Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In a decade-long string of bad things happening, of life throwing him another curveball, Tim felt confident in saying that this was the worst he’d ever felt. 

Kon and Bart? Dead.

Cassie? In a cult.

Bruce? Lost to time.

Hotel? Quality Inn.

So yeah, life was really not on his nice list for the holiday season. To rub salt in the wound, Damian, the blood son who would not shut the fuck up about it, had taken Bruce’s absence as an excuse to really dial the assholery up to sixteen. If it wasn’t rat poison in his soup it was tacks in his shoes. He had taken to carrying a variety of antidotes on him at all times and carefully checking every single thing he needed before using it. Even toilet paper.

Dick was also really living up to his name, his older brother not only never even scolded the demon child, he told Tim that he was being over dramatic about it. As if having to double check that nobody put cyanide in his coffee, in his own home, was just something everybody and their dog did.

There were only two things in his whole life that were keeping him going; Robin and photography. Sometimes he even mixed the two together, using his grapple to get into some crazy places to get the best shots possible. 

Not to brag or anything, but he had quite a following on an anonymous Instagram account dedicated to his photos that had over fifteen thousand followers. At least they pretended to care about him. When he had gone more than a week without posting anything, many people he didn’t even know had reached out to his DMs asking if he was okay, then expressed sympathy when he said that he was dealing with the loss of two best friends and his dad. It’s been a little over a month and he’s still getting hearts and sympathies for his loss in all of his comments. 

Tonight's perfect, picture taking wise. It’s foggy near the ground but the sky is clear and he’s already got some amazing shots of trees enveloped in fog in the woods of the Wayne Estate. He’s hoping that if he hurries, he’ll be able to get the old St. Mary’s church clouded with fog. He may not be religious but there's something about the gothic architecture of churches that make for perfect shots. 

He’s got everything he needs for the night, his camera bag with all of his set up packed in it, a poison free sandwich and a thermos of coffee with hazelnut creamer, his phone, and a change of clothes just in case he gets muddy. Nothing is worse than wet socks. He’s almost skipping on his way down to the cave.

Dick is standing in front of the Batcomputer when he gets down there, face set like he’s sucking on lemons. The demon brat is nowhere to be seen and Tim takes the blessing where he can get it. 

“Hey Dick.” He greets in passing, hoping to get changed into gear and out to the old church before the fog clears. 

“Hey Timmy, I was just about to come looking for you!” Dick startles, wiping both hands on the pant legs of the batsuit.

“Yeah sorry, I just had to pack up my camera. I wanna get some shots with the fog.” He explains, displaying the camera bag slung over his shoulder as he tries to hurry past. “I just need to get changed.”

“Right, about that…” Dick trails off, chewing on his bottom lip. “I was thinking that you might need some time off.”

“What?”

All momentum he has is lost, along with his good mood.

“Not forever, it’s just, you’ve been acting a little… off.” Dick placates. 

“Off, I haven’t been acting off! I’m fine!” Tim defends, hating that he’s now on the defensive. 

“Babybird, I know that these last few months have been hard on you, they’ve been hard on all of us, but you haven’t really accepted that Bruce is de- gone. That Bruce is gone.” 

Both of them flinch at the near slip Dick had. 

“He isn’t dead.” He growls, teeth clenched hard. “He isn’t and I could prove it if you would just listen to me!”

“See, this is what I’m talking about! Tim, there is no proof! Bruce is gone, I’m sorry but he’s gone and he isn’t coming back.” 

Dicks voice cracks on the last few words but all Tim can feel is anger. Anger at not being listened to and anger about how Dick is being so intentionally dense that he can’t see the very real evidence that he sees.

But he can’t show that anger, he can’t blow up and just start yelling because that would only drive Dick further away and ultimately, he can’t do this alone. He needs his big brother beside him if he’s going to get Bruce back at all. So he takes a deep breath and steadies himself.

“I’m not doing this right now Dick. I’m going to get changed and head out.” He says in a calculated voice he usually saves for annoying chats at galas.

He starts off to the change rooms, only to stagger to a halt when Damian turns the corner.

Wearing his costume.

He feels sick.

“No.” Is all he can manage.

“We may need to increase security Batman.” Damian sneers, “It seems we have an infestation.”

“No.” He says again, spinning to look at Dick. 

Who isn’t doing anything to stop this.

“Tim listen, Damian needs this, he needs Robin.”

“Robin is mine! I’m Robin!” He chokes..

“Not anymore. Tim, you’re older now, you’re more grown up. You don’t need it like he does.”

You’re a big boy now Timothy, you don’t need Mrs. Mac around so much

Toys are childish Tim, you’re too old for them

You’re too old to celebrate your birthday Timothy

“Do you hate me that much?” He rasps, feeling the uncomfortable tickle of bile crawling up his throat.

“Don’t joke about that Tim, you know I don’t hate you.” Dick sighs.

“Then why are you doing this? Why give it to him, of all people?”

“I just told you Tim, he needs it more than you.” 

You don’t need us here Timothy, stop your crying.

“I’ll never forgive you.” He chokes, “If you do this, I’ll never forgive you.”

“You’re being over dramatic. Why don’t you go upstairs and take the night to calm down? We can talk tomorrow.” Dick placates in a tone that makes him want to smack the ears right off his stupid cowl.

“Not while he’s wearing my suit!” He hollars, letting his hurt echo through the cave.

“What in the dickens is going on down here?”

Tim spins to see Alfred at the base of the stairs with a scolding look on his face.

“Drake is hysterical.” Damian sneered, “Thank goodness he isn’t in public where he could embarrass the family.”

“Shut the fuck up, you spoiled test tube brat!” Tim screamed.

“Master Timothy!” Alfred scolded. “There is enough hurt in this family at the moment without adding name calling to the mix.”

And somehow, that just tipped the last dredges of his patience off the drop off and into the abyss below. All the grievances he’s had to deal with since the brat showed up at the manor with no help came bubbling up to the surface.

“Are you kidding me? He’s been putting rat poison in my food for weeks with no consequences, he calls me an interloper and a leech but no one cares! He’s wanted me gone from the second he showed up and Dicks giving him everything he wants!” He yelled, the tears he’s been successfully biting back finally spilling.

“Tim, you’re really upset right now. I understand that these past few months have been hard on you, you’ve lost friends, we’ve all lost Bruce, but you can’t take that hurt out on us.” Dick said, deftly stepping in front of Damian. “We’re your family, Timmy, we’re all on the same team. We can’t be turning on each other.”

“I’m not turning on anyone, you are! You’ve been watching that little demon try to kill me since day one and haven’t done anything!”

A firm hand on his arm dragged his attention away from Dick and his pet psychopath and towards Alfred, who was trying to pull him away.

“That is quite enough Master Timothy, this display is unbecoming of you. Why don’t you go upstairs, take a moment to cool off, and I’ll bring you some tea later.”

With his heart pounding in his ears and the last two people he thought loved him siding with Damian, of all people, Tim made a snap decision. He wasn’t going to get any help from any of them, not in dealing with Damian, not in bringing Bruce home, nothing. It was completely up to him, nobody else had his back. He broke away from Alfred and snarled back at him.

“Don’t bother.”

~~~

His last night in Gotham is spent in the cold confines of Drake Manor. His old bedroom is exactly how he remembers it, empty and lifeless but at least nobody is here to try to kill him. 

Despite the hour, he’s managed to get ahold of his family lawyer and is in the process of getting himself emancipated and having his funds turned over to him. Getting Bruce back isn’t going to be cheap but it will all be worth it.

By the time the new day rolls around, he’s officially Timothy Jackson Drake again and he has plane tickets booked to Europe where his latest clue of Bruce’s survival is. He’s going to get his mentor, his Batman back, even if it kills him. 

Chapter Text

Patrol that night is good, Damian really shines as Robin and he’s finally got a tie to Gotham, a tie to them now that Bruce is de-gone. He’s still not used to his role of Batman but having Damian at his side, having his own Robin helps. Hopefully, the two of them will be able to keep each other steady.

The night is slightly soured by the knowledge of just how hurt Tim is right now, how angry he is at the two of them. It’s not a secret that Tim and Damian have not gotten off on the right foot and it’s mostly Dami’s fault, his upbringing as an assassin makes him hostile and he lashes out at everyone indiscriminately. Tim has taken all of it to heart and had never recognized that Damian was hurting in his own right.

It’s not that he hadn’t known that giving Robin to Damian was going to be difficult on Tim, he just hadn’t expected it to be so explosive. He didn’t know that Tim’s anger would boil over like it had, that he even had it in him. He was hoping that after a bit of moping that Tim would make himself a new call sign and his own legacy, then he would come to understand that he had outgrown Robin.

The engine of the Batmobile hums under them as they coast back into the cave, Robin sitting tall and proud in the passenger seat. The first patrol as Robin is such a big event, he still remembers his first patrol; how determined he’d been in his anger and hunger for revenge, how the thrill and responsibility of Robin had been a cooling balm on that hot wound.

Hopefully, that same balm is soothing the wounds for Damian and giving him a reason to stay in Gotham, away from Talia, away from the League. He had made a rash, but well thought out decision, giving the boy Robin. The title was a legacy, something to represent and honour, something Damian actually respected, and it would be easier to keep him in line if he used the legacy of Robin to help him follow the rules, such as no killing.

He has yet to come up with a way to ease Tim's mind about this though, to soothe the turbulent relationship he has with Damian, the title issue no doubt making it worse. He had considered offering Tim a tailored Nightwing suit, making the whole thing a promotion rather than a demotion, but he just couldn’t bring himself to hand over his own alias. Not when there were so many things he had given up to carry on Bruce’s legacy. He needed Nightwing to be only his. Maybe he could sit down with Tim and help him make up his own new callsign, perhaps over Chinese food and mochi balls.

As they finally park, he pulls his cowl back and blocks Damian from getting out of the car. He needs his youngest brother to reach deep for the compassion that he knows is buried under his prickly persona. Tim is going to be vulnerable and tender tonight and probably for the next week at least, the last thing he needs is for Damian to rub in that he has Robin now and make this whole thing worse.

“Listen Dami, I need you to leave Tim alone tonight.” He says.

“Tt, as if I would want to subject myself to the likes of Drake.” Damian sneers, packing as much disgust and resentment into the statement as he possibly can.

That just makes Dicks heart twinge. He knows that Dami is only acting like this because he feels that Tim is a threat to him and his place in the family, but it would be nice if he didn’t constantly act like Tim is a blight in the house.

“Dami, I mean it. Tim’s hurting right now and he’s family, can you please just at least leave him alone? Giving you Robin was the right decision but it hurt Tims feeling a lot, and I need to help smooth things over a bit.”

“Drake is not ‘family’ Grayson, he is an interloper and a scorn on the legacy of my father. Robin is my birthright, he has no right to be upset.”

“He is family Damian, he’s your brother. You need to learn to be nice to him.” Dick sighs again. He’s doing it a lot these days.

“Drake is no more my brother than a pissant on the street.” Damian snarls.

Recognizing a losing situation when he saw one, Dick dropped the topic. There would be time to work on Damians attitude later, right now Tim needed him.

“Just leave him alone for a bit, will you?” Dick asks.

“Fine.” Damian grinds out, looking like he’s been asked to swallow glass.

It takes him a moment to shower and change into a pair of comfy sweats and a tank top. Fortunately, there hadn’t been any injuries tonight so he doesn’t have to devote any time to patching himself up.

There aren’t any signs of life in the manor besides Alfred, and he doesn’t know if that's a good or bad thing. It’s not like he thinks Tim would throw a screaming tantrum complete with throwing things and flipping over furniture, but he had expected to see some sign of Tim, maybe his bag abandoned by the entrance to the cave or his jacket slung over a chair.

“How’s Tim doing?” He asks Alfred.

“I wouldn’t know, Master Dick, I went up to his chambers to find them empty.” Alfred informs him.

“He left?” Dick gasps.

Okay, that's certainly not great. The list of people Tim would go to for comfort and sympathy has shortened dramatically in the past few months. He might go to school friends about a usual fight with Damian, but it’s not like he can tell them about Robin. He might have gone to Cassie except that he knows they’ve had a minor falling out and haven’t spoken to each other in a few weeks, though maybe he’s so angry at Dick that he’s willing to push through any residual anger between them to rant. Perhaps he’s gone to the senior Kents, he’s always found solace in the peaceful bustle of their farm, but they're still mourning the loss of Kon and he doubts that Tim will trouble them with a family spat.

Maybe he’s just out on the town? No friends necessary, there are plenty of career drunks in Gotham and it’s not like many bartenders in this city will actually card anyone, especially with the wealth Tim has access to, it’s not like his allowance leaves many things out of his reach.

His chest feels incredibly tight just thinking about his baby brother out in Gotham by himself. There’s been so much going on these past few months, this might just be the night Tim turns to booze to soothe his grief. His phone is in his hand before he even realizes he’s reached for it and he’s clicking the call button on Tims contact information desperately.

The phone doesn’t even ring, instead, he’s greeted by a cold, automated voice.

“The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.” It tells him.

He tries again.

“The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.”

Again.

“The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.”

Maybe he’s been blocked.

“Call Tim.” He demands to Alfred.

The man raises an eyebrow at his rude tone but fortunately doesn’t say anything to him. He takes his own phone and scrolls through to find his third youngest grandson's contact info and Dick waits with bated breath as Alfred hits call.

“The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.”

He can hear that stupid voice even though the phone isn’t to his own ear. This is bad, this is really really bad. Blocking Dick is one thing but nobody ever blocks Alfred. This time, he dials Wally, waiting as the phone rings six times before the speedster picks up.

“Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?” Is what he’s greeted with when the ringing stops.

“I need you to try to call Tim!” He orders.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Wally grumbles.

Fortunately, his best friend has known him so long that he can hear the desperation in his voice. The line goes dead, only for Wally to call back less than a minute later.

“It says the number’s been disconnected.” He reports.

“Fuck.” Dick curses, jogging his leg, needing to expend the nerves somehow.

“What happened?” He asks, sounding much more awake.

“Tim and I had a bit of a fight. I gave Robin to Damian and he stormed out.” He admits.

“I’m sorry, you gave Robin, a symbol of hope and justice, to that psycho baby?” Wally interrupts.

“He’s not a psycho, Wally, he’s a child who was raised in a cult and needs some compassion to help him unlearn his habits.” He corrects.

He’s had this argument with Wally before, his best friend making it very clear that he did not like Damian and did not want to spend any time with him. Once again, that was mostly Damians fault as he had once again introduced himself by insulting and degrading Wally but he wished that he’d look past it. Of all his friends, he expected Wally to be the most sympathetic to Dami’s plait, given how he had been removed from his biological parents due to physical abuse and had to unlearn a ton of habits with Uncle Hal and Uncle Barry.

“Potato Patato.” Wally grumbles, “Kids not wired right, no wonder Tim walked out, I woulda too.”

Jeez, he doesn’t have time for this right now. His little brother is missing and he needs to find him.

“Okay, do you have any idea where Tim would have gone? I’m worried.” He asks.

“I have no idea man, I haven’t heard from him. Last I saw him was a week ago, he came by the house to check on all of us and see how we’re doing. I’ll keep an eye out and I’ll let Dad and Papa know to be on the lookout.” Wally says.

“Fuck, okay. Thanks Walls.” He says.

“Right. And Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“You need to stop letting Damian get away with everything. Tim's been a target since Talia dropped that brat off at the doorstep, I can’t imagine that it’s been any better since Bruce passed.” Wally advises.

“I don’t let Damian get away with everything!” He defends.

“Really? What have the consequences been for hurting Tim? Because Tim was coming over a lot before Bart died, covered in marks from your baby psycho.” Wally says with a hard tone.

“He isn’t a psycho, Wally! God, he’s ten years old, can you please try to have some sympathy for him?”

“Where’s your sympathy for Tim? Dude, you need to really examine why he was so quick to storm out tonight. This has been building for a long time and it finally broke tonight.” Wally snaps, “It seems pretty clear to most of us that you were all so focused on Damian that you shoved Timmy to the wayside completely, even when he needed your support. You keep saying that Damian needs help and sympathy but I haven’t seen him make any effort to change his ways and attitude towards other people.”

“Fuck off, he’s trying.” Dick seethes.

“Whatever. I’ll let you know if I spot your brother.”

And then the phone is silent, with his best friend having hung up on him.

Double fuck.

“Tim’s disconnected his phone, he’s taken it completely offline.” He reports to Alfred through clenched teeth.

“Oh my.” Alfred frets.

“I’m going to call Babs, get her started on tracking him. I’m worried that he’s going to do something stupid and he doesn’t have any way to call for backup, then I’m going to hit the streets and start looking.” He says, mostly cementing the plan to himself.

“Very good Master Dick.” Alfred says.

~~~

Babs is able to confirm that Tim has cancelled his entire phone plan. In more unsettling news, he’s also closed all his family credit cards, unenrolled from Gotham Academy, and has withdrawn $9,999 from his Drake family account. Tim’s up to something and the pit in his stomach is growing wider and deeper with every hour that passes.

Just as a precaution, he calls around anyway. Cassie confirms that she hasn’t spoken to nor seen Tim in weeks, the senior Kents haven’t seen him since Kons funeral, and his school friends haven’t heard from him. All have promised to get in contact if they see him but he isn’t confident that they will.

It’s coming on eight in the morning and he’s still out looking. He’s trolling through every cubbyhole in Gotham looking for his brother and he hasn’t found him yet. Then Barbara calls him with another revelation that sinks all hope.

“Tim emancipated himself at ten twenty-seven last night. He now has full access to his trust fund and all resources left to him by his parents. You’re also no longer his guardian, medical proxy, or emergency contact.” She relays.

“Fuck.” He curses. The f-bomb is moving up in his vocabulary.

“Fuck is right. What the hell happened?” She demands, “Tim's always been level-headed, these are drastic measures.”

“I took Robin.” He confesses.

The silence is deafening.

“What?” Babs demands, sounding murderous.

“I took Robin from him, I gave it to Dami. You have to understand, Damian had a bag packed to go back to the League, I needed a way to keep him in Gotham, it was the only way.”

“You gave an assassin the Robin title? Are you insane?” She snaps, “How could you do that to Tim?”

“Damian needed it, I couldn’t let him go back! You know how the League trains their soldiers, it’s abuse! Not just abuse, it’s torture! I couldn’t let a ten year old go back to that, I needed to stop him!” He defends.

He needs someone to understand why he’s made the decision he made, why Robin was the only way to keep Dami out of harms way. Tim's feelings may be hurt but if he hadn’t taken Robin, Damian might have died in the League as just another killer.

“And what has Damian done to earn Robin?” Babs asks, “You and Jason trained, Tim literally pulled Bruce back from the abyss, and Steph took over after Tim. All of you worked to create a legacy of hope and preserving justice, none of that matches Damian at all!”

“He’s learning Babs, he’s trying!” He defends.

“No he isn’t! I haven’t seen him make any progress in the months he’s been in Gotham! He still attacks people, he always insults people, and he’s got a superiority complex the size of Texas!” She seethed. “He calls me an invalid every time he sees me! He isn’t Robin material.”

Okay, that’s fair. Damian isn’t nice to Barbara and that isn’t right, he needs to work with the kid on that. He kinda wishes that Barbara would try to let it go though, Damian doesn’t come from a good home, he’s hurting and he’s lashing out, that doesn’t mean he’s a bad kid.

“He’ll grow into it Babs. Please, I just need to keep him from leaving, I can’t let him become a killer, I can’t let him go back to Talia.”

“I say let him go.” Babs mutters.

He’s not sure if she intended for him to hear it or not, but it still stings. Again, he knows that Damian doesn’t exactly endear himself to people upon first meeting them, but he wishes that his friends were able to see past that exterior. He had, and he’d seen a kid who was hurting and who didn’t understand his place in the world. Hurt people hurt people, that's a well known fact, and all of them have seen it first hand, but somehow, nobody can find any sympathy for Damian.

“Have you found anything on Tim’s whereabouts?” He asks.

“No, I haven’t. The last ping from his phone came from Drake Manor, but that was right before the phone was deactivated. He ditched all his trackers.” Babs says.

Drake manor, why didn’t he think of that? It’s possible that Tim is still there. He’s really going to kick himself if he’s been running himself ragged looking all over the city when his little brother was right next door the entire time.

He breaks nearly every traffic law in the state to get back to Bristol and he just hops the fence surrounding the property. The front door is locked but that’s never stopped him before and he’s in the house in less than a minute.

Drake manor has always unnerved him, it resembles a museum more than a place of residence with Jack and Janet's prized archeological finds on display, pictures of them with various political figures, heads of charities, and framed certificates as proof of their accomplishments. However, despite all the displays of their victories, there are no pictures of Tim, no proof that they even had a son. In contrast, the manor is plastered with pictures of all of them, there are pictures Dick drew when he was nine that are still on the fridge, and even participation trophies are on display.

“Hello!” He calls his voice the only sound in the empty house.

There is no response, no scampering of feet, nothing. He makes his way through the house, sticking his head into every room with a closed door, checking to see if Tim is anywhere in there. He doesn’t really know what room was Tim's and since all of the bedrooms look pretty much the exact same, there’s no real way to tell if he’s found the right room until he spots a familiar cell phone on a desk in one.

Unfortunately, there’s no sign of Tim. His bag is there with an empty thermos and Tupperware container and his camera, his most prized possession, is safely tucked away in its padded spot in the bag. Other than that, there are some other special things of Tim's, boxes of photos, his skateboard, a china teacup that he remembers him favouring at the manor, and the stuffed turtle he and Wally had gotten for Tim during a trip to the zoo they’d taken him on when he was younger.

Why are all of these things here? Why not in his room at the manor, where he can see them and use them every day? He hates Drake manor, he even joked multiple times about bulldozing the place and making the land into a wildlife preserve. Why are some of his most treasured items stashed here?

Desperate, he finds a notebook and writes a note begging Tim to call him and let him know he’s okay, that he loves him and wants him to come home, he even draws a heart on the note. It’s cheesy but he knows that cheesy is something that Tim loves.

He wants to stay and wait for Tim in person but he can’t, he needs to get home to Damian. No matter how worried he is for his younger brother, he can’t neglect his other sibling. Ultimately, Tim is a teenager who has the emotional and physical maturity to take care of himself for a while. If he’s dealing with his anger by taking a weekend to himself, he has the ability to take care of himself and the resources to feed himself, find a hotel, and get around. Damian is ten years old, he needs an adult around to help him and keep an eye on him.

He hates this, this whole situation is completely fucked up. If his friends would just push aside their dislike of Damian, he could have one of them watch him while he waits here for Tim but none of them will. Fine, Wally’s in university and it’s a weekday, so maybe he can’t take the time off, and Roy has Lian so he’s busy, but Barbara, Donna,Kori, or Garth have more flexible schedules, they would refuse just because it’s Damian. It’s infuriating, even if they can’t stand his youngest brother, why can’t they just tolerate him for a few hours to help Tim, whom all of them adore? Still, they won’t help him with Damian, so he needs to go back to him now and hope Tim gets his note.

~~~

Damian is in the dining room with oatmeal and orange juice when he finally gets back, looking completely unbothered. Alfred is hovering in the doorway, looking unbothered to anybody who didn’t know him, but he can smell raspberry danishes, Tim's favourite, baking in the oven and there’s flour and wrinkles on his normally pristine outfit. His grandfather looks at him with hope and it breaks his heart to have to ruin it by shaking his head.

“You didn’t find him?” Alfred asks.

Upon further inspection, Alfred is still wearing his clothes from yesterday and he clearly hasn’t slept. If he were to go look, he’d probably find the kitchen packed with fresh bread, cookies, brownies, and every other baked good that Tim even slightly enjoys.

“No, I’m sorry. Barbara found out that he emancipated himself, got access to his trust funds, cancelled his phone, ditched his trackers, and is completely offline. He’s in the wind.” He relays.

Alfred inhales sharply and wrings his gloved hands together. Damian just keeps eating his oatmeal.

“Do we have any idea where he might have gone?” He asks.

“No. I called everyone, nobody’s seen him, nobody’s heard from him.” He says, “I’ve got everyone on the lookout but until Tim decides to turn up, I don’t think we’re gonna find him. Tim’s angry and he doesn’t want to be found.”

“Good riddance, I say.” Damian says in between bites of his breakfast.

“Dami! Not now!” Dick scolds.

Alfred closes his eyes and tilts his head upwards, silent for a few moments before he just shakes his head and retreats back to the kitchen. Damian just rolls his eyes but otherwise, doesn’t react to the scolding.

“Grayson, we don’t need Drake. I am Robin, you are Batman, we are perfectly functional on our own.” Damian sighs.

“It’s not about need, Damian! Tim’s my brother, he’s family and I want him back! I want him to make his own alias and work with us, I want all three of us to work together and be a family again.” He cries.

He’s exhausted. He hasn’t slept at all, he hasn’t eaten since dinner last night and he’s emotionally spent. He understands that Damian is struggling but he doesn’t have the patience at the moment to explain this to him.

“I need a little bit, Dami, and I’m not angry at you.” He sighs.

Damian just scoffs but he can see the slight tension in his shoulders and he knows that Dami is worried about Tim in his own way.

He needs sleep, exhaustion is pulling on his eyelids and his limbs. He’s a hazard to himself and if he keeps this up, he may get himself or Damian hurt. Instead of heading to his own bed, he showers, changes, and heads to Bruce’s room. The chambers are unchanged, the bedsheets are still the same. The only thing Alfred does is dust and vacuum, but the room has become a virtual shrine to his late second father.

That gives him the comfort of being able to surround himself in Bruce’s aura, it feels incredibly similar to getting a hug from him. And he needs it right now, he’s twenty four but god he feels ten again, scared and hurt and needing a hug from Bruce, and this is the closest he’s going to get.

Because Bruce is dead and cold in the ground and his family is shattering around him. Bruce is dead and Jason has backslid so far he doesn’t even know if there’s any coming back. Bruce is dead and Cass has gone back to Hong Kong, catching the first flight after the funeral with no goodbye and he hasn’t been able to get her on the phone. Bruce is dead and Alfred is barely holding it together. Bruce is dead and Damian is looking for the door. Bruce is dead and Tim is losing his grip on reality, spiraling further and further down the rabbit hole of his conspiracy theory that he’s almost unrecognizable.

Bruce is dead and Dick is barely holding it together.

Chapter Text

Being shaken awake is Dicks least favourite way of waking up, especially when he’s only been asleep for a few hours. He groans and tries to roll over but the shaking persists. 

“What?” He whines.

“Miss Gordon has been ringing the manor for an hour trying to get ahold of you and there is some very troubling content on the news. I believe you should take her calls.” Alfred says, placing his ringing phone on the pillow beside him.

He groans again and sits up to take the phone. Alfred has changed but he’s tense and his lips are pressed into a thin line, clearly something is wrong. Well, something else is wrong.

“Hey Babs.” He greets.

“We have a problem.” Barbara says in lieu of a greeting and he can hear her keyboard clicking away.

“What’s up?” 

“Somebody at The Inquirer got wind of Tim’s emancipation and now every news source is reporting on it. It’s not good. It hasn’t even been a year since Damian showed up and people are speculating that Tim was shoved out to make room for him.” She says in a rush. “You may want to keep yourselves tucked away for a while, the reporters are out like sharks.”

“But Tim wasn’t pushed out, he left on his own!” He says. 

“Right. But we can’t find Tim and neither can anybody else, the timing isn’t exactly ideal, and with ‘Bruce’s’ mental health break, people are drawing some really dark conclusions.” Barbara says.

The keyboards go quiet and Dick can imagine her using one hand to lift her glasses and the other to massage her eyes, like she used to do when she came to the cave all the time, like she did when they used to take time each week to go to coffee and the park. It’s such a Barbra move that he feels like she should be able to patent it.

“Sebastian Ives and his mother went down to the police department right when the news broke and filed a missing persons report. Sebastian says that Tim had been complaining about how Damian was trying to hurt him and drive him away, he even had texts to back it up, with pictures of things of his Damian broke. As of right now, Tim isn’t considered missing but things aren’t looking good. It might be a good idea if you go down to the station and give a statement before the cops show up at the manor.” She advises. 

“What the hell is Sebastian doing talking to the cops?” He demands.

He’s always liked Sebastian, he’s been the one to pick Tim up from his place tons of times, and he’s always thought that the kid liked him. Why is he suddenly going to the police as if Tim’s locked in their basement?

“He and his mom have apparently been concerned about Tim for a while. He’s been getting injuries that he can’t explain, he’s hidden things that are precious to him at Sebastians house because he says Damian will break them otherwise, and he’s been losing a lot of weight.” Barbara explains, “And there are multiple text conversations where Tim goes into detail about how Damian has tried to hurt him, sabotaged his school work, and verbally degraded him. It’s not unreasonable for him and his family to think that Tim’s in danger.”

Fuck.

The television in Bruce’s room probably works but he has no idea where the remote is, so he just heads to the theatre room and turns on the tv. It’s not hard to find a station reporting on the situation, all of them are. CNN is going though warning signs of child abuse, since obviously Tim is just a poor little baby whose been nothing but neglected for a year. Fox is just spouting whatever racist rhetoric they can get away with about how Damian’s arabic lineage makes him incompatible with American society, there’s almost no concern about Tim, he’s just an excuse to rant about immigrants.

MSNBC has a child psychologist on and he reluctantly settles in to watch. The doctor starts some useless spiel about how adopted children often question their permanency in their adopted family, especially if there are biological children that come along later. One thing that Dick can give to her, she’s not immediately writing Damian off as a monster, stalking through the halls of the manor, waiting to hurt Tim. Rather, she points out how Damian is also unsure of his place and see’s Tim as what’s keeping him from feeling secure in the family. Then she goes on to point out that the responsibility falls to Bruce to make it clear that both Tim and Damian are loved and secure in their place, that the inclusion of one does not mean the exclusion of the other.

And then she ruins all her credibility with him by stressing that she worries that Damian displays signs of antisocial personality disorder, if what Tim complained about in the texts is true. 

The statement makes him recoil in disgust. Where did this ‘doctor’ get her degree? Does she not know that you can’t diagnose APD in people under 18? For gods sake, she’s only going off of what Tim had ranted about in texts to his friend, she doesn’t understand the intricacies of their family. She doesn’t understand what Damian has gone through in just ten short years. 

The official story that Bruce had spun to the press after Talia had publicly dumped Damian on their doorstep was that Damian had been raised in a cult, which isn’t exactly a lie. It takes less than two seconds on Google to find Bruce’s interview with Lois Lane about how Damian had been raised, how he had been hurt in the interests of the cult, how he had been isolated from other children. It’s understandable that the world is worried about Tim right now, he is too, but god, how hard is it to not vilify a literal child?

“Master Richard?” Alfred calls from the doorway.

“Yeah.” He replies numbly.

“Commissioner Gordon is on the phone. He wants all of us to come down to the station to give statements.” He says, “I asked him to give us an hour and we’ll be there.”

“Thank you Alfred. I’ll go get changed, can you let Damian know where we’re going?” He asks.

“Right away, Master Richard.”

~~~

It’s not the first time Dick’s been in a police interrogation room, nor is it his first time being in trouble where the police have gotten involved. It is the first time that there’s the risk of actual long term repercussions. The last time he was in an interrogation room like this, it had been because he and Roy had gotten in a bar scrap because some drunk had tried to grab a girl who was trying to leave. The cops had been called as a necessity and they’d basically gotten a finger waved in their faces, but everyone involved knew that they had done the right thing. 

Somehow, he feels like this interview is not going to go the same way. 

