Chapter Text
Bernard had woken up feeling fine. More than fine, even. Good. Refreshed. He woke, not too early, not too late, a comfortable ten AM wake up. Sunlight landed on the pillow next to him, filtered through the slightly slanted blinds of his bedroom window. Over the few weeks he’d been living in his new apartment, he’d come to appreciate his street side bedroom. Sure, it was loud as hell with all the traffic below, but it was the only side of the building where the sun shone through so early in the day.
At some point in the night he’d woken from where he’d collapsed on the sofa and made his way to his bed, not that he remembered. His neck ached either way, so really it didn’t make much difference.
His neck ached.
Why is that the most significant pain..? He thought, lifting the leg of his jogging bottoms.
“What the..?”
His leg, which had been covered in gashes and scratches from the night before, had almost fully healed. A few scabs that looked to be a week or two old were all the evidence that was left of his injuries, scarring already turning the edges purple. Thin white lines marked the smallest cuts, like they were nothing more than paper cuts.
He rushed to the bathroom, squeezing in around the door to look in the mirror above his sink. He peeled his shirt off.
The gash on his arm had become nothing more than a fine line of a scab, pink and purple raised skin around evidence of a clean healing process. He flexed his hands. No pain, not even a twinge. The worst that could be said about the old (or new?) injury was that it made his skin a little tight.
His stomach was as scarred as any other injury, the graze from the wall and the teeth mark lacerations from the mob guy’s Thing nothing more than a starry scene of white, silvery dots and crosses across his torso. The bruises on his neck and side were cleared, saved for some faint yellowing around the worst of his neck. He reached up to feel the back of his head, feeling only a slight jagged bump where the cuts there had metamorphosed into scabs.
“Either I’ve been asleep a long fucking time, or I have fucking healing powers,” he muttered to himself, staring dumbly into the mirror.
He poked the scars on his stomach. Nothing. Not even a twinge. He wondered if they possibly looked a bit too silvery. Almost like he was coated in precious metals.
Then he remembered.
Asher.
His stomach dropped as his morning amnesia lifted, quickly going from worrying about how he’d managed to heal overnight to thinking of his dead friend. They’d gotten through the cult together. They’d gone their own ways, yes, but Bernard slept at night knowing the person who looked after him was out there, free of all the shit they went through. Asher was meant to be out there on the coast, teaching idiot tourists to surf like he wanted, and Bernard was meant to be getting his training to work in animal rescue, to set up the programmes he was planning.
They were meant to move on. But Asher didn’t get that. He got a headline on the evening news and thorns in his veins.
Bernard sighed, climbing over the toilet and back out of the bathroom, picking up his cell from where he’d left it the previous night, neglected on the couch arm.
He flopped down on the couch, very aware that the most he felt was a twinge in his leg at the movement, and began to scroll through his contacts. He’d had Jason’s phone number for a few weeks, after one time the guy had dropped him and Tim off in Gotham. Only because it was on his way, he made sure to remind them. Multiple times.
After five rings, the other line connected, and Bernard was greeted to a crackly grumble coming down to his end.
“Who the fuck is this and why shouldn’t I hang up?”
“Hi Jason, it’s me.”
“I’m hanging up now. See you at the meeting , when I’ll actually be awake.”
“Wait! I have healing powers now!”
A pause. Shuffling that sounded vaguely like bed covers being thrown about filled the lull in conversation.
“Elaboration, kid. Preferably now before I think you’ve grown a third arm or something.”
Bernard huffed. “Ummm, I guess it’s pretty good. My side still aches if I move too fast, and my cuts are just scarred over, not fully gone. The teeth marks from one of those mob guys’ Things are just slightly scarred now, but they’re mostly faded. It seems I’ve skipped a few weeks of healing, but it’s not all done.”
“Right,” Jason muttered. “I’ll be wanting an update on any major changes throughout the day. Do you have a marker pen?”
“Uhhh, yep,” Bernard said, snatching up a pen that had half rolled under his couch.
“Can you just mark two lines on either end of the scabs, and another two along the side marking the width? That way we can track how far they’ve healed in the day.”
“Sure, one sec.”
