Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tim was reasonably certain that he was not in the US anymore.

Clue number one: No-one was speaking English. He was pretty sure the snippets he overheard were in Russian, but he was also honest enough to admit that it could be another Slavic language. His skills were too rusty to determine the difference.

Clue number two: His captors had taken him on a long-ass plane ride. Over ten hours were excessive even if they'd thrown in extra loops to throw the other Bats off their track. It must've been a private jet, considering they hadn't stopped anywhere and landed somewhere that hadn't sounded like a busy airport at all.

So: An organization with a private jet and probably an entire base to themself, considering they hadn't bothered to hide Tim at all when they'd carried him off the plane. Which brought Russia back into the running, seeing it was the country with the most space for these things. Also, jets like that needed state approval (/studied ignorance) from the government to operate.

"Somewhere in Russia," of course, didn't precisely narrow down his location all that much. Tim mentally shrugged. He'd find out where he was once he got out of here.

Now, if only he had any idea how to do that. Sure, the shackles wouldn't stop him for that long—he'd have to break his hand, but he'd get out somehow, and then everything was fair game. The bigger problem was the thick door and the guards right outside of it. Seventeen, by his last count, plus whoever else was out there. They'd been heavily armed, even by American standards.

For now, Tim was biding his time. They were clearly keeping him alive for a reason. At some point, they were going to interrogate him. He fully intended to make use of that opportunity.

Tim had no intention of dying far away from everyone he loved. That was Jason's schtick.

…hold up. That was definitely the sound of shots.

Tim waited. Whatever happened, disturbances in the evil lair tended to be a good thing for captured vigilantes.

More yelling. A looot more shots. Cars driving, and at least one of them crashing. And finally… footsteps, approaching Tim's cell.

"Well, of all the people to run into in Siberia…" he heard, and Tim was grinning even before he caught sight of the red mask through the bars.

"The guard at the left entry has the keys," Tim told him.

"Gotcha."

Footstops as Jason walked toward them, a dull thud—and then he was back, opening the door with the third key he tried.

"Dude wasn't in any condition to tell me which one was the correct key," he explained. "Fancy seeing you here. Was wonderin' who or what they're guarding so intensely."

Tim grinned. "I think I make them nervous."

Jason snorted. "I bet. Let's get you out of these."

Tim watched as he attacked the shackles with vigor. Having the dull pressure removed for the first time in four days felt like heaven, and he sighed. "Thanks."

Gloved hands rubbed over his wrists, checking for injuries. Tim shivered. "I'm fine. Sedative wore off some time ago; they forgot to up the dose."

"Hmm." Jason's face was unreadable. His hand moved up to touch Tim's cheek, running through Tim's filthy hair.

Some yelled really loudly in probably-Russian.

…time to move.

Jason took a brisk step back, hand going to his utility belt. Tim caught the staff that Jason threw him with ease, the stiffness in his muscles nothing against the adrenaline cursing through him at the prospect of getting out of here. Still, he took a second to jump up and down, moving his arms to the side, testing his range of movement.

When Tim was done, Jason tilted his head to the side, and Tim nodded. Ready.

They moved together easily, Jason taking point, clearing the way with his guns, Tim guarding his back.

Once they were outside, Tim saw that he had been right: This looked to be an old military base, possibly Soviet-style. The airfield was pretty small but surrounded by what looked to be barracks and storage facilities.

And armored vehicles. Some of which were driving toward them, accompanied by armed men on foot.

Jason murmured: "Jesus, where do these guys keep coming from?"

Tim widened his stance and took the first one down. "You know how cockroaches are."

There was a phew-twack, one of the drivers went down, and Tim knew that Jason hadn't come alone. He never did these days.

His eyes found Roy's perching spot quickly—that costume stood out—and he adjusted his own stance accordingly, covering the area to the right of Jason's back where Roy wouldn't be able to interfere as accurately.

"So our plan was basically just to scope out the place, wreak some havoc and then blow it up," Jason called over his shoulder. "You got anything to add?"

Tim snorted and delivered a very satisfying smack to the face of one of his captors. "Consider me along for the ride."

"Speaking of which—ours is parked at your ten."

Right below Roy, then. "Well, what're you waiting for?"

"You, mostly." Jason pulled out two grenades, going for their pins immediately. Men screamed in alarm when he threw them at the cars. "Okay, go!"

He didn't have to tell Tim twice. With one last glance at the cars, he turned and sprinted, knowing the other two would have his back.

(God, how he hated being without his belt in these kinds of situations.)

His lungs burned, but he managed to get the door on the passenger side closed behind him without a scratch on his person. Before he could scoot over, Jason threw himself into the driver's seat, fingers going for key immediately. A heavy 'thunk' from the roof told Tim that Roy had made it, too.

"Special contraption on the roof," Jason explained, flooring the car without waiting for Roy to get in. "He's strapped in and ready to keep those fuckers away from us."

Tim watched through the back window as Roy sent exploding arrows toward his kidnappers. It would do for a parting gift, he decided.

Except then Jason handed him something better: a tablet.

"I added your program to the two central servers, including their flight tower," Jason told him. "Go to town."

Oh, Tim fully intended to.

"What would you've done if I wasn't here?" Tim asked idly as he worked.

"Got two hands, don't I?" Tim could hear the wink Jason was throwing him and ignored it.

He checked over the plans, tweaked them at one or two points. "The charge is set."

Jason gave him a thumbs-up. Then he banged on the roof of the car and yelled: "Yo, Arsenal! Get your ass down here; we need to pick up some speed!"

Roy slid in through the windows in an awe-inspiring display of core strength. First thing he did was to swat the back of Jason's head. "Don't go silent on me like that, asshole."

"My earpiece got fried," Jason defended himself.

Roy shook his head, radiating fond annoyance. "Unbelievable. Hi, Tim. How's it going?"

Tim grinned back. "Oh, you know, being kidnapped, dragged to god-knows-where, couple days starvation… the usual."

"And here I thought you've been avoiding us," Jason joked.

Tim's cheeks burned, and he looked away.

Look. Finding out that you were, apparently, polyam could be a bit of a shock for anyone, right? And then Tim had made it worse by falling for a couple. Two of the most devoted, loyal people he knew, certainly not interested in adding a third. Roy and Jason had offered Tim their friendship—their trust—, coming to him every time they were in Gotham, helping him out, letting him join on their missions. And he'd gone and fallen in love like a sad, sad asshole.

So yeah, Tim had been avoiding them. And then he'd gone and gotten himself kidnapped.

"What brought you here in the first place, anyway?" he asked instead of voicing any of that.

"Weapons ring slash paramilitary organization." Roy stowed away his quiver and arrows in the back, then reaches out to do the same with Jason's guns. Tim watched as Roy's large hands brushed Jason's hips and lingered for a moment. "Heard some whispers in Star City, followed them here. This just happened to be the first hideout we hit."

"You being here means they operated in Gotham, too?" Jason asked. "And you got too close?"

"I did. Had no idea they'd gone international, though," Tim freely admitted. "Honestly, I thought it was just a small local deal. I overheard them arranging the drop-off on Discord—"

"Discord?" Roy groaned. "Seriously? And here we've been checking Telegram up and down."

"Yuppp. There's a gaming forum I've been keeping my eye on cause it looked like a front. Turned out, it was."

"Smart."

"Sure, except then I got myself captured like an idiot," Tim pointed out.

"It happens," Jason said. "Roy here got knocked out by two civilians and their pet turtle ones."

"Hey! We promised never to speak of that again!"

Tim laughed. "Where are we exactly?"

"Couple hundred miles West of Krasnoyarsk." Jason glanced over and added: "Russia."

"Hah. I knew it."

"The group that got you calls itself the detiny—something like 'the lads,' I think. Headed by a guy called Yevgeny Mikhaylov Lebedintsev. Our plan is to get far away before the reinforcements arrive, so… get comfortable, I guess." Roy stretched out on the backseat, reaching up to take his mask off. When he did, he gave a low moan.

Jason's eyes snapped to the rearview mirror. "What?"

"One of the sentries got a bit fresh." Roy shrugged, then winced. "With a knife. In my shoulder."

Jason's hand tightened on the steering wheel. He craned his neck, trying to catch sight of the wound.

"Let me check?" Tim asked, mostly to prevent them from crashing into the next tree.

"It's not that bad—" Roy protested, but Tim was already climbing into the backseat. Seatbelts were a bit of an optional thing around here. Roy's long legs were already stretched out, and the older man looked too surprised to move, so he just… awkwardly crouched on top of them.

There was a small gash in Roy's costume, and Tim immediately set to peeling it off. At least one of these outfits was much like the other. Once you figured out to get Dick out of his spandex, all other costumes were child's play.

The cut was thankfully small. Probably got blunted by the leather.

"Anything else?" Tim asked, hands already moving to the other side, trying to keep his touches firm and professional. Luckily, he'd done this sort of thing often enough with others he'd never had any romantic or sexual inclination toward (ew), so it came easy to him.

It took Roy a while to answer. "No, nothing else," he mumbled when Tim looked at him.

Tim didn't let that stop him, making sure to run his hands down Roy's chest and side, and then his thighs for good measure. Jason and Roy were both terrible at reporting injuries. "Got a first-aid pack?"

"Under my seat," Jason called back. Tim was pleased to note that Jason's eyes were on the road. It felt good to be trusted in these small ways. Two years ago, Jason would not have left any of them out of his sight with Roy.

Roy frowned. "There's no need—"

Tim ignored him and pulled out the well-stocked box. Everything there for disinfection and a few stitches, awesome. Roy probably could just take it easy, rest his body for a few days instead, but Tim knew better than to bank on that happening.

His hands started shaking as he affixed the bandaid on top. Tim stared at it, white on Roy's skin, and tried to get his vision to cooperate.

It took him a moment to realize how awkward the silence had become, and he flinched.

"Uh. I should—" Tim jerked his head toward the front seat.

"Okay, now that we've taken care of my scratch... let me return the favor?" Roy put his hand on Tim's shoulder and gently pushed him backward.

"I'm fine," Tim said, then grimaced when he realized how much he was echoing Roy. "No, seriously. They knocked me out and gave me some sedatives for traveling, but that's it."

"Bruising around wrists and ankles, swollen tissue around the ribs, something with his left knee, and definitely a few too many hits on the head," Jason chimed in. "And that's just from watching you fight, dude. Let Roy look you over."

Roy's hands were big, and calloused, and excruciatingly gentle. Tim stared at the ceiling the entire time Roy was touching him. Once or twice he thought he caught Jason watching them in the rearview mirror, but the other glanced away when Tim tried to confirm it.