It’s been an hour already, if the ancient clock behind a cage on the wall is anything to go by, and he hasn’t seen anybody since they led him here. He knows why, he may have dropped out of detective school but he did get in, he knows what this is. They’re leaving him alone to make him nervous, to make him think that they have more on him than they do. 

Alfred, who apparently doesn’t need to give an interview, since he isn’t really a person of interest in Tim’s case, is with Damian, since Damian is a minor and has the right to an adult being with him. That’s probably best, as Alfred had explained to him years ago, limiting himself to ‘just an elderly butler’ has the illusion of being overlooked and without power in the household, so people both let secrets slip around him and look to him for advice. 

The door finally opens and a curl of dread tightens around his heart. He has no illusions that this is going to be an easy interview but he’s hoping that the officers will at least focus on him and not on ‘Bruce’ since they have Elliot pretending to be Bruce. If he has to talk to the cops, he may decide that what they're already paying him isn’t worth the trouble and spill the beans. If that gets out, they’re all fucked.

“Hello, Mr.Grayson. I’m Officer Dawson, you can call me Greg.” The cop introduces as he sets a manila folder down on the table. “Sorry for the wait, we’re a little overwhelmed right now.”

He plasters on his ‘gala smile’ and tilts his head.

“Oh it’s fine, I get it, it’s a little crazy out there nowadays.”

It’s been crazy in Gotham since the sun started setting in the West but it’s probably in his best interests to play himself off as ditzy and unaware of the real nitty gritty of Gotham.

“Right? I swear, people these days, it’s like they’re competing to see who can be the most fucked up!” He laughs, then smiles at him. “Sorry to bring you in at all, but as I’m sure you’ve heard on the news, we have some questions that we need you to answer.” 

“Of course.” He agrees.

The officer takes out his recorder, still on tapes, because like all public services in Gotham, they don’t have the funds to progress past the eighties.

“When did you last see Timothy Drake?” He asks.

“Last night, just after dinner. I don’t remember the exact time.” He replies easily. 

“Alright, and what was your last conversation like?”

“Not great, we had a pretty big fight.”

“What about?”

“Damian. They’ve both been struggling to adjust to each other. Tim doesn’t like having to share his things and time with his younger brother and Damian isn’t used to having other kids around.”

“Did anybody get physical during the argument?”

“No, of course not. We might have some arguments, but we’re a family, we’d never try to hurt each other.” He says, smiling like a ditz again.

Officer Dawson purses his lips and opens the folder. 

“The reason I ask, Mr. Grayson, is that young Mr. Ives has plenty of texts where Timothy complains about being physically harassed by Mr. al Ghul.” He says, placing print outs of texts in front of him.

“Wayne.” He corrects.

“Pardon me?”

“Damian's last name is Wayne, not al Ghul.”

“Right. Anyway, there are multiple texts where Tim gives detailed accounts of Damian hitting him, trying to push him down stairs, and even trying to stab his hand with a fork. He even sent pictures of marks to Sebastian that he said came from Damian hitting him with a metal clothes hanger.” He says grimly. “I need to know if you knew about any of this.”

“I know that Tim and Dami don’t get along but it’s not that bad. I wish Tim hadn’t gone and tried to make Damian look bad to his friends, he’s struggling right now, his whole world has changed and it’s been a hard adjustment period. He is getting better.” He explains.

“So were you aware that Damian has been physically violent with Tim?”

“Yes, they’ve gotten into some fights before.”

“Right now, we have no evidence that Tim ever retaliated against Damian, in fact, in texts to Sebastian, he complained that anytime he tried to defend himself, he would get in trouble.” Officer Dawson says, pointing to a spot on the paper in front of them that Dick doesn’t bother to read. These are teenagers, he remembers being sixteen, he made everything a matter of life or death. Tim’s definitely exaggerated how bad things were.

“Look, I’ll be real Officer, it’s been a rough couple of months for everyone in our family. Damian’s struggling to adjust to life at the manor, Tim’s been arguing with his friends and having difficulty in school, I’m sure you’ve heard the news about Bruce’s mental health problems. It’s been rough.” He says, “If Tim ever swung at Damian then yes, he would get in trouble, of course he would. He’s sixteen and Damian is ten, it’s completely inappropriate.”

“Have you done anything to dissuade Damian from hurting Timothy?” The officer asks.

“I’ve had lots of talks with him about it, we’ve sat down and explained that Tim is just as much a member of the family as he is and that being hurtful towards him isn’t okay.” He says.

“But have there been any consequences for this behaviour? Any penalties for him lashing out?” He pushes.

“We’re in a bit of a bind at home, we all know that Damian is rude and sometimes hurtful, but if we try to punish him, he’ll try to go back to his moms.” Dick explains.

“So there haven’t been any punishments for hurting his older brother.” Dawson says.

“I’ve talked to him about it.” 

“And have you talked to him about the damage he’s done to Tim’s possessions?” Dawson asks.

“Damian hasn’t broken any of Tims things on purpose, there have been accidents but nothing malicious.” He sighs.

Officer Dawson raises an eyebrow and pulls out three new pieces of paper, setting each one deliberately in front of him. On them are coloured pictures of broken things in Tim’s room, clearly sent by him to his friend.

“Timothy sent pictures of damaged possessions to Sebastian that he claims Damian broke. The laptop, in particular, was worth quite a bit of money. He also sent a short video he took of Damian telling him he broke it and throwing out some incredibly cruel sentiments at him.” Officer Dawson says, pointing to the picture of the broken laptop. 

Dick rubs his eyes, a habit he picked up from Babs after spending too much time with her.

“Yes, that was just after he moved into the manor. We talked to him about it.” Dick says.

“Did you also talk to him about the lucky cat trinket of Tim’s he broke?” He asks, pointing to another picture. “According to Mr. Ives, that figurine was a gift from Tim’s late mother and he was quite fond of it, he says that Tim called him in tears when he found it broken.”

Damn it, he didn’t actually know about that. He definitely would have worked with Tim to fix it if he had known. He’d seen the cat statue on his desk, often being used as a paper weight for his homework, but he didn’t know the sentimentality behind it. 

“No, I didn’t know about that.” He confesses. 

Officer Dawson raises his eyebrow again.

“Did you know about the threats that Damian has made against Tim? He told multiple friends about them.”

“Yes, Damian is like that. He doesn’t just do it with Tim, he’s like that with everyone.” He admits.

Officer Dawson leans back and inhales deeply. He honestly can’t tell if he’s incredibly annoyed or just tired. Maybe it’s both.

“Is Damian seeing any sort of professional for his issues?” 

“He doesn’t have any issues!” Dick snaps.

“Listen Son, I don’t wanna insult you or your family, but you’ve told me that it’s not uncommon for your little brother to threaten members of his own family, hit them, and Tim complained to his friends about possessions being broken. This sounds like a kid with issues to me.” He says.

“That’s just how he was raised alright, underneath that, he’s a really sweet kid.” He says.

“Not to Tim though?” Dawson points out.

“Honestly, I think the biggest problem between Tim and Damian is that they’re too much alike. They both like things done a certain way, they’re competitive, and they hold grudges like you wouldn’t believe. Once they get past this funk, I’m sure they’ll be plotting world domination together.” He jokes.

The officer inhales again and purses his lips.

“Are you aware that Timothy was diagnosed with Generalised Anxiety Disorder and Clinical Depression?” He asks, switching gears.

“Yes, I’m one of the ones who pushed him to seek treatment for both of them.” He says.

“To your knowledge, does he take any medication for those conditions?”

“Yeah, he takes Escitalopram for both, 10 mg a day if I’m remembering correctly.” 

“Has Tim ever expressed any suicidal thoughts?” 

“Not recently but his depression was pretty bad right after his mom died. He never tried to kill himself but he was self harming.” He explains.

“Have you noticed any major changes in his behaviour lately? You said he’s been struggling in school, is this a recent development?” Dawson asks, making his own notes on his notepad.

“He had been more withdrawn since Dami came to live with us, he’s been spending more time in his room and I did notice that he’s losing weight. Other than that though, he’s been the same old Timmy.” He recalls.

“Did it concern you that he was pulling away?”

“A little but Damian can be pretty loud and Tim’s always been pretty sensitive to loud noises. I kinda figured he was just looking for quiet.” Dick explains.

“He has an aversion to loud noises?” Dawson asks.

“Not necessarily an aversion, he’s not going to start crying at a fireworks show or anything, but he prefers quieter conversations then a ten year old is really capable of.” He clarifies.

“I’m sure.” He grumbles. “Do you know where Tim would go if he were upset?”

“No where I haven’t already checked. When I noticed he had left the manor last night I went and checked all his spots. His friends hadn’t heard or seen him either.” He says. “He likes to hang out at St. Augustine’s cemetery, Ellie's diner on the corner of Fifth and Coulson, the library, or Chesapeake Bridge.” 

“A sixteen year old is regularly hanging out at a cemetery?” Dawson asks.

“Tim’s a photographer. He likes to hang out at places that have good shots, he’s gotten some good ones of St. Augustine’s and he just keeps going back.” He explains.

That seems to thaw Dawson a little, because he smiles and goes back to his notebook.

“Yeah, my sister in law’s a photographer too. Artists huh?” He jokes.

“Right? I swear, the things Tim can catch with a camera, his stuff’s really good, and I’m not just saying that because I’m his brother.” Dick agrees.

This is good, building a rapport with this guy will definitely help him out in the long run.

“And you said you checked these places?” Dawson asks.

“Yeah, all of em. No sign of Timmy.” He confirms.

“Have you heard from him at all?”

“No, when I tried to call him, all I got was an automated message saying that the number had been disconnected.”

Officer Dawson bites his lower lip, worrying it under his teeth. It appears to be a nervous habit, if the state of his lips are anything to go by.

“Does he have a therapist?”

“Yeah, he usually see’s him once every other week.” Dick says.

“Are these meetings in person or over the computer?”

“Over the computer.”

“When was the last time he spoke with his therapist?” The officer asks.

“Earlier this week, if he’s keeping to schedule.”

The atmosphere in the room changes considerably. Officer Dawson lays out every piece of paper in the folder he’s brought in, from what he can see, most of them are just written out copies of text conversations.

“The thing is, Mr. Grayson, Tim hasn’t been keeping to schedule. We reached out to Mr. Keeton earlier and according to him, Tim hasn’t had an appointment in over three months. Mrs. Nordstrome and Mr. Sinclair, the principal and vice principal at Gotham Academy also had quite a file on Tim, mostly pertaining to some very serious injuries he’s had in the last year. He’s had a broken arm, a concussion, stitches in his calf and thigh, a sprained ankle, two black eyes, a broken nose, and a variety of bruises all over his body.” Officer Dawson lists. “Do you have any idea how he came to get injuries like those?” 

“Tim skateboards a lot. Bruce and Alfred always tell him to wear a helmet but once he’s out of sight, I don’t know what he does.” Dick excuses. Skateboarding injuries are a common go-to excuse for injuries when it comes to Tim, the same way gymnastic injuries were a common excuse for injuries when he was growing up.

It appears that Dawson doesn’t buy what he’s selling though, because he points to a few pages laid out between them. Upon examination, he realises that they’re all from Tim or his friends' Instagram accounts, pictures taken of his group of friends skateboarding. In each and every picture, not only does Tim have a helmet on, but knee and elbow pads as well.

“We talked to Sebastian, Ali, Nick, and Stephen. All of them confirmed what the pictures show; Tim always wore protective gear when he was skateboarding. They also said that they’ve never been with Tim when he got any of the injuries I just listed.” He says calmly, tapping the page with his finger. 

“Let's talk Son, and I mean actually talk. Right now, we have enough evidence to support an arrest for child negligence and a warrant to search your house. But here’s the thing, I’ve been in this city a long time, and I can usually spot a child abuser when I see one, and right now? I don’t see one.” He says. “But I do think you may be covering for one, probably because he’s also young, probably because you love him, and you hate that you have to choose between your brothers. But the thing is, Damian is a kid and he does have a bad past. If you talk to me, we can get Damian the help he needs, get him in a good facility with professionals who can help him. He can get a proper education, learn skills to cope with his trauma, and have no criminal record, I just need you to talk to me.” 

Dick stays silent. He knows the kind of facility he’s talking about and it wouldn’t help damian. First and foremost, there isn’t a government or probably even private facility on Earth that will be able to keep Damian contained, he will escape and then he’ll probably go right back to the League of Assassins with a grudge against the bats. Second, even if they could keep him inside, he may become a hazard to the other kids. And Finally, he knows that Damian doesn’t need to be institutionalised, he may be rough around the edges but he’s not starting fires or torturing animals, throwing him in with kids who do would probably just make him more aggressive. 

Officer Dawson waits, sitting in his chair with his finger still pointing at the picture on the table.

“Whatdaya want me to say Officer? Do you want me to tell you that I think Damian’s the next Ted Bundy and he’s got the whole house quaking at the sound of his steps?” He grinds out.

“No Son, I just need the truth.” The officer says with a shake of the head.

“You want the truth? Here’s the truth. The truth is that Tim’s pretty much always been an only child and he hates that Damian even showed up. The truth is that Damian is just a little kid who is hurt and struggling and everybody I know keeps telling me he’s a monster. The truth is that this isn’t the first time Tim’s stormed off and gone AWOL when he’s had a fight. The truth is that things might be tricky right now, but we’re handling it.” He snaps.

It feels good to get that out. He hates to admit it, because it’s not entirely his fault, but he’s angry at Tim right now. He’s angry that instead of sticking around and working through these issues with his family, he’s cut ties and left, the exact same thing his parents did. He’s angry that Tim can’t work with Damian like he can, with kindness and patience, rather than the cold indifference and annoyance that he has been. He’s angry that with all this fuss, where now Dick and ‘Bruce’ might face criminal charges, he still has no way to contact his little brother, no way for them to clear this whole mess up.

“So you’re saying that Tim is the problem here?” Officer Dawson asks.

“No, I’m just saying that this isn’t a black and white issue and that we were handling it, we’re still handling it, and while we appreciate it, we don’t need the police involved.” Dick says with forced calm.

“Well that’s out of your hands now, because we are involved. Now, clearly you don’t want to answer any of my questions, and that is your right, but I’m gonna need you to wait in here while we interview your younger brother.” Officer Dawson says, and it’s clear he’s also hiding his anger at the situation. 

Dick doesn’t say anything, he just sits in his uncomfortable metal chair and seethes. He hopes that whoever’s talking to Damian is at least being nice about it, not spitting accusations at him left and right. He also hopes Damian’s figured out that they need to bend the truth here a little bit, he needs to really restrain himself and not insult the officers. Unfortunately, self restraint is not Dami’s strong suit.

He waits for another hour before the door unlocks and someone comes to join him. It’s not Officer Dawson but rather a middle aged man in a beige suit and a detective. The guy in the beige clearly isn’t law enforcement, he looks like he’s one stern breeze away from becoming the next Kiteman, so he must be some other form of government worker. 

“Mr. Grayson.” The detective nods as he takes a seat. 

“Hey.” He replies. 

This dude isn’t even pretending to be friendly, he’s stony and closed off. His partner is more readable but all he’s giving off is nerves, which isn’t really helpful.

“This is Dr. Hadley, he’s a child psychiatrist with the paediatrics unit of Gotham General hospital, he’s here to help us with Damian.” Detective says.

“What about Damian?” He asks.

“During the interview with one of our officers, Damian vocalised his desire to not only harm Tim, but to end his life. He confessed to making attempts to hurt Tim in many ways, including tampering with his food, trying to push him down a flight of stairs, and putting chemical irritants on his clothing and bedsheets.” Detective says grimly. “Dr. Hadley has been called in to do an interview with Damian and see if he can learn anything about if Damian had anything to do with Tims disappearance. We would like to get your permission first.”

“Absolutely not.” Dick says instantly.

“Mr. Grayson, this isn’t really a question, more of a formality.” Detective says.

“Like hell. I know my rights and his. I’m his guardian, which means you need my permission to give him any sort of medical treatment, including a psych exam and my answer is no.” Dick rattles off.

“Mr. Grayson, let me explain the stakes to you here, since you don’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation. There is a sixteen year old boy missing and a ten year old who has expressed desire to cause him bodily harm and has acted on those desires in the past. This is now a police investigation, which means you either sign the form willingly, Damian does the exam, and you two walk out of here, or you get arrested for interfering and hindering a police investigation, Damian becomes a ward of the state, and we do the exam anyway.” Detective practically spits.

“So which is it?”

Fuming, Dick grinds his teeth.

“Give me the fucking pen.”

~~~

He and Alfred are allowed to wait in the lobby while Damian’s whole personality is picked apart by a guy who doesn’t even know him. Neither are allowed to be in the room with him, as apparently it may impact the truthfulness of his answers. It’s been nearly an hour and a half and he doesn’t know if that’s good or bad.

In the time they’ve been waiting, he’s downed four cups of shitty vending machine coffee, eaten a bag of chips and a Twix in lieu of a real lunch, and doom scrolled his way through horrible tweets about them on twitter.  

It’s infuriating to read but he can’t stop. Evidently, everybody has decided that they have the full story and they’re running with it. Public opinion is on the fence about whether Tim’s left willingly or if he’s been pushed out but either way, they’re sympathetic to his struggle. Thousands are calling for him to make himself known, to let them all know that he’s at least alive. There’s now a gofundme to put his picture on milk containers and a hashtag to spread awareness to it. 

#FindTim

It’s not creative but it’s currently the most used tag on twitter and it’s only been circulating for seven hours. Never let it be said that the internet doesn’t work fast.

Some keyboard detectives have even gotten into Tim’s file from when he was a ward of the state, still being fostered by Bruce while his dad was in a coma. It’s not difficult to do, the information on every foster kid is available if you know where to look but it feels wrong that they’ve just aired all this out for everyone to see.

The file is pretty bare, it details what decisions Bruce is allowed to make on Tim’s behalf, outlines that the trust funds set up for Tim by his parents are not to be touched by Bruce at all, that the majority shares of Drake Industries are being held by a trustee of the board until Tim’s of age, and that Bruce needs permission from Tim’s social worker to take him out of the country. 

Still, people are speculating that Bruce was trying to assimilate Drake Industries into Wayne Enterprises and was playing nice with Tim to do it. Others are saying that maybe Bruce asked Tim to leave now that Drake Industries is bankrupt and he has nothing to gain keeping him around. Rumours that Tim was pushed out because Bruce’s blood son demanded it and Bruce doesn’t care for his adopted children now that he has a proper heir.

“Master Richard, perhaps you could play a game to pass the time?” Alfred suggests.

“Probably a good idea.” He mutters.

He switches to Candy Crush. It’s still infuriating, but in a different way.

When Dr. Hadley finally emerges, it’s without Damian, and he and Alfred are beckoned into yet another interrogation room. 

“Yes?” Dick asks.

He’s hoping they can get this done quickly. It’s been one hell of a day, they didn’t exactly get a proper breakfast and it’s way past lunch. If he’s hungry and grumpy, Damian must be too.

“I have to tell you both, I am very concerned about Damian.” Dr. Hadley says, “His anger issues, his violent tendencies, and his inflated sense of self importance are not good. We spoke about Tim at length and he expressed hatred for him, as well as some very anti adoption sentiments.”

“Okay.” Dick breathes.

“However, while he said that he is very happy about Tim’s absence, he stressed that he didn’t hurt him or kill him.”

“Yeah obviously. Dami’s rough around the edges, he’s not a psycho.” Dick says with a roll of his eyes.

“Mr. Grayson, while I don’t believe that Damian caused Tim’s disappearance, it is my professional opinion that he needs professional help as quickly as he can get. These violent outbursts he’s having will not get better without help, they will only get worse.” Dr. Hadley stresses. “I have worked with children like this, they need one on one attention with emotional support workers and psychiatrists. I can give you the names and contact information for some of my colleagues, people who would be able to help Damian.”

Dick inhales and stamps down his anger.

“Listen doc, with all due respect; you don’t know anything about Damian. He’s unlearning behaviour he learned in a cult and it’s slow but he is making progress. He doesn’t need some doctors in a lab poking at him based on one interview while he was stressed and hungry.” He says firmly.

Dr. Hadley just grimaces and that somehow makes Dick even madder.

“For your sake and his, I hope you’re right.” Is all he says.

~~~

Dinner is an angry affair, Alfred heats up leftovers and Damian rants about the incompetence of the police, something Dick can’t help but agree with. He eats his chicken alfredo without any fuss and then announces that Batman and Robin won’t patrol tonight, they’re both too tired and wound up to be efficient in the field. The statement makes Damian sneer but he doesn’t argue and that brings a smile to his face. Already, Robin is having a positive effect on Dami, he’s not arguing or questioning Dick’s decisions. It’s a lot of progress in just one night and he’s incredibly hopeful to see where they’ll be in just a week.

~~~

Clark drops by the cave later, after Alfred and Damian have gone to bed. He’s still up, still swinging at punching bags to work out all the anger and stress from literally just the last twenty four hours. He’s sweaty and admittedly a bit rank, probably harsh on Uncle Clarks sensitive nose, but he knows his uncle probably just wants to get home to Lois so he doesn’t ask him to wait until he showers.

“What’s up?” He asks, even though he’s pretty certain he knows already.

“I wanted to talk to you. I saw the news, is Tim really missing?” He asks.

“Yeah, he is. Emancipated himself last night and ditched town, we have no idea where he is.” He confesses.

Clark furrows his brow and looks around the cave, as if he’s going to find a small nook where Tim could have folded himself into that Dick hasn’t already checked. He grew up in this cave, spent countless hours playing while Bruce worked at the computer, he knows every nook and cranny in here, if Tim were here, he would know.

“I heard from Barry, he says that Wally told him that you took Robin away from Tim and gave it to Damian.” 

It’s not an outright question but it does reach for an answer, a confirmation that the rumour making its rounds at the Watchtower water cooler is true. 

“It’s more complicated than that, but essentially, yes.” He sighs.

“Is that wise? Damian’s a bit of a loose cannon.” Clark points out.

This is what he loves about Uncle Clark, he’s not accusing him of choosing Damian over Tim, he’s not calling Damian names, he’s just asking for his thought process. And he’s pretty well respected in the League, being the leader and all. Well, co leader, he and Aunt Diana run it together. 

“I needed something to keep Damian in Gotham now that Bruce is gone.” He explains, “He was packing his things and looking for the door, and I know he was in contact with Talia about going back to the League of Assassins. I couldn’t let that happen, he’s come so far, I know he can be better than just a mindless killer like Ra’s and Talia want him to be, so I gave him Robin.”

“And you think that will keep him away from the League? His mom is still there, the call to be with his living parent is going to be strong, regardless of his nighttime alias.” Clark points out.

“I’m kinda banking on the fact that Talia isn’t exactly nurturing. If we make the manor a better place to be, he’ll want to stay regardless of where his mom is. Here, he gets a legacy to uphold, he gets all of his needs taken care of, he has free time and things to fill it with, and he gets two people who care about him.” Dick explains eagerly, just happy to be heard out. 

“So it was a calculated decision?” 

“Yes.”

“But Tim didn’t take it well?” Clark pushes.

This isn’t too surprising. Clark loves all of them, he’s always been there through the thick and thin of their lives. When he and Bruce weren’t speaking after Dick went to collage, Uncle Clark would take him out to dinner two times a week to let him air out his frustrations, he was also his biggest supporter when he made his debut as Nightwing. And with Tim’s close relationship to Kon, he’s gotta be worried about him.

“No, he really didn’t. He got really upset, it was pretty scary actually. He said I didn’t love him and that he’ll never forgive me, then he stormed out and that was the last time I saw him.” He recounts.

Clark just nods again.

“Does he still think that Bruce is, uh, not dead?” He asks quietly.

“Yeah, he does.” Dick sighs. “I’m worried, Uncle Clark, this isn’t healthy. He’s lost so much in a few months and I’m worried that he might be going through a breakdown.” He confides.

“Like a mental breakdown?” Clark whispers.

“Yeah.”

Clark nods again, sadly this time. Like he’s resigned himself to the knowledge. It’s grim, but Tim wouldn’t exactly be the first cape to go off the deep end. Hal did twice, once when he became Spectre and once when he took up the Orange ring. Micheal did when Ted ‘died’, Roy and Ollie were on rocky ground for a while between Roy’s addiction and Lian being conceived and then born, and the entire Flash clan always seems to be on the brink. That doesn’t mean it’s any easier to talk about when it happens.

“I’ll let people know to keep an eye out for him and to handle him with care.” He says sadly. “Try to get him home where he belongs, we’ve lost too many kids this year.”

And they have. Kon and Bart are both gone, both young, with lives and futures ahead of them. Besides Tim and Cassie, who were hands down the closest to the pair, Gar and Jamie aren’t taking the loss of their friends and teammates lightly. Last he heard from Donna, the Titans haven’t had a team bonding night since the funerals because when they tried to pull out the games, everybody just started crying. 

Tim had come home from the failed attempt sullen and clutching a photo album of all of them to his chest. Then he’d disappeared into his room and didn’t come out all weekend.

“Thanks Clark.” He chokes.

“Of course.”

He’s much smaller than Clark, pretty much everybody is, but it’s nice sometimes. Especially when getting squished in one of his bear hugs. When Clark sweeps him into one, he doesn’t even pretend to resist.

“Call me if you need anything, I mean it.” Is the last thing Clark says before he goes.

Chapter Text

Europe is both exactly the same and completely different than how he remembered it being. The last time he’d been in the area had been with the Titans, getting reconnaissance for a Meta-human trafficking ring that had been operating in the area. They’d gotten the information and then spent the weekend taking in the sights, like the Eiffel Tower, Big Ben, ancient cathedrals, and of course, the food.

He’d had an amazing time, eating great food, drinking great coffee, and having fun with his friends. He’d even stopped in at a small bakery in southern Paris that his parents had gotten him a croissant from when he was eight. His nanny at the time had taken him to the airport to meet them and the media had gotten some great shots of him, held tight in his mothers arms, while she smiled at him munching on a pastry.

He was older now and realized that they’d only arranged that photo shot because their public image wasn’t doing well, but he’d kept some of the pictures nonetheless.

The nostalgia of the continent is a double edged sword, both a nice reprieve from his aching heart and a harsh reminder of what he’s lost. He’s working very hard to keep both of those emotions under wraps deep in his consciousness, he’ll deal with them when he isn’t trekking the world alone, following the clues of a man trying to get back to his family.

The clues are also a double edged sword. Clearly, Bruce expects that all of his kids will be looking for him, because the signs are in places that are important to them, like the small town of Sinaia, Romania where Dick was born, or the French Bistro he took Jason to the first summer after he was adopted. He’s sure that if he were to check, he’d find clues in Hong Kong, where Bruce meet Cass.

Maybe he’ll go check Asia next, there will probably be more clues there. As Bruce Wayne and as Batman, he was well travelled and by extent, so are his kids, there are places of emotional significance to them all over the world. Right now though, he needs to work on ditching the shadow he’s picked up in Italy that is now following him into Austria.

Actually, he’d noticed him way before Italy, but he hasn’t been able to confirm that they’re following him until he was in Italy. Since then, he’s been sticking to very public, touristy areas. He’s not sure if his follower is sent by the Justice League to retrieve him, now that Dick’s turned them all against him. That wouldn’t be ideal but it’s better than several other possibilities. It’s possible that it’s just your average perv who’s noticed that he’s young and travelling alone.

He’s made a profile of his stalker so it’s easier to spot him and thus avoid him. He’s a black male, about five foot eleven, and his hair is cut short. He wears reinforced steel toed boots, carries a pistol in the left one and a knife on his hip. He also carries a heavy backpack made of well made fabric and often has an ear piece in. His stalker also isn’t on anybody's data bases that he can access, which means that either he’s just another tourist who’s giving him way too much attention but who’s ultimately harmless, or he’s representing an organisation that works completely underground.

Given how his luck’s been going lately, it’s probably the latter.

He’s in a bit of a bind here, he’s alone in a foreign country, has very little to defend himself with, and he doesn’t know anybody in the area. He needs to really play this properly, because he can’t afford any injuries that could delay his mission and also, he’s in a massive tourist area. Civilians will be caught in the crossfire if this becomes a battle.

What he needs to do right now is get himself familiar with his area and the best way to do it is to see it from multiple vantage points. He may not be able to climb the walls in broad daylight but he can get plenty of information from ground level. There’s a small coffee shop with a beautiful little patio that’s going to help him do the job perfectly, he can get himself some food and stay there for a while without raising suspicion.

With a cup of coffee and a fresh panettone, he grabs a nice seat and settles in to observe. It’s easy to find his shadow now that he isn’t moving and can devote his energy to looking for him. The perp goes in the opposite direction, towards a little boutique selling outerwear, and heads down a side street with market vendors along the sides. It’s a deliberate attempt to throw him off, lure him into a sense of calm, make him think that he was being nutty about a stalker when really it was just another tourist going the same way.

If he hadn’t spent the past few months being called crazy for stating the truth, he might have fallen for it.

As it stands, he knows to stick to his guns and trust his gut. He knows that something isn’t right, which means that something isn’t right. He has nobody except himself to rely on so he has to trust himself, there isn’t anyone watching his six, nobody to patch him up if he gets hurt.

Nobody to tell him it’s going to be okay.

So he waits at the cafe, nursing his coffee and breaking off small pieces of his panettone to eat while he surveils his surroundings. Sure enough, his shadow reemerges at the opposite end of the square and fails to hide a look of annoyance at seeing him still at the cafe, clearly noticing that he knows he’s there. If he had the backup of his team or family, he’d raise his cup in a silent cheers, but he doesn’t have the resources or support to be cocky. Instead, he lazily turns his head to watch another group of tourists taking pictures of an old stained glass window. To most, it would look like he’s just people watching but he knows his stalker is aware that his cover is blown. Will it stop him from trailing him? Probably not, but the knowledge that he’s been found out might keep him from trying anything.

Maybe he should give his stalker a name, something silly to make him less intimidating. If Dick were here, he’d have given him a name within five minutes of noticing him.

~~~

He winds up going through three cups of coffee and another panettone before he’s satisfied that his stalker has buggered off somewhere else. He hasn’t seen him in an hour and he feels confident that he can probably safely head to a hotel for the night.

His backpack feels much heavier after he’s had it set down for a few hours but he treks to a nearby hotel. He would sleep in a hostel but he has some expensive items that are crucial to his search that would 100% be stolen in a hostel, so he’s springing for the extra fees of a hotel with a private room. It’s not like he can’t afford it, he’s not staying in five star, or even three star places and he has a multimillion dollar trust fund, he’s not gonna burn through all of that with one hundred dollar hotel rooms.

The hotel he finds is nice, if old and a bit drafty, but his bed is clean, his bathroom is functional, and there's an attached restaurant to the hotel so he doesn’t have to travel far to find supper. He locks the door, sets up his portable security system, one he’d designed before Bruce disappeared, and takes out his journal. He’s recording and documenting the clues he finds and where they point, as well as his working theories on how he’s going to drag Bruce out of the timestream.

Not that there aren’t other reasons he wants Bart back, but this would be a hell of a lot easier if he had a speedster who could just pull Bruce out. He tried asking Uncle Barry, but he’s still grieving Bart and Bruce, who he fully believes is dead, and he refused to help. Wally is first and foremost Dick’s best friend and he’ll always side with him over anybody else, so of course he wasn’t able to help.

Plus, as Bart had explained to him once, the time stream is delicate and messing with it can cause some really dangerous issues that are difficult to fix. And seeing as how speedster interference is one of the biggest reasons for issues with the time stream, it does kind of make sense that none of the living speedsters are willing to risk the safety of the known universe on a teenager's hunch. Hopefully, when he has enough proof of life, proof that his mentor and adopted father is stuck in the timeline, they’ll help him then.

