, and Tim reaches out to take it.

Tim’s gloved fingers clumsily brush against Jason’s gloved fingers. It shouldn’t be anything. Tim can’t even feel the warmth through all the layers, through the biting Gotham air. But for some reason, Tim notices it, as he fumbles the thermos into his hands, showing none of his usual dexterity.

“What’s this?” Tim asks.

“Poison,” Jason deadpans. “All yours, have at it.”

Tim shrugs. “I can think of worse ways to go.” It’s a dark joke, but it’s par for the course with Jason, and it makes him give a dry little chuckle.

Tim pops off the cup top, then opens the lid.

“Oh,” Tim breathes out, surprised.

The thermos is full of coffee. Good coffee. It’s got a dark, rich scent, and that note that’s almost like fruit if fruits were bitter like coffee.

Tim looks up at Jason. “You got me coffee?”

Jason shrugs, waving Tim’s words away with his hands, like it’s nothing.

It doesn’t feel like nothing.

Jason turns, and Tim reaches up to catch his arm.

“Have coffee with me,” Tim says. His heart is beating fast, and he hasn’t even had any caffeine yet. “Call it a rooftop picnic.”

There’s a long pause.

And then Jason snorts, turning back towards him. “Yeah, alright. Rooftop picnic, why the fuck not.”

Jason sits down next to Tim, on the cold, hard concrete. He reaches up and undoes the latch on his helmet, pulling it off.

Tim pours some coffee into the cup, careful not to splash it. The steam rises up in the air, curling in little whisps. Tim twists the cap back on the thermos to keep the rest of the coffee hot, then sets it down next to them, cradling the coffee in both hands.

The coffee is burning hot. Tim can feel the warmth of it through his gloves. He takes a sip, and the coffee is just as good as it smells.

Better, even. Because it’s just slightly sweet, with the tiniest drop of rich cream.

Tim will drink any coffee, if he needs to. It’s a tool, it does the job. But if he’s going to savor it, if he had to choose, he’d pick a dark blend of beans, carefully roasted, with one spoon of sugar and a touch of real cream. He’d pick this coffee.

Tim takes another long, slow sip. He can feel the hot drink going down his throat, feel the way it warms him up from the inside out. There’s a soft warmness in Tim’s chest, and it’s only partly because of the warm drink.

Jason knows his coffee order. When did he figure that out? He’s never asked, as far as Tim can remember. Tim’s gotten coffee around him, sure, but he didn’t think Jason would have noticed the specifics.

Tim glances up, and finds Jason watching him carefully. They’re both wearing domino masks, being on the job, and Tim wishes he could see Jason’s eyes. Could see where they’re looking.

“It’s good,” Tim says softly. “It’s- it’s really, really good. Thank you.”

Jason’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, and Tim’s eyes are drawn down to Jason’s mouth. He lingers there entirely too long, and maybe it’s a good thing that Jason can’t see his eyes right now.

“Course,” Jason says. He breaks the gaze, glancing away. “Can’t have you freezing to death, can I. That’d be a stupid way to do it.”

“I’d rather poison,” Tim agrees. He lifts the cup, offering it to Jason. “You want some?”

“Yeah, okay.” Jason reaches over and takes the cup. This time is less clumsy, and Tim carefully presses it into his hands.

Jason takes a long drink of the coffee. Tim watches as he swallows, the bob of his throat. “Not bad,’ Jason says.

Tim smiles. “Something like that.”

Jason passes the cup back. “How’s your stakeout going?”

Tim groans softly, and Jason laughs. “I hate stakeouts,” Tim says. “But I especially hate them in winter.” Tim takes another sip of coffee, and it’s still bitter and sweet and rich and hot and perfect. “I don’t know how you stand it.” Tim passes the cup over.

“Sheer determination,” Jason says. He takes a little sip. “Thermal underwear.”

Tim laughs, reaching a hand up to muffle the noise. “Liar.”

Jason gives him a lazy grin, offering him the cup. “Don’t knock it, baby bird. The secret is fuckin layers.”

Tim drinks some coffee. “And here I thought you were going to say that it’s just not that cold yet.” Tim takes another sip.

“Look, there’s some things worth suffering through,” Jason says. “Freezing your bits off ain’t one of them.”

