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“Here.” Peter points Tim to a seat and this feels way too much like an interrogation than a conversation between two friends.
“What’ya wanna talk about now?” Tim drawls, forcing his body to lean against the back of the chair, to relax. He can never relax. Someone could stab him from behind, or with a sniper shot.
“You’re old, now, and I’m worried for you Neal. Being single still, while others are settling down….” Tim sits straighter, meeting Peter’s eyes with a barely suppressed grit of his teeth.
“Where are you going with this?” Of course Tim knew. Was this ‘teach him about love’ week? Even Bruce had asked him about Steph, and he’d gotten multiple pity looks from Damian, for some reason.
Damian.
Even Dick had sent him some sad looks, and that’s coming from someone named Dick. At least Tim was named after his mom’s dead hamster, which saying that now seems sad to say.
Apparently Damian had been able to score a girlfriend, but Tim honestly couldn’t care less. He was busier than ever, maintaining three personas daily.
You can’t really think about romantic relationships when your only friends are leather-wearing convicts who never shut up about that time they died, and one’s your brother so that doesn’t really count, plus the other’s your ex, so…
Conner! He’s friends with Conner, right? And that one guy in the League; Jerzo! That guy was cool. Barbara! Cass! And he goes out for coffee with Barry sometimes. Sue him. Central City has incredible coffee.
Yeah, he was loaded with friends. He didn’t see the issue here. Bruce was a miserable, single forty year old man, and he was fine, right? He turned out great, living his life in a cave… with several adopted children…
And Clark- Clark was married. He was always happy. And Oliver… yeah, he was starting to see a pattern here.
“I want to help you to find a nice woman you can settle down with, Neal. You’ve been a great friend and I want to repay you.” With Tinder? He does enough pretending everyday, now he has to pretend to date as a middle aged man? Cut him a break.
How does he break it to Peter that he’s not interested, not interested in bolded, red letters for all of them to see?
“I…” Peter looks so much like Dick now, except he actually nails the kicked puppy dog look. Isn’t this an agent? Wasn’t he basically Bruce if Bruce had a life?
God, he was going to regret this.
He really hopes Jason doesn’t find out. Or Steph. Both are bad.
Imagine Damian finding out. He would make Tim dig a hole and get inside while being buried alive, and it’s happened before.
“Fine.”
-
“We have to set up a profile.”
“I think I know how to do that, Peter, thank you very much.” Tim narrows his eyes at his phone as he takes the selfie, one eyebrow raised slightly, mouth in a thin line. Peter hums.
“You look twice your age. Try smiling.” Was Peter a mind reader? Why did Tim have so many wrinkles on his forehead? And when did he get dimples?
Tim stretches his lips into a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes and he looks like he just killed someone. He probably will, soon, if this keeps on going.
This was going to be a long day.
-
They used that terrible picture of disgruntlement.
Tim’s never laughed so hard at himself in his life, and when he tells Cass she can’t help but giggle too.
He loves Cass. Shes so trustworthy.
-
“Have you matched with someone yet?” No. Tim repeats his thought, with acted out desperation. He was also sleep deprived, and his limbs felt like lead, but when wasn’t he?
“Neal, I’m really worried for you. If you stay alone…”
Tim was going to have to do something about this.
-
“Are you still dating Ian?” Tim racks his brain, Ian, oh! The one time Peter forced him to be with someone, Damian was the only one available. The thought of being with him repulsed Tim, obviously, and he wished he was dead, but at least he had integrity.(Unlike Jason.)
Damian appears beside him and high fives him before he disappears into the shadows. Damian actually wasn’t that bad, if you fed him adopted pets every month to keep him silent, and ignored the remarks he made every five minutes.
“You know, I’ve never seen you kiss, let alone hold hands.”
No, that’s it. Tim’s quitting. Nothing, absolutely nothing, not even coffee, is going to make him willingly kiss Damian, of all people.
Bonus.
Bruce heaves a sigh and knocks on Tim’s door.
Tim immediately opens it, hair a mess, sweatpants up too high, one sock missing.
Bruce holds back a wince.
“Did I wake you?” Tim wrinkles his nose, and oh my god he’s turning into Damian.
“No. I was watching the World Cup.” Tim’s voice is dripping into sarcasm. Is this Tim’s rebellious phase? Bruce doesn’t think he can take one more, considering the last one ended in a death.
Tim sighs and lets Bruce in, shutting the door. Papers are all over the room, crumpled and a tumbler of coffee is placed on the bed so precariously its inching towards the end of the bed, Tim’s laptop is upside down and clothes are strewn across the bed and the chairs.
It looks like a tornado hit the room. What happened? Bruce doesn’t want to know.
“I tripped and dropped all my papers, and haven’t been able to clean up in two weeks. Every time Alfred comes around I lock the door.” It’s an innocent explanation, and Bruce feels guilty for assuming worse.
“Oh, and Ra’s broke in, for like the seventh time this week. And it’s only Wednesday.” Looking at the alarmed expression on Bruce’s face, Tim immediately backtracks.
“Don’t worry! He didn’t do anything except bitch about Damian. I joined in.” Bruce takes a deep breath.
“Tim, you know about Steph’s baby, right?” He must know where this is going.
“Huh? Of course.”
“Well, I just wanted to say… congratulations?” Tim’s face is confused before it twists to disgust. Oh no, did he mess up?
“What are you talking about?”
“When a man and a woman love each oth-“
“No, you don’t need to say that, what are you talking about? Steph’s baby,” And then Tim’s face explodes with revelation.
“Oh you thought- me! And her! Oh! No, that’s not my baby.” Bruce sighs in relief and flops onto the paper ridden bed.
“Thank god.”
bruce is a pathetic, pathetic old, single man who deserves nothing but misery.