Fic: Now with Bernard
Jan. 15th, 2009 06:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tanarillSo, Bernard showed up in my head and poked me mercilessly with a stick until I wrote this.
Title: The Butler's Apprentice (If He Gets It Right)
Fandom: DCU
Rating: PG
Warning: Some language, and extra homolove.
Tim has just left again, and Bernard is . . .
He supposes that the word is annoyed, only it isn't. The closest word to what he's feeling in jealousy, but that's not it either. Or it is, but, one, being jealous of a city is only slightly less ridiculous than the idea that he might be jealous of Batman and, two, Tim had told him point-blank that being Robin was more important. He hadn't really gotten in at that point, but he does now that he's met Batman. Batman needs a Robin, and so does Gotham.
Still, for all that, jealousy is the only word that even comes close. He isn't talking about it with Tim, not yet and maybe not ever, because he doesn't want to put Tim in a place where he has to choose himself or the city. The city has to come first. He just wants to have a bigger place in Tim's life, or at least, he wants the city to give him more time with Tim. There's only one way he can see that happening, though.
And Bernard knows himself enough to know that he's a coward, and he's not cut out for being out there. He doesn't even like flying where, as far as he can tell, all the Bat-people look at it as the best part of the job. He can't fight and has no desire to learn and he wants to be more a part of Tim's life.
He just doesn't know how to explain this to Tim.
He's hoping he doesn't have to.
All of the Bats had, sooner or later, come to. He's not sure. Batman hadn't threatened him at all, but even warned that he would be coming, he hadn't really been able to do much more than stutter out answers to the questions. The creepily quiet Batgirl had just watched him for a while and then bowed like the masters in those old martial arts movies Tim liked to watch. Nightwing had been the most weirdly normal, in the sense that he talked out loud and, while he was also obvious about testing him, it was really clear that the reason was because he thought of Tim as a little brother and was watching out for him.
Robin has no qualms about using his communicator in front of him. B is Batman and N in Nightwing and for some reason G is Batgirl (maybe it makes sense to the Bats) and H is Huntress and also on the comm less often, and O is . . . someone.
Tim had made no lies about the fact that he had Bernard's room bugged. Bernard had, after the first moment of 'that's not creepy at all, honest, Drake' taken it in stride and asked what, exactly, Tim was doing with the video footage. The answer was a blush and the real answer something along the lines of 'I need to know you're safe,' although he hadn't said so in as many words. Maybe Tim is listening. He's hoping that O, whoever it is, is.
Even so, he feels just slightly ridiculous standing in his room and saying, "Er-O?"
More so when there is no immediate response. Because at the same time that it's a relief that somewhere, someone isn't watching him, he can't help but wonder how a security camera, any security camera, is supposed to work without a guard somewhere watching the footage.
And then his computer speakers crackle to life and a computer-generated voice says, "Hello, Bernard."
He jumps. It's absolutely that creepy and then some and, as he watches, a window opens up and there's this stylized picture of a woman's head taking up most of the screen.
"Um. Hi?"
Something that might be a crackle of static, only he's absolutely sure that it's voice software trying to process a laugh.
"I mean-this is really freaky. Okay, I um. I just wanted to talk to one of you."
"About Robin."
"Not really. Well, kinda. It's more about me."
Quiet. Not the quiet buzz of a mic sending nothing, the quiet of nothing being sent.
"And, um. I. I'm his boyfriend but I didn't even notice he was Robin and that makes me feel kind of horrible. As a boyfriend. And now he's still Robin and I don't really want to be out there on the street but I just feel helpless sitting here when he gets calls and leaves like that."
"And . . . ?" says O.
Which forced Bernard to pause, because he's really not entirely sure what comes next. He knows what he wants. It's putting it into words that's the hard part. But he manages to say, "I want to do more."
"Without fighting?" If computer-generated voices could have emotion, he'd swear this one is laughing.
"Are you?" he asks, because he's mad enough not to think about his answer before saying it.
