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Tim doesn't even hear Jason pull into the garage, too engrossed in what he’s doing at his table. He’s scrolling through a list of code with one hand while writing chemical compounds with the other. He’s hunched over his work desk with a centrifuge sitting open in front of him.
Jason feels a little smug that Tim had given him the code to his Nest, and even to the secret workshop below— more or less free reign to use whatever he needs whenever he needs it.
They aren’t... dating, exactly. But they keep falling together, time after time. He knows what Tim looks like with fresh bedhead after showering the night before, and how he takes his coffee, and what shows he lets play on the tv for background noise. Tim lets him sidle up close to him during stakeouts and hold his hand (briefly, in passing) when they run into each other on patrol (as long as no one else is there).
Jason is pretty sure if he asked Tim to put a label on whatever they’re doing, Tim would change his name and move to Canada. Or some tiny European country. He has the feeling that Tim has attachment issues. He’s so afraid people are going to abandon him that he sets about sabotaging his own relationships and leaving them first. Before he can get hurt.
So if they don’t put a label on whatever this is Tim doesn’t feel afraid that Jason will leave him someday and won’t get it in his head to leave Jason himself. It’s fine, Jason can work with that. He and Tim can have this little whatever and Dick can waggle his eyebrow salaciously at Batcave meetings when Jason works up the nerve to sling an arm over the back of Tim’s chair.
He watches Tim now, as Tim checks a string of code and looks over a few vials of blood he appears to be testing. Tim’s hair is growing long again, not quite to where he can pull it back but it does keep falling in his face after he tucks it behind his ear. It’s an endearing cycle that Jason watches a while before walking over to lay himself across Tim’s back and look over his notes.
Tim gives the tiniest of jolts, proving that he truly didn’t notice Jason here, but instantly relaxes and even leans some of his weight back against Jason. Jason likes to imagine he can sneak up on Tim so easily because Tim’s subconscious registers him as safe.
“What are you working on?” He asks. The code is scrolling by too fast for him to really read and he doesn’t recognize the chemical compound Tim has jotted down.
“Trying to identify the chemical makeup of a poison so I can synthesize an antidote,” Tim says, then shoves the end of his pen into his mouth to chew at it. It’s both disgusting and cute.
Jason is down bad.
He wraps his arms around Tim’s shoulder and braces his forearms against Tim’s collar bone. “Wanna take a break?” He asks. “I’ll make you breakfast and we can take a nap together.” Although, if Jason has his way they won’t be doing much sleeping.
Tim shakes his head, though he doesn’t push Jason off. “This is time sensitive, I need to synthesize the antidote within the hour.”
Oh, shit. Jason stands but keeps his hands resting on Tim’s shoulders, looking closer at the equations. “Is this widespread? Who’s the victim? Is it too complex for the hospital?”
When Tim doesn’t answer right away Jason gives his shoulders a squeeze. “Uhh,” Tim makes a notation, clearly distracted. “No, just me. It’s not widespread.”
Jason pauses, lets his hands slide from Tim’s shoulders as he takes a step back to study him. Tim looks fine. Exhausted, sure, but when is he not?
“Sorry, I—” God, he’s tired. He must have misunderstood. Jason runs a hand through his hair. “Thought you meant you were poisoned. Why are you working on this right now?”
Tim’s hand writes another chemical compound and then he finally looks up at Jason, blue eyes blinking owlishly up at him. “I am. I mean- yeah? I need the antidote for myself.” He tilts his head like he doesn’t get what Jason doesn’t get. Which is usually adorable but Jason’s heart is beating faster and his face feels like it’s draining.
“You— Baby Bird, you’re poisoned?”
Tim shrugs. “Yeah? That’s why I quit patrol early tonight. I think it was probably one of Ra’s assassins, but I didn’t recognize the arrow.” Jason only now notices the bandages wrapped around Tim’s upper arm, blood seeping through just above his bicep, where he was apparently grazed and poisoned by an arrow. “The chemical makeup seems pretty similar to what he’s used before though, so I should be able to narrow it down without too much trouble, but the computer is having some problems identifying parts of it.”
Jason watches Tim turn back to his work, muttering to himself and working in an almost blasé manner, like he’s not poisoned.
Like he’s not dying.
“And it’s... time sensitive?” Jason feels like there’s a lead weight in his chest.
