Archive of Our Own ^beta

Why was it that when Tim slipped up, it was never something like admitting that he’d snuck a few extra cookies from Alfred, and always a secret he’d fully intended to take to his grave?

Last time, he’d admitted to Jason—of all people, Jason—that the reason he hadn’t been able to be at the last family dinner was because he’d been busy stitching up a bullet wound that he hadn’t wanted anyone seeing and fussing over, and Jason had immediately gone to Alfred.

He might’ve stopped outright attacking Tim, but he still used any opportunity to get Tim in trouble. His interference had meant that Bruce had tried to order Tim to start stopping by the cave after patrol, before he headed back to his apartment or the nest every night. Tim had barely gotten away by promising to do a proper nightly sign off with Babs. She was persistent in making sure he didn’t have any injuries, but at least he wasn’t having to drive all the way to Bristol and back.

Tim gladly would’ve told Jason about the three times since then that he’d snuck injuries past Babs and Bruce if it meant he could take back the secret he’d just let slip.

But this one wasn’t Tim’s fault.

He was tired, it had been a long day, there had been a gala at the museum and Penguin had shown, which meant running and hiding and cowering because Timothy Drake wasn’t trained, and then they’d gone on patrol like nothing had happened, and Tim had gotten hit by a freeze ray by a disgruntled mr. Freeze, and he was freezing and exhausted and his filter had left around the time his body temperature plummeted into the frostbite danger zone, so it wasn’t his freaking fault.

Even if his stomach was trying to eat itself and he’d love to be anywhere but the cave, wrapped in three cozy, warm blankets. It wasn’t his fault.

It wasn’t.

Even if Bruce was staring at him and Jason and Duke had vanished into thin air, though Tim was sure they were still nearby enough to listen in, and Tim wanted to follow.

“Tim,” Bruce said slowly. “Were you hit by anything else? Other than the freeze ray?”

“No,” Tim said.

He spoke quietly, but Bruce heard him anyway. Tim shrank into his own shoulders.

It’d been a stupid thing to let slip out of his foggy brain. He should’ve had a careful hold on his tongue, he should’ve been careful not to mess up and tell Bruce, but it wasn’t like he could’ve known that he was gonna suddenly admit that he thought Kyle Rayner—Bruce’s coworker, Jason’s friend, a man, how could Tim have admitted it—was hot.

And now Bruce was watching him like he’d been replaced by some sort of shapeshifter. Tim’d be surprised if he hadn’t already calculated the odds of it being Clayface and not his own son sitting on his medbay table.

That was a little hurtful, honestly.

“I didn’t mean to say that outloud,” Tim said.

“I thought not,” Bruce said. “Tim, is there anything…is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

It was nice of him to pretend like Tim blatantly saying a dude was hot and had a nice smile hadn’t given him away. But Tim felt like he could’ve only been less subtle if he’d painted himself rainbow and waved a flashing neon sign in front of Vicki Vale.

He scrubbed heavy fingers over his face and nodded. Bruce pulled his cowl off.

Oh, great. This wasn’t even a Batman and Red Robin issue anymore. This was officially Timothy and his adoptive father, Bruce Wayne.

Bruce Wayne, who ran a company with one of the best track records in the country for dealing with LGBT+ employees fairly and squashing homophobia and transphobia in the workplace. Bruce Wayne, who hadn’t so much as blinked when Wonder Woman mentioned her ex girlfriend, or when Oliver Queen kissed a man in front of the press a few months back at a gala. Bruce Wayne, who Tim had never seen judge anyone for anything outside of their control. Nothing like that, certainly.

But those people weren’t his son. They didn’t reflect the Wayne family’s name.

Tim’s breath hitched in his chest, and he stared hard at the cement floor.

There was a brief moment of silence before Bruce opened his mouth, looking serious, only to be interrupted by an alarm from the Batcomputer.

The cowl went up. Bruce disappeared. Batman said, “we’ll continue this discussion later.”

“Yes, sir,” Tim said.

Everyone else filtered back into the cave as Batman pulled up the alert and read up on the newest Arkham breakout. Jason and Duke exchanged a look and then glanced at Tim, who stared blankly back. Everyone else ignored him. Probably figured he was hopped up on pain meds.

Maybe he was, at least a little, because he didn’t wait to be dismissed or told he was expected to help with the breakout. He didn’t ask Bruce if he ought to stick around the manor in case he got side effects from mr. Freeze’s ray. Tim just booked it for his bike and roared out of the cave as quickly as he could.

_____

Tim had no idea where he was until his head tipped back and he saw the stars.

It was raining, absolutely pouring, but the clouds were wispy enough in places that he could see the stars twinkle in that way he’d only seen in one place. The rain must have been smothering the smell of the wheat field the zeta tube had spit Tim into, because all he could find in the air was the metallic smell of a thunderstorm. He was soaked to the bone, and he had a split second where he wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there before he shivered and realized it didn’t matter. He knew where he was. He knew where his feet had been taking him.

He trampled a lot of wheat on his way to the main, muddy path. He’d walked it a billion times with Kon on their way back from the little Smallville corner store or from helping the neighbors with chores. Sometimes, Kon would carry Tim on his back.

About a mile later, Tim found himself standing by a familiar fence, staring at the Kent’s farmhouse. Trying to work up the courage to knock.

Ma and Pa Kent had said he was always welcome whether Kon was with him or not. They were Superman’s parents and had dealt with plenty of other capes dropping in, probably at random, late hours.

