Archive of Our Own ^beta

The smell of popcorn filled Bernard’s apartment, buttery and a little burnt around the edges, which pretty much tracked with how Kon was feeling—edgy, anxious, and maybe slightly overcooked. He paced the kitchen, spooning salsa into a bowl that didn’t need more salsa. It already had enough to drown a whole bag of chips.

Across the counter, Tim was hunched over a plate of mini spring rolls like they were a tactical problem he could solve if he just stared hard enough.

“We should’ve told him months ago,” Tim muttered, more to himself than Kon. “This is... He’s going to be pissed. I’ve been lying to him for over a year.”

Kon bumped the fridge closed with his hip. “He’s not gonna be pissed,” he said with all the optimism he could muster. “Maybe a little surprised. Maybe... okay, mildly betrayed. But this is Bernard. He’s solid. He loves us.”

“Exactly,” Tim said, voice flat. “He loves us. Which makes this a huge betrayal.”

Kon frowned and popped a chip in his mouth. “You’re spiraling.”

“You’re not spiraling enough.”

Tim shoved a hand through his hair and leaned back against the counter, staring at the ceiling like it might offer an exit strategy. “This is so messed up. He’s going to hate me. Us.”

Kon stepped closer, offering him a spring roll like a peace offering. “Hey. Deep breaths. In and out. We’ll tell him together. We’re a team.”

Tim accepted the roll, chewing mechanically. “We’re a team with secrets.”

“Not anymore.” Kon set the salsa down and grabbed the tray. “Come on. We’re already late for the movie night we planned, and Bernard is probably wondering if we set the kitchen on fire.”

They walked out together, arms stiff, plates balanced like offerings to a god whose wrath they feared.

Bernard was lounging on the couch, socked feet propped on the coffee table, one arm slung over the back cushions. His laptop was off to the side, and his phone screen lit up in his hand, thumb scrolling absently. He looked up as they came in, eyes flicking between the two of them.

They were both visibly nervous. Tim was doing that thing where he blinked too much, and Kon looked like he wanted to phase through the floor.

Bernard sighed, setting the phone down and folding his arms. “Okay. Just spit it out.”

Tim sat first, placing the plate on the table with care. “Please don’t freak out—” he began.

“TimisRedRobinandI’mSuperboyandwedidn’tknowhowtotellyouandwe’rereallysorryforlyingforsolongpleasedon’tbreakupwithus—” Kon blurted, voice cracking somewhere in the middle of the confession.

Tim slapped a hand over Kon’s mouth, glaring at him.

Kon blinked, muffled.

They both turned to look at Bernard.

Bernard raised an eyebrow. Slowly. Unimpressed.

The silence stretched.

Kon fidgeted. Tim shifted. Neither of them spoke.

Bernard exhaled like the weight of the world had just settled on his shoulders. “So you’re telling me... that both of you are vigilantes-slash-heroes... and you’ve only just now decided to tell me?”

Tim opened his mouth.

Bernard held up a finger. “Nope. No. No speaking. I’m not done.”

Tim’s mouth closed.

Bernard’s voice was steady, but sharp. “And in this entire year—year, Tim—and three months of you being part of this relationship too, Kon, neither of you thought, ‘Hey, maybe the guy we live with, sleep with, say ‘I love you’ to, should know that we’re wearing masks at night and punching people?’”

Kon wilted like a flower in July. Tim stared at the spring rolls like they might offer guidance from another dimension.

Then Bernard’s expression cracked.

And he laughed.

At first, it was just a puff of breath, but then he was full-on cackling, head thrown back, one hand wiping at his eyes.

Tim and Kon both looked horrified.

Tim leaned in. “Are you... laughing?”

Kon blinked. “You’re not mad?”

Bernard slowly calmed, breath hitching with leftover giggles. “I was mad. I was furious. Months ago. But I had time to get over it.”

Tim blinked like his brain had bluescreened. “What do you mean ‘months ago’?”

Bernard wiped his eyes. “Guys. I’ve known for a while now.”

Tim sputtered. “What?”

Kon sat upright, almost dropping his bowl. “How?!”

Bernard shrugged like this was obvious. “Tim, you literally leave parts of your suit everywhere. I found a batarang in the couch cushions. You once came home with a cracked rib and claimed you fell off a bike. Who crashes a bike into their chest?”

