Chapter Text
“Dude, what are you talking about?”
“It’s fucking stupid, man! Like, it’s cool and all but the masks don’t even really do anything! They’re just ugly-as-shit eye covers and that’s it. What’s even the point of it then?”
“The point is that they’re trying to protect their civilian identities from the public. It’s not about looking good, it’s about keeping the bad guys from finding, and ultimately attacking or killing, their families.”
“Y’know what that sounds like?” The question is punctuated by a cap being popped off a sharpie. “Insecurity.”
“I literally just said it’s not about-”
“No no.” A finger is waggled in Tim’s face, making him go momentarily cross eyed. “See, I reckon it’s because they’re actually really ugly. Like properly hideous. They got pink eye or warts or something- it’s all to protect their image. If the truth were ever exposed to the public, the people wouldn’t be able to handle it and start losing their minds and shit.”
Tim let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as the barista ignored his frustration in favor of hastily scribbling words across the side of a to-go cup in red sharpie. A part of him debated against pursuing the conversation any further. After all, it was more than obvious that the guy was just talking to talk. Tim learned a long time ago that this particular barista preferred picking a fight with him more than he wanted to prove a point, which meant he often said things to purposefully poke at his nerves without having any real end goal in mind.
Although, Tim couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face. For all the effort he put into being annoying, even Tim could admit the guy was funny.
Tim had been a regular at this cafe for about a month now. At first, he stopped by out of pure curiosity. During one of his more free days, he’d discovered the cafe a ways out in the city. It was a small building, with a rustic aesthetic and cozy interior, situated on a sparsely populated side street. The vibe of the cafe simultaneously deviated away from that usual run down Gotham look, while fitting right in as a quiet oddity.
After being stupefied by the foul mouthed barista behind the counter and the coffee that was, hands down, the best thing Tim had ever drank in his entire life, it became a sort of done deal.
Tommy wasn’t exactly the kind of person you’d imagine when thinking of your classic barista. Tim calculated that Tommy was likely close to him in age, somewhere around seventeen years old. But he was tall, about six foot one, and built like a stick bug with his hunched shoulders and long, gangly limbs. Despite giving the physical impression of a sad, homeless teenager, his personality was loud and brash like he was too big for the room and had a personal goal of offending everyone who walked in through the cafe doors.
It was a stark contrast. Even his face drew a different image of the teen, not quite sitting right with the grating laughs and bold, excited volume. A few old scars carved up his jaw to his cheek and another over the bridge of his nose, framing sunken, dull grey eyes. His curly blonde hair looked dry and brittle, unbrushed and matted in some spots while silver strands weaved through a wild tuft in the front. His clothes were ratty and worn through and… Tim wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually seen him wear anything else other than the same three shirts. Although, Tommy didn’t seem to care about his own appearance that much himself.
Overall, he was a pretty cool guy. And despite his abrasive exterior and penchance for cursing like a sailor, the words and insults Tommy threw his way never held any real bite or hostility. As a matter of fact, one time they had slipped into a discussion that ended up getting a little too heated, and with vengeance in his tone, the blonde had said something that hit Tim a little too close to home.
Now, Tim had years of practice with managing his emotions. Tucking them away into the deepest darkest crevices of his heart where he kept them bolted down under lock and key. Because he knew all it took was one wrong move, one give away and it would cost him the mission. He couldn’t afford to let his emotions run loose no matter who it was that tried to pry them out of him.
So he had no idea what it was that Tommy noticed, what Tim had accidentally let slip, but within seconds of the jab being spoken into existence, he watched in real time as the roaring blaze flickered out into a flame that could only fit on the wick of a candle. Tommy’s expression split open in anxious, quiet guilt, and he apologized. The moment only lasted a minute, if that, and he’d immediately returned to insulting Tim’s face and hair, but he never made that comment or anything like it since then.
It was… nice. Kind of refreshing, in a way.
At the cafe he got harmless banter, a cup of coffee, and some good company. It was honestly his new favorite thing to do, and an unbelievably effective form of stress relief. Not that he’d ever say that out loud.
“I just don’t get why you’re so fixated on the whole appearance aspect. Last time I checked, ‘the people’ are actually pretty fond of the whole bat motif. It’s pretty much Gotham's defining symbol at this point.” Tim pointed out as he watched the barista do his thing behind the coffee machine.
