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Kiss him, Tim thought, palms sweaty as the clock ticked down.
It was far from the first time the thought had crept in, and it wouldn’t be the last. Dick had that effect on him more and more lately. Like some personal patron saint of terrible, impossible ideas.
Probably because his stupid gorgeous smile had a way of tricking Tim into believing that everything would be okay, regardless.
Before he could tip over the edge and commit to something truly self-sabotaging and idiotic, the universe intervened to save him from himself. Thank god and also Bart Allen.
The whirlpool sensation reached up to grab his bones and his navel and the roots of his teeth – and tugged. The world around him shifted, violent, dizzying as everything Before was swept away in a smear of color, like someone had clicked the reel on some Great Cosmic View-Master and spun him into the snapshot of a different moment.
There was no getting used to it. Maybe for speedsters it was par for the course, but for Tim Drakes, each and every rewind was just as disorienting as the first.
Which didn’t keep him from fruitlessly trying to brace –
Red Robin slammed back into his body of approximately five minutes ago, pelting up the stairwell of the not-so-abandoned lab at top speed.
Nightwing was hard on his heels, gaze fixed on the chronal wave-form tracker in his hand. Which was unfortunate, given that Tim was about to stagger, time-displaced and reeling, and miss the last stair like a graceless rookie.
“–should be one of the next two floors,” Dick was reporting, when, right on schedule, Tim stumbled hard on nothing at all.
Dick barely had time to widen his eyes and make a heroic split-second attempt to twist his weight away from the imminent collision – before his momentum slammed him into Tim’s back.
Nightwing bit off a curse as they went down, legs tangling, but immediately curled around Tim to guide their fall and take the worst of it. Tim let him, leaning into it as best he could as Dick spun his back toward the wall. Dick’s breath ‘whooshed ’ out of him as they impacted hard, but his hand remained steady where it had darted up to brace Tim’s neck, even as they slid to the floor.
Every motion was as seamless as if Dick had done it a thousand times. Had been even on their much uglier crash right out of that very first loop, when Tim had flailed in total adrenaline-spiked confusion instead of relaxing into his hold.
But that was Dick Grayson for you. Grace personified. Expertise in falling only outclassed by his skill at catching other people, be it mid-air or mid-tumble.
Tim had at least managed to reliably stop planting an elbow in Dick’s gut, along with everything else. Low bar, but he’d take it.
God, the vertigo from the transition was always killer.
“My bad,” Tim mumbled, resting his face in the crook of Dick’s shoulder and closing his eyes. Just to give the world a chance to stop rolling. “Can’t seem to avoid that fall no matter what I do.”
“No - No problem, buddy,” Dick coughed, pulling his hand from Tim’s neck to pat him on the back. “But uh - what?”
He shifted even as he spoke, bracing as if to heave them both back to their feet. Back to the job.
But Tim…didn’t cooperate like he’d clearly expected, and Dick let out a startled sound as they just - rocked back to the floor under Tim’s dead weight.
The thing was, Tim knew there was no real point in getting back up.
It had been out of their hands for at least the last three hours, cumulatively. It was up to Bart, and for the next few minutes Impulse would be stuck re-rescuing hundreds of earthquake and tsunami survivors along the western Pacific Rim. Even with his immunity to shifts in the time-stream making repeat explanations unnecessary, it would be almost the full length of the loop before Bart could zip over to Gotham in good conscience.
Leaving Tim with almost nothing to do except preempt Dick’s inevitable questions, and wrestle with his own temptations.
Dick was warm, and comfortable, and his hands were on Tim, and in less than five minutes, he wouldn’t remember Tim shirking duty to take this small, secret liberty. At a certain point, a man just stopped giving as much of a fuck.
Still, Tim brooded about it as Dick’s hands stalled high on his sides, clearly surprised at Red Robin lying on top of him like a limp noodle in the middle of a doomsday-tech-gone-wrong emergency.
How much of a fuck should he still give, exactly? Had he really done everything in his power? Was it really out of his hands? Or was he making excuses to justify doing what he already wanted to do? How much of a slippery slope was this?
(How horribly greedy could he let himself be?)
“Red? Are you okay?”
Dick cupped the back of his neck again, gently coaxing him to lift his face but otherwise keeping stock still. Given Tim’s stubborn laxity, he was probably concerned about a spinal injury. Paranoid overkill, of course, with the relatively minor tumble and his textbook-perfect protective cushioning. But that was also Dick Grayson for you.
Kiss him, the devil on his shoulder whispered.
“Hey, look at me?”
The worry in his voice and touch pricked the balloon of Tim’s already nagging guilt. He opened his eyes and sat up, sliding out from under Dick’s hand.