Tim still felt frozen in place at the end of the walkway.

He thought about turning around, about going back to the cave, and suddenly there was a cold wooden door under his knuckles and he was knocking.

The porch light flicked on.

A shotgun barrel was shoved under Tim’s chin.

“For Pete’s sake,” Pa Kent said, “Martha! Hun, grab a towel and c’mere, there’s a Bat on the porch!”

He gave Tim a cheeky grin, and Tim managed one back just as Ma Kent came to the doorway and took one look at him, then rolled her eyes and playfully swatted Pa. “I should’ve known.”

Pa stepped aside. He lowered the shotgun and Ma took his place in the doorway.

Her eyes scanned him worriedly, and Tim didn’t immediately launch into an explanation of how he was okay, really, just a bit cold. He just stood there and breathed in the warmth radiating from the little farmhouse.

Honestly, Tim wasn’t sure if he was okay.

“C’mon in, dear. We’ll get you dry, though I’m afraid Conner’s not here. He’s staying with Clark and Lois in Metropolis this week,” Ma said.

“I know.” Tim’s voice came out as a croak. “I wasn’t looking for him, I don’t—I’m not sure why I came here.”

Kon had been so excited about staying with Clark and getting to see Jon and Lois. Apparently, Clark had agreed to show Kon the Daily Planet building, give him the family tour of where he worked, and Jon wanted to drag Kon to see some new Justice League inspired superhero movie that had just dropped in theaters.

It’d been all Kon had talked about for the last week and a half since Clark had invited him, so yeah, Tim knew Kon wasn’t at the farmhouse.

So why was Tim?

But then, before his thoughts could drift too far, there were soft, comforting arms around him, muscled under a layer of weathered skin. Warm, like Ma Kent sucked sunshine into her bones just like Kryptonians did.

Tim sank into them and clenched his jaw against the wavering emotions inside his own chest.

Maybe he shouldn’t have felt so comfortable there without Kon. Maybe he shouldn’t have thought to go to them when his problem was distinctly personal and not something small towns in states like Kansas were known for supporting, but he really hadn’t even meant to run here. He just had.

And it didn't seem like any of that would be something Ma and Pa would care about, anyway. Clark had to have gotten his gentle, accepting boy-scout side from somewhere.

So Tim let himself lean on Ma a little emotionally, even as he made sure to keep himself steady on his own two feet, and when she pulled away, he didn’t avert his eyes. He let her take another good, long look at him.

“You’re not hiding any injuries under that jacket, are you, boy?” Pa asked from behind Ma.

“No, sir,” Tim said. “It’s all…yeah.”

They seemed to get the idea.

Ma patted his hand and pulled him inside. Pa clapped him gently on the shoulder, leading him towards the kitchen while Ma veered off towards the bedrooms.

“Sit, son.” Pa pulled out a chair for him.

Tim sat. His arms went on the table in front of him, laying in clenched fists that had his nails biting into the skin of his palms. His back was rigid and upright even as exhaustion pulled at him and the weight of his dripping, wet hair made him want to fall asleep right there at the table. It was warm and cozy and safe.

A minute or so passed, and then Ma was back with an armful of towels. She set them gently beside Tim.

“Here,” she said quietly, running a hand over his head, “go on and get changed in Conner’s room, the boy won’t mind a bit if you wear some of his clothes, so take your pick. If you want to take a warm shower—and I’d recommend it, but I won’t push—you can do that, too.”

“Thank you, Ma. I’m sorry I dropped in on you like this.”

“Don’t apologize, this is the perfect excuse for Ma to make that soup recipe Alfred sent on over. You’ll be able to tell her if it’s close to the real thing or not,” Pa said.

“Go on, get.” Ma pushed the towels towards him a little.

Tim stood on lightly-trembling legs, bundled the towels against his chest, and took the well worn stairs up to Kon’s room.

It smelled a little stale, like the door had been closed for days. But it smelled like Kon. Hay and hair spray and that pineapple perfume Kon liked that he stole from Cassie. The lingering hint of leather from his stupid jacket underneath it all.

And Kon’s bed was messily made like he’d rushed through it right before heading out the window to fly to Metropolis. He had clothing littered across the floor—not that Tim could talk, considering the state of his own room—and a couple crushed soda cans on the desk. One had apparently spilled, judging from the dried liquid stain on the scrap of algebra homework.

The bathroom was attached to Kon’s room, so Tim went ahead and ducked in. He shut the door behind him with a firm click.

Looking at himself in the mirror felt like a chore.

He kept his eyes on the fluffy bath mat and old, tiny, hexagon shaped tiles instead.

Water was still dripping from his hair, and a warm shower sounded a bit like heaven, so Tim stripped and stepped right into the shower/bath combo. The sliding glass door rattled as he drew it shut.

If he’d been at the manor or one of his own apartments, Tim would’ve drawn out the shower. He would’ve sat there until his skin was lobster red and his fingertips were pruney, and he felt a little lightheaded from the steam.

But he didn’t want to worry Ma and Pa, so he kept it short. Just squeezed some of Kon’s bodywash onto his hand and scrubbed his body quickly with coconut like he could change anything about the night he’d had if he was vicious enough. Then he stopped that, because it made no sense and wasn’t actually helping anything.

The towels were fluffy when Tim clambered out and wrapped one around his waist. He buried his face in the second one, inhaling the smell of the Kent’s lavender laundry detergent.