He journals for about an hour before his hunger calls him away. Walking around at a leisurely pace may not be the most strenuous thing he’s done but doing it all day does work up an appetite. His Italian isn’t as good as Bruce’s but he can communicate his needs to order his dinner and soon he’s grabbing some Euros to go and pay for his meal.

The restaurant is cute and he makes a mental note to come back when the mission is done. Maybe he can bring Cassie with him and they can mend their relationship. Sure, between him trying to clone Conner and her joining a cult, things have been tense but they can probably work past that. It’s not like this is the first time things have gone off the rails where they’ve had fights that seemed like the end of the world, but they’ve been on each other's support teams for so long that it’s almost second nature. No matter how deep in her cult Cassie might be, he would drop everything right now if she reached out for help, hijack a plane, and fight his way out side by side with her. Just like he’s confident that if he called her now, she’d be here before the end of the day, or at least before the sun's up tomorrow.

But he can’t call her, because she’s also dealing with her own shit and her own pain. He knows that her mother is putting everything on hold to try to drag her daughter out of her depression and to help her work through her grief. Helena is awesome, maybe she burns pancakes everytime she makes them, but when they’d all slept over at her house, she always let them see the trinkets she’d found and collected at her dig sites. She had found an arrowhead at a site and had it made into a necklace for Cassie’s sixteenth birthday,a reminder for her to fly true.

She also talked to him about how he could make a career out of his photography hobby, if he wanted to go that route. He doesn’t but it’s nice that she supports his passion.

When he gets back to his room, he’s already mentally making plans to bring Cassie and Helena here, maybe with Bruce too. The architecture, the food, and the photo opportunities make it the perfect trifecta of places to visit.

He’s so deep in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice the whole ass person sitting on his bed until they clear their throat. It’s not his stalker, instead, it’s a bald girl with combat boots, twirling a knife while sitting propped against his pillow.

“Tired mate?” She asks.

British. Okay, that’s not really helpful. He has his compactable bo staff but this space is pretty tight for that kind of combat. He also has his knives but using them will cause bleeding and holes in the walls, which could bring media attention, which will give the league a place to look for him.

God, his life sucks right now.

“Who are you?” He demands, trying to sound braver than he feels.

“Prudence Woods, my friends call me Pru, my enemies call me bitch, and my mother calls me mistake.” She greets, swinging her legs over the side of the bed, putting her knife to the side, and sticking her hand out for a shake.

Yeah, he’s not that fucking stupid. Tired? Yes. Hungry? Absolutely. In need of a good cry and maybe some hot chocolate? Sign me up yesterday. But he isn’t stupid.

“Why are you in my room?” He demands.

“We were sent to kill you.” Another voice supplies.

He spins around just in time to see another boy coming out of his closet. He’s tempted to make a joke about it this probably isn’t the time. Maybe once he figures out who’s trying to kill him.

“Why?” He asks.

“Money, mostly.” Stranger says.

“Sense of duty.” Prudence adds.

“Boredom.” A third voice chips in.

God, how many hiding spots are there in this tiny hotel room? This guy comes out of the bathroom and he desperately wants to know if they coordinated where each of them would be before they broke in. Unlike the other two, he recognizes this guy as his stalker and apparently, he didn’t ditch him as well as he thought he did.

“You’ve been following me!” He says, pointing at his stalker.

“Yes, I have. Zeddmore Washington.” His stalker introduces, sticking his hand out to shake.

He has to hand it to them, aside from the breaking and entering, these might be the politest of the long list of people who have tried to kill him. Still, he doesn’t take the offered hand. It might be covered in a toxin that absorbs through the skin.

“Why are you following me Zeddmore Washington?” He asks.

Now that he’s looking around, it becomes kind of obvious why they all hid in different places. Emerging as they had, they now have him surrounded with all of his exits blocked.

“We were sent to kill you.” Zeddmore Washington explains, almost painfully blaise for the sentence he just uttered.

“Why? Who wants me dead?” He snaps.

“Ra’s al Ghul sends his regards.” Zeddmore says.

“And his bullets.” Unnamed guy adds.

“Ra’s al Ghul wants me dead?” He asks.

“Yep.” Unnamed dude says, popping the p.

“Well I’m flattered, I guess, but why?”

“Because you belong to a group that acts directly against his best interests.” Prudence says from the bed. She’s playing with her knife again and that doesn’t really bode well. Italy is not the United States. Things close earlier here, if he gets stabbed, even if he makes it to the streets there’s a good chance he won’t run into anybody who can help him.

“Uh, I am not affiliated with any organization.” He says dumbly.

“The bats?” Unnamed dude asks.

“Kicked me out.” He says.

It’s a little more complicated than that but he doesn’t think these guys are going to stick around for anything other than the cliffnotes.

“Pff. How dumb do you think we are?” Prudence asks, “The big bad bat doesn’t kick out wayward teenagers, we know he’s still trying to father Jason even after he put literal heads in a duffel bag.”

“He learned it from us.” Unnamed guy pipes up.

“That was when Bruce was Batman. Dick’s in charge now and he’s running things differently.” He corrects.

Again, totally more complicated than that but he doesn’t have time to go into the finer details.

“You’re Robin, Batman's right hand man. He’d have to keep you around.” Unnamed guy says.

“Well as it turns out, Robins are replaceable. Dear old Dickie found a newer model and didn’t need me anymore.” He grinds out.

The three intruders exchange looks and then Zeddmore Washington leans amicably against the wall.

“So what brings you out here then, if you aren’t Robin any longer?” He asks.

Suddenly, the noticeable tension and life threatening aura dropped considerably. It was almost impressive.

“Bruce is stuck in the time stream and I need to get him back.” He says.

Cliff notes. This entire evening can be summed up by cliff notes.

“So call your friends in the spandex suits to help get him back.” Prudence says, rolling her eyes.

“They don’t believe me, they think I’m insane.” He explains.

“Are you?” Unnamed guy asks.

“No! I have proof!” He snaps, grabbing his journal and shoving it into his chest. “There are clues all over the world, mostly in places that have significance to us in some way. I know I can get him back but I need to figure out how!”

Zeddmore takes the journal and opens it up, thumbing through the pages and nodding along. He’s tempted to snatch it back but honestly, it’s just nice to be taken seriously.

“There’s some excellent detective work in here.” Zeddmore compliments, tucking his thumb into the pages to mark his spot.

“Thanks, tell it to Dickhead.” He says.

“Here’s the thing Tim, I think we can benefit each other. You clearly have a good understanding of the sciences and a goal you need to accomplish but you lack the resources to follow through.” Zeddmore says with the kind of smile his dad wore when he was trying to con someone. “Our organization has the resources you need and we could use your expertise to help us accomplish our own goals.”

“A quid pro quo.” Unnamed guy says.

“Scratch our backs and we’ll scratch yours.” Prudence adds.

“Exactly.” Zeddmore agrees, like it’s not completely insane to just jump in and out of each other's sentences.

Maybe this is a hallucination. All the fresh Italian air is detoxing all the pollution Gotham has left in his lungs and it’s distressing his brain.

“Right, and what does Ra’s want from me? Babies tortured? Small animals dismembered? Maybe he wants me to electrocute grandparents for their cookie recipes?” He snarks.

“Don’t be silly.” Unnamed guy says, “The league doesn’t hurt animals.”

“Right, cause that was his problem.” Prudence chuckles.

She’s moved and has now comendered his dinner, not that he’s opposed to sharing but for fucks sake, she’s already shared his bed.

“Hey! That’s mine!” He snaps, reaching to take it back. She dodges easily and stuffs another bite in her mouth.

“Finders keepers.” She sings with her mouth full.

“Payers keepers!” He protests.

“Pru, give it back, poor mans hungry.” Zeddmore orders.

Prudence rolls her eyes and puts his take out container back on the table. He snatches it up quickly and holds it close. Petty, yes but also, it’s his food goddamnit!

“Listen Timothy, you want Bruce back and you also don’t want to die. So how about Owens, Pru, and I go back to base and talk to the big man about what conditions he’d be willing to work with, and we’ll come back with a proper offer?” Zeddmore offers.

“I take it that regardless of what I say, you’ll track me down anyway?” He says with a roll of his eyes.

“That about sums it up.” Owens says.

“Then fine, I’m sure you’ll break into my next hotel soon.” He agrees. “Now get out, I need to eat.”

“Cheers mate.” Prudence says.

And then the fuckers just walk out the door. Stupid assassins, acting like they’re too good for windows.

~~~

Things have not been going well since Kon and Bart died, for anyone really. Tim’s gone a little screwy and tired to clone Kon, because cloning Kryptonians worked so well for Lex. The entire Flash Family is griefing, and they tend to get destructive when they do that. Last time somebody messed with one of them, they beat the shit out of them at super speed, ran to the future when they had healed, and beat them up again. She has to hand it to them, they follow the no kill rule but they get so creative about their revenge that you almost wish they’d killed you.

She’s not entirely blameless in all of this either. She may have interrupted Tims cloning attempts but she also joined a cult (not her brightest decision) and now that she’s kinda on the outs, she’s let her grades and social interactions fall to the wayside. Thank the gods for her mom, Diana, and Donna. All three of them have been helping her through it.

Her mom’s got her in therapy, she meets with them once a week and the advice has been pretty good. She’s been keeping a journal of three good things that happen every day, takes a walk daily, and she and her mom have restarted their weekly movie nights. It’s not an instant cure but it’s been helping.

Diana and Donna have both been there as well. Diana has benched her from going out as Wonder Girl but she makes sure that the two of them get some good one on one time still. Sometimes they just go out to grab ice cream but other times they go to the theatres and art exhibits or the park, and sometimes Diana just joins her in the backyard and holds her hand while she cried about her loses.

Donna takes it to the next level, she seems to have taken the ‘positive affirmations’ advice to heart and is like a dog with a bone about it. When she finally has the energy to roll over and face the day, her text messages are full of compliments and her snapchat is just picture after picture of positive cat memes. The original Wonder Girl also drags her along to hang out with her Titan friends, so far she’s made pizza, mini golfed, bowled, and gone swimming with most of them. Their activities have to be pretty chill, since Roy brings his daughter along and she’s only two, but the boundless hope of a toddler does wonders on her spirits.

Donna’s also taught her how to roll a joint and all the Titans, minus Dick, let her rage about everything with no judgement, and then gave her a bag of cheetos to pig out on. Drug use may not be the best way to deal with everything, but according to Wally, marijuana has a ton of medicinal properties and has been proven time and time again to help depression, anxiety, and PTSD. So that makes it fine. Plus, her moms fine with her getting shot at all the time, it’d be weird if she drew the line at dabbling in weed use.

So while it’s certainly slow going, at least it’s going, and she’s noticing that she’s in a better place now than she was just a month ago. And since she’s starting to do better, it’s probably time to reestablish a routine and reconnect with her friends, and she knows who to start with.

Tim has been her best friend since they started in the Titans, Tim had been thirteen, she had been fourteen, and they’d both been struggling to live up to the legacy they had taken on. Admittedly, Tim may have had it worse, given that his predecessor had died on the job and Batman and Nightwing were not taking it well. But he’d still been a good friend to have and she needs to make things right, was cloning Kon a good idea? No, but neither was joining a cult and she knows Tim doesn’t exactly hold grudges.

Besides, last she heard from the Bats, Tim had gotten into a fight with Dick and stormed off for the weekend. Apparently it made the news and everything, which she’s sure means he’s either going to brag about the crazy weekend he had or he’s going to rant about how stupid Dick becomes when the Demon Brat is involved, since Bruce dying apparently means that the brat gets no consequences for trying to kill him.

The thought made her cringe, like nails against a chalkboard but in her mind and chest rather than her ears. Her own grief had been difficult and she knows it isn’t healthy to hold it against herself, but she does wish she had at least reached out, even just sent a text. After all, it’s not like things have exactly been going well in Gotham, not since Bruce’s blood son got dropped off on the doorstep.

The child’s a menace. Murder attempts, threats of bodily harm, destruction of personal possession, and overall just a rude little brat, Damian Wayne has not won any love from the Teen Titans. Especially when Tim had come to the tower with a mood like a storm cloud and told them that the little bastard had tried to kill him by pushing him off the dinosaur in the Batcave. And that Dick hadn’t even cared.

So yeah, Tim might have been left to the wolves these past few months. He probably needs a weekend away, with no demon babies who try to break his things or put maggots in his mac and cheese. And thankfully, Diana, her mom, and Donna think it’s a great idea to reconnect with Tim and Diana and Donna have offered to go with her to Gotham.

Donna wants to hang out with Dick for a while, catch up in a way they haven’t been able to in a while and Diana likes to trade war stories with Alfred, so it’ll be a ‘legacy trip’ as Donna calls them.

~~~

The trip to Gotham passes relatively easily, Diana flies the invisible jet up front while she and Donna distribute snacks and play Minecraft on their phones. The weather is pretty good, even by Gotham standards and it doesn’t take long for them to be touching down on the tarmac of the Wayne Estate.

As soon as the engines are off, Ace is bouncing at the windows and barking his head off. He can’t see the jet, so sometimes he trips himself over it or accidentally smacks his head on one of the wings but it’s morbidly comical to watch.

Behind Ace is Alfred, dressed like a penguin as per usual and giving no indication that it’s a surprise to him that they’re there. The chain of his pocket watch glints in the shy sunlight and his grey hair is almost white.

“Alfred!’ Diana greets, hopping out of the plane.

Donna and Cassie are close behind her, climbing down from the jet and onto the well maintained pavement. Apparently, when the original Titans were younger, they used to take sidewalk chalk and spend all day out here in good weather, just drawing on the ground.

“Miss Prince, lovely to see you again.” Alfred replies, embracing her with a smile. “And you’ve brought Miss Troy and Miss Sandsmark with you, what a treat.”

“Hey Alfred!” Donna chirps.

“Hi Alfred.”

“Donna?”

Up towards the house, Cassie can see Dick hurrying out the door, hopping to pull his shoes on while he comes to greet them.

“Dick!” Donna calls back.

Because she has her shoes on properly, Donna has no trouble running to her old friend and snatching him up into a hug so tight his bones must be compressing to accommodate it but he doesn’t complain. Instead, he returns the hug with just as much enthusiasm, though his human strength can’t compare to hers.

“Omigod it’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” Dick gasps, “Ugh I’ve missed you so much!”

“I missed you too, you idiot! Why haven’t you come to any of our hangouts?” Donna demands, slugging him on the arm once she’s released him.

“I’ve been really busy Don, the worlds kinda crazy over here right now and I can’t get away once a week anymore.” He explains, his usually 1000 watt smile dimming. “Bruce is gone and Damian needs me, I can’t just ditch him to go party.”

“Why not? He’s old enough to be alone for a few hours.” Donna counters.

“It’s not his age I’m worried about.” Dick replies.

“It’s his demon heritage.” Cassie mutters. It’s under her breath but the knowing looks Diana and Donna give her let her know that they’ve heard her. And agree with her, if the nod Donna gave her is any indication.

Dick doesn’t hear her but he notices Donna looking towards her and then seemingly realises that she’s there.

“Oh Cassie! It’s good to see you up and about again!” Dick says, as if he’s been the one sending her cat memes or taking her for ice cream.

“Thanks.” She says.

It may not be her fight or anything, but she’s mad at Dick on Tim’s behalf. Logically, she knows that Dick’s in a hard place, having to step into the shoes of Batman and take custody of his two younger brothers while his third brother goes on a minor killing spree and he’s probably not able to devote 100% of his energy to keeping Tim safe from the Demon Brat. Emotionally though, she wishes he would just pack the brat in a box, write ‘ship to League of Assassins’ on it, and cover it with stamps so that Tim could be safe in his own bed.

“Please everyone, come inside.” Alfred offers, “I have so many raspberry danishes that need to be eaten and they’ll go splendidly with some tea.”

That settles the anger in her stomach, replacing it with hunger. Alfred makes great raspberry danishes, she knows because whenever he makes a batch, Tim brings some to the Tower and can be tempted to share if Bart gets him white people chinese food from a small restaurant just outside of Central. Or if they let him decide the game for game night. Either or.

If there are danishes, that will certainly have put Tim in a good mood. Hopefully good enough for her to apologise for the cult thing, the calling him a nutjob thing, and the radio silence thing. She doesn’t have super speed, so if he decides he wants Chinese food, he’s going to have to go to Missouri himself.

Inside, it looks like nothing has changed, there are still no specks of dust anywhere, beautiful pieces of artwork line the hallway walls, and the hardwood floors don’t even squeak as they walk on them. The dining room table definitely looks worse for wear, there are visible marks in the wood surrounding one chair, which also has scratches on it.

She avoids that one when she sits down.

Donna and Diana each take a seat on either side of her and Donna gives her hand a squeeze under the table. Dick takes the seat across from Donna and smiles at her. She tones out the conversation they dive into, instead looking around for Tim. He must know that they’re here, which means that he’s purposefully avoiding them, or more specifically, her. The thought makes her squirm in her seat.

Alfred is quick to return with a tray of tea and danishes, which he distributes happily. Cassie makes her cup with milk and sugar while Donna just takes sugar and Diana takes hers black. The danishes are as delightful as she remembers, with a fluffy puff pastry perfectly prepared and a not too sweet fresh raspberry filling. They’re warm and she knows that they must have been warmed up in the oven, perfect for consumption.

Donna and Dick keep up their conversation for what feels like forever, which she’s told is pretty common for them. Diana is happily drinking her tea while she and Alfred watch their younger charges. Still, she can’t see Tim.

Unfortunately, things go from slightly disappointing to fucking terrible when in walks the demon brat. He’s so exactly as Tim described him, perfectly pressed clothes, not a hair out of place, and looking down his nose at everyone else in the room. He takes one whiff of the danishes and scowls at them.

“These again, Pennyworth?” He drawls, taking a seat like he’s taking the throne. “They aren’t your best work.”

Donna, Diana, and Cassie all reel back in complete shock. It’s a well known fact in the vigilante world that there are certain civilians you just don’t bother if you want any respect. Joan Jarrick, Martha and Jonathan Kent, and Sue Dibny are all on that list, right beside Alfred Pennyworth. Nobody disrespects or makes a move against anyone on that list unless they want to get beaten into the tarmac.

But here’s Damian Wayne, blood son of Bruce Wayne, blatantly disrespecting him.

What’s weirder is that Dick isn’t correcting it or even saying anything. Cassie’s been raised on the stories of the original Titans, they’re who she dreamed of being when she first started and she’s heard most of the stories. Including the time Dick Grayson dragged Garth back to the Batcave to apologise to Alfred for accidentally trekking mud on his carpet.

Unaware of the inner turmoil his presence and attitude is causing, or perhaps just not caring, Damian sits back and waits until Alfred pours him a cup of tea, makes it to his liking, and places it in front of him. He takes a sip and smacks his lips loudly.

“White sugar. How disappointing.” He deadpans, though he continues to drink.

Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. This kid has got to be some sort of alien, disguised as a human, sent to Earth to do recon for an invasion. He’s got to be, because no actual human acts like this ever.

If this is her first taste of the blood son, she isn’t sticking around. No wonder Tim left for a weekend, she’d leave too if this were what she had to live with every day. And this is in front of company, she can’t imagine what he’s like behind closed doors.

“I’m ah, I’m gonna go hang out with Tim. Is he just in his room?” She excuses. No way is she hanging around with this kid.

Rather than an answer, Dick and Alfred just stare at her like she’s lost her mind. Then Alfred averts his gaze and Dick clears his throat.

“Tim isn’t back yet.” He mutters.

“What? Where is he?” Cassie demands.

“We don’t know Cassie, he’s been missing since last Thursday.” Dick says.

“I thought he was back now?’ Donna pipes up.

“Then why aren’t we looking for him?” She asks.

“Why would we waste our time with that?” Damian asks, still pulling the puff pastry away from the raspberry filling.

“Because he’s my friend and we love him!” She snaps at him.

“That’s your mistake.” Damian replies with a scoff.

“You’re a mistake.” She retorts.

“Hey! Cassie, I know you’re upset about Tim, we all are, but you can’t take out your stress on Dami. He’s still learning.” Dick scolds.

“Learning to be a complete sociopath.” She snaps. “Have you even looked for Tim? Or are you too busy with him?”

“Cassie, maybe you should sit down, we can talk about this.” Donna bargains, rising from her seat.

“No! There isn’t anything to talk about!” She cries, “Tim is missing and he doesn’t even care!”

“I do care!” Dick snaps, “But Tim’s sixteen, he’s old enough to take care of himself for a bit. Soon enough he’ll get bored or lonely and come home on his own, but right now, I need to focus on Gotham. I don’t have time to globe trot looking for a kid who left on his own.”

“No, you don’t have time to go look for your little brother because you got a newer model that you like better.” She snaps back, “No wonder Jason never talks to you, you get bored of people once you have a new one.”

That’s a low blow and she knows it. All of the original Titans grieved hard when Jason died and Dick had been inconsolable. Then, once he was back, Bruce and Dick had spared no expense in trying to get him back, even though the Lazarus Pit had likely permanently changed his personality. But she also hates that Dick’s just completely given up on Tim, replacing him like he’s a cheap action figure and Damian is a prized, limited edition, upgraded version.

Still, the blow lands and Dick flinches back like he’s been struck. She’s ashamed to say that there’s a curl of dark satisfaction in her gut at his pain but she can’t deny that it’s there.

“Cassandra!” Diana scolds.

“Well it’s true! Dick hasn’t cared about Tim since Damian showed up! That little bastard has tried to kill him how many times now? But he’s allowed to stay, nobody gets angry at him. And Tim has to suck it up!” She cries.

She’s pissed and on a roll now. Manners be damned, Dick abandoned her best friend and he had better be ashamed of it.

“Tim adores you, he’s looked up to you since he was three years old! But why should you care about him, huh? Why should you when you have a shiny new psychopath and you can push Tim to the side? It’s not like he won’t forgive you, he’ll let you walk all over him as long as you keep giving him crumbs!”

“Cassandra!” Diana scolds again, standing up and taking her arm. “That’s enough. I know it’s hard but this is a difficult situation and yelling at people won’t help.”

“Then what will? Tim’s been missing since last Thursday and they don’t even care enough to look for him!”

“Come on, both of you.” Diana orders instead of answering.

Donna’s quick to agree, rising and following as Wonder Woman leads them away.

“Thank you for the tea.” Diana calls back to Alfred on their way out.

Her mentor keeps her arm in a firm grip all the way back to the jet, but as soon as their there, she releases her and pulls her into a tight hug. The embrace is all it takes for her to break down crying.

“I know, I know. It isn’t fair for them to give up on Tim like that.” She whispers.

“Why aren’t they looking?” She sobs.

“I don’t know Cassie, I really don’t.” Diana admits, pressing a kiss into her hair. “But we’ll look for him ourselves, see if we can’t find him and get him home.”

Donna joins the hug too, practically crushing the other two with her enthusiasm.

“I hate that stupid brat.” Cassie confesses.

“Me too Cassie, me too.” Donna says.

Diana scoffs but doesn’t say anything and Cassie takes that for the agreement it is. It seems that she was correct in assuming Damian wouldn’t be well received in the vigilante community, what with his attitude and everything.

“That brat is not built right.” She giggles, still teary.

“That’s what happens when you summon a demon and try to pass it off as a child.” Donna replies.

That gets a laugh out of Diana, though she’s quick to stamp it down.

“Alright, enough of that. Let's go back to Philadelphia and get some ice cream.” She suggests. “I feel we deserve it.”

“Maybe we can watch some Futurama too?” Donna suggests. “Bender’s always a good pick me up.”

“That he is. I agree, a girls night is in order.” Diana agrees, squeezing them tight. “And on the way, I’ll get ahold of Clark and we’ll start looking for Tim.”

Cassie smiles, though it’s not as bright as it could be. She needs her best friend home soon, she’s lost too many friends these past few months.

Chapter Text

In the past year, Tim’s thought more about how he would die than he ever had at any other point in his life. First, it had been mom dying, then Seb got diagnosed with cancer and they weren’t sure he’d make it, then he lost a civilian when she had a fatal heart attack as a result of fear toxin, then dad died, then he nearly killed Boomerang, then Kon and Bart died. Then Bruce got lost to time. He’s been to so many funerals this year, seen so much death, he can’t help but picture his own. How would he die? What lie would the family come up with to explain it? What would his headstone say, if he even got one? Would anyone speak at his funeral? 

He imagined that he would probably go in a massive fight, maybe an Arkham breakout or a fight against intergalactic intruders. It would be tragic for his friends and family but at least they’d know that he had died protecting others, making sure other families didn’t have to plan funerals. Maybe it was precocious of him, but he’d imagined that his headstone would be in the cemetery on the Wayne Estate, where his family could visit him and leave flowers like they did for Martha and Thomas. Like they’d done for Jason before he came back, like they sometimes still do.

As he lays in the hot sand, sticky with his own blood, he has to admit. This isn’t how he imagined it’d happen. 

Z and Owens lay still a few feet away from him, Owens head was almost completely removed and his empty eyes stare at him, like he’s waiting for Tim to join him in the abyss. Pru is crying and somehow, that seems more severe than the gaping hole in his stomach, Pru never cries, is never anything except angry or content. He can see her vaguely, just out of his peripheral vision as she weakly turns to her side so she doesn’t choke.

It won’t matter, they’re both fucked. Nobody who cares knows where they are and the League of Assassins isn’t known for sending backup. They send in one wave, if you don’t come back that’s on you. The best he’s hoping for is that whatever scavenger finds his remains is as respectful as a flesh eating animal can be with him. 

Despite the fact that it’s probably one hundred degrees, being that it’s the desert and all, he’s shivering and cold. He can feel goosebumps on his arms in response. Logically, he knows it's the blood loss but he still giggles deliriously. Who knew dying was so funny? He wonders if Jason laughed while he died.      

Pru gurgles and the sound is both hilarious and grounding. He is not going to die in the godforsaken desert, he is not going to die before proving that Bruce is alive. Is it petty to want to live only to rub his success in his big brother's face? Yes.

But his therapist once told him that he doesn’t need a noble reason to live, that any reason, no matter how small, is a good one. So obviously, pettiness is a perfectly valid reason to fight the cold darkness lurking at the edges of his vision.

Forcing himself into a seated position is the most painful thing he’s ever felt before, every single functioning nerve in his body screams as he pushes himself up, but at least the pain gives him something to focus on, another way to fight the darkness. In his utility belt in a roll of bandages and he shoves the whole thing into his stab wound, then he takes the tape and wraps it three times around his waist to keep it in place. He did not sanitize anything but if he doesn’t get his ass in gear, it won’t matter anyway. He can worry about an infection later if he makes it out of this alive.

His primary Bō is broken beside Pru but his secondary one is also in his belt. It’s not as sturdy, given that it’s collapsible, but given that he’s going to use it as a crutch and not a weapon, it’ll be fine. 

Sand quickly makes its way to the top of his shit list as it moves beneath his feet and crutch but nevertheless, he makes it to Pru. She’s got her own bandages in her stash but he ignores them, grabbing a sanitary pad instead. He’s worried about tying the bandages too tight around her neck, doing more harm than good, but a pad will absorb that blood and hopefully slow the bleed. 

If they get out of this, he’s going to send this whole scenario to Always. Maybe they can use it in a promotional video. Our period products saved a woman's life. That’ll beat out any other company for sure. 

“Okay, we’re gonna get out of this.” He breathes, fighting for breath. “But I need you to walk, I can’t carry you.”

She’s unable to nod but the look of resolve she gives him is enough, she moves with him when he helps her up and though it’s not as strong as normal, she latches on when he throws her arm over his shoulder. Pru sways dangerously when they stand, nearly dragging them both back into the bloody sand, but Tim cries out in desperation and counterbalances on instinct, so instead of both of them pitching to one side, they equalize.

The jeep they took here is in sight but painfully far away and uphill, because the universe hates them both. Pru is fading fast but stumbling along as best she can, mostly falling up the hill while Tim uses his staff to keep them both mostly vertical. Her legs give out from under her and she flops down onto the passenger seat, feebly dragging herself into the jeep properly. Or at least with her whole body inside, fetal position in the front seat probably isn’t recommended but it’s better than dead in the sand.

The keys are with Z, which he had been aware of but he hadn’t had the heart or stomach to pick through his dead friend's pockets to find them. Instead, he pries the panel from under the wheel out of place and tosses it into the sand below, revealing the coloured wires hidden behind it. It’s neither League or Batman training that let him start the car, rather something he learned from Jonathan Kent and he couldn’t be more grateful for the knowledge as it stutters to life.

~~~

He wakes up in a bed, a nice one, in fact. There’s the familiar fuzz of painkillers making it hard to think and the steady beeping of not one, but two heart monitors. Evidently, he made it somewhere to get help but he has no recollection of driving, finding people, and receiving medical attention.

The effort it takes to turn his head feels herculean but it does work and it’s worth it to see Pru, limp and unconscious but very much alive in the bed beside him. He stares at her chest, not in a creepy or perverted way, just to watch it rise and fall with each breath, to reassure himself that she’s still alive, that he’s not imagining the second heart monitor.

It’s eons and seconds later when the door he hadn’t noticed opens and a female in full ninja garb enters with a covered tray. At least that helps him guess where they are, since ninja apparel isn’t common in any place except the League. 

Ninja Nurse uncovers her tray to reveal medical supplies, namely a change of bandages and some medicine in an unmarked syringe. She peels the now bloody bandages away from Pru’s throat and he panics, struggling to sit up, to stop her.

“What is that?” He croaks, fighting his heavy limbs to try and get up. “Stop it! You can’t touch her!”

Ninja Nurse doesn’t even pretend to have heard him, instead she continues in her task. He’s realised that he won’t accomplish anything trying to sit up so instead, he takes a page out of a washed up fishes book and flops in bed until he throws himself onto the floor. He hadn’t noticed the line connected to the crook of his elbow until now, when it’s forcibly yanked from his vein and blood goes everywhere.

“Don’t you dare!” He rasps, fighting to get near, to protect the last friend he has left.

“It’s alright Detective.”

Ninja Nurse doesn’t respond to the new voice but Tim does. It’s never good to be caught unawares by the Demon’s Head himself, especially in the state he’s in. Evidently, fish flopping doesn’t work so he tries making like a snake and slithering under the bed. 

That doesn’t work either.

It does make Ra’s chuckle though and he fights down the nausea as he gets closer. As a trained ninja with over four hundred years of experience, his footsteps are silent, so he only sees his feet when they’re right beside him.

“Ms Jamil is just giving you’re young friend another dose of local anesthetic so she doesn’t feel any pain.” He explains, “Her larynx has been incredibly damaged but thanks to your bravery, she’ll survive.”

Then he flips Tim over and scoops him up surprisingly gently. Maybe its the drugs, and if asked that’s what he’ll blame, but the recognition and contact from an adult makes his chest feel warm. Or maybe he tore his stitches. Still, he becomes a boneless mass in Ra’s arms and he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. 

Ra’s lays him back in his bed, replaces his line, and even tucks him in. It’s a cruel imitation of what Dick had done for him when he’d gotten laryngitis when he was fourteen but he loves it despite that. 

“I must give credit where it’s due Timothy, you’ve impressed me. Of all of Wayne’s brood, you’ve always been the diamond in the coal mine, but I never guess you were this remarkable.” He praises, brushing his hair back from his face. “You not only saved yourself, but your teammate too. The pain you must have been in, I can’t even imagine. The average man would have died there, but not you. No, you brought back half of your team, even with life threatening injuries.”

“Pru.” He rasps.

“Will be perfectly fine. Her voice may never be the same, if she can talk at all, but other than that, she’ll make a full recovery.” Ra’s assures. 

It’s oddly kind, a tone he didn’t even think he was capable of, but here he is. Being comforted by Ra’s al Ghul. Hell has frozen over.

“You’ll make a full recovery too Detective, don’t fret. I’m afraid your spleen couldn’t be saved, we had to remove it, but we have you on antibiotics to prevent infection and my doctors will find the perfect dose of antibiotics for you to take while your body adjusts.” Ra’s soothes.

“I liked my spleen.” He whines.

Ra’s chuckles again and tucks the blankets in tighter.

“I know Detective but you’ll adjust.” He says sweetly, “You’re a resilient, determined young man. I have no doubt that you’ll be fine.”

He grumbles wordlessly at that but can’t find it in him to verbalize anything. There must be some kind of sedative in his line because he feels the pull of unconsciousness dragging him further and further from reality. Ra’s must notice, because he cups his cheek and draws his calloused thumb under his eye.

“Get some sleep Detective. You and your friend will be perfectly safe here, I’ve personally made sure of it.” He promises.

Under normal circumstances, that promise wouldn’t be assuring and may have been taken as a threat. As it stands, he doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything better. It seems he’s won some respect from the Demon’s Head and it’s granted him and his friend protection, at least for a while. May as well take advantage of it while it lasts, he can fight these drugs as hard as he wants but he’s not stupid, his willfulness isn’t going to win against chemical sleep. So he nods and lets his eyes slip closed.

There must also be some kind of happy medicine in his line, since his dreams are full of happiness and not the blood of his friends like he thought they would be.