“I’m okay. But listen – we’re stuck in a time loop,” Tim told him. Before Dick could do more than straighten, Tim sucked in a breath, and recited, “We split up to search separate floors, but surprise surprise, the unstable device is definitely unstable. It ended up going off when I was in the room with it, and bam.” Literally. Tim gestured to their position on the floor. “Presto change-o. We think proximity is why I remember the looping and you don’t.”
It wasn’t worth getting into the details - flaring space/time event horizons and Tim being caught inside the radius thereof, etc. etc.
“Damn,” Dick said, brow furrowing. He sat fully up as well, only to immediately fold into a ‘thinking’ pose that would have pulled several muscles on most ordinary people. Every time, his instant acceptance hit Tim like a jet of warm bubbles low in his stomach. “And we can’t get to it before – ?”
“Nope,” Tim said, popping the ‘p’ with a sigh. “It’s built up a corona around it, distorting space/time. Poking it just makes the loop reset even earlier. You and I can’t get through it with the tech we have here, not having to start over every five minutes. Believe me,” he said wryly – knowing that Dick would. “We spent a hundred-odd loops hitting up experts and trying.”
Carefully memorizing and piecing together loop upon loop of scientific super-geniuses working through the problem, in painstaking five-minute increments – it was one of the most mentally fatiguing things Tim had ever done.
In retrospect – despite the personal trials that Tim was now plagued with because of it – it was really fortunate that he and Dick hadn’t both been caught in the event horizon. While Dick was hampered by how fast Tim could get him back up to speed each time, he didn’t know what he would have done without Dick’s unflagging energy. His upbeat focus, and warm, consistent care.
Every loop he only became more glad that it was Dick with him here, keeping him steady. He was dangerously close to bursting with it. Why did Dick have to be so –
Anyway. Putting that aside.
Considering the limitations their consultants were working under – only what information Tim could retain and provide from previous loops, what blueprints left by the rogue scientist that Dick and Tim could hunt down on site, what experimental machinery they could cobble together and what readings they could collect in under five minutes – eight hours to reach a consensus was some badass science-ing, really.
But in the end, that consensus had still boiled down to: Unfortunately you’re fucking screwed, there’s just not enough time, whistle up a speedster ASAP.
And thus, Bart.
Tim spread his hands. “So, this is now officially a speedster problem.”
“Wally – ” Dick started, predictably, already reaching up to touch his comm.
“Off-world with the JLA,” Tim reminded him. Dick’s thwarted grimace almost made him smile.
Kiss h– Shut up, shoulder-devil.
“Right. Double-damn.” He knew by the wrinkle of Dick’s nose that he wasn’t expecting anything better for his next suggestion. “Barry – ?”
“Not answering his comm,” Tim said, mouth twisting in apology. “Mirror Master was sighted in Keystone, so he might be stuck in a pocket dimension.”
“Okay,” Dick said on an exhale. “Impulse?”
Tim lifted a hand and pressed a button on his gauntlet. A simple holographic globe flickered into being. Impulse’s symbol popped up as a flag hovering over Tonga, with a text message beneath it. Tim knew without looking at the timestamp that it had come through just seconds after the loop had reset, before he and Nightwing had even collided.
DAMMIT!! SRY ROB, NEXT TIME FOR SURE!!! BE THERE IN A FLASH
“Busy, but he should be on his way in a few minutes.”
Dick frowned, leaning closer to read the message. “Has he not made it here in the previous loops?”
“Oh no, he has,” Tim corrected. “Forty-two times. He just keeps bouncing off the corona, which sets off the loop again. Apparently he has to approach at just the right vibrational frequency to phase through it, instead. And do you know how many possible vibrational frequencies there are?” There was perhaps a slight tinge of mania to his question.
“Let me guess,” Dick winced. “An infinite number?”
“Bingo,” Tim said, shooting him a tired finger-gun. He flopped to his back on the landing, sprawling and letting out air like a deflating tire. “...The feedback from each attempt helps him narrow down the range, so not really infinite. But. Ughhh.”
Tim put a hand on his mask, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut beneath the white lenses.
Three minutes left, on the outside.
Tim rationalized, If he just stays over there and keeps his hands out of my hair - I won't kiss him.
It was quiet for a few moments, except for the faint repeated susurration that Tim knew was Dick jiggling his leg restlessly, still pumped with adrenaline from their sprint. No doubt he was watching the readings on the chronal tracker and debating whether to leap up and double-check if there really wasn’t anything he could do.
It wasn’t that Dick didn’t trust Tim’s summary of the situation. Bats just didn’t do well sitting idle, and Nightwings did even worse at sitting still. Red Robin was well acquainted with the feeling.
But eventually there came a shuffling sound, as Dick unwound and scooted closer. The warmth of his thigh pressed against Tim’s arm, and then the fingers of one ungloved hand carded through Tim’s hair.
Tim both blessed and cursed the day he’d switched away from the full cowl.