It reminded Tim of Alfred, of the pomegranate stuff he used for anyone who dropped their clothes in the laundry room at the manor, and Tim grit his teeth at that. Because he hadn’t even thought about Alfred, proper, Englishman Alfred, who was old-fashioned in some ways and so forward thinking in others but Tim could never really predict what he’d say about anything.

Tim had called Alfred the family’s rock a few times, and he knew it was true. He just didn’t know if that was conditional on him being normal. Straight. Not—

If Tim had just kept his mouth shut—

Why had he—?

Shaking his head roughly, Tim forced himself to shut off that line of thinking, and focused on getting dressed.

It wasn’t like Tim could just steal Kon’s underwear, because boundaries. So he just grabbed the pair from his pile of wet clothes and thanked the universe that they’d been mostly dry already. Sitting there to air dry while he showered had left them only a little, tiny bit damp to the touch.

Tim would have to make an emergency bag for the Kent’s house, he decided. Clothes, a little bit of gear, a distress beacon. Just in case.

Not that he was planning on pulling a stunt like this again, but it would be helpful if he came with Kon and had to change, for whatever reason.

With the underwear situation thankfully fixed, Tim moved on to the shirt. Kon had plenty of flannels laying around that were too large on him, baggy to hide his Kryptonian muscles. They were absolutely huge on Tim. He loved them. There were probably three in his drawer back at the manor, ones that Kon had lent Tim for various reasons.

So Tim knew immediately after pulling open the shirt drawer of Kon’s dresser what he was going for. It took him a second longer with the pants, because pajamas felt a little too personal to steal, so Tim grabbed a pair of black sweatpants instead and tugged them on. They looked fine with the black t-shirt and yellow flannel Tim had picked.

His feet ached a little from how long he’d been standing, so he stole a pair of fuzzy socks, too.

Then he shuffled his way back downstairs. His phone was jammed into the side pocket on the sweatpants and felt like a cement block. He probably had messages from the Bats.

They could wait, Tim figured they’d call if something went horribly wrong, and it wasn’t like they would be worried about him and where he was when they were busy dealing with the Arkham breakout. He hadn’t even seen who all had broken out, but based off Bruce’s face, it’d been a big one.

Tim’s chest tightened a little at that, and he wondered if he should’ve stayed. If something happened to one of his siblings, or to Bruce, because he’d ditched them…

“Tim?” Ma Kent called. “In the kitchen, hun.”

Reluctantly, Tim forced his feet to move.

He gently pushed the swinging door open and poked his head into the kitchen, where Ma and Pa were waiting at the table with a steaming bowl already set at a third spot. Pa gestured for Tim to take it.

“Alright, son. I know you Bats like your privacy, but you’re worrying Ma—”

“Jonathan, you shush.”

“—and, frankly, I’d like to know if I’m gonna have to call up Alfred and tell him to put some sense into that boy of his,” Pa said. His face was soft, even though his words weren’t. “So, you eat some and you decide how much you wanna tell us and how long you’re gonna be staying for, alright?”

“Alright,” Tim said.

He fiddled with the spoon in front of him a little, mushing a soft carrot underneath it. Then he lifted his head and studied Ma and Pa.

Ma, with her carefully arranged bun and gentle smile, wrinkles abundant on her face that she wore proudly with an easy grace. Pa, with his overalls and round glasses, wispy silver hair pushed away from his face, one hand on his leg and the other resting on the table.

Tim wasn’t Cass, but he could read body language just fine. And with the Kent’s, he didn’t really need to. They were trustworthy, and if they said something, chances were, it was true. Or as true as they could afford to be when you’re a couple with aliens for a son and grandchildren.

“I accidentally told Bruce something that I didn’t mean to admit,” Tim said slowly. “It’s not a big deal, I just don’t know how he’ll take it.”

Ma and Pa exchanged a look.

“And he didn’t react when you told him?” Ma asked.

“He started to, but there was an Arkham breakout, and he had to go.”

“But he wasn’t mad, was he?” Pa asked.

“No.” Tim paused. “Not that I could tell, anyway. Just asked if I’d gotten hit with something, we’d been out dealing with mr. Freeze, and I think he thought I might’ve gotten some of Ivy’s pollen or something, too, and then asked if I had something I wanted to tell him.”

“And did you?” Ma asked.

“I’m…I don’t know.”

Another pause, and Tim knew they were waiting on him to speak, so he reluctantly continued. “It’s not that I don’t want him to know, it’s just that I’m not sure what he’s gonna think, and I don’t go into things like that blind.”

With a sigh, Pa nodded at Tim’s soup.

He’d forgotten all about it. It’d stopped steaming, and Tim really didn’t want to say anything more, so he started eating.

It was tasty, at least.

“It sounds like this is something personal,” Ma said, “and without knowing what it is, I’m afraid I can’t really give much advice. But there’s very little chance of Bruce ever really disapproving of one of you kids.”

Tim kept chewing a hunk of potato, eyes on the bowl.

“From what Alfred says, that boy would go to the ends of the universe for any one of his children, just like you did for him,” Pa said.

“But I’m not—” Tim’s hand tightened around his spoon, and he set it down with a clank. “I’m not Dick, I’m not his firstborn. And I’m not Jason, who Bruce lost and he’s trying to make up for lost time with, and I’m not his blood son or his only daughter, and I’m not a kid who needs him anymore, not really. I’m—”

Ma’s voice was sharp when she cut him off. “Now that’s enough of that, boy. Don’t you start talking about being expendable or replaceable.”

Head jolting up, Tim couldn’t stop his mouth from opening slightly, caught off guard.