Finally, Roy nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Good as it gets." He cranked some warm packs and pressed them to the worst afflicted parts. "Here. Keep them from stiffening. And those—" he pulled out some energy bars "—to keep from starving. Eat slowly, okay?"

Tim nodded and started munching, suddenly exhausted. The warmth felt nice against his skin. His head was suddenly very heavy where it rested against the seat.

It didn't take him long to fall asleep, comforted by the gentle motions of the car and the banter of his friends.

Tim was shaken awake by gentle hands.

"Tim?" Roy asked softy. "Can you walk?"

"Hmm?" It took Tim a moment to get his bearings. He and Roy were still in the backseat of the now-parked car. They were surrounded by darkness, with only the dim lights of the cabin next to them to light the way.

Jason was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's—"

"Jason's just making sure the place hasn't been compromised."

Tim sat up at that. Jason shouldn't go alone if—

"There isn't really any danger; he's just paranoid," Roy hastily added as if he'd read Tim's mind.

Tim swallowed. Looked away. "He earned that."

Roy didn't reply.

Footsteps. "Coast is clear," Jason told them, voice soft. "How're you feeling, Tim?"

"I'm alright," Tim hastened to tell him. "Sorry for falling asleep on you."

"Yeah, who knew that kidnapping took it out on you?" Jason rolled his eyes and held out a hand. "C'mon. Let's get you inside. I lit the fire."

Tim, still feeling soft with sleep, let himself be pulled up and led to the cabin.

"…the fire?" he heard Roy whine behind them. "Please tell me there are other forms of heating?"

"Sure. There are other forms of heating," Jason told him without missing a beat. "There aren't," he whispered to Tim. "Sorry."

"It's fine. Cells were colder."

"Not reassuring, Timbo."

To call the cabin sparse would've been too much of a compliment. There was a bed, a cupboard, and a small kitchen—well, a stove and a table, really. However, there was also a pile of the blanket he'd spotted in the car earlier, piled up in front of the fire, so that's where Tim headed.

It took him a moment, but after some shuffling, he was sort-of comfortable and still holding the tablet. Jason would be connected to the bat network that allowed all of them access to their messages etc. when they lost their phones again.

"Let me see that, dumbass," he heard Roy murmur. Jason didn't answer, but when Tim glanced over, he was offering his hand to Roy with an eye roll.

See, this is why they worked. Joking all the time, calling each other dumb, employing biting sarcasm… and then they took care of each other like very few people Tim had ever seen. Maybe that was why he wanted to be with them so badly.

Tim suppressed a sigh and turned back to the tablet. He needed to check in with the rest of the world. They must've been worried.

Ten minutes later, he conceded: Well, some of them had been worried. Bart and Cassie had been near-frantic, threatening to call Kon back to Earth by any means necessary if Tim didn't check in within the next twenty-four hours.

(Got kidnapped but I'm alright babes, cu was what he sent in reply to that.)

Dick had texted him a few times, too, tone growing increasingly pushy. Steph had resorted to aggressive meme-ing, which was as good as her saying, 'Where the fuck are you, I'm so fucking worried.' He made sure to send Dick a hug gif along with his whereabouts and Steph a disturbing sequence of images involving an eggplant, garden gnomes, three ghosts, and Vladimir Putin.

There was no message from Bruce. Tim just wished he was surprised by that. He sent a text anyway—'Was compromised by foreign organized crime. Will continue pursuit abroad, expect to be back 2-3 weeks.' Bruce was in charge of the cover story, and it always helped to know when the other person would be back. (Even if Bruce never gave them that courtesy.)

Social duties completed, he turned to his Twitter feed. These days, it felt like missing the news for four hours made it impossible to catch up with everything, never mind four days. The fire was sending heat to his front, a pleasant contrast to the biting chill creeping in from behind. Tim was already resigning himself to sleeping right here on the floor when Jason crouched down next to him. "Hey."

For a moment, Tim could do nothing but look at him. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen Jason look so… soft. The light from the fire softened the sharp lines of his face, and he was wearing a sweatshirt, but more than that—the look in his eyes spoke of tiredness and warmth.

"Hey," he whispered back belatedly.

"So. It's pretty cold." Jason shifted his weight to his right, then his left. Why was he nervous? "Would it be okay for you to share a bed with us? To keep warm."

Would it be okay? No. No, it wouldn't be. It would be all of Tim's wildest dreams combined into a nightmare.

But he was cold and not above milking the situation for whatever he could get, so he nodded. "Yeah, sure. Let me just get up…"

"No need."

"Jason!" Tim squeaked, hands flying out to hold onto the other man's shoulders as he was lifted up, never leaving his blanket cocoon.

"What? You looked comfortable." This close, Jason's voice was more of a rumble. "Let me do this for you, okay, Tim?"

And, well, if he asked like that… Tim sighed and tucked his face into Jason's neck, too tired to care about the strangeness of the situation any longer. He was deposited on the bed, and Jason didn't even take the blankets away from him, just throwing another duvet over both of them.

Roy crawled in on his other side, slotting himself against Tim's back. Tim wondered if that was strange—surely the redhead would want to sleep next to his boyfriend, not him?

Maybe they were more worried about him than they'd let on. It was a nice thought. Unrealistic, but enough for Tim to relax and drift off.

Okay. It should not have been a surprise that he woke up sandwiched between two warm bodies, considering that's literally how he went asleep. That's how object permanence worked.

Maybe it was because Tim usually woke up way later than his partners, or just that he was a sad, lonely shell of a man. (Alright, alright, the first one. He was doing fine. His friends would kick him if he referred to himself as 'lonely.') Or it could just be that his brain wasn't working properly first thing in the morning.

Anyway. Jason and Roy were clinging to him. Like, full-on clinging. Roy was still behind him, but his arms were around Tim, judging from the pressure Tim felt against his stomach. He couldn't see because Jason was blocking his view—Jason, who had somehow wound himself around Tim, one hand clasping his hip, the other pillowing his own head. Tim's face was pillowed on his chest. Sure a nice place to be, and he basked in it for a moment.

It Tim way too long to realize that he was clinging to Jason's shirt. Ooops. That wasn't needy at all. He was doing a stellar job of being subtle.

…it didn't count if they were asleep, right? Roy and Jason wouldn't be angry with him about this. He hoped. So Tim should just milk the moment.

Unfortunately, he really had to pee.

Please have a bathroom, he prayed silently, disentangling himself.

Jason cracked open an eye when he moved: "Hmm?"

"Bathroom," Tim whispered.

That seemed to satisfy the older man—he scooted closer to Roy, pulling him in with a grumble. Right. Cause that was how it was supposed to be. Roy and Jason, intertwined as if they shared one body, one mind. Tim between them had been a mere temporary aberration.

God, it was too early for this kind of depression. Tim's bladder twinged, and he finally focused on the issue at hand. There was only one door. That… was not a good sign.

After a second hesitation, he snagged Jason's jacket from the neatly folded pile on the kitchen desk. It wasn't winter yet, but fall in Siberia was no joke, either.

Stepping outside, the air was crisp.

Oh, awesome, an outhouse. That was alright then. Tim didn't mind rough conditions; he had a bit of a problem with doing his business in public, though.

When he came back to the hut, the other two were still fast asleep. Watching them made Tim feel like a voyeur (Roy's hair spilling over the pillow, a freckled arm around Jason's waist, Jason's unguarded face), so he turned his attention to the next pressing problem. His mouth tasted like something died in there. Kidnappers weirdly never considered their victim's dental hygiene.

Some searching revealed a bag of toiletries, including several toothbrushes. Tim didn't hesitate to grab one. They would just have to deal.

As he brushed, he considered the other possessions scattered around the room. It looked lived in. The box with Roy's hormone patches and Jason's meds laid on the bedside table and Tim hadn't seen them unpack that last night.

Jason and Roy must've been here before, using it as a base of operation, maybe. Tim was still curious about what exactly had brought them to this corner of the planet.

There were a few more energy bars on the table. Tim knew he should have another one, get his system slowly used to food again. 'Cherry almond' sounded decent enough.

…it tasted fucking disgusting mixed with the mint from the toothpaste, so he washed it down with some water and called it a day.

Then Tim eyed the tablet still on the floor. There was still more work to be done. Tim could… but he was so tired still.

After some consideration, he slipped back into bed. There wasn't any room to spare, really, but he settled with his back pressed against Jason's. He could give them that much privacy.

There was a moment where he thought he'd woken Jason up again—a small increase of tension in his back muscles, a hitch in his breathing. However, Jason didn't move, so Tim probably imagined it.

He closed his eyes and settled in for another nap.

"We should lay low for a few days," Jason told them over breakfast. There were only two chairs, so he was leaning against the table instead. "The detiny are sure to be after us."

Roy didn't argue, just asked: "Does it have to be here?"

"Sorry, bro."

"And after?" Tim asked.

"How do you feel about a road trip?" Jason asked back, grinning.

Tim smiled back. "If the stations happen to coincide with certain villain bases… I could be convinced."

"Awesome."

"Even if your car is bumpy as hell."

"Hey!"

"Next stop would be St Petersburg," Roy told him over Jason's protests.

Tim frowned. "Isn't that a bit… awkward?" He'd only been once, as far as he remembered. It hadn't struck him as an obvious criminal hideout.

"Plenty of tourists."

"Easy to blend in."

"No one asks about rich Westerners."

"And looots of creature comforts."

"Guess the boss likes that more than the frozen tundra."

Tim looked at them, unimpressed. "You done with the double act?"

"Never," Jason said, and Roy cooed at him.

Tim sighed. "Can we pick up my gear on the way?"

"Sure. Airport?"

"Probably best."

"Irkutsk is closest," Roy said, looking at the tablet. "There's a cheap hotel there, too. Sounds perfect as a next stop."

Jason poked him. "Don't get grease on that. But yeah, that works. How long is it gonna take, Tim?"

"If we wanna keep it lowkey, probably two days," Tim said, watching Roy completely ignore the way his fingers were staining the surface of the tablet. "Less than that if I bribe customs more than usual."

"Nah, that's perfect."

"Got us some sweet, sweet rooms," Roy announced. "Jayboy, how do you feel about the honeymoon suite?"

Tim and Jason stared at him. Tim was mostly boggled because—who got a honeymoon suite for two men in Russia?

Jason seemed to be having a whole other suite of problems. "You don't read Russian," he pointed out. "I'm pretty sure honeymoon suites are not a thing here."

"Google Translate—"

"Google Translate is lying to you," Tim told him. He'd found that one out by painful experience. Literally painful experience.

"So… what exactly did you just do?" Jason asked.

"No idea." Roy's grin was unrepentant. "Guess we'll find out."

Jason slowly, slowly lowered his head into his palms.