~~~

It’s been months and Dick still hasn’t heard from Tim and neither has anybody else. Clark and Diana each looked independently and found nothing, Martian Manhunter can’t find him either but that’s not a surprise. All Robins get training to block out and hide from telepaths and mind readers. 

Babs has been keeping an eye out for Tim’s signature code or anything slightly similar to it. Hackers are loyal, they’ll stick to the same paths forever unless they have to change and coding patterns are like a fingerprint. If Tim’s been hacking into anything, she should know about it. But she hasn’t found anything, so either Tim somehow has a completely different coding pattern that he’s never shown them before, or he isn’t hacking.

The police haven’t dropped the case either, probably because the Ives family hasn’t, and he, Alfred, and Damian are now considered persons of interest in a missing child's case and aren’t allowed to leave the state. Their finances are also under scrutiny but that’s not a problem since they have separate, hidden accounts that no governing body knows about.

While he and Alfred are keeping things relatively under control, Damian hates every talk with the police and every reminder of their new legal limitations. Each one sends him into a fit of rage, ones that keep him in front of punching bags for hours, seething at it.

The cops aren’t the only ones still looking for Tim, he’s still pushing the League to find clues or any signs for where he may be. It’s why, at three a.m on a wednesday, he’s standing in the cave by the zeta tubes waiting for Uncle Barry.

Despite the fact that the speedster is not a night owl by any stretch of the imagination, he’s agreed to meet on Dicks schedule. The time is likely why Barry’s taking the tube and not running, he’s probably exhausted. 

The zeta tube lights up and Barry materialises in front of him, dressed in sweatpants and a tank top. He looks exhausted and the way his mouth is pursed tells him that there will be no good news tonight. 

“Hey Uncle B.” He greets, “Thanks for coming.”

Barry smiles tightly and wraps him up in a hug. He’s taller than Barry now but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel safe in his arms, like he’s ten and sprained his ankle falling out of a tree with Wally. 

“Hey kiddo.” Barry returns, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. 

“You wanted to talk about something?” He asks.

That ‘sucked a lemon’ look returns and the knife in his gut twists painfully.

“Yeah.” He sighs, dragging his hand down his face. “Do you have somewhere a little more comfortable that we can talk in?”

Translation: I have bad news and I can’t pick you up if you collapse.

Regardless, he has to be the one to hear this. Bruce is gone and Alfred’s been through so much, he can’t push this on him. Jason is probably stuffing more heads in a duffel bag and nobody's heard from Cass since the funeral and obviously he can’t hand this off to Dami.

By process of elimination, that leaves him.

So he leads his uncle upstairs and tries to remember the breathing exercises his therapist taught him. In 2 3 4, hold 2 3 4, out 2 3 4. There’s already a lump forming in his throat that he’s forcibly swallowing down, ignoring the pain it causes.

On autopilot, he leads them to the parlour overlooking the animal shaped hedges. It’s his favourite, where he rode out flus and heartbreaks as a child, where he comes to clear his head now. Instinctively, he takes his chair and Barry takes another one.

His uncle wipes his palms on his sweats. He’s already biting back tears.

“What is it?” He asks in as strong a tone as he can muster.

“I wanted to talk to you about Tim.” Barry starts.

“Did you find anything?” He jumps in.

Barry breathes deeply and wipes his palms again. It’s not abnormal for speedsters to be fidgety but this feels different. This isn’t the same as excess energy that needs to be expended somehow, it’s nerves.

“Tim has a history of depression.” He starts.

He’s not making eye contact. Uncle Barry always looks at him when he speaks but right now he’s looking everywhere except him.

“Yeah but he’s in therapy, he’s on medication.” He argues.

“Dickiebird, kiddo, Tim hasn’t spoken to his therapist in months, hasn’t refilled his prescription in longer.” Barry says. “We’ve looked everywhere he might be and anywhere else. We haven’t found anything.”

“So what? What are you saying?” He demands.

Barry breathes deeply again but disturbingly, his hands still.

“Has Tim ever expressed any thoughts about…” He pauses and licks his lips uncomfortably. “About ending his life?”

One, two, three seconds pass before Dick can fully wrap his head around the question. Because it’s not just about past thoughts, it’s a prelude to a very dark theory, the one that suggests that Tim, his strong, smart, sweet little brother, isn’t alive any longer. 

“Yes.” He grinds out, “After his mom died, he was in a bad place. He started therapy, got on medication, and Bruce, Alfred, and I took him out individually and kept our eyes on him. He hasn’t had those thoughts again.”

“Are you sure?” Barry asks, “I hate to bring it up kiddo, really I do, but it’s been a rough few months for the kid. He’s lost friends, his dad and stepmom, Bruce, and now he isn’t Robin anymore. That’s a lot for anybody but he’s still young, those thoughts may have been triggered by everything.”

“Yes I’m sure! He promised that he would tell me if he felt like that again!” He snaps.

Frankly, this whole thought process is wrong. Yes, Tim’s had a rough few months, but he has him and Alfred to talk to, he could have talked to his therapist or even his school counsellors, and he knows that Tim has an account with a few online services for young people struggling with depression. He has people he can reach out to, people who could intervene if he sounds like he’s talking about suicide. 

And Tim is smart! He’s one of the smartest people he knows, if he were struggling with his depression, he would know to reach out. He wouldn’t just give up. Even if he were at his lowest, at least one of his fatal flaws comes with a weird perk. Tim hates disappointing people, he wouldn’t hurt himself if he thought it would disappoint anyone.

“Look Dick, I love you and nothing will ever change that, so I need you to understand that when I say this, it comes from a place of love.” Barry begins, “You and Tim have been on rocky ground for a while and I saw on the news that Tim hasn’t been in contact with his therapist-”

“Oh, so you’re basing all of this on what you heard on the news?” He spits out, “So what, Vicky Vale spins a theory that Tim might have hurt himself and you throw away everything you know about him?”

Barry pulls back at his tone, straightens his back, and levels him with the ‘dad-glare’. It’s similar to the ‘bat-glare’ but somehow it makes you feel even smaller. 

“You’re the one that said that Tim’s been struggling mentally. He’s tried cloning Kon already, now he’s deluded himself into thinking that Bruce is still alive. He’s been struggling for a while and if the delusion of Bruce being alive broke, he may have hurt himself.” Barry says firmly. “I don’t like it either but we may need to start funnelling some resources into looking into deceased John Doe’s.”

“Yes! He’s hurting, he’s sick, his brain isn’t functioning properly right now, but he isn’t suicidal!” He snaps. His voice is rising, if he’s not careful, he’ll summon Damian from his rooms to see what the noise is about.

He and Barry stare at each other, locked in a battle of wills that he isn’t willing to lose. Things have been hard for all of them. He’s suddenly become the guardian for a grieving teenager and a baby assassin who isn’t liking the outside world. He’s had to step up to fill Bruce’s shoes in more ways than one, he has to be Batman, and a parent, and a big brother, and and and. He can’t even sleep uninterrupted for four hours nowadays.

Damian has lost the father he’s only just met, after hearing stories about his greatness all of his short life. Bruce had given him something to work towards, a model to base his behaviour off of and now that it’s gone, he’s floundering. He’d made bad choices after, lashing out at everyone and it doesn’t help that Tim has taken it to heart and has written him off as a monster. The label has hurt Dami, though he’ll never admit it.

Alfred, a man who has buried not just Thomas and Martha, but he’s also buried Jason, then lost him again to pit madness. Now he’s had to bury Bruce, the closest thing he’s ever had to a child, on top of trying to hold the rest of them together. Now Tim’s run off, worrying all of them and Alfred is taking hard. 

There’s always a place set for Tim at dinner, though it always goes empty and untouched. A scathing reminder that their table is incomplete. 

Finally, Barry sighs and relaxes. He stays stiff, frustrated at the suggestion.

“Do you know if Tim kept a journal or anything?” He asks, “Anything that might give us an insight to his mental state before he left?”

“You’d have to check his room.” He says in a forced, even tone.

It’s not meant to be an invitation but Barry takes it as one anyway, probably because he and Bruce were actually pretty good friends, even before any of the original Leaguers had kids. Barry’s had open access to this house since before Bruce had even heard his name.

He trails him through the halls, mostly because he wants to be there. He knows that Tim isn’t suicidal, knows he hasn’t been hurting himself, knows he would have told him if he had. Barry’s quick to start rifling through Tim’s things, searching for any hidden nooks where he might have hidden things, shoving his hands under the mattress and taking the drawers out of their slots. 

“Can you get into the laptop?” He asks as he takes the sheets off the bed.

“Yep.” He replies.
 
The computer has been sitting on the desk, just gathering dust, since Tim left. Barbara has taken over Tim’s cases, so they aren’t falling behind on anything but his younger brothers absence is still felt on the field. Nobody has Tim’s natural skill at spotting the tiny details that take the rest of them weeks to even begin to see. And now as he’s teaching Damian how to be Robin, he doesn’t have the time needed to peel over everything with a fine toothed comb. 

He types in the password and frowns when the ‘incorrect password’ button pops up. It’s not like he and Tim share every password but after Tim repeatedly forgot to print out important notes for cases and then left the manor, he’d given his computer password to Dick so he could at least print out said notes. 

He tries again and gets the same thing, the machine telling him to enter the correct password. Once again, he types the password, slowly pressing each key to make sure he isn’t accidentally hitting other letters.

No dice.

“Get it open?” Barry asks.

He’s in the closet now, laying flat on his stomach facing one of the back corners. 

“No, I think he changed his password.” He admits, “I’ll text Oracle, she’ll be able to get into it.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.” Barry says.

“What, that Tim changed his password?”

“Well it’s not like it’s been paradise here for him.” Barry says, still laying on the floor. “Doesn’t surprise me that he’d try to protect his privacy.”

That gets his defences up, all of the original Titans have been on his ass about how he messed up with Tim. He gets it now, he knows that he didn’t handle the passing of the Robin mantle well, but it’s not like any of them have proposed any other solutions that would have helped both Tim and Damian. Honestly, every suggestion felt like it boiled down to just dumping Damian and focusing on Tims needs. 

“Listen Uncle B, I may have made mistakes but I did what I thought was best.” He defends himself.

Barry audibly sighs from the closet and sits up, spinning to face him.

“Dick, Tim has been bullied by Damian from day one, and you and Alfred allowed it. I won’t comment on the Robin stuff, I know you guys are fussy about that, but regardless, there are plenty of issues that weren’t being addressed before the Robin thing.” Barry says. 

“It wasn’t bullying, it was a rough adjustment period. Tim wasn’t exactly perfect to Dami either.” He points out, “He made a plan to neutralise him and Dami found it, it really hurt his feelings.”

Barry raises an eyebrow, “I know for a damn fact that there are multiple plans to neutralize me, Clark, Hal, Diana, Ollie, and all of our kids if we go rogue. I’ve never tried to stab any of you over it.”

“You don’t understand, Damian was raised by the League of Assassins! He was never taught to handle anything without using violence and it’s been hard for him to adjust to normal society.” He explains, “He feels bad about it now.”

“So what did you do to make sure Tim was safe here?” Barry asks.

“What?”

“How did you keep Tim safe. Since Damian is used to using violence to get his way, I imagine that you had some way to make sure Tim wasn’t being hurt.” Barry clarifies.

“Tim was trained by Bruce and Lady Shiva, he knows how to defend himself.” Dick says.

“So you were alright when Tim retaliated against Damian when he was attacked?”

“What? No, I stopped them from fighting when they got into it.”

“So you stopped Damian from attacking Tim?” Barry asks.

“He wasn’t attacking! He was confused and scared and he lashed out at all of us.” Dick explains.

“But you didn’t stop him from hurting Tim?” Barry pushes.

“He didn’t hurt Tim!” He snaps.

He hates that everybody assumes that Dami is just a mindless monster because he’s prickly. He may be rough around the edges, and sure, he’s made some moves to push everyone away from Bruce but he wishes that they saw that for what it was, a child confused by his place in the world and clinging to the only parental figure he had left. He had clung to Bruce when he was alive and now that he was gone, he was spiraling.

“Dickiebird, Tim was hit quite a few times. Damian tried to stab him.” Barry says, “That’s hurting him.”

“He’s struggling Uncle Barry!” He says back. 

“Alright, he’s having a rough go of it, but that doesn’t make it okay for him to lash out at others.” Barry sighs.

“Whatever. He’s working on it! I wish everyone would cut him some slack.” He replies, “Now, did you find anything that proves that Tim’s suicidal or not?”

Uncle Barry rolls his eyes again but graciously moves on.

“No, but I would like to see if Barbara got into that computer.” He admits.

It’s his turn to roll his eyes. He knows that Tim isn’t suicidal bit Barry’s always been thorough. 

Oracle has gotten into the computer and Barry immediately starts looking for anything that might suggest that Tim’s been depressed. The funny thing about that is, Uncle Barry doesn’t really understand computers beyond the basics, he knows almost nothing about encryption and Wally often laments the fact that he has to force his adopted father to not do basic systems upgrades on his own personal tech. 

Because he doesn’t understand computers, Barry’s mostly just opening and closing random functions, even checking Tim’s Minecraft, which makes him laugh. One thing about Barry though, he knows when he’s beaten.

“Can you please ask Barbara to scan his computer to see if there’s anything in there?” He asks.

“Uncle Barry, Babs has already gone through all of Tim’s servers and files.” He explains, getting tired of this. “We looked for anything that could point to where Tim’s gone or why he left. If there was anything in there to suggest he was suicidal, we would have found it already.”

Barry purses his lips again but his uncle has another weakness. He is not a night owl, most of the flash clan isn’t if he’s being honest. 

“Alright kiddo, can you please just, I don’t know, call me?” He asks, “I worry about you, Jason, and Timmy, you’ve all had to grow up so fast.”

“I will Uncle Barry.” He promises.

Barry looks like he wants to say more but he holds his tongue. Instead, he gives him another hug and a pat on the back, and then he’s gone in a rush of wind. He leaves Dick alone in a cold room, waiting for it’s inhabitant to return.

Chapter Text

He doesn’t even get four hours of sleep after Barry leaves, his mind is too busy turning over possibilities until he couldn’t be bothered to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling any longer. So now he’s in one of the many spare rooms he’s commandeered as his office, his own laptop open on the desk, and the names and numbers of people who can help him scrawled on a spare sheet of paper beside him.

The Justice League hasn’t found anything on Tim at all, for all they know, he’s disappeared into thin air. The police haven’t found anything either, not that that’s surprising but it’s disappointing nonetheless. Sebastian and his family haven’t heard anything from Tim either but that hasn’t stopped them, they’ve been giving statements to reporters, putting up flyers, and offering a two hundred thousand dollar reward for anybody with any credible information on Tim’s wellbeing. Five hundred thousand for an exact location.

Previously, he’d been operating on the comfort that Tim had left willingly and would be back in his own time. Like he’d said before, this isn’t the first time Tim’s gone off on his own though this does take the cake for the longest time he’s been gone. But Barry had planted an uncomfortable seed in his head earlier, one he can’t get rid of and now he’s trying desperately to think up other options.

He’s already talked to Lucius about making a statement through WE, asking for Tim to come home. He’s also recruited the head of public relations at WE to help him not just put out a statement on behalf of the family, but also to help him prepare for a televised interview with Lois Lane about Tim’s disappearance.

On top of that, he’s gotten approval from the officer that’s in charge of monitoring their finances to set up their own reward for Tim’s safe return. He’s been granted five million to be set aside in a trust that he cannot touch unless Tim is returned home safely or if his body is found. Morbid but it’s better than nothing. 

When he isn’t burning out his corneas staring at his computer screen, he’s doom scrolling through Twitter. The Find Tim tag is still going strong and every time he refreshes the page, there's new material. The gofundme overshot it’s goal and the creator managed to make a commercial with a recent picture of Tim from a gala and lists of who to contact if they find him. It’s aired on most stations in every part of the country and some parts of Canada, even Youtube picked it up and is airing it at no cost to the creator “in support” of a missing child.

People looking for Tim are also going hog wild with tags against the rest of the family, especially Damian. Tim’s texts with his friends have been plastered all over the internet and since his biggest complaint was how Damian was always trying to hurt him or was breaking his things, he and his friends almost exclusively referred to Dami as Demon Brat and Twitter has run with it.

Scrolling through that tag, he finds all sorts of horrible things, like the Chucky doll with Damian’s face photoshopped on it and a lucky cat figurine in its hand, a reference to the statue of Tim’s that he broke. He also finds an account that exclusively compares Damian to serial killers by naming a serial killer and giving an example of how they acted as a child, then linking it back to his youngest brother. Another account picks apart Bruce’s interview after Dami showed up and Tim’s texts and then links it to warning signs of psychopaths and serial killers.

The court of public opinion has reached its verdict, and it’s not kind to Dami.

He’s stuck, well and truly stuck. He has no idea how he’s supposed to fix this, has no clue of where he could even start. Tim isn’t here and while he’s gone, nobody is going to feel any sympathy for Damian. Tim’s gone and he has no idea where he is, if he’s safe or well fed. Maybe he wants to come home but can’t for some reason, maybe someone stole his identification and he has no way to prove who he is so now he’s stuck in a foreign country with no way home. Maybe somebody got the drop on him and stole his kidneys.

The what ifs are making his chest feel tighter with each passing thought, but he can’t stop. 

He writes up a plea for Tim’s safe return home and sends it to every printing outlet, not just in the United States, but for every far reaching paper that he has the contact info for. It’s riddled with typos but that’s why they pay editors so he sends it anyway. On his personal twitter account, the one that’s verified, he puts out something similar, he even ats Tim’s account, though it hasn’t been logged into since he left. 

When he starts crying, he has no idea, but soon the iron grip in his chest becomes so tight that he can’t ignore it anymore and he has to move. Has to shake it somehow.

The chair clatters behind him before he registers that he’s stood up and soon he’s watching his own body walk through the halls of the manor. He winds up in Tim’s room and barely shuts the door before his knees give out from under him and the air is squeezed out of his lungs.

In a heartbeat, his out of body experience ends and he’s abruptly alerted to all the issues his body is having. He can’t help but curl up around himself and hold on for the ride while he coughs and sputters, his hands and feet are riddled with pins and needles no matter how he tries to position himself. His head is pounding along with his heart until he can’t bear to have his eyes open anymore or the lights will blind him. 

His throat is closing up as his collar gets tighter and he fumbled to loosen it with numb fingers, gripping and twisting at the buttons on his shirt to get them open until he can’t hold his breath any longer and pulls so hard that the buttons go flying. The noise they make when they hit the floor is deafening, ping ping pinging on the hardwood before they finally go still.

Their noise is the last straw for his stomach and he’s fumbling for the trashcan so he doesn’t puke all over the floor. With one hand on the bed to hold him up and the other holding the bin, he watches his toast and tea make a very gross reappearance in the form of beige, pudding consistency puddle in the bag. 

Briefly, he wonders if he’s been poisoned somehow. 

The logical part of his mind, the one that’s slowly coming back to him, knows that it’s a panic attack and one probably fueled by stress and a lack of sleep. He lays curled on the floor by the foot of his missing brother's bed while he returns to himself, staring at the life Tim left behind.

He misses him, he misses Tim so much that he feels it every time he breathes. His absence is a ghost in the manor, it haunts their every move and he hates it. He wishes he could hear Tim’s music from his room while he does his workouts again, or talk to him about his latest english project and let him bounce ideas off of him. He wants to sit down with him on a lazy Sunday and watch shitty sci fi movies and let Tim ramble about how the science in them doesn’t work, or how the physics is all off.

Despite the three people living in it, the manor feels empty and cold. It doesn’t matter how many layers he wears, how hard he pushes himself in training, how much hot chocolate and soup he drinks, the cold never leaves him. It’d started encroaching on him after Bruce died, then Cass left and it got worse but Tim leaving had allowed it to force it’s way past his skin and into his bones.

The last time he’d felt this chill, he’d been nine years old and had just watched his parents die. He’d been the ghost in the manor then, a broken child with nothing left to live for and convinced that he was just waiting for his own death, when he could rejoin his mom and dad in heaven. Bruce had pulled him out of it then, he’d forced him to meet up with Wally for playdates, eat semi-regular meals, and had sat by his bedside at night, reading him stories until he finally fell asleep. Then he’d do it again when the nightmares woke him up again with no complaints. Bruce had even learned Romani for him, so he would never lose his mothers language and they’d spoken it often, both at home and out in public. The Gotham elite had expressed many times that Bruce should have made him give his language up but he’d always refused, then he’d pick him up, kiss his cheek and say’ “Nu-i asculta pe idioții ăștia.”

Don’t listen to these idiots.

And he’d giggle and hug him tight and the jerks would roll their eyes, none the wiser that B was insulting them. 

Then he’d grown up and started fighting with Bruce and he’d always regret that. All that time he’d wasted being mad at him when he could have spent it learning from him. Bruce was stubborn, never let it be said that he wasn’t, but he wasn’t unreasonable and he’d loved Dick more than anything. If he’d taken the time to sit down with him and explain what he wanted and why, Bruce would have had his back, just like he had when Dick had wanted to take dance for his physical education credit in school rather than the standard gym. Or when he’d wanted to go to Midnight Mass on Christmas to honour his parents. 

At this moment, all he wants is for Tim to be right, for Bruce to actually be alive so he can come in and hug him the way he used to. He needs his second father so badly it hurts, the loss of him and Tim and Cass nearly paralyzing him.

But Bruce is gone so he does the next best thing. He drags himself off the floor and down to the entryway. He puts his shoes on but doesn’t bother with a coat, fussing with that would take too much time and he needs this now. The path to the family cemetery is muddy and his socks get soaked through but he doesn’t care, he finds Bruce’s headstone easily and collapses on the ground in front of it.

“Hey B.” He chokes, his throat still raw from the panic attack. “We miss you. I miss you.”

He looks at his hands, with his fingers digging into the wet ground and starts crying all over again.

“I’m fucking up B.” He confesses, “I can’t do anything right anymore. Cass is gone and I can’t find her. I gave Robin to Damian and Tim left, nobodies seen him in months and I’m scared. Uncle Barry thinks he might have been suicidal again and now I can’t stop thinking that he’s dead, and I pushed him over.”

He has to pause to cough and wipe away the tears and snot running down his face. Never let it be said that crying out your sins to your deceased mentor and father figure was a pretty activity. If this was some kind of shitty movie and he were a girl, he’d have mascara streaming down his cheeks and it’d be raining. 

“The last time I saw him we argued, like, really bad. Like, you and I when I was a teenager bad. He told me he would never forgive me if I gave Robin to Dami but I did it anyway, and now I can’t stop thinking that he’s dead and he died hating me.” 

He sniffles and wipes his face again. He’s going to need to change his sweater when he finally goes back to the house.

“I don’t know if I can do this. Every decision I make winds up being the wrong one. If I try to help Dami, I hurt Tim but if I help Tim, Dami goes back to the league. I’m not the real Batman and pretty much everyone’s figured it out. Joker went back to that fucking skin mask and he’s been getting out of control now that you’re not here to keep him in line. Jason’s getting more violent now that Joker's out and any time I try to talk with him, he shoots at my feet and leaves.” He rambles to the cold dirt. “I just wish you were still here.”

Out of steam, he falters off and stares at the stone. When he was younger and still believed in God, he used to feel a warmth whenever he thought of his loved ones in heaven. He’s older now and while he observes culturally, he hasn’t properly prayed in years, not now that he’s met demi gods and aliens and realised that they were just as flawed as him. But he’s tired now and desperate and if there’s even a small chance that there’s someone out there who’s still watching, someone who can maybe tip the scales in his favour, he’ll take that chance. So he positions himself on his knees, pulls his finger nails out of the dirt, folds his hands, bows his head, and whispers.

