Selfish
Tim likes to play games upside down. It is an odd quirk of his. He’s always had it. And it’s not like it bothers Dick, or anything, but he does keep glancing over at Tim a lot and he’s trying to beat him at Mario Kart. It is very hard to beat someone when they are staring at you. It ruins concentration.
“Something bothering you?” The new stitches on his jaw hurt when he talks. The sting just reminds him of what he has given up. What he has given it up for.
“Have you talked to your holy boyfriend yet?”
“We’re not dating anymore.” Tim doesn’t look away from the game. He doesn’t want to see Dick’s face. “And no, I haven’t spoken to him. I didn’t realize I had set a date to do so.” The stitches are tight. They don’t feel like they’re tearing out. Mr. Pennyworth does a good job. “Besides it’s been-“
“A month and three days since I found you getting the tar beaten out of you.”
“Excellent memory.”
“I’ve caught it from you.” He can hear Dick’s smile. He has spent a lot of time here since dick brought him here for a patch job. (Every day, actually.) The bruises on his neck have faded, but new ones pop up almost every day.
Dick doesn’t say anything more for a while. But then he says, “you do know that you should have asked.”
“Pardon?”
“Before you threw yourself out there with a lie to protect your beloved, you should have asked him what he wanted to do about it.”
“His church is his life.” He does look at Dick now and makes sure an expression of incredulousness is in place. Sure, he had told Dick the story (it’s really hard to get past the man’s honest eyes), but that doesn’t mean that Tim had been requesting advice. In fact, he recalls indicating that he really didn’t need or want any advice. At all. From anyone.
(Except maybe Mr. Pennyworth.)
“Do you think that you ranked higher than his church?”
Tim pauses the game and pulls himself onto the couch. “I don’t know. I didn’t-“
Ask? Or think about it?
Tim blinks. Blinks again. And that hollowness that has been in his chest since he left the church (since he broke Jason’s heart) starts to hurt. Burn. It needs stitches. Stitching. It needs fixing.
(It needs Jason.)
“Uh, Tim, I didn’t mean to make you.” Pause. Dick shifts. Looks sad. Pulls him into a hug. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Don’t. Apologize. I.” Am selfish. Am awful. God. I need to find Jason. God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t ask. I. Forgive me. “I’ll talk to him. Sometime. This week and. It will be fine. I’ll.”
“Okay.” Dick ruffles his hair. “Okay. That’s good. Fine. I was just saying. I’m sorry.”
Tim wipes at his eyes, finds that his face is wetter than he had originally thought. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and resumes his original position with his back on the floor and his legs propped up on the sofa.
“You. You ready to keep going?”
“Yeah.” Dick replies. “I can walk you to the church when you want to go.”
Tim smiles as he unpauses the game. “I’d like that. Thanks.”
“No problem. What are brothers for?”
(Tim has never had a brother before. He thinks he likes it.)
“Something bothering you?” The new stitches on his jaw hurt when he talks. The sting just reminds him of what he has given up. What he has given it up for.
“Have you talked to your holy boyfriend yet?”
“We’re not dating anymore.” Tim doesn’t look away from the game. He doesn’t want to see Dick’s face. “And no, I haven’t spoken to him. I didn’t realize I had set a date to do so.” The stitches are tight. They don’t feel like they’re tearing out. Mr. Pennyworth does a good job. “Besides it’s been-“
“A month and three days since I found you getting the tar beaten out of you.”
“Excellent memory.”
“I’ve caught it from you.” He can hear Dick’s smile. He has spent a lot of time here since dick brought him here for a patch job. (Every day, actually.) The bruises on his neck have faded, but new ones pop up almost every day.
Dick doesn’t say anything more for a while. But then he says, “you do know that you should have asked.”
“Pardon?”
“Before you threw yourself out there with a lie to protect your beloved, you should have asked him what he wanted to do about it.”
“His church is his life.” He does look at Dick now and makes sure an expression of incredulousness is in place. Sure, he had told Dick the story (it’s really hard to get past the man’s honest eyes), but that doesn’t mean that Tim had been requesting advice. In fact, he recalls indicating that he really didn’t need or want any advice. At all. From anyone.
(Except maybe Mr. Pennyworth.)
“Do you think that you ranked higher than his church?”
Tim pauses the game and pulls himself onto the couch. “I don’t know. I didn’t-“
Ask? Or think about it?
Tim blinks. Blinks again. And that hollowness that has been in his chest since he left the church (since he broke Jason’s heart) starts to hurt. Burn. It needs stitches. Stitching. It needs fixing.
(It needs Jason.)
“Uh, Tim, I didn’t mean to make you.” Pause. Dick shifts. Looks sad. Pulls him into a hug. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“Don’t. Apologize. I.” Am selfish. Am awful. God. I need to find Jason. God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t ask. I. Forgive me. “I’ll talk to him. Sometime. This week and. It will be fine. I’ll.”
“Okay.” Dick ruffles his hair. “Okay. That’s good. Fine. I was just saying. I’m sorry.”
Tim wipes at his eyes, finds that his face is wetter than he had originally thought. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and resumes his original position with his back on the floor and his legs propped up on the sofa.
“You. You ready to keep going?”
“Yeah.” Dick replies. “I can walk you to the church when you want to go.”
Tim smiles as he unpauses the game. “I’d like that. Thanks.”
“No problem. What are brothers for?”
(Tim has never had a brother before. He thinks he likes it.)