He’d been about to say ‘not needed,’ and he’d really love to know how Ma knew where he was going with that, but it didn’t feel like the time to ask. She was busy pointing a finger at him, wagging it along with her lecture.

“You don’t need to need help or be his firstborn or anything of the sort for him to love you, because you can’t sort children into neat little boxes, and a parent’s love shouldn’t be dependent on anything but the fact that you’re their child. Bruce is not the sort of parent who’s love is conditional.” Ma stopped, taking a breath. “Y’know what Alfred told us back when you showed up on their stoop with all sorts of proof and more gumption than sense?”

Tim bit back a protest. He’d had plenty of sense.

“He told us that Bruce was actively stopping himself from loving you, because you were that easy to love. That you had a big ol’ smile and you liked to act serious and slick your hair up in spikes, and that you spouted facts like a garden hose with a leak. He said that Bruce was terrified of you because you were opening a piece of his heart that he’d thought was buried six feet deep. That sort of love isn’t the type that can be tossed aside because you did somethin’ he didn’t like or because there’s something about you that you think is wrong or something to be hidden.”

Sipping his coffee, Pa nodded, and said, “y’know something, just a few months back, Clark told me that one of Bruce’s boys got hurt while out on a mission.”

Ma settled back in her chair, face and neck red from talking so sternly, and Tim unshrank a little from his shoulders.

“It was you, and ‘course we know who you are, our grandson’s best friend, so he told us about it.”

“Which one was it?” Tim asked quietly.

“Clark said it had to do with a Justice League mission, if that clears it up.”

It did.

League team ups were rare, honestly. Tim’s team didn’t work too well when one of the big heroes was trying to call the shots, they were too used to it being Tim or Cassie, so they tried to keep to themselves. But that one was when their mission crossed into a League one, and both were already in progress. The League wasn’t willing to hand over their mission and the team refused to give up theirs. So they’d just joined the two and worked together.

It was supposed to be simple, get in, get the intel that would tell the Green Lanterns where Earth’s sudden influx of alien weapons was coming from, get out.

The team had found the base that the syndicate was using to distribute everything on Earth, so they were the ones that went in. Bart handled zipping around and shutting off the security using USB drives from Oracle that caused a temporary shut down in the systems. Cassie, Kon, and Hal Jordan waited outside in case they needed muscle or an extraction. Tim, as the resident Bat, handled actually sneaking in and stealing the information.

It’d been so carefully planned that Tim actually went to Selina and asked for her advice on it. She’d taught him how to handle the laser system they were using, because Babs said that her USB’s wouldn’t be able to shut them off.

And then it’d all gone wrong because there had been more guards stationed than the system had indicated when Babs had hacked in before.

Tim wound up in critical condition thanks to one of the guards, an alien in disguise, having superstrength. He’d picked Tim up and chucked him right over the side of a third floor catwalk. Tim managed to catch himself on the second floor catwalk, only to have his arm wrench out of its socket, then he’d fallen the rest of the way into a pile of trash.

While the trash had probably saved him from a death that would haunt Dick’s nightmares forever, another member of his family falling without a net, it had also impaled Tim with a spear right through where his spleen would’ve been if Ra’s Al Ghul hadn’t been kind enough to remove it a while back.

If Hal hadn’t been able to use a ring construct to gently remove the spear and wrap Tim’s wound, he would’ve bled out before Bart could get the right first aid materials.

“Yeah,” Tim said, putting his hand on the spot where a new scar crisscrossed the old one. “Yeah, I know the mission.”

Pa’s face softened, and he said, “well, you were strong enough to pull through, but you had everyone real worried for a while. Bruce especially, according to Clark.”

“Sorry.”

“Not a sorry situation, son. These things happen. But Clark said that, apparently, Bruce went on a bit of a rampage. Benched your friends ‘till you were healed up, benched Damian, even tried to bench Dick and your other siblings, though they didn’t listen, ‘cause they’re old enough to tell him to go kick rocks.”

“But that’s not even the worst injury I’ve gotten this year,” Tim said.

“It scared him,” Ma said. “Bruce personally signed off on the mission, let you handle it instead of going himself, and he was kicking himself for it.”

“Say you hadn’t been so lucky, Tim. Say that you’d been stabbed in a more dangerous spot, or nobody had been there to keep you stable until backup arrived. I love Conner dearly but Lord knows that boy knows diddly squat about human first aid,” Pa said.

Reluctantly, Tim nodded. They’d taught Kon a lot about first aid, but it was hard for him. He’d probably have struggled with such a serious wound.

“So, if you hadn’t been so lucky, then Bruce would have been the one to have sent you on a mission that got you killed. How do you think he would’ve reacted to that?” Pa asked.

“He…he probably would’ve…” Tim trailed off.

Ma and Pa were looking at him, waiting, so he just shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“Well, I do.” Ma tapped her nails on the wood tabletop. “He would’ve gone down the same dark path he had with Jason, and this time, I don’t think there would’ve been a little boy with spiky hair and gumption to pull him up by his ear and tell him to get his life together, would there?”

Silence.

“What we’re trying to tell you, Tim, is that your dad loves you just as much as he loves the rest of his kids, no matter who you are or what you’ve done. If he can love a starfish like flesh and blood, he can love you,” Pa said.

Tim had gone back to fiddling with the spoon without noticing, so he dropped it again and ran a trembling hand through his hair.

