Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

August does not go gently, giving way to September with a great bloody roar and a heat wave to rival the pits of Hell. It’s bad enough in the manor, which has the best air conditioning system money can buy, all of them in separate rooms because they can’t stand the addition of body temperatures. The nights are particularly grotesque, everyone sweating up a storm until they need to shower for hours afterward. At least the heat means most of the usual criminals are hidden away, taking the time to plot their next big move in the sanctity of the shade.

But, like all things that are bound by the constraints of time, the August heat eventually relinquishes its grip on Gotham, and September proper begins. With it comes the start of the new school year, which to a dropout, doesn’t mean much. But Damian Wayne is starting his freshman year of high school, and God forbid anyone think that this is an acceptable course of action.

Tim has been partnered with Damian six of the past seven patrols he’s been assigned. He’s heard about everything from the lucidity of high school drama to the outrageousness of the fact that Damian has to take freshman physical education. The mental image of Damian in basketball shorts and a school t-shirt, running around a gym and pretending to be a normal kid, is almost worth listening to the complaints non-stop.

“–and they’re only letting me take three Advanced Placement classes,” Damian huffs. Tim remembers AP classes from his brief stint as a high school student. They’re meant to give college credit.

“You’re going to college?” he blurts out stupidly. Damian blinks owlishly at him. They’re not even on patrol at this point, both of them sitting on opposite ends of a couch in the library and fighting off the dregs of the heat wave as the sun begins to rise.

“I don’t know,” Damian huffs. “It’s not like I need to decide right now, anyways.”

Tim shrugs. They have enough money that Damian could buy a college degree if he really wanted to. Tim himself doesn’t see the need, considering he’s already the CEO of one of the largest companies in the world, and it’s not like getting a degree is going to give him the opportunity for a promotion. But, he supposes, it’s the principle of the thing– the first thing Jason did when they legally brought him back to life was enroll in an online program to major in English literature.

“That’s right,” Tim says. “You don’t need to decide.”

“I can’t believe Father is making me go to high school,” Damian says, and sometimes Tim is struck by how very teenager-ish Damian actually is. “An American high school, no less.”

“Do you know anything about American high school besides what you see on TV?” Tim chuckles. Damian levels a fearsome glare that is not actually frightening, at this point in their relationship.

“Do you?” Damian counters, and Tim laughs out loud.

“Point,” he says. “Bruce gonna let you drive yourself?”

“Thomas is driving me.”

Tim nods. Duke is still a fairly new addition to the family, but he’s already rooted firmly in place. They’re not letting him go now, Steph joked after the first time he was seriously injured, and the usual Wayne Family Bedside Vigil took place. Tim likes Duke; he’s easy to talk to and actually pretty normal, for a Bat. Duke is also a senior in high school, and though Tim has offered him a position at Wayne Enterprises, is intent on going to university first.

Either way, Duke has earned ‘little brother’ status in Tim’s mind. Which is odd, because he’s not used to having a little brother, considering he and Damian were more like mortal nemeses at first and cautious allies later. These days, though, Damian is Tim’s brother through-and-through, and Tim knows the kid feels the same about him.

Having younger siblings has enlightened Tim. He gets it now, why Jason and Dick and Cass are all so protective, even though they pretend not to be. He can handle himself, just like Duke and Damian, but something in his chest roars at the thought of either of them being hurt or upset if there’s something he can do to prevent it.

“Dude, how did you get anything done?” he’d complained to Dick once, jokingly, when they were talking about it. Dick had leveled a very strong look at him.

“I didn’t,” he says. “I was too busy chasing after you and Big Red over here.” And then he had jerked a thumb at Jason, who was reading upside-down on Dick’s couch and attempting to drink soda from a straw. As they watched, his clever maneuvering had the drink spilling all over his face and Dick’s carpet.

It’s a fond memory. Dick had not been pleased. Especially considering Tim and Jason had both, separately, invited themselves over by breaking in through the window.

Damian starts school on a Wednesday. By Friday, everyone in the family has been called together for an emergency meeting. Everyone is allowed to call one non-vigilante emergency meeting per year. Most of them hoard their emergency meetings like precious gold, and occasionally they’re used as bargaining chips for major favors. Tim doesn’t think Damian has ever called an emergency meeting in the three years they’ve been established.