There's more quiet. And then, "Touche."
"And, well. I've been thinking. It has to take a lot of people to keep the whole Batman thing going. I mean, yeah, probably most of them don't know it, but some people, and maybe . . . I could be one of them?"
"Do you know first aid?"
"I-yes. I learned after Darla. Um." That last was because he was realizing all over again that Tim is Robin, and that meant that when Tim had disappeared, he had gone off to keep the worst gang war in Gotham history in check, and maybe he could have died. Like Darla.
"Hmm," says the voice in a buzz. "No household surgery."
"No," says Bernard, remembering the neat lines of scars on Tim's body. There are not nearly as many as he might've expected. Someone, someone who he might have to end up hating, spent a lot of time making it that way.
"Cooking?"
What does that have to do with anything? he thinks, but says, "Things that come out of boxes. And eggs." A gentleman should know how to prepare eggs of any variety, so Bernard can.
"Mm. What about cars?"
"Well, I don't know how to supercharge one, but I can change the oil."
"Airplane maintenance?"
"No clue," says Bernard, and then realizes that of course someone has to take care of the Batwing.
"Computers?"
"Are for games," says Bernard, who's fairly sure he's failed this interview.
"And lethal force?"
"Not," Bernard says, and then stops. As long as he has failed, he might as well fail hard. "I mean, if they catch the guy, and try him, and then execute him, that's one thing. But just killing people because you want to, or because they made a bad choice and ended up in a gang, or something, that's not right."
Bernard has a moment to wonder if he-she? it?-had left and then the voice comes through the speaker.
It's not the same person. It's a human voice, low and deep and full of all the menace a Bat could have. What it says is, "I'll get back to you."
Bernard blinks. Batman had been listening in for-how long? Since the beginning, probably. He wonders if this means he's going to get another visit, and really hopes not.
On the other hand, Tim is more than worth it.
"Okay?" he agrees.
"He likes you, kid," says the computer voice.
Bernard swallows. "He does?"
"He didn't tell you to get lost. Although it may be more for Robin's sake. I'm Oracle, by the way."
"Nice to meet you?" Bernard isn't dubious about the name, because of course it wouldn't actually be a normal person's name, but he feels a little strange. Oracle is the night guard on duty, the one watching him through all those little cameras.
Another electronic crackle of a laugh. "Same here, I suppose."
"You suppose?"
"The last time Tim fell in love, it got . . . messy."
"Yeah?" asks Bernard.
"Yeah," says Oracle.
***
Oracle turns out to be more, well, human, once you get past the synthesizer. He talks to - her, because of the icon he's going to assume her until proven otherwise - her, and he learns. Mostly about Steph, who Tim never even talked about, ever. And by the end, he's banging his head against the wall for never figuring out that Steph was that Stephanie, Stephanie Brown, girl Robin and Spoiler and dead.
Tim's paranoia about his safety suddenly makes much more sense.
And then Oracle has to go because there's a fire, and he gets it because she's a Bat too, and Gotham needs her.
Besides, he's a junior in high school and has a report due tomorrow that he hasn't even started yet.
This is why he's busy when Batman, still smelling of smoke and burning rubber, climbs in his window and just kind of . . . looms.
"Jesus fuck!"
"You want to be one of us," growls Batman.
"Uh, no," says Bernard. "I don't. I want Tim to be safe, but this is Gotham, so I'll settle for doing my best to take care of him."
"You know nothing."
And he knows it's true, but he also knows this answer. "Nothing to unlearn."
"You are weak."
"I can get stronger."
"You can't keep secrets."
"Bull." The scary thing about Batman's eyes is that he can't, actually, see them behind the white-out lenses. He can feel that much more tension in the room, though. "I've kept Tim's. I don't want to know yours."
And was that hum where Tim had learned to smile without, actually, moving a muscle or was it just a 'hm'?
Does he actually want to know?
The thought leaves, is snatched away, bu the gauntlet on his chin, tugging his head up until the eyes inside that cowl can look and, holy shit, he was actually talking back to Batman.
