Chapter Text
Bruce awkwardly holds his sandwich just a few centimeters away from his mouth, not eating, while Tim carries on texting with one hand and cramming pieces of baked, breaded fish and crinkle cut fries from the recyclable takeout box into his mouth with a fork he’d already had in his pocket for some reason. Tim’s not even bothering to look at Bruce, too engrossed in whatever is on his phone. Bruce assumes that it’s one of his friends, always a safe bet to assume. Bruce steels himself and lowers his sandwich.
“We’re…on Saturday. We are going to the new exhibit at the local museum.”
Tim looks up from his phone.
“Oh, like you and Damian? Cool,” he says absentmindedly, immediately returning his attention to his phone.
Bruce grumbles. “Hrmm. No. Yes. But…you should come too.”
Tim winces, mostly to himself it seems. That’s not the response Bruce was hoping for. He’d been hoping for an enthusiastic confirmation.
“Ooooh, uh, gotta take a raincheck on that one, B,” Tim replies, “I’d love to, I really would, but Kon won these tickets to the Jennifer Chalsty Planetarium for the laser show and I’ve been dying to go.”
“You can’t go another time,” Bruce asks, feeling a bit wrong-footed in this unexpected conversation.
“No,” Tim says apologetically, “They don’t do the laser show everyday and I don’t want Kon to waste his tickets for no reason. Oh, it was actually pretty cool how he won the tickets but he can’t know that or he’s gonna get a big fat head about it. It was this mail-in trivia contest thing he ended up doing and it was all stuff actual scientists had to know and Kon got everything right-”
Tim starts to chatter away, still texting the entire time, his half-finished meal forgotten in his lap. Bruce moves it off Tim’s lap on to the bench and closes the takeout box. He takes a grumpy bite of his sandwich. Bad timing on his part, he supposes. Better luck next time.
Bruce doesn’t try next time. It’s actually Dick, and it’s Dick who strikes out when asking Tim to join them for something.
“So, what do you say? Movie night,” Dick asks, trying to tickle at Tim’s ribs while pinning Tim in a soft headlock, “I got those kale chips you suddenly decided you like. We’re thinking of watching Jurassic Park.”
“Nooo,” Tim answers, struggling to free himself, “Look, I love Jurassic Park buuut I’m already doing a movie night with Kon tonight. I promised him I would, and also, I will take those kale chips if you aren’t gonna eat them.”
Bruce squints at Tim.
“Are you working on extra cases that you shouldn’t have as part of your workload,” Bruce accuses.
“No,” Tim huffs, “I really am watching a movie with Kon tonight. I’ve never been to a drive-in theater and there’s one in Smallville and they’re showing a super creepy movie that’s exclusive to Smallville because it was some really high production home movie styled thingy. Kon’s picking me up right now so we can watch it.”
“Is he gonna grab your car, too,” Dick wonders, releasing Tim from his hold and begins to mess with Tim’s long hair.
“Nope. We’re gonna use the pickup truck. The bed of it can fit so many blankets in it,” Tim responds, batting Dick’s hands away so he can try and fix his hair, “Actually, can I bring some cookies from the jar? It’d be rude to just get picked up and have nothing to share.”
Tim walks away with half the cookies in the jar, and though there’s no fights that break out during the entirety of the movie, Bruce feels somewhat uneasy. He texts Tim, and gets absolutely no response for over half an hour. Finally, Tim sends a text back. Or, rather, a text from Tim’s contact is sent back. It’s a picture of Tim buried in blankets in the back of a pickup truck, sound asleep. Judging by the stray hand that looms in the corner of the picture, Bruce is very certain as to who sent the picture.
“Tim,” Bruce grumbles into the phone, “Where are you? Dinner is starting soon.”
“Hmm,” Tim replies sleepily, “Oh. ‘m not coming over tonight.”
“Tim,” Bruce grunts, “Come over. I know you haven’t eaten.”
“I did,” Tim retorts, though it falls flat as he yawns, “I wanted to try this a new place, you know the restaurant on the corner of 4th and Shell Drive?”
Bruce knows exactly what place Tim is talking about. Casual enough that it’s not a black-tie only sort of venue and it’s entirely fine to wear sneakers there, but it had also become dreadfully popular with couples. Bruce can’t stomach the thought of eating around any amount of couples feeding each other food in public and making ridiculous baby-talk noises at each other.
“You went there,” Bruce sighs.
Tim hums in response. “Mhm. Kon and I tried it. I liked the chicken and shrimp skewers. Super yummy. You should go there with Selina or something. I to- totally forgot that there was a family dinner tonight. I’ll bring you ice cream tomorrow or something. G’night.”
There’s only a certain amount of times one can hear a name before that name begins to spark a hatred inside. He’s really beginning to detest the name ‘Kon’, especially in Tim’s voice.
It’s really a bit ridiculous. Tim is all business and entirely focused when they’re at work. Day or night work. He doesn’t drop the ball in the slightest. As soon as the masks come off, though…Bruce has not been able to just…exist with Tim in so long. Tim no longer comes into his study to lay on his belly on the soft leather couch, kicking his feet back and forth in the air slowly, doing homework before ultimately falling asleep. They do not sit next to each other at the dinner table, sneaking case file details between them despite knowing Alfred disliked work beign discussed at the dinner table.
Bruce feels like Tim isn’t even Tim anymore. He’s some caricature who only lives to reject Bruce’s offerings and talk on and on (and on and on and on and on-) about his spectacualr best friend. Tim bustles in through the doors, dragging the aforementioned best friend behind him with one hand while the other cradles something tiny against his chest.
“Does Damian know where I can find any wildlife rehabbers,” Tim asks quickly, “We found this baby duckling alone and it looks really messed up.”
“Hand it over,” Bruce insists, opening his palms, “I’ll bring it to Damian.”
“I’m not going to argue with him, if you’re so worried,” Tim groans in some measure of exhasperation, “I just want to ask him about-”
“What do you want,” Damian scowls as he steps inside.
“Baby duckling rehabber,” Tim instantly replies, showing off his mangled but alive baby duck.
“Come along,” Damian commands, already taking off up the stairs.
Tim goes more gently, softly cupping the duckling. Kon-El stays behind, his eyes following Tim.
“Why does Tim not stay,” Bruce blurts out.
“Uh…pardon,” Kon-El asks, a little confused.
“Tim never stays. He always leaves. What makes him stay,” Bruce grumbles in frustration.
Kon–El shrugs. “I dunno. He just does when he wants to.”
Tim comes running back downstairs as gently as possible.
“Thanks,” Tim hollers up the stairs, “C’mon we gotta go.”
Tim clings to Kon-El’s arm, dragging him along while holidng the duckling gently.
“I can drive it to the facility,” Bruce offers.
“No thanks,” Tim calls, “We have it covered. Bye!”
Bruce doesn’t understand. Why does Tim never seem to want to stay?