Tim doesn’t even look up from his work. “Well, if I don’t get the antidote soon my major organs will start to shut down, which I’d rather avoid.” He laughs.
Jason stumbles and catches himself against the table, Tim looks up at him, worry clear in his eyes.
“Jason? Are you okay?”
Is he okay?
Jason can feel the hot green anger bubbling underneath swaths of worry. He pushes it down as best he can, clenching his hands and digging his fingernails into the heel of his palms. He takes a single solidifying breath.
“What can I do?”
Tim’s eyebrows press together. “What do you mean?”
Jason tries to keep his expression open, refraining from gritting his teeth. “What do you need? What can I do to help?”
“Oh, uh.” Tim glances at the computer screen and back to Jason, looking sheepish. “There’s actually, uh, not much for you to do? I just need the chemical compound and to help the computer finish analyzing and then I throw it in the centrifuge and bam, I’m good.”
He’s good.
Of course.
Jason knew Tim had issues with asking for help, with accepting help. He’d hoped that since they’d gotten so close that he would know Jason was in his corner, that he could ask him for anything, but even knowing Jason is willing to help isn’t good enough. It doesn’t even occur to Tim that he can or should ask for help. Even if he’s dying.
Right.
He can’t be here.
Jason jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Cool,” he manages, not even sounding as fucking pissed as he feels, “I’m just gonna.” He can’t even finish his sentence. He needs to get out of here.
“Okay? Uh, bye.” Tim calls, and Jason can imagine him going back to his work, not even giving Jason a second thought.
Jason takes the elevator up to Tim’s loft. He should probably actually leave— go beat up some gangbangers or some shit to get his aggression out but he can’t even fathom leaving the building while Tim could be dying downstairs.
Tim could be dying and he didn’t even ask Jason to stay.
He needs— they need to talk about this. But Tim needs to be not poisoned and Jason can’t be holding back toxic anger when they do; nothing good would come from that. He’s gotten better at keeping the dredges of the pit at bay and learning healthy ways to work through the anger he does feel but he still tries to keep it as far away from Tim as he can. Starting a fight wouldn’t help anything, it wouldn’t even make him feel better. He’d just feel shitty afterwards for upsetting Tim and yelling.
He puts his energy towards cleaning Tim’s apartment. Tim isn’t dirty per-se, but Jason isn’t sure he knows what cupboards or dressers are for.
He’s got clean clothes in a hamper and dirty clothes scattered throughout the apartment. Dirty and clean dishes take up every flat surface and he has reports from Wayne Enterprises last quarter fanned out at the foot of his bed.
Jason cleans and organizes and disinfects— anything to keep him busy, to keep his mind off the fact this his sort-of-almost boyfriend could be downstairs dying alone and he hadn’t even asked Jason to stay with him.
It’s just— Jason’s been there. Lying broken and bleeding on the ground knowing that no one was coming for him. That he was going to die alone surrounded by his mistakes with the Joker’s cackling echoing in his ears.
And Tim didn’t even ask him to stay.
Sure, maybe it’s Tim’s own hubris that has him convinced he’s going to be fine. He’s escaped death a thousand times before; what’s once more? Tim Drake, both too smart and too dumb to die.
Jason’s hand grips the glass he’s washing just a bit too tight and it shatters in his fist. He has to keep himself from slamming his fist down and making the damage worse. He drains the sink and cleans up the glass shards, careful to make sure there aren’t any slivers hiding amongst the remaining dishes.
Tim finds him where he’s relocated on the couch, tweezers in one hand as he painstakingly pulls the slivers of glass from the flesh of his palm.
“Officially poison free.” Tim says, and drapes himself over the back of the couch to watch Jason work. His hair brushing Jason’s cheek.
Jason does his best not to grit his teeth. If they’re going to talk about this he needs to keep a cool head.
“What happened to your hand?”
Jason pulls a particularly long piece of glass from his thumb. “Broke some glass.”
Tim rests his head on Jason’s shoulder and hums. “Did you clean in here? You know you don’t have to do that.”
Jason removes (what he hopes is) the last shard and lets it tink in the bowl he’s been using to discard the glass. He grabs the spare dish towel he’d brought over and presses it against the cuts to help staunch the blood. “Had to do something. Didn’t just wanna wait around.”
He can feel Tim smile. “You didn’t have to stay, but I’m glad you did.”