Tim. Worth it. Right.
"I just. I - Tim." Bernard doubts he's making much sense, but Batman seems to get it anyway.
It earns him what he thinks is a Batman smile, which is one of those little hums and not so much an actual facial expression as the possibility of one.
"We don't need you," says Batman.
"Oh-"
"But you, I think, need us. So." He turns to leave.
"Um . . . "
"That's means you're hired," says Batman.
"Okay."
"Provisionally," adds Batman, as he dives out the window.
"Good job," says Oracle through his computer.
***
The next night, and Bernard has been instructed to be at this . . . place. Well, not so much instructed as coming home to find the instructions lying in his printer and a message onscreen saying "7:00".
The address wasn't hard to find, but the address is a warehouse. The warehouse is, basically, a box. The lower two floors are built of cinder block and the rest of corrugated sheet metal. It's big, ugly, and functional. Bernard walks around to the door which is human sized, as opposed to semi-truck size, and knocks.
Nothing happens for a while. So long, in fact, that Bernard is thinking about leaving; this isn't the best neighborhood, and there are always rumors. Some of which he now knows are true. And it is more than a bit past seven and it's getting dark and maybe he shouldn't quite be doing what the creepy lady in his computer tells him to do, and then the door opens.
"Hey," says Nightwing.
"Oh, um," says Bernard, blinking and feeling particularly dull. He'd liked Nightwing, who talked in more than a low growl and absolutely didn't threaten him.
"Come on in," he says, and moves aside so Bernard can and, well.
"Is this - no, it's not even a cave. Although-" it is kind of awesome.
"It is and it isn't," says Nightwing from behind him. "It's a satellite cave."
"Okay . . . "
"Lighten up. I'm not going to attack. These things are all over the city, in case we need them. For now, it's going to be your classroom."
"But I don't-"
"-want to be a cape, believe me, we got it. The thing is, you don't have any of the right skills to be support. Yet."
"Oh. And you-"
"There aren't as many of us as you think, so we know - we all know - how to do everything. I'm supposed to turn you into a mechanic."
"And Tim can't because . . . ?"
"It's really not a good idea to teach someone you're . . . involved with. I mean, that's common knowledge, right?"
And it is, it absolutely is, there are laws about it because it is. It just also hurts at right this moment, because. Well, even less time with Tim than usual.
He nods instead and says, "So, what first."
Nightwing points over to a section of the warehouse that happens to be in shadow at the moment, and also not covered in exercise equipment or the oddly menacing crates, and says, "Lights."
The lights go up.
Bernard's jaw drops. "Is that the-"
"One of them, yeah. This one's six generations old, obsolete enough that nothing you do to screw it up will possibly cause any problems. Call it a practice dummy."
"It's the Batmobile!"
"And also a practice dummy. Heads up!"
Bernard turns and manages to mostly fumble the catch on a bundle of clothing.
"Get changed. You don't want to wear nice clothing for this work, believe me."
Which, okay and yes, but. The clothing isn't an approximate; it's old, clean, used, and in his size. He turns to ask Nightwing, and Nightwing is-
Half out of his suit, which turns out not to be spandex from the way it hits the ground. And also, like Tim, scarred. Very much so.
"What?" asks Nightwing.
Bernard jumps. "Scars," he says, and it's absolutely nothing like realizing that Tim hadn't, actually, been in a car accident while Brucie wasn't paying attention. He could spend hours studying Tim's scars, terrified and elated by turns. The ones on Nightwing just scare him, remind him that this life leaves marks. And, probably, that if he keeps going, he's the one who will be stitching Tim up when the only thing keeping his guts on the inside is the armor.
"Well, yeah," says Nightwing while he's thinking this, and then seems to catch on. "What's wrong?"
And, really, he thought he'd come to terms with this already. That he knows, or at least knew, that what Tim does is dangerous and potentially deadly. That he's as okay with it as he can get.