Tim opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “...Fair.”

“And you,” Bernard turned to Kon, smiling sweetly, “changed your clothes. That’s it. You didn’t even wear glasses. Sometimes you float in your sleep.”

Kon flushed all the way to his ears. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?!”

Bernard reached out and patted his shoulder, expression so mockingly sympathetic it was a masterpiece of sarcasm. “Oh, sweetie. I thought you knew I knew. And we were all just pretending.”

Tim leaned forward, head in his hands. “I cannot believe this.”

Bernard grinned, utterly unrepentant. “Believe it. You’re both terrible at secrets.”

“You... pretended you didn’t know. For months.”

“I didn’t want to make it awkward!” Bernard protested. “You both looked like you were waiting for the right moment, and I figured... I don’t know, you’d come clean eventually.”

“And you just sat there while we made up increasingly bad excuses about late night work shifts,” Tim said, voice flat.

“Oh yeah,” Bernard said cheerfully. “Some of them were really bad. Like, embarrassing. But honestly, it was kind of cute watching you both squirm.”

Kon groaned and slumped back on the couch. “I think I need to lie down.”

Tim dropped his head on Kon’s shoulder, already there.

Bernard reached out and threaded their fingers together, squeezing once. “You guys are idiots. But you’re my idiots. I’m not mad anymore, okay? Just... next time? Tell me sooner.”

Tim nodded, grateful and still a little stunned.

Kon let out a long, relieved sigh, relaxing for the first time all night.

Bernard leaned back, tugging their joined hands with him. “Honestly, it’s not even the weirdest thing I’ve ever dealt with.”

Kon tilted his head. “Seriously?”

Bernard snorted. “I was in a pain cult, remember? You two being superheroes barely cracks the top ten. The after effects however do.”

Kon yelped, bolting upright again. “CULT?! When?!”

Bernard frowned and turned to Tim. “You didn’t tell him?”

Tim shrugged, too casually. “It never came up.”

Kon looked betrayed. “Never came up?! That’s like... first date material!”

Tim blinked. “How is that first date material?!”

“You told me your favorite encryption algorithms and your calorie-burn ratio in a high-speed chase on our first date!” Kon shot back.

Tim opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. “Okay, fair, but still—Bernard, what do you mean ‘after effects’?”

Bernard frowned, gaze shifting between them like he was the one confused. “Wait. You didn’t know about those?”

Tim’s eyebrows shot up. “No??”

Kon raised a hand. “Yeah, I’d also like to circle back to the cult thing. Maybe with more details and less ‘blah blah blah’?”

Bernard huffed like this was all extremely inconvenient for him. “Fine. So. I was in a pain cult for a while—accidentally, at first, but you know how it is.”

Kon mouthed, Do I??

Bernard went on. “Anyway, they tried to sacrifice me—classic cult stuff—but Tim got me out. Heroic entrance, total drama queen. But the thing is, before he crashed their ritual, they already started some weird blood-binding vine magic or whatever, so now sometimes my eyes do this creepy red thing and plants go nuts around me.”

He said it like he was announcing he got a bad haircut, not that he might be hexed by botanical blood magic.

Kon and Tim just... stared at him.

Then, like the universe was waiting for its cue, Bernard’s eyes shifted—from their usual sharp hazel to this roiling mess of wine red and deep violet, with specks of black that shimmered like ink spilled on water.

Tim’s breath caught.

Kon choked. “Oh.”

The Philodendron in the corner—the one Bernard had named Samantha—gave a little shake.

Then twitched again.

Then exploded upward like someone had poured an entire greenhouse worth of fertilizer into the pot. Vines uncurled, leaves unfurling with alarming speed, and one particularly long tendril began slapping gently at the wall like it was checking the structural integrity.

“Samantha,” Bernard said, voice low and warning. “Calm the fuck down.”

Samantha, regrettably, did not calm down.

Another vine reached toward the ceiling fan.

Bernard groaned and rubbed his temples like this was an everyday inconvenience, not an eldritch houseplant uprising. “I swear to god, I just watered her yesterday.”

Tim’s eyes were still locked on Bernard’s. “That’s why my plants started growing faster. I thought I was just getting better at keeping them alive.”

“Yeah, no,” Bernard said, glaring at Samantha. “It’s me. They like me. Even when I don’t like them back.”