He gets to the manor just past seven in the evening, coming fresh off of a Wayne Enterprises board meeting. Bruce is with him. They’re the last to arrive, poking their heads into the dining room and, when no one is there, going to the living room instead.

“Took you long enough,” Jason calls, and Tim throws his suit jacket in Jason’s face. He launches himself over the back of the couch to sit in the empty spot between Duke and Dick, who aren’t talking to each other because of some upcoming football game.

“Now that everyone is here, we may begin,” Damian says seriously. He’s sitting in front of the television, facing them all, perched on a stool from the kitchen like he’s about to take flight. Tim glances around. Barbara is on the floor, her wheelchair in the corner of the room, leaning against Dick’s legs. Jason is sprawled half on Dick’s lap. Steph and Cass are curled up on Duke’s other side. Alfred and Bruce both come to stand behind the couch. “I have called this emergency meeting, my one for the calendar year, for a matter of the utmost importance.”

He pauses dramatically. Wayne blood clearly runs through his veins, Tim thinks.

“Well?” Steph says after another moment of silence. “Get on with it.”

“I require your assistance with a dire manner,” Damian continues after glaring at Steph. “The matter is related to the persona I am meant to put on when I am attending school.”

It hits Tim then, how uncomfortable Damian is. That thing in his chest is yelling at him to march down to the school and have words with whoever is making Damian feel like this.

“What do you mean?” Bruce asks.

“Am I meant to be like your persona? Frivolous, flirtatious, airheaded? Am I meant to create something entirely my own? Am I allowed to shove a bully’s head in the toilet?” He says all of this with a fierce kind of solemness. “Seriously, can I please shove Mark Paulson’s head down a toilet? Just a little bit? I know I can’t bring swords to school–”

“I think that’s a perfect persona, personally,” Tim says before Damian can threaten further bodily harm to a fourteen year old. “Even if it’s not really a persona. Defender of the weak, passionate about what you believe in.”

“Hard agree,” Duke nods. “Stick up for yourself and your friends. Don’t take shit.”

“There’s no need to have the same public persona as Bruce,” Dick agrees. “Especially considering the… everything about Brucie Wayne.”

“Should I take offense to that?” Bruce mutters to no one in particular. Then, louder, “Damian, as long as you’re not telling people you moonlight as Robin, you can be whoever you want to be.”

Damian gets a wicked look on his face. Tim almost wants to ask Bruce to retract his words. But Bruce has gotten it into his head that he needs to ‘be a better parent,’ or whatever, so Tim lets him have it.

“Thank you, everyone,” Damian says. “That concludes my emergency meeting.”

“Seriously?” Steph asks. “That’s it?”

“I tend to take care of my problems myself,” Damian says. “I find that my own mind is sufficient enough to solve most issues that arise in my life.”

“I’m gonna punch you in the face,” Steph declares, and she squirms out of Cass’s arms to lunge at Damian. Damian shrieks, loudly and not at all Damian-like, clearly meant to deter potential attackers. Steph, who can scream louder than any of them, is unaffected. Cass sighs and takes after Steph, dragging Duke up with her, and there’s the sound of crashing from several rooms over.

“We should have stayed at work,” Tim says to Bruce, and Bruce snorts.

Since everyone is around, Alfred and Jason make dinner. They spread out across the kitchen, being swatted away when they try to dip fingers in the prep bowls, and Babs gives them the lowdown of a case that’s been creeping up on her radar.

“It might not just be a Gotham thing, though,” she says, and she glances at Tim. “I’ll send you the files. Can you let me know if it’s something your team can take care of?”

His team, of course, being Kon, Bart, and Cassie, who are also his best friends, who are also tasked with saving the world a few times a month.

“For sure,” Tim agrees, and he makes a go for the open bag of chocolate chips. Jason full-body tackles him to the ground.

He reviews the files on his laptop that night. The bedrooms in the manor are far enough away from each other that usually he and his siblings can’t eavesdrop on each other, but tonight something must be going on, considering he can hear Dick and Damian screaming from down the hall. He doesn’t bother getting up to close the door, though.