Jason clenches the towel and ignores the way his hand stings in protest. “Tim,” he says, and hates that he can feel Tim’s smile fade. “We need to talk.” Tim stands and steps away. By the time Jason’s turned around on the couch to look at him, Tim’s face has gone carefully blank. A guarded, placid look.
“Oh?” He asks. “What about?”
Jason takes a measured breath, careful to keep any anger or tightness out of his voice. “Please sit down.”
“I’d rather stand, if it’s all the same to you.” If Tim remains standing it makes for an easier escape, which means Jason is something he’d have to escape from. And there’s that blank gala smile that Jason hates so much. Jason’s fists clench.
“Sit down, Tim.”
“Jason, I—”
“Sit on the fucking couch, Tim. I’m not having this conversation with you hovering over me like a goddamn vulture.”
Tim sits, except now his face has a hardened quality to it. He’s on the defensive and now no matter what Jason says or how he says it Tim’s going to be guarded and unreceptive.
Jason groans and lets himself slouch down, sliding until his head has slipped below the back of the couch. He runs his uninjured hand down the length of his face. “I didn’t want to have a fight,” he starts, “I just wanted to talk to you about something.”
Tim sits with ramrod perfect posture and folds his hands delicately in his lap. “I didn’t know there was anything for us to talk about.”
Jason breaks away from Tim’s aggressive eye contact and lets himself stare up at the ceiling and breathe.
Tim bristles, agitation clear in his voice when he says, “I thought you wanted to talk.”
Jason doesn’t rise to the bait— he doesn’t want to fight. He wants— he wants Tim to think his own life matters. To know that people give a shit whether he dies or not.
He steels his nerves and pushes the anger and resentment that keeps bubbling up back down.
“Well?” Tim asks, voice hard and cutting. “If you’re just going to—”
“I care about you.” Jason cuts him off, sitting up straight and letting his eyes slide back to Tim’s face. Watches the flush that starts to overcome Tim’s face before his indignation takes over and he glares even harder at Jason.
Tim grits his teeth. “That’s not—”
“I might—” and here Jason stumbles over his words but Tim has to know and he has to stop cutting Tim off because Jason knows Tim hates that but if he doesn’t get it out now maybe he never will “—I might love you. Even. I don’t know it’s all— I’ve never— I just need you to know that. I give a shit if you're here or not.”
Tim’s caught out, Jason can practically see as he tries to find his footing in this conversation.
“I...” He trails off. It’s not often that Jason can make Timothy Drake speechless.
Jason smiles, but it feels a little hollow. He feels exhausted, suddenly. He leans on his knees and rests his hand face up in Tim’s general direction. Tim stares at his hand but doesn't lean forward to take it.
“You don’t have to say it back,” he says. “You never have to say it back. You don’t even have to feel it. But you need to know that I— I love you. Even if this doesn’t work out I don’t think I’ll stop. I’m always going to care about you, Tim.”
Tim’s face crumples and he turns it away so Jason can’t read his eyes.
But he takes Jason’s hand.
“If you get hurt and I’m not— when you don’t— I worry.” He’s fucking this up. He doesn’t know how to express to Tim that Jason knows he’s capable. Tim’s one of the strongest and smartest people he knows but Jason is still— every night he is still paralyzed with the fear that something could happen. To Tim, to someone else in the family, to one of the Outlaws and Jason is helpless to do anything.
Tim doesn’t look at him as he says, “I don’t want you to worry.”
There’s more to it than that. Tim doesn’t know how to be worried about. He’s used to simply existing at his own pace, flowing in and out of peoples’ notice. Every time Jason shows back up with takeout or groceries to make Tim dinner he seems... surprised. That Jason remembered him. That Jason came back.
Jason squeezes Tim’s hand. “That's not really something you can control. I worry because I care about you. Neither of those things are going to stop anytime soon.”
For a second he sees the corner of Tim’s eye tighten, gears turning. Like Tim can control this, and Jason doesn’t want to know where his mind is going with that.
“I’m shot.” Jason says, and Tim whirls around to stare at him wide eyed. Eyes cataloging Jason’s body for injuries. “I’m shot,” Jason says quieter, “it’s in my abdomen and you think, maybe, it could’ve been laced with something.”
Tim studies him. “This is... hypothetical?” Jason nods and Tim leans closer. “What’s it laced with?”
Jason shrugs. “You don’t know. Could be a paralytic agent, could be a poison.”
“So we take you to the cave.”