Kon hadn’t looked away from Bernard’s eyes once. “Is it weird that this is kind of... hot?”

“Yes,” Bernard said immediately.

Tim, betraying himself completely, didn’t deny it. He was still staring like Bernard had turned into a particularly beautiful and mildly terrifying alien.

Bernard narrowed his eyes. “Don’t make this a thing.”

Tim cleared his throat and looked anywhere else. Kon failed entirely and just kept watching him, slack-jawed.

“I’m ignoring the expressions on your faces,” Bernard said, deadpan. “But for the record, I am clocking it. And I will be using it against you both later.”

Samantha slapped a vine against the window like punctuation.

Bernard threw a coaster at her.

It bounced off harmlessly, but she seemed to settle with a huffy little tremble.

Tim shook his head. “We told you we’re superheroes, and you one-upped us with cult possession and a sentient houseplant.”

Bernard grinned, pleased with himself despite everything. “That’s what you get for waiting a year.”

Behind him, Samantha let out a loud, leafy whump as another vine slapped against the wall, aggressively unfurling like she was trying to make a point.

Bernard’s smile faded.

He stood, rolling his shoulders like a man preparing for battle. “Okay. That’s enough.”

He stomped over to the plant and snatched a spray bottle from the nearby windowsill. Without hesitation, he aimed and spritzed the unruly leaves like he was disciplining a particularly mouthy cat.

“Shut the fuck up, Samantha.”

Samantha recoiled. One vine curled in on itself. Another drooped dramatically like she’d been mortally wounded.

Kon blinked. “What... was that?”

Bernard wiggled the bottle. “Pesticide. Organic. She hates it. Works better than yelling.”

Tim’s mouth opened like he wanted to ask more questions, but he froze instead, staring intently at something just behind Bernard. His pupils were wide, body perfectly still.

Kon turned to look, then stilled too.

There was a faint, smoky red mist trailing behind Bernard, swirling in the air like breath on a cold day. It shimmered faintly, curling off his shoulders and dissipating like vapor. It wasn’t just red—it had layers, like dried blood, wine, and something darker woven through it.

And it was coming off of Bernard like heat from a furnace.

Bernard followed their eyes, twisted his head to look over his shoulder, and groaned. “Not again.”

He stepped quickly to the far side of the room, putting the couch and the coffee table between him and the two of them.

Tim blinked like he was snapping out of a trance. “Wait—what’s happening?”

Kon was still watching the mist, brows furrowed. “Is that... normal?”

Bernard huffed, arms crossed. “It’s a thing. I don’t know what to call it exactly. Some kind of energy leak, I guess. It happens sometimes when the plant stuff gets active.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Basically, it’s like the strongest alcohol on Earth but in mist form. I’m immune to it, but you two definitely aren’t. And I don’t need either of you drunk off your asses right now.”

Tim blinked rapidly. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” Bernard said, deadpan. “Back up. Both of you.”

Tim moved closer instead, unconsciously shifting toward Bernard with a concerned look on his face.

Kon did the same, but slower, like he didn’t quite realize he was doing it.

Bernard’s eyes narrowed. “I swear to god, I will lock myself in the bathroom. Don’t try me.”

Tim blinked again and shook his head, like he was trying to clear fog. “We’re just making sure you’re okay—”

“No,” Bernard cut in. “You’re circling.” He took another step back. “This stuff doesn’t hit you like booze, it hits you like gravity. You won’t even realize it’s messing with you until it’s too late. Tim, don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were staring at me like I’d grown wings and started glowing.”

Tim said nothing, but his ears turned pink.

Kon stepped forward and waved a hand through the faint mist. “I’m Kryptonian, remember? I don’t think this’ll affect me.”

“You’re half Kryptonian,” Bernard shot back. “Things just take longer to hit you. Don’t act invincible.”

Tim, still blinking, nodded. “He’s right.”

Kon looked betrayed. “Et tu?”

“Dude,” Tim said, rubbing his eyes. “I just forgot how to blink for like a minute. That’s not normal.”

He blinked rapidly now, forcing his focus away from the last wisp of mist trailing off Bernard. Then he squinted. “Wait a sec.”

Kon glanced over, wary. “What?”

Tim tilted his head, watching Bernard as he crossed the room to grab a towel from the kitchen. “He’s… moving weird.”