Tim snorts. “Well, thanks for looking after my bits.” He takes another sip of coffee. There’s only a little bit left, and Tim glances up at Jason. “Did you want-?” Tim holds the cup out.

Jason shakes his head. There’s the faintest flush on his cheeks. Probably from the freezing, biting wind. “Nah. You finish it.”

Tim nods, and tips his head back, swallowing down the last of the coffee. He flips the cup back over, fastening it to the top of the thermos. “Do you need to get going?” Tim asks. “Or do you have time to stay and freeze your bits off?”

Jason gives him a look. It might be more impactful if Tim had a better idea of what his eyebrows were doing.

“Yeah, alright,” Jason says, and his voice is dark and low. “I’ll stay a minute.”

Tim shivers. And it’s not from the wind.

…

Jason wakes up when the late afternoon sun is pouring into his bedroom. He rolls over and groans, feeling cold and sore. He got beat half to shit last night, and his limbs are aching and painfully stiff.

Jason pushes himself up, blinking at the bright yellow light. He and Tim had stayed up all night and then some, working on this missing person’s case. Jason had crashed out at about ten, stumbling into his bedroom and collapsing onto the mattress. Jason stretches his arms above his head and yawns. He needs to do a lot more stretching than that, but for now, Jason goes in search of Tim.

“Baby bird?” Jason calls out, wandering into the kitchen. “You in here?”

Jason blinks.

Nearly available flat surface is covered in guns. The stove is clear, and the counter on that side of the kitchen has also been spared. But the breakfast bar, the kitchen table, and the coffee table all have cloths down that are covered in guns and gun parts, not to mention the tarp on the living room floor.

Tim is sitting next to the tarp, and he’s got one of Jason’s favorite guns in his hands. Tim turns his head to look at Jason, blinking up at him. “Oh hey, you’re awake.”

“Yeah.” Jason cocks his head to the side, studying Tim curiously. “What happened here?”

“Oh.” Tim looks slightly surprised, and a little bit flustered. Like it hadn’t occurred to him that he might have to explain whatever all of this is. “I, um. I cleaned your guns? And I fixed a couple of them-” Tim waves a hand toward one corner of the tarp, in the general direction of two of Jason’s handguns. One of them got just a little bit smashed last night, and the other’s been needing a replacement part. “And I still need to finish with these ones, but I’m almost done.”

Tim gestures with the gun that’s in his hands, and Jason can’t help but notice that his hands are streaked with gun oil. The smell of it is all through the air of Jason’s apartment, and it’s smeared onto Tim’s pale skin.

“You cleaned my guns,” Jason repeats, still sort of shocked. Sure, he could have done it himself. He usually does it himself. But Tim did it for him. “You cleaned all of my guns.”

“I promise I was careful,” Tim says, nervously biting his lip, glancing down at the tarp. “It’s just, I couldn’t sleep, and I wanted to do something useful, and I hope this was useful, I know you usually spend a lot of time on these-”

“Thank you,” Jason interrupts him. Tim looks back up at him, looking surprised. “Seriously, thank you. That’s helpful as fuck.”

Tim gets this soft, small smile. “Okay, good.” Tim shrugs slightly, gesturing with the gun in his hand again. “As long as it’s not a problem.”

“Not even a little bit,” Jason assures him. It’s kind of the opposite of a problem. It puts a warm, soft feeling right in the center of Jason’s chest. It’s almost surprising, but it doesn’t actually bother Jason that Tim touched his stuff. Jason knows Tim would be careful with it. And it seriously is helpful as fuck, one less thing that Jason has to worry about this week. “You finish that, I’ll make breakfast.”

“Oh!” Tim blinks in surprise. “You don’t have to-”

“Don’t even finish that fucking sentence,” Jason calls over his shoulder, already heading into the kitchen. He pulls eggs, milk, and cheese out of the fridge, setting them on the counter that was thoughtfully left clear. “Don’t you dare, baby bird. I’m making breakfast, and you’re going to eat something.”

Tim relaxes slightly, his shoulders losing their tension. “Okay. If you say so.”

“I do say so,” Jason says, pulling a bowl out of the cabinet. He gets a pan heating and starts to throw some omelets together. In the background, he can hear the soft noises of Tim still working on the guns.

A thought occurs to Jason, and he pokes his head back into the living room. “Timmy?”