Apparently, he was wrong.
"Scars," he says again.
Maybe it's a costumed vigilante thing, that they can understand what he's saying even when he doesn't, precisely. Tim does it. He's fairly sure Batman taught that to him. And . . .
"Oh," says Nightwing. "Yeah. It's not. You understand that Ro-no, Tim, isn't going to stop?"
"I know," says Bernard. "I just . . . it scares me, okay?"
There's a pause, and then Nightwing says, "It's stupid not to be afraid. Just don't let it rule you."
"I'm here, aren't I?" asks Bernard, and then in a few quick moves has his shirt off and the new one on. He repeats this with his pants, and Nightwing is also unsurprisingly dressed by the time he finishes. He wanders over to the Batmobile.
"So what I was told," says Nightwing, walking around to the door, "is that you know pretty much nothing." He pops the hood. "Get that for me, would you?"
Bernard reaches under and feels for the catch, and then the hood comes up smooth and easy.
He stares.
He knows just enough about engines to know that this isn't looking at a normal engine. For one, normal engines do not have that many pistons. Two, there's a lot more stuff that he's sure there should be.
"What is it?" he asks.
"Aluminum-block V16 engine." Nightwing is behind him agan. "Produces more than a thousand horsepower, and that's without the turbo."
"Seriously?" says Bernard, who might not be particularly mechanically inclined but is still a male between the ages of twelve and twenty-six.
"Get used to it. Your first job is to take it apart, and your second is to put it together again."
***
Tim finally slips in his window on Friday of that week. Bernard is sleeping. He hasn't had any trouble sleeping at all the last few nights, and they haven't even really gotten into the hard stuff. Yet. He doesn't wake up immediately, because he isn't that kind of person, but we does wake up once Tim has been watching him, staring at him sleep really, for a while.
And is slipping into bed with him.
"Hm?" he asks sleepily.
"Shh," says Tim, curling into him.
"'K," he says, and goes back to sleep.
When he wakes up Saturday, the Robin suit is nowhere visible, and Tim is still there.
He kisses Tim's forehead and carefully extricates himself. Sleeping in is probably something Tim doesn't get to do enough, and he's not going to ruin that. He goes to shower instead.
By the time he comes back out, he's more or less coherent and Tim is more or less awake. "Hi."
"Hi."
"Want to sleep some more?"
"Yes, but . . . " There's another conversation we have to have.
"It's okay," says Bernard. "I'm not doing anything more dangerous or illegal than learning how to take care of an engine."
"But you will be."
"Tim-" says Bernard, before he is cut off.
"No, it's fine. It's-okay, it's not fine, but I like it better than you on the streets."
Bernard tries to explain. "I-Tim. I want to help you, and I can't be out there. I'd get myself killed. So I-"
"I know! I know, okay? I just . . . "
After a moment, Bernard asked, "Tim?"
"It's stupid."
"So?"
Which, finally, got a smile. "I don't-I think I don't want to share." Bernard blinked as Tim continued. "They really are my other family, but I don't want to share you with them. And I don't want to share that part of my life with you. And I know that's selfish and-"
"Tim. Shut up," said Bernard.
Tim shuts up, and Bernard sits down next to him on the bed. "I love you. And I'm doing this because I love you. I'm not stopping, either. For one, you have the best toys."
And that got him his second smile. "I'm fond of them . . . give me some time to get used to it, okay? Work on the idea that you'll be there, too."
"Will do," says Bernard, and leans over to give Tim a kiss.
Tim, in typical Tim fashion, does something that involves him collapsing. Some on the bed, but mostly on Tim. "Stay here," says Tim. "I Just want to feel you."
"Okay," says Bernard, relaxing. He'd be worried about this except that Tim is more than strong enough to lie there with someone on top of him and, more importantly, Tim doesn't cuddle much. He's taking the chance while he has it. "I'll stay here."
Now I'm wrestling with the Skullbird. Rags did that; isn't she awesome? He wants a full story. And who am I to disagree with the Lord of the Western Sun?