There wasn't that much to do in a one-room hut in the middle of nowhere. They had two tablets with an internet connection, but one of them was quickly claimed by Jason for the kindle app. Since neither Roy nor Tim was willing to come between Jason and a novel, they took turns with the other one.

Tim got the first round. He snagged some headphones from Roy and settled in for a nice chat. It was the middle of the night in North America, but that had never stopped Bart from replying. Then he went through the rest of his emails, wincing at the work that had piled up.

Roy, meanwhile, tinkered with the generator until Jason told him, not looking up: "You cause the electricity to go out, you sleep on the floor."

Tim handed him the tablet in sympathy. "Here. I wanna go ahead and get some movement in."

Jason looked up at that. Tim felt vaguely honored. "Don't overdo it."

Roy snorted. "As if you won't be outside chucking woods or something else sweat-driven as soon as you finish that book."

"I wasn't a prisoner for days."

"Technically, two weeks ago you were—"

Tim shook his head. "I'll be fine. Mind if I grab your staff?"

"Go ahead. You might wanna change, though, if this is your one respectable outfit for now."

"Just take some of our clothes, dude, it's fine." Roy pointed at a bag.

When Tim checked, there was a wild mix of clothes in there. Folded, sure, but there was no way to determine which ones were Roy's and which ones Jason's.

'Our clothes,' huh.

"Do you actually swap that much?" Tim asked, curious.

"My hips are wider, but Jay's ass is bigger, so it works out," Roy explained.

"…I don't think that's how fashion works."

"It is when you like having room to move and don't go for that skinny jeans shit," Jason called out over his shoulder. "How the fuck do you fit yourself into these pants, Timbo?"

"With difficulty."

"Heh, that's what I thought."

Well, this day wasn't going to convince Tim to wear baggier pants anytime soon. It didn't help that they were too long so that he had to roll up the pant legs. He might keep the sweater, though. It was long enough to go with leggings, the color was nice, and the smell… hmm, on second consideration, maybe he should just regularly steal it. Give it opportunities to be 're-set,' so to speak.

Shaking off that train of thought, he got down to it.

Jason had been right about his ribs—they did hurt, though luckily nothing seemed to be cracked, or Roy's grip last night would've felt painful in an actual physical way. His ankles and wrists were smarting. Tim was used to all of that, though. It still felt amazing to stretch and move, running through some simple staff drills in order to loosen up.

Dick sometimes talked about how even on bad days, exercise took him out of his head, lost in the sheer physicality of movement. Tim wasn't like that. He still enjoyed the fuck out of it after being tied up for days.

He stopped when he was just starting to get out of breath, his face hot and his muscles starting to feel smooth again. It wouldn't do to overexercise.

He fetched some water and a towel from the hut, then used it to clean up in the outhouse. The second time he returned inside, Roy looked up. "Hey, Tim, check this out," he called from his blanket nest.

Tim wandered over, curious.

"These assholes yesterday had these unreasonably large guns," Roy explained, "and I was thinking… they would make for a pretty awesome blaster."

Tim craned his head, trying to see the schematic from where he was standing. Roy just pulled him down. Tim went as gracefully as he could, attention captured by the image on the tablet. "Oh, nice. I like the fire throwers."

Roy frowned. It was a surprisingly cute look. "There's something wrong, though."

"Yeah, I can see that. The balance, maybe?" Tim bit his lip, trying to curb his own enthusiasm, cause…

Before Jason had come back into Tim's life, he honestly hadn't known Roy that well. When he'd become Robin, the Titans had already been on a permanent 'It's complicated' after Donna's death. Roy had just been one of Dick's cool friends, never condescending but not exactly eager to hang out with his friend's baby brother.

(In retrospect—that could've had something to do with Jason's death. Dick's friends hadn't been teens anymore, but adults in their early twenties, and presumably looked at the practice of letting children go after criminals with different eyes, just like Tim now did. So maybe they wanted to discourage him.

Or perhaps they had just been mourning a boy they had never really taken the time to know. That had happened a lot in the beginning. Tim was long past resenting Jason for that, just like Jason had stopped hating how Tim had filled those spaces. World was fucked enough without them blaming each other.)

So yeah. Roy had been little more than a distant thought of 'nice arms' to teenage Tim.

And then. Then. Tim and Jason had become allies. Friends. And where Jason went, so did Roy. (The other way around, too.) They came as a package deal. Honestly, that hadn't helped Jason integrate back into the family much, seeing how much Bruce disliked the Arrows.

(Or maybe it had helped him integrate back into the family, just not reconcile with Bruce.)

Tim, though, had appreciated it. Jason was somehow both sharper and softer when Roy was around. And Roy… he was just so cool. And those arms—Tim definitely hadn't grown out of appreciating them. And his sense of humor. And his intelligence. And—

So yeah. Tim had fallen pretty hard.

It was ridiculous. Sure, there was a bit of an age difference between Roy and Jason already; seven years, give or take. That was fine. Jason had seemed to be in mid-twenties even when he'd been eighteen. Now that he was twenty-six, he looked every inch the man he was. Tim, though—the was four years younger again. Sure, he'd grown up was too fast himself, but he knew he must seem childish and immature to the redhead.

So Tim wanted to be cool and collected, he really did. Still, he couldn't help himself—this shit was just so interesting?

"How about moving the weight more toward—" he suggested, bending over to point at the schematic, and Roy's eyes lit up.

"Yeah, and then—"

Slowly, the blaster came together under their eyes.

"I think we got the materials," Roy said, "though we would need to adjust for—"

"Yeah, I don't think the standard material is a good enough conductor," Tim nodded. "How about we try copper?"

"How about some food first?" Jason's voice interrupted. When Tim looked up, he saw the older man standing there with two steaming bowls in his hand.

"Just a sec, babe," Roy murmured. "See, Tim, if we shift this around—"

He moved his hand on the tablet, Tim's eyes followed him, and it was another three minutes until he remembered that Jason was still standing there. He turned his head back up, apology already on his lips, but…

Jason looked at them so fondly, Tim almost forgot how to breathe—No. No, Jason was looking at Roy. He was looking at his boyfriend, not Tim, and Tim needed to get over this as soon as possible because his heart felt like lead and he hated it.

Jason, thankfully missing his emotional turmoil, cleared his throat and said firmly: "Food. Roy, put that tablet away or so God help me—"

"Jeez, alright." Roy put the tablet down and took the food with more of a pout than a bowl of home-made stew really warranted in Tim's opinion. He inhaled greedily when Jason handed him his own portion. God, it smelled so good.

"Tuck in," Jason said, returning to the 'kitchen' to grab his own bowl. He plopped down beside Roy, long legs stretching out to brush Tim's.

"Thank you," Tim said.

Jason shrugged, unable to handle simple thanks as always. "Gotta keep these brains running, right?"

They ate in amiable silence. The stew tasted as good as Tim had expected; Jason had a gift for hearty meals, making them spicy and flavourful, with a depth he hadn't ever really known from anyone else in his life cooking.

Tim felt… weird. Settled in his own skin in a way he hadn't in a while. Of course, that could just be because being kidnapped put things into perspective. Yeah, that had to be it.

"I'm gonna get us some more wood," Jason said after, handing his tablet to Tim. "Enjoy."

Told you, Roy mouthed, and Tim tried not to giggle.

Jason caught them and frowned. "See you if you're still laughing when the fire goes out at night. Not gonna stoke it this time."

"Don't worry, babe, we'll keep you warm!" Roy called after him, then caught Tim's glance and sheepishly rubbed his neck. "Look, if you can't have a cuddle pile in Siberia, when can you?"

"Right. Cause you two never cuddle in warmer temperatures," Tim replied drily, ignoring his own part in these proceedings. "I haven't found you, I don't know, high on pollen and refusing to stop hugging for hours before. Nope, you hate cuddling."

Roy wagged his finger at him. "Those are fighting words, young Tim. Just for that, you're in the middle tonight."

True to Roy's word, they went to sleep that night much like the last—without the carrying, but Tim somehow ended up between the other two men. For warmth, of course.

He expected this night to be more difficult; he barely slept through the night in the most stressful of times, let alone after a restful day like today. However, the kidnapping had taken more out of him than he thought, for he fell asleep within thirty minutes.

The next day started much like the last—breakfast, then some lazying around ("recuperating") and making plans.

"We should do some actual strategizing today," Jason suggested. "Even if Roy thinks your new devil's machine will take care of that."

"Uh. I don't think a huge blaster is particularly subtle."

"Fuck subtlety," Roy said.

"The question is—who are we being unsubtle about?" Jason asked. "Since Tim has no chill and found six more hide-outs, we could start there as well instead of St Petersburg."

"Clean up the goons first?" Roy considered that. "I like that."

"They seem to be a very top-down organization," Tim pointed out. "From what I could gather, everything comes down to Yevgeny Mikhaylov. Yeah, they have bases everywhere, but they aren't cells. Otherwise, they would've never gotten me here right away."

Jason turned to him expectantly. "So that suggests…?"

One thing Tim liked about working with Jason and Roy was that they listened. Well, as much as they listened to about anyone, including each other. But they heard his opinion, and they never dismissed it out of hand. That was more than he could say for about anyone else in Gotham. (Okay, except Dick. But Dick would pretend to listen to a mutated hamster's opinion; he was that good with people. Tim wasn't anyone special.)

"Cut off the head. We're certain it's Yevgeny Mikhaylov, and we know he's in St Petersburg. We can clean up the rest after."

"Think you can get his schedule?" Jason asked. "If we go for him first, we better make damn sure we get him on the first try."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "I have full access to his secretary's computer and phone, including Yevgeny Mikhaylov's planner."

"How did you manage that so quickly?"

"Her password is her dog's name. He has his own Instagram."

"That's adorable and convenient," Roy remarked. "So we're going full assassination here, right?"

Jason looked at Tim.

Tim considered it. Bruce wouldn't like this. However, he wasn't here. Tim had learned that Jason was quite willing to refrain from killing if you offered him one. What was there to offer in this case, though? International kidnapping and a scandal? (Not that 'extrajudicial force performing assassinations on foreign territory' was any better, but the US was used to that one.) Local jail, from which Yevgeny Mikhaylov would be released in .4 seconds?

Tim nodded. "Yeah."

"How soon can we move?" Jason asked.

"He's attending the opening of an exhibition on Thursday," Tim said. He'd memorized the schedule, just in case. "Eight p.m., at the Moskva gallery. Lowkey event, rich-people only."

"Oh, no, and then we lowlifes get an invitation," Roy laughed. As if his ex-guardian wasn't a millionaire, too. "All we need is your gear from Irkutsk, then."

"Let's drive there tonight," Jason suggested.

