Archive of Our Own

The fan twirls around above Tim, spinning summer hot air around his room, regardless of the A/C plugging away. 

His shirt clings to his back, sweat beading across his skin, and he wonders if he could pay Mr. Freeze to go on a crime spree just to get a chance to cool down. 

Kon’s rummaging around at his desk, having gone over in the first place with a half-hearted excuse of finding something to watch on Tim’s laptop. 

“What’s this?”

Tim reluctantly sits up, squinting at the chip. “SD card.”

“I can see that ,” Kon grumbles, grabbing Tim’s laptop and bringing it along with the SD card over to the bed. “What’s on it?”

Tim holds a hand out, examining the chip once Kon hands it over. The bed creaks and bends as Kon settles next to him, the laptop booting up. 

“Don’t know. It’s not marked. Probably some old school thing.”

Kon pokes at his shoulder, and Tim feels a slither of TTK snatch the chip from between his fingers, landing it back in Kon’s possession. “Maybe it’s embarrassing kid photos.”

“Definitely not,” Tim says, laying back down. “You’re way too hot--move.”

“Aw, you think I’m hot?”

He doesn't need to see Kon to know the exact self-satisfied smile he’s got on his face. 

“I think you’re like a portable furnace. Too bad you don't have freeze breath.”

“ Yet .” Kon complains. “I’ll probably get it at some point.”

There’s a click and the sound of a file opening on the computer, and Kon goes still beside him.

“Oh,” he says. 

Tim ignores the oppressive heat and pushes himself up, leaning against Kon’s arm to look at the computer screen. 

Photo files line the opened file, thumbnails ranging from trees to shots that Tim recognizes as his childhood home. 

“Photos,” Kon says, voicing the obvious. “I forgot you liked this stuff.”

Tim hums, letting his cheek mush harder against Kon’s arm, eyes closing. “Yeah. Not so much anymore.”

He can feel phantom touch slide through his hair, brushing it back from where it’s fallen into his eyes, and it brushes across his cheek before vanishing. 

“Why not?”

“Not much use for it, anymore. Other stuff gets in the way. It was originally just for when I was following Batman and Robin.”

“You mean stalking,” 

Tim wrinkles his nose, pushing off Kon to sit up properly, pulling the computer closer to himself to open the first file on the chip. 

“Differences in opinion.”

Kon laughs, bumping him with his shoulder, but turns his attention to the screen as Tim starts to skip through the image files. 

“Lots of trees,” Kon notes. “Artsy.”

Tim snorts, continuing to page through. 

Shots of his bedroom, messy and disorganized. Pictures of himself taken in the mirror, the camera covering most of his face. Street corners and shaky pictures of cats skip by, occasionally interrupted by random photos too blurry to make anything out. 

“You should do it again.” 

Tim hits the end of the file, the screen stopping on a photo of an orange cat draped over a sun-dappled branch. 

“I don’t have anything to photograph,” Tim says. Pauses. “That I want to photograph,” he amends.

“Take pictures of me!” Kon laughs. “I’ll be your model.”

Tim grumbles something Kon can’t figure out, and pulls the SD card from the port, tossing it back to his desk. 

“I don't even know where my camera is.”

#

The buttons and switches feel familiar under his fingers, the weight of the camera steady in his hands. 

He’s spent the past fifteen minutes fiddling with it while the others fight over what movie to watch. 

Duke is lobbying for Teen Beach Movie, only because Dick was vehemently against it, spouting something about inaccuracies and if they wanted to watch a musical with bikers Grease was right there, guys . 

Tim flips the catch open, triple checking he had the card put in correctly. 

The screen is bright in the relative darkness of the room, and he messes with the settings until it’s set to shoot in the low light. 

They’ve all turned to yell good-naturedly at Cass that they’re not watching a horror movie, and Damian is complaining that they won’t ever make it through the movie if one doesn’t get picked. 

Steph suddenly snatches the remote, clicking furiously and kicking everyone away who tries to grab it back. 

The opening track of Clueless begins to blare through the room, and everyone groans. 

“Not again , Steph,” Dick complains. 

Steph only laughs wildly, tackling Dick to the couch with a muffled yelp. “I don't even like this movie!”

“I think you broke my ribs.”

Steph snorts. “Whatever you say, Wonder Boy.”

“Can we please watch something else?” Duke mumbles, sinking down into the couch. “I can’t take another watch of this.”

“You guys shoulda picked faster then,” Steph says mildly, launching herself off of the couch, snatching the popcorn bowl from the coffee table. Perches on the armrest next to Dick’s head, and offers the bowl to him. 

Tim picks the camera up, looking at them through the screen. Adjusts the lighting again.

Pulls his knees up to his chest and rests the camera on his knees, steadying it before snapping the picture. 

Damian glares at him from the couch, but instead of a snide remark he only asks Steph to pass the popcorn, and chucks a piece at Tim. 

Tim bats it away, and readies his camera again, quickly taking a picture of Damian in retribution. 

Damian flattens against the couch, Duke blocking Tim’s line of sight, but not before another piece of popcorn smacks against his forehead. 

#

He’s not sure whose idea the picnic was--doesn’t really care because Cassie is laughing uncontrollably at something Cissie said, sunlight glinting off golden hair and the jewlery studding her ears. Looks unbelievably happy and Tim snaps a quick picture before she can notice. 

Kon and Bart have talked themselves into a race, and are stood arguing about the technical rules about flying versus running on the ground. 

Tim thinks they’ll spend enough time talking about it that they eventually forget what the argument had even originally been about. 