After a quick skim of the case files, he sends Babs an email that Young Justice will take the case. It’s close to their territory anyways, branching out from California to Nevada, possibly further on. There seems to be a consensus amongst various Oracle contributors that the organization they’re looking at is stationed in Las Vegas.

Tim hates Vegas.

He tosses his laptop to the side and fumbles around in his blankets for his phone. Once he finds it, he shoots off a quick text to the group chat.

young just-ass (group text)

← himbo timbo

new case. pack your sunglasses, we’re going to vegas

wonder blunder →

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

He should have figured Cassie would react like that. Bart sends an indecipherable combination of emojis. Sometimes Tim can parse out what he means, but tonight’s selection– a jellyfish, anatomically correct lungs, a female zombie, six white rats, and a banjo– is particularly confusing.

Kon calls him two minutes after Bart’s text comes in.

“Hey,” he says. “What’s up?”

“On a scale of Bludhaven to Venice, Italy, how mad are you right now?”

Tim hates Bludhaven. He also hates Vegas.

“Not thrilled,” he says, but he’s grinning, so there’s that. Kon always knows how to cheer him up. The reason Tim hates Vegas stems back to Janet and Jack Drake. Vegas was just about the only place they would take him to when they traveled for business. One time they lost him in a casino. For three days. When he was seven.

He doesn’t have the greatest memories associated with the city.

“Well, maybe it’ll be fun,” Kon says, trying to sound optimistic. “We can make new memories!” Tim loves that– the fact that Kon says we. Like a reminder that no matter what happens, they’ll be together.

“Thank God,” Tim groans. “It looks like we’ll need a couple weeks of research before we actually need to head out. I’ll keep you guys updated.”

“Sure thing, kid genius,” Kon says. “Hey, did you catch the latest episode of Love Island?”

Tim will never understand Kon’s infatuation with shitty reality TV.

“Yeah,” he says, because he watched it on his phone under the table with the subtitles on during today’s board meeting. He knew Kon would ask about it.

They talk until Kon yawns loudly and realizes it’s two in the morning in Smallville. Three in Gotham. He insists that Tim goes to bed, then and there, and while Tim knows that’s unlikely, he promises Kon he’ll try.

“Night, baby doll,” Kon says, clearly teasing. It still makes Tim’s heart flutter, and before he can say anything, Kon hangs up.

Weird, he thinks. Must be the late hour. Kon’s his best friend, after all, and Cassie jokes that he’ll flirt with anything that moves. No need for Tim to get worked up about it.

He falls asleep five minutes later. All these hours later, Dick and Damian are still screaming down the hall.

Chapter Text

Autumn has settled by the time Tim and Barbara are confident in their research concerning the Vegas case, halfway through October. Tim talks to the family about it, mostly to get their input, and just ends up worrying them in the process. Jason and Dick both offer to come with as an assist.

“Pretty sure Cassie still hates you,” Tim says to Jason.

“From when I tried to kill you? That was forever ago,” Jason snorts. Tim’s talked with him about it a lot, and they’ve both decided it’s water under the bridge. They’re able to mention it without cringing and spar without either of them getting anxious. Tim’s friends, on the other hand, very much do not like bringing it up. The last time Tim made a joke about it, Kon broke the glass he was holding.

“What about me?” Dick asks, practically shoving Jason aside. “I can help.”

Tim thinks, long and hard, about the last time Dick and Kon were in a room together.

“I would rather die,” he says, deadpan. Dick pouts at him. “Seriously, we’ll be fine.”

“It’s a pretty big organization, Tim,” Bruce says, because of course even Bruce is getting in on it. “Traffickers like these aren’t going to go down without a fight.”

“We’re all adults, you know,” Tim says. “And we’ve handled worse. It’ll be fine.” He says it with as much authority as he can, and his family lets it go.

Except for Steph and Cass, who decide that they’re coming with whether Tim likes it or not.

“Not to help with your mission, though, we don’t want to get in the way,” Steph tells him. “We’re gonna go clubbing. Maybe hit up a couple of casinos.”

“I hate you,” Tim says, and she presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek.

Bart shows up three minutes before the private Wayne jet leaves, bag slung over one shoulder and a wide grin on his face.