[bangs head against wall]
Title: The Butler's Apprentice (If He Gets It Right)
Fandom: DCU
Rating: PG
Warning: Some language, and extra homolove.
Tim has just left again, and Bernard is . . .
He supposes that the word is annoyed, only it isn't. The closest word to what he's feeling in jealousy, but that's not it either. Or it is, but, one, being jealous of a city is only slightly less ridiculous than the idea that he might be jealous of Batman and, two, Tim had told him point-blank that being Robin was more important. He hadn't really gotten in at that point, but he does now that he's met Batman. Batman needs a Robin, and so does Gotham.
Still, for all that, jealousy is the only word that even comes close. He isn't talking about it with Tim, not yet and maybe not ever, because he doesn't want to put Tim in a place where he has to choose himself or the city. The city has to come first. He just wants to have a bigger place in Tim's life, or at least, he wants the city to give him more time with Tim. There's only one way he can see that happening, though.
And Bernard knows himself enough to know that he's a coward, and he's not cut out for being out there. He doesn't even like flying where, as far as he can tell, all the Bat-people look at it as the best part of the job. He can't fight and has no desire to learn and he wants to be more a part of Tim's life.
He just doesn't know how to explain this to Tim.
He's hoping he doesn't have to.
All of the Bats had, sooner or later, come to. He's not sure. Batman hadn't threatened him at all, but even warned that he would be coming, he hadn't really been able to do much more than stutter out answers to the questions. The creepily quiet Batgirl had just watched him for a while and then bowed like the masters in those old martial arts movies Tim liked to watch. Nightwing had been the most weirdly normal, in the sense that he talked out loud and, while he was also obvious about testing him, it was really clear that the reason was because he thought of Tim as a little brother and was watching out for him.
Robin has no qualms about using his communicator in front of him. B is Batman and N in Nightwing and for some reason G is Batgirl (maybe it makes sense to the Bats) and H is Huntress and also on the comm less often, and O is . . . someone.
Tim had made no lies about the fact that he had Bernard's room bugged. Bernard had, after the first moment of 'that's not creepy at all, honest, Drake' taken it in stride and asked what, exactly, Tim was doing with the video footage. The answer was a blush and the real answer something along the lines of 'I need to know you're safe,' although he hadn't said so in as many words. Maybe Tim is listening. He's hoping that O, whoever it is, is.
Even so, he feels just slightly ridiculous standing in his room and saying, "Er-O?"
More so when there is no immediate response. Because at the same time that it's a relief that somewhere, someone isn't watching him, he can't help but wonder how a security camera, any security camera, is supposed to work without a guard somewhere watching the footage.
And then his computer speakers crackle to life and a computer-generated voice says, "Hello, Bernard."
He jumps. It's absolutely that creepy and then some and, as he watches, a window opens up and there's this stylized picture of a woman's head taking up most of the screen.
"Um. Hi?"
Something that might be a crackle of static, only he's absolutely sure that it's voice software trying to process a laugh.
"I mean-this is really freaky. Okay, I um. I just wanted to talk to one of you."
"About Robin."
"Not really. Well, kinda. It's more about me."
Quiet. Not the quiet buzz of a mic sending nothing, the quiet of nothing being sent.
"And, um. I. I'm his boyfriend but I didn't even notice he was Robin and that makes me feel kind of horrible. As a boyfriend. And now he's still Robin and I don't really want to be out there on the street but I just feel helpless sitting here when he gets calls and leaves like that."
"And . . . ?" says O.
Which forced Bernard to pause, because he's really not entirely sure what comes next. He knows what he wants. It's putting it into words that's the hard part. But he manages to say, "I want to do more."
"Without fighting?" If computer-generated voices could have emotion, he'd swear this one is laughing.
"Are you?" he asks, because he's mad enough not to think about his answer before saying it.
There's more quiet. And then, "Touche."