"So. How many times have we had this conversation?” Dick asked sympathetically.
“Oh, y’know,” Tim sighed. Despite himself, he tilted his head, nudging into Dick’s hand like a cat. “A few.”
Dick sucked on his teeth briefly. “That many, huh?”
Tim grumbled a too-accurate-for-comfort Bruce-like, “Hn,” and Dick huffed a short laugh.
He was almost fidgeting with Tim’s locks as much as combing through them. Like a substitute for the leg-bouncing he’d been doing just before.
Messing up Tim’s hair had been one of Dick’s time-honored Things since before Tim was even officially Robin, but this…petting variation…was relatively new.
He’d done it every loop without fail since Tim had mostly accepted that they were in Bart’s hands now. Tim could be sprawled supine like he was now. He could be sitting against the wall, leaning into Dick’s side. They could even be striding down the hallway, Dick unable to suppress his restless energy.
It didn’t matter. Dick’s fingers ended up in his hair, regardless, tracing nonsense patterns on his scalp and raising goosebumps on his arms and the back of his neck.
It was driving Tim to distraction - to greedy, grasping thoughts. Patron saint of crazy, terrible ideas.
He slowly opened his eyes, watching Dick’s face without moving his head or changing expression. He’d become an expert at such covert surveillance over the years, white-out lenses hiding many indiscretions.
Dick didn’t usually seem to be looking back – but he had white-out lenses, too.
Just kiss him.
“Some loops,” Tim started, instead. “You sat me down and refused to let me work. Something about ‘crazy eyes’.”
Dick’s lips curled in a grin. “Not gonna lie, you do get a certain, hm…” He flip-flopped a black lock of hair between two fingers. “...homicidal squirrel look. When you’re right up on the edge.”
“So I’ve heard,” Tim said dryly. He reached up and poked Dick right in his most ticklish rib, smirking when he flinched, swallowing a yelp. “Anyway,” he continued, “Most of the time, you worked twice as hard to make up for me being out of it. But sometimes we just did this.”
“What, relaxed?” Dick said, skating right by the comment on his own efforts, as usual. “Good. At least a hundred forty loops at five minutes, that’s what, twelve hours straight?”
“Yeah,” Tim said, though he’d meant it far more literally. (Dick’s fingers, buried in his hair.) “It sucks. I’m gonna crash for like a week once we get out of this.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t dropped off yet, honestly. Micro-naps are better than nothing, Timmy, c’mon.” Dick scritched just above his ear encouragingly.
He probably would have passed straight out, deeply unpleasant five minute alarm clock or no – if Dick could just keep his hands to himself. But the drowsiness induced by the idle caressing was more than offset by the electricity of his touch.
Tim didn’t bother to respond.
After a few moments, Dick started, “So if we’ve done this before…” Oh no. “...d’you know what I’m gonna say next?”
“Probably,” Tim sighed. “But I live in hope.” Internally, he bargained, If he says something, anything else, I won't kiss him.
“I don't know what you mean,” Dick said, mischief touching his face. He tugged at Tim’s roots, teasing. “I bet you wish Steph had been patrolling with you tonight instead of me, huh? Or…that Conner was in town?”
Fishing for updates on each other’s love lives was nothing new. That last bit was a little tentative, Dick floating Conner’s name for the first time – except for how it was more like the thirtieth time, from Tim’s perspective.
But none of that was why he couldn’t stifle an inarticulate noise of frustration. Dick’s hand stilled.
And Tim - he did something he’d never done before. Instead of laughing it off, or rolling his eyes, or playing along (yeah, sure, or Bart while we’re at it), he flicked up his mask’s lenses, grabbed Dick’s wrist, and pulled.
Dick had to catch himself on his forearm, braced awkwardly over Tim, to keep from falling on top of him.
“Whoa!” Halted barely a foot above Tim’s flat glare, Dick’s surprise quickly morphed into a sheepish grin. “Hi. Got it. I won’t push. You can tell me all about Conner in your own ti–”
“I do not,” Tim bit out, “wish Steph or Conner were in this godforsaken loop with me. There’s no one I want here with me more than you.”
There. Plain English. His heart was pounding, but there was no taking it back now, at least until the loop wiped it all away. No way for Dick to mistake what he –
Nightwing’s expression went soft above him. “High praise. That means a lot to me, Tim.” His head tilted a little, a smile touching his lips. “Same to you - you know that, right?”
Tim stared at him. Dick looked back, the white eyes of his domino blank as fresh snow. But whatever he saw in Tim’s own expression made his brows slowly draw together, his smile fade.
“Dick. That’s not - exactly - ” Tim tried, then gave up, letting his head thunk back onto the floor. “Could you. Open up your lenses, please?”
He lied to himself, one last time. If he leaves them down, I won't kiss him.
