Work Text:
It’s Dick who first notices it, which is a strike against Bruce. He’s the one who should have noticed immediately.
“What’s wrong with your mouth?”
“Nothing,” Tim denies it immediately. They’re in the Cave, preparing for patrol. Tim is sipping on a glassful of blood through a silly straw.
“You’re moving your mouth funny,” Dick accuses. “And you’re using a straw.”
“Am not! I’m trying something new!”
Bruce notices it too. Tim’s lips are pursed oddly over his teeth, and alarm bells start ringing in Bruce’s head. He storms over to where Tim’s sitting, towering over his smaller frame.
“Open,” Bruce demands. “There’s something wrong with your fangs.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my fangs! Maybe I just got tired of ripping into blood bags like a heathen.”
Unlikely. Ripping into blood bags is one of the few forms of enrichment ‘vegetarian’ vampires like them have. And to that end, Bruce designed those blood bags to be as effective as possible; easy to rip into, but resistant to sudden sprays and spillage. Bruce spent a lot of time and energy into it. Tim’s a teenage boy. He needs all the enrichment he can get.
“Open,” he says again.
“Alfred probably likes it better this way, and you know, at least one of us could try not disappointing him—”
“Open.”
“And anyway, this way you can really savor the blood before—”
“Tim. Open.”
Tim’s shoulders sag and he at last gives up the fight. “Don’t freak out,” he mumbles, before opening his mouth wide. Dick lets out a low whistle. Bruce freaks out.
Tim’s teeth are broken. They’re beyond chipped and only a step below shattered. Bruce can see the jagged ends of his fangs, the fine cracks on lining his incisors. If Bruce still had a beating heart, it would be thundering right now.
“What happened?” he barks. “Report. Now.”
Tim sags, mulish. “You promised not to freak out.”
“I’m not freaking out,” Bruce lies. “I just want to know what happened.”
Tim lets out a little sigh, as if Bruce is the one being difficult right now. “It was an accident.”
“Did you accidentally bite a steel pole?” Dick suggests.
Tim winces. “Something like that. I was with my team, we were goofing off, practicing some moves. Just play—fighting, you know? I jumped down behind Cassie and I guess I must have startled her. She was holding this staff and she swung it around and hit me straight across the face with it. Cassie hits hard .”
Bruce considers the story. “You didn’t mention this…incident anywhere.”
Tim rolls his eyes. “Yeah Bruce, because it was, like, a Tuesday for us.”
“A Tuesday doesn’t result in shattered teeth, Tim,” Dick sounds amused. Bruce’s son is only sixteen with an eternity of fanglessness in front of him, and Dick sounds amused.
“I was hoping it’d get better sooner rather than later, and I wouldn’t have to bring it up at all.”
Bruce and Dick share a look. Dick clears his throat. “Tim. Buddy,” he says very, very gently. “It’s not going to, uhh, get better.”
Tim stiffens. “What do you mean? Like whenever I get hurt, it usually just eventually…heals, right? So I thought this would be…”
“Your wounds heal because skin and meat and, depending on the circumstances, bone, can heal. Our accelerated healing doesn’t apply to teeth, Tim, because teeth don’t regrow,” Dick explains.
Tim stares at Dick for a moment, open-mouthed, then turns suddenly to Bruce with wide, startled eyes. After raising two children Bruce has become very familiar with this specific look. ‘Dad, I messed up. Dad, I’m in trouble, what do I do? You can fix this, right Dad?’
Bruce is reminded once again of just how young Tim is. How alone Tim was for a long time, how little he was taught about their condition. This is all Bruce’s fault.
Bending down, he puts his hands on Tim’s shoulders, who suddenly looks very meek and contrite.
“Don’t worry. I’ll fix this,” he says.
And he means it.
Two weeks in, Tim thinks he’s gotten away with it. Bruce bought his story so maybe, maybe, Tim can finally relax. Only just a little though, because he might be toothless for the rest of his life. All because Tim is a colossal idiot.
Oh sure, Bruce promised to fix it but Tim’s been doing his own research because stupid, stupid, stupid. What did he just assume that he’ll get better? He became too used to being able to shrug off injuries, big and small. Not a mistake he’ll make again. From now on, Tim will be prepared.