“Dragă Doamne, te rog dă-mi putere...”

~~~

When Tim wakes up next, he’s still incredibly loopy and Ra’s is still next to his bed. The immortal has a book in hand and a cup of something steaming on the table beside him. He can hear two heart monitors, his and Pru’s but he wiggles anyway, trying to see her like he had before. Ra’s notices his movements and smiles kindly.

“Ahh Detective, how nice to see you awake.” He says.

The Demons Head leans forward into his space and raises his bed so he’s in a more upright position. Once Tim’s sitting up, he returns to his seat and takes a sip of his tea.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, “Any pain?”

“M’tired.” He croaks. “Thrsty.”

Ra’s hums in understanding and nods, reaching out to sweep the hair from his forehead.

“I’ll send for something to refresh you, would you prefer water or ice chips?” He asks.

His clouded brain isn’t really up for any decisions right now and he’s having a hard time remembering what ‘ice chips’ are. In his mind, he considers potato chips that are kept in the freezer, but that would just make them stale and either way, they probably wouldn’t be nice on his dry throat.

“Water.” He says. “Ples.”

Ra’s smiles again. “Of course Detective.”

With that, he rises and stalks to the door, opens it, and says to the hallway, “Water in here, now.”

Odd how he doesn’t have to say please. Alfred would make him say please, but maybe when you remember the dinosaurs, you don’t have to anymore.

He flops his head to the side to check on Pru. She’s still asleep in her own bed, with her own I.V and her own wires monitoring her vitals.

“Here you go Timothy.”

Ra’s breaks him out of his stare off with his comatose friend, presenting him with a plastic cup with a straw poking out of it. Once he reaches for it, he realises his depth perception is fucked too, as he reaches for and misses the cup. When he finally grabs it, he finds it’s heavier than he anticipated and promptly spills it all over himself.

“Clumsy this one.”

Either Talia al Ghul has been unnoticed when he first woke up or she just came in, each entirely plausible, but she makes her presence known now. With his sheets now wet and his mouth still dry, he can only stare sadly at the empty cup.

“Now Talia, the poor boy’s been through a lot in the past week.” Ra’s says, taking the cup from him and refilling it. “He’s allowed to be a little clumsy.”

“Week?” He gasps.

“Well yes, you lost a lot of blood.” Talia sighs. She sits beside him on the bed, takes the cup from her father, and holds the straw to his lips so he can drink. Which he does, happily.

“We had to give you surgery and then you were in a medically induced coma so you could recover.” She explains. “You were barely holding on when you got back to base, you and Prudence are lucky to be alive.”

“She gonna be okay?” He asks.

“She will be.” Ra’s says, “I told you earlier but you may not remember, her larynx was severed, though it was a clean cut so our doctors repaired it as best they could. She may not speak as well as she used to, if she can at all, but other than that, she’ll make a full recovery.”

“All thanks to you.” Talia adds, rubbing his back.

At that moment, it occurs to him that Talia is, or was, a mother. Janet had never been maternal in any sense of the word, too busy running Drake Industries or going to archaeological dig sites to put any time into him, and he’d assumed Talia would be the same. Instead, now that she’s helped him drink and is now rubbing his back soothingly, he thinks he may have misjudged her. She seems pretty good at this mothering stuff.

Doesn’t explain when Damian’s such a psychopath.

“Are you hungry?” Ra’s asks, breaking him out of his thoughts again. “The doctors want you to start eating again as soon as possible. It doesn’t have to be much but we have some mango sorbet that would probably feel good on your sore throat.”

“Okay.” He agrees, because he has no idea what else to do.

“Wonderful. Father, while you get the food, I’ll help our guest get cleaned up.” Talia says, taking charge easily. “He needs a bath after laying in bed for so long.”

“Lovely.” Ra’s accepts, hurrying out of the room.

Not lovely, Tim thinks, not lovely at all. He may be smelly and slightly covered in sand, but he does not need Talia al Ghul giving him a bath. He’s sixteen! He’s got, stuff. Adult stuff. On certain parts of his body. Certain parts of his body he definitely doesn’t want her seeing.

“No.” He whines, holding tight to the blankets while she tries to push them back.

“Why not? You certainly can’t do it yourself.” She points out, hands on her hips.

“You’re gonna see me naked if you do.” He says shyly.

Talia huffs and he suddenly understands what Uncle Hal had been talking about when he said Bruce had a type. Diana, Selina, and now Talia, he realises that his mentor has a thing for the bossy types. And that brings up connotations that are gross to think about. Uck.

“Timothy, I’m over three hundred years old.” She says, “Trust me, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Well I’m under three hundred years old and I haven’t.” He declares, with all the confidence of a drunk singing karaoke. “So I’ll do it myself.”

His host closes her eyes and he imagines she’s counting to three. Funny, his mother used to do that too, whenever he was tired or hungry at a gala and was begging to go home. When she opens her eyes, she nods at him.

“Fine. Come on then.”

Happy with his winnings and forgetting that he’s hopped up on pain killers, Tim swings his legs over the side of the bed, gets tangled in the wet sheets as he stands up, and starts to fall. Talia dashes in quickly, catches him, and untangles him. Once he’s steady in her arms, she looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Sure you can do it?” She asks, probably sarcastically but his head is still spinning from the fall.

“Nope.” He says, popping the p.

“Then how about you let me help you.” She says.

“Fiiine!” He groans, flopping forward and making her shift his weight. “But don’t look too much. I’m still a kid.”

“Ohh darling, trust me. I’m well aware.” She assures him, scooping him up bridal style.

Feet off the ground, Tim stares at the polished floor below him, watching Talias feet as she carries him to a very nice bathroom, with a big tub and a big shower stall. Talia sets him down on the floor and moves behind him to undo the strings of his paper gown. While she does that, he busies himself tracing the lines between the tiles with his finger.

He doesn’t notice that he’s sitting there naked until she’s in front of him and tossing his dirty gown in the trash. Then she’s back again with some cling wrap and holding it in front of his face.

“I’m going to put these over your stitches so they don’t get wet, alright?” She asks.

“You’re the boss.” He agrees with an over dramatic thumbs up. 

Talia rolls her eyes again and puts the clear plastic over his stitches, securing all four sides with tape. Once she’s done, he pokes the center of it, feeling the firm wire holding his insides in place under his finger. She swats his hand away.

“Don’t do that.” She scolds.

“It’s my stab wound, not yours!” He protests.

“I’m the boss, remember?” She says.

He huffs but doesn’t protest again as she lifts him into the tub. He wiggles his toes as she turns on the water and uses a cup to wet his hair enough to shampoo it. It’s not a soap he’s used to, it’s a bar rather than a liquid but it smells nice and he can feel the dirt lifting from his scalp under her fingers. It feels amazing, Talia really missed her true calling as a scalp massager.

She finishes her massage too quickly and rinses the shampoo out of his hair, the bubbles swirling in the tub until they disappear down the drain. Then she puts more shampoo in his hair and he sighs in happiness.

“You’re good at this.” He compliments as she starts massaging his scalp again.

“Thank you.”

“You should have been a head massager.” He says.

“Thank you.” She repeats.

“You could still be a head massager.” He encourages, “I think there’s a college in Gotham that teaches massaging. You could specialise.”

“I’m a little old for college.” She excuses.

“Nah, you’re only three hundred years old!” He says happily.

“I’m over three hundred Timothy.” she corrects.

“Pfft. Alfred’s way older than that!” He says, flicking his hand and flinging water drops at the wall. “You could go to school for head massaging still!”

Talia doesn’t dignify him with a response but Tim can hear her rolling her eyes. Or it’s the drugs making him think he can hear her eyes rolling. Either is good.

He stays silent until Talia has put conditioner in his hair to sit and goes to clean his body with a soapy wash cloth. 

“Ay ay ay no!” He commands, sliding away from her in the bath. “No touchy.”

“I thought we already came to the conclusion that you’re in no shape to bathe yourself.” She says, “Let’s not hash this out again.”

He eyes her and tries to emulate Bruce as best he can, tries to be cunning and one step ahead like he always is. Okay maybe not always. And maybe not with Talia. Damian was proof enough of that. 

Having lost his train of thought, he raises his arms and drops them with a loud TWACK to the wet floor. 

“Fine! But I’ll yell if you get weird.” He threatens.

“Like I said, I’m over three hundred years old, I assure you, I have no interest in a pimply teenager.” She promises.

“Hey! I’m not pimply!” He says.

“Of course you’re not.” She agrees, taking one arm to wash it.

“I’m not!” 

“I know.”

He stares at her, trying to make her understand that he isn’t pimply, until he gives up and goes back to wiggling his toes. 

Bruce was wrong about one thing it seems. Drugs are fantastic! Sure, his arms and legs feel like jello and yeah, maybe his thoughts are a little jumbled, but he feels great! Better than he has in ages, as a matter of fact. The small things that didn’t interest him at all before are now the most amazing things of all time.

Here he sits, sixteen years old, discovering his toes like he’s six months old again. He taps each one in turn, muttering the This Little Piggy rhyme as he does so. Then, when Talia washes his feet for him, he flops back against the wall and smacks his head. It’s great! He doesn’t feel it at all.

“Timothy!” Talia scolds, pulling him up and examining the back of his head carefully. “What were you thinking? You could have given yourself a concussion.”

“I’ll give the wall a concussion.” He retaliates, glaring at it.

“Sure you will.” She mutters, “Just, sit still please. We’re almost done and then you can go back to bed.”

“Aye Aye captain!” He agrees.

She’s quick to rinse the soap off his body and the conditioner out of his hair, probably worried he’s so drugged up he’ll split his head open cracking it on the wall if left in it long enough. She’s probably right, he’s not very coordinated at the moment.

“There, all done.” She declares, wrapping him in a towel. 

“Woo!” He cheers.

She dries him off and then presents a real pair of pajamas rather than a paper gown. It’s odd because he knows they didn’t bring pajamas with them, and they hadn’t been there when they came in. They spawned from the walls.

“Where’d those come from?” He asks, weary of putting on wall spawn pajamas.

“One of our trusted members brought them in.” She says.

“A ninja?” He asks. 

“Yes.”

“Fucking ninjas.” He complains. “Showing up everywhere.”

Talia raises her eyebrow again.

“This is a base for ninjas.” She reminds him.

“We’ve got an infestation.” He declares. 

She closes her eyes and counts to three again. Then helps him dress in the light pair of cotton pajamas and carries him back to his bed. She reattaches the I.V line and lifts his shirt to take off the plastic she’d covered his surgery site with, then she tucks him in.

“There. All cosy.” She says dryly.

Beside the bed sits Ra’s, with an orange carton, bowls, and spoons beside him. The bowls have what he assumes is the mango sorbet and he greedily puts a spoonful in his mouth once his bowl is handed to him. 

Now that the line is back in, his brain starts to feel fuzzy again, likely because the sedative is flowing back into his veins. He eats all the frozen dessert as quickly as his heavy hands will allow, Ra’s was right, the sorbet felt amazing on his throat and he’s much more comfortable now that he’s not dirty.

Talia senses that he’s fading fast and takes the empty bowl from him so he doesn’t drop it. He grins dopily at her.

“You’d be a good mom.” He says.

Talia stiffens for a second before she corrects herself and hides it. He’d never have noticed if Janet hadn’t taught him to look for those subtle signs in people's body language, it’s probably the best memory he has with her, the two of them tucked into the corner of some high brow christmas party while she pointed out how everybody was really feeling. The next gala, when he’d pointed out that Mr. Carlton from a rival company was hiding how tipsy he was, she’d pressed a rare kiss to his forehead and whispered ‘that’s my boy’ to him.

The praise and the flutter it made his heart do was a feeling he would chase years later, with his teachers, with Bruce. With Dick. 

“Thank you.” Talia replies evenly.

“Why are you so good at this but Damian is such a monster?” He asks.

Talia opens her mouth but Ra’s answers before she can.

“Perhaps we can put a pin in this conversation and come back to it later, hmm Timothy?” He suggests. “You need all the rest you can get so you can recover.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea.” Talia agrees quickly. 

He huffs but inwardly admits that it’s a good idea. He’s exhausted, it’s getting harder and harder to reopen his eyes every time he blinks. Sleeping is probably the smart thing to do even if he wants to stay up.

“I need to brush my teeth.” He stalls.

That’s not really a lie. He just ate ice cream, if he sleeps now, his teeth are going to be all fuzzy when he wakes up.

Rather than carry him to the bathroom again, Ra’s brings him a bottle of mouthwash and a basin to spit it into. Talia stares at him the whole time, probably waiting to step in if he tries to swallow it. He smiles at her when he spits the mouthful out successfully, not having swallowed it after all. 

“Wonderful. Have a good nap Timothy.” Talia bids, turning and fleeing from the room.

Maybe he made her uncomfortable talking about Damian.

Ra’s sticks around longer, gathers up the dishes, which seems weird for someone of his status. He’d barked an order into the hallway for water so it doesn’t make sense that he’s clearing dishes. Maybe he’s being considerate to him and doesn’t want someone coming in while he’s asleep and waking him. 

That might be it.

Ra’s turns off the light on his way out and he’s asleep before his head hits the pillow.

~~~

The shadow moves through the bustling crowd, unnoticed, unseen. It’s raining today, has been for a few days so it darts under strangers' umbrellas for a short reprieve from the water. People bump into it but never stop or even slow to acknowledge it, they move on with their lives immediately. 

It clings to the side of a building, behind an unassuming street vendor selling fish balls trying to hawk his product. In the rain, he’s not having much success, even the teenagers are so desperate to get out of the poor weather that they aren’t stopping to browse the selection he’s offering. 

The shadow waited, invisible to the man until, finally, he gets a customer. He’s so distracted by the prospect of adding money to his till that he doesn’t notice the small hand dip into the heated tray with the fish balls. 

As soon as it's there, it’s gone, disappearing down a dirty alley to another street. The shadow flits in the crowd until it’s close to home, a small crevice behind a dumpster that’s pushed into the corner of an alley. The walls it’s pushed against offer some protection from the elements, the scrap metal and plastic that have been propped overhead and the one acting as a door are the closest the shadow has to a house. 

In here, it becomes she, in here, she’s allowed to be human. Her nook has a blanket and a change of clothes wrapped in plastic in the corner and she sits beside it as she eats her pilfered fish ball. It’s not warm, even with the protection of the makeshift walls but at least it’s dry. Dry enough to store her treasure.

She never carries anything but herself with her when she goes out, nothing to identify her or tie her to anyone. She was born a ghost, lived as a ghost for most of her life, if she dies here and anybody bothers to look into it, she’ll die a ghost. Just another nameless child in a sea of Jane Doe’s. But she once had more, had a body and a place to return, she once had a man who believed in her and who wanted her to be safe.

That man had had sons, three of them, that he’d introduced her to when he’d found her. His oldest was loud, he used words she understood but couldn’t emulate. His hugs and laughter had been warm and easy to get, anything from smiling at him to flying beside him across rooftops had warranted it.

His middle son was massive, tall and broad but hurting deeply. His form screamed pain with everything he did, but the pain came out as anger and it made it hard for him to be around others. She had been prepared for a fight when she’d first encountered him by herself, her ankle twisted and sore from a bad fall in the rain. Instead, he’d cooked with her, dragged a chair to the kitchen, put a garbage can in front of her and handed her some potatoes to peel. They didn’t speak more than ten words the whole night, but she learned that there were other ways to communicate than words and movement and she’d learned his love.

His third son was amazing and he was the one who’d understood her the most, or at least learned to work with her first. He’d never force her to try to speak when she couldn’t and never pushed her to explain it. Instead, he’d taught her silly things to pass the time and take her mind off that hurt. Showed her the world of Nintendo and Mario Kart, helped her find her favourite character and kart and played with her for hours. He’d also tried to teach her to skateboard but she hadn’t enjoyed it, the same way he hadn’t cared for ballet. He was quiet when she needed quiet and loud when she needed loud and he never held either against her.

The man, her father, had taken her in with his brood and promised to never let her go. He’d brought her to doctors to help her learn to speak, he’d come to every ballet recital she’d had. When she sat up by her favourite window on nights when sleep was impossible, he would sit with her, hug her if she needed, and point out constellations when the skies were clear. After a month of staying with him, he’d approached her with adoption papers and a pearl necklace from the same collection as his mothers and asked her to become his family. 

Her tears that night had confused her, they hurt her throat but her whole chest felt light. She hadn’t been able to speak but she’d hugged him so tightly that he’d instantly understood. The two of them had held each other and cried together until they were messy and hiccupy, then he’d put the pearls around her neck, kissed her cheek, and called her his precious daughter.

She’d gone to sleep that night, precious and treasured, reaching out to trace the pearls in their box on her nightstand. 

The home had lost it’s peace though, when another child came. He was loud and angry and learned her needs but not in a good way. His body language was crass and aggressive, always aggressive, he’d insulted her little brothers horribly. She couldn’t always keep up with what he said but she knew his tone and it was cruel.

He’d made everyone else hide in the home, made all of them stay out of the way of his wrath. He was the boulder in their gentle stream, diverting flow and disrupting their life. He would hit if he could get away with it, spit rude sounds if not. 

He scared her but not the way he thought he did. She knew she could beat him if they fought but his body language unnerved her. Whenever his insults landed and the recipient flinched, he became happy, he was happy when he hurt them but never any other time. Like a parasite, he leeched their happiness and left them empty.

Still, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to leave, not after she’d found a place so kind in the beginning. Her brothers were still themselves, her father was still himself, and so she’d made herself content to live with the leech.

Then father had died and her safety had gone with it, cold in the ground with him.

She’d stayed by his grave for a long time, wanting to say something but unsure of how to. Finally, she’d arranged a heart out of leaves on the fresh dirt and gone back inside.

In her room she’d found the leech and her precious necklace, broken to pieces, with the pearls scattered on the floor. He’d smiled at her and held up it’s remains like he hadn’t destroyed the gift her now dead father had given her, and she had lost her temper for the first time.

She had snatched it out of his hands and slapped his face, all faster than he could react. The blade she kept under her pillow had made an appearance and he’d fled to the hallway, leaving her alone.

She had grabbed as many of the pearls as she could, slipped them into a soft drawstring bag, and left the house. Her father was gone and in his place was a cruel leech, one who’d taken the only home she’d ever known. She stowed away on the first flight back to China and regressed back to being a shadow, let the small collection of spoken words she’d accumulated dissipate, and never stirred the waters. If anybody had looked for her, they never found her, though she suspected that she had no searchers. Her family was broken and the one who would look for her was gone.

She took out her small bag of pearls and took the wrinkled photo of her and her father it housed. She stared at it, willing the ache in her chest to stop, or at least lessen a bit, she didn’t like that it hurt to look at the face of her saviour.

Chapter Text

It’s rainy in Gotham, which isn’t unusual, it's just another kick while he’s down. After finally dragging himself back into the manor, Dick had gone back to work on locating Tim, which had not panned out. He has no new leads, no new information, and no new ideas, he’s officially and properly fucked.

Damian had been the one to drag him out of his office and his spiraling thoughts, demanding to be taken out as Robin for patrol. It was a quiet night, which was for the best, since his head wasn’t fully in the game. 

Robin was unhappy to not see any action, his scowl deepening with each quiet alleyway. He had been training hard since being awarded the title, hardly an hour passed without the newest bird testing his skills in some way, if he wasn’t sneaking things from the kitchen to bring them to his mentor in triumph he was hiding things in small spaces to practice hiding cameras. Dick had found ‘cameras’ in his shoes, bedsheets, razor replacements, and his remote. He was both proud and annoyed, proud that he was taking this so seriously, annoyed that he had to double check everything he used.

Robin sticks his head over the ledge of another building and huffs at nothing being down there. He got up stiffly and stalked over to him, all wound up like an angry kitten.

“Batman, nothings happening.” He complained.

“That’s a good thing Robin.” He reminded.

He understood that Robin wanted some action, a chance to really earn the colours, but he also needed to learn that they’re jobs weren’t beating the snot out of every petty criminal. It’s why Bruce had worked so hard to set up programs finding employment, housing, and medical services for those in low income neighbourhoods, ex-cons, displaced youths, and single parents. He’d been adamant about pulling out crime by the root, rather than snipping the flower every few months and he intended to continue that part of his legacy, probably even more than the ‘big bad bat’ part. 

Robin huffed but didn’t reply, instead, he hopped to another roof and continued on his search for action, leaving Batman to roll his eyes and follow reluctantly. Personally, he wanted to go back to the cave, change, and waste the rest of the night away with Ru Paul’s Drag Race and a bowl of cookies and cream ice cream, maybe with some butterscotch liquor poured on it. Fuck it, he’s an adult of legal drinking age, he’ll booze up his depression snack if he so desires. 

But anyway, he needs to keep an eye on his little bird, so rather than retreat home, he follows him. 

He’s not really looking for crime or anything, he’ll turn a blind eye to vandalism tonight, as long as it’s not /too/ bad. His heart just isn’t in it tonight.

Unknowingly, they’ve made it to Wartons, a small neighbourhood with lots of kids. As far as Gotham goes, it’s pretty safe and it’s not uncommon for kids to run to their friends house down the street or bike on the sidewalk, like they’re doing tonight. The burrow is one of his favourites, the noises from it are so much nicer than the typical ones in Gotham.

There’s a group of little girls playing with their horse figurines, two boys taking turns on a scooter, and a mixed group running around playing what looks like a mix of tag and hide and seek. They have no cares at all, they don’t feel nervous playing outside and they don’t have to. Occasionally, a curtain twitches or a parent calls out some names to make sure everyone is accounted for, but it’s nice. 

He lays down on the roof with his head propped up on the ledge, watching the kids play below. It’s nice, they’re happy and playing, siblings being siblings, the same way he wishes it could have been with his. Where instead of shooting at each other and constant name calling, they’d have grown up playing tag and sharing chalk to make sidewalk pictures. Where they could have relied on each other rather that fight over every little thing.

Robin stalks up and joins him, sitting cross legged beside him and staring at him.

“What are you doing, you dolt? We have to patrol!” He demands.

“Just looking at the fruits of our labour.” He jokes, gesturing to the kids playing on the streets below. “Look, they’re able to play, they don’t have to be scared. We did that, we helped make this neighbourhood safe enough for them to be outside having fun and not hidden inside and scared.”

Robin looks out with a sneer and tuts at them.

“They’re just making noise. Nothing interesting.” He insists. “Now come on.”

He rolls his eyes but gets up anyway, still watching the kids play. He noticed two boys, probably twelve, sitting on the porch steps of one of the houses, looking around like they’re trying to be sneaky. He snickered, imagining that they’ve stolen some candy from the cupboard and are sharing their spoils together while trying not to get caught. He and Wally had done that all the time when they were younger, squirrelled away in a corner while they shared the cinnamon roll they’d snagged from the kitchen.

“Hey Robin, come’ere.” He called.

He wanted him to see this, to see how kids are supposed to behave. He and Alfred have been talking about enrolling Dami in school, both because it would do him well to have a more solid routine and for the social aspect. He imagines that Dami will be reluctant at first but that he’ll warm up when he starts to make friends with his classmates and finds subjects he’s passionate about and wants to learn about. 

Robin huffs but storms over, following his gaze to the two boys on the steps. 

“What do you think they’re doing?” Batman asks.

“Something stupid, probably.” he responds.

“No silly, they’re just being kids.” He corrects, “Probably sharing stolen candy and trying to hide it from their parents.”

“Thieves!” Robin gasps, lighting up like a Christmas tree.

Before Dick can stop him, Robin has leapt from the roof and dropped down next to the boys, scaring the hell out of them. Everything seems to happen in slow motion, Batman jumps to intercept him as Robin grabs one boy by the collar and hauls him up, pressing the sharp edge of his katana against his developing Adam's apple hard enough to draw blood. The other boy screams and it draws the attention of everyone on the street, making everyone witness to Robin losing control

“Thieves!” Robin repeats, shaking the boy in his grasp.

Size wise, the boy he’s caught is bigger than him but fear is a powerful paralytic and he doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything but stare wide eyed with his mouth open like a fish. 

“Robin enough!” He snaps, trying to find a way to defuse this. 

“You stole!” Robin hisses, “Thieves deserve justice!”

“It was only a few!” The boy squeals, panting in Robins grip. “I know it was bad but it was only a few! Please, I’m sorry.”

Robin grins and draws the katana back, which Batman uses as an opportunity to step in, grabbing his wrist.

“Stop!” He orders. 

“What the hell?” 

He turns to see an older woman come storming up, pissed and ready for a fight. By the similar nose and eyes, she’s probably one of the boys mother. 

“I’m sorry, we’re still working on training.” He says instantly.

“They stole!” Robin announced.

“I sincerely doubt that!” The lady snaps, pulling the boy out of his grip and into her own arms. “They’re good boys, they wouldn’t steal!”

“I did!” The boy sobs, gripping at her shirt and clinging to her. “I took a few, I’m sorry!”

“What? Philip, what are you talking about?” She demands.

The boy, Philip, reaches into his pocket and pulls out two foil wrapped chocolates that Dick recognises well. Anthon Berg Chocolate Liquors. Uncle Barry would get them around Christmas time and he and Wally would always sneak a few and get ‘drunk’ of the small mouthful they could get from them. 

“I took them from your cabinet!” He sobs, trying to thrust them into her hand. “I’m sorry, we just wanted to see what was so special!”

“Oh honey.” The lady whispers, rubbing his back. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry ma'am, it won’t happen again.” He promises, feeling very sorry for the whole thing. 

“You’re damn right it won’t! Honestly, what is wrong with you?” She snarls, now consoling both crying kids but still looking dangerous as all hell. “Letting that little devil run amok with a deadly weapon like that, what is wrong with you? If you can’t control him, leave him at home! Or get him out of our city, Lord knows we don’t need another monster in this city!”

“I’m sorry.” He repeats, grabbing Robins shoulder and pulling him back towards the roof they came from. “Really, I’ll talk with him.”

A small crowd has gathered and he can see several phones up and recording the interaction and he already knows that it’s going to be all over the internet before he even gets back to the cave. So much for keeping things going as usual, he may have been full of piss and vinegar as a kid, as Robin, but he’d never attacked a civilian. He and Robin need to have a serious talk back at the cave.

~~~

His temper doesn’t hold back to the cave. He starts yelling in the Batmobile.

“What the hell were you thinking?” He demands.

“They stole, that makes them criminals.” Robin snaps, “Criminals deserve to be punished.”

“They were barely older than you! They didn’t need that!” He snaps back, gripping the wheel tight. “You were completely out of line!”

“Hardly, you’re just too scared to do what needs to be done.”

He has to take a deep breath before he responds. He has to remind himself that Robin is still a kid, still learning. If he lashes out or gets too angry, all he’s going to teach him is that violence and anger is a good way to deal with your emotions.

“You’re benched. For a month at least.” He declares. “And grounded, no T.V, no dessert, and no phone.”

“What?” Robin snarls, “You can’t do that!”

“I can and I did. If you’re going to behave like that, you don’t get to go out. We don’t hurt people for no reason, we don’t scare the civilians, we help them. You completely went against that tonight and it will not be happening again.” He says firmly, “You’ll be spending your month learning some humility and compassion. You’ll help Alfred with chores and you and I will be doing some research into some humanitarian causes in the city to volunteer our time with.”

“No!” He screams.

“Yes.” He snaps back. 

“I am Damian Wayne al Ghul! I’m the heir to the Wayne and al Ghul fortunes, what makes you think you can command me?” He demanded.

“I’m Batman.” He answered, “And if you want to continue to be Robin, you’ll remember that.”

Damian seethes but shuts his mouth and he spends the rest of the ride with his arms crossed and his head turned to look out the window. Fine by him, he’ll take angry silence over arguing with a child any day.

The bats tittering in the dark ceilings of the cave seemingly sense the mood when the Batmobile pulls in, because none of them fly or make any move, Usually, at least a few of them swoop by to inspect them but not tonight. 

“Take off the costume.” He orders, hopping out the car and stalking to the computer. “Then go upstairs and get to bed.”

Damian snarls at him but obliges, changing into his lounge clothes and stalking up the stairs and to his room, making sure to slam every door on his way as hard as he can. 

He changes as well, out of the cowl and into his work out clothes. He needs to work out some of this anger, it won’t do any good to wallow in it so he puts it into a very elaborate acrobatics routine. He flips, rolls, and cartwheels until the clock on the wall reads three in the morning and every muscle in his body is tender from overuse. He takes Damians katana from his locker and puts it in a safe that only he and Alfred have the code to. Then he goes upstairs, showers in boiling water, and climbs into bed. 

~~~

He’s woken up to yelling and the sound of things breaking. He’s out of bed instantly, slipping a few batarangs he keeps in his bedside table into the pocket of his pajama pants. He rushes through the hallway, silent as a ghost after years of practice until he finds the room with the commotion.

As it turns out, there is no break in, no thugs trying to rob the place or kidnap anyone, it’s just Damian facing off against Alfred.

The remains of fine china lay in shards on the ground, probably what the shattering noise was that initially woke him. Alfred is stern as can be, standing straight with a stormy look on his face, the closest to anger he’ll ever get with any of them. Damian is the opposite, he’s in a sloppy fighting stance, his jaw is clenched and his lip is curled back in a sneer. Dick can see the rage radiating from his body from the doorway across the room, and the hard look in Damians eyes scare him.

“What's going on?” He asks, breaking the silence between his grandfather and Damian.

“Master Damian-” Alfred begins.

“This doddering old fool sees it fit to pawn his responsibilities off on me!” Damian spits. “Clearly, he’s outlived his usefulness.”

God, it’s too early for this. He doesn’t have the patience to deal with this, but Bruce isn’t here so he has to.

“Alfred, what’s going on?” He asks, rubbing his forehead.

“I asked the young master to assist me with putting away the china after I polished it, as you deemed fit for chores during his grounding.” Alfred explained. “And he saw that as unworthy of his efforts.”

“So how’d the china end up-” He gestures to the glass on the ground. “Like this?”

“When I would not back down, he threw them.” Alfred answers simply.

Son of a bitch.

Why? Why can’t Damian just work with him? Why does he have to have fits like these over the smallest of things?

“Damian, that’s completely unacceptable!” He scolds. “You’ll be picking this up and vacuuming and mopping the floor after.”

“No!” Damian shrieks.

“Yes. Your actions have consequences and you will be held accountable. Now, Alfred will show you where to get some gloves so you don’t cut yourself and a plastic bag to but the glass in. When you’re done with the glass, he’ll show you where the vacuum and mopping supplies are.” He instructs, nodding to his grandfather.

“I will not!” Damian snaps.

“Oh, and why’s that?” He asks, crossing his arms.

“Such things are below me.” Damian responds haughtily. “I am a Wayne and an al Ghul, I do not do such things.”

“You most certainly do, especially when you’re the one who’s made the mess.” Dick orders, “Now, enough with this tantrum. Alfred?”

“Of course Sir.” Alfred replies easily. “Come along now Master Damian, I’ll show you to the gloves and plastic bags.”

Damian snarls at both of them but stomps along after him. He waits until the two are out of sight and then slumps, feeling defeat drag him down. He has no idea what he’s doing, how to make this better. He’d like to think that he’s good with kids, he’s worked as a children's gymnastics teacher, he’s volunteered as a storyteller at libraries, and all of the kids he’s worked with loved him. He’s never had a kid like Damian, who will throw things when they’re upset, who will be so callous to their own family. He’s in over his head and he has no idea what to do.

~~~

Tim’s finally at a point in his recovery where he can begin physical therapy. He doesn’t need much, but because of the incision site and Ra's apparent over protective steak, he needs to be very careful with his activities. Even stretching his arms over his head pulls the stitches tight and makes it uncomfortable, so as he’s carefully walking on a very slow moving treadmill, he can feel the sutures moving with him. 

Ra’s is with him, making sure he doesn’t overexert himself, since apparently he has a tendency to. The Demons Head is in a plastic chair, somehow making the plain material look fit for a throne with him atop it. He’s sipping from a cup of tea and reading a book in arabic, a language he does not read but the cover has a horse on it so he’s just assuming it’s a horse book. 

He’s not even walking briskly but he’s starting to get out of breath already. The week of lying in bed, stoned out of his brain on painkillers, has ruined his stamina and he’s determined to fix that. He’s here on a mission not a vacation, he needs to get back to work. 

“That’s enough for now Detective.” Ra’s says suddenly, bookmarking his spot. “Hop off there and we can have some lunch.”

Usually, he would protest. If it had been Bruce, if he had been home instead of in an assassins base, he would have snarked, would have protested. But he isn’t home and he’s panting like he’s run a marathon so he cuts his losses and turns off the treadmill. 

Ra’s rises from his seat and gives him a once over, smiling when he sees no new injuries. He allows Tim to catch his breath and then beckons for him to follow him.

It doesn’t take them long to get from the soldiers quarters to the leaders chambers, the noticeable difference in decor and comfort was a pretty good indicator of where they were. He’s guided to a very elaborate dining room, with very fancy furnishings. In the manor, a room like this would have a fireplace in it, since it was built when the only way to heat your home was with fire. But they’re in the desert, so instead of a fireplace, there's a beautiful saltwater fish tank, with coral and colourful fish. He watches them for a moment, relaxing as he watches them swim and move, biting at seaweed patches stuck to the walls and darting in and out of caves in the rocks. 

“Timothy.” Ra’s calls.

He turns to see the immortal seated at the table, a spread of dishes having appeared on the table.

Fucking ninjas.

“Take a seat, I had a meal prepared with your new dietary needs in mind.”

The doctor had told him that he needed to avoid dairy, red meat, and heavily processed foods. He should also avoid coffee but Gotham will become the safest city in the world before that happens. 

The meal is a generous spread of grilled veggies, roasted chicken on a fresh salad, naan bread and baba ganoush, and sparkling water with limes, raspberries, and cucumbers. It’s more than the small dishes he’s been getting and his stomach rumbles at the banquet in front of him. He quickly takes his seat and starts filling his plate, taking a little of everything so he doesn’t overwhelm his delicate stomach but taking enough to satisfy his hunger.

He never thought he would ever say it, but Ra’s al Ghul is an amazing host and surprisingly nice to him. He hasn’t been pressured to recover faster, hasn’t been pushed to work through the pain, and he’s been allowed to rest and take the reins in regards to his physical therapy. Not that Bruce was bad when he was injured but he could sometimes be a worry wart and try to keep him in bed longer than necessary. Then Jason and Damian had turned up and they had found it funny that he couldn’t just walk off a stab wound or broken bone, or that he didn’t have Lazarus Pit accelerated healing. 

He’s finally sober enough to realize that he probably shouldn’t be so comfortable here. He hadn’t come here looking for friends or a new family, he came here because a relationship between him and Ra’s could be mutually beneficial. He had his doubts that Ra’s actually believed him about Bruce being alive but he’d at least never verbalised his scepticism and he’d allowed him to use his resources to search, so long as he held up his end of the bargain, which was finding and in some cases, neutralizing, threats to the League.

“Why are you helping me?” He blurts out, probably out of the blue to the immortal.

“Because you are affiliated with my organization and that makes you my responsibility.” The Demons Head answers calmly.

“You have one on one lunches with all of your injured members?” He asks sarcastically.

Ra’s purses his lips and delicately sets his glass down. Tim’s beginning to feel like the mouse in the cat’s eye under his green gaze. Ra’s probably won’t kill him, not after going through all the trouble to keep him alive but he might lash out and he’s in no way physically able to fight.

“As I’m sure you’ve heard Timothy, I have been trying to create myself an heir.” Ra’s says slowly, almost purring. “I have had, unfortunately, many failed attempts, and given that you left residence with one of them, you must be aware.

“But then I realised something. Your mentor has made many great heirs for himself, though none of them share his blood. He’s taken in displaced children and groomed them for greatness and he’s succeeded for the most part. Richard has a very natural presence in groups, he captures the attention of others and can influence them, get them invested in what he needs them to be invested in. He’d be a natural in recruitment for any organization, as he’s proven with those little projects of his, getting some very powerful people to give money to children’s sports programs that he volunteers with. His intellect and his emotional depth make him a formidable opponent, simply because he never truly fights alone.

“Then he has Jason, a simple hood rat that has become a symbol of fear among criminals, though Talia and I would like some recognition for that. He might be a powerhouse but he does understand the mediums he uses, rarely, if ever does a shot of his go astray, very few civilians have ever been caught in the crosshairs of his fights. He’s brought organization to one of the worst slums in Gotham and he has a very unique way of ruling. The innocent, the women and children, are protected by him, mothers no longer worry about their children. He’s supported small businesses, supported vulnerable employees, human trafficking has dropped to almost zero under his rule. The criminals, the ones who seek to do harm, are under his thumb. They operate on his blessing and God help them if they step out of line.

“Stephanie confused me for a while but I’ll admit, she has her perks. She’s like Richard in the sense that she has his charisma but she takes it to the next level. She works more with the common man, with the average civilian. She doesn’t have much in terms of leadership but we can’t have too many chefs in the kitchen, her support has turned the tides of many fights and her parentage gives her a unique look into the motives of the people you fight. 

“Cassandra is one I’ll also take some credit for, though Bruce certainly brought her to a different level. She is and always will be a weapon, that’s how she was raised, but he gave her a purpose, a reason to complete her mission. He took a simple pearl and turned it into a gem in his collection. She also cannot lead but she is a formidable left hand, she enforces the rules set by the leaders and inspires fear into the commoners. 

“I’ll consider Barbara in his brood, though his relationship with her is certainly different. I’ll admit, I wrote her off once she became a cripple but then she did something very few people, living or dead, have ever done. She surprised me. She became an all seeing god among men, she became a keeper of knowledge and has used that to get what she wants. She does not need to fight to get what she wants out of people, a skill few have truly mastered, one that took me a century to truly understand. Her standing in Batman's team is concrete, because no one could ever truly replace her, no one will ever copy her skills as effortlessly as she does.

“And that brings us to you, the crowning jewel in his collection. Your intellect and dedication are unmatched by your familiers, though Barbara might be at your level, intellectually speaking. Despite the odds, you have survived and learned from your experiences, your leadership skills are unmatched, and you work to gain the respect of your peers. While you may not be the strongest of fighters, you easily make up for it in strategy. Your upbringing gave you independence, your loyalty to others makes you desirable as an ally and deadly as an enemy.”

At the end of the rant? Lecture? Tim was honestly just as confused, if not more confused, as when he’d started. Obviously, he’d known Ra’s was looking for an heir, Damian hadn’t shut the fuck up about how he was the heir to the al Ghul fortune since he’d cursed their doorway months ago. Anybody who had to listen to the little brat for more than a minute knew he was Ra’s al Ghul’s grandson. 

“Okay, what does that have to do with why you’re so nice to me?” He asked. “Damian hates me.”

At the mention of his grandson, a shadow fell over Ra’s face and he took another sip from his water.

“Please do not mistake the boy’s opinions with mine. He is a failed experiment that was supposed to be disposed of, and he would have been, were it not for my daughter's soft heart.” He said.

Tim shivered at the tone, suddenly dark and icy where it had been warm with praise just seconds before. It was a true marvel to see him go from nice, to cold, to nice again.

“Anyway, like I said, I need an heir and Bruce has opened my eyes to the idea of adoption. Clearly, genes do not make the man, I was, for example, the offspring of illiterate simpletons and yet I have become great. I got very lucky with Talia, she is dedicated to a cause, smart, and a wonderful fighter but I let my good fortune with her blind me to other possibilities.” He admitted. “I don’t need a blood son, I don’t need a child with a specific mix of DNA, I need a child with a perfect blend of skills, with a good temperament, and who has shown immense loyalty.”

“Oh-kay.” He said slowly.

“In other words, my dear Timothy, I would like to make you my heir.”