Tim nodded. "There's only direct one flight from abroad coming at Irkutsk airport, and that's at eight-thirty a.m. If we show up in the evening, everyone will want to know where the fuck we came from."

"Sounds solid," Roy said. "Our cover story is wildlife documentary producers, by the way, Tim."

"Oh, can I be your cameraman?"

"Executive producer, responsible for visuals," Jason corrected. "You don't have the equipment. Just make sure I look good when talking about bears and shit."

"That fits; my gear is coming in as camera equipment."

"Perfect." Jason got up and stretched his arms over his head. His shirt rode up, exposing just a little bit of skin. "Wanna go for a few rounds outside?"

"Yes." "Fuck yes."

"I call shotgun!"

"Roy," Jason said flatly, "you are the only person I know who has a regular sleeping rhythm. Just get into the back and sleep. You know I won't fall asleep at the wheel. Anyway, got Tim to keep me company."

Roy grumbled but complied, and Tim climbed into the front passenger seat without complaint.

"You can still go to sleep, you know," Jason murmured as soon as Roy dropped off. "I promise I'll wake you up if I get too tired to drive. But I won't be."

Tim felt a stab of disappointment. "I'm pretty awake, but I can just read if you prefer."

Jason snorted. "I'm not turning down your sparkling conversation, buttercup. I'm just saying. Also, do you actually read, or do you just work?"

"It's mostly work," Tim admitted, grinning despite the jab. So sue him, he liked being reassured once in a while.

"What're you working on?" Jason asked. "Apart from this fucking mess."

Tim told him, and they managed to get a few dozen miles out of the discussion before moving on to other topics. Sometimes, their conversation ebbed, and that was fine, too. The silence was never uncomfortable.

Apart from the light of the instruments in the car, it was completely dark. Tim, used to streetlights, had rarely seen blackness like this.

Like this, they were the only people in the world. No-one else to worry about, no criminals, no family, no home; just Tim and these two precious people he could admire but not touch.

"What do you see?" he asked to distract himself.

"The road? Because I'm a responsible driver?"

Tim rolled his eyes. "You can see in the dark, right? So what's around us?"

The car slowed down noticeably as Jason turned to stare at him. (So much for driving responsibly. Liar.) Tim hadn't expected to get a reaction like that

"You… you know about that?" Jason asked.

"Uh. I hate to break it to you, but your eyes are literally glowing."

Jason's face was hilarious. "…ooops?"

"Also, I've seen you on CCV footage moving around perfectly in dark rooms even without your helmet."

"Okay, I will admit that's a give-away." Jason turned back to the front. "And I hate to disappoint, but the landscape is boring as fuck. All that space is great by day, empty at night. Except for the bear."

"The bear."

"Yeah. He was pretty cute."

Tim chuckled. "Somehow, I can totally see you stopping and adopting a grown bear."

"Well, you wouldn't want to adopt a baby bear, would you? He would miss his mother and cry, and then I would cry, and you would all need to die for seeing that."

"Gee, thanks for turning the cute idea violent really quickly."

"I aim to serve."

They drove in silence for a moment. Tim idly considered taking out the tablet and putting on some music. That was what people did on road trips, right?

"…you deleted the footage, right?"

Tim scoffed. "Of course."

"Of course." Jason shook his head. "Of course."

They kept driving. Tim couldn't see nearly as well in the darkness, but he thought Jason was smiling.

His tablet lit up with a call. Bruce. Tim swiped him away without a second thought. If it was urgent, Bruce would call again. If not, tomorrow would do. He had no place in this peaceful quiet.

If Jason noticed, he didn't say anything. Instead, he asked: "Wanna put on some music?"

"Sure," Tim said, opening Spotify. "Any preferences?"

"You probably got some indie shit, don't you? Soft and guitars or piano and good lyrics?"

Yeah, Tim did. "Shut up, you listen to the same stuff I do."

"Yeah, yeah."

A soft piano began to play, followed by a soulful male voice. Tim listened as he stared into the darkness.

Oh if you wanna love somebody, I'm all yours…

Dawn was breaking when Jason pulled up at a gas station/supermarket hybrid and went inside to get them some breakfast. Tim stumbled out of the car with numb legs, trying to get the blood flowing.

When he returned, Jason offered him a piece of bread with jam. They sat on the hood to eat, silent and content with it.

Finally, Jason swallowed the last piece of food. "Hey."

"Hey."

They watched the sunrise for a moment. Tim pushed all thoughts about romantic scenery firmly out of his mind. Jason only turned this awkward when he was about to talk about something personal.

And sure enough, there came the nudge of the older man's shoulder against his. "You alright?"

"Yeah. You checked me over yourself, remember?" Tim told him, trying to not sound long-suffering at the memory. Apparently, Jason didn't trust him not to 'hide anything, Timmy-boy, you and I both know we all do it.'

"That's not what I mean."

Oh. That wasn't Jason teasing or mother-henning. That was his soft, serious voice, the one he got when talking to little children or seriously injured friends.

"You've just been… quiet, I guess," Jason continued when Tim didn't reply. "I know you're not one for the limelight, and we can be pretty loud, but it's starting to worry me. So… tell me what's up?"

Tim considered his answer. Jason wasn't wrong, was the thing.

"I think I withdrew more than I meant to," he told him. That was okay, right? That didn't give away too much. "Didn't realize until…"

"We started smothering you?" Jason laughed, but it sounded a bit self-conscious. "Sorry if that's—"

Tim's hand shot out to grab him by the sleeve. "No."

"No?" Jason looked down in confusion.

When he realized what he'd done, Tim blushed. Jason hadn't even been about to leave. Still, Tim didn't let go. "It's good. Made me realize that I—that I missed you."

"…oh."

"Yeah."

"I—uh." Jason looked away. "We missed you, too."

They sat there, watching the sunrise and not each other until Roy woke up and loudly demanded his share of the food.

Provincial airports looked the same everywhere in the world, Tim thought.

The three of them made a passable impression of 'jet-lagged and foreign.' Tim was able to pick up his luggage without a hitch. Checking into the hotel was equally unremarkable. The "honeymoon suite" turned out to be a standard room with two beds, much to Roy's disappointment and Jason's relief.

("Let's try to not get hate-crimed, alright?"

"That's rich, and just a little bit xenophobic, coming from someone who held my hand in fucking Alabama.")

Tim entered his own (one-bed) room with a sigh of relief mostly aimed at the luggage in his hand.

"Sweet, sweet tech," he crooned, "how I missed you." Not to mention the extra stacks of clothes (including underwear! Yay) Dick had added, bless him.

Taking a shower felt like bliss, especially when he could slip into his own pants after. He should nap. That's what Jason had told him was next on the agenda. Naptime for the two of them while Roy entertained himself.

Tim got on the bed and closed his eyes. It was… quiet. That was nice, and weird.

He hadn't been lying there for more than ten minutes when the door opened and Jason came in.

"Roy's too loud," he murmured as he crawled into bed with Tim, and Tim was too tired to consider that with any depth. He just nodded and scooted over and fell asleep right away.

The rest of the day passed quietly. They refined their plans for the next few days some, but the room offered a tv, so Roy rigged up a Waynestation with Tim's laptop and some home-made controllers, and they spent most of the time playing Mario Kart.

"Flight is at seven a.m.," Roy reminded them.

"Hmmm." Jason's voice came from somewhere deep in his chest. His hand teasingly trailed along Roy's throat. "However will we entertain ourselves until then?"

Tim—being perfectly able to read the mood—quietly excused himself. They were probably glad to have a room to themselves. No couple could be happy to have a third person in their bed for several nights in a row,

…Tim really needed to stop thinking about them fucking, or he'd never get any sleep. He determinedly pushed the images away and just spent a long, long time brushing his teeth. Dental hygiene—the best distraction from a boner.

Then he laid down on the bed and closed his eyes.

…

…

Okay. Being on his own shouldn't feel so weird.

Tim had slept perfectly well on his own for the last twenty-something years.

…well, maybe not 'perfect well.' He'd slept. More or less. When he had the time. It wasn't that he only ran on caffeine or anything; it was just… hard. To turn his brain off. There was always so much to do.

Well, right now, there wasn't. No pressing case stood between Tim and that sweet, sweet oblivion. No existential angst keeping him awake. No threat to world peace to plot against.

So why wasn't he falling asleep?

When morning came, it felt like he hadn't rested at all. Every movement was a drag. Luckily, Jason did all the talking at the airport. Tim felt like an NPC in a Kingdom Hearts game, following in his wake.

It took him until they were on the plane to notice that Roy and Jason looked like shit. Jason, especially, had bags under his eyes. With Roy, it was hard to tell; he had his cap pulled down so low.

"Had a good night?" Tim asked, not exactly feeling pity for them. They had stayed up all night fucking while he had suffered romantic anguish.

Jesus, that sounded pathetic even in his own head.

However, Roy didn't crack the dirty joke Tim had expected. He just grumbled and burrowed deeper into the seat, head tipping sideways to rest on Tim's shoulder.

Jason, who had claimed the aisle seat, met Tim's surprised gaze over Roy's head. "Not really, no. Did you?"

Tim swallowed. "No."

In St. Petersburg, Roy marched straight into the Four Seasons and got them a single room with a King-sized bed. When the clerk looked like he might protest, Roy added a tip, and that was that.

They didn't talk about it.

"Grab your credit card; we're getting some suits," Roy told Tim.

"We?" Tim asked.

Roy shrugged. "Jason's saying he's not getting into one of these things if you're available. So, welcome, you're now our resident eye candy."

"Not sure I'm a good replacement," Tim said drily. He'd seen Jason in a suit before. Those shoulders were a lot.

"Eh, you'll do."

"I could've just imported one of my own bespoke once."

"Calm down, fancypants." Roy sniggered. "Heh. Fancy pants. Anyway, they wouldn't have been the right style."

Roy might have a point, Tim acknowledged when he tried on a dark-blue creation the shopkeeper swore would be perfect for him. The pant legs were much skinnier here, the waist more accentuated.

His legs had never looked better. Like, wow.

He turned around, looked at himself from the back before nodding. "That one."

"Let me see!" Roy called out from the cabin next to him.

"Sure." Tim stepped outside.

Roy met him there, and as cliché as it was—for a moment, Tim forgot to breathe.

With his tattoos all covered up, tie demurely wound around his neck, and hair slicked back into a ponytail, Roy looked like a different man.

Then he grinned.

Except Roy Harper, Tim realized, would never be anyone or anything but himself. Unlike Tim—and even Jason, to some extent—, he wasn't conditioned to do.

Hell, there had probably been times when Roy tried to reinvent himself; when he'd lost his appreciation of self, tried to be anyone but 'Roy Harper.' It hadn't worked, and Tim could only be grateful for that. There was only steady growth, no changing of personalities like clothing.