“Tim! Stop messing with that thing!” Cassie suddenly blurts, scooting towards him. “We haven’t seen each other in each in ages .”

Tim raises an eyebrow, smiling. “I’m documenting.”

Cissie rolls her eyes, tugging Cassie back. “Are you just going to sit and mess with your camera or actually use it?”

Tim takes a drink from his water, letting his eyes flick back to Kon and Bart. “I have been using it. I’m just waiting for good moments.”

“Take a picture of us!” Cassie laughs. “Come on. And then send it to us. You’re like--our own personal photographer. Portrait-er. Whatever the word is.”

Tim rolls his eyes, holding his camera closer to his chest. 

There’s a sudden gust of wind and then Kon and Bart are back, Kon’s eyes bright. “I heard pictures.”

“You did not ,” Tim protests. 

Kon flops down next to him, peeking over his shoulder at the camera. 

The still of Cassie is on the screen. Her cheeks are red, and there’s a smudge of sunscreen that hadn't been rubbed in all the way on her nose.

Tim scrunches his shoulders up, trying to dislodge Kon’s head. 

“I want a picture of me!” Bart says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “We should get one of all of us!”

“Someone has to take the picture,” Tim says. “We can’t all be in it if no one is there to take it.”

“Kon’s got the longest arms,” Cissie pipes up. “He can hold it. We’d just have to squish.”

“Guys--”

Kon pushes his cheek against Tim’s, his hand sliding to take Tim’s empty one. “Come on, Rob.”

Tim hesitates but finally nods. “Fine.”

Kon grins, pressing a quick kiss to Tim’s cheek. “Awesome! Okay guys, come here.”

Bart zips over, kneeling behind Tim; Cassie and Cissie moving over as well. Cassie drapes herself across Tim’s back, shoving their cheeks together. 

Cissie wraps an arm around Cassie and Bart, tugging them closer and leans in, Kon taking the camera from Tim with promises he’d be careful. 

He holds his arm out, and Tim can’t help his laughter at his use of TTK to snap the photo, the noise of the shutter lost under the sound. 

#

He’s wandering around the manor, snapping random photos of the art and the furniture and the way the light bleeds through the windows and falls to the floor. 

Is too busy staring through the viewfinder to notice Alfred come up behind him, and has never been more glad for the neck strap when he startles violently at Alfred’s cleared throat. 

“Jesus--”

“Finding enough things to photograph?”

Tim shrugs, giving Alfred a once-over. “Yeah.”

Raises his camera and snaps a photo of Alfred, who only raises an eyebrow in return. “Very well. I’m glad you’ve picked it up once more.”

Tim hums, looking at the picture. Alfred stood against the dark paneling of the manor, slices of light from the windows setting him aglow. “Conner brought it up.”

“You know, Master Bruce’s late mother was interested in photography as well.”

“Really?”

Alfred nods, tucking his arms behind his back. “She often photographed the gardens. Photographed her husband often and of course, Master Bruce when he was younger.”

He takes a second to process it. “Can I--are they still here?”

Alfred nods, and that’s how Tim finds himself sat in a sitting room, a box of old photos balanced on his lap. 

He sifts through them, pictures of roses and the iron-wrought gate and rabbits and squirrels. Further into the box there’s photos of Bruce’s father, face open and relaxed and there’s a young boy Tim guesses to be Bruce in his arms.

The pictures of the gardens and scenery start to taper out, replaced entirely with pictures of Thomas and Bruce--birthdays and picnics and holidays. 

He reaches the bottom of the box faster than he thought he would. 

Carefully places them all back in, and closes it up. 

Ducks into Bruce’s empty office and puts it on his desk, sticking a note on top of it. 

Alfred found these. 

#

The window is open to let the cool evening air in. The fan is still going, working to push the day's heat from the room. 

Tim’s sat on his bed, Kon laying beside him, forehead pressed against his thigh as he drifts in and out of sleep. 

Tim’s laptop sits in his lap, the only illumination in the room save from the light seeping in from outside. 

The room is quiet except for the quiet whirring of the fan and Tim’s clicking around on his laptop, the soft sound of their breathing steady through it all. 

His computer pings softly at an invalid command, and Tim clicks it away, his free hand brushing through Kon’s hair as he works to edit the photos. 

Brightens here and adjusts this level and that contrast until he likes it. There’s no science behind it--no right answer this time. 

Kon takes a snuffly breath, waking up once again. “Still going?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. 

“Yeah,” Tim says. “I’ll stop soon.”

“Weren’t you the one who said you didn't wanna do photography again?”

Tim pauses. “Yeah.”

Closes his laptop and stands from the bed, hushing Kon’s groan as he reaches for Tim to come back. 

“One minute.”

His camera is sitting on his desk, and he retrieves it, carrying it back to the bed. Kneels on the mattress and waits for it to wake up before he starts to fiddle with it. 

Kon cracks an eye open, smiling. “Finally taking pictures of me?”

“I see you nearly every day.”

“So what’s special about this?” Kon asks, hand brushing against Tim’s knee. His hand is warm, like always. 

Tim shrugs, raising his camera. “I don’t know. Maybe I just love how you look right now.”

“You love how I look always ,” Kon grumbles, eyes falling closed again. 

Tim doesn't say anything to that, only looks through the camera to make sure the shot lines up. 

The moonlight soft lines of Kon’s back blend into the sheets, his skin dark against the white cotton. He’s all shadow and light until he opens his eyes again, bright blue glinting up at Tim. 

“Well?”

Click.