“Good, I didn’t miss it,” he says, and he climbs onto the plane behind Cass. They all know Bart could have easily met them at the hotel like Cassie is doing, but Tim doesn’t say anything about it, just settles in next to him. Steph declares herself the pilot, and like many things with Steph, Tim lets her. They make a brief stop in Smallville to pick up Kon, hovering above the Kent family farmland. Kon flies up to the plane and drops his bag down before throwing himself across Tim and Bart’s laps.

“I missed you guys,” Kon says firmly.

“It’s been a week,” Tim says, because the weekend prior they spent two full days locked in Tim’s bedroom in the manor, finalizing their plans for the mission.

“That’s too long,” Kon says with a sigh, throwing one arm over his eyes. “Pet my hair.”

“What?” Tim says. Kon drops his arm to glare at him.

“You heard me,” he says. Tim obediently runs a hand through Kon’s hair. Kon grins and closes his eyes. Bart gives them a very, very strong look.

Shut the fuck up, Tim mouths. Bart shrugs innocently and does not drop his look. Cass is fully turned around in the co-pilot seat with a wide grin. Tim barely has to glare at her before she turns back around, but the grin doesn’t leave her face. He supposes he’s lucky Steph didn’t see.

They meet Cassie at the hotel they’re staying at, under the guise of Bruce Wayne’s kids having a weekend out. Though, thankfully, they’re able to avoid any paparazzi. They check into their three rooms, and Cass and Steph disappear to get ready for a night out. The team gathers in Tim and Kon’s shared room to make sure that everything is in place. Then they get to get ready for a night out.

The head of the organization they’re going to be working to take down frequents a casino nearly every night. He has a proclivity for dark-haired twinks– Barbara’s words, not Tim’s– and he’s suspected of at least eighteen different charges. The only thing they need is his phone, which should have all the proof.

They’re estimating the mission will take two weeks– enough time for Tim to gain their mark’s trust, worm his way into the heart of the organization, and take off with the cell phone. Tonight is meant to establish a connection, get Tim on the man’s radar. He’s posing as Cassie’s arm candy, even though he knows he can play poker better than she can (he does not cheat, Jason, thank you very much). Kon and Bart are meant to be keeping an eye on things, and when it gets messy (because it always gets messy) they’ll be the ones making sure Tim doesn’t get himself killed.

Tim puts on a nice dark green suit and styles his hair carefully. When he comes out of the bathroom, Kon is already in a navy suit of his own, golden jewelry dangling from his ears and neck and wrists, and Tim… yeah, okay, Tim can appreciate that his best friend is hot.

“You look good,” Kon says, and his voice sounds a little bit strangled. Tim gives him a wicked grin.

“You too, baby doll,” he says with a wink, and Kon flushes red and throws a pillow at him.

They meet Bart and Cassie in the hallway, Bart in a long red, sparkling dress with a high neck and a slit by his left leg, Cassie in a gorgeous ivory number with a bit of a puff to it. She grins as Tim loops his arm through hers.

“Gorgeous,” she says, and it’s clear she’s talking about all four of them. Bart bounces on his toes with a grin. Kon rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are still a little red.

Bart and Kon get to the casino first, ten minutes before Tim and Cassie. They talk quietly through their comms when they’re both in position and confirm that the mark is at his usual table. They’re using Wayne money tonight (Tim’s Wayne money, to be specific), and Cassie buys herself a seat at the high-profile table with a flash of Tim’s credit card. The one under a fake name, because he’d rather not have this traced back to him for official CEO purposes.

The mark is… not unattractive, Tim thinks, if you’re into lean builds and grey hair and a definite age gap. He smiles as flirtatiously as he can and he thanks his years of practice as Caroline as the mark smiles back. Tim then proceeds to hang off Cassie’s arm for the next hour, watching as she annihilates everyone except the mark, who she seems to be evenly matched with.

“What if we wager something higher?” the mark suggests.

“Higher than this?” Cassie asks, gesturing to the pool of chips in the center of the table.

“I’ll toss in a yacht,” the mark says, “And you toss in a night with your companion.”

“Jesus Christ,” Kon chokes through the comms.

“You’re a wanted man, Tim,” Bart laughs.

Cassie glances at Tim. Tim, in turn, smiles at the mark again.

