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Tim stared blankly at the desk in front of him, head tilted slightly like even the effort of holding it up had grown too much. Bruce watched him out of the corner of his eye, fingers still flying across the Batcomputer. Clark, on the other hand, had stopped completely, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Just a second ago, Tim had been arguing animatedly with Bruce — mid-sentence, even — before falling silent, as though someone had pulled the plug.
"Tim? You okay, bud?"
“Give him a minute.” Bruce didn’t look up, even as he reached out to catch the water bottle slipping from Tim’s fingers with practiced ease. “This happens sometimes.”
That didn’t help Clark’s panic. The kid was still as a statue, his eyes glazed over, heartbeat racing loud enough that even someone without super-hearing might’ve noticed.
After a few tense seconds, Tim blinked. His eyes flicked around the room, fingers flexing in the air like he was trying to ground himself. Bruce handed him the rescued bottle wordlessly. Tim took it, drank deeply, then stood and walked off toward the locker room without a word.
Bruce had stopped typing. He stared after him, expression unreadable.
Clark followed his gaze, still unsettled. “What just—?”
Bruce didn’t answer.
A few minutes later, Tim re-emerged — only, not quite. He was in full Red Robin gear now, and moving with a bounce in his step that hadn’t been there earlier. Bruce made a thoughtful grunt as the boy approached, then another grunt — this one heavier, more annoyed — when Tim made a beeline for his bike.
“You know you’re not allowed on patrol, JJ.”
That stopped him in his tracks. Red Robin turned slowly, a wide-eyed, sheepish look on his face — the exact expression of a toddler caught red-handed in the cookie jar.
He straightened his posture, schooling his face. “B, what are you talking about?”
Clark raised an eyebrow. That was definitely still Tim… right?
But his heart rate was off. Too fast for a casual lie. And that was strange. All the Bats had terrifying control over their vitals — even under stress. Especially under scrutiny.
Bruce didn’t flinch. “Hn.”
“Oh, come on, just a quick zip around the block.” The slouch returned — but it wasn’t anxious. More like a lazy, lounging kind of posture, like he had nowhere better to be and all the time in the world to do it.
“You and Tim have an agreement,” Bruce said firmly. “You need to respect that.”
Clark blinked. Wait. You and Tim?
He looked between them again. “Why are you talking like that’s not Tim?”
Bruce ignored him.
“What if I said we already talked and I am allowed out... as a little treat?” JJ grinned wide, hopeful.
“If that were true, Tim would've written a multi-page briefing, an attached risk analysis, and a formal request form,” Bruce replied dryly. “In triplicate.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“C’mon, why not?”
Bruce just stared. This was clearly not his first JJ rodeo.
Clark cleared his throat. “Yeah, Bruce — why not?” he asked, still trying to play catch-up.
Bruce turned to him, squinting like he’d just remembered Clark existed. He rubbed at his temples.
“Because,” JJ cut in dramatically, throwing a hand to his forehead like a swooning damsel, “no one wants me to have fun. I am but a maiden locked in her tower, yearning for freedom, denied joy, denied life!”
He swayed theatrically on the spot. Clark almost reached out to steady him.
Bruce didn’t blink. “You’re grounded.”
JJ gasped. “Unjustly!”
“Last time, you hit on a mob boss mid-sting.”
“It was tactical flirting!”
“You told him you had ‘a thing for men with gold teeth.’”
“He did have great dental work.”
Bruce just sighed.
Clark was now thoroughly confused — and also, maybe, a little impressed.
“Right,” Clark said slowly. “So… JJ, huh?”
JJ grinned at him. “Pleasure to meet you. Again. Probably. You seem nice.”
“He’s one of Tim’s alters,” Bruce added with a glance. “Been around for a while. Tends to surface when things are… stressful.”
Clark blinked again. “Should we be worried?”
Bruce looked back at JJ, who was now fiddling with a batarang like it was a fidget toy.
“Constantly,” Bruce said flatly. “But not any more than usual.”
JJ twirled the batarang expertly between his fingers, flipping it over the back of his hand and catching it again like it was second nature. It probably was.
“Hey,” Clark said gently, stepping closer. “Can I ask… are you okay?”
JJ looked up, then blinked slowly, like he was translating the question in his head. “You mean me or Tim?”
“…Both, I guess.”
JJ considered that, turning the batarang over in his hand one more time before sliding it back into his belt. “We’re… managing. It’s not always easy, but it’s not as dramatic as people think. Unless you're Bruce. He makes everything dramatic.”
Bruce grunted in disagreement. JJ ignored him.
Clark looked between them again, still adjusting to this new layer of the Bat-Family insanity onion. “How long has this been happening?”
“Long enough,” Bruce replied.
“Since we were kids,” JJ corrected. “I showed up around the time Tim stopped sleeping. So... forever, basically.”
Clark’s brows knit. “How did I not know?”
“Because Tim’s good,” Bruce said simply. “And JJ knows when to stay quiet.”
JJ saluted. “Only during alien invasions and formal dinners.”
Clark glanced at Bruce, who nodded once. It was true. Clark had never suspected a thing — and that unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.
“But you’re not... hiding anymore?” Clark asked cautiously.
JJ smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Depends who you ask. I’m not exactly the PR-friendly one. I’m just the guy who makes jokes, breaks ribs, and forgets to drink water.”
“You forgot yesterday’s therapy appointment,” Bruce added without looking.
JJ winced. “Yeah, well, you forgot my birthday, so let’s call it even.”
“That was five years ago.”
“I still remember.”
Clark snorted, then quickly sobered. “So… what happens now?”
“Now,” Bruce said, moving back toward the Batcomputer, “JJ goes back to the locker room, gets changed, and we order dinner because no one is patrolling tonight.”
JJ let out a scandalized noise. “ What?! It’s Friday night! Prime crime hours! We could hit at least one arms deal and be home in time for dumplings!”
“You’re not going out.”
JJ folded his arms. “You can’t ground me. I’m legally a separate identity.”
“Then I’m legally grounding all of you.”
Clark raised a hand. “He… can’t really do that. Right?”
JJ just sighed. “Clark. He’s Bruce. He once grounded Jason’s ghost. ”
There was a long pause.
Clark nodded. “Fair.”
JJ hesitated, then slowly peeled off the cowl. His expression softened as he stared down at it in his hands. “Tim… he doesn’t like talking about it. About us. Not because he’s ashamed, but because it feels like... explaining himself makes it real in ways he can’t always handle.”
Clark stepped closer. “That’s okay. He doesn’t owe anyone an explanation.”
JJ looked up, surprised — like he hadn’t expected someone to say that out loud. He smiled again, smaller this time, more genuine. “Thanks.”
Bruce glanced over. His expression hadn’t changed, but Clark could tell. That was his “soft” face.
JJ took a breath, squared his shoulders, and turned toward the locker room. “Alright. Fine. No patrol. But I’m picking what we order.”
“No seafood,” Bruce said automatically.
“ Boring, ” JJ shot back, vanishing down the hallway.
Once he was gone, Clark leaned against the console. “You’re… doing okay with this?”
Bruce’s fingers resumed their quiet tapping. “Better than we used to.”
Clark studied his friend for a long moment. “You ever think about calling in someone else? Someone more… qualified?”
“I’ve got the best team in the country on retainer. They know.”
“Not what I meant.”
Bruce paused. Then: “He’s not broken, Clark. He’s adapting. Healing.”
Clark nodded, quiet.
“And besides,” Bruce added, “JJ’s got a decent right hook. Comes in handy.”
They fell into silence.
From the locker room, a distant voice yelled, “I heard that! ”