Kon followed Tim’s gaze, his brow furrowing. Bernard wasn’t doing anything dramatic—he wasn’t slinking or strutting—but there was something different. A rhythm that shouldn’t have been there. His motions were too fluid, too deliberate, like every step was choreographed with just the right amount of attention and carelessness to hold your gaze longer than it should.

“Okay, yeah,” Kon said slowly, “he’s doing the thing. Like… accidentally sexy. That’s not just me, right?”

Bernard let out a sigh as he returned, not even looking up. “Another side effect. Lucky me.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Another?”

Bernard dropped the towel on the arm of the couch and crossed his arms. “So. The group I got mixed up with called themselves the Children of Dionysus. Not to be confused with the Cult of Dionysus, by the way. Whole different vibe.”

Kon narrowed his eyes. “Why does this sound like some ancient fandom drama?”

“Because it is,” Bernard said dryly. “The Cult of Dionysus? They were into the wine, ecstasy, pleasure—kind of a ‘party until you see god’ energy. Chill folks, honestly. Good snacks.”

Tim gave him a look. “You met them?”

“Once,” Bernard shrugged. “Long story. Anyway, the Children were more into the chaos, madness, sacrifice side of things. Same god, way worse PR. Big on the ‘pain is transcendence’ thing. Like, aggressively.”

“Great,” Kon muttered. “So you joined the frat from hell.”

“Basically,” Bernard said. “And the thing is—with more people actively believing in the Cult’s version, the god kind of skews in that direction. That’s how belief systems work in those circles. The louder your followers, the more power that version of the deity gets.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re saying the reason you’re—” he gestured vaguely at the air around Bernard, “—leaking supernatural pheromone-mist and moving like a tempt-god is because…”

Bernard held up a hand. “Because technically, I’m still tethered to that divine energy. And Dionysus, as he’s currently understood? Is leaning more Cult than Children.”

“The wine and mist stuff?” Kon asked, glancing at the now-settled haze in the air.

Bernard nodded. “That’s the wine part. The plant growth too. I’m still not sure about the eyes. That might be leftover ritual junk. But the rest?” He gestured at himself with a grimace. “Yeah. I get to be unintentionally provocative and enticing now. The pleasure and ecstasy bit.”

Tim looked like he was about to ask something and then visibly thought better of it.

Bernard noticed. “You can say it.”

Tim shook his head. “Nope.”

Kon just blinked and muttered, “This explains so much.”

Bernard sighed again and rubbed his temple. “And before either of you tries to use this to justify anything: no, I don’t want to test the limits of it. No, I don’t want to know how far it goes. And absolutely no, you are not allowed to get drunk off my supernatural essence. That’s the line.”

Tim coughed, awkward and definitely not making eye contact.

Kon shrugged. “It’s not like we’re trying to. It’s just... happening.”

“Yeah,” Bernard said, deadpan. “That’s the problem.”

From her corner, Samantha gave a low rustle, like she was just waiting for her turn in this chaos.

Bernard didn’t look at her. “Don’t start.”

The mist around him was starting to thin, fading into the air like morning fog under sunlight. It peeled off in slow curls, the wine-red glow dimming with every passing second. Tim finally felt like he could breathe again without it tasting like desire and dark grapes.

Kon exhaled too, cautiously stepping forward. “Looks like it’s wearing off. You okay?”

Bernard immediately took a step back, muttering, “Shit.”

Too late.

The moment Kon crossed that invisible threshold—too close, too warm, too there—the mist flared back up. A concentrated cloud of it burst around Bernard’s shoulders and chest like someone lit incense and cranked the dial to aphrodisiac hurricane.

Kon stumbled back coughing, waving a hand in front of his face, eyes watering. “Okay—yeah—that’s some strong shit. My brain just tried to write a poem, and I’ve never written a poem in my life.”

Bernard groaned and pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. “It was almost gone. I was five minutes from cuddling on the couch like a normal person and then the Dionysus mist decided ‘oh, hey, a warm body! Better activate the ecstasy response!’”

Tim blinked. “...Ecstasy?”

Kon looked up, eyes still red-rimmed. “Wait, like...?”

Their expressions changed in unison.

Both eyebrows rose.

Both mouths formed the beginning of the same stupid grin.