“Deal,” Cassie says.

She loses on purpose, because Cassie is smart, and she gives Tim a long, drawn-out kiss before she lets him part from her. He leans into it as best as he can and she whispers get him against his lips and he tries not to smile.

He stalks around the table and drapes himself over the mark’s shoulders. The table starts up another round and Tim lets his hands wander, and– there’s the cell phone, nestled in the inside breast pocket of the man’s jacket. This is too easy, Tim thinks. The tendency of criminals who think they’re the top dog to get taken out by someone they see as beneath them. Well, Tim thinks, this guy’s about to get what he deserves.

Cassie wins the next game, then declares that she’s done for the night. She tells the man to enjoy his prize and winks at Tim as she walks away. The table takes a pause for people to grab drinks, and the mark stands up, turning around so they’re pressed chest-to-chest. Tim leans into it, as much as he wants to lean away. The man is taller than him– not quite as tall as Kon, but– why does that matter?

“Can I buy you a drink, sweetheart?” the mark asks, a bit too seductive to be genuine, and Tim thinks that if he weren’t Red Robin he’d probably be ending up with so many others that they’re trying to free.

“Of course,” Tim says, batting his eyelashes. The man’s hands are roaming over Tim and he can feel eyes burning into the back of his skull. Kon, probably, because Kon is defensive like that and has been for a long time. Every honeypot mission a Young Justice member embarks on, the others tend to get more protective than normal. Tim’s no exception, and he remembers the last time Kon posed as a stripper and Tim had to restrain himself from cutting off the fingers of the man who got a bit too close.

The mark smiles and leans down, nips at the air close to Tim’s mouth, and wanders off to get them something to drink. Tim pauses, wiggles his fingers when the man turns back, and then turns away to talk into his comm.

“I’ve got the phone,” he says. “Leaving now.”

He can tell that his friends are barely restraining themselves from whooping with joy. They rendezvous back at the hotel, long before the mark will notice his phone is missing– he’ll probably be missing Tim more than the phone, honestly, which is his mistake. Tim uploads the contents of the phone and calls Barbara, who responds almost immediately with the affirmative that it has all the information the Bats– and the FBI– needs.

Bruce texts two minutes later with a “congratulations, good work,” and a “spend the weekend, on me,” as if Tim couldn’t buy the whole city of Vegas if he wanted to.

“This calls for a celebration,” Kon declares.

“I need to write a mission report,” Tim says, but when Kon wraps an arm around his shoulders and begins dragging him away, he goes willingly.

“We just finished a mission that was predicted to take two weeks in a single night with minimal work and no injuries,” Kon says. “You can write your mission report tomorrow. We’re getting drunk.”

Bart cheers. Tim guesses it’s fine. They’re in Vegas, after all. They might as well have fun. The first bar they go to is still doing its happy hour, and Tim loses track of how many shots Kon and Cassie push into his hands. They meet Steph and Cass at the second bar, tell them nothing except that the mission was a success, and Tim loses track of how many shots Steph pushes into his hands.

He feels great, though. He doesn’t drink often, and maybe he should be more careful with all the antibiotics he’s on for his missing spleen, but he feels floaty and buzzy and like maybe everything in the world is perfect.

They migrate to a third club when the second one closes early. Tim winds up on the dance floor, pressed between Cassie and Steph. He spies Bart and Cass at the bar, ordering more drinks, and he scans the crowd for Kon and can’t find him–

And then strong, familiar hands are pulling him away from the girls, and he’s pressed up against a much taller body. Cassie and Steph holler and whistle at them, and Tim doesn’t fight it when Kon spins him around and settles his hands on Tim’s hips.

“You having fun?” he asks, bending down so he can whisper in Tim’s ear. Tim barely represses his shiver.

“Yeah,” he replies, turning his head a little bit. “You?”

“So much fun,” Kon agrees, and he sways a bit– not like he’s about to fall over, but in time with the music. His chest is pressed against Tim’s back and his hands are roaming and Tim thinks he might die, actually.

He wants to kiss Kon. Maybe it’s the alcohol and maybe it’s the environment and maybe it’s a decade of best friendship, but he really, really wants to kiss Kon. Steph and Cassie have disappeared and he can’t see anyone he knows and there are no cameras, not here, no one to catch Tim Drake-Wayne making out with his best friend in the middle of a packed club.