They weren’t wrong. Tim knew Bruce loved him, that Bruce hadn’t immediately flown off the handle on him, that Bruce’s love wasn’t conditional. Tim knew that Bruce was a good man and good men didn’t hate their kids for who they loved.

But what if Tim was the exception?

The back of Tim’s eyes burned. He blinked hard.

“Oh, Timothy,” Ma said, sliding out of her chair.

She pulled Tim into a hug, his ear pressed against her shoulder and her arms wrapped tightly around him. One hand wiped at his cheek.

“I don’t wanna mess this up.” Tim croaked. “He’s my dad, I can’t—I’ve already lost Jack and Janet.”

Neither of them asked who Jack and Janet were, either because they could guess from context clues or because they already knew somehow, but Ma’s grip tightened on him comfortingly and Pa said, “son, nothing short of murder would convince Bruce to leave you behind, and from what I hear, even that hasn’t stopped him with two of his kids.”

“But—”

Tim buried his face in Ma’s shoulder, shuddering.

Pa was right. It sounded ridiculous in Tim’s head, the thought that Bruce would forgive Jason his kill count but not Tim being bi.

But Tim’s stomach was still twisting with worry and his head was pounding, because logic couldn’t fix it. He was just gonna be stuck worrying until he went back to the manor and talked to Bruce and heard from him, personally, that it was okay.

“Tim.” Ma’s voice was in his ear.

He lifted his head slightly.

“If you want to tell us, we’ll listen. If not, you can go right on up to Kon’s room and get some sleep. It’s up to you.”

Sleep sounded nice. Kon’s bed, with its mountain of pillows and blankets.

But…Tim almost wanted to tell Ma and Pa.

They weren’t his grandparents. Tim had never really known his. He’d met Jack’s folks a few times, Janet’s even less, and obviously, Thomas and Martha Wayne had died long before he’d even been born. But sitting in this warm kitchen, hugging Ma, listening to them praise him and tell him he was being ridiculous and worrying too much, made him comfortable. Made him feel welcome.

Tim glanced at Pa, who was looking back, no hint of pressure or judgment on his face.

If they had a problem with stuff like being gay, there probably would’ve been more signs. Kon had cried in front of Ma and Pa before, Tim had seen it, and they hadn’t told him to man up or stop being a sissy. Tim and Kon regularly hugged hello and goodbye or just because, and not once had the Kent’s told them that boys don’t do that. They raised Clark, who was pretty much the poster boy for being non-judgemental.

“I’m gay,” Tim said. “Bisexual. I like girls but I also like guys.”

And it was just out there. Hanging in the air.

Ma smoothed his hair and asked, “that’s what you’re worried about Bruce not being happy with?”

With a chuckle, Pa shook his head.

“Son, I think you ought to march on over to talk to your dad in the morning. This sounds like one big misunderstanding,” he said.

“You’re probably too young to remember this,” Ma said, “but back in the day, Bruce Wayne made quite a few headlines by choosing unconventional partners. He’s always been very open about them. For instance, Gotham’s old D.A.”

Tim blinked.

Gotham’s old D.A.

There were plenty of those, Gotham had a long history, but there was only one who mattered.

With a screech that echoed off the kitchen’s old wooden cabinets, Tim jolted upright and shouted, “Bruce dated Two-Face?”

Ma and Pa laughed, but Tim was too busy rethinking every interaction he’d ever seen between them. Hell, the first time Tim saved Bruce’s life, it’d been from Two-Face. Tim had been saving him from his evil ex? Had Alfred known? Had Dick? Was that why Harvey and Selina seemed to have a bit of a strange dynamic? Because they’d dated the same man?

Groaning, Tim sank back in his chair. Ma retook her own.

“A moment of silence for your sanity, but I think you might’ve missed something important there,” Pa said.

Tim stared at him.

What could be more important than the fact that Bruce had dated Harvey Dent, who Tim had fought dozens of times over the years without ever knowing? Had everyone known but Tim?

“Dear, Harvey Dent is a man,” Ma said.

Yeah, an evil man who Tim had helped put back into Arkham so many times that Tim had his normal cell number memorized—

Harvey was a man.

Bruce was a man.

“Dad’s into dudes?” Tim asked.

Grinning like Tim was a toddler who’d just figured out which shape went into which hole in a toy, Pa nodded. “Sure is. He’s not particularly subtle about it, either.”

“So I’m—”

“Hiding in Kansas to get out of a conversation that probably would’ve lasted five seconds.”

Tim buried his face in his hands.

He was allowed to sit there, processing, for a few more minutes before a gentle hand landed on his shoulder and Ma said, “let’s get you to bed, alright? It sounds like you have to have a conversation with your father bright and early tomorrow.”

For a second, Tim nodded along, then hesitated.

“I should head back tonight. He’s probably worried, I left without telling him where I was going,” Tim said.

“You said he had to handle an Arkham breakout. He’s probably just glad you’re not in Gotham so dead on your feet,” Pa said. “Or trying to go out after getting hit by—who’d you say, mr. Freeze?”

He wasn’t wrong. Tim was bone-tired. He'd been fighting back the urge to yawn every few minutes, and his head felt like it’d been stuffed full of cotton balls. Bruce would be worried if he’d stayed in Gotham; none of the Bats just sat out an Arkham breakout, and Tim was no exception. Bruce would’ve spent the entire night watching for Red Robin to show just so that he could send Tim home.

But with Tim in another city—and there was no doubt Bruce knew. Oracle got an alert every time someone used the zeta tube in Gotham, which included who it was, and she would’ve told Bruce—he could focus on the fights.

