fic: where you left it
Also on the AO3, if you prefer.
Title: where you left it
Fandom: DCU - Batman
Characters: Tim, Cass
Word Count: 1,006
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own Bat-anything.
Warnings: None
Summary: Cass climbs in Tim's window and eats all his noodles. Tim is too tired to care.
A/N: For bloodconfetti's ficathon prompt sitting on the couch, eating raw top ramen, watching tv dramas stoically together. Also because latenightcuppa enables my Tim + Cass feels. Title from Alvin Pang's " Other Things."
Cassandra comes back from the kitchen with Tim’s largest mug and a package of ramen. As he watches her strip open a teabag and drop it into the water, he realizes she has no intention of actually cooking the noodles. He’s not sure what she is planning, any more than he understands what she’s doing here in the first place. When he woke up, his bedroom window was open and Cass was tucked up neatly on his sofa, watching daytime TV. Polish daytime TV, which, okay. Cass doesn’t speak Polish, so her choice of shows seems vaguely worrying. Not as worrying as the way she snuck past his bed without waking him up. He should-he should be more attentive. Or get better locks. Or both?
She’s watching him curiously over the edge of the mug. Maybe she can tell he’s thinking about her. Another exciting thought. Tim shivers, and she passes him the mug. It’s hot; he takes it carefully, holding it with just his fingertips. He closes his eyes against the steam, against the gentle amusement on Cass’s face. His eyes hurt, and so does his head, and so does his throat. This is why he never sleeps. It’s like his body waits until it knows he’s less busy, and then it just. Crashes all at once.
Sharp fingers prod at his arm, and when he opens his eyes, Cass is looking at him expectantly. He takes a sip, swallowing carefully. It’s still too hot, burning down his throat and leaving his tongue numb. He passes it back to her. Slides down the sofa and lets his head tip back. He should be working, he should be-something. Doing something. Something that seemed a lot more important last night and now seems distant, secondary to becoming one with the sofa cushions.
Cass tears open the ramen package absently, breaks off a block of dry noodles. She’s gone back to staring at the television, tracking every kiss and shove and shouting match the way she gauges a fight. It’s weird to watch her watching, so Tim shuts his eyes. Lets it all run into a blur of s and sz and szcz and the sound of noodles crackling.
“She wants to go home,” Cass says eventually. “The girl, the first one. But she ran away and now she has no money.”
“How can you even know that,” Tim says. “You don’t speak Polish even a little bit. Are you, what, are you figuring it out or just. Making up a story for it.”
“So she decided to get a job,” Cass continues, ignoring him blithely. “As an assassin.”
“Oh my god,” Tim says, squinting up at her. “What are you even watching? What kind of soap opera is this?”
“The best kind.”
Tim sinks further into the cushions. “Oh, obviously.” His head lolls onto Cass’s shoulder, and he means to move it, he really does. In a minute. When he’s less tired.
Cass just hums in agreement. Then, again, there is the rustle of plastic and the sound of more noodles breaking.
“Seriously, Cassie,” he mumbles into her sleeve. “What are you doing?”
“Eating ramen. Being your pillow.”
“No, I mean. Here. Now.”
“Eating ramen and being your pillow.”
Tim sighs, vaguely frustrated but too tired to phrase a better question. They all have too many words. After a minute, he settles for “Okay.”
“Just visiting,” Cass says. She shifts a little, working her bony arm around behind him.
“In the middle of the morning. When I’m sleeping.”
“Yes.”
“I bet you hid my phone.”
Cass shifts again. “Maybe.”
“So that I can’t work.”
“Maybe.”
“Am I ever going to find it?”
Cass laughs. Hard. Her shoulders shake beneath him, and her laughter vibrates up through his jaw.
“You’re the worst sister,” he groans, but there’s no real anger behind it.
“I’m the best sister,” she says, still laughing. “Your favorite sister.”
“Remind me why?”
“Because I’m awesome.”
“Clearly,” Tim says, but it’s hard to muster the energy for sarcasm and keep from yawning at the same time.
“I visit. And make you have fun.”
“You sneak into my apartment and steal my stuff. Important stuff.”
Cass leans her head against his. “I make you tea when you’re sick.”
“I’m not sick,” Tim says, but his throat feels raw and he’s not even convincing himself.
“I always save your butt.”
“I’ll give you that one,” he concedes. Cass smiles against the top of his head. She reaches up to push a piece of hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear.
“It was too…quiet,” she says after a few minutes. “At the house.”
“Bruce is, what, in France right now?”
“Hmm,” Cass agrees. “No one was home.”
“No Alfred even?”
“Went to the store.”
“So you thought it’d be fun to sit in my apartment when I was asleep?”
Cass shrugs a little, her shoulder rolling under his head. “Something like that,” she says quietly.
Tim plays with the zipper on Cass’s open sweatshirt, running it up and down the track. “It must be weird being back. After everything.”
She shrugs again.“Yes. No.”
“Dick said you were going to Japan next week.”
“Just for a case,” she says. “Not to stay. Be back soon.”
“Oh, good,” Tim says, and yawns for real. “And here I was worried I’d have no one to jack my windows and hide all my electronics.”
Cass flicks his arm. “Can’t get rid of me.”
Tim yawns again. “Never.”
“Good.” She lifts her head and settles back into the sofa. “Go to sleep, Tim.”
Tim really shouldn’t. He should get up and look for his phone, he should send about a thousand emails-at the very least he should work up the energy to keep his eyes open. That would be a start. But the sofa is more comfortable than he remembers and Cass’s arm around him is warm. He should get up. The window in his room is still open, and he should-
He drifts off to sleep.