Tim looks up at him. “Yeah?”

“When did you learn how to do that?” Jason asks, curious. “I mean, who taught you your way around guns?”

“Oh!” Tim blinks again, and Jason could swear he blushes slightly. “I, uh. I taught myself. Recently. I, um.” And now he’s really red, gazing down at the floor. “I thought it might come in handy.”

Jason feels himself start to flush, too. Maybe in sympathy embarrassment, maybe in something else. Either way, his ears are burning. “Well, uh, cool. That’s. Um. Good.” Jason runs a hand through his hair nervously. “I’ll just get back to making breakfast,” Jason says awkwardly, and he ducks back into the kitchen.

“Okay,” Tim says agreeably, and they both get back to what they were doing.

As he whisks eggs in a bowl, Jason wonders why Tim decided to go and get good at guns. Not that Jason minds - it’s a useful fucking skill to have, nothing wrong with the baby bird having it.

But the way Tim answered his question makes Jason wonder.

It’s probably a dumb thought. Stupid, to think that Tim would go and do a bunch of fucking gun research, just to help Jason out. It’s probably not about Jason at all. There’s no reason to think that Tim would learn how to clean guns just so that he could clean Jason’s guns.

And yet.

Jason pours the omelet mixture into the pan, still thinking hard.

And yet, if that were the case? Jason might really, really like that.

Jason lets out a huff of air. Best not to examine that one too closely.

Jason gets some plates down, and pushes it out of his mind, focusing instead on making sure that Tim has a good, healthy, filling breakfast to eat.

Chapter Text

Jason pushes the door to the coffee shop open with his shoulder cause his hands are full. He’s got two drinks- coffee for Tim with cream and one sugar, black tea for himself- and three of those little brown pastry bags. One has a cheese danish, cause that's Jason's favorite. Another has a chocolate croissant, cause those are Tim’s favorite. And the third has one of those breakfast sandwiches, cause Tim really ought to eat something with protein, and Jason would bet anything that he hasn’t yet.

The coffee shops down swings shut behind him with a clang and a ring of the bell, and Jason sets off down the street.

Jason gets as far as the corner before stopping dead in his tracks.

Jason bought Tim coffee. And breakfast. And a pastry. Jason's lost track of how many times he’s done that. He’s done it so many times now, that Tim’s stopped being surprised when Jason brings him food or coffee. He's still pleased, definitely. Tim always looks up at Jason with that happy, soft little smile, always makes sure to tell Jason thank you. But he’s not surprised by it anymore.

Jason knows Tim’s coffee order. He knows how Tim takes his eggs. He knows what Tim looks like when he hasn’t slept in days and really needs to, and he knows all the tricks to help Tim beat his insomnia. Jason knows which blanket is Tim’s favorite to curl up with, when he spends the night on Jason’s couch.

Jason knows Tim’s coffee order, and he bought that coffee for him, and is bringing it to him without being asked.

Oh , Jason thinks. Oh, fuck.

The other people on the street are shouldering around him, cause Jason’s stopped directly in the middle of the way. Jason ducks around a corner and finds a wall to prop up. Then he balances both coffees and the pastry bag in one hand so that he can text Roy with the other.

me: I’m fucked

roytoy: ??

me: completely fucked

roytoy: I’d ask who’s dead but I think you’d be less worried about that

me: I’m bringing Tim coffee

roytoy: and

me: just Tim

me: and he didn’t ask

me: I know how he takes his coffee

me: I’m absolutely fucked

The phone starts vibrating, and Jason answers it, tucking it under one shoulder so he can juggle all the things he’s holding.

“Did you just now realize?” Roy says by way of greeting. “Like, how many fucking months has it been?”

Jason groans, tipping his head back and looking up at the sky, as though the fuckin sky is gonna have any answers for him. “Did you fuckin know? And you didn’t fuckin tell me?”

Roy snorts. “I think the entire fucking world knows, man. Except you, apparently.”

“I didn’t-” Jason starts, and then he lets out a heavy sigh. “I fuckin. Man.”

“Yeah,” Roy says, and he sounds sympathetic, at least. “It’s not. He’s not gonna fucking mind, man.”

“I just don’t want to make it weird,” Jason says, and he sighs again, frustrated.

“Hmm. Hey, didn’t you say he cleaned your guns last week?”