"Looking good," Roy commented, tearing Tim out of his mental monologue. Ooops. That could've been awkward. Roy didn't seem to have noticed the awkwardness, though.

Tim walked forward to stand next to Roy. "You, too."

Their eyes met in the mirror, and Tim grinned. Yevgeny Mikhaylov wouldn't know what hit him.

Jason watched through the cameras as Yevgeny Mikhaylov entered the building. "Okay. I think we're ready. He's inside."

"That's nice, considering I'm already inside," was Roy's reply.

"I'm entering the gallery right behind him," Tim murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

For some reason, Jason purred, "Oh, believe me, I know."

"Jay, take your eyes off his ass and tell me which one of them is our man." Roy didn't sound annoyed, just amused.

"Aww, if I must," Jason replied before Tim had time to process the comment. "By the buffet. He's loading up on caviar."

"He looks like literally every other middle-aged guy here."

"Do you two always talk this much?" Tim hissed.

"You know this about us," Roy pointed out.

Jason added: "I have heard you monologue over unconscious bodies before, you hypocrite."

"You know, Jay, I always meant to ask—did you ever actually grab a skull to angst to?"

"A girl never tells."

Yeah, Tim was just gonna ignore them. He headed toward the buffet table, a small innocuous tablet in his hand.

Yevgeny Mikhaylov died alone on a toilet, choking on his own blood. Tim considered it richly deserved.

That night, they celebrated.

"Have some more." Jason offered him a coke and vodka, but Tim shook his head.

"Nah, I'm good."

He became tipsy fairly quickly—much to the collective annoyance of his family—but after that, the most that happened was that he felt sleepy.

Jason clearly had no such compunctions—he downed the glass with way too much ease. Tim still watched the line of his throat as he swallowed. Roy was being careful, Tim could tell, but he was still drunk within the hour.

Drunk, and in the mood for dancing.

"Roy, you're trying to groove to Taylor Swift''s country phase," Jason pointed out. "That shouldn't be possible."

Tim watched in fascination as Roy increased the swing of his hips in response, grooving over to Jason as if this was a club in a 90s dance movie.

"C'mon, dance with me," Roy cajoled.

"Nope."

"Aww, babe." How Jason could refuse with Roy somehow both breaking out the puppy eyes and the hip grind was beyond Tim.

"Nope." Jason leaned back in his chair and raised his glass, a glint in his eyes. "Not that I mind watching."

Roy threw his hands up. "Fine! Tim?"

"Uh." For some reason, Tim had not expected to be option two here. Which was a bit stupid, considering there were literally only three people in this room.

"C'mon." Roy held out a hand and smiled at him. "Don't leave me to make a fool out of myself—"

"That'll happen anyway," Jason interjected.

"—by letting me dance alone," Roy continued. "I am an excellent dancer. I just need a partner."

Tim saw Jason shake his head as soon as the word 'excellent' was mentioned and bit his lip to avoid laughing. "Okay."

He took Roy's hand and was immediately hefted out of his chair. "Jay, put on something good!" Roy called as he led Tim to the 'dancefloor' (the middle of the room.)

Something with a lot of bass and a low voice singing in Spanish began playing.

Tim began swaying on the spot, awkwardly at first, then with a bit more confidence as Roy went along with him.

"Yeah, Tim, get it!" Roy laughed, winding his arms loosely around Tim's neck and pulling him closer.

Tim grinned back, his hands automatically going to Roy's hips. Their rhythm was slightly off; their knees kept bumping into each other, causing giggles.

Suddenly, there was a warm pressure along Tim's back.

"Look who decided to join us," Roy murmured.

"Shut up." Jason did not sound remotely annoyed. The way he was swaying against Tim didn't exactly suggest anger, either.

…honestly, the man had a much better feel for the rhythm than either he or Roy did. Figured.

With Jay in the lead, they really got into it. Tim had spent hours dancing in clubs; it had never felt like this. Every movement was part of the music. They were too close for him to see Roy or Jason's face; he didn't need to—every movement telegraphed a feeling.

He wasn't sure what that feeling was, but it flowed through him, gripping him, weighing him down while making him fly.

After untold minutes—hours—the music stopped, and the magic ended.

Abruptly, Tim became aware of how awkward this was. Jason's breath was heavy against his ear, faster than the exercise warranted, and Roy—Roy was pulling back, eyes dark, pupils dilated—

Tim got the hell out of their way.

He busied himself with the minibar—putting their bottles in the trash, stashing the leftovers to keep them cold, wipe up the little bit of coke Jay had spilled when he'd stood up—and when he turned around, Jason and Roy were kissing.

It didn't make him jealous at all. Sure, he'd like to join them—wrap his arms around Roy's waist, maybe, press his forehead to his shoulder and listen to the sounds they were making—but which one would he even be jealous of? They were good for each other.

And God, they made such a pretty picture. Leaning against the wall, both tall and strong in different ways, Roy's skin pale to Jason's brown.

Roy's hand slid down to grab a handful of Jason's ass, Jason groaned, and Tim had to get out of here.

"I'll—I'll go grab some chocolate from the lobby!" he called out, fleeing. "Haha, feeling like candy."

It was a miracle he remembered to grab a keycard. Sadly, he wasn't as smart about his phone or, you know, money and had to spend the single most awkward fifteen minutes of his life in the hotel hallway.

At least his dick had calmed the fuck down when he walked back into the room. It had been enough time for Roy and Jason to retreat, right? Or for a quickie, at least?

Nope.

The two were on the bed, now in nightclothes, but still very much making out. At least they broke apart seconds after he opened the door.

"Tim!" Roy greeted him. "Did you bring us candy?"

Tim smiled weakly. "They were out."

"Aww. Well, we should sleep, anyway." He blinked up at Tim, then shoved Jay to the side. "Hey, make some space."

Jay grumbled but acquiesced.

Reluctantly, Tim crawled in between them.

"Don't you want to—" Tim didn't know how to finish that sentence. There was only one room. Fuck in the bathroom seemed like a bit much even for these two.

(Though they did have an exhibitionist streak. Tim just hadn't been sure if that was solely reserved for whenever Bruce was in the vicinity.)

"Nah, we're good," Roy told him.

So was… Tim just supposed to ignore Jason's boner and the wet spot on Roy's pants? Was that what was happening? And how the fuck was he supposed to do that when they were both pressing against him?

Tim didn't get much sleep that night.

The next morning, Tim woke up to find Roy had gotten up before him. That was unusual, seeing how Jason was usually up before the two of them. Right now, though, the other bat was still sleeping next to Tim while Roy was fiddling with the hot water, probably craving some instant coffee.

Tim stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. He was brushing his teeth when Roy joined him.

"I spilled coffee all over myself," Roy told Tim wryly. "Looks like I'm a bit more hungover than I thought."

"So's Jay," Tim said. "Don't think I've ever seen him sleep this long."

"Ah," Roy sighed, "we're getting old. Can't even get drunk properly anymore." He looked down at his soaked shirt. "I should probably take that off."

Tim should have known what would happen next. He should've. But he was still surprised when he agreed and Roy just whole-ass whipped his shirt off.

Why did God hate him so much, Tim thought wildly. That was so much skin and muscle! At eight in the morning! It just wasn't fair.

Say something, Tim. Something intelligent, if possible.

"Wow, you're really covered in freckles."

That wasn't it.

Roy chuckled and moved closer. "Yeah. They're really pale in winter, but you should see me in summer."

"Pretty." Tim reached out before he could think about it, tracing a particular cluster on Roy's shoulder. Then he jerked back. "Oh—sorry."

"It's fine," Roy whispered. "You can—you can touch."

Hesitantly, Tim moved his hand to Roy's shoulder again, waiting for another nod to actually trace the constellation there. They were just as soft to the touch as he'd imagined.

His hand only moved on from there: down Roy's chest, to his side, up again to his arm…

Might as well milk the opportunity. Tim let himself look.

Of course, freckles weren't the only thing on Roy's skin. There were his top surgery scars, as well as the expected assortment of marks a life of vigilantism left. Honestly, as a distance fighter, Roy had gotten off pretty light in comparison to most of the bats.

There were a few needle marks, too. Tim paid them no mind—his hand was already wandering toward some relatively fresh burns at Roy's wrist—but Roy flinched when he brushed them.

Tim immediately let go. It was pure instinct when his touch didn't seem wanted, but Roy obviously took it the wrong way because he produced a weak grin and said: "Those aren't—those aren't freckles."

It hurt to see this beautiful, confident man look so ashamed. Tim wanted to bundle up Roy and protect him; failing that, he at least wanted to beat up everyone who made Roy think this was in any way a moral failing of his.

(So maybe Bruce had a point about Tim becoming more aggressive when he was hanging out with Roy and Jason. It was just not for the reason he'd expected. When had he become so protective of the two men?)

"Roy," he started gently, but the other man interrupted him: "I'm not going back to that."

Tim frowned. "You know that Jay and I—we will be here even if you do, right?"

Technically, that was a 'when.'

Tim knew every time it happened. He wasn't sure Roy truly, deeply realized just how deep the bat-mandated detective training went. Tim couldn't switch it off, couldn't not notice the smallest signs, and he doubted Dick and Jason could, either.

The other man was as "high-functioning" (god, what a term) as it got when he was using. Didn't change a thing.

But that was all it was—knowledge, not judgment. To Tim, there was a world of difference between the ways Roy was using now and the ways he had been, the only thing he would be concerned about—namely, Roy's own well-being.

So yes. 'If.'

Roy had been silent for too long. Tim reached again, brushing his arm. "Roy?"

"You know what," Roy said, something like wonder in his voice, "I think I do know that."

Tim swallowed. "Good."

"Also I'm gonna cry if you don't hug me now."

"I can do that," Tim whispered. His arms moved to draw Roy in, and Roy followed, folding himself into Tim's body and letting himself be held.

They stood like that for a long time. Every thought of Roy's shirtlessness had fled Tim's head; instead, he focused on the older man's trembling shoulders under Tim's palms, the warmth of his skin, the soft, hitching breaths.

So maybe Roy cried despite the hug. Maybe Tim did, too.

That was okay. By the time they were ready to let go, their eyes were dry.

That day, the road trip started again. It was subtler that way, Roy said and Jason agreed. Tim privately thought that private airplanes were a thing and much faster, but he wasn't gonna do anything that shortened his time with them.

They got single-bedroom apartments every night. Jason and Roy never talked about it, and Tim didn't ask.

It was still a bit weird, seeing their domestic sides like this: Jason cooking for them, Roy doing the dishes. And yet, Tim never felt like he didn't fit. Like, he even was in charge of the groceries by now, and Jason was teaching him how to make wareniki.