Bernard’s face flattened into a scowl. “Not that kind of ecstasy, you degenerates. Or—I think not that kind. Honestly, I don’t have a full user manual, okay? I know about as much as you do.”

Kon snorted. “That’s not comforting.”

Tim crossed his arms. “If your mystical wine-mist is trying to make people horny when they stand too close to you, maybe it’s time we loop in someone who actually does have a manual.”

Bernard narrowed his eyes. “Like who?”

“Constantine. Zatanna. Hell, even Raven might know something,” Tim said. “Someone who deals with magical curses that make people emit supernatural intoxicants as a side hustle.”

Bernard blinked. “Wait. That was an option?”

Tim stared at him. “It would’ve been—sooner, Bernard—if you had told me.”

Bernard threw his hands up. “I thought you knew!”

Tim’s jaw dropped. “Why would I know that?!”

“You’re a detective!” Bernard shot back. “You pick up on everything else I do!”

“I don’t have a mist-sensor, Bernard!”

Kon flopped onto the couch, one hand over his face. “I cannot believe this is a real conversation.”

Bernard crossed his arms tightly. “Look, I figured... I don’t know. The plants got weirder. The air got heavier. I started walking like a Netflix thirst trap. I thought maybe you’d just put it together.”

“You’re too good-looking for us to objectively analyze half this shit, Bernard,” Tim snapped. “We didn’t notice you were moving like sin incarnate, we just thought that was you.”

Kon, muffled under his hand, added, “Yeah, I thought you were just getting confident.”

Bernard groaned again and sat heavily on the arm of the chair, looking like someone whose brain was full of bees. “Cool. Great. So, just to summarize: I’m a part-time plant whisperer, part-time emotional fog machine, and I can’t hug either of you without accidentally intoxicating you with divine party fumes.”

Tim gave him a look. “We’re getting you checked out. End of story.”

Kon raised his hand. “Also, maybe you should wear like... a magical mist-dampening hoodie or something?”

Bernard stared at him. “What the hell is a mist-dampening hoodie?”

“I don’t know! I’m trying!”

From her corner, Samantha rustled again—probably laughing.

Bernard didn’t even look at her this time. “I will put you outside.”

Samantha rustled again, smug and leafy, but Bernard didn’t have the bandwidth to follow through. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched, and his eyes kept darting toward Kon and Tim—both on the other side of the room like he was radioactive.

Because he was.

He slumped back against the arm of the chair, rubbing a hand down his face like he could scrub off the frustration. “I can’t touch either of you.”

His voice cracked on the words, too soft and too raw.

Kon’s face fell. “Bernard…”

Tim’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “We’ll figure it out. It’s temporary. Just a setback.”

But the space between them felt like a canyon. Cold and sharp. Too wide to jump.

Bernard’s fingers dug into his arms. “You don’t get it. It’s not just the mist. It’s everything. The plants won’t shut up—” he waved vaguely at the apartment walls, “—they’re everywhere. Samantha’s the loudest, but they all talk. They don’t have words, just this hum in my head. My vision’s got this red haze around the edges and I know it’s the mist, and you’re both standing all the way over there like I’m some kind of biohazard—”

His voice cracked again.

Kon winced, eyes flicking instinctively toward Bernard’s chest. He could hear it. The fast, stumbling, uneven thud of Bernard’s heart. The shallow, frantic rhythm of his breath, too high in his chest. It made something twist deep in Kon’s gut.

He wanted—needed—to do something.

So did Tim. He took a cautious step forward, then forced himself to stop. His voice was quiet but solid. “Bernard, listen. You’re not a hazard. You’re not broken. You’re just... overwhelmed. And we’re not going anywhere. I know this sucks—god, it sucks—but we’re still here.”

Bernard didn’t respond. He curled forward slowly, arms wrapping around his knees as he tucked in on himself. Head down. Shoulders shaking.

Kon flinched.

Tim's jaw tightened like he wanted to scream. “You’re not alone. I swear you’re not. I just—” He bit down on the rest, eyes burning. “I want to hold you so bad right now it’s making me physically ill.”

Bernard didn’t answer. He just cried, trying to be quiet about it. Like apologizing with every breath he took.

Kon turned his face away, jaw tight. “I can hear his heart,” he whispered. “It’s all wrong. I hate this.”

Then Tim moved.

Without a word, he turned and ran from the room.