“Oh no.” Tommy stumbled in the middle of stirring, looking up at Tim with widened eyes. “Tim. The city is full of furries.”
Tim found that he could only blink at him in shock.
“I’m sorry… what?”
“Aw man, this entire place is done for. Guess I gotta find a new place to live. I don’t want people asking me about my fursona. You don’t wanna know what I’d do if I had to reveal my fursona. Not that I have one. No one’s ready for that timeline yet.” Tommy continued casually, paying no mind to Tim gaping at him as he clicked a lid onto the cup in his hands.
“Wait, hold on. We are not glossing over that- did you just imply that Batman is a furry?”
“It’s a grown man cosplaying his bat fursona, ‘innit? Even got the ears and everything.” Tommy made a pinching gesture with his fingers in the air above his head, miming an image of the ears on Batman’s cowl. Tim wondered if he was currently having a stroke. “He’s kind of a freak though, isn’t he? I mean he goes around in public wearing a lot of black leather with a thong over his tights. That’s not normal.”
Over the course of Tommy rambling about what made Batman a furry, and apparently a pervert as well, Tim gradually curled into himself until he was hunched over at a near ninety degree angle, trying to hold himself together. His shoulders and back were vibrating with the attempt to keep himself from bursting out into the type of laughter that would be really inappropriate in such a small, quaint, coffee shop. It wasn’t too successful, given the stream of snorts and wheezes that managed to slip out in between shuddering breaths.
“I mean, I get it, live your best life. I just don’t think they should be in denial about it.”
“In denial about what-” Tim forced himself to stand up straight. With two, deep breaths, he was able to mostly regain his composure. The grin on his face, however, would not be going away any time soon. “Never mind, I don’t think I want to know. Just make sure he never catches wind of you telling people that.”
“Why? What’s he gonna do, try to indict-indoctricate me into his bdsm furry bat cult?”
“Induct. And I think you’re the last person Batman would ever want to work with, Tommy. He could snap you like a toothpick.” Tim looked away with a blankness on his face that took effort to maintain, as the barista whipped around and choked out a strangled sound of offense.
“Oi, fuck you! I am a billion times stronger than a man who goes around wearing fucking tights as a hero costume. I could beat him. Then break every bone in his body and take all his money. I’ll be the new Batman, but better, and less ugly.” He slammed the to-go cup down onto the counter with a loud ‘clack’ before sliding it over to sit in front of Tim.
Yeah, this was one of his favorite ways to spend his week.
“You couldn’t wrestle your way out of a paper bag.”
“How about I choke you with a paper bag, bitch boy.”
Tim took the coffee, lifting it to his lips and sending him a smirk from over the lid, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m so scared.”
“You should be. Next time you walk in here, I’m putting fucking mud in your coffee.”
He halted mid sip, lowering the cup to narrow his eyes at Tommy. There was a silent challenge in the hard look he fixed on him. “You wouldn’t.”
The look was returned with a feral, toothy grin and a manic glint in his slate blue eyes. “Try me.”
A solid minute passed with nothing but the two teens staring each other down. Neither even daring to blink until a rag thwacked Tommy upside the head. The barista spun on his heel, a swear at the tip of his tongue, when he came face to face with the cafe owner’s daughter wearing a navy blue apron.
“Tommy, I left you alone for barely ten minutes.” She raised an eyebrow as the blonde’s entire face pinched in distaste. “Where did your apron go?”
He groaned, sinking to his knees to pull a matching bundle of navy blue fabric from under the counter. “Why do I have to wear this? It’s stupid and annoying. It restricts my move-ments.”
“It’s for the brand.” She said matter-of-factly with an amused smile painting her face. She gave Tim a pleasant nod before wandering over to the register just in time for a customer to walk in, the bell on the door jingling upon their arrival. Tommy huffed out a breath as he tied the apron around his waist and waited to be tasked with making a new drink order.
“Ugh. The brand. My one weakness.”
Tim snorted a little too forcefully into his cup, sending a light spray of coffee onto his cheek. It didn’t even register, though, as the liquid comfort settled in his stomach and blessed every single one of his taste buds. He doesn’t know what Tommy does or what kind of drugs he uses when making it, but the coffee he makes is unlike anything Tim’s ever tasted. When people used the term ‘nectar of the gods’ he wondered if they were referring to this. It simultaneously soothed his entire soul while reinvigorating his entire nervous system like he’d gotten the best night sleep he’s ever had in his life.