~~~

The shadow lurked through the streets, hiding in the shadows of the entryways and by garbage cans. The streets were slightly warmer but it didn’t shed its cover.

The shadows merged and grew as it traversed, leaving the main streets and their safety and going to the darker, seedier parts of the city. There, the clothing went from flashy to well worn, the people had all the signs of a live of labour, the elderly were bent from years of heavy lifting and lifelong injuries that had never been treated. The shadow lurked behind some of the working girls, the ones dressed in alluring clothes to attract the gaze of those with more means, who might be lonely tonight. The shadow had not yet stooped to that yet, wasn’t hungry enough to seek money from those kinds of transactions, but it used the distracted men to it’s advantage. 

While men came to barter with the girls, they could sometimes be too rough. All men looking for these services were disgusting but some more so, there were some who got too handsy, who tried to force a girl to go with him even when she’d declined. That was where the shadow came in.

Whenever a man decided to play king, tried to hurt the shadows people, the shadow would swoop in and leave him with a broken hand. It happened fast, never lasting longer than thirty seconds, but the shadow would stand, silent and cruel over his huddled form, then it would mold back into the darkness. No words were ever spoken but the message was clear.

‘these girls are protected.’

The girls never spoke to the shadow, they had learned that it was pointless, but they appreciated it nonetheless. The protection they were granted by it was a relief for all of them and they thanked the shadow with gifts. Sometimes it was some food and tea left over from their supper, sometimes a bit of money that they’d made, often all they could spare was kind words, but it made the shadow feel more human than it had in a long time. 

It would never search for a family again, once bitten twice shy after all, but still, the shadow wanted people around. By providing protection to the working girls, they would welcome its presence. It was as close as it would get.

The girls in the area seemingly had a system, they arrived together and they left together. It was their way of keeping each other safe. The shadow would never leave until they had, then it would find it’s corner and prepare for the next night. The nature of business meant that the girls left in the early morning, right before the sun started coming up, and that left the shadow to crawl back in the early daylight.

Always avoiding the people, the shadow walked past a television window playing the news. A crowd had amassed, factory workers on their way to the trains, corporates on their way to the offices. Sensing an opportunity, the shadow wiggled into the crowd, largely unnoticed by the people. Easily, it lightened the weight of a few business men's wallets, taking a few bills from each of them without them noticing. Only as it pressed closer to the front did it notice what was on the television.

“This marks the fourth month that billionaire, Timothy Jackson Drake, has been missing. Police are investigating foul play and consider it a factor in his disappearance, adopted brothers, Damian al Ghul and Richard Grayson are prime suspects after Drakes best friend, Sebastian Ives, brought forward evidence of abuse done by al Ghul.

“A five million dollar reward has been issued for Timothy’s safe return by the Ives family and the Wayne estate has matched that. Representatives from Wayne Enterprises and the Wayne estate have denied allegations of abuse and have asked that Timothy please make himself known. Anyone with any information is asked to please call the number displayed below.

“519-546-7314”

The shadow stared, deaf to the mutterings around it. The television displayed a recent photo of Timothy, one that it recognized as at a gala, from when it had been Cassandra Wayne, his sister. They had matched their outfits, all of them had gone with a pink theme, her favourite colour. Barbara and Selina had been in pink dresses, Barbara’s had been a sleek, skintight one and she’d put pink decals on her wheelchair wheels. Selina had one that started pink at the top and faded into a deep red to the flared bottom, she’d had a tailored off the shoulder dress where the over the shoulder bit had pink lab made jewels sewn in. The boys had worn pink ties and pocket squares. 

In the picture, Tim is smiling and it’s genuine, something that was so rare from the both of them after /he/ had shown up. The picture is cropped but she knows that if it were expanded, she and Dick would be on either side of him, her with her head on his shoulder and Dick with his arm slung around him. Seconds after the picture was taken, Dick had pulled them both in for a hug and then given them noogies, messing up their hair and making them laugh. 

“Little Brother.” She rasped.

Her first words in months, they tore out of her throat like shards of glass. Her voice is barely audible after so long without use and anyone who heard her make noise probably thinks it was just a croak or a clearing of the throat. 

He’s missing, just like her. Probably driven out the same way, where the last straw was placed and he realised that he’d been forgotten about, had his place taken by the bad one, the one who only lived to hurt. What had he broken that broke Little Brother? His camera? Perhaps his ‘/board/’ that he loved so much. He liked to show her tricks he could do and while she’d never had an interest in learning it herself, she’d once stood on it and let him hold her hands and wheel her back and forth. Fun, but not practical for use. 

Unlike her, people are looking. She didn’t have the insurance he had. No teachers noticed her absence in their classes, all her friends knew of their secrets and wouldn’t reveal her, it was why she was a shadow, she was easily missed and easy to lose. It meant that when she slipped away, no one looked for her.  

Wherever he is, she hopes that Timothy was happy and better off than she was. Hopefully, he’s found someone who will love him without pain. Someone who won’t insist that he accept a leech into his life. Perhaps one day, their paths will cross again, and they could be siblings again.

She’s crying, something she hasn’t done since she last spoke and it’s just as painful as her voice. Raw and angry, her sobs force her into her hideaway before she draws too much attention. It hurts. It hurts to remember what was left behind, it hurts to remember what she once had. There’s a part of her who hates her father for making her weak like this, for teaching her to feel and love. She had never felt pain like this before he had taught her to and she hates it. She wants him back, she wants to stowaway on another plane and crawl back to his home, into her bed with its soft sheets and fluffy pillows. She wants to shower until her skin is wrinkly and red from the heat, until her hair is silky and soft from the nice soaps. But she can’t, because even if she went back, she would never fully be welcomed again. Father is gone, and he took his love and home with him.

Chapter Text

Selina had never been an optimistic person and nobody who knew her would ever disagree. It’s saved her from disappointments, eased the pain of loss, and kept her from getting too comfortable in any situation. So she’s fine with being called selfish, conniving, out for herself, and opportunistic, it had kept her alive for all of her thirty four years, wo when people pointed out that it was a sad way to live, she’d always refuted it with ‘why should I care’? 

Then the Bat had met the Cat and he’d blown her perception of what she could be out of the water. She’d changed him too, never let it be said that she hadn’t, but she’d changed too. Her thefts stopped being so self serving, she’d steal documents and leave them on journalists desks, there was a woman in Central who did amazing things with them, and a woman in Metropolis who would paper the city with those incriminating pieces. She’s gotten a few bad apples removed from the barrel with that trick.

And then the Bat had become Bruce and instead of rooftop rendezvous and back alley banter, they’d go out in real clothes, with no masks, and have burgers at the diner that she’d gone to as a hungry teenager. Or they’d walk through the park Ivy had just ‘bombed’ with wildflower seeds and whatever growth accelerant she had on hand and enjoyed the colours that stood out against the drab grey that was Gotham and they’d talk. She’d sneak into his office at Wayne Enterprises and leave him coffee with caramel creamer, two sugars, and a croissant, sometimes she’d find a bat thing and leave it for him to find. Like the bakery that made pumpkin and bat sugar cookies for halloween, or when she’d found a small bat plush at the dollar store and put it in his deck chair.

She’d been a legitimate guest at one of his Galas, one benefitting the Gotham Zoo and its efforts to preserve the Great Cat population. He’d gifted her a jewellery set, a set of emerald cat eye earrings, a gold cat tail bracelet, and a fine gold chain with a gold cat charm, with emerald eyes. He’d asked her out properly that night and for the first time in her conscious memory, she’d felt hopeful for the future. 

She’d known he had kids, three by her count, but she’d never formally met them outside of their nightlife. That had changed later that week, when Bruce had gone out of his way to introduce them to each other.

She’d met Dick, the eldest, first. Bruce had taken them to lunch at the same diner and the two of them had hit it off. Dick was also an animal lover, though he had an affinity for elephants rather than cats but the circus he’d been born in had had a tiger named Crina and he’d liked her. They’d teamed up to tease Bruce about eating his burger with a knife and fork, hinted about their nightlives, and they’d clicked. She’d been given his number and he’d blown up her phone with memes and random pictures of cats that he always followed up with ‘this you’?

She’d met Tim next, though accidentally. It was back when Tim was living with his parents and not with Bruce, before he’d been formally adopted and she and Bruce had been in the cave, at the base of the stairs leading to the manor. Luckily, while they had been working up to it, they hadn’t been doing anything that was completely inappropriate for a fourteen year old to see. They’d been kissing and she’d been tugging at his collar while he whispered in her ear when they’d heard a small.

“Can I get up the stairs?”

She and Bruce had pushed each other away like suddenly electrocuted and she’d pulled at her own shirt even though it had never been touched. There had stood Tim, red as a tomato and very deliberately staring at the ground. He’d been training in the gym later than he should have been on a school night, and they hadn’t realised that he was even there. 

He’d raced up the stairs and hadn’t looked back. Bruce had kept his own head down, his face also red and his hand over his eyes. They’d watched a movie on opposite ends of the couch with a popcorn bowl in between and then gone to bed without any extras.

She’d met him again, in a more controlled setting, a few weeks later. His pictures had been featured in a school gallery and Bruce had gone with him to celebrate his success. After the two had been there, she’d met them for an early dinner at a slightly nicer restaurant, since they were still celebrating Tim’s pictures.

It had been awkward at first, Tim had sat still as a statue in his seat and avoided eye contact like the plague. Then, she’d asked after his pictures and he’d opened up like a tulip in spring. He’d talked about his beloved camera and the different lenses he had for it and what they did, all shyness forgotten. Bruce had taken out his phone and showed her the pictures Tim had taken that had been entered in his school's gallery and she’d praised that beauty they captured. 

His middle son had been difficult, given that he’d been dead at the time. She had met him in costume but never in the daytime and though she’d known that Bruce grieved him like a lost limb, she hadn’t known the boy very well. But Bruce had quietly taken her to his grave, flowers in hand and tears in his eyes, and told the headstone about her, about how he would have loved her. She’d introduced herself and told the stone she was Catwoman.

Then Jason had come back and their relationship had been put on hold while he tried to bring his son back home. 

She wasn’t privy to the challenges he’d gone through, trying to convince his son that he had been missed and not replaced, that he loved him and had never stopped and that he wanted him to come home. 

Batman had taken months off and crime had gone way up in every part of the city except Crime Alley, so she’d both picked up the slack and used it to her advantage. She had stopped some muggings, walked people home, and brought more incriminating evidence to her two journalists. She’d also taken some nice jewels from rich people’s penthouses, but who cares? They hadn’t been using it. 

Months later, when Jason had been more willing to play nice and reintegrate himself into the family, she’d met him and not the headstone. They’d gone to his apartment, in the heart of Crime Alley, two bedrooms with one bathroom, plaster peeling off the walls and water marks in the ceiling, but she’d looked at him and seen herself. The same mistrustful gaze, the same silent steps, the same hoard of beans and tuna cans in the cupboard.

She’d never truly know, because hungry little boys in Crime Alley were a dime a dozen, but she’d bet money that she’d seen him before he’d been Robin. Maybe he’d been one of the recipients of food she brought to the hungry kids, maybe he’d taken a few twenties to be her look out, or maybe she’d just passed him while jumping over roofs, but she felt like she’d seen him before. 

They’re relationship had formed slowly, at a glacial speed but it had formed. Together, they would bring food to the kids in Crime Alley and not speak the whole time, or she’d accidentally see him while giving blankets to a shelter and he was bringing a cold child to get a bed. They’d see each other, nod, and never speak of it again, but when she’d been worried about one of ‘her’ girls and her boyfriend that made her hackles rise, she’d asked him to check on her and he had and when he needed to talk to a little girl who was scared of big men for good reason, he’d called her.

Slowly, those calls ended with them silently eating subs together afterwards, or the Red Hood would team up with Catwoman to distribute money he’d taken off a drug dealer who’d broken his rules. 

“You’re good for him.” He’d said one night, not looking up from his chicken wings.

“So are you.” She’d said. “You changed him.”

He’d grunted and picked at his fries. 

“He lost himself after.” She’d continued. “He never got over you.”

“I know.” He’d replied.

“He took me to talk to you, back when we thought you were in the ground. You mean so much to him that he introduced me to your headstone because he couldn’t introduce me to you.” She’d told him, “And he brought you flowers every Sunday. He loves you so much, you have no idea.”

He stayed silent and she hadn’t pushed it. It wasn’t wise to spook him and risk their relationship, he’d figure out that he was loved, if he wasn’t aware already. 

And their relationship grew, like a well fed house cat it became vibrant and loud and amazing. They’d sneak off while he was on patrol, leaving Tim to finish patrol and take his bike home, and they’d watch the waves hit the harbour and cuddle. Or she’d invite him and his sons, quickly becoming her sons, over for a late brunch and they’d laugh at silly things while eating pancakes and sipping mimosas. Or orange juice and sprite for Tim, since he was underaged. 

The boys would break into her apartment through the window even though they all had their own keys and they’d play with her cats. Tim had a soft spot for Shadow, a small black cat with a white tip on her tail, Dick preferred Harmony, a fluffy grey kitten who loved being picked up and cuddled. Jason and Imp, an orange and white kitty who acted like the devil reincarnated. 

Bruce claimed he wasn’t a cat person, but when Tigger climbed onto his shoulder to cuddle with him on movie nights, he never complained. 

Tim had introduced her to his friend slash ex girlfriend slash partner in crime, Stephanie, a blond bundle of chaos and sass who gave attitude to anyone and everyone. She was an honorary child of Bruce’s, someone he cared about but she had her own place to stay and she only dropped by ‘when she needed money’ in her words. But she’d also join in on dinners, movie nights, Mario Kart battles, and rainy Sundays with tea and cookies and never ask for a cent, so she knew it was a joke between her and Bruce.

Months had passed and they had gotten stronger and closer, she moved into a bigger apartment, one with a room for Tim and Jason, as well as a guest room for Dick. She had tried to make it his but he insisted that since he was in Bludhaven most of the time, she should keep it open and he’d sleep in it when he came over. Her apartment also had more space for her kittens and they loved it, so everyone was happy.

In hindsight, she really should have expected it.

The boys had been acting strange around her,Tim would smile like a loon whenever they talked, Jason kept ‘subtly’ glancing at her hands, and Dick would giggle about everything.

But when they were out over the harbour, watching the waves, it had taken her completely by surprise when Bruce had gotten down on one knee with a ring, his grandmother's ring, and asked her to marry him. 

She’d been crying like a baby when she said yes.

The boys had been ecstatic when they heard the news. She’d nearly had the life squeezed out of her when they hugged her, all three of them surrounding her and celebrating. 

They hadn’t even announced their engagement to the public when Bruce had found them another child, a slight girl with no voice, who would stare at her with knowing eyes. She’d been unnerved at first, Cassandra had been through hell in her young life and had never been allowed to speak but she understood body language better than anybody else. 

At first, the only person she trusted was Bruce and she would share food off his plate for fear of poison. She had refused to even set foot into her room and slept in the hallway, when she slept at all, and she’d sit on the outskirts of all their family get togethers and watch them from the shadows. 

Dick had gotten a bloody nose when he tried to hug her and scared her, she’d moved so quickly nobody had even seen her and punched him in the nose. Then she’d fled to wherever she went to hide.

Bruce had fussed over Dick and his sore nose for a while and eventually settled him on the couch with a box of tissues and an ice pack. Then he’d gone and found Cassandra. He’d been gone for hours and when he returned, he had his shadow with him. 

She’d thrust a small piece of paper at Dick and retreated back to her corner to observe. Selina had managed to get a glimpse of the paper and what it said.

‘I’m sorry. You scared me. Please forgive me.’

Dick, ever forgiving, had grinned at her and accepted her apology graciously. They’d all learned not to just grab her, even when they were sure she was relaxed.

Slowly, she’d warmed up and adapted to life in the manor. Bruce had gotten her a psychiatrist to work with her, as well as a speech therapist and an ASL tutor. They’d all started taking ASL classes, since Cassandra had taken to it easily and reveled in having a way to communicate without straining her delicate voice. 

She’d learned a lot, she’d learned how to give people nicknames in sign language. She dubbed Cassandra her ‘kitten Cass’ by miming whiskers with one hand while fingerspelling Cass with the other. Cassandra reciprocated by nicknaming her “Mother cat” by signing cat and then signing mother right after.

She called Tim and Jason ‘little brother’ and differentiated between them be finger signing a T or J after. Dick was ‘big brother’ Bruce was father out of costume and bat-father in costume. 

Cass became more affectionate, beginning to rival Dick in how often she latched onto others and held tight. She became her daughter and Selina was forever grateful that she’d got to meet her.

Their family settled, Tim continued with school, Jason got his GED and got a slightly better apartment, Dick started teaching gymnastics to kids at a community centre in Bludhaven, and Cass started to speak more. They had dinners on Saturday and breakfast on Sunday, they watched movies and trained together, they taught Cass how to play Mario Kart and she glared at the screen every time her player fell off the map. Bruce made a very elaborate cat tree as an offer to have her and her cats move in permanently, though she insisted that they wait until they were married. Cassandra got her own key but followed her brother's lead of climbing though the window. 

They announced their engagement to the press and the world went crazy about ‘bachelor’ Brucie Wayne no longer being available. Tim took some wonderful photos for them to celebrate the engagement and made some money selling them to papers and they started planning the weddings. One for the public and one for their families and their costumes. Ivy and Harley were her Bridesmaids, Cassandra was going to be the flower girl, Tim was supposed to be the Ringbearer with Stephanie, Dick and Jason were going to be their witnesses, Alfred was going to walk them both down the aisle, and Superman, and the Flash were Bruce’s groomsmen. 

Then life flipped upside down again with the arrival of Bruce’s blood son, a violent, rude child who hated everyone except his father. 

She hadn’t known about him, only known that Bruce had withdrawn from her for a few days and she’d gone to the manor to check on him. She had barely stepped through the door when the shriek of ‘intruder’ and a rush of air had her stepping back. Bruce had pulled her to the side right before a katana split the air where she had been standing.

“Damian!” Bruce had snapped. “I told you that if you wanted to keep that thing that it wasn’t to be used on people!”

“This harlot has breached security!” The child, small but vicious, had snarled while glaring at her.

“She is not a harlot, she’s my fiancé and she has a key to the house.” Bruce had corrected firmly, with his arm around her waist. “Now give me that.”

The child had frowned but reluctantly handed over his weapon, not dropping his angry gaze the whole time.

“We don’t kill and we definitely don’t use that kind of force.” Bruce lectured, confiscating the sword. “Go to your room and write ‘I will not hurt others’ fifty times in your notebook. I’ll be up to check on you in a bit.”

“No!” Damian yelled, stomping his foot.

“Yes. I’ve told you this many times Damian, you cannot act like this in this house.” He replied. “Yet already today, you’ve thrown your knife at Tim at breakfast and now you’ve tried to hurt Selina. That’s unacceptable and you know that.”

Damian had let out an animalistic snarl but had ultimately turned and stomped off. 

“New kitten?” She asked.

“Unfortunately.” Bruce sighed. “I need to talk to you. Privately.”

There were few places in Gotham where one could truly be alone and Wayne manor was not one of them, with so many nosy vigilantes running around. And Alfred, who might not be a caped crusader but had been a spy once upon a time and he’d never let those skills die.

So instead, Bruce dealt with the issues at home, he sent Tim and Cass out on patrol while he left Alfred to deal with Damian, then the two of them had gotten into one of his nicer cars and made the two hour drive to Metropolis. Bruce got them a corner table in a quiet but nice restaurant and they’d talked.

“His name is Damian, he’s my blood son.” Bruce had admitted, very matter of fact.

Her first feeling was betrayal. That child was young, they had been together for years, so she wasn’t sure how he had a son without cheating being involved. 

“I know what you’re thinking but Lina, I swear, I would never be unfaithful to you, never!” He swore.

Then he’d shifted and ran his hands through his hair. He inched closer and leaned over the table to be closer to her. Intrigued, she’d mirrored the action.

“His mother is Talia al Ghul. We were dating back when Dick was a young teenager, though I met her when I trained under her father, Ra’s al Ghul. I thought I could help her by standing by her side and giving her a safe place to go if she wanted to leave the League of Assassins and Dick disagreed. It was one of our recurring fights back then and looking back, he was right, she’ll never change.

“She told me she was ready to leave, that she was done standing by and helping her father slaughter innocents and I was so happy. Alfred and I started the process to get her out, we made up a fake alias for her, complete with a credit score, a college degree, job history, and tax filings to make it legit. We got her an apartment in Gotham, decked out with security so she would be safe when her father sent his assassins, then I went to get her.

“She was in a base in Turkey, I arrived by helicopter and I was ready to fight to get her out, I was preparing myself to break my one rule to get her out and to the life I thought she wanted and deserved. The room she said she’d be in was empty when I got to it and then she leapt out from the closet and hugged me so tight, I was so happy to have her safe and alive with me. Then she shoved a needle in my neck. I tried to run but I passed out before i even made it down the hall.

“I woke up tied to a bed, naked. I don’t remember the actual, uh, event but I didn’t need to, she told me. She took DNA from me, while I was unconscious. Ra’s thought that I had proved myself worthy of fathering his heir and had sent Talia to make it happen, our entire relationship was a farce and I was so desperate to believe that I could have a life with her that I ignored all the red flags that Dick saw and told me about. I nearly ruined my relationship with my son because I was stupid and in love.

“She let me go, she’d already taken when she needed and had no further use for me. She knew I would get myself out of my restraints and left, though she dropped the necklace I got for her on the bed with me.”

He paused and let out a shaky breath. For the first time ever, Bruce looked ashamed. His hands were shaking and he kept licking his lips, he jumped every time another diner accidentally scraped their knife over the plate. 

And any doubt she had in him vanished, because Bruce was many things but he’d never been able to lie to her and the truth was painted all over his face, disgusting and cruel, but true. She reached over and grabbed one shaking hand in both of hers, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles and stilling the shakes that were rampant in it. 

“You’re okay, you’re here with me now.” She promised, low and steady.

“I didn’t tell anyone except Leslie, she checked me for any, ah, injuries. Down there. She gave me some resources for male survivors but I left them with her, I didn’t want anyone knowing about it. When Dick asked me about her when I got back but all I said was that we’d fought and broken up, I don’t want my son to know about that. 

“I lied to myself for a while, that whatever she was planning wouldn’t work and I wouldn’t be party to whatever she was doing. And when years passed and I never heard anything, I got too confident. Dick went to college, I took in Jason, and I met you and I moved on. So much time passed and I figured that she must have failed and since I wasn’t going to fall for her trick twice, she’d have given up. Then she showed up in the warehouse district last weekend with a child and told me that he’s mine.”

“Are you sure he’s actually yours?” She asked.

“We did the test, he’s mine.” Bruce admitted.

“How? Like you told me, the timelines don’t add up.” Selina pointed out. 

If Bruce had been raped when Dick was a young teenager, Damian should be closer to Tim’s age, but he was younger than Tim and it didn’t make sense. 

“I don’t think Damian was born the way children usually are. Talia didn’t give me much information but based on what she told me, I think Damian came into the world like Superboy did.” Bruce said angrily.

So a clone then. Superboy had the mentality and physical body of a sixteen year old, though he had only been created three years ago. She didn’t fully understand it but she knew it was possible. So Damian had the body and mind of a young child but likely hadn’t aged naturally.

“So what’s the plan then?” She asked, squaring her shoulders. “How are we going to help this kitten?”

“Honestly Kitty, I don’t think we can.” He admitted, “He’s cruel and he gets joy in hurting people. He’s tried to kill Tim so many times and no matter how I explain that killing is wrong, or correct him, or tell him that Tim is family too, it never helps. He broke Tim’s wrist by pushing him down the stairs and laughed. He tried it once with Cass but she put him in his place.”

“He what?” She hissed, horrified.

“Tim wanted to have friends over a few days ago to work on end of the year school projects and I had to tell him no. His life is in danger and he’s trained to defend himself, his friends aren’t and there’s no doubt in my mind that Damian would kill one of them with no hesitation or remorse and I can’t risk that.” He said, “I don’t know what to do. Talia said that Ra’s doesn’t like Damian so he can’t go back, but I can’t put Tim in danger and ruin Cass’s home by housing him.”

Bruce groaned and massaged his eyes with his free hand.

“What are our options?” She asked.

“I’ve been looking for therapists and counsellors that specialise in violent children but I’m wary about putting him in any programs. I’m sure that many of these people are good at what they do but Damian isn’t just violent, he’s violent and trained and he will kill if he gets the opportunity. Any other patients will be in danger, any therapist will be in danger, I don’t know if I can justify the risk to civilian life to try to fix someone who doesn’t want to be helped.” He admitted. “I’ve seen kids like this Kitty, they don’t get better with therapy they just get better at hiding. Even if he learns to pretend to be nice and care for others, he’ll be a ticking time bomb.”

“What can I do?” She asked, “How can I help you?”

“Do you think you could take Tim and Cass for a week? Alfred is going to visit some family in England and I’m hoping some time just the two of us will help me see how Damian acts alone.” 

“Of course, I always love spending time with my kittens.” She waved off. “We’ll watch movies and I’ll let them eat take out every night.”

“Tim has exams coming up soon, he may be more interested in hitting the books than the streets.” Bruce warned with a teary laugh. 

“So we’ll make flashcards and quiz him.” She teased, squeezing his hand again. “He’ll be the most prepared kid in the school. We’ll hit up the store for study snacks, all the brain foods, carrots, broccoli, skittles, gummy worms, all that good stuff.”

Bruce chuckled again and the tense mood finally broke. They made plans for Cass and Tim to stay at her place for a week and had a good dinner and she quietly promised herself that she would kill Talia al Ghul if she ever showed her face around Gotham again. 

Despite his efforts, Bruce couldn’t fix Damian and she often had to listen to him worry about the safety of his family with him in the house. His efforts to protect everyone often left the rest of them feeling suffocated, she could no longer spend the night at the manor, Tim and Cass had locks installed on their doors, and Bruce added even more cameras to the inside of the manor. He confiscated the weapons from Damian but he had a seemingly endless supply to take from so he was always armed. In the following months, she watched him lose sleep and gain grey hairs as his paranoia increased. Their wedding planning was put on hold and all efforts were funneled into trying to acclimatize Damian to his new life, to no avail.

Months passed and there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Instead, Darkseid invaded and it was all hands on deck. She worked with Harley, Ivy, and Croc to get Gotham civilians to the safety of the sewers where they wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire.

It was Superman who told her the news. That in the fight, Batman had given his life for the safety of Earth and the lives of all its inhabitants. That he had loved her and his children and that he was so sorry for their loss.

The funeral was a sham, in her opinion. They didn’t even have a body to bury, it had been lost in the battle. She had held Cass and Tim tight at the event though, all of them dressed in black while Superman placed a headstone in the grass for his fallen colleague. Dick and Alfred had given very heartfelt speeches about him, Jason had grumbled a few words about how Bruce had saved him from poverty and had never given up on him. Tim had told the small crowd that Bruce had been the first adult to really care about him and support him in his hobbies. He told a wonderful story about how Bruce had gone with him while he took photos and had helped him get good angles by hoisting him onto his shoulders even though he didn’t understand why it would help. He’d stayed up and translated for Cassandra while she signed a speech about Bruce seeing her as a human for the first time in her life and giving her a home and a family. 

She didn’t say anything, she couldn’t. She loved Bruce more than she cared for anything else, loved his children more, but she couldn’t bring herself to talk at his funeral. She’d stayed silent, left flowers at his headstone, and quietly left Alfred to herd the kids into the manor for refreshments.

Then she found out that Cass was missing two days later. Nobody knew where she went and while she looked, she found no trace of her. She called in every favour she had and indebted herself to others trying to find out where she could have gone but Cass had been careful, she didn’t even leave a clue as to where she was going. 

Tim went missing two months later. Same problem. Nobody knew where he went and he left no clues that she could see. She dug herself into deeper debt trying to get any clues on his whereabouts and still found nothing. Two of her kittens were gone and she felt like her heart was being ripped out slowly.

Still, she tried to keep up her image. Bruce had not been legally declared dead and so she could not grieve publically. According to the public, their wedding planning had simply been put on hold while he repaired his mental health and built a relationship with his newfound bloodson. 

It was why she was at Ivy’s base with a bottle of wine and a box of cupcakes from the bakery near her apartment. Girls night didn’t get postponed unless the world was ending. 

“Kitty!” Harley squealed when she opened the door.

“Hey Harl!” She responded. 

“Did you get the ones with red frosting?’ Harley asked, looking at the box.

“Yep, and the Malbec.” She answered, slipping past her. 

“EHHH!” Harley squealed, rushing to get the plates and glasses.

Ivy was watering her plants and barely gave her a wave as she came in. Pretty typical, Ivy wasn’t known for being a people person, all she needed was a glass of wine and she’d warm up. 

Familiar with the house and having been to Ivy’s place enough times, She put her load on the counter and started settling herself in. She flopped down on the couch and smiled when Harley placed a plate with two cupcakes and a glass of wine in front of her.

“So. What’s new?” She asked, pulling her feet back so Harley could sit beside her.

“There’s a new Robin!” She said, sitting criss cross on the couch. “He’s tooootally fucked, major issues. Carries a katana and is trigger happy with it.”

Yeah, she knew about the new robin. She didn’t know what drove Tim out of Gotham but if she had to guess, that would be a stressor for him. She did know that Bruce had been considering making all of the family take time off the nightlife so the temptation of violence wasn’t there for Damian anymore. She knew that Damian displayed worrying traits that should have disqualified him from being a vigilante at all, let alone Robin under the new Batman, who was only twenty four and trying to adjust to the weight of the mantle. 

She knew that Damian was probably going to kill someone and forever taint the Robin name.

“So I’ve heard.” She commented. 

