Next-Level Photography

(B)(R)(B)

"Dick? Dick! Dick I swear you'd better hurry and open this door before I decide to use the window again! Dick? DICK!"

A few more heart-stopping moments of silence later and Tim's eldest brother cracked open the splintered door of his crappy apartment, one bright blue eye gazing at him blearily before recognition dawned.

"...Tim? What - ?"

Tim pushed past the older teen and burst into the dimly lit room, dramatically collapsing on the patched sofa. He ran a hand through his hair and yanked hard, staring blankly at the empty screen of the television and ignoring the person he'd been knocking down a door for seconds ago. Dick made a move to sit down beside him but seemingly thought better of it, letting out a tired sigh before finishing putting on the t-shirt he'd barely managed to grab when he heard the ruckus. His hair was dripping down his neck uncomfortably and he wondered what on earth had brought his little brother all the way from Gotham to his apartment – a thirty minute drive to Bludhaven.

"So…uh, what's got tiny Timmy in such a terrible tizzy?" he asked cautiously, making a mental note that the bags under Tim's eyes somehow looked worse than usual.

Normally, Tim would have scoffed or rolled his eyes at Dick's stupid alliterations, but he merely continued to stare into the void with that nearly-expressionless look – only classified as 'nearly' because it was borderline terrified.

"I-it was decaf…" the third Robin whispered, his fists clenching at his sides. Before the words had fully sunk into Dick's fried brain (make that deep fried with the week he'd been having), he spoke again. "I'm trying to do better…need to pull m'self together… she won't want to have anything to do with me when I smell like a half-burnt Starbucks all the time…gotta cut back on the caffeine…it was decaf…"

"Oh, Timmy." Dick sighed, throwing caution to the wind and hopping up to sit cross-legged on the arm of the couch, a small part of his brain absentmindedly glad that he'd been running around so much this week he hadn't had time to clutter up his apartment. "What's this about? You mentioned a girl? You're giving up coffee for a girl?"

"NO!" Tim roared suddenly, nearly causing Dick to lose his balance. "I could never! I'm not giving up on coffee! That's crazy even for you! No, I just…I just need to…I need…"

"To get rid of the bags under your eyes so this chick doesn't think you're an addict?" Dick smirked, pleased at the dirty look his brother shot him. It was a nice change from the void-stare.

"No! I mean – yes! I mean, ugh. Yeah. Kinda?"

Tim visibly deflated, especially when he noticed the gleam appear in his brother's eyes.

"You're in luck, Timbo. Now, let's make both you and I a nice, big pot of Joe and I'll get my makeup kit."

Tim made a weird sound like a cross between a snort and a hiccup, smacking his face with the palm of his hand and slowly dragging it down. Blame the coffee withdrawal, but he'd forgotten all about the makeup kits. Usually they were only used to cover any injuries that would be visible to the public eye (the last thing any of them needed was the press latching onto another child abuse theory concerning the Wayne's), but the foundation would do just as well to cover the dark bruises under his eyes.

Dick was humming some song that sounded suspiciously like Imagine Dragons and filling the coffee maker with tap water.

Ew.

Then again, it wasn't like Dick's apartment was in any way properly furnished, much less contained a water filter system, and Tim suspected that if he were to open the fridge right now he'd see nothing but old Chinese takeout leftovers and maybe some milk. Meanwhile, he had no doubt the cabinets were fully stocked with the sugariest cereal his older brother could find in the store. For the umpteenth time, Tim wondered why in the world Dick had picked such a crappy apartment, although by Bludhaven's standards, it was probably the best he could find.

Still, the least he could do was make it somewhat livable.

…And maybe stop leaving various pieces of his Nightwing suit lying out.

"Careful, it's hot. We wouldn't want you burning off your taste buds and being unable to enjoy the lovely meal you'll be sharing with your date now, would we?" Dick teased, making his way back over to the couch and hopping back up on the arm without spilling a single drop from either mug he carried. He passed the largest one to Tim, a chipped piece of crockery that may or may not have actually been a soup bowl once.

"Dick, stop."

His brother laughed lightly, and something about it seemed off to Tim. He raised his mug to gently blow away the little curls of steam that wafted from the black liquid, watching Dick over the rim. The first Robin's hair was dripping wet and a little longer than the last time he'd seen him. His face looked drawn, the skin a touch too pale and his blue eyes sporting bags as dark as Tim's own. He looked tired. And weirdly on edge – his eyes constantly flicking to the periphery as though he couldn't help himself, like the very shadows in the corner could spring to life at any moment and attempt to end his own.

"How's things in Bludhaven? Are you still taking care of the drug cartel?" Tim asked casually, unable to stop the little shiver of delight he felt as the first swig of caffeine slid down his throat and warmed him to his toes. Ahh, coffee. He would never deny the first love of his life again.

"I took care of the rest of the coalition two weeks ago, it's Roland Desmond this time." Dick stated, his voice taking on a dark tone that was rarely heard from the normally optimistic nineteen year-old.

"Desmond? Isn't that the mob boss guy?"

"With strings attached to every authoritative figure in this city? The guy who could bench press the batmobile with his pinky finger? The guy who makes Penguin and Two Face look like two-time wheedlers on the street corner? The guy that – "

"Okay, geez, I get it. Roland Desmond is a nasty dude. So… what's he been up to lately that's got you running on fumes?"

Dick shifted uncomfortably, staring into his mug with a broody look that just looked plain wrong on him. "I'm fine. He's just put out a hit on Nightwing – "

"Wait, WHAT?"

Tim couldn't believe his ears, didn't want to believe his ears. He grasped his mug tighter, paying no attention to how it scalded his fingers. The thought of someone out there with their sights trained on his brother's head…it was no wonder Dick looked like someone was out to get him. It also explained the caution with which he had opened the door.

"Dick, he's… he's got a sniper following you?"

"Following Nightwing," Dick corrected, as though it were somehow better.

"On Nightwing," Tim repeated slowly, shaking his head. "Have you told Bruce?"

"No, and you won't either." Dick growled, standing up abruptly. "Now, I'm going to go get some concealer and you're going to look nice and pretty for your potential girlfriend, who you still have told me nothing about. Drink your coffee and stop worrying about me, I'll be fine."

"Dick – "

His brother stormed off to the bedroom leaving Tim to try and follow his advice, his stomach suddenly queasy.