"And, well. I've been thinking. It has to take a lot of people to keep the whole Batman thing going. I mean, yeah, probably most of them don't know it, but some people, and maybe . . . I could be one of them?"
"Do you know first aid?"
"I-yes. I learned after Darla. Um." That last was because he was realizing all over again that Tim is Robin, and that meant that when Tim had disappeared, he had gone off to keep the worst gang war in Gotham history in check, and maybe he could have died. Like Darla.
"Hmm," says the voice in a buzz. "No household surgery."
"No," says Bernard, remembering the neat lines of scars on Tim's body. There are not nearly as many as he might've expected. Someone, someone who he might have to end up hating, spent a lot of time making it that way.
"Cooking?"
What does that have to do with anything? he thinks, but says, "Things that come out of boxes. And eggs." A gentleman should know how to prepare eggs of any variety, so Bernard can.
"Mm. What about cars?"
"Well, I don't know how to supercharge one, but I can change the oil."
"Airplane maintenance?"
"No clue," says Bernard, and then realizes that of course someone has to take care of the Batwing.
"Computers?"
"Are for games," says Bernard, who's fairly sure he's failed this interview.
"And lethal force?"
"Not," Bernard says, and then stops. As long as he has failed, he might as well fail hard. "I mean, if they catch the guy, and try him, and then execute him, that's one thing. But just killing people because you want to, or because they made a bad choice and ended up in a gang, or something, that's not right."
Bernard has a moment to wonder if he-she? it?-had left and then the voice comes through the speaker.
It's not the same person. It's a human voice, low and deep and full of all the menace a Bat could have. What it says is, "I'll get back to you."
Bernard blinks. Batman had been listening in for-how long? Since the beginning, probably. He wonders if this means he's going to get another visit, and really hopes not.
On the other hand, Tim is more than worth it.
"Okay?" he agrees.
"He likes you, kid," says the computer voice.
Bernard swallows. "He does?"
"He didn't tell you to get lost. Although it may be more for Robin's sake. I'm Oracle, by the way."
"Nice to meet you?" Bernard isn't dubious about the name, because of course it wouldn't actually be a normal person's name, but he feels a little strange. Oracle is the night guard on duty, the one watching him through all those little cameras.
Another electronic crackle of a laugh. "Same here, I suppose."
"You suppose?"
"The last time Tim fell in love, it got . . . messy."
"Yeah?" asks Bernard.
"Yeah," says Oracle.
***
Oracle turns out to be more, well, human, once you get past the synthesizer. He talks to - her, because of the icon he's going to assume her until proven otherwise - her, and he learns. Mostly about Steph, who Tim never even talked about, ever. And by the end, he's banging his head against the wall for never figuring out that Steph was that Stephanie, Stephanie Brown, girl Robin and Spoiler and dead.
Tim's paranoia about his safety suddenly makes much more sense.
And then Oracle has to go because there's a fire, and he gets it because she's a Bat too, and Gotham needs her.
Besides, he's a junior in high school and has a report due tomorrow that he hasn't even started yet.
This is why he's busy when Batman, still smelling of smoke and burning rubber, climbs in his window and just kind of . . . looms.
"Jesus fuck!"
"You want to be one of us," growls Batman.
"Uh, no," says Bernard. "I don't. I want Tim to be safe, but this is Gotham, so I'll settle for doing my best to take care of him."
"You know nothing."
And he knows it's true, but he also knows this answer. "Nothing to unlearn."
"You are weak."
"I can get stronger."
"You can't keep secrets."
"Bull." The scary thing about Batman's eyes is that he can't, actually, see them behind the white-out lenses. He can feel that much more tension in the room, though. "I've kept Tim's. I don't want to know yours."
And was that hum where Tim had learned to smile without, actually, moving a muscle or was it just a 'hm'?
Does he actually want to know?
The thought leaves, is snatched away, bu the gauntlet on his chin, tugging his head up until the eyes inside that cowl can look and, holy shit, he was actually talking back to Batman.