On multiple occasions he’d tried to analyze Tommy’s coffee making process from start to finish. He needed to know at what point he slipped in the crack cocaine. Because there is genuinely no way someone could make coffee taste this good without Alfred finding out about it.
Idly, Tim observed the cup, pausing at the words messily scrawled in red sharpie on the side. He held it up for Tommy to see, brow raised. “Okay, you’re doing this on purpose. I know you know how to spell my name.”
“I don’t know what you mean, I spelt it perfectly,” Tommy answered, focusing on his new task of reading the ticket handed to him by his coworker.
“Right. Because ‘Tim’ is spelt like- what does this even say?” Tim squinted at the lettering that was too big in some spots and too small in others, while all bleeding into each other. “Ti… Tikormathy?”
“You said it, not me.” He narrowed his eyes at Tommy, who started working on a new drink, a smug look on his face. “Now drink your shit and leave, you’re holding up my line.”
Tim looked over at the other customer who had long since taken a seat at one of the tables and was very much not anywhere near Tim whatsoever. In response, he made a show of scooting over to the little nook where the counter met the wall, and watched Tommy work from his new spot.
“You say that like you don’t always have my coffee practically hot and ready for me by the time I walk in. You don’t even ask for what I want to drink anymore, you just start insulting me the second you see my face and start making it. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were waiting for me to show up.”
The teasing jab was immediately flipped on him when Tommy’s head slowly creaked around, expression sour, and he goes, “Don’t say ‘hot and ready’ to me like that, man. That’s disgusting, I’m a minor.”
Tim sputtered, very pointedly ignoring the customer behind him suddenly glancing up at the conversation taking place. “That’s not what I meant- I’m not- don’t just- you’re making it sound like- dude! We are literally the same age!”
“Oh whatever, mate! Excuses, excuses, I need you to get out of my cafe faster, bitch. You’re breathing at me with your- your nasty breath billowing in my face like some clogged up tail pipe. You should probably get that checked out, y’know, could mean you’ve got parasites or a disease-”
“You’re actually the worst. Like genuinely. It’s not even your cafe, you just work here-”
A bubble of laughter rose up his throat as he ran a hand through his hair. Despite all his earlier attempts to contain himself, the laugh stumbled out of his mouth, sounding louder and more flustered than he intended it to. As a professional vigilante and the CEO to Wayne Enterprises, he’d thought he wasn’t affected by silly things like this anymore. Apparently there were exceptions.
“How fucking dare you. I am not the worst, I am so much more than that.” Tommy almost smacked his hand against the espresso machine as his hand flapped about while he spoke. “I fuckin’ own this building, and everything in it. Therefore I’m the man in charge- the head honcho, if you will. You are incredibly lucky to be graced by my presence. Do you know how much money I make? Billions, Tim, billions. I am a billionaire. I could buy and sell you, twice.”
“Tommy, are you making that drink properly?” The girl from before squeezed past the blonde, reaching for something outside of Tim’s line of sight.
“Caroline Walker, I want this man off my property.” Tommy demanded loudly in response, to which she chuckled quietly while skirting around him again to go back to what she was doing before.
“Careful. You keep talking like that, and the actual man in charge is going to want to have a few words with you.”
The teen’s eyes widened minutely before he huffed out an ‘oh, piss off.’ He promptly returned his focus to making the drink, albeit with a bit less speed and efficiency then he did when making Tim’s coffee. No matter how much Tommy griped and hissed at him about it, his actions definitely spoke louder than his words.
Tim hid a small, genuine smile behind a long sip of coffee. It only lasted a moment, however, when his attention caught on to the phone buzzing in his pocket. He didn’t need to pull it out and check the number to know it was Dick asking about his whereabouts. They made plans to meet up within the hour regarding a case. Tim had just figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop by the cafe on his way and get something to boost his energy and mood before throwing himself head first into detective work. Not when he didn’t know when he’d be able to catch his next breather outside of when he ended up being forced to by Dick or Alfred.
The bell above the door jingled once again and Tim took that as his cue to leave. With one last second of letting the atmosphere sink into his bones, he pushed off the wall and began to make his way out the door.
“Well, I’m out. I’ll see you later, try not to get fired before I get back.” Tim waved loosely at the blonde who spat out a trail of curses in response. The warmth of the caffeine buzzing in his veins kept him company as he made his way down the gloomy streets of Gotham.