The problem, however, is that a secluded race of undead creatures who’s society mostly consists of small, disparate families don’t really have forums full of dental advice. Still, Tim has some resources. Old myths and legends from his parents’ libraries and some calling cards tucked into their old phone book that may or may not be from sorcerers of dubious ethics. Tim’s still figuring it out.
Before he can get too deep into it, however, Bruce comes through.
Bruce finds Tim in the Cave, exactly two weeks and three days later, and hands him a locket and a small mirror.
“ Ghost veneers?” Tim despairs, looking at the reflection in the mirror. Technically, he has new teeth. New teeth that are glowing. There’s a noticeable, ghostly white glow surrounding his phantom fangs. Not even the world’s biggest idiot could miss these. Tim mimes chomping, then runs his tongue across his fangs. They feel like regular teeth but…
He takes off the locket and the teeth immediately vanish. “Temporary ghost veneers,” he complains. He knows he’s being bratty but just— he’s sixteen. Does he really have to spend the rest of eternity like this? With fake, ghost teeth?
He looks up beseechingly at Bruce who sighs. “Temporarily temporary veneers.”
At Tim’s confusion, he starts to explain. “The nature of magic is that it affects reality, changes it, often permanently,” Bruce grimaces, and Tim can tell Bruce hates this reality-changing business. World’s biggest undead prude, Bruce is. “The nature of this particular locket is that the more you wear it, the more it will overwrite reality for you. Eventually at some point— I’m estimating six months— reality will be permanently altered, and you will have fangs again.”
Tim blinks down at the unassumingly small little locket.
“Bruce, this is a really powerful magical artifact.”
“Yes. And I expect you to use it responsibly. No fiddling with the runes or the stone, or trying to get it to—”
“Bruce you found a reality-altering magical artifact, and you’re using it to give me new teeth?”
“I got the runes child-locked for anyone below 100 years of age,” Bruce says petulantly. At Tim’s stare, he adds, “Please don’t make me regret this.”
The words are barely out of Bruce’s mouth before Tim’s surging forward, wrapping him up in a hug. For all his faults, Bruce doesn’t play around about hugs. He embraces Tim back immediately.
“Thanks, B,” Tim says thickly.
“...Anytime, son.”
They hold each other for a long moment, until it gets a little too emotionally vulnerable for both their tastes. Tim starts moving back, but before he can go too far he’s stopped by Bruce’s hands on his shoulders.
“Now I need you to do something for me, Tim.”
Oh no.
“I need you to tell me the truth.”
Busted.
Tim squares his shoulders and draws up an indignant look around himself like a mask. “Bruce, I already told you—”
“The truth please, Tim.”
“I don’t believe this. You’re accusing me of lying?”
“The crack patterns on your teeth aren’t consistent with a hit across the face. At best you would have knocked a few teeth lose, not affected the entire front row—”
What, is Bruce the dental detective now? “Straight across! I was hit straight across like—”
“Vampire teeth are strong—”
“Cassie has super strength—”
“Even taking into account your friend’s super-strength, the crack patterns aren’t consistent.”
They both look at each other. Tim lets his sullenness shine on his face. He has years of practice lying to Bruce for his own good. He won’t break first. This is just a Tuesday.
“I won’t force you,” Bruce says finally. “I would just…appreciate it. If you trusted me enough to tell the truth.”
Right. Trust. Tim’s stomach twists, shame squirming inside him. Don’t fold, Tim, he tells himself sternly. Don’t fold, don’t fold. He drops his gaze from Bruce’s and his eyes find the locket still in his hand. The extremely powerful, reality-warping ghost teeth locket that Bruce clearly hates on principle, but got for Tim anyway. The least Tim could do is…the least he could do is…
Bruce drops his hands from Tim’s shoulders. Tim folds.
“I can’t say it,” Tim blurts out. “It’s just too embarrassing.”
“Tim, you can tell me anything, ” Bruce sounds hurt. Tim hates stupid Bruce so much, he can’t even bear to look at him. Burying his face in his hands, he mumbles out the truth.
“I bit Kon.”
“...What?”
“I bit Kon . I’ve done it before, a couple of times, and it usually just sinks right in nice and easy because he drops his TTK but—” Tim sucks in a deep breath and continues “ —his new powers are coming in. Kryptonian powers, like invulnerability, Superman-style. That can’t be turned off. But he didn’t realize and I didn’t realize and so when I went to bite him, I just…”
“...Oh,” Bruce says faintly.