Tim. Worth it. Right.
"I just. I - Tim." Bernard doubts he's making much sense, but Batman seems to get it anyway.
It earns him what he thinks is a Batman smile, which is one of those little hums and not so much an actual facial expression as the possibility of one.
"We don't need you," says Batman.
"Oh-"
"But you, I think, need us. So." He turns to leave.
"Um . . . "
"That's means you're hired," says Batman.
"Okay."
"Provisionally," adds Batman, as he dives out the window.
"Good job," says Oracle through his computer.
***
The next night, and Bernard has been instructed to be at this . . . place. Well, not so much instructed as coming home to find the instructions lying in his printer and a message onscreen saying "7:00".
The address wasn't hard to find, but the address is a warehouse. The warehouse is, basically, a box. The lower two floors are built of cinder block and the rest of corrugated sheet metal. It's big, ugly, and functional. Bernard walks around to the door which is human sized, as opposed to semi-truck size, and knocks.
Nothing happens for a while. So long, in fact, that Bernard is thinking about leaving; this isn't the best neighborhood, and there are always rumors. Some of which he now knows are true. And it is more than a bit past seven and it's getting dark and maybe he shouldn't quite be doing what the creepy lady in his computer tells him to do, and then the door opens.
"Hey," says Nightwing.
"Oh, um," says Bernard, blinking and feeling particularly dull. He'd liked Nightwing, who talked in more than a low growl and absolutely didn't threaten him.
"Come on in," he says, and moves aside so Bernard can and, well.
"Is this - no, it's not even a cave. Although-" it is kind of awesome.
"It is and it isn't," says Nightwing from behind him. "It's a satellite cave."
"Okay . . . "
"Lighten up. I'm not going to attack. These things are all over the city, in case we need them. For now, it's going to be your classroom."
"But I don't-"
"-want to be a cape, believe me, we got it. The thing is, you don't have any of the right skills to be support. Yet."
"Oh. And you-"
"There aren't as many of us as you think, so we know - we all know - how to do everything. I'm supposed to turn you into a mechanic."
"And Tim can't because . . . ?"
"It's really not a good idea to teach someone you're . . . involved with. I mean, that's common knowledge, right?"
And it is, it absolutely is, there are laws about it because it is. It just also hurts at right this moment, because. Well, even less time with Tim than usual.
He nods instead and says, "So, what first."
Nightwing points over to a section of the warehouse that happens to be in shadow at the moment, and also not covered in exercise equipment or the oddly menacing crates, and says, "Lights."
The lights go up.
Bernard's jaw drops. "Is that the-"
"One of them, yeah. This one's six generations old, obsolete enough that nothing you do to screw it up will possibly cause any problems. Call it a practice dummy."
"It's the Batmobile!"
"And also a practice dummy. Heads up!"
Bernard turns and manages to mostly fumble the catch on a bundle of clothing.
"Get changed. You don't want to wear nice clothing for this work, believe me."
Which, okay and yes, but. The clothing isn't an approximate; it's old, clean, used, and in his size. He turns to ask Nightwing, and Nightwing is-
Half out of his suit, which turns out not to be spandex from the way it hits the ground. And also, like Tim, scarred. Very much so.
"What?" asks Nightwing.
Bernard jumps. "Scars," he says, and it's absolutely nothing like realizing that Tim hadn't, actually, been in a car accident while Brucie wasn't paying attention. He could spend hours studying Tim's scars, terrified and elated by turns. The ones on Nightwing just scare him, remind him that this life leaves marks. And, probably, that if he keeps going, he's the one who will be stitching Tim up when the only thing keeping his guts on the inside is the armor.
"Well, yeah," says Nightwing while he's thinking this, and then seems to catch on. "What's wrong?"
And, really, he thought he'd come to terms with this already. That he knows, or at least knew, that what Tim does is dangerous and potentially deadly. That he's as okay with it as he can get.
Apparently, he was wrong.
"Scars," he says again.