Jason raises his eyebrows, shifting the phone onto his shoulder. “You know that’s not an innuendo, right?”

Roy snorts. “Course not. You’d tell me if it was.” There’s a short little pause, and Jason hears shuffling noises in the background. “Just something to think about, that’s all.”

“Right,” Jason says, though he’s not sure what Roy means by that. “Thanks.”

“Jaybird, go before the coffees get cold,” Roy says. “And let me know how it goes.”

“Will do,” Jason says, and he tucks the coffees into the crook of his arm so he can hang up the phone and shove it back in his pocket.

When Jason gets to Tim’s place, Tim looks like death warmed over. He’s clearly been burning the midnight oil for a while, and Jason doesn’t even want to know when the last time he washed his hair was. But when he sees Jason, Tim’s whole face lights up.

“Hey,” Tim says, and he cocks his head to the side. “You brought me breakfast?”

He sounds delighted. Like Jason’s done something incredible, even though he’s done it a few dozen times now. Tim’s voice is all honest, genuine gratitude, and it warms something deep inside Jason’s chest.

“Yeah,” Jason says. If it comes out hoarse, he blames it on the early morning. “Here, baby bird-” and Jason finds a place for everything on the crowded kitchen counter, shoving various gadgets and books and mugs out of the way. Jason hands Tim one of the brown paper bags. “Do me a favor and eat the sandwich first, yeah?”

Tim rolls his eyes, but he gives Jason a soft smile. “Deal.” Tim starts tearing into the breakfast sandwich, and it’s all Jason can do to busy himself with his tea.

There’s something really- satisfying, about bringing Tim breakfast. It’s not- Jason would be lying, if he said he didn’t want anything from Tim. But this isn’t a bribe, or some kind of weird campaign to convince Tim to fuck him. It just feels good, seeing Tim get a good breakfast in, quickly putting the sandwich away before making grabby hands in the general direction of the coffee cups.

Jason chuckles, and passes Tim his coffee.

Tim beams at him. “Thank you!”

The look on Tim’s face when he takes his first sip of coffee is pure bliss. Jason tries to memorize it, wanting to keep the memory of Tim's happy face tucked away forever.

“Oh, by the way,” Tim says, leaning against one of the kitchen counters. His shoulders have relaxed, losing a bit of their tension. He’s got the paper coffee cup cradled in both hands. “I found that footage you were looking for. The one for the Ricci case.”

Jason blinks. He might have mentioned that case it in passing, but he’d never expected Tim to do anything about it. “Really? Fuckin- thanks, Timmy, you didn’t have to do that.”

Tim shrugs. “Yeah, I know. I just.” Tim glances away from Jason, looking at the ground. “It’s what I’m good at. I don’t mean to step on your toes, or anything.” Tim looks up at Jason looking slightly nervous.

Jason thinks about coffee. And healthy breakfasts. And files for cases appearing on his kitchen counter, and all his guns cleaned. And he thinks about the warm feeling he gets in his chest when he brings Tim coffee and it makes Tim light up like that, like it’s the best gift in the world.

“Timbo, I’m only gonna say this once,” Jason says. “But please, keep stepping on my toes.”

Tim laughs, and stands up a bit, taking another long drink of coffee. “Well, if you say so.”

Jason lets out a little huff of a laugh. “I do say so.” Jason dares to take one step closer, and gently nudges Tim’s shoulder with his own. “Seriously, though. Thank you for the leads. You really are good at that.”

A soft little blush appears on Tim’s face. “Thanks.”

Jason wonders what it would be like to lean down and kiss him. To take Tim’s blushing face in one hand and kiss the taste of coffee off his lips.

Jason finishes his tea in one long, burning hot swallow. “Any time, baby bird.”

 ...

Tim is so tired. He is so, so tired.

Tim heaves himself through the window of the safehouse and promptly stumbles. His legs feel like jelly, and he trips right over them, his whole body shaking as soon as his feet hit the ground.

Tim has half a beat to realize that he's going to faceplant on the floor, and he's too weak and dizzy from blood loss to catch himself. Shit.

But Tim doesn't hit the floor.

Something warm and heavy wraps around him from behind, jerking Tim to a halt. "Easy, baby bird. Easy, now."

Tim slumps into the arms wrapped around him, his legs collapsing underneath him. "Jason," Tim mumbles, blinking dimly. 