Considering the fact that they were technically on a mission, life was surprisingly pleasant.

Roy called Olli sometimes.

It was… nice. Tim knew there was some history there—knew the sting of rejection intimately. For him, there had never really been a way back. Watching Roy talk on the phone, both joking around and being absolutely truthful with the man who had raised him… it gave him hope.

He could see Jason watching Roy on these occasions, something like pride in his eyes.

Bruce, of course, was a whole other story. He occasionally called, to ask for Tim's knowledge of a case, most of the time, sometimes just to check in. (Those times were usually prompted by Dick's visits to Gotham.) Tim, admittedly, had a tendency to not pick up.

He didn't avoid Bruce for himself, though he could admit that their relationship as adults was a distant one, at best. However, Tim had learned to deal with that.

No, it was Jason; he just… he just got so sad whenever he talked to or about Bruce. He didn't call it that—he insisted that he was annoyed at most, that it didn't matter, that it didn't hurt anymore—but Tim saw it, and he hated it.

One time, he didn't hide the screen quickly enough. Jason frowned when he saw it, and Tim mentally prepared himself for an argument.

All Jason said, though, was: "You can pick up."

"It's okay, we can stay out of sight," Roy offered, much to Tim's surprise.

Wait. Did they think he was ashamed of them?

Tim's hand shot out and swiped left. "Hey, B."

"Red Robin," Bruce greeted him.

"Hey Tim!" Dick called out far more cheerily from the background.

Tim gave a wave.

"Are you still expecting to return to Gotham by the twenty-third?" Bruce asked. "I will be hosting a charity ball on the twenty-fifth."

Perfect opening. Thank you, Bruce.

"Actually, no. I'm on a mission with Red Hood and Arsenal. It will take at least another two weeks to complete." Okay, that was generous, but whatever. Tim had mentioned before that he was gonna milk this time, hadn't he?

Predictably, Bruce frowned. "With Red—"

Tim watched, fascinated, as Dick leaned forward and gently shouldered Bruce out of the picture. "You're with the best, then."

"Yeah." Tim couldn't help but smile back. "I am."

There was a small, choked noise behind him.

Dick must've heard it, too, because his smile turned knowing. "Roy, Jason, if you don't drop by when you're back, I'm gonna get your ass. Alright, Tim, thanks for checking in! I'll see you soon, then."

"Bye, Dick. Bruce."

The screen went black before Bruce had the chance to reply. Sometimes, a lot of times, Tim's big brother really was the best.

Two cleaned out villain-bases later, Roy mentioned: "I should cut my hair."

"NO." — "No!"

Roy's face was both amused and confused. "I would blend in much better, though. And it's a pain to take care of."

"Yeah, but I like pulling it," Jason told him matter-of-factly. "You like it being played with, and also, it looks really hot, right, Tim?"

"Duh." Wait. "Uh, I mean—it suits you."

"Jeez, guys, alright," Roy laughed. "I won't, then. Don't blame me if I get split ends, though."

When they watched a movie that night, Tim found himself with Roy's head in his lap, and, like, what was he supposed to do? Not play with his hair? It was right there.

For all of Roy's talk about split ends, his hair was soft and thick. Tim carded his fingers through the strands again and again. Roy never commented, just closed his eyes in obvious content.

Tim glanced up and caught Jason's eye. He had that soft look in his eyes again, the one Tim saw before. This time, though, this time Tim thought…

They smiled at each other.

It was supposed to be a small outing. Get in, blow up the weapon cache, get out. Jason wasn't supposed to be in there. He wasn't—He shouldn't be—

Tim saw the club crack down on Jason's back and yelled, yelled, yelled, but Red Hood fell, anyway.

Time slowed.

They were surrounded by armed men. Not all with firearms, but enough of them to pose a challenge. Two of them stayed with Jason, beating him, while the others turned to Tim.

In his earpiece, Roy was cursing, clearly trying to get closer, but he was too far away, so far away, ready to clear their way out—Tim was on his own for this.

It didn't matter. Through the red haze in his mind, his staff worked with vicious precision, cutting down man after man until he got to Jason.

The two men beating Red Hood looked ready to flee. Tim didn't give them that option.

When it was finally, finally silent around him, he kneeled down and reached out with shaking fingers.

"Fuck, Tim," Roy panted when he finally got to them. "Is he—"

"He's breathing," Tim reported, "I think he just got a bad hit—several of them—" Because Tim hadn't been quick enough, hadn't protected his partner—Jason had been hurt because of him.

"Motherfucker," Roy cursed. "Okay. Let's get him somewhere safe and blow this joint up."

"Amen."

Thank God they had rented a room nearby. This was a holiday destination, full of tourists; they didn't stand out around here.

Not even when they carried a body in between the. The hotel clerk merely chuckled something Tim interpreted as 'ah, early drinking.'

Jason was coming to when they deposited him on the bed. Roy held him up as he coughed while Tim busied himself getting the armor off—they needed to get a better picture of the extent of his injuries.

Five minutes later, he leaned back. “Bruised and some broken bones, but with your healing… you’ll be okay.

When he looked up, Jason stared at him. "You took all of them down?"

"I guess." Tim didn't really remember, to be honest. All his mind insisted on showing him was Jason, falling, lifeless on the ground. "Wait here. You should take some painkillers."

"Yeah, I'm not going anywhere."

"I should hit you for that," Roy murmured, using the hand not propping up Jason to tear off his own armor.

"Sorry." Jason meekly took the water bottle and the pills Tim handed him and swallowed it down. After, he let Roy move him into lying on his back, clearly in too much pain to be coordinated himself.

Tim only took off his own leathers before crawling in right after them. It was only morning, yet it felt like ages since he had last felt Jason's warmth.

He tried to keep some distance, at first. Jason tugged on his arm, though, and Roy just hugged them both close, strong arms trembling.

They breathed together.

Tim knew he had no right to be here. He shouldn't take this time away from them, shouldn't intrude even more—but his hands were shaking worse than Roy's, and he couldn't make himself let go.

Still, he tried to move away a bit. Not to be clingy.

Roy made a wounded noise when he did. "Tim…"

Tim looked at him.

"Thank you," Roy whispered. "Thank you. You saved him."

Jason flinched and pressed a kiss into Roy's hair. "I'm here."

"I don't know what I—" Roy swallowed. "If you—I don't ever want to feel like that again, Jay."

Jason closed his eyes. His mouth opened as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.

"I go so cold when I think about it, Jay, I can't—"

"Roy—"

"It's okay," Tim told them with a strength he didn't know he possessed, "you'll be okay. I'll protect you. Both of you. You don't have to be cold, I—I'm here."

"Tim," Jason whispered.

"I promise." Tim knew he was speaking the truth. No matter what happened—no matter his stupid crush, no matter how entangled romantic and platonic love were when it came to his feelings for them—he meant it. He would always mean it.

Jason pulled him in, and Tim followed him gladly even though it had to hurt the other man. Some things were more important than pain.

After some time, Jason's eyes began to droop shut, shock and painkillers finally setting in.

"Sleep," Roy said gently. "We'll still be here, right, Tim?"

Tim nodded, face buried in Jason's shoulder. "Yes."

They clung to him; clung to this man that had brought them all together; the one who still thought himself darkness and shone brighter than anyone else in their lives.

Their miracle.

They all knew that they weren't leaving, so Roy reluctantly dragged himself out of bed to negotiate with the hotel owner for a few more nights, "and maybe some dinner."

Tim stayed right where he was. He wasn't leaving Jason alone.

Jason, too, seemed content where he was. He was scratching at his throat, though. "Hey, have I been cut there? Something's starting to get real itchy."

Tim winced. "That, uh, might've been me. I hit that one guy while he was holding a knife to your throat. I think he was trying to take off your helmet?" Just thinking about it made him feel sick.

Jason just chuckled. "About time you paid me back." His eyes fell on the first scar he'd ever given Tim, and his laughter died down to a frown. "Though I see you've acquired some new ones since then."

He laid a gentle fingertip on the side of Tim's neck.

Right. Two thin wounds that were taking ages to heal properly. "Got these from Deathstroke."

"Oh hey, we match." Tim pulled up Jason's shirt where he was pointing, and yup, there were two stab wounds there.

"Bet the whole family has those."

"Tim. Do we really want to discuss the marks Deathstroke leaves on Dick?"

"Oh, ew ew ew." Tim scrunched up his face. "Never mind, I regret ever mentioning it."

"Honestly? Same." Jason's grin turned contemplative. His hand wandered down Tim's arms very much like Tim's had down Roy's arm that morning in a hotel bathroom. "We sure are a marked-up bunch."

Tim was careful to shrug with the side Jason wasn't touching. "It comes with the job."

"These don't." Jason touched his wrists. There was no question there.

Jason knew because he had been there for the last one. That had, in a way, the start of their actual friendship, Jason dropping by more often, offering companionship along with Roy. For a long time, Tim thought it had been pity, and he'd been grateful.

Now he was starting to think it hadn't been, and that felt even better.

There were no slash marks on Jason's wrists beyond the ones their job tended to bring with it. Tim let his hand wander up to spread across his chest, his heart, instead. "Did you ever....?"

"No."

Tim would've left it at that. Jason kept talking, though, voice contemplative.

"Basically, it's like —sure, there were times when I thought I shouldn't be alive, how I came back wrong, how I hurt the wrong people—" Jason's hand brushed across Tim's neck again. "But there's a difference between dark thoughts brought on by the weirdest situation on Earth and being actually suicidal. I never truly considered it. Never tried."

The 'unlike you' was unspoken. Tim appreciated that.

Then, Jason laughed. "Also, a whole lot of people would be happy to hear of my imminent demise, and you know how I run on spite."

Tim sighed and pushed his head into Jason's shoulder again, moving impossibly closer. "Not true."

"Hmm?"

You don't run on spite. You have convictions, and you care so, so much that you can't stop. It felt too intimate to say, suddenly; too revealing, so Tim mumbled: "Nothing," and they left it at that.

"So they're being total dicks, but I found us a cabin," Roy announced when he came back, flinging himself next to Jason without ceremony. It also meant that he was half on top of Tim.

Instead of complaining, Tim said: "Well, the food can only improve from here."

"As long as you're not the one making it."

"Oh, suddenly he's awake," Roy commented, poking Jason playfully in the shoulder. His somber mood from earlier had visibly lifted.

"With threats like these, how could I not be?" Jason moaned playfully. "I'll have to cook, after all, just to escape the abomination you call 'breakfast.'"

Roy looked unsympathetic. "Dude, you don't look like you can lift your hand for more than five minutes."