But once the breakout was handled, Bruce would want to talk to him, and he’d just bolted.

“C’mon, son. After all that work to get you warm, you’re just gonna run right back into the freezing rain?” Pa asked.

Jonathan Kent used guilt trip. It’s super effective!

_____

‘Bright and early’ in farm terms apparently meant seven in the morning, but Tim couldn’t find it in himself to be grumpy.

Kon’s bed was rudely soft and while Tim normally didn’t sleep with many pillows, he was seriously reconsidering that. It was nice to have something to hold while he slept. It wasn’t as comfortable as the cuddle piles Tim found himself in whenever he stayed with any of the original Young Justice members, but man, it was close.

It took a second for Tim to realize that the strange buzzing at the edges of his hearing were voices. Even longer to register that they were coming from outside.

Silently, he slid from Kon’s bed and slid two of the slats on the blinds apart to look.

He couldn’t actually see the people attached to the voices, just grass and the corner of the barn, but now that he was focused, he could make out some words.

Especially his name, said twice in quick succession.

And then there was the familiar voice, deep and serious, and absolutely not supposed to be at the farm of all places.

Tim scrambled for the window sash. If he ditched now and hiked it back to the zeta tube, he might be able to get away before Bruce even realized he’d left.

He knew he was being ridiculous, Ma and Pa had made it clear that Bruce wouldn’t hate him or think he was gross, but it was harder to believe them when Bruce was right downstairs. The conversation was imminent.

Thankfully, under kon’s window, there was a sloped roof.

Climbing out and heading towards the side of the house, where Tim could drop down to the ground and bolt, was easy.

Getting past the guard dog, not so much.

“Rob,” Kon said, perched on the edge of the roof above Tim.

“Kon-El,” Tim said warily.

“Oh, full names. Cool, cool, cool-cool. Well, Timothy, care to explain where you’re going?”

“Out.”

“From the roof.”

“You have a bat infestation on the front porch. Wouldn’t want to startle it.”

Kon’s lips twitched upwards, but he crossed his arms and said, “you know my window has that creak that always tells Clark when it opens, I know you do.”

“Good thing you’re not Clark.”

A little cough, and Tim was whirling. Kon jolted towards him as if there was even the slightest chance of Tim actually losing his footing.

Clark hovered over the roof watching them both.

“Oh, c’mon,” Tim said.

“Sorry.” Kon shrugged.

“Why are you guys even here?”

Kon stood and took Tim’s arm, using his TTK to lift them both and deposit them on the ground below. Ma and Pa were waiting, Ma with a raised eyebrow and Pa with a little, amused smile.

The voices had stopped, meaning that Bruce had probably been talking with these four, and that Bruce was likely already aware that Tim had tried to make a break for it.

“I went looking for your heartbeat this morning, couldn’t find it, and that freaked me right out, by the way,” Kon said pointedly. “Found you here, which was weird, ‘cause why would my best friend be at my grandparent’s place even though he knows I’m in Metropolis?”

Tim opened his mouth, but Kon cut him off to continue. “So then I was gonna call you, but Clark’s phone rang, and it was Bruce. I figured I’d listen in, see what was goin’ on there. And it turns out, my best friend ran away to my grandparents’ because he said something to his dad that he hadn’t meant to and now his dad wanted my—wanted Clark to fly him over to Ma and Pa’s farm because, apparently, Pa shut off the zeta tube!”

At that, Pa looked a little sheepish.

Back when the zeta tube was set up near the Kent’s farm, Clark insisted there had to be a way for Ma and Pa to shut it down manually for any reason they wanted. Bruce had agreed, and programmed it.

As far as Tim knew, the zeta tube had been shut down a grand total of fourteen times over the years.

Fifteen, now.

“Guess you were really serious about me staying here,” Tim said.

“We know what your family is like. If we hadn’t shut it down, there was a decent chance you were just gonna go waltz off to Gotham in the dead of night, in the rain, and keel over in some alley somewhere. I’m not having that, young man,” Ma said. “And I certainly wasn’t having your family come here to drag you back and let you out of that conversation with your father. It’ll eat you up until you talk about it.”

“I wouldn’t—” Tim started, only to cut himself off. He absolutely would’ve dodged the conversation and pretended nothing ever happened if he thought Bruce would go along with it.

“Rob, if Ma’s being pushy,” Kon said meaningfully.

Clark snorted. Tim shook his head. “No, she’s right, I guess. And it’s not like I can really escape anything now. Bruce is already here.”

“Good,” Ma said. “You two—” she pointed at Kon and Clark. “—make yourselves scarce, let the boys have this conversation privately. Jonathan and I will be in the kitchen if you need anything, hun.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Tim said.

Ma and Pa headed for the house, while Kon took a few steps towards the barn. “We can still make a break for it.” He offered.

“I wouldn’t stop you,” Clark said.

As tempting as that was…

Bruce was right around the corner. And from what Ma and Pa said, he was probably gonna be fine with it.

It’d be hypocritical if he wasn’t, right?

Not that Bruce was immune to being a hypocrite. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d called out one of his kids for doing something ‘wrong’ after doing the same thing.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Tim shook his head.

He could handle a conversation with his dad. It’d be fine.

“But…maybe stick close,” Tim said, reaching out to squeeze Kon’s hand.

“Always, Rob,” Kon said. He squeezed back.

Then he and Clark took off, flying towards the barn. Far enough away to not hear them if they spoke normally, but close enough that, if Tim were to shout for Kon, he’d be there in a split-second.