Kon looked after him. “Tim?”

No answer.

Just footsteps, fast and sharp.

Then silence.

Bernard didn’t even look up. He just stayed curled in his corner, the mist growing faint again but still clinging stubbornly to him in slow, pulsing threads.

Seconds passed. Then a minute.

Then—

Tim came back.

Kon’s eyes widened. “Is that—?”

“A rebreather,” Tim said, his voice slightly muffled behind the sleek black mask fitted over the lower half of his face. “Kept one in the emergency supply drawer. Meant it for gas attacks.”

Bernard looked up just as Tim crossed the room.

“No—wait—Tim, don’t—” Bernard tried to scoot back, panic threading into his already wrecked voice.

But Tim was already kneeling beside him, the mask sealing off the mist as he wrapped both arms around Bernard and pulled him in close.

The sob that tore out of Bernard wasn’t graceful.

It was loud and messy and broken, because the second Tim touched him, he shattered.

Tim didn’t care.

He just held on tighter, pressing his forehead to Bernard’s temple, letting him shake and cry in his arms. The rebreather hissed quietly, filtering the air, keeping Tim grounded while Bernard clung to him like he was afraid Tim might vanish.

“I’ve got you,” Tim murmured, voice soft behind the mask. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”

Kon sat back, arms wrapped tightly around his knees, watching them. Helpless. Relieved. Ache in his chest.

Then Bernard shifted slightly in Tim’s arms, sniffing and wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt. His eyes were still a swirl of colors—wine red and violet clouding the usual green—but he wasn’t sobbing anymore. His breathing was still uneven, but steadier. More human. Less panic.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something.

Samantha—the ever-dramatic Philodendron—was still.

Her leaves weren’t twitching. No vines stretching toward the ceiling. Just peace. A rare and precious moment of botanical silence.

Bernard exhaled slowly and sagged into Tim’s chest. Then he raised his hand and gestured toward Kon without a word.

Tim and Kon both startled.

“What—?” Kon blinked. “You sure?”

Bernard nodded.

Kon speed-walked over, cautious but eager, eyes locked on Bernard’s face.

By the time he knelt beside them, the mist was gone. Not just thinning—gone. The air was clear. Crisp. Normal. And Bernard’s eyes, still glimmering like an oil slick in moonlight, began to fade, the wine reds and purples slowly retreating, blending with streaks of hazel that took over, until they were just... his eyes again.

Tim kept one hand curled protectively around Bernard’s shoulder but glanced down at him. “The plants calming down—does that mean it’s over?”

Bernard nodded against his chest. “Usually means I’ve got, like... thirty seconds before the episode ends.”

Tim didn’t loosen his grip. “Usually?”

Bernard gave a small, exhausted shrug.

Tim frowned. “How long have you been having these—episodes—often enough to call them episodes?”

Bernard hesitated, then gave another shrug. “They’ve been on and off since the cult. So, like... about a year.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed behind the mask. “How often?”

Bernard winced. “Maybe four... five times a month?”

Kon made a strangled noise. “A month?!”

Tim’s voice shot up. “What?!”

Bernard held up his hands, sheepish. “Hey, hey, they weren’t all like this. Sometimes it’s just a plant freakout. Or a glowing eyeball moment. Or, you know, an... ambient wine fog.”

“Ambient wine fog?!” Kon echoed, staring at him like he’d grown a second head. “You’ve been going through this alone, for a year, and we didn’t notice?!”

Tim looked furious—at Bernard, at himself, at the world. “How?! How the hell did you hide this?!”

Bernard, already leaning into Tim again, lifted himself just enough to kiss Tim on the cheek.

Then turned and did the same to Kon.

They both immediately shut up.

Tim blinked, stunned into silence.

Kon flushed and looked down, muttering, “...ecstasy.”

Bernard slumped again, clearly exhausted but smirking just enough to be infuriating. “Told you. Unintentional.”

Tim shook his head slowly. “We’re getting you help.”

“Yeah,” Kon agreed. “And probably a journal. Or a log. You’re not allowed to just shrug off a supernatural meltdown schedule like it’s allergies.”

Bernard didn’t argue. He just nestled deeper into Tim’s arms with a sigh, his voice small and dry: “Okay. But can I get cuddles first?”

Tim didn’t answer. He just pulled Bernard closer.