“Well spill then!” Ivy snapped, sitting beside her girlfriend. “What happened to the old one?”

“Did the new one kill him?” Harley added.

“No! Of course not!” She gasped. Though with Damians tendencies, it wouldn’t be out of character for him. 

“Then what happened to the old one?” Ivy asked, “I liked him.”

“Me too, he was so clever, poor lil sugar.” Harley cooed. “He was sooo tiny but so smart, do-ya remember when he beat Ed at chess?”

Ivy huffed and took a sip of her own wine.

“I do! Ed didn’t shut up about that for weeks, he was so proud of the kid.” She reminisced, “I tried to kill him in the cafeteria because his cell was next to mine and he kept me up talking about it.”

That was the thing about Ivy, she hated people and preferred to spend her time alone. She especially hated loud people, the only exception being Harley, and she would use violence to shut them up.

“Ah, tha lil birdie was so happy about it too! He asked me an mista J if we used chess in onea our traps.” Harley said, “But this new kid, he’s so mean ta everyone.”

“I don’t know guys, really. I wasn’t consulted on changing Robin.” She admitted.

Harley and Ivy know that the original Batman is gone, most of the city has figured it out, but they don’t have the access to information that she does and don’t know everything.

“Turns out no one was.” Ivy grumbled, “Everybody I’ve talked to hates him.”

“So, Harley?” Selina teased.

“I talk to other people!” Ivy protested, “I talked to the cops who arrested me earlier today!”

“And they hate the new robin?” She asks.

“Yes! Apparently, that brat nearly took off his head at a crime scene yesterday and tried to boss the whole force around. Poor woman nearly got grabbed walking home from work and Batsy and Robin turned up, Robin nearly cut her, and then he wouldn’t stop interrupting her while she was giving a statement to the police. The dude who got me told him to stop interrupting her and he swung the katana at him!”

Damn it she hated that stupid sword. Of course he’d try to decapitate someone while Robin, he thought titles came with authority and he liked to throw that authority around. 

“That’s not all!” Harley jumped in, “He nearly took out a kid in Wartons last week!” 

“Look guys, I’m really not up to talking about this tonight, I’m sorry.” She said, hoping they dropped it. 

And they did, bless them. Harley easily pivoted to some other topic and she got to enjoy her wine and cupcake while letting the other woman’s rambles wash over her and soothe the ache in her heart. 

~~~

Gotham had well and truly gone to the dogs, in Jason’s opinion.

To be fair, it had gone to the dogs awhile ago, but it wasn’t getting any better. In fact, it was actively getting worse. The underbelly that had once been quelled or at least controlled by the firm presence of the Bat had increased their activity, sensing that something was amiss with Batman. 

Not that he had any room to judge really, but Dickie-bird was really fucking this up. His approach to damn near everything had been pretty much the opposite of what he would have done. Rather than going in and proving that the new Batman was not to be tested, Dick had pulled a Nightwing and tried to be a more personal Batman, more approachable. He’d made so many changes in such a short time, it was really no wonder that so many new assholes were out and about in the streets, confident in the knowledge that Batman was too busy getting his ducks in a row to deal with them.

What they didn’t account for though, was the Red Hood. He and the Bats didn’t always see eye to eye on how things should be done but they did agree on one thing, civilians are to be protected.

It’s why he hasn’t had a night off since Bruce kicked it and Dickie took the cowl from him. Batman may be dropping the ball, but he wasn’t, if the kids couldn’t rely on the heroes, they could at least rely on him. 

Most of his self imposed tasks were exactly the same as they always were; busting heads, getting the gangs under control, and asserting his power as head honcho of Crime Alley. Others were a little more relaxed, he walked kids home from their part time jobs, he used money he took from the Wayne fund to stock community cupboards with desperately needed staples, and he and Roy had teamed up to fix a families radiator so the family wouldn’t be cold that night. 

Begrudgingly, he’d almost become a new symbol of hope for the city. And from what he’d heard, there was a place to be filled. The new Robin, which he had opinions about, was quickly sullying not just the Robin mantle, but Batman's reputation as well. The video of the little psychopath nearly decapitating another child was incredibly popular on all of the internet right now, apparently, it’s become a bit of a meme. It was also why Roy had refused to bring Lian to visit anymore, too worried for his toddlers safety to risk it.

Still, he kept up with his friend, who thankfully, had a direct line to the Justice League and the discussions being had by them. Apparently, there were some very serious discussions being had about whether or not the League should continue to ally themselves with the Bats given how the new Robin was acting, as his behaviour was sowing distrust in all of the capes.

Frankly, he’d be happy to put the brat in a cage and throw away the key. 

It’s a rainy Friday night at two am, and he is where he feels he needs to be, standing just in the mouth of an alleyway, watching to make sure all the working girls who got work tonight have made it back where they belong. They all know he’s there, he’s six foot four and build like a tank, plus, the red helmet’s hard to miss. The plus side is, anybody who's heard of Gotham has also heard of the Red Hood, and they all know that he keeps an eye on these girls, anyone who messes with them, messes with him. 

The girls shoot looks his way as they arrive, checking to make sure he’s there and paying attention. He gives them a nod every time, acknowledging that he’s counted them and that he’s there to keep things in line. None of them approach him, understandably wary of him and the weapons he possesses, but they also don’t try to leave his view. They’re like his sheep and he’s the dog who beats up the coyote trying to eat them.

“Figured I’d see you here.” 

He doesn’t jump when he hears Selina behind him, he’s too well trained for that, but he does tense.

“Gotta make sure my girls get home safe.” He mutters.

Under his watch, most of the pimps have voluntarily retired or he’s taken care of them. He’ll let a lot of things slide but violence towards women is not one of them, and watching how those shit stains treated the girls, he’d quickly decided they needed to be stopped. He’s currently working on getting these girls off the streets as best he can but unfortunately, it’s slow going. The drivers that push them to this sort of job are hard for him to eliminate all at once and hunger is a powerful motivator, the need for prescription medication is a powerful motivator. It seems no matter how many boxes of diapers or cans of soup he puts in the community cupboards, it’s never enough. He’s put down thousands of dollars for anonymous payment for medication and barely cracked the surface of it.

This whole fucking city has gone to the dogs.

“Course you do.” Selina mumbles.

She’s hiding behind him, something that’s easy for pretty much everybody to do. He had a whole routine with Baby Bird and Little Bat, they’d hide behind him until they jumped out and surprised whatever enemy they were facing, it made them very formidable in the field. 

Of course, both of them are gone now and he doesn’t have either of his shadows to hide behind him, waiting to strike. 

“Have you been drinking?” He asks quietly, nodding in acknowledgement as another girl, too young, too small to be out here, hops down from a truck. She’s new and on the top of his list to get her out of here. She can’t be older than Cass and he has to fight the green that’s demanding that he go beat the absolute shit out of whoever paid for her time tonight. 

“It was girls night.” Selina answers.

Of course, girls night meant wine. 

“Need a ride home?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to get breakfast.” Selina replies.

“So yes, you need a ride home.” He chuckles.

“Yes kitten, and I’ll buy you breakfast in the morning.” She affirms, patting his arm.

“Lemme make sure I get all my ducks in a row first, then I’ll take ya home.” He mutters.

Selina hums and he can hear her shift against the brick wall behind him. He does a headcount, seeing how many he’s waiting for. It’s only three and they’re some of the more experienced ones, but he still won’t be able to sleep tonight unless he makes sure that they turn up unharmed. 

It doesn’t take long for his birdies to arrive and soon all of the working girls are separating themselves into groups to walk each other home.

Then some asshole in a hopped up Honda Civic pulls up and rolls down his window.

“How much fer’an hour?” He calls at one of the blondes.

“Sorry honey, I’m done fer da night.” She replies easily.

“C’mon ya bitch, I got tha cash.” Asshole snaps.

“Hey!” Jason barks, exiting the lip of the alleyway.

It’s calculated, the way he draws himself up to his full height, squares his shoulders, and flips his jacket so both holsters on his hips are on display. As soon as he sees him, Asshole in the civic goes an interesting shade of green but he’s smart enough to not try to run from him.

“She said, she’s done fer the night.” He says in a low, dangerous voice. “Which means, you take yer loud car and yer loud mouth , and ya fuck right off. Capiche?”

“Yes mister Red Hood sir.” He stammers quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise ta me. Apologise ta her.” He orders.

He briefly steps aside so the blonde he’d yelled at could be seen.

“I’m sorry miss, I shouldn’t’a done that. It won’t happen again.” He says eagerly, probably hoping to not stay on the Red Hoods shit list. 

The blonde, Tracy, if he remembers her name right, just nods. He doesn’t blame her, he wouldn’t wanna step between them either.

“Scram.” He orders, stepping away. “And don’t let me catch you bothering any of these girls again, I won’t be so forgiving next time.”

“Yes sir, thank you sir!” He says.

And then the window rolls up and the car is pulling away at a speed frankly inappropriate for a residential area.

Tracy gives him a nod again and he nods back, then retreats back to his alleyway. The new girl, the one who breaks his heart every time he sees her, creeps toward him like a rabbit approaching a fox den. She has some money clutched tight in her hands and she pushes it towards him as soon as she’s just close enough to do so.

“Nah honey, I ain’t here ta be yer new pimp.” He declines, dropping the scary act as much as possible. “You keep yer money.”

The new girl gives him a quizzical look but slowly takes her money back. 

“You go find yer friends now, make sure you get home safe.” He instructs. “And if anybody gives ya any trouble, you come find me and I’ll take care of ya.”

“Yes sir.” She rasps.

He makes a note to perhaps bring a case of water with him tomorrow, make sure that these girls are able to hydrate after taking a client. 

The girls split up, grouping off to go to their various apartments and he holds his position until they’re all gone. Sadly, he can’t split himself up and accompany them all to their doors, he just has to rely on his own reputation to keep them all safe.

Once they’ve all gone, he turns to Selina, who’s resting against the wall.

“Ready to go home?”

~~~

Selina’s apartment is just as warm and homey as it was the last time he visited, which was the last time she had a girls night. So last week.

Immediately, Imp jumped down from the counter he’d been sitting on and came to wind around his legs and bat at his hands while he undid his boots. Selina leaned heavily against the wall while she took her boots and jacket off and he watched to make sure she didn’t stumble.

“Hello mister.” He greeted the cat, crouching down to scritch his ears after he took his boots off.

Imp mewed and jumped up to claw his way up to his shoulder. One thing about Imp, he liked to be tall and Jason was about as tall as one could get. He also liked to munch on noses, a less endearing trait of his.

“He misses you when you aren’t here.” Selina said quietly.

“That’s cause he’s my buddy.” He agreed, bumping his head against Imps.

“I miss you too.” Selina admitted, grabbing onto his arms. “I miss all of my kittens.”

Damn, she must have been really drunk if she was freely admitting affection. They haven’t done that since before Bruce died. He’s pretty sure he’s the only one actively keeping in contact with her, given that Tim and Cass have fallen off the map and Dick too busy enabling Franken-brat. That and he’s pretty sure Selina didn’t have any affection for the demon spawn, so she probably isn’t pursuing contact if Dick and Damian are a package deal. 

“You’re staying in your room tonight, right?” She asked, stumbling her way down the hallway towards her own room.

“Might as well, since yer buyin me breakfast.” He agreed.

In reality, he usually spent the night after she had her girls night and that tradition preceded Bruce’s death. Their weekly breakfasts were something he looked forward to, and he was pretty sure that she enjoyed them just as much as he did.

“Alright honey, I washed the sheets on your bed.” She said.

“Aww yeah, fresh sheets!” He cheered quietly.

His room is how he left it, his complete works of Edgar Allen Poe sit on his bedside table, his spot marked so he can pick up where he left off. The bookshelf is full of some of his favourite books, the ones he can’t keep in his apartment because the leaky ceiling would ruin them. Some of them are college level but there are a few from his childhood, when Bruce had first taken him in and started encouraging his reading hobby. He knows he has some Diary of a Wimpy Kid books on the bottom shelf, he doesn’t read them anymore, at least not often, but they had too much sentimental value for him to donate them. 

His drawer is full of comfier clothes and he eagerly brushes his teeth and changes into a pair of sweats and a Rent tanktop. Imp is already resting on one of his pillows when he settles in and grabs his book off the table, the orange beast climbing into his lap and trying very hard to lay on the book itself.

Given the life he leads, his sleep schedule isn’t what most people would call normal. He’s about an hour and a half out from when he’d usually be heading to sleep but the rainy weather is making the bed feel much more appealing. Imp’s clearly in the same boat and is steadily kneading his thigh while he settles into sleep. 

He’s smiling when he puts his book back down and crawls under the covers. An early night won’t kill him.
   
Selina knocks on the open door and pokes her head in. Her makeup’s been removed and her hair is braided for bed, she’s also changed into her own pajamas.

“Hey kitten.” She murmurs, tiptoeing into his room.

She takes a seat at the edge of the mattress and put a bottle of water on his bedside table. She scratches Imp’s ears and leans forward to kiss his forehead.

“Goodnight Jaybird, I love you.” She whispers, brushing his hair out of his face.

“Love ya too Kitty, see ya in the morning.” He replied.

Selina smiled and crept out of his room, turning off the hallway light as her own door clicked closed behind her. Jason turned off the lamp and dozed off while petting Imp slowly.

Chapter Text

Okay okay okay, no need to panic, one of the creepiest, craziest men on the entire planet, nigh, solar system, wants to basically adopt him. No need for any sort of panicking, crying, or hitching himself to the nearest Green Lantern and getting a ride to the next inhabitable planet and making a nice cosy career for himself as an exotic zoo exhibit. 

Okay, maybe panic had already set in.

But what else was he supposed to do! Ra’s al Ghul, a man who’s entire plan to ‘save the earth’ boiled down to ‘let's just kill all the humans.’ wanted him as an heir. 

God, you take him up one favour to get your adopted father back from being lost in time and suddenly you’ve got a conundrum on your hands.

Pacing around the room wasn’t helping Tim with the plan making but it was certainly a lovely outlet to the anxiety wrapping thorns around his heart and lungs under his ribs. The constant tug on the stitches was also very grounding, if a tad bit self destructive. 

Fortunately, he was fairly confident that he had enough proof to convince the Justice League that he a) wasn’t insane and b) that Bruce was actually alive. God knows, it’s be much nicer to work with Superman right now than with Ra’s. Fuck, he’d take Dick’s pet psychopath over said pet psychopath’s grandfather.

Pru groaned from her bed and knocked twice on the bedside table. When Tim looked over at her, she held up her ‘sleep’ flashcard, a gift from Doctor Ninja until either she was able to talk again or learned a more convenient way of communicating silently. 

“I’m sorry.” He apologised, “I’ll try to be quieter so you can sleep.”

He truly did feel bad, Pru was in a lot of pain, even breathing was a pain and unless they put her back in the coma, she was maxed out on painkillers. If she could actually sleep, he was a real asshole for disturbing it with his pacing.

Pru raised her free hand, made a fist, and shook it. Then, she pointed at him and raised the flashcard again.

‘You. sleep.’

Ahh, so that was the problem. To be fair to his friend, it was nearing three in the morning and he hadn’t stopped pacing their shared room since his lunch with Ra’s, by all logic, someone with or without his injury should have exhausted themselves and gone to bed by this point. 

By all logic, a megalomaniac shouldn’t have offered to make him his heir but that happened anyway, so he’ll pace if he damn well pleases. 

“Soon.” He mumbles, itching to resume his walk.

He hasn’t dealt with anxiety this bad since before Bruce adopted him, probably back when he made up an uncle and was spending so much time trying to convince Bruce, Alfred, Dick, and his nosy friends that the fake uncle was actually real. During that time, he’d lost a lot of weight, lost sleep, and had to take ginger chews with him everywhere to combat the nausea that had seemingly permanently settled in his stomach.

When he’d finally accepted defeat and let Bruce move him into the manor, he’d done his best to hide the lasting symptoms. Unfortunately, Alfred was omniscient and knew everything and he’d tattled to Bruce about how he wasn’t eating or sleeping as much as he should have been. Then they’d gone through the whole process of getting him tested for anxiety and a therapist to work through his self isolating habits which seemed hypocritical coming from the man who spent most of his down time hanging out in a cave, and then later, medication to go with his diagnosis.

Apparently, it’s not normal to constantly be on edge. Who knew?

But he’s been off his medication for months, he doesn’t even have any lasting hints in his bloodstream and for all the self soothing techniques his therapist had taught him, none were working. If things were good and normal and he’d had a place to safely go back to, he’d take one of his panic attack pills and a big glass of water and then sleep for at least eight hours, resetting his systems as it were. As it was, he didn’t have his panic attack pills and also wasn’t safe. 

“Something happened at lunch.” He hisses, not doubting that Ra’s probably has mics hidden all over this room.

Pru shuffles through her flash cards and holds up one with a question mark on it.

“Ra’s says that he wants me to be his heir!”

Pru’s eyebrows shoot up so fast it’s nearly comical. Not that he’d ever say it aloud, he liked being alive. 

“Right?”

Pru lifts the question mark flash card again and he assumes that it’s just a statement to the bullshit that is this entire day. 

“We gotta go man!” He whispers firmly. “We can’t stay here!”

Pru raises a fist and nods it in agreement, a determined look on her face. 

“I’ll work on a plan, you just gather your strength, okay?” He asks.

Another nodded fist. Good, he can’t leave her behind but he can’t stay either.

It’s not ideal, he’s still hurt, Pru can barely breathe without assistance, they have no trusted allies, and no way to really contact anyone. It’s going to be difficult to get out, he’s going to need to somehow sneak Pru’s medical equipment out and into whatever transportation he manages to obtain and then get somewhere Ra’s can’t immediately find him but where he can get places easily. 

Ultimately, the best place he can think of is Gotham, though he hates to admit it. He not only knows Gotham, but he has safe houses to fall back on, he may be able to trick Ra’s into thinking he has the backup of Batman, or at least the threat of angering the new Bat will hold him off long enough for him and Pru to recover. Not to mention, Gotham has direct access to other American capes who will absolutely step in if Ra’s tries anything, if not for his sake than for the safety of the civilians who could get caught in the crossfire. 

So now he needs to start planning his return to his home city.

~~~

Planning is difficult but he’s starting to hash out a solid course of action. He’s worked out that he needs to do something drastic, something to handicap Ra’s so badly that he has to focus on his own self before he can focus on killing Tim. Hopefully, by the time that he’s recovered enough to take his pound of flesh, Bruce will be back and he knows damn well Ra’s al Ghul does not want to fight Bruce.

There are a lot of ifs in this plan but it’s the one that has the best odds for both him and Pru getting out alive. That’s the goal and they aren’t aiming any higher.

He starts by playing along with Ra’s and his weird little fantasy of adopting him. He hasn’t outright said that he’ll be his heir but he’s shown extreme interest in how the League works, what makes it tick, and then he started spitting out ideas on how to improve security, how to keep Oracle and the Justice League out.

So now he has hours of uninterrupted time to play around on the League’s servers and as it seems, nobody high enough up their totem pole knows enough about computers to recognise that they're being bullshitted. Once, when Talia had caught him off guard and asked what he was working on, he’d held up random parts and called them by random names he’d heard on Rick and Morty or Star Trek and she’d bought it! She’d even given his shoulder a squeeze and thanked him for his hard work.

What hopefully nobody realises is that Tim has actually been weakening their already lacking online security and sending some very important files to a hidden server that only he knows about. There are some very influential people making a ton of money off of lobbying for the League and its causes, none are saying it outright but they are in the Leagues pocket and quite happy to be there. 

Step one, literally blow up as many League bases as physically possible. Escape with Pru in some kind of transportation.

Step two, send the evidence of dirty lobbyists, business men, and politicians to every journalist, political blogger with more than ten followers, and proper law enforcers he can. Having to put out those metaphorical fires along with the literal fires should slow Ra’s down.

Step three, he and Pru get into his most secure safe house in Gotham and lay low for a month. No food runs, no internet, no contact with the outside world, nothing. They need to completely disappear and throw off the scent. He’s going to schedule a whole bunch of flights and trips for some of their well known and less known assumed aliases. 

Step four, somehow get himself presentable enough to go in front of the Justice League and convince them that not only is Bruce alive but that they can get him back if they follow his plan.

Step five, ???

He’ll have to figure something out, he’s under no illusion that Ra’s is just gonna let them go scot free. He’s going to need to really suck up to Bruce and the Justice League for protection, because solo he doesn’t stand a chance. He and Pru will eventually need to sleep and not wake up dead. 

It’s a work in progress but it is progress, it’s forward momentum and right now he has to take it.

~~~

The first thing Bart wants to do now that they’re back in their proper time is get a proper burger, one that’s dripping with grease and condiments, with all the fixings and fries on the side. Future food is nutritionally sound but taste wise, it’s lacking. He knows Kon feels the same way because he’s been making comments about Ma Kents pies and roasts here and there while they were technically kidnapped. 

The second thing, which really should be the first thing but whatever, is catch up with Tim and Cassie! They are looooong overdue for a movie night. He’s gonna need a mountain of burgers and some mindless movie on in the background while the four of them talk about whatever happened with them the last few months.

He’s assuming it’s been months for them too, or else he’s reeeallly fucked. 

Maybe he should swing by Central and let Wally, Barry, Jay, Joan, Hal, and Kyle know he’s alive. They’re probably also worried about him. He’s not entirely sure how their absence has been explained, if they’re MIA or if they know somewhat what happened but he does want to see them. 

But first, burgers.

“C’mon c’mon c’mon!” He urges Kon, tugging at his hand and running in circles around him.

Kon’s still finding his footing and looks like he may just faint. He hopes not, Kon is massive! Biggest in their little crew and only Cassie can lift him, if he falls, he won’t be able to stop him. 

The choice is taken out of his hand, thankfully, because Kon eases himself down to the ground and puts himself into recovery position. At least he doesn’t have to try to move a boulder.

“I need a minute.” Kon mutters.

“Ya’kay?” He asks, standing over him.

“I might be sick, gimme a minute.” Kon admits.

Well shit, that’s not good. He darts around to the other side of his friend so that if he pukes, he doesn’t puke on his shoes. 

Kon lays on the ground for a while, definitely longer than a moment. He’s terribly impatient and desperate for food but he also isn’t about to ditch his motion sick friend to go grab his greasy food. Instead, he tries his best to make Kon comfy, he waves his hands at him to make a breeze, holds Kon’s jacket up to make shade, and he’s been as quiet as he possibly can, regardless of how much he wants to ramble. Damn ADHD and how common it is in speedsters. 

Maybe he should just run through Central, give a quick hello to his family, and grab his meds so he can get a handle on his jitters. Depending on what time it is, Wally may even be done with classes and will want to get burgers with him and Kon. Maybe he’ll even pay for them, since he currently has no funds on him. 

Finally, Kon groans and floats off the ground, dramatically brushing the dirt off his jeans.

“Time travel sucks.” He declares.

“Yeah totally, now lets go!” He demands, ready to be moving again.

He may have to bump running to Central up on his list, Adderall would probably help him calm down. May even let him focus on something. 

“Where are we going again?” Kon asks, lazily spinning in a circle to examine their surroundings.

“No clue!” He admits, “But let’s go!”

“Where are we?”

“No idea!” He says, “Now let’s go!”

“This may not even be the right Earth, we could be anywhere.” Kon ponders.

It’s his turn for the dramatics and he flops to the ground.

“It is our Earth and it’s round!” He groans, “We pick a direction, we run, we find food and directions, we go home. Simple.”

“Well when ya put it that way.” Kon mutters, picking him up off the ground by grabbing him under the arms. “What direction?”

“Uhhh.” He stalls, looking around before settling on one. “That way!”

~~~

That way was not great, it took them through Florida!

But it did get them to San Francisco so there was that at least, every dark cloud and all that jazz. The problem was, none of their access codes were working so they couldn’t get into the tower at all. Which sucked, because neither of them had their phones, wallets, or identification on them, because they’d left them in the tower before the mission and now they couldn’t get in.

“Now what?” Kon groaned, looking ready to punch through the door, if it wasn’t specifically built to withstand someone like him hitting it. 

Bart pondered quietly for a moment before snapping his fingers, “Gotham! Rob totally has the new codes and he can get us in!”

“And we can get Agent A cookies!” Kon agreed.

“Let’s go!” He exclaimed.

The run to Gotham is difficult, he’s starving and he can feel his knees starting to get weaker. He’s going to need to eat something soon, speedsters aren’t meant to go this long without food.

Fortunately, it’s a short run and they both know how to get into the Batcave. Bart can smell the cookies from the harbour and it keeps him going. Kon also looks like he’s on his last legs.

“Rob!” He calls as the rush in, purposefully avoiding the Batmobile because he would never be able to afford even just fixing a dent in that thing.

“Robin!” Kon calls as well, looking around hopefully.

“Intruders!”

Bart’s quick enough to dart out of the way but Kon isn’t so lucky and a pint sized kid with a freaking sword drops onto his shoulders and starts trying to slit his throat.

“Woah woah what the fuck!” Kon curses, fumbling to shove him off but the kid sticks like glue. “Get offa me! Tim!”

Cautiously, Bart tries to pry the attempted killer off his friend. The sword is denting as he tries to tear Kon’s throat out. He also comes to the conclusion that this must be Damian and he’s exactly as Tim described him.

Giving up on losing a finger to a demon child, Bart darts over and logs into the Batcomputer, thankful that his codes still work here, at least. From there, he summons the Flash and Superman to the Batcave for assistance, given that they aren’t getting anywhere alone.

“What the hell is going on down here? Damian, I told you to go to bed!”

He turns to see Dick halfway down the stairs with a murderous look on his face, so unlike every other time Bart’s seen the older man. He and Wally have always been so happy go lucky, it’s hard to imagine either of them ever losing their temper for real, even though he’s seen Wally get severely pissed. 

“Dick!” He exclaims, rushing over to give him a hug.

“Bart?” Dick demands, pushing him away.

“Yeah, we’re back!” He chirps, “Where’s Tim?”

“Get this brat off me!” Kon demands, still struggling with Damian.

Dick practically snarls and stalks over to the little psycho, grabbing him firmly by the arm.

“What are you doing down here? I specifically told you that you weren’t allowed down here while you’re grounded!” He demands, “And I know I told you you weren’t allowed to have that.”

He snatches the now incredibly dented sword out of his hand.

“There are trespassers!” Damian snarls, “I’m defending my base.”

“No, you’re terrorizing guests.” Dick corrects, “And you’re disobeying my direct orders while doing it. We talked about this Damian, if you want to be Robin, you will listen to me.”

“Robin? Tim’s Robin!” Kon gasps.

“I have taken my rightful place at Batman's side, Drake’s presence is no longer tolerated.” Damian snarls.

“Stop it!” Dick orders. “Bart, Kon, I need to run some tests on both of you.”

“Got it. Medbay?” Bart agrees.

“Please.” Dick acknowledges. “I’ll send Alfred down to do them in a minute, I need to have a talk with Dami here.”

“Can he bring food?” Bart asks, stomach rumbling at the thought of a meal.

“Sure.” Dick agrees mindlessly. 

~~~

Alfred is uncharacteristically quiet as he takes blood, hair, skin cells, and questions, there’s no lecture about safety, no fussing, nothing. He’ll ask for them to move their arms or ask them about things only they can know about but nothing else. The longer the silence goes on, the more nervous Bart gets, there’s something obviously wrong but nobody will tell them anything about it.

The silence is blessedly broken by the zeta tubes announcing the Flash and Superman as they come in. Both look strained and exhausted, so unlike their usual selves. Once again, Bart wonders what they’ve missed while they were gone.

Flash is the first to notice the two of them and he straightens immediately.

“Bart?” He asks, tentatively.

“Gramps!” He cheers, hoping off the table and running up to hug his grandfather.

Barry idly runs his fingers through his hair but doesn’t hug him back, instead, he looks up at Alfred.

“Is it really?” He asks quietly.

“They are both themselves.” Alfred confirms.

“Oh kiddo!” Barry gasps.

And then he drops to his knees and pulls Bart into a hug so tight he can feel his ribs being crushed. Good thing he heals fast.

“Grandpa!” 

“Oh I missed you so much, you have no idea.” Barry mumbles, kissing his head. “Every day, we missed you.”

“I missed you too!” He promises.

“I don’t understand, what- where were you?” Barry askes, wiping his eyes. “We thought you were both dead.”

“We went to the future!” Kon informs from his bed, still munching on cookies.

Clark is floating a few feet away, looking both mystified and constipated. His ‘I don’t know how to feel face’ as Wally puts it. He probably doesn’t know how to deal with Kon being back, it’s not like they were close before.

“We got kidnapped by the future!” Bart corrects, leaning back into the hug.

Barry tugs him back in eagerly, tucking his head under his chin, even though Bart has to sit on the cold floor to accommodate it. Whatever, it’s nice to be back with his family again, he hadn’t been lying when he said that he missed them. He’s even missed Barry’s stupid puns and Hal’s stories and the way the two of them kiss each other even when they’re just cooking dinner together. He’s missed helping Wally and Kyle with the dishes and playing with Itty and watching Star Trek even though he’s already seen all of the episodes. He’s missed Sunday dinners with all of them together and how he, Wally, and Kyle would go out and get some horribly greasy food and talk about nothing and everything. 

“I’m so glad you’re alive.’ Barry whispers into his hair, kissing him again. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

“No promises.” He whispers back.

“So ah, what happened?” Kon asks, “Why is Damian Robin now? Where’s Tim?”

Barry stiffens and his hold becomes tighter in a bad way, Bart can feel the anger his grandfather feels through the speedforce and it’s staggering. 

“You would need to ask Dick about that.” He grinds out.

“It’s a decision that is…” Clark breaks off to ponder, “Not supported by the Justice League.”

“But where’s Tim?” Kon pushes.

Barry and Clark exchange a look and suddenly, the food Alfred’s given him feels like lead in his stomach. 

“Pa?” He whispers.

Barry bites his lip hard and looks up at the ceiling, like he’s trying to blind himself in the fluorescent lights of the medbay.

“Tim’s been missing for almost five months.” He says without looking at either of them.

The cave is silent for a moment, even the tittering bats seem quieter, or maybe it’s just the ringing in his ears that’s making it seem like that.

“What?”

“After you two, well when we thought you were dead, things went pretty bad for Tim.” Clark answers. “Bruce was killed in a battle against Darkseid, Dick and Jason fought over who would be the next Batman and when Dick was successful, he made Damian his new Robin.”

“Tim didn’t take it well. He’d already been struggling with grieving you two, all of the Titans were, Bruce dying, it just pushed him over.” Barry said, taking over, “He convinced himself that Bruce was still alive but stuck somewhere, he stopped taking his medications, stopped going to therapy. He was spiraling. When Dick stole Robin from him, it pushed him over, he emancipated himself, disconnected his phone, and he’s been in the wind ever since. Nobody has seen him in months.”

“And you let him leave?” Kon shouted, eyes starting to get a reddish tinge to them.

“We didn’t know about it, Conner.” Clark said, uncharacteristically soft to his clone.

“So what, Tim just leaves and nobody bothers to try to find him?” Kon snapped.

“We have been looking kiddo, we’ve been looking nonstop, I promise you.” Barry assured, still holding Bart. “We’ve been looking for any aliases of his, any patterns of his, everything, we haven’t found anything. He doesn’t want to be found.”

It’s at that moment that Dick decides to come down and he’s met with hostile forces.

“What the hell?” Kon snarls, forcing himself up and floating above them. “How could you do that to Tim?”