"It's okay, I'll just get us some of that good bread," Tim laughed. "You'll get your breakfast in bed, I promise."

And he kept his word in that matter, too.

It happened the first morning Jason was up before them.

"Recovery pancakes," was the first thing he told Tim when the younger man entered the kitchen, Roy still snoring away in their bed.

"Recovery?" Tim eyed the plate Jason put in front of him.

"The first thing I make when I haven't been able to cook for a while," Jason explained. "Also, they're Roy's favorite."

Tim took a bite. "You know, I can see why."

Tim was already halfway through the first stack when Roy finally walked in, yawning without bothering to cover his mouth.

"Morning, babe," he said and kissed Tim.

Like. He kissed Tim. Right on the mouth, too.

That. That had to be a joke, right? Roy must've mixed him up with Jason. It's the only explanation—'babe'—

But Roy walked over to Jason and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Morning, other babe."

Jason laughed, but his eyes were on Tim, apprehensive.

And finally, finally, Tim broke.

"Okay, you do not just get to kiss me for the first time and walk away." He lifted his head and looked Roy right in the eye. "Finish what you started."

Roy looked stunned for a brief moment until comprehension dawned. "You only ever had to ask, Tim."

Tim grinned, and Roy grinned, and Jason just looked disbelieving—not that that mattered, because Roy crossed the kitchen with three large steps and was kissing Tim again, and there was no ambiguity left in the universe.

They did not finish breakfast.

God, Roy's hands. Jason's mouth.

If Tim thought the two were physically affectionate before, he was in a whole other world now. Before, they'd sat close during video game nights—now Jason pulled him into his lap at every opportunity. Roy, too, was all hands. For a few days, all attempts at training were lost to hormones and groping.

In addition, Jason was quickly developing a habit of just picking Tim up and carrying him to where he wanted him. (Sometimes the bed, sometimes the kitchen chair for some decent food.) Tim reeeally should mind that more than he did.

At some point, he realized that it happened much more often whenever he was wearing one of their sweatshirts.

Possessive much, huh? Tim immediately decided to steal their clothes more often.

(One time, they put on some of his shirts, in turn. Tim snorted and told them to try again in summer—"Crop tops are all the rage in Gotham.")

They didn't talk about the future. Tim knew that the of them couldn't do stuff half-way—wouldn't fuck with him like that—so he could be content with that.

It didn't stay a secret for long, either. Mostly because Tim couldn't help himself, like, this was monumental! He needed to talk about it to someone. Not because he was worried, just… to share.

Also, Steph would kill him if she found out before he told her. So she was his first call, on a day when he was out on a walk.

"…Tim?"

"Hi, Steph!"

"This better be urgent." She paused. "You do know it's 7am here, right?"

"…oops." Tim could feel his face heat up.

She sighed. "Don't worry, I have class in, like, an hour anyway. Might as well get the deets. What's up?"

"So… you know how I'm, like, traveling with Jason and Roy, right?" Tim asked.

"Yeah. Kinda been expecting more phone calls about your tragic unrequited love that you think I don't know about, to be honest." Steph paused. "Uh, you didn't hear that."

Tim grinned. "It's not unrequited anymore."

"...well now I'm awake." There was some rustling. Steph's voice came back much clearer when she continued (earphones?): "Did you fuck them?"

"Might be more accurate to say that they fucked me, but, uh, yeah, that is happening," Tim admitted, grinning.

Her wolf-whistle had him flinching. "Whoa, get it, bird-boy! Okay, I've always wondered—is Jason's dick as big as I thought it would be?"

Tim hummed. "Hmmm. That doesn't feel like a detail I should share."

"Excuse me, you can't tell me you somehow managed to wiggle your way into the bed of one of the most gorgeous couples on Earth and then not share the details."

Just to fuck with her, Tim whistled a tune.

"Is that 'I just had sex'? Oh, fuck you," Steph laughed. "Seriously, though. I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, Steph."

He'd tell his friends in person, he'd already decided, mostly because he wanted to see their faces and wait for Kon's return. (Mostly to make sure Kon wouldn't get any stupid ideas and try a 'you hurt him…' speech.) Dick would be the obvious next call, but…

Tim wasn't worried. Dick wouldn't mind whenever he heard—hell, he probably already suspected something was up, people-reader that he was. He might even gently prepare Bruce (who Tim had no intention of ever telling directly.) Jason and Roy might have more hang-ups about him than Tim, though.

He'd talk to them. Maybe. Eventually.

"Why," Jason asked slowly, "is there so much stuff on the ground."

His tone was enough to make Tim look up from his work and check the floor. "There really… isn't?"

Seriously, there was, like, one pile of dirty laundry and a few pieces of equipment strewn around. That counted as perfectly clean in Tim's book.

Not in Jason's, apparently. "I'm looking at it right now."

"It's just laundry," Roy threw in. "It'll go in the washer, anyway. What's the point in folding it?"

"You can't just—" Jason seemed to notice his own raised voice just in time. Tim couldn't read his expression when he ground out: "Whatever. Just clean up your shit."

And with that, he walked out and slammed the door behind him. Ouch.

Noticing Roy's slightly anxious eyes on him, Tim gave him a reassuring smile. He didn't give a shit. Jason had his own stuff to work on; none of this was directed personally at Tim. They'd never have become friends if he took Jason's bad days as a personal insult.

Tim was actually pretty proud of him for removing himself from the situation.

Roy grinned back, relieved. Then his nose wrinkled. "Okay, but judging from the smell… he might have a point about the laundry."

"Opp."

Tim's eyes were on the screen—on the schematic Roy had drawn up for him. "Why is the right sight longer than the left? Seems like a needless compromise on static to me."

"Less so than adding hollow space."

"Add another taser; you got the juice for it."

"Huh," Roy said. Then Tim felt his hand grip his chin, tipping his face up. Before he could ask what was happening, Roy was already kissing him.

Tim sank into it. Roy kissed like he saved all his seriousness for the moment your lips met his.

When they pulled away, Tim slowly opened his eyes, knowing there was a smile on his face. "What was that for?"

"For being smart," Roy told him, pressing another kiss to Tim's cheek for good measure.

"Oh. You're welcome." Tim turned back to the tablet. "So, should we…"

"I'll add it, just a sec. More tranquilizer, you think?"

"Never a bad thing to have with you."

"Gotcha. Okay, so…"

Less than ten minutes later, Roy was deep down in what Jason called his 'inventor fugue,' i.e., focusing on two things at once while enthusiastically talking about a third.

Tim watched him until he was nearing the end of his current topic. Then the younger man leaned forward and pressed a kiss of his own to Roy's lips—quick, affectionate, sure.

Roy laughed, thrown, and pulled him closer. "Tim?"

"For being smart."

"You," Roy laughed, "are the cutest."

Tim darted up for a quick kiss to Roy's nose. "Am not."

"Am too."

"Am not."

"Sweet, intelligent," Roy punctuated each word with a kiss, "and the cutest."

"Good to know I'm the brawn around here," Jason joked from the door. His eyes were all fondness, and Tim knew he didn't mean it. However, he and Roy still looked at each other like what the fuck.

"Jason." — "Jay."

Tim got up, Roy right next to him, and they advanced on Jason like a pair of amorous predators. Tim had to grab his shoulders and pull him down to do it, but he didn't let a little thing like dignity keep him from smothering Jason's face in kisses.

"You're very cute and smart too," Roy promised, adding his own.

"That wasn't—" Jason chuckled, looking hopelessly endeared. (Tim knew the feeling.) "Whatever."

Eventually, they had to get back on the road. There weren't many stops left, but as long as the detiny were still out there, the three of them intended to finish what they started.

Tim did the last check for things left behind. Once he was done, he looked around the empty cabin with some measure of regret. He wasn't one to feel sentimental, but… this place had given him a lot. It felt weird, knowing that he would probably never return.

Stupid thoughts, Tim.

When he walked outside, Roy was looking at the car contemplatively. "You know what I always wanted to try?"

Tim shook his head, but Jason groaned. "Roy, we barely fit into the car as it is."

"Aww. But isn't it a pretty image?" Roy asked. "You could get into Tim's lap, ride him while I'm behind you…"

"Do you want me to get a concussion?" Jason complained, but he was blushing.

"Bet you'd have to eat Roy out, after," Tim joined in, enjoying himself immensely. Figuring out that Jason was much more blushy about sex than he was had been one of the greatest delights of his life. "Dunno if you'll fit between the passenger seat and the airbag, but the backseat…"

Roy pointed at him. "Yes. That."

"Shut the fuck up," Jason scowled. "We're not having car sex."

They totally had car sex. There was as much giggling as moaning, and they gave up halfway through.

Worth the try, though.

Tim, of course, was the photo guy, and that extended to their relationship, too.

On the one hand, there was his camera, slowly filling up with artistic shots: Jason inspecting a bruise. His hands holding a gun in one shot and a book in the next. Roy selecting his packer with the same concentration he used for handling explosives. The two of them, deep in discussion over a map while the sunlight painted their faces in softness.

Roy's hand on Tim's knee. Jason's thighs, covered in bruises from a fight and bitemarks from claims of a different kind. The curve of Roy's smile after he'd left one of them; the soft line of his jaw when they returned the favor.

His phone, though, was for candids and snapshots. It wasn't filling up quite as rapidly, but when they stopped to eat lunch at a small restaurant one day, sitting outside on a bench in the sunshine, Tim was quick to grab his phone and take a selfie: Roy on his right, Jason on his left, smiling.

"Oh, I like that," Roy said when he saw the result. "Can I get a copy?"

"Sure." Tim sent it to him and watched as Roy immediately set it as his lock screen.

The older man noticed him looking. "You gonna give me shit about it?"

"Nah, I was just about to do the same."

"Good. Hey, Jay, you should set it too, so we match."

"Hmm." Jason suddenly looked very invested in his cabbage soup.

"What is your lock screen, actually?" Tim asked. He'd seen Roy's phone plenty of times; Jason was a bit more guarded. "Please tell me it's not a gun."

"It's not a gun."

Roy, clearly smelling blood, leaned over: "Okay, what has you acting so weird?"

"Nothing. Uh, I'll get some more sour cream—" Jason got up quickly, but Roy was faster, grabbing him in an armlock before he could escape. Tim made quick work of grabbing Jason's phone and activating the lock screen.

It was a picture of the two of them—Tim and Roy, asleep. Tim recognized the hoodie he was wearing in the photograph: This had been before he had picked up his luggage. In the early days, in the hut without a bathroom. And still he and Roy were wound tightly around each other, sleeping as if they had been this close their life.

"Jay," Tim murmured.

Roy, looking over his shoulder, commented: "You fucking softie."