Kon leaned against both of them with a grumble and a crooked smile. “You always get cuddles, dumbass.”

The next morning started with black coffee, low lighting, and Tim frantically cycling through every magical contact in his encrypted comms list.

“Zatanna’s not picking up,” he muttered, pacing the kitchen. “She’s deep in something. Astral plane. Sealed circle. Her ward flared when I pinged her, so she got the call, she just can’t respond right now.”

Kon sat at the table, arms folded, watching Bernard sip his third cup of coffee like it was all that stood between him and a complete system failure. “So who is answering?”

Tim didn’t respond.

He didn’t have to.

There was a knock on the apartment door. It was the kind of knock that practically lit a cigarette and rolled its eyes while doing it.

Bernard sighed. “That’s Constantine, isn’t it.”

“Yeah,” Tim said grimly, already moving to unlock it.

The door swung open to reveal the man himself: trench coat, scruffy stubble, cigarette already halfway through its life, and a look on his face like he regretted every decision that led him to this moment.

“Right then,” Constantine said, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “So. Which one of you is possessed?”

Bernard raised his hand slightly. “Hi.”

“Course it’s the one with the plant that's giving me the side-eye,” he muttered, casting a glance at Samantha. She rustled, smug as ever.

Tim cut to the chase. “Can you help?”

Constantine shrugged. “Maybe. But I’ve got to see one of the episodes firsthand to figure out what exactly’s binding him. You lot got a way to trigger it?”

“No,” Tim and Kon said in unison.

“Yes,” Bernard said at the same time.

All three of them turned to look at him.

Bernard just shrugged and downed the rest of his coffee like a shot, slammed the mug down on the counter, then cracked his knuckles one at a time.

“Sorry, Sam,” he muttered—to the plant, apparently. Or maybe the walls. Possibly the concept of normalcy.

Then, without hesitation, he grabbed his right hand and dislocated his index finger with a wet pop.

“Bernard!” Tim practically lunged forward.

Kon stood so fast his chair skidded back.

“What the hell—”

“Relax,” Bernard said through gritted teeth, eyes already shifting from green to that familiar swirling red. “It kicks in fast.”

Sure enough, Samantha wiggled ominously in the corner. The air thickened. Bernard’s pupils vanished beneath that uncanny Dionysian color, and the injured finger twitched—then began to mend, snapping back into place with a sickly-smooth crackle.

Kon looked like he was about to throw up.

Constantine, to his credit, didn’t flinch. “Bloody hell,” he said, clearly impressed. “You discovered this how, exactly?”

Bernard shrugged. “Trial and error.”

“What kind of trial—” Kon started, horrified.

“Don’t ask,” Tim said, grabbing Bernard’s shoulders and glaring at Constantine. “Can you do something now, or are we just going to sit around watching his eyes glow until a vine eats the living room?”

Constantine flicked his fingers, smoke curling off them as a rune burned briefly into existence above Bernard’s chest. “Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist. Let’s have a look under the hood.”

He chanted something low and fast. The rune split and multiplied, floating around Bernard like lazy fireflies. After a moment, they pulsed in unison and flared out.

“Right,” Constantine said, dropping his hands. “It’s partial possession.”

Tim tensed. “What does that mean?”

“Means the god isn’t in the driver’s seat,” Constantine said, “but the car—aka his body—is still connected to the god’s power grid. And since it’s Dionysus, the feedback’s linked to how the world treats the god. The stronger the worship, the stronger the bleed.”

Kon frowned. “So Bernard gets powers and side effects based on... how people worship Dionysus?”

“Exactly,” Constantine said. “And Dionysus worship these days? Mostly wine, pleasure, chaos, ecstasy, and the occasional mystical TED Talk.”

Bernard rubbed his temple. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.”

“So can you stop it?” Tim asked.

“Well…” Constantine hesitated, then offered a sheepish shrug. “There’s not much I can do without finishing the original ritual—either completing it to full possession so I can try to exorcise an Olympian, or just flat out killing him.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then both Kon and Tim stepped in front of Bernard at the same time, like two walls of “absolutely not.”

“Pick a different answer,” Tim said coldly.

Kon’s eyes glowed faintly. “Try something else. Anything else.”

Constantine raised his hands in a peace gesture. “Alright, alright! Don’t blow a fuse. There’s a middle road.”