Placing the phone on his couch, Bernard pulled down his trousers, beginning to mark up every scab he had. He wondered if he could watch them change before his eyes, if he stared for a few minutes.
Sound arose from his phone, indistinguishable, and he put it on speaker.
“What was that?”
“You done?” Jason grumbled. “I have shit to do. Like getting an hour more sleep before actually doing something productive.”
“Yeah I’m done. I look like I have the world’s shittiest tattoos.”
“Well don’t show any skin on your date, and you’ll live. Welcome to vigilante life, kid.”
Date? Bernard scrunched up his nose.
“Oh god, my date! Shit. ”
He jumped up, ignoring the twinges in his half healed body and he sprinted to his room, flinging open the drawer of clothes he’d managed to scrounge up. No long sleeves. Fuck.
He ripped the covers off his bed, hoping he’d find something in there, but all he had was his ratty Transformers shirt from his high school days. The only long sleeved shirt in his apartment, and it was that. Naturally.
He grimaced, looking at the coat dumped in the corner of his room. It had long sleeves, and was thick for the autumnal weather, but who wore a coat inside a cafe? Not me. God he’s gonna know something is up. Shit shit shit.
In the other room, Jason carried on chuntering down the phone.
“You do realize that even though you’re, like, working for me as a sort of protégée doesn’t mean I need to listen to every issue you have. Just buy a shirt if you don’t have one. You’ll be fine.”
Bernard shook his head, despite Jason obviously being unable to see him.
“Won’t work!” He yelled through the doorway, still throwing items around his room in a frantic search.
“There’s a flea market not far from where you’re at, I’ll send you the address, then you can chill the fuck out and stop calling me.”
“A, you are fully able to just hang up, and b, it’s not that simple. I just… I only cover up when something is wrong.”
Bernard sighed, and dropped the pillow he had been about to throw, making his way back to the living room/ kitchen. He fell into the couch as he picked up his phone, tucking his knees up to his chest.
“When I was at the cult, we were encouraged to cover up so outsiders wouldn’t question us on our injuries. I went months without anything but my face and sometimes my neck seeing the sun. I think the only times I’ve covered up my arms since leaving was either when I was with my parents, or when I was stressed about something. I’m telling you, Tim will notice, and he’ll try out his detective spiel on me.”
“Right…” Jason paused. “I see the issue. Um… how about you make up something that you’d be stressed about if he asks? One thing you’ll learn as a vigilante is sometimes the lesser of two evils is still pretty shit. Tell him your parents are being dicks or something.”
“I did tell him my dad had heightened security to keep him away after I moved out. Maybe I could mention that again.”
“There you go, my lessons are already working. He’ll be shit-scared of getting you in trouble with them. Not ideal to have him worried about you like that, but it’s better than the alternative.”
“Thanks dude.”
“Sure thing, kid. Now don’t call me unless you grow claws. That I want to see.”
Bernard grinned. “What about laser eyes?”
“It’s been done before, not too interesting. Sayonara.”
A beep, and he was gone.
Time for my date, Bernard thought, only a slight bubble of anxiety rising in his stomach.
“My tongue burns.”
Bernard laughed, snatching the cup of hot chocolate from Tim’s hands as they stood in the café line, waiting for their food to come.
“If you actually waited more than five seconds before drinking the freshly boiled drink, you might not burn your tongue,” Bernard lightly chastised, nudging his boyfriend with his hip.
Tim laughed. “You’re acting like a mom, Bear. No wonder Alfred likes you so much, you’re the only responsible person I’ll listen to.”
“Yeah yeah, I’ll remind you of that when I tell you to be nicer to your littlest brother.”
“Look,” Tim raised his hands in protest, “I’m plenty nice to him, he just acts more like a little shit when you’re around, because he doesn’t want to let on that he thinks you’re some hero for wanting to work with animal rescue.”