Dick brushed the corner of his mask, and his lenses flicked up. The deep blue of his eyes locked onto Tim, furrowed brows shadowing them just that touch darker.
Tim had been searching since he was three years old, and no one he’d ever met could boast a shade half as beautiful.
Thirty seconds left at most. It was still a stupid, self-sabotaging idea, but he was no stranger to those. And then he’d know, irrevocably, and - and he could finally move on, no harm done to anyone but himself.
He slid his fingers up Dick’s jaw, curling them in the soft hollow under his ear. Dick startled slightly, those eyes going wide as his skin jumped at the touch.
“Tim?”
“Dick,” Tim whispered, aching, then leaned up and kissed him.
Everything in his head disappeared, sinking into the soft press of their lips. The sound of Dick’s breathing stopped. Tim’s mouth went lax and he made a noise deep in his throat as their lips dragged, separated. He had to press in again, lost in the plush warmth of Dick’s mouth.
After an eternity, he pulled back and let his eyes drift open, not really knowing when they’d fallen shut.
He wished he hadn’t. That he could’ve just stayed there, in that blissful moment of unknowing, till time unwound.
Open, vivid shock painted Dick's face. Those gorgeous eyes were blown wide and white, fixed on Tim’s. From this close, their noses still almost touching, the ruddy flush of his lips contrasted sharply with the pale, bloodless undertone to his tan skin.
Tim’s stomach dropped into freefall. He snatched his hand back so they were no longer touching, anywhere, and shrank down. As far as he could get without merging into the floor. God, what had he been thinking?
Dick didn’t react, frozen above him as if he’d been blasted by Victor Fries.
As still and unresponsive as he’d been for that entire, endless kiss.
Tim had his answer. And he’d gotten it without having to ruin his relationship with Dick in – in real life. Silver linings.
He wouldn’t have to watch and yearn and wonder, any longer.
(Just watch and yearn and hurt.)
“I'm sorry,” he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut.
The clock ticked down to zero in the back of his mind. For once, he welcomed it. The unspooling of time couldn’t begin to approach the dizzy, breathless pain of being right here, right now. Let it get swept away.
He braced –
– waited –
..........waited..........
Dick drew in a ragged breath just as Tim’s comm crackled.
“Woo-hoo!!” Bart crowed, nearly blasting out Tim's eardrums. "What’d I tell you, Rob, no time loop is gonna stump me 43 times in a row - that thing’s history! ”
Tim’s eyes snapped open, all the blood draining from his face. Dick was a living person again, live-wire gaze boring right into him. His color had washed back in – somehow oversaturated – and the weight of his focus was suffocating.
Bart was still talking, but Tim could barely hear him. “One janky broken time machine, contained and delivered to Mr. Terrific’s JSA lab, just as planned, fearless leader.”
“Tim,” Dick said. His voice was gravelly low. Ominous.
Tim nerve-struck his shoulder and eeled out from under him in a move he'd learned from Lady Shiva, rolling to his feet all in the same motion.
“Fuck – Tim, dammit, wait – ” Dick grabbed for him, already shaking off the strike and coiling his legs under him to launch into furious movement.
But Tim was empowered by (a) reckless exhaustion, (b) blank, mindless desperation to escape the consequences of his own actions, and also (c) a speedster best friend who wasn’t in space.
"Bart!" he barked, slapping his comm as he dodged Dick’s lunge and sprinted pell-nell away. Panic pounded hectically at his throat. “Express trip to the JSA, now! ”
“Okay, incoming, but you don’t get to– ” Bart’s voice started through his comm, then abruptly burst to full life as he appeared in a streak of pale lightning, grin occupying fully half his face as he swept Tim up in his arms. “–complain about princess carry, I killed it this loop Robbie, I’m telling you. Hi Nightwing, bye Nightwing.”
“Tim – ! ”
Dick’s fingertips brushed the flare of Tim’s cape – and then he was gone. Whirled away in a smear of color just like he’d been so many, many times before.
Tim stared at the afterimage where he’d been until even that bled away into the blur of passing landscape.
“...Thanks, Bart,” he croaked, heart still rabbiting in his chest like it wanted to tear its way out to open air and leap into Dick’s outstretched hand, by now miles away.
“No problem.” Bart streaked them down a highway in uncharacteristic quiet, considerately pretending not to notice that Tim was trembling. Though he kept sneaking obvious concerned glances. Tim knew that he could have had them to New York in moments if he weren’t slowing down, giving Tim time to regain his composure. “Sooooo…You wanna tell me why your nice brother was trying to tackle you, or…?”
Tim’s arms tightened around Bart’s neck. He was silent for a long time, empty and echoing inside.
Because that was right, wasn’t it? Dick. His brother.
He rasped, “Because I fucked everything up.”