Maybe it's a costumed vigilante thing, that they can understand what he's saying even when he doesn't, precisely. Tim does it. He's fairly sure Batman taught that to him. And . . .
"Oh," says Nightwing. "Yeah. It's not. You understand that Ro-no, Tim, isn't going to stop?"
"I know," says Bernard. "I just . . . it scares me, okay?"
There's a pause, and then Nightwing says, "It's stupid not to be afraid. Just don't let it rule you."
"I'm here, aren't I?" asks Bernard, and then in a few quick moves has his shirt off and the new one on. He repeats this with his pants, and Nightwing is also unsurprisingly dressed by the time he finishes. He wanders over to the Batmobile.
"So what I was told," says Nightwing, walking around to the door, "is that you know pretty much nothing." He pops the hood. "Get that for me, would you?"
Bernard reaches under and feels for the catch, and then the hood comes up smooth and easy.
He stares.
He knows just enough about engines to know that this isn't looking at a normal engine. For one, normal engines do not have that many pistons. Two, there's a lot more stuff that he's sure there should be.
"What is it?" he asks.
"Aluminum-block V16 engine." Nightwing is behind him agan. "Produces more than a thousand horsepower, and that's without the turbo."
"Seriously?" says Bernard, who might not be particularly mechanically inclined but is still a male between the ages of twelve and twenty-six.
"Get used to it. Your first job is to take it apart, and your second is to put it together again."
***
Tim finally slips in his window on Friday of that week. Bernard is sleeping. He hasn't had any trouble sleeping at all the last few nights, and they haven't even really gotten into the hard stuff. Yet. He doesn't wake up immediately, because he isn't that kind of person, but we does wake up once Tim has been watching him, staring at him sleep really, for a while.
And is slipping into bed with him.
"Hm?" he asks sleepily.
"Shh," says Tim, curling into him.
"'K," he says, and goes back to sleep.
When he wakes up Saturday, the Robin suit is nowhere visible, and Tim is still there.
He kisses Tim's forehead and carefully extricates himself. Sleeping in is probably something Tim doesn't get to do enough, and he's not going to ruin that. He goes to shower instead.
By the time he comes back out, he's more or less coherent and Tim is more or less awake. "Hi."
"Hi."
"Want to sleep some more?"
"Yes, but . . . " There's another conversation we have to have.
"It's okay," says Bernard. "I'm not doing anything more dangerous or illegal than learning how to take care of an engine."
"But you will be."
"Tim-" says Bernard, before he is cut off.
"No, it's fine. It's-okay, it's not fine, but I like it better than you on the streets."
Bernard tries to explain. "I-Tim. I want to help you, and I can't be out there. I'd get myself killed. So I-"
"I know! I know, okay? I just . . . "
After a moment, Bernard asked, "Tim?"
"It's stupid."
"So?"
Which, finally, got a smile. "I don't-I think I don't want to share." Bernard blinked as Tim continued. "They really are my other family, but I don't want to share you with them. And I don't want to share that part of my life with you. And I know that's selfish and-"
"Tim. Shut up," said Bernard.
Tim shuts up, and Bernard sits down next to him on the bed. "I love you. And I'm doing this because I love you. I'm not stopping, either. For one, you have the best toys."
And that got him his second smile. "I'm fond of them . . . give me some time to get used to it, okay? Work on the idea that you'll be there, too."
"Will do," says Bernard, and leans over to give Tim a kiss.
Tim, in typical Tim fashion, does something that involves him collapsing. Some on the bed, but mostly on Tim. "Stay here," says Tim. "I Just want to feel you."
"Okay," says Bernard, relaxing. He'd be worried about this except that Tim is more than strong enough to lie there with someone on top of him and, more importantly, Tim doesn't cuddle much. He's taking the chance while he has it. "I'll stay here."
Now I'm wrestling with the Skullbird. Rags did that; isn't she awesome? He wants a full story. And who am I to disagree with the Lord of the Western Sun?
[bangs head against wall]