Another deep breath, and Tim headed around the side of the house, towards Bruce.

He was waiting for Tim on the front steps to the house. A jolt of ice crawled up Tim’s spine, seeing him.

Instead of the Batsuit, Bruce was wearing civies, just jeans and a nice t-shirt, a black leather jacket over top like he’d been taking fashion tips from Jason. He was scrolling patiently through his phone. Probably checking emails.

“B,” Tim said quietly.

Bruce looked up immediately.

Like he hadn’t known Tim was there, even though they both knew that was a lie.

“Tim,” Bruce said, scanning him. “Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did. You?”

Bruce nodded. “The Arkham breakout was only Ivy and Two-Face—” don’t think about Bruce dating Harvey Dent, don’t think about your dad dating a guy who’d end up being one of his biggest villains, don’t go down that sad and vaguely creepy rabbit hole. “—and Dick and Damian were able to handle Harvey by themselves.”

“And Ivy?” Tim asked.

“Cassandra, Jason, and I. Only Cassandra was hit, and it was just cuddle pollen. Both Ivy and Harvey are back in Arkham already.”

“How’d Cass handle the pollen?”

“She kept fighting until Ivy was down, then latched onto Jason and he took her back to the manor to get the antidote while I waited for the commissioner.”

It was a close thing, but Tim managed not to laugh at the idea of Cass, who was even smaller than Tim was, and even more serious about the no kill rule, latching onto the known murderer Red Hood like a koala.

He supposed it was a testament to how far Jason had come. Cass would’ve refused to go anywhere near him if he was still killing, but she’d chosen to let her guard down around him. Trusted him.

“Cool,” Tim said.

He sank down onto the step beside Bruce, fiddling with the flannel he was wearing.

Bruce was the one who broke the silence.

“Tim,” he said, and he sounded soft and…apologetic? “I’m sorry. I should’ve made sure to reassure you that I’m okay with what you admitted, that I support you, but I—”

And Bruce stopped, he actually hesitated before he admitted, “Duke told me that I went ‘full Batmode’ and made it sound like I was ignoring what you’d said, or worse, that I didn’t approve.”

“You didn’t—” Tim started.

“I was worried that you’d been hit by some sort of truth serum or drug that lowered your mental defenses, allowing things you wouldn’t normally say to slip through. I wanted to ensure that I cut you off before you admitted to anything else you didn’t want me knowing; you value your privacy, I know that, son. As much as I like knowing everything about you kids, so that I can support you properly and protect you, I understand that there are some things you need to keep close to your chest until you’re ready.”

“So you’re not—you’re not mad?”

“Absolutely not, sweetheart. The only thing I’m upset about is that you disappeared so soon after being hit by mr. Freeze and that something might have happened to you. But I was the one who made you feel like you had to run, so I’ve been told I can’t be mad about that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Tim said. “Ma Kent told me you used to date guys, if she assumed I knew, then you probably did, too. It’s not like it’d be out of the realm of possibility for me to go dig up old newspapers.”

“I did assume. I shouldn’t have, that’s not fair to you. It was just one of those things that felt so natural, like old news to me, and I forget sometimes that you haven’t just always been at the manor. It’s easy to think of you there when you were younger; precocious and too smart for your own good, running laps around me and Alfred.” Bruce sighed.

Tim’s heart squeezed.

He did the same thing, sometimes. He was just so used to the manor that he’d forget that he used to live in an empty apartment with relics for company, or that he’d spend hours waiting for his parents, only to get an email saying their flights had been rescheduled. It was like Bruce and the others had hit factory reset on Tim’s brain and replaced all of his sadder memories with ones from the manor.

If he wasn’t really trying, Tim would think back to his childhood, and all he’d come up with was train surfing with Dick or losing to Jason at darts, sparring with Damian, rooftop tag with Duke, and making terrible food combos with Cass, or watching movies on the big screen that Bruce had set up. Frozen meals were replaced with Alfred’s dinners, and sitting in front of the TV with it turned up all the way to make the house feel less quiet was instead listening to Dick and Steph do bad karaoke of Disney songs just to irritate Jason.

“It’s okay.” Tim managed.

“It’s not, I should’ve made it clear that I was okay with that sort of stuff.”

Tim shrugged, staring out at the grass and the trees waving in the wind. He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he just didn’t.

If he tried, he was pretty sure he’d start crying.

“You know how I came out to Alfred?” Bruce asked suddenly.

Tim shook his head.

“I went to a lot more parties, back in the day. After I went to train as Batman but before I got all of you kids and began shedding my Brucie persona for a tired dad one, I went to one that Oliver was holding in Coast City. He was there for the summer. It wasn’t necessarily a big party, it was a rented yacht and had some people Oliver knew, but nobody I was too familiar with.”

“Rented yacht, but it wasn’t a big party?”

“Maybe fifty people.”

Snorting, Tim gestured for him to continue.

“Well, I had a couple of drinks and Oliver came over to tell me that someone else had arrived. But we’re away from the docks, aren’t we? I would’ve heard the boat pull up or seen it or something,” Bruce said. “Except this moron—he didn’t arrive in a boat, because it was Hal, and he flew in as a Green Lantern under the cover of the fireworks.”

“That’s actually kinda smart,” Tim said. Bruce shot him an exasperated look.

“So Hal and I get to talking, since Oliver’s busy playing host, and I don’t know anybody else there. I’ve had a few drinks, Hal’s dead on his feet because he flew straight from space to this ridiculous yacht party. We figure we can duck out and nobody’ll notice. Right?”