It was true- Damian had been trying his best to both be around Bernard as much as possible and also appear disinterested whenever his presence was acknowledged. There was always some reason for Damian being around- he was in the kitchen because he needed to feed Alfred the cat some ham, he was in the library because it was the optimal lighting for drawing, or he was in Tim’s room because ‘Drake has an affinity for stealing socks’. This behavior only made Tim get frustrated with his younger brother, the kind of frustration only an older sibling felt, whilst Bernard just laughed as the two bickered. As an only child, he’d almost enjoyed their many petty arguments. There was a familiarity between the two, like their bickering was comfortable, if a minor nuisance.
Bernard shook his head, grinning. “He’s sweet, you’re just stuck in your middle child syndrome ways.”
“I am not! He’s stuck in his youngest child's bullshit. Besides, it’s like, the natural order of things, he annoys me, I bitch about it, and if anyone else gives him shit about it, I sort them out. It’s just how siblings work.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Two Panini’s for Bear?”
Across the counter, some young barista waved about two paper bags, undoubtedly sloshing about the insides of each panini. Most bakeries say they put love in as the final ingredient. Gothamites put trauma into even their sandwiches.
Bernard raised his eyebrows at Tim, as he went to collect their food.
“Bear? Are you trying to turn us into one of those disgusting mushy couples everyone hates? Cause if so, I’m giving you a horrendous nickname in retaliation.”
“Sure,” Tim laughed. “I’d love to see the different shades Bruce’s face can go. I haven’t seen him go puce before, it’ll be a fun experiment.”
Bernard handed over the panini. “I’m not brave enough or dumb enough, love.”
As Tim reached for his panini, their hands brushed, and he winced as a smaller scab on his hand was jostled.
Tim opened his mouth, clearly about to say something, then shut it. His eyebrows furrowed, but somehow Bernard was lucky enough that he dropped the issue before even bringing it up.
The two made their way over to a window table, Bernard handing back the hot chocolate as they sat. His own drink, some sugary pink and green nightmare of a smoothie, froze his hands, and he only noticed the cold burning when he let go. He flexed his hand, staring at the blush in his palm from where the blood rushed. He liked pink. It’s why he picked his drink.
“...Bernard? Are you listening?”
Bernard’s head spiked with an ache behind his eyes as his head shot up.
He winced. “Sorry, I zoned out. What were you saying?”
Tim shrugged, though Bernard didn’t miss the way his eyes flickered down. Whether or not it was to his sleeves, he couldn’t tell, but it certainly didn’t bode well for his cover attempt.
“It was all just waffle really. Photography talk.”
“I like your waffle though, I mean, you listen to my conspiracy theories all the time, right?”
Again, he shrugged. “Not really, you don’t talk about your conspiracy theories anymore.”
“I don’t? I swear I talk about them lots…”
“Nope. I don’t think I’ve heard a theory of yours since… well since high school ended.”
That’s a way to put it, Bernard thought. Then he smiled.
“There’s no point in being all gloomy, Tim. Look, how about we talk about something else, ok? We go on dates all the time, and I come to yours a lot, but it’s not exactly like we take the time to be just us together. How is your photography going?”
Tim perked up. “Yeah, it’s pretty good. I might have an opening for a showing actually. There’s a small art gallery in Gotham, my mom used to take me whenever she was in the city, and it’d be really cool to be able to show my work there.”
“No way,” Bernard grinned. “That’s awesome! Have you got any pieces you want to display?”
“I think so. I’m trying to showcase all the things and people that are important to me, about Gotham. I mean, I’ve spent my whole life here, so the challenge will be in me trying to pick a small enough amount to fit a gallery room.”
“You’re getting a whole room?”
“I don’t know yet, but if I do get a place, they’re calling for eight photographers to get a place, each to their own room. It’s one of those one word brief competitions, with ‘Kaleidoscope’ being the brief. I want to be a lot more physical with this piece, maybe even make something more 3D. Most of my photography is something I just keep on a thumb drive, so if anything this will be a challenge for me, y’know?”
“That’d be so cool! Well, you better get me front row tickets, Mr Drake.”
Tim laughed around the bite he’d just taken from his panini. After frantically chewing and flapping his hands against the heat, he finally protested, “It’s nothing definite yet! It’s not a massive competition, but there’s a lot of Gotham locals going for it, so don’t be expecting anything more than a possible showing at whatever PowerPoint presentation night Steph and Cass force us all into doing.”