"Oh, shut up, idiot."

Tim was still staring at the pic. You know, in retrospect… "Were you two… trying to cuddle me into a relationship with you?"

Roy and Jason exchanged a sheepish glance.

"Uh, not really?" Jason replied with a shrug. "We were mostly… You'd just been abducted, Tim. So sue us for feeling a bit clingy."

Oh. Tim felt every inch of his soul soften.

"But also, yes," Roy added. He threw up his hands when Jason glared at him. "What? I can't lie and say I never thought about it. Most guys don't agree to sleep between a couple. Can't blame a guy for hoping."

"You guys know we're in a public restaurant and anyone here could speak English, right?" Jason asked, looking a little desperate. He was pink enough that Tim let him get away with it, feeling all warmed up with pleasure himself.

It would be wrong to say they always slept well together. Sure, Tim got more rest than he ever had in his life, but that had more to do with him actually resting even when he wasn't sleeping. He and Jason had a tendency to stay up most of the night, even if they were cuddled close.

To add to that, every single one of them brought their own nightmares to the table/bed. Multiply that by three, and, well. Some nights were worse than others.

Tonight, it was Roy's turn.

Tim was dragged out of sleep by the softest of cries. It took him a second to orientate himself. Jason was quicker—Tim could feel him gently shake Roy. "Roy? C'mon, wake up, babe. You're dreaming."

Roy came to with a gasp that Tim felt in his bones.

"Hey," he murmured, reaching out to lay a hand on Roy's shoulder. "We're here. You're safe."

"I'm okay," Roy whispered. Tim didn't know if he was trying to reassure them or himself. Either way, it wasn't working.

Tim shifted so he was on top of Roy, burying his face into his chest and holding on tight. Roy liked being weighed down, he'd discovered. Jason seemed to have the same idea because he crowded in close, one arm across the both of them.

For a long while, Roy didn't move. Then, finally, with one long, long exhale, he wrapped his arm around Tim, the other one finding Jay's hand and clutching it.

"I could read to you," Jason quietly offered.

Roy was silent. Tim listened to his heartbeat and waited.

Finally, Roy whispered: "That would be nice."

The bed shifted, and Tim heard the rustling of paper. The rest of the room became tinted in a light green glow as Jason's eyes adjusted to the darkness.

"There was once a young man who wished to gain his Heart's Desire." Jason's voice was low and soft. "And while that is, as beginnings go, not entirely novel (for every tale about every young man there ever was or ever will be could start in a similar manner) there was much about this young man and what happened to him that was unusual, although even he never knew the whole of it. The tale started, as many tales have started, in Wall…"

Tim listened. Under his ear, Roy's heartbeat was beginning to slow down.

They didn't sleep that night. That was okay, too.

One advantage of grocery duty, Tim thought, was that you could buy whatever you wanted. And what he was in the mood for today was candy.

"Did you buy the entire aisle?" Jason radiated disapproval when he looked into the bags.

"C'mon, we haven't really tried anything yet," Tim told him. "What's the point of a road trip if we don't even eat the local candy?"

"I wanna start with this one," Roy announced, selecting a tray of what looked like chocolate cubes. "What is it?"

"It's called ptichye moloko," Jason read from the package. "Kinda like a milk treat? But soft?"

"Hmm, perfect." Roy selected one of the cubes and offered it to Tim. When Tim tried to take it from him, he moved his hand back. "Uh-uh, not like that."

Rolling his eyes, Tim leaned forward and tried to take it from his fingers with his mouth. It was harder than it looked in movies. Roy tried not to flinch when Tim accidentally bit him. Then Tim's teeth were all sticky. Nope, not sexy at all.

Next to them, Jason started laughing.

It shouldn't surprise Tim that their newfound closeness translated to the battlefield as well, but it did. He knew exactly where they would be, what they would say. Joining in the banter was like second nature by now.

"Nice shot."

"Thank you."—"Thank you."

"Arsenal, you're not even in the same room."

"Right."

"Dumbass."

"It was a nice shot, though."

Or had it been this way before? Was this a natural result of all the times they spent training together, fighting together, on this trip?

In the end, that didn't matter, Tim decided. What was far more important was that he now had license to crowd Jason against the wall of their room and kiss him until they were both breathless.

"What brought that on?" Jason asked, panting. "Ah—"

Tim inspected the fresh bite mark on Jason's clavicle with satisfaction. "You are really fucking hot when you fight." Jason was just such a fucking tank in the field. Knowing that Tim could make him whine within minutes if he really put his mind to it… it was heady.

"I keep telling you," Roy called out from the back, and Tim grinned against Jason's skin.

"Gonna join me, Roy?" he asked.

"Oh, never mind me. More than happy to watch. Go to town, pretty bird."

Yeah, Tim intended to.

"Is that a zoo?" Roy asked.

Jason eyed the assortment of cages visible from the street. "If you could call it that… wait. We're not stopping."

Too late. Roy was pulling over. Tim pointed out the passenger side: "They sell tickets over there. Looks like there's even a shop!"

Jason sighed. "You're worse than kids, you now?"

"Jay. Jaybird. We're making a wildlife documentary."

"We have to see the zoo."

"It would be a crime not to."

Jason rolled his eyes. "Fine."

For all his gruntling, Jason was the one who enthusiastically picked out souvenirs at the gift shop. There were lots of plushies—an elephant for Dick, a penguin for Damian, earrings for Kori… Bruce got a postcard that apparently read "From Russia with cold and sadness."

"You know he speaks Russian, right?" Tim asked.

"Oh, I do." Jason was already getting out a pen. "He taught me, after all."

Two days later, they cleaned out the last of the detinys's strongholds.

"That," Roy said, watching the burning warehouse with satisfaction curled around his lips, "screams for a celebration."

Tim propped up his staff. "Vodka?"

"Nah. Dancing. And no refusing this time, Jay."

Jason chuckled. "I wouldn't dare."

True to his word, Jason was the first on his feet this time around.

"Alright, dancing boy," he said as he took Tim by the hand, "let me see how you do."

"You know the answer to that is 'badly.'"

"Eh, just follow my lead." His hips began to sway, but not just his hips—now that Tim was looking, he saw that Jason was also shifting his weight, and what was he doing with his shoulders? The entire thing looked smooth, but not, like, wiggly so.

"I'm not as good as you," Tim laughed, trying to mirror his movements.

"True."

"Hey."

Jason moved behind him and pulled him closer by the hips. "Just relax," he breathed into Tim's ear. "Feel the rhythm. One-two-three-four, one-two-three-four…"

Roy watched them with bright eyes. Tim caught his gaze and held it until he couldn't anymore, until his head fell back with a moan because Jason's hips were worth every sin.

Only then did Roy move. One second he was sitting there; the next, he was in front of Tim, arms around Jason's neck. His entire body was pressed against Tim, and Tim had never wanted to be anywhere else.

Except… after a few songs, Tim had an idea. "Let me just…" he murmured, backing away and moving toward the phone. Changing the song to something slower, softer, gave him enough of an excuse to stay away for a minute or so.

Once again, he turned around to find them kissing. This time, though, he could act on his fantasy—could walk straight up to Roy, slide his arms around his waist and crowd in close, feel him grinding up against Jason, hear both of their heavy breathing.

"Ha," Roy said, pulling away from the kiss, "I knew you've been thinking about it."

Tim bit his shoulder and listened to his groan. "You weren't exactly subtle."

As wish fulfillments went, this evening really had it all. Tim got to watch them make out and feel every tremble, every moan for himself. He got to slide his fingers into Roy while watching him take Jason systematically, brutally apart. He got Jason on his knees, after, bringing him to orgasm with a quickness Tim would have found embarrassing before them and now thought only natural.

Even more importantly, he got to whisper, "I love you," and hear it back.

Tim woke up knowing that he would have to return to Gotham soon. Their mission here was done. They had already stretched it out beyond any reasonable measure, driving everywhere, stopping by roadside attractions, spending more days planning than were really necessary.

If only Tim knew how he felt about that.

On the one hand, he did miss Gotham. It was his home. He'd once decided that she needed protection, and he intended to give her that for as long as he could.

On the other hand… this was like a dream. A beautiful place, a time-out from real life. Who knew what would happen when they returned to normalcy.

A gentle hand ran through his hair. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Roy.

Tim sighed and sat up to look at him. "We're gonna have to go home soon. Or, at least, I have to return to Gotham." he corrected himself. "I guess you could… stay or something."

"Duty's waiting, huh?"

"Yeah." Tim's shoulders slumped. "There's work, and my cases… I've already neglected both for too long. I have to…I can't ask everyone to fill in for me indefinitely."

"Yeah, we figured." Roy shrugged. "Erm. We were thinking of setting up a new base anyway, so… why not in Gotham? If you want to."

He actually looked unsure about that, so Tim moved forward and kissed him, kissed Roy until he was back to looking smug again, as he should be.

A new base? Close to him? Maybe even… for him?

"But—what about—I mean. Are you sure you'll be fine, living in Gotham?" he had to ask.

Roy shrugged. "I mean, Jay will probably panic a bit about losing you to the fam, but it'll be fine. He trusts you." He paused. "Uh. So do I, in case you were wondering."

Tim wasn't, if only because both of them showed him every day. Had done so from day one, when Jason had burst into that dark prison cell like the mouthiest angel ever sent by God.

He chuckled, wiping at his eyes in a moot attempt to lighten the mood. "Yeah. Man, I'm so glad you decided to go after that particular shipment that day."

At that, Roy looked… weird. "Yeah. Haha. That sure worked out well."

Every alarm bell in Tim's head began ringing. "Roy. Why are you looking like that?"

"It's nothing."

Tim swallowed, elation vanishing into thin air. "Do you wish we hadn't—"

"No!" Okay, now Roy actually seemed alarmed. "No, Tim, Jesus, no. I just—okay, so, it might not have been a total coincidence?"

Tim stared.

"Jason figured out you were missing within a day." Roy was still talking. "He, uh, doesn't want you to know about how overprotective he is, but yeah, when you didn't return home that night… we knew what happened. Just took a few days to follow your tracks. Sorry."

That. That actually made sense. Tim just hadn't—he never thought anyone would—

Great. Now he really was crying.

"Oh, no, babe, please don't—" Roy pulled him into his embrace.

"Thank you," Tim whispered, clutching his shirt. He wanted to be embarrassed, but he couldn't be, not when Roy held him like this.

"Fuck. What happened?" Jason asked, and then the bed dipped and another warm weight wrapped around Tim. Roy might've answered, but Tim didn't hear it, too great was the relief flooding out of him; the sensation of being seen, of being missed, wrapping around him almost as tightly as the two men.

It felt like he would never know cold again.