Tim narrowed his eyes. “Which is?”

“I can slap a seal on him,” Constantine said. “A binding mark. It won’t remove the connection, but it’ll muffle it. Contain the power. Like putting a sock over a screaming parrot. Not a fix, but it’ll buy us time while I work on something permanent.”

Bernard, eyes still glowing faintly, glanced up from behind Tim and Kon.

“Can I still keep the wine powers?”

“No promises,” Constantine said.

Bernard sighed. “Fine. Muzzle me.”

Samantha rustled approvingly.

Constantine ignored her. “Let’s get to it, then.”

Constantine stepped forward, shrugging off his coat sleeve just enough to move freely, and placed a firm hand against Bernard’s sternum—right over the black fabric of the hoodie he was wearing.

Tim’s hoodie.

The one Bernard had stolen three days ago and claimed through sheer stubbornness and good cuddling posture.

Bernard raised an eyebrow. “If you wanted to touch me, you just had to ask.”

Constantine quirked a brow, unimpressed. “You’re not my type.”

Then he began muttering in Latin, low and rhythmic. The air shifted, thickened, like something ancient was listening. Symbols shimmered faintly just under the fabric of the hoodie—light pulsing through it in time with the cadence of Constantine’s voice.

Tim and Kon stood close but didn’t interrupt, tension humming off both of them like static. Bernard stayed still, his posture relaxed, but his fingers twitched in his lap.

The chant built to a sharp finish—then Constantine pushed slightly harder with the heel of his palm.

Bernard lurched forward with a sharp grunt, his eyes flying open as a burning sensation tore across his chest beneath the hoodie. He gasped through clenched teeth, body curling slightly as the invisible brand carved itself into his skin.

The seal scorched into place—clean, sharp, ancient. It pulsed once and then went still, resting dormant beneath the fabric like a coiled animal.

Constantine pulled his hand back. “There. That should hold, unless you do something stupid.”

Bernard straightened, wincing slightly. “Define ‘stupid.’”

Constantine lit a cigarette with a flick of his fingers. “No orgies. No blackout benders. No masochistic rituals or anything that screams ‘please trigger a divine feedback loop.’ That kind of stupid.”

Bernard snorted. “Wow. Just canceled my weekend plans.”

Tim groaned under his breath.

Kon muttered, “Okay but real talk, how often would you qualify your weekend as an orgy-risk?”

Bernard smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Constantine rolled his eyes. “Jesus. You three deserve each other.”

Constantine, thankfully, didn’t linger. He gave them a half-sincere warning about not doing anything idiotic, then slipped out with a muttered “Good luck” and the scent of cigarette smoke trailing behind him.

The moment the door clicked shut, Bernard turned.

Tim was still watching the door.

Kon was stretching his back, clearly relieved.

And Bernard was already walking toward them with purpose.

“Okay,” he said, tone deceptively casual. “Now that I’m officially not exuding magical wine fog that hijacks your senses—”

Tim turned just in time for Bernard to shove him back against the couch with a surprising amount of force and kiss him like he was making up for lost time. Which, to be fair, he was.

Kon blinked. “Whoa—!”

Then Bernard pulled back just enough to say, “You both didn’t kiss me at all yesterday. Not once. That’s a crime, and I’m here to fix it.”

Tim didn’t have time to answer. Bernard kissed him again, deeper, fingers threading through his hair and holding him still as he poured everything—frustration, relief, want—into it.

Kon stood there, somewhere between amused and flustered. “Okay but like—are we just—am I next or—?”

Bernard reached out, grabbed Kon’s hoodie, and pulled him in without even looking.

“Yes. You’re next.”

Kon went willingly.

The three of them crashed into each other on the couch in a tangle of limbs and mouths and quiet gasps. Bernard didn’t hold back—he didn’t have to now. He bit at Tim’s lip, kissed Kon with wild intensity, moved like someone half-starved finally given permission to eat.

There was no mist. No glowing eyes. No plant tantrums.

Just hands pulling clothes, mouths tasting, the electricity of being allowed to want again without consequence.

Tim let Bernard climb into his lap. Kon leaned over them both, his breath hot on Bernard’s neck as he whispered something that made Bernard shiver.

Ecstasy?

Sure.

But this time, it wasn’t divine.

It was just them.