“Yes,” Tim admits, miserable.
“...Why would you be…regularly biting Superboy?”
Tim drops his hands so that Bruce can fully appreciate his incredulity. “Bruce,” he begs. “Don’t make me say it. Please don’t make me say it.”
“...Is it some kind of—”
“Bruce, I’ll have to leave the country,” he warns. “I’ll never be able to have contact with you ever again in any capacity.”
“Okay,” Bruce agrees, though Tim’s not sure which part he’s agreeing to: to not press the question any further or to Tim leaving forever. Bruce kind of has the World War 1 vet, a thousand yard stare on his face. He’s looking at Tim, but he’s not really looking at Tim.
“...I’ll draw up a manual on the detailed usage of the locket,” Bruce says at last. “Please don’t ever do…that…again. Please.”
It’s alright if the phantom fangs don’t work actually. Tim’s sure that in the next few minutes, he’ll spontaneously combust from mortification, and all the hunters can add that to their handbooks on vampire killing. Stakings are out, sheer embarrassment is in.
“Okay,” he says, just to finally end this godforsaken conversation.
“Okay,” Bruce repeats, and with the same air of a shell-shock victim, he stumbles his way out of the Cave.
“So what happened next?” Kon asks.
“Nothing! Nothing happened next! We still haven’t been able to look each other in the eye. Dick’s starting to get suspicious,” Tim complains.
Kon laughs. The audacity.
“Laugh it up now, but remember you’re banned from Gotham forever.”
They’re lying on Kon’s bed. Or well, Kon’s lying. Tim’s leaning against him, bemoaning every single decision that led to that moment with Bruce in the Cave. He wasn’t lying. Bruce and him have been talking to each other’s shoulders for a week now.
“Can I get a better look at them?” Kon asks suddenly.
Tim hesitates, then nods, slowly opening his mouth to expose his new, extremely pearly whites. He watches as Kon’s expression goes all intense, and he places a hand on Tim’s jaw to tilt his face up.
“They look beautiful.”
“They look like I put on extra-strength whitening strips for too long.”
“Please, Rob. They look like you’ve replaced your teeth with mini LED lights, actually.”
“'Beautiful,' he said,” Tim snorts.
“No reason both can’t be true!”
Kon hesitates for a second, then presses a thumb to the corner of Tim’s lips. “I am sorry, you know.”
“I know. It’s really not your fault.” Kon was beside himself when Tim’s teeth broke apart on his skin, just one step away from flying him to an ER, undead creature of the night or not.
“It’s a shame but I guess it’s for the best, huh? That you can’t drink my blood anymore?” Kon’s looking a little furtive, a little hopeful. Looking to Tim for guidance on what reaction would be appropriate to express in this situation.
“Mmmm.” It would be a shame. But Tim’s not thinking about that very much, right now. Tim’s thinking about the stroke of Kon’s thumb across his bottom lip and the taste of Kon’s rich, warm blood on his tongue. The way Kon goes all weak and breathless and needy after Tim feeds from him. They way Tim feels all heady and intoxicated in the aftermath.
“Whatcha thinking?” Kon asks, because he knows Tim so very well.
“I’m thinking,” Tim licks his lips and briefly tastes the warm skin of Kon’s thumb where it’s still resting against his lip. “I’m thinking that these are magic teeth.”
“So?”
“So. Superman’s weak to magic.”
“...Aren’t vampires, like by default, magic?”
“See? I knew you weren’t just a pretty face,” Tim beams and ignores Kon’s eyeroll. “The curse that turns us is ‘magic.’ But once we’re turned, we’re basically normal organisms, just like any other. It’s not like we’re… actively magic.”
“Except for your temporary, magic teeth.”
“Except for my current magic teeth.”
Kon’s got a weird look on his face, a mix between concerned and considering. For a moment, Tim thinks Kon will refuse. He was so very, very guilty when their last bite went awry all those weeks ago. If Kon refuses, Tim will accept it.
But then Kon drops his hand from Tim’s jaw at last, and tilts his head to the side, baring his neck.
Tim leans forward. Gently, he tells himself. Just test it out, gently.
He places his fangs to the vein in Kon’s neck, and presses down.
His teeth sink in.