Title: where you left it
Fandom: DCU - Batman
Characters: Tim, Cass
Word Count: 1,006
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I don't own Bat-anything.
Warnings: None
Summary: Cass climbs in Tim's window and eats all his noodles. Tim is too tired to care.
A/N: For bloodconfetti's ficathon prompt sitting on the couch, eating raw top ramen, watching tv dramas stoically together. Also because latenightcuppa enables my Tim + Cass feels. Title from Alvin Pang's " Other Things."
Cassandra comes back from the kitchen with Tim’s largest mug and a package of ramen. As he watches her strip open a teabag and drop it into the water, he realizes she has no intention of actually cooking the noodles. He’s not sure what she is planning, any more than he understands what she’s doing here in the first place. When he woke up, his bedroom window was open and Cass was tucked up neatly on his sofa, watching daytime TV. Polish daytime TV, which, okay. Cass doesn’t speak Polish, so her choice of shows seems vaguely worrying. Not as worrying as the way she snuck past his bed without waking him up. He should-he should be more attentive. Or get better locks. Or both?
She’s watching him curiously over the edge of the mug. Maybe she can tell he’s thinking about her. Another exciting thought. Tim shivers, and she passes him the mug. It’s hot; he takes it carefully, holding it with just his fingertips. He closes his eyes against the steam, against the gentle amusement on Cass’s face. His eyes hurt, and so does his head, and so does his throat. This is why he never sleeps. It’s like his body waits until it knows he’s less busy, and then it just. Crashes all at once.
Sharp fingers prod at his arm, and when he opens his eyes, Cass is looking at him expectantly. He takes a sip, swallowing carefully. It’s still too hot, burning down his throat and leaving his tongue numb. He passes it back to her. Slides down the sofa and lets his head tip back. He should be working, he should be-something. Doing something. Something that seemed a lot more important last night and now seems distant, secondary to becoming one with the sofa cushions.
Cass tears open the ramen package absently, breaks off a block of dry noodles. She’s gone back to staring at the television, tracking every kiss and shove and shouting match the way she gauges a fight. It’s weird to watch her watching, so Tim shuts his eyes. Lets it all run into a blur of s and sz and szcz and the sound of noodles crackling.
“She wants to go home,” Cass says eventually. “The girl, the first one. But she ran away and now she has no money.”
“How can you even know that,” Tim says. “You don’t speak Polish even a little bit. Are you, what, are you figuring it out or just. Making up a story for it.”
“So she decided to get a job,” Cass continues, ignoring him blithely. “As an assassin.”
“Oh my god,” Tim says, squinting up at her. “What are you even watching? What kind of soap opera is this?”
“The best kind.”
Tim sinks further into the cushions. “Oh, obviously.” His head lolls onto Cass’s shoulder, and he means to move it, he really does. In a minute. When he’s less tired.
Cass just hums in agreement. Then, again, there is the rustle of plastic and the sound of more noodles breaking.
“Seriously, Cassie,” he mumbles into her sleeve. “What are you doing?”
“Eating ramen. Being your pillow.”
“No, I mean. Here. Now.”
“Eating ramen and being your pillow.”
Tim sighs, vaguely frustrated but too tired to phrase a better question. They all have too many words. After a minute, he settles for “Okay.”
“Just visiting,” Cass says. She shifts a little, working her bony arm around behind him.
“In the middle of the morning. When I’m sleeping.”
“Yes.”
“I bet you hid my phone.”
Cass shifts again. “Maybe.”
“So that I can’t work.”
“Maybe.”
“Am I ever going to find it?”
Cass laughs. Hard. Her shoulders shake beneath him, and her laughter vibrates up through his jaw.
“You’re the worst sister,” he groans, but there’s no real anger behind it.
“I’m the best sister,” she says, still laughing. “Your favorite sister.”
“Remind me why?”
“Because I’m awesome.”
“Clearly,” Tim says, but it’s hard to muster the energy for sarcasm and keep from yawning at the same time.
“I visit. And make you have fun.”
“You sneak into my apartment and steal my stuff. Important stuff.”
Cass leans her head against his. “I make you tea when you’re sick.”
“I’m not sick,” Tim says, but his throat feels raw and he’s not even convincing himself.
“I always save your butt.”
“I’ll give you that one,” he concedes. Cass smiles against the top of his head. She reaches up to push a piece of hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear.
“It was too…quiet,” she says after a few minutes. “At the house.”
“Bruce is, what, in France right now?”
“Hmm,” Cass agrees. “No one was home.”
“No Alfred even?”
“Went to the store.”
“So you thought it’d be fun to sit in my apartment when I was asleep?”
Cass shrugs a little, her shoulder rolling under his head. “Something like that,” she says quietly.
Tim plays with the zipper on Cass’s open sweatshirt, running it up and down the track. “It must be weird being back. After everything.”
She shrugs again.“Yes. No.”
“Dick said you were going to Japan next week.”
“Just for a case,” she says. “Not to stay. Be back soon.”
“Oh, good,” Tim says, and yawns for real. “And here I was worried I’d have no one to jack my windows and hide all my electronics.”
Cass flicks his arm. “Can’t get rid of me.”
Tim yawns again. “Never.”
“Good.” She lifts her head and settles back into the sofa. “Go to sleep, Tim.”
Tim really shouldn’t. He should get up and look for his phone, he should send about a thousand emails-at the very least he should work up the energy to keep his eyes open. That would be a start. But the sofa is more comfortable than he remembers and Cass’s arm around him is warm. He should get up. The window in his room is still open, and he should-
He drifts off to sleep.