“Fine,” Bernard conceded, “but I still expect front row seats.”
“In Wayne Manor? I’m sure I could find some theater style booth seats if I looked hard enough.”
Bernard swirled around the half crumpled paper straw in his smoothie, watching as the pink and green blended together into some radioactive looking beige concoction. The color was pretty, if a little less satisfying than the layered neons the drink originally was composed of, and he half wished he hadn't mixed it to begin with. It was something he’d always done as a kid- promised he’d drink it as it was, then get bored halfway through and mix it anyway. His mother laughed at him for it, saying he always talked about how pretty the green and pink was, then got frustrated with himself when he ended up doing what he said he wouldn’t. His father just rolled his eyes, maybe calling him childish if his day had been long, but he’d always bought the same drink as Bernard so they could swap when Bernard inevitably mixed his drink. It was so odd to think he was the one who…
His head ached, and he shook his head, trying to rid himself of the slight pressure behind his eyes.
“… I could do something like a Cornell piece, I guess, but I don’t know if I want something so… self contained I guess? I mean, Kaleidoscopes are certainly self contained if you think about it- sure, you have all these tumbling and changing colors, but they’re all organized in this one little tube. Neat chaos I guess. I don’t know. I’ve got some time before the gallery anyways, it’s just if I can come up with an idea and have it done before the due date.”
Tim sipped his drink, gazing thoughtfully out at the street. His fingers tapped on the table, the last half of his greasy panini sat discarded on the table. Bernard smiled. Tim always got like this, even in the smallest of conversations. Carried away. His thoughts took over from everything else, and he would eventually forget whatever he was doing as he explored different ideas at what felt like a million miles a minute. It’s one thing Bernard admired about him- whilst he was more one to slowly focus on one theory, taking time to develop it and watch it slowly unfold, Tim had a habit of bouncing quickly from idea to idea, eliminating useless ideas and moving on to more promising ones with both an efficiency and erraticism that left Bernard a little behind, just trying to figure out how he be reached the last conclusion as he reached another.
Tim sighed. “How’s college going, Bear?”
A shrug. “It’s going. I just need to find time to study around the side job.”
“Side job? You never said you got a job. When was this? What do you do?”
Tim perked up, dragging his gaze from out the window towards a slightly panicked Bernard.
He hadn’t got any word back on jobs yet- sure, he’s applied to work at a bunch of places, but none had replied. He was still living off of the few things he'd sold after realizing he had no space for them in his new place. What an arse, only Bernard could manage to give away that he was a vigilante to a vigilante.
“Uhhh, yeah. I- well you see I got a job the other week.” Think. Think. “ I bartend. But it’s still on a trial thing, not sure if they want to keep me. It’s no big deal.”
“Of course it is! I’m glad you’ve got a job, B, it’s not like it’s easy to get one in Gotham. I swear, if it wasn’t for the others needing help shifting stuff down at the docks, I’d never make any money.”
Perfect, a chance for a subject change.
“Oh yeah, the docks. You almost ready to move in? When are the current tenants moving out?”
“Any time soon,” Tim grinned. “I can’t wait, I’ve been hanging around there any chance I get. I want to learn it all, and I also want to meet the locals. There’s this one duo, a mom and her daughter, who bicker like there’s no tomorrow, but they’re sweet as hell. Oh, and my future landlord is so cool, he kept asking about my photography, and showed me the basics of running a boat. Hell, even the current tenants of the boat I'm moving into are nice, they gave me a run down of all the weird little bits I’ll need to know about the boat, and let me sit with their cat for a bit before I left. Did you know that there’s a colony of strays around there? I’ve been told it’s cat central, apparently.”
Bernard laughed, his panic finally subsiding. “So I’m guessing your house warming gift will be a catnip plant from me then.”
“I would marry you on the spot.”
“I’ll get you catnip seeds then.”
Tim snorted, kicking Bernard lightly under the table. The two sipped their drinks, finally finished with their food, and took in the noise of the little cafe.