He turns in Kon’s grip and loops his arms around Kon’s shoulders, moves up on his toes and sways with him.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, and then he waits for permission. Kon grins at him, bright and blinding, and leans in first. His mouth is warm on Tim’s, a brand, a mark, and the first kiss is terrible because they’re both grinning and laughing. Then Kon reaches one hand up to the back of Tim’s neck and pulls his head back, just a bit, angling Tim to be right where he wants him. Tim does not swoon. He does, however, allow his mouth to fall open and relish in the feeling of Kon, Kon, Kon.

He doesn’t know how they get outside, but neither of them can keep their hands to themselves and Tim is giggling, giggling, and dragging Kon into an alley and behind a dumpster. Kon presses him up against the wall and rucks his hands through Tim’s hair and tugs, just a bit, experimentally, and Tim can barely help the moan he lets out.

“Ooh, do that again,” Kon says, mouthing at Tim’s neck. “I hated seeing his hands all over you. Those should be my hands.” Tim doesn’t need to ask who he’s talking about.

“Jealous?” he snickers.

“Yes,” Kon says, very seriously, and then he kisses Tim again, slow and deep.

“Fuck,” Tim says. Then, “Oh my God.”

“What?” Kon says.

“We’re in Vegas.”

“We are,” Kon agrees seriously.

“We’re in Vegas,” Tim repeats, and pushes Kon off him but doesn’t let go of his hand and drags him away. His phone rings and it’s Steph’s ringtone, but he can’t find his phone in his pockets so he keeps dragging Kon along. Kon’s phone rings, and he’s actually able to find it, and he answers.

“Hey, Cassie,” he says. Tim doesn’t look back; he’s on a mission. “No, we’re not. Tim’s taking me somewhere. I dunno. Tim, where are we going?”

“A chapel,” Tim says, fully determined.

“A chapel,” Kon informs Cassie, as if this is completely normal. This is the best idea Tim has ever had, and he’s had a lot of good ideas. If he marries Kon now, then he gets tax benefits. Not that he needs tax benefits, but Kon might. And then they have spousal privilege if one of them gets caught for superhero-vigilante business. And if one of them gets hurt, they’ll be able to make medical decisions for each other, which they’ve done in the past already but it won’t hurt to have insurance.

Plus, he gets to be married to his best friend. Forever and ever. It’s a pretty spectacular idea, Tim thinks.

Bart catches up to them right as they’re coming up on what looks like one of those cheesy Vegas chapels. He stops in front of them, and Tim halts. Kon stumbles into him.

“Bart’s here,” Kon says into the phone, and oh, Tim forgot he was talking to Cassie.

“Bye, Cassie!” he calls, leaning much too far into Kon’s personal space. Kon snickers and hangs up, slips the phone into his back pocket, and then slips his hand into Tim’s back pocket.

“You’re getting married?” Bart says, looking between the two of them too fast for Tim’s dizzy brain to keep up with.

“Yes,” Tim says.

“Yes,” Kon repeats.

“Oh my God,” Tim says. “I didn’t ask you.”

“That’s okay,” Kon says. “I’ll always say yes.”

And Jesus, maybe that’s not something Tim needs to unpack right now. Bart sighs, clearly less drunk than Tim is.

“You should have another drink,” Tim advises him. “Only if you want to, though.”

“Stephanie would be pissed if I let you get married without her being here,” Bart says. “And your sister. And Cassie. So we’re gonna wait.”

They wait. The girls find them two minutes later, which is two minutes too long, in Tim’s mind. Steph is shrieking something about a bet and Cass says something about their brothers and Cassie just has a smirk on her face, but Bart finally lets them past so Tim can marry his best friend, which is something he’s wanted to do for a very long time.

He doesn’t remember much of the wedding. He does know that the officiant is dressed up in a mask, but he’s too focused on Kon to figure out which one. Steph pulls an NDA out of nowhere and makes the officiant sign it before he actually legally marries them. Tim stares into Kon’s beautiful eyes and says I do and Kon says I do and then Kon kisses him again, gentle and soft and perfect. Their friends are catcalling them and Tim keeps kissing Kon and thinks that maybe he should have been doing this the whole time.

He wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and blurry memories of the night prior. He doesn’t remember getting back to the hotel, but what he does remember is enough to piece together exactly what happened.

That, and the fact that he’s passed out half on top of Kon, each wearing plastic wedding rings. They’re both fully clothed– Tim’s shoes are still on– so obviously nothing happened more than a drunken make-out session that Tim has a vague recollection of, but Kon’s arms are wrapped around Tim protectively as he snores away.

“Shit,” Tim mutters, and he really hopes that NDA Steph made the officiant sign was binding, and that no one got any pictures.

Chapter Text

Tim’s luck seems to have run out around the time Kon agreed to marry him while drunk in Vegas, because Stephanie has somewhere near a thousand pictures.

“And here’s your face when Kon said I do, I zoomed in on it really far–” Steph says, swiping through the next two dozen pictures. Tim groans and lets his head fall down onto the breakfast table. Bart pats his back sympathetically.

“It was a very sweet moment,” Cass offers. Tim lifts his head up just enough that he can glare at her, then puts it back down.

He snuck out of his and Kon’s room shortly after waking up. He’s not an asshole, though, so he left a note letting Kon know that he’s downstairs taking advantage of the free breakfast buffet. Steph, Cass, and Bart were already downstairs, and wasted no time in making fun of Tim for the fact that he was still wearing the plastic wedding ring.

Steph continues swiping through her photos, narrating loudly. Tim’s got a pounding headache and surprisingly few regrets. If he was going to marry anyone, of course it would be Kon.

Speaking of. Someone sits down heavily in the seat next to him. There’s a scraping of a chair being pulled out across the table, followed by Cassie’s exclamation of delight at Steph’s slideshow. Tim figures he should probably face the music, and sits up.

Kon is staring straight ahead, eyes unfocused. He’s also still wearing his plastic wedding ring. That makes Tim feel a lot better, actually.

“So,” Tim says, and Steph falls silent.

“We had a Vegas wedding,” Kon says. “What idiot would legally officiate the wedding of a drunken Tim Drake-Wayne–”

“He signed a non-disclosure agreement,” Steph interrupts.

“Yeah, where the hell did you get that from?” Cassie asks. “You were prepared.”

“Bruce made it after Jason and Roy got married,” Cass offers. “Just in case any of us got married secretly again.”

“Jason and Roy are married?” Bart asks, then shakes his head. “Not important. No one will know, if the officiant knows what’s good for him.”

“Was he at least dressed as someone good?” Tim asks. Cassie purses her lips. Bart and Cass both choose that moment to get another plate of food. Steph looks between Tim and Kon, breaking into a grin, and says,

“It was a Batman impersonator.”

And she swipes to the next section of photos to prove it.

“I’m going to kill myself,” Kon announces. Tim debates slamming his head into the table; he chooses to rest it on Kon’s shoulder instead. “What do we do? Do we get a divorce?”

“That’s a lot of work,” Tim says before he can think better of it. He doesn’t want to think too deeply about why that’s his automatic response, or about if his subconscious is trying to tell him something here, because he’s a master of ignoring his emotions. “Steph, how thorough was the NDA?”

“Dude, I’m pretty sure you wrote it,” Steph says. She’s still grinning, chin resting in her hands, elbows on the table, like this is a soap opera she scored front-row seats to.

“Great,” Tim says, ignoring the look on her face. “So no one needs to know.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Cassie snorts. “I give it three days before someone finds out.”

“One,” Cass says, sliding back into her seat. Cassie and Kon jump. Tim and Steph do not.

“One day?” Kon asks.

“One hour,” Cass corrects. “We are a family of detectives.”

“Dick’s going to kill you,” Steph says. She looks thrilled about this, for some reason. “First Jason, now you– he’s gonna be so pissed he’s missed two of his siblings’ weddings.”

“We will have to make sure to invite him to ours,” Cass says, nodding sagely.

“Tim,” Kon says, so quietly that none of the others pick up on it. Tim, though, is constantly attuned to his best friend, or something, so he tilts his head to let Kon know he heard. “Are we doing this?”