Jason shakes his head. “I won’t go. I say I’ll take care of it myself.”
Tim’s eyes flash. “Then I’ll test the bullet and wound here, and—”
“I tell you not to worry about it.” Jason squeezes Tim’s hand again and Tim studies him. “I say I’ll take out the bullet myself and stitch up the wound. I ran a general test and didn’t find any foreign agents in my body.”
“We should run a full body toxscreen,” Tim says, “just in case.”
“I tell you to go home.”
Tim scrunches his face up, clearly annoyed at this hypothetical Jason. “Why would I leave—”
“You told me you were dying, and that there was nothing I could do.”
The silence hangs around them. Tim’s hand twitches but he doesn’t try to pull it away. His eyes settle somewhere just to the left of Jason’s head.
“There was nothing you could do,” he says quietly.
“I could’ve stayed.” Jason moves off the couch so he can kneel before Tim, catching Tim’s face in his free hand he turns Tim’s head so they can look at each other again. “I could have sat with you while you were dying. I would have stayed.”
Tim’s nose crinkles. “I wasn’t dying. I was synthesizing the antidote.”
“You were dying and there was nothing I could do.” Jason keeps his gaze steady. “And you didn’t want me to stay.”
It’s like a lightbulb goes off in Tim’s head. “Is this because you—” He cuts himself off, looking abashed.
“A little bit.” Jason says. He already knows what Tim was going to ask. “I died alone, and there was nobody there. And that sucked. It more than sucked I can’t even—” he takes a deep breath. “But this is about me knowing that you know that I care about you. That I want to be there. Even if I can’t do anything I want you to know that you’re not alone. I’m not leaving you alone.”
Tim leans forward, resting his forehead against Jason’s. His cheeks dusted a soft pink. “I’m not good at letting people in.”
Jason grins up at him. “Don’t worry, I’m good at picking locks.”
Tim’s eyes watch Jason’s for a moment, and Jason lets him mull over whatever he needs to. “I’m not good at this. I don’t— I want— I like when you’re here. I like when you stay. But I don’t want to force you. I don’t want you to feel like you have to be here.”
Jason threads his fingers through the back of Tim’s hair and presses their foreheads a little closer together. “Pushing me away isn’t the way to do that, baby bird.” He lets that sit with Tim a moment before pulling away so he can press a kiss to Tim’s forehead. “I’m here because I want to be. You know I don’t do shit when I don’t want to. You’re not forcing me to be here. It’s not an obligation.” Tim rests his head against Jason’s shoulder and hums. It's not an acceptance, but at least they have some sort of understanding now.
“I’m sorry I worried you,” Tim says into Jason’s shirt. “I was trying to— to do the opposite. But I— I’ll try not to push you away next time. Even if there’s nothing you can do.”
Jason reaches up and loops his arms around Tim. Their positions are a little awkward for a hug but Tim melts against him. “Just let me be there for you, okay?”
Tim is silent for a long moment. Long enough that Jason think’s he’s not going to say anything. Jason figures he’d pushed enough for one day he can let this go, but just as he’s about to release Tim from their embrace he hears Tim whisper “Okay.”
Jason’s cheeks flame for a second and he hugs Tim tighter— crushing him against Jason’s chest and pulling him off of the chair. Tim makes a choked noise but goes without a fuss and lets Jason hold him for a moment longer.
Jason gives Tim one last squeeze before moving back to stand up, holding out a hand for Tim. “Now c’mon,” he says, “let me make you dinner.”
Tim’s mouth twists but he takes Jason’s hand and pulls himself up. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to.” Jason grins down at him and when a tentative smile starts playing at the corners of Tim’s lips Jason swoops down to kiss them.
Tim flushes bright red. “Wha- hey!”
Jason shrugs as he maneuvers around Tim and makes his way over to the kitchen. “You gotta seal all important discussions with a kiss, Timmy. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”
“I’m pretty sure you just did!” Tim laughs, and follows Jason into the kitchen so he can loop his arms around Jason’s waist as Jason starts pulling out ingredients. Tim keeps his face pressed against Jason’s back as they shuffle through the kitchen together as he peels and cuts vegetables and throws them in a pan to fry.
“Thanks.” He mumbles into Jason’s back. And Jason hears what he doesn’t say.
For being here.
For staying.
For loving me.
Jason curls one hand overtop of Tim’s as he stirs the food.
“Always,” he says, and feels Tim smile against his back.