It had died down since they entered, the lunch time rush already over, and the quiet allowed Bernard to actually think for once. He’s never done well in public, the noises always ‘sending him into a tizzy,’ as his mother described it. Tim was the same way, luckily, so they tended to stick to the same places each time they went out together- the same small cafe, the west end of the park where Tim liked to photograph, the three thrift shops Bernard frequented most. They kept things as regular as they could, around Tim’s ‘secret’ vigilante life and Bernard’s secret powers.
Speaking of powers, his meeting with Red Hood and the other ex-members of the cult was scheduled for later that evening, and thinking of how he’d shake off Tim before then only worsened the ache in Bernard’s head. He tended to stick around as long as he could, something Bernard didn’t usually protest to for obvious reasons, but now it just presented a problem. He could just act like his headaches were worse than they were, but then Tim would undoubtedly try to walk him home, or check up on him.
“…Bear, you’re zoning out again.”
“Shit, sorry. What were you saying?”
“I was just saying, do you think Dami would find excuses to come to the Marina to hang out with the stray cats or you more?”
Tim smiled, but Bernard caught his eyes flicker down to Bernard’s sleeves. Oh no. Oh nonononono-
The darker haired boy smiled, tilting his head. “How about we go to the park, it should be quiet at this time of day- school isn’t out yet, and most people are working.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The pair stood, Tim shrugging on a jacket, and Bernard taking their rubbish to the trash can. Sure, leaving the warmth of the cafe wasn’t ideal in the late autumn cold, but they could find ways to stay warm.
“So,” Tim started, “how’s your head been since that dinner?”
‘ That dinner’. They hadn’t even talked about it much since, so the question took Bernard by surprise. Aside from a small ‘are you ok? ’the next time they’d met up, the subject had largely been forgotten. Maybe Tim didn’t see it as being a big thing, what with Bernard’s cult past, and Tim being used to weirdness with his family. Though with how much of a worry wart Tim could be, he was likely more anxious that Bernard would get mad if he made too big of a deal of things, not that he ever would. Though of course, instead of considering how his boyfriend felt, Bernard had just been grateful he wasn’t prying, instead of wondering why. How great he was at this.
Bernard hooked his arm into Tim’s, resting his head on his shoulder as they walked down the street.
“It’s been alright, I mean, I have some headaches every so often, but I think I was just sick then. Probably a bug or something.”
As always, Tim looked suspicious. “Are you sure? You’ve been pretty spacey today, and after we got chased the other night you’ve been wearing longer sleeves-“
“I’m fine , Tim.”
That was the wrong tone. Shit.
“Yeah. Ok, yeah. Sorry.”
“No, don’t be,” Bernard sighed. “I’m just tired. Promise I’m fine.”
Liar.
After a short silence, they reached the park, the tall, dead looking trees that likely pre-dated Gotham casting shadows that met the pair far before they entered the wrought iron gates. Bernard imagined the shadows as being like a welcome mat for any visitors, not that their appearance was anything akin to welcoming. That was, if you didn’t take into account the familiarity to disquieting scenes that came with Gotham life. Bernard couldn’t imagine it any other way.
As they entered the park, their gazes immediately locked onto the flowers around them, careful as any local knew to be to watch for unnatural movement.
“Do you think we could hang out more again? I get your dad has those motion sensor things around the house so you can’t sneak out to the manor any more, but is there any excuse you could have to come around for a visit some time? Maybe we could brainstorm some ideas.”
Bernard turned to look at Tim, who mirrored the gesture, eyes occasionally darting back to the surrounding flora, or occasionally Bernard’s sleeves.
“I mean, we could try to think of ideas, but what would even work? My mum would be happy I’m socializing I’m sure, but my dad would take pretty much anything and turn it into an argument if a hair out of place on his head gave him reason to.”
Tim blew out his cheeks, nose scrunched. “Remind me why I don’t fight your dad every day?”
“I’m not interested in being the boyfriend of someone in prison?”
“But surely I’d get bad boy cred, right?”
“Not a chance in hell, and please never refer to yourself as a ‘bad boy’ again,” Bernard laughed. “I don’t think I could associate with you if you ever used those two words again, ironically or not.”
“If I could put up with you openly calling my step-mom hot back in high school, you can deal with me being a little embarrassing.”