Tim can think of several good reasons that they should not do this. But all of that is currently outweighed by the fact that Kon’s arm is resting on the back of Tim’s chair, and Kon is leaning in a little bit, and oh. He sees. There’s one very, very good reason they should not do this, that also happens to be the reason they should.

“I’m in if you’re in,” he murmurs back, lets the ball fall into Kon’s court, waits, waits–

“Okay,” Kon says, then a little louder, “Dick’ll have to go through me if he wants to kill Tim. I’m going to take my husbandly duties very seriously.”

And then his arm moves from the back of Tim’s chair to around Tim’s shoulders. Tim is used to his best friends being tactile, all five of them gathered here. That’s why he leans into Kon’s touch. No other reason.

Cass and Steph fly back to Gotham that afternoon and promise they won’t tell anyone about the wedding. Young Justice, meanwhile, goes to San Francisco. Tim is not hiding from his family, thank you very much, but one week turns into two weeks turns into three turns into a very long voicemail from Bruce asking when Tim will be back in town that Tim takes to mean Wayne Enterprises is driving me crazy, please come back now thank you.

So, as they round the bend into November, Tim says goodbye to the Tower and San Francisco and Kon, who stayed with Tim the whole time he was there. They don’t actually talk about the fact that they got drunk-married in Vegas, other than calling each other my husband and an exorbitant amount of new pet names as often as they can. And when Tim says he’s got to get back to Gotham, Kon presses a kiss to the top of his head and flies him back himself.

Bruce, of course, is waiting to accost Tim the moment Kon flies away.

“I heard you got married,” he says. Tim closes his eyes and wonders just how necessary Steph is to their whole operation.

“Who told you?” Tim asks, just in case it was someone else who snitched.

“No one told me,” Bruce says. “I’m not an idiot, Tim.”

“Debatable,” Tim says, and Bruce makes a huffing sound that might be a laugh.

“They’ll find out soon enough,” Bruce says, and Tim knows he’s referring to the rest of their family. “For what it’s worth, I’m happy for you.”

“Really?”

Bruce makes another huffing noise. This one, Tim thinks, is incredulous.

“Yes,” Bruce says. “Really. I’ve seen how you look at him. And how he looks at you.”

Oh. Oh! Bruce thinks that Tim is competent enough to talk about his feelings. Well, he’s not going to correct his father-figure on that one. What Bruce doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“Thanks, Bruce,” Tim says after a long moment, and he goes to his room for the first time in weeks and finds Damian sitting on his bed. “This isn’t your room.”

“I am aware,” Damian says. His arms are crossed. He looks displeased. “You have been away for a very long time.”

“Uh, like three weeks,” Tim says. Damian makes a noise that sounds so much like Bruce, it makes Tim want to cry.

“Did something happen?”

“Nope,” Tim says, very quickly. “Nothing happened.” He manages to usher Damian out after that. Damian sends a text to the family group chat not even two minutes later.

BATFAM (group text)

Damian Wayne →

Drake is hiding something.

← timothee

oh come on

Dickhead →

TIM

Tim throws his phone to the side before any other messages can come in. Dick is in his room forty minutes later.

“I just drove from Bludhaven,” he announces. “I called Wally on the way to see if Bart knew anything, and what do I hear but wedding bells.” He plops next to Tim on the bed and stares at him, hard. Tim wonders, not for the first time, if he could get away with framing one or more of his siblings and/or close friends for some crime that will keep them locked up forever. Dick seems to take his silence as an affirmative. “Tim. Did you marry Conner Kent?”

“Did Tim WHAT?” Jason yells from the hallway. He pokes his head into the room. Duke pokes his head in a moment later, just below Jason. Damian makes his tt noise from somewhere below Duke.

“Um,” Tim says.

“There better be pictures,” Dick says sternly.

“And that’s where I come in!” Steph cheers. She and Cass let themselves into Tim’s room, followed by the rest of his siblings, and–

Alright, he has to admit, even when they’re relentlessly making fun of him, he loves his siblings. So maybe he can indulge them if they want to pile on his bed and look at pictures on Tim’s laptop that Steph has commandeered. Maybe he can indulge them, just a little bit. At least before everything else goes wrong.