“Oh, boy.”

“Oh, boy.” Bruce agreed. “Some gossip magazine person was there, saw me give Hal my suit jacket because he was worried about someone spilling wine on his father’s, and mine was large enough to cover it. Then we both disappeared and neither of us were spotted for the rest of the night. Oliver had no idea where we’d gone, so he just said something about us knowing each other and ran away. He hesitated for so long that it made it more suspicious.”

Tim winced and said, “lemme guess, Vicki Vale got her claws on the gossip mag.”

“Exactly. It was all over Gotham after only a few days. Hal sent me a bouquet of flowers to tease me.”

“And Alfred?”

“Well, Alfred brought me a copy of the gossip magazine and told me that if I was going to date a Green Lantern, John Stewart ‘seemed like a perfectly respectable fellow.”

Snorting, Tim leaned into Bruce’s shoulder, and said, “he’s not wrong. Out of the two of them, John probably wouldn’t try to convince you that W.E. needs to budget more towards plane engineering.”

There was a bit of a pause, before Bruce sighed.

“It felt fitting, when you said it,” he said vaguely.

“What?”

“Well, I came out to Alfred by accident with a Green Lantern. You came out to me by accident with a Green Lantern. I thought I was mistaken for a second, that I was assuming what you meant because of me and Hal. But then it just felt fitting. Like father, like son, I suppose.”

Like father, like son.

No matter how many times Bruce called Tim his son, not just as a nickname but as a genuine, offhand statement, it always felt like a hug, or like Alfred’s Christmas pie. Warm, completely enveloping Tim.

“At least I have taste,” Tim said around the lump in his throat. “I mean, Hal’s not even all that handsome. Kyle, though…”

“I’m pretty sure both Hal and Jason would have heart attacks hearing you say that.”

“Jason?”

Bruce gave him a quick look, one eyebrow raised. “Jason’s had a crush on Kyle for quite some time. He thinks he’s slick, but parents just have a sixth sense for this sort of thing.”

“Jason’s gay?” Tim whispered.

A pause.

Bruce burst out laughing.

Sinking into his shoulders, Tim crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “Okay, I get it, my gaydar is absolutely, completely broken. Compass that doesn’t point North. Haha, very funny.”

“Tim, if there’s a single straight person in our family, it’s a mystery to me.”

“But—” Tim stopped, crossed arms moving into more of a self-hug, and said, “if I’d known, I would’ve just told you I was bi, instead of panicking and running here.”

Bruce’s face softened. “I’m sorry, son. It’s always seemed rather obvious to me, so I just assumed you knew. My own relationships were all over the newspapers back in the day, Dick and Jason are hardly subtle, and you’re always so quick to catch on to the little things like this.”

“It’s not little, B. I thought—I thought—”

“You thought I was going to hate you.”

Nodding, Tim tipped into Bruce’s arms, and Bruce pressed a soft kiss to the top of Tim’s hair.

“I’m sorry. There’s no excuse for me not being clear with you, that I love you and there is nothing you could do to change that. No matter if you disappoint me or how much I disapprove of your actions, there’s nothing you could possibly do in this universe or any other that would make me hate you.”

Tim bit down on the inside of his cheek, but wasn’t able to stop himself from shuddering. Bruce’s hold tightened.

“Dad,” Tim said, lips salty from tears. “Do you think we could go home now?”

“I’m fairly confident Jason’s about ready to tear my throat out for how badly I messed up with you last night, so I’d appreciate that, actually,” Bruce said.

With a wet snort, Tim wiped at his face. Bruce took over after a second and gently smoothed the last few streaks away with the pad of his thumb, then kissed his hair again, and stood. Tim was practically lifted upright.

“I’ll ask Jonathan to open the zeta tube,” Bruce said. “You go tell Kon-El that he can stop thinking of ways to attack me before I can grab the kryptonite, assuming you forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive. Just one big, stupid misunderstanding,” Tim said.

Bruce squeezed him tight one more time, then climbed the steps and vanished into the house. The old screen door creaked closed behind him.

“Kon.” Tim called. “We’re done talking.”

A moment later, Kon was there, and Tim was toppling into his arms on autopilot.

“You okay? Your heartbeats all over the place,” Kon said.

“That was terrifying.”

Kon chuckled.

“I’m serious.” Tim whined, burying his face in Kon’s neck. “I thought he was gonna be mad.”

“He loves you, Rob. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

“Yeah, I get that now. Not so much ten minutes ago. I thought I was gonna puke.”

“But you did it. It’s over, you came out, your dad knows.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s over.”

Kon pulled away slightly, chewing on his upper lip. Tim studied his face.

“What?” Tim asked.

“It’s over, except for the rest of your eighty-five billion siblings.”

Tim blinked.

“Crap.”

“You could just hire a skywriter. ‘Tim Drake’s bisexual.”

“No.”

“I could do it, I can fly. Or ask Hal Jordan, he flies planes, right?”

“I’m never looking at Hal Jordan the same way again. Or any of the Lanterns, actually. They’re all dead to me, they caused this whole mess, Kyle and his stupid pretty face.”

Kon smirked, and asked, “are pretty faces your thing? Cause if so, I happen to know someone with a real pretty face who would love to ask you out sometime.”

“Good point.” Tim paused, pretending to think. “But if Kyle’s too old for me, then Wally’s definitely too old, and I think Bart would kill me for dating his cousin.”

“I hate you.”