"Yeah, Timmy. I've got you." Jason shifts Tim around in his arms. "Here we go, c'mere."

"Oof." Tim lets out a grunt as Jason heaves him up into his arms, groaning quietly in pain as he's moved, as Jason's arms press into his bruised torso. "Fuck."

"I know, I'm sorry." Jason starts to walk through the safehouse, moving toward the bathroom. "C'mon, Timmy, let's get you cleaned up."

Jason carries Tim into the bathroom, and slowly shifts him down, settling him on top of the toilet lid. "There you go, baby bird." Jason flicks the light on, and Tim hisses, flinching away from the bright light. "Sorry."

Tim rubs at his eyes. "'s'okay," Tim mutters. His head is ringing. Tim can't tell what hurts more, the back of his head or the gash in his shoulder. "Fuck. He really got me, huh."

"Yep." Jason's voice is tight, edged. "Can you unlock your suit for me?"

Tim blinks up at Jason. Jason's got a med kit balanced on the edge of the bathroom sink, and he's looking down at Tim with a worried expression, his brow furrowed.

"You don't have to do that," Tim says dully. "I can stitch myself up." Tim shifts to sit up and reaches for the med kit, letting out a hiss of pain as it pulls at his shoulder.

"No fuckin way." Jason shoots him a dark look. "Get your fuckin shirt off, and let me do it."

Tim laughs softly, and it's got a slightly hysterical note to it. "Thought you'd never ask." But he moves to undo his armor, unlocking the catches and shrugging out of the sleeves with a groan, letting it clatter to the floor.

Jason snorts. "I'm just full of surprises, baby bird."

Tim gives a small, tired smile. "Yeah. You are."

Tim closes his eyes and leans against the bathroom wall, letting Jason work. 

Jason slowly, methodically cleans out all the cuts and scrapes, stitching up the ones that want stitching, going over them with disinfectant, wrapping them up in bandages. Tim hisses and grunts a few times, but Jason's clearly being as careful as he can.

"Okay, baby bird." Jason stands up with a sigh, clicking the med kit closed. "All done."

"Thanks," Tim murmurs. The adrenaline has worn off, and now he's just sleepy. And sore. Tim grips the edge of the sink and slowly heaves himself onto his feet.

"C'mere, Timmy." Jason slides an arm around Tim's back, hooking under Tim's uninjured arm and pulling Tim towards him, taking some of his weight.

"I can walk," Tim says. But he leans into Jason anyway. Jason is strong, and steady, and warm, and he slowly, gently shuffles Tim toward the bedroom.

"I know," Jason says. But he doesn't let go. He guides Tim through the safehouse, and opens the bedroom door with his free hand. "Here, Timbo. Easy, baby bird."

Tim slowly sits down on the edge of the bed, and lets Jason help him roll into it, settling Tim down on his back. "Oof."

Jason grabs a blanket from the side, and shakes it out, carefully tucking it over Tim. "There you go." Jason's hands, linger on the bed for just a split second, pausing with his arms pressed around Tim. "Get some sleep." And then he slowly pulls away.

Jason stands up, and turns to walk towards the door.

"Jay?" Tim asks softly. His head is still spinning. The dark room feels like it's pressing in.

Jason pauses, and glances back over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Stay?" It's barely a whisper. The quietest plea.

Jason stays stock still for a moment.

"Okay." It's just as quiet, only a breath. "Okay."

Jason turns the light off, and moves around to the other side of the bed. There's a shuffling noise in the dark, as Jason takes his own armor off, undressing for bed.

There's a dip in the bed, and a warm presence in the bed next to Tim. Tim slowly, gingerly rolls towards it, and presses into Jason's side.

Jason tugs a blanket up over both of them. "Night, Timmy," Jason whispers.

"Night," Tim replies softly. 

Tim tucks his head against Jason's shoulder. He listens in the dark to Jason's breathing, low and slow and steady. And gradually, Tim lets the rhythm of Jason's breathing lull him to sleep.

…

“-and now I have his fucking mess to clean up,” Jason rants heatedly, waving his hands in the air. He's way past pissed off. He's gonna need to fuckin shoot somebody for this horseshit. “And I swear to fuckin god, if one more bullshit fuckin piece of shit who thinks they’re the top fuckin shit come into my fuckin town- ”

“Come to dinner with me.”