Without looking away from the plants, Tim bumped his shoulder into Bernards, the one arm not looped through Bernard’s arm swinging lazily at his side. Bernard watched him, eyes tracing the soft curve of his smile, the way a small white scar crinkled as his eyes squinted. His scars always managed to hold Bernard’s attention, even back in high school, when he thought he was into Dana Winters and not her step-son. Purples, pinks, whites, all streaked across his face like lines of paint, and even after a dozen times tracing them, Bernard still couldn’t memorize them, as if they were constantly moving around. Like boats on an ocean.
“How many times do I have to say earth to Bernard to you today? Maybe we should go do something more chill, like watch a movie at the manor. If Dick is using the cinema I’m sure I could guilt him into letting us take over.”
Bernard shook his head, thinking of the meeting he had later that day. “I’d love to, but I…”
“You…?” Tim cocked his head. The caterpillar-Thing hung around Tim’s neck, one end slowly rising to ‘look’ in the direction of Bernard. It faded between colours, soft pink one minute, hazel brwon the next.
For someone who had been lying for so long, Bernard realized he really didn’t have anything to say.
So he shrugged.
“I get it,” Tim nodded, the corners of his slight smile not even faltering.
“You do?”
“I don’t know why, and I’d like to know if you let me, but either way you’re at least clearly tired as hell Bear. I’m not gonna hold that against you. It’d be pretty hypocritical, considering how many times if passed out before dates and that. I mean, do you remember when I slept through one of my lectures on the school field? I think my teacher had an aneurysm when he found me snoozing under that tree. What I’m saying is, you don’t have to feel bad for being tired, ok? You don’t have to make up some excuse if you just want to go home and chill by yourself.”
A swell of guilt rose up in Bernard’s chest. “Are you sure? I have enjoyed our date, and I’d like to keep going for an hour or so, if you’d like to?”
That smile again. “Of course I’d like to, silly. How about we just chill on a bench, people watch and gossip? I could tell you about all the shit Harper and I got up to at that gala the other night.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
—
After a few more minutes walking, they found a bench that seemed relatively clean in a corner of the park. Paint flecked off, scratching Bernard's hand as he settled down. He brushed off the green specks, and leant into Tim, who had already settled next to him. Slightly cold fingers brushed through Bernard’s hair, and he closed his eyes.
“So, what exactly did you guys get up to at that gala?” Bernard murmured into Tim’s shoulder. “Legal or illegal shenanigans?”
“Legality is subjective.”
“I’m not even going to try unpacking that one. Go on, what did you both get up to?”
So Tim told him about how he and Harper had hatched a plan before some company’s tax-write off charity gala to try to switch around the sign-up sheets being passed around, from some scam the company could use to steal funding, to a different charity meant to help small Gotham businesses. Harper had pitched the idea, and with the help of some of the other Wayne siblings and associates, they’d managed to get almost ten thousand dollars to a worthy charity without being noticed. Of course they couldn’t take it all without detection, and Tim grumbled about the thousands the company would pretend to donate without really helping anyone, but Bernard just pointed out that ten thousand dollars was no small amount to a charity.
The hour passed slowly, and at a few points Bernard felt like he’d fallen asleep, sure he was missing gaps in the conversation. The cool breeze turned to pure cold, and he shifted in as close as he could to Tim, covering his ears as they began to sting.
The tip of Tim’s nose tinged red as he carried on talking, his skin going pale, giving the few scars he had visible an illusion of being far darker than they were. His eyes flitted around them, head occasionally craning to look up or behind, just in case something was sneaking up on the two. The sky above turned from smog gray to a deep purple, and the rise in traffic noises that came at the end of the work day began to lull, with taxis and the occasional bus taking up the majority of those on the road. The regular horns blaring not too far away, the flicker of traffic lights, it all melded together into some kind of city-made lullaby enticing him into a light sleep.
His eyes flickered as Tim spoke on, about schemes, shenanigans, and all the chaos he and his patchwork family got up to out of the cowl, not that Tim knew Bernard was aware of that aspect of their lives being left out.
It wasn’t long, but by the end of the hour, Bernard had even forgot about the horned mask lying under his bed at home.