Jason stops mid-word, mid-gesture, his hand still hanging in the air. He blinks, and turns towards Tim where he’s sitting perched on Jason’s couch. “What?” Jason can't have heard that right.

Jason watches Tim's face go bright fuckin red, glowin like a damn tomato. “You heard me.” Tim takes a breath. “Let me buy you dinner.”

Slowly, Jason cocks his head to the side. “And what’s that got to do with-?” Jason makes a broad gesture with his hands, to say all of the shit from today .

Tim shrugs, shifting in his seat. “You still need dinner.” Tim glances down at the floor, then looks shyly up at Jason. “And I wanna take you out.”

Jason swallows hard. His heart is racing suddenly, and not from the angry rant he was going on a second ago. “Out? Or out ?”

Tim bites his lip. “Uh, the second one?” 

Jason blinks. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.  

Tim hastily adds, “Or the first one, if you don’t want to do the second one, I just- I wanted to- I’ve been thinking-” Tim fumbles his words, directing them at the carpet in the middle of the living room. 

“Yes,” Jason interrupts. Jason feels a soft, small smile edging onto his face. He feels something weird and giddy rising up in his chest, still full of that burning nervousness, but in a good way. “Yeah, you can buy me dinner.”

Tim looks back up at Jason, and smiles back. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jason says, and then he gives Tim a pointed look, raising his eyebrows. “But only if you let me cook you breakfast.”

Tim laughs, and stands up. “Deal.” Tim holds his hand out, as if for a handshake.

Jason chuckles softly, and grabs Tim’s hand. He doesn’t shake it. He just sort of- holds it, pressing Tim’s hand warmly. “Deal, baby bird.”

Tim smiles broadly up at him, and Jason feels his stomach do a little backflip, warm feelings bubbling up into his chest.

He keeps holding Tim’s hand. Just for a little while longer.

…

Tim rolls over in bed yawning, stretching his arms overhead. He accidentally smacks a hand into the headboard, and it takes him a second to remember why there’s suddenly a headboard in the way.

Right. He’s in Jason’s bed. Jason has a headboard. And these big pillows, and these warm, soft, fuzzy blankets. Tim spent the night at Jason’s place again. It’s starting to become a habit with them, Tim realizes. The thought makes him smile.

Tim rolls over, but the other side of the bed is empty. Tim makes a grumpy, complaining noise. He wants cuddles, and Jason has an annoying habit of getting up super early.

Tim rolls over again, and curls up into a ball. There’s warm morning sun coming through the window, splaying over the blankets and spilling onto the wall. Tim closes his eyes and dozes, safe and warm and happy here in Jason’s bed.

There’s the sound of soft, padded footsteps.

“Hey, baby bird.”

Jason’s voice is quiet, and warm. There’s a touch on Tim’s head, gentle fingers carding their way through his hair.

Tim hums, pleased, and nuzzles his face into the hand. “G’morning.”

Tim feels another soft touch, as Jason leans down and gives him a kiss on the forehead. “You awake, baby bird?”

Tim yawns, nodding, and blinks his eyes open. “Mmhmm.”

“Sleepy baby bird,” Jason coos at him fondly, and Tim feels warm all over.

Tim fumbles to sit up, shifting the pillows around so he can lean against the headboard. He blinks again, and then he sees that Jason is holding a mug.

“Is that for me?” Tim asks, hopefully.

Jason laughs softly. “Of course, baby.”

Tim makes a happy noise, and makes grabby hands for the mug. Jason carefully hands it to him, and Tim wraps his hands around it, inhaling deeply. It smells so good. It always does.

Tim takes a long, slow sip of the coffee, and lets out a happy sigh.

Jason comes around to the other side of the bed and crawls in next to Tim, pressing himself up against Tim’s side, wrapping an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “Good?”

Tim nods, and tilts his head to the side to beam up at Jason. “ So good. Thank you.”

Jason smiles, and bends down to give Tim a soft kiss. “Any time, baby bird.”

Tim snuggles in closer to Jason’s side, using one hand to tug up the blankets around them. Jason starts absentmindedly petting Tim’s hair.

They stay like that for a long while, cuddled close together, as Tim finishes his coffee in the soft morning light.