Dick sighs and looks like he’s walking to death row, though he sort of is. He’s about to be interrogated by two of Tim’s best friends, both of whom have proven that they’re willing to go to the ends of the earth for him.

“Kon, I understand that you’re upset-” Dick starts.

“Oh, we’re way past that.” Kon growls.

“Things were hard kid, I had to make some hard choices. If I hadn’t given Robin to Damian, he would have gone back to the League of Assassins.” He explains, sounding like he’s trying to talk someone off the ledge. “I needed to make a hard choice.”

“And ta hell with Tim right?” Kon shot back. “No, you decided that he wasn’t worth it anymore.”

“That is not what happened.” Dick corrected firmly. “I’ll admit that I didn’t handle the situation in the best way but I never intended for Tim to leave. I searched for him for hours when we noticed that he wasn’t in his room, I tore this city apart! I tried to call him, he disconnected his phone, Oracle and I tried his servers, they’ve been untouched since he left. We’ve set up a hotline for people to call if they have any information, there's a cash reward if anybody has any idea of where he went. He does not want to be found.”

“I wouldn’t come back either if someone chose a baby psychopath over me.” Bart snapped, curling closer into his grandfather.

“I didn’t choose Damian over Tim.” Dick sighed.

“You literally just said that you chose to give Robin to Damian even though Tim was already Robin. You did choose Damian over Tim.” Bart pointed out angrily. “No wonder he didn’t come back.”

“Tim’s sixteen! He’s old enough to make his own identity, he’s old enough to have that independence! If he had just been a little bit patient, I could have helped him with a new costume, a new identity, but he chose to run off and now we’re all worried about him!” Dick snapped.

Kon snarled and went to fly forward, his eyes a glowing red. For a split second, Bart was terrified that he was about to watch Kon literally tear Dick apart and Barry must have thought so too, because he stiffened and held him tighter. Then, Clark shoots up and collides with him midair, successfully stopping his clone and wrapping his arms around him in a hug/restraint. He dragged them both to the ground in a similar stance to how Barry was holding Bart, his chin on top of his head, one hand rubbing his back.

“Alright, it’s okay.” Clark soothed.

“It’s not okay, Tim’s gone and it’s his fault.” Kon screeched, fighting him hard. Thankfully, Clark was stronger.

“Then help us, we’re all looking for Tim, Cassie is helping us.” Clark begged, “You, Bart, Cassie, you know him better than anyone else, if anybody can find him, it’s you three.”

Finally, Kon stilled, though his chest was heaving and his eyes were still red and glowing. 

“Fine. But I’m not working with this asshole.” He spat, glaring at Dick. “We’ll get him back and he can stay in SanFran with us, where at least we won’t replace him with the next brat that comes along.”

Dick bristled at the jab but Clark spoke before he could rebuke it.

“Perfect, I think he’d love some time with you all, I know he missed you. In fact, when we find him, maybe you can invite him to Ma and Pa’s farm, get him some fresh air.” Clark suggested.

Slowly, Kon’s eyes went back to their proper colour and he unclenched his jaw. 

“Yeah, he’d like that.” Kon agreed.

“So you’ll help us look?” Clark asked, slowly relinquishing his grip on his clone. On a non Kryptonian, it would have shattered his bones. Since Kon was half Kryptonian, it probably wouldn’t even bruise. 

“Yeah.” Kon muttered, “Okay.”

“Okay, thank you.” Clark said, helping him stand. “How about you and I go to Ma, get you a good meal and some sleep, then tomorrow, we can talk about how we’ll find Tim. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah.” Kon whispered.

“Perfect, let me call Ma and we’ll head out, okay?”

“Okay.”

Clark released him and hurried out, taking his cell phone out of his pocket to call his mom. Barry rose, pulling Bart with him, and pulled Kon into their embrace.

“You two get your things together.” He instructed, heading off to talk to Clark.

The Kryptonian was on the phone so he waited, until he was finished. Even without super hearing, he could tell that Ma Kent was excited to have her grandson back. Even when Clark had tried to cut ties with him, she’d been ecstatic to have Kon around, even making him up a room in the farmhouse so he could stay there whenever he wanted to.

When Clark finally hung up, Barry stepped in close and lowered his voice until it was barely there.

“What are we going to tell them about Tim’s mental health? We haven’t found anything to suggest he’s alive, he’s suffered from depression for years, we’ve been looking into deceased John Does.” He said.

“I know, but if we tell them here, Kon may very well kill Dick. Do you want that?” Clark asked.

“No.” Barry sighed.

“Then we’ll give them some time to get adjusted to being back, let them reconnect with Cassandra, and then tell them.” He said.

“Fine.” Barry sighed.

~~~

Dick didn’t even wait to see his guests out, figuring that he wasn’t welcome in their presence. It was odd, he didn’t think he would ever see Kon or Bart again outside of pictures and then suddenly, they were in the Batcave, looking for Tim.

He was incredibly grateful that Uncle Clark had been there, he’d probably be unconscious on the floor if he hadn’t intervened when Kon flew at him. 

Whenever he thinks he can’t miss Tim’s presence anymore, something else comes up and it twists that knife in even further. Kon and Bart are back from the dead, after they both had funerals, after their respective families grieved over them, after the Titans had nearly broken apart due to the loss. After their loss had devastated Tim.

Anybody who has an opinion on Dicks actions in the past six months, and that’s everyone, has cited Kon’s loss as a huge stressor for Tim, and he doesn’t disagree. Not that it’s really his place to speculate, but he’d always assumed that there was more going on between Kon and his little brother than simple friendship.

Not that Bart’s loss hadn’t hurt Tim but it was Kon’s death that had broken him. After all, Tim hadn’t tried to clone Bart, just Kon. 

It’s why he’s sitting in Tim’s room, on his bed, clutching his phone to his chest. He’s been crying since the others left, wishing more than anything that he had some way of getting ahold of his brother. Maybe, if he knew that his two best friends had come back, that they were alive, he would come home, or at least let them know he was okay. If anything could bring his brother back, it would be this.

“Oh Timmy.” He breathed around the lump in his throat. “We need you back, we need you to be okay.”

His brother's room is unchanged, his sheets, his dressers, his desk, everything is as he left it. Alfred dusts it daily but other than that, it’s exactly as he left it. Regardless, little things are changing due to time and there’s nothing they can do about it. The scent of Tim’s cologne is fading, his presence is fading. The thought makes him cry harder.

“My boy, perhaps it’s time to get some sleep.”

He lifts his head to see Alfred standing at the door, a glass of water in his hand. His grandfather is his opposite when it comes to this room, Dick comes here to try to be close to his missing brother, Alfred avoids it unless he has to clean it.

“Perhaps.” He agrees, wiping his eyes.

His phone battery is dying, he’s been scrolling through pictures of Tim, either that he has saved on his phone or the ones on the internet. Some of them are clearly staged, taken at galas or school events, where Tim is smiling brightly at the camera. Others are staged but less stiff, ones on his or his friends' social medias where he’s grinning but less done up, his arms slung over someone's shoulder or waist with his head leaning against theirs. Sometimes he’s holding something, like his skateboard hooked over his shoulder or food that he and his friends have found somewhere while they wander around town. 

His favourite is one from a gala shortly after Damian had arrived. He and Cass are on either side of him, Cass has her head on Tim’s shoulder and Dick has his arm resting on his brother's shoulder with his cheek against the side of his head. It’s one of the last pictures they have of Cassandra, it’s the last one of Tim, Dick, and Cass together. 

He needs to print this out so he can keep it in his room, where he can actually feel it. So he can trace his sister's smile, her real smile, with his fingers and not have the screen move. So he can hold it close and not have to worry about the picture disappearing when the screen turns off. 

“Come along lad.” Alfred instructed from the doorway, “A hot shower and a good night’s rest will do you well.”

“Right.” He agrees, standing on stiff legs.

He and Alfred walk silently to his bedroom, not a word spoken between them. Really, there isn’t anything to say that hasn’t already been said. He’ll be alright, he’s taking time to cool down, any day now he’ll show up. Placating words that sound more and more desperate with each passing day. 

Tim’s been missing for five months. If he’s not back in six and a half years, he’ll be considered legally dead and those precious days are slipping through their fingers like sand in an hourglass. What’s worse is that if it comes out that Tim is dead, if they find a body or something, he’ll be the one they blame. He loves Tim more than anything in the world, but somehow, in all the chaos of the world, he let Tim fall. 

Alfred leaves him at his doorway and he walks to his attached bathroom on autopilot. A shower seems like a great idea at the moment.

In his teenage years, when he had been young and surrounded by Meta humans, he’d wished he’d had superpowers. As he’d gotten older and developed his sense of self more, he’d learned that there were worse things to be than baseline. Now, he’d give anything to have Uncle Barry’s ability to go back in time, seams of reality be damned. 

If he could, he would go back and force himself to find the time to sit Tim down and talk to him about the Robin mantle, to explain why Damian needed Robin so badly. He would explain that it wasn’t him choosing Damian over Tim, he would even present his brother with his own Nightwing suit so it was a promotion not a demotion. Before, it had been too much to think about giving up Nightwing, now he’d do anything to not feel the loss of another brother.

He’s so zoned out that he doesn’t notice the debris littering the shower floor until he steps in, naked and with bare feet, and feels multiple sharp pricks in the soles of his feet. Stepping backwards makes it worse, the shards are everywhere in the shower and he quickly loses his balance and falls out of the tub and crashes to the floor of the bathroom.
 
He’s panting and his feet feel horrible but he’s been training under Batman since he was nine years old, he knows how to compartmentalise. So he takes a deep breath through his nose, holds it for ten seconds, and then lets it out through his mouth and lets his training take over. 

The first thing he does is examine his feet, pulling his leg up to get a good look. Fortunately, while there are some deep cuts and some shards sticking out of his feet, he thinks only one is going to need stitches.

To spare Alfred and himself the indecency of his grandfather seeing him naked, he pulls a towel from the rack and covers his bits as best he can, then hits his panic button. In no time at all, Alfred has the bathroom lock picked and is standing in the doorway, first aid kit in one hand, shotgun in the other.

“What happened?’ He demands, looking around frantically.

It’s a tone he and Jay dubbed ‘the soldier voice’ after they’d learned that Alfie had started out in the military before he became a butler. How that happened, he suspects he’ll never know, but it is the topic of many late night, drunken conspiracy theories. 

“I think something broke in the shower, my feet are messed up.” He admits, gesturing to his feet, which are bleeding on the otherwise pristine tiles.

Fortunately, Alfred puts the gun down. His grandfather and younger brother may be comfortable with them, but he’s never gotten used to the presence of guns if it doesn’t shoot water, foam, or paint. He’s seen too many lives ruined by them, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to see them as anything but killing machines.

Alfie starts looking at his feet and thankfully doesn’t comment on his nudity, he’d probably die of shame. Alfred's first aid kit is not the kind you can get at a Walmart or Target, it’s one he’s made himself out of a tackle box with supplies he’s hand chosen. If needed, Alfred could perform open heart surgery with exclusively the contents of his emergency kit, so the two, apparently, cuts that needed stitches were easily sewn up right there.

“How on earth did this happen?” Alfred pondered out loud. 

“I hate to sound paranoid but do you think Kon or Bart used their superspeed to mess with the floor?” He asked.

Alfred hummed and turned to the tub, examining the floor. Then, he turned around and held up a bloody, but heart wrenchingly familiar piece of broken China.

“I’m not so sure we need to look that far.” He said gravely.

Chapter Text

Contrary to popular belief, the desert gets pretty cold at night and right now, as he’s creeping around the hanger, Tim wishes he’d brought a sweater, his skin tight ninja garb is not very well insulated. Tomorrow is the day, he has almost everything planned. He’s gotten most of the medical supplies he’ll need, what he can’t bring with him he’ll have to borrow from Leslie once he gets back state side.

Ideally, Pru would be more healed before their department but they can’t wait any longer. Ra’s keeps pushing the whole ‘be my heir’ thing and the longer he tries to dance around it, the more likely he is to invoke the mans rage. Not only is he vulnerable at the moment, but Pru is basically still bedridden with all the equipment she’s hooked up to and that’s not regarding Dick, Leslie, Barbara, and all his friends back in Gotham, angering Ra’s al Ghul could put everyone he cares about at risk. The quicker he gets out, the better.

It’s why he’s double checking the fuel tank of a small, ten seater passenger plane and disabling all trackers it has. He’s hidden the medical stuff he’ll need under seats and in overhead compartments, and he knows from watching the patrols that nobody checks the insides of the plane or even the planes themselves. The guards make their rounds to check entrances and exits, not things already securely in the building.

The explosives are already set and ready to go, the timers are ticking as he does a systems check on their getaway vehicle. He has fourteen hours before he and Pru need to be on this plane and in the air or else they’re donzo. 

“Timothy?”

He spins around so quickly he nearly snaps his own neck. It would probably save Talia the trouble of doing it herself, though there is a not insignificant chance that she could just dip him in the pit so she could kill him again herself. 

“What are you doing?” She asks, eyeing the plane.

And this is where neither his Robin training nor his newfound league training come in. This, he learned in a theatre class Ives peer pressured him into taking, the art of improve.

“I’m checking the planes.” He says matter of factly, not letting on that anything is amiss.

“Why?” Talia asks, eyeing the craft.

“I couldn’t sleep, my brain wouldn’t shut up, and I got to thinking about something one of the Green Lanterns, they’re a pilot, told me. He said that most of the reasons planes break down is because people skimp on their maintenance check ups and only peek around when something has already gone wrong.” He explains, stepping aside to let her see the panel. “It wouldn’t leave me alone so I’m checking all the planes.”

And he ought to win the fucking Oscar because Talia smiles, something small and soft he didn’t even think she was capable of, and puts a hand on his back.

“Your mind is both your greatest asset and your worst enemy isn’t it, Darling?” She asks, “Still, I suppose it’s good to have you with us. Most of my fathers recruits are poor people looking to better their situation, they don’t have much of an education. We have some doctors, some engineers, but not nearly as many as we need. Thank you, for checking on things.”

“Uh, no problem.” He says awkwardly.

“Have you found anything troublesome?” She asks, removing her hand from his back.

“I only just started, I was checking this one for leaks in the lines when you came in.” He explains.

“I see, perhaps I can help you?” She suggests, gesturing to the hanger. “We often use these planes to move our people, we wouldn’t want to put them on faulty equipment.”

“Um, alright, if you want to.” He agrees.

Really, he does not need her here. It’s going to throw a major wrench in his plan but if he tries to shoo her away, she might get suspicious. The best he can do is try to move on from this specific plane, so he beckons her to follow him to another.

Together, they start looking at lines, checking for puddles or leaks. Talia also points out rust on come bolts that aren’t a problem yet but will probably be at some point so she starts making notes to have some grunt men come in and take care of it.

“I’m glad you’re here.” She says, sort of out of the blue.

Inadvertently, he drops the metal panel cover he’s hanging and they both wince as the noise echos through the otherwise quiet space.

“I’ve always wanted a child of my own.” She confesses as though nothings happened.

“I uh, I hate to sound rude but didn’t you give up your child?” He asks.

To the naked eye, Talia doesn’t react, but Tim’s been training with her long enough to know some microscopic tells she has and he recognizes the small way her eyebrow twitches.

“I suppose you must be curious.” She mutters, “About the child I brought to your fathers door.”

“I mean, kinda.” He admits.

Ever since Ra’s had told him that he himself didn’t like Damian, he’d been kind of curious about what that was about. Before he’d left Gotham, he’d assumed that Damian must have been the Demons Head's pride and joy; he was ruthless, hungry for carnage, and eager to use his sword. He had an ego to match his grandfathers and all the entitlement that came with being a spoiled rich kid. 

Then he’d had the unfortunate pleasure of working with Ra’s and seeing the inner workings of his organisation and realised that Damian didn’t really fit with those standards. The people training under Ra's worked hard but they did sort of get things in return; medical care, a safe place to sleep, clean water, good food, and their dignity. The al Ghuls were feared but also respected in their positions as head of the cult and they maintained that place by valuing their people. They didn’t waste the lives of their underlings, never cheaped out on weapons or protective gear, every strategy was planned to avoid hurting their own ninjas.

Ra’s, to his surprise, wasn’t above listening to others opinions, if one of his men pointed out a flaw in a plan or suggested something else, he would listen to the explanation and then change or keep his plan depending. Even if he found the suggestion useless, he very rarely lashed out at the one suggesting it, unless it was done disrespectfully.

None of that matched Damian, the brat couldn’t even hold polite dinner table conversation let alone battle planning. His sense of superiority wouldn’t let him listen to anyone else about anything and he’d probably rather die than let anyone else take the lead. His entire being made him unfit for the role he’d supposedly been born for.

With a sigh, Talia sat criss-cross on the concrete floor and Tim followed her out of morbid curiosity. Ticking time bombs be damned, this he needed to hear.

“Damian was not born the way children traditionally are. I never carried him, never nursed him.” She confessed, ghosting a hand over her stomach. “I wanted to, but the Lazarus Pit, while lifesaving, comes with some side effects that you just have to live with. I’ll never be pregnant, my father will never have any more children, the pit took that away.

“Still, I wanted a baby and he wanted an heir, someone to lead once he and I are gone. Neither of us truly wants to live forever, watching as those we know grow old and perish while we stay alive. Once we’ve completed our goal, I would like to spend some time truly enjoying the world, then I’d like to go peacefully.”

Alright, bit of a shock. Still he sat and listened as she continued.

“My father was entranced by Bruce while he trained with us, he was everything my father wanted humanity to be. Originally, he offered the role of his heir to him, as he did for you, but he was refused and they became enemies. Despite that, my father still has a lot of respect for him, and I have a lot of love. He may not have been my fathers heir but he figured that his DNA would help make one.

“So, using mine and his DNA, we started making potential heirs, those who could continue our legacy. We got the equipment in a deal with Luthor in exchange for some material for a bioweapon he wanted to use against Superman, and while he was making his own child with his enemies DNA, so were we. 

“More than half of the attempts never made it out of what would normally be foetal development, their cells stopped holding together, they practically melted in their status tubes. We almost gave up when we finally got one that lasted.”

“Damian.” Tim said.

“No, this was before him. I named her Athena and for a while, I thought she was perfect, she was smart and strong and I loved her so much. But soon, it became clear that something wasn’t right with her, she would hurt herself if she got bored, she’d find something with a sharp edge and start peeling off parts of her own skin. Even if we were with her, she would mutilate herself and finally, she did so much damage that even our best doctor couldn’t save her. She died trying to remove her own eyes. My father and I agreed that it would be cruel to try to bring her back with the pit and we had her body destroyed.

“One of the scientists who helped us with the creation process suggested that because we were trying to pick certain traits, we were inadvertently messing with the development of the brain. We’d tried to make a child who would be exactly what we wanted but in doing so, we were damaging them, they suggested that we try to interfere as little as possible. We could choose eye colour, hair colour, height, and sex, but trying to do more than that came with risks. Nevertheless, we continued.

“After more failures, we had another partial success, a boy I named Onyx. We knew he was flawed from the beginning. He was basically rabid, he would attack anyone without hesitation and would use anything he could get his hands on as a weapon. I tried to tame him but after six weeks of no progress, my father ordered him killed.

“We had one more before Damian, another boy. We tried to put a different approach with him, we not only had knowledge of fighting techniques programmed in, but awareness of others, of art. We tried to make him less of a weapon and more a a child, he would need to be taught the way children need to, he would crave parental guidance, and our theory was that in teaching him we would be able to fix past mistakes. His creation wasn’t as ambitious as our previous two and he lasted almost a year.”

“Did you name him?” Tim whispered, transfixed by the story.

“Yes, I did. I named them all, even the ones that never made it out of stasis. His name was Griffin and I loved him so much. Because his brain wasn’t as advanced as his older siblings, he was easier to get along with and he wanted things a child at his development usually wanted. He wanted me to read to him or to go out and catch frogs in the pond. I once lost track of him for a few hours and finally found him in the garden with a hose, he’d made a huge mud puddle and had gotten himself so dirty! It looked like he had lived in the mud his entire life but I was still so happy. He wasn’t yet the powerful heir my father wanted but I could see the potential in him, I could see what he could become and so could my father.

“But it didn’t last. It started with nightmares, he’d wake up screaming and wouldn’t stop for hours. I could hold him and read to him and rock him and nothing would work, he’d scream until he’d lost his voice but his mouth would still be open and his face would still be read with the strain, screaming silently. After that, he withdrew from me and my father. He refused to spend time with us unless it was to eat and his throat was usually so sore he couldn’t swallow. He completely lost the ability to speak.

“I started to notice that the frogs were dwindling in population, though I waved it off at first. There were no shortage of cats around and it was springtime, plenty of little kittens who were just starting to hunt and I figured that it was probably a litter of them practising on the frogs. I never really suspected that it could be Griffin until I caught him squeezing one so hard it’s eyes had popped out, I went to scold him but he didn’t listen to me, instead, he chewed the corpse into a pulp and ate it. Not much startles me anymore Darling, but that did.

“We locked him out of the gardens and tried everything we could think of to fix him. Therapists, medications, sports, we stopped the weapons and fighting training, we tried watching videos about kids playing nicely with animals, and nothing worked. After we’d taken him away from the frogs, he started getting violent with us. I begged my father to be patient, he was the closest to success we’d had and I loved him so much, I was determined to find the cause of the problem.”

She broke off, not crying but she took a deep breath.

“What happened to him?” Tim pressed, feeling nauseous.

“One day, his therapist hit the panic button we’d had installed for him, in case Griffin ever started getting aggressive and he needed assistance. Both my father and I rushed to the room and tried to get in, but the door was jammed, Griffin had pushed the armchair against it and it took us and three others pushing it to get it away. The whole time, we could hear the doctor screaming, in fear, in pain, for help, and then it just stopped. It only took us a few minutes to get the doorway unblocked but that was enough, Griffin had beaten the doctors head in with a lamp until he saw his brains. When we got in there, he was scooping them out with his hands and eating them. My father sent me and the others away and I never saw Griffin alive again, my father at least spared me the pain of seeing him killed.

“We agreed to one final attempt, we were running out of Bruce’s DNA and after all the failures we’d had, starting again seemed haunting. Still, we needed an heir to our empire so we tried and we got another partial success.”

“Damian.” Tim guessed.

“Damian.” Talia acknowledged, “He’s arrogant, cruel to others in his actions and words, and he’s entirely flawed, but he never got as bad as the others had. Still, he had his problems, ones we couldn’t fix. He couldn’t be taught or corrected, always so sure of his own self that he’d chew off his own leg than let someone else take off the trap. He would lash out at other trainee’s, he tried to sneak in real weapons when his class trained with fakes, on more than one occasion, he nearly killed a sparring partner. 

“My father and I were the only two he would listen to and only because we were able to forcibly put him in his place. The other recruits were either unable to or too scared of angering my father to subdue his heir, but we noticed the dissent he was causing. There were whispers of people leaving if he was in the line of succession, his nonexistent value for the lives of his future supporters, his unwillingness to work with others, and his need to always be right did not inspire confidence in his ability to lead. He would easily sacrifice everyone around him for a minor gain and our soldiers wouldn’t stay for it, they came for the mutual benefits we provide, if they wanted to die senselessly, they would have joined the military in their own countries. 

“Finally, Nira, one of my fathers most trusted advisors, told us that if Damian continued to live, we would be dealing with not one, but two mutinies. She theorised that Damian wouldn’t wait for my father and I to finish our mission before taking over, he wanted power and he would kill to get it, if it meant leading his own army against us, then so be it. Additionally, keeping Damian as our heir was weakening our hold over the troops, not only were many people deserting but Nira said that some of the ones loyal to the cause would rise up against us if they felt we were too beholden to Damian. My father agreed with her and ordered me to dispose of Damian.”

Once she’d finished, the two of them stared into their own middle distances respectfully. Her stuck remembering the past, him trying not to vomit.

“Why didn’t you kill him?” He asked finally, weakly. 

“I don’t know. Midlife crisis perhaps? A misplaced sense of loyalty? I know that he was the closest to success that we’d had, the closest to a real child and I couldn’t bear to be the end of him. I tried, I put the poison in his cup but I gave him the antidote before he’d even finished half of it, I couldn’t do it.” She confessed, still staring off into the distance. “But I knew that Bruce had taken in difficult children and had success, he’d not only civilised a common street rat, but he’d made good progress with Cassandra. I figured that if he could help her, he could help Damian.”

“You couldn’t give up on him.” Tim said.

“No, I couldn’t.” She said.

And with that, she rose from the floor with all the grace of a goddess, and beckoned for him to rise. Together, they walked back to the room he was sharing with Pru and Tim felt his insides swirling with the weight of the story he’d just heard. He’d known that the cloning process that had created Kon was complex, he’d known that before his best friend, Lex had created failures. He’d never considered the possibility that failures could mean a person who would compulsively harm themselves or others. Suddenly, he had a newfound appreciation for Kon’s overprotectiveness and temper. If that was the worst he’d had, at least he’d never had to worry about him eating his brains. 

The door was how he’d left it, slightly ajar but not letting too much light from the hallway in. Talia paused outside of it and stared with a look he couldn’t place.

“Get some rest Darling, you have a big day tomorrow.” She instructed.

Silently, he obeyed, though with the oddest feeling that she was on to him.

~~~

Ma and Pa had kept him in a hug for what felt like hours and he relished every second of it. After learning that his best friend was missing and presumed dead (he had super hearing too Clark) coming back to the farm where nothing had changed was like slipping into the cosiest pair of pyjamas he owned. 

“Oh my sweet boy.” Ma sobbed, pressing what must have been the thousandth kiss in two minutes to his scalp. “I’m so glad you’re alright, so glad. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too Ma.” He whispered.

A lump in his throat had formed and refused to dislodge when he heard that they were looking into John Does. He had imagined a lot of things when they’d come back to their proper time, new movies, maybe a shift in world politics, the Justice League breaking up and reforming with a rabbit as the leader. He’d never even considered that Tim wouldn’t be here.

“Poor boy, you must be exhausted.” Pa murmured, squeezing him as tightly as he could.

“Oh yes!” Ma exclaimed, pulling back suddenly. “Here honey, how about you go up and take a shower and change into something more comfy while I whip ya up somethin’ ta eat? Your room is exactly how you left it, though I did change the sheets.”

“That sounds great.” He admitted.

Both Ma and Pa cooed at him and sent him up the stairs to the shower. True to their word, they hadn’t done anything to his room except change the sheets, though he noticed tear stains on the pillow cases and he was stuck with the heartwrenching image of Ma or Pa crying over his loss while trying to pack up his things. They had thought he was dead after all. 

The shower was how it had always been, the pressure wasn’t amazing and the water smelt a little bit too much like iron but it was hot and steady and it did help. He took his time, scrubbing himself twice to get the grime and anger off him. He used the nice shampoo that Tim had gotten him as a gag gift last year after he’d complained about how most mass produced soaps smelt too chemically and burned his nose. This one was naturally scented with sandalwood and honey and it didn’t assault his nose when he opened the bottle. 

When he’d dried off and changed into sweats and a tank top, he opened up his closet and started rifling around, moving some sporting equipment until he found what he was looking for.

The envelope was a nice lavender colour and he’d written ‘Tim’ on it in his best handwriting after taking some cursive lessons from Lois. Aside from the letter, he had a neat little stuffed t-rex holding a heart in its jaws. He’d found it at the thrift store in Smallsville and had such a laugh over it, he’d known that it would be perfect for Tim. The gift had been hidden and he’d planned to give it to him when he came over for a small camping trip with Cassie and Bart. 

He’d had it all planned out, he was going to suggest that Bart and Cassie make a run to the bigger city for more marshmallows after he would conveniently forget to buy some. That would leave him and Tim together and bored enough that his friend-hopefully-boyfriend would easily agree to a sunset walk through the fields. He and Pa had made a little bench under a tree in the middle of the field where hay turned to barley and he was going to have the present sitting under it waiting for them. He was going to give Tim the letter for him to read, detailing how much he liked him as more than a friend and when he finished reading, he’d ask Tim to be his boyfriend.

And then of course, hopefully Tim would say yes and he would carve their names in the tree and maybe they’d hold hands and sit on the bench while they waited for Bart and Cassie to come back. 

Cassie was, of course, in on the whole thing. He hadn’t told Bart, too nervous that he’d blab and ruin the whole thing. Ma and Pa knew as well and had been hyping him up to the whole thing, Ma had helped him write the letter and she and Lois had spell checked it for him. 

Of course, that had also led to a very awkward conversation about practising safe sex, complete with a box of condoms and a banana if he needed to ‘practice’ and he’d wished more than anything that he’d been able to just fly out of that talk. He did not need his grandma trying to talk to him about bedroom stuff. 

Besides, he hadn’t even been sure that he wanted that with Tim, at least not yet. He wanted to hold his hand when they watched movies and to go on lunch dates that weren’t just between friends. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted to kiss him but that was it! He wasn’t ready for anything further than that yet. 

Of course, now that may never happen. Because Tim was missing and it was all Dicks fault! He’d never get to give Tim the letter and the t-rex, he’d never get to hold his hand or kiss him or anything, all because Dick fucking Grayson decided that catering to Bruce’s blood son was more important that Tim. Dick was an asshole and he’d lost his best friend/crush because of it. 

“Holding that thing a little tight, dontcha think son?”

Pa stood at his open doorway and he hadn’t even realised that he was squeezing the t-rex until he pointed it out. It wasn’t broken or anything, not even misshapen, but he loosened his hold nonetheless.

“What’s going on?” Pa asks, stepping in to take a seat beside him on the bed.

“Tim’s missing.” He whispered, eyes never leaving the toy in his hands.

“Ahh yes, I’d heard about that.” Pa said with a sigh. 

“Barry thinks he’s dead.” He added quietly.

“I’d heard about that too.”

Somehow, that’s what makes the tears spill over. Despite the fact that Barry’s been nothing but nice to him his whole three years with the Titans, he hates him right now. He hates him for even thinking that Tim could be dead and even more because he might be right. The world is a dangerous place, the world of vigilantes is worse and Tim is all alone. There are so many variables he can’t even begin to account for, so many ways it could all go wrong for Tim.

“Ya wanna know what I think?” Pa asked.

He shrugged without saying anything. Really, he mostly just wants this to be a really bad dream, he wants to wake up and see a recent text from Tim wishing him a good night’s rest and a reminder about training the next day.

“I think that Tim’s a stubborn sonova who left on a mission. Now I don’t know what that mission is, but I do know that he’s smart and skilled enough that he’ll finish what he started.” Pa says easily.

“I-I can’t hear his heartbeat.” He confesses, pulling the t-rex close to his chest.

“That don’t mean much son. That whole families full of paranoia, he’s got armour that blocks out his heartbeat from you an’ Clark, don’t he?” Pa asks.

“Yeah.” Kon agrees.

“So he’s probably wearing it so no one can try an’ stop him. He didn’t exactly leave on good terms with everyone, he doesn’t want to be found. He’s probably taken steps to make sure that he won’t be.”

“I just want him back!” Kon cries, feeling very tight in the chest. 

Pa gives him a sad smile and pulls him into another hug. He doesn’t comment on the toy he’s holding like a lifeline, he doesn’t tell him to buck up or to try to find a solution. He just holds him and rubs his back.

“I know son, I know. This whole things a huge mess’a shit.” he soothed.

“I just want things to go back to normal!” He cried, “I hate Dick! I hate that he sent Tim away.”

“Aw kid, he didn’t mean ta. He’s a kid too, he’s tryin his best.” Pa said.

“He’s in his twenties.” Kon grumbled.

“When ya get ta be my age son, anybody under forty is a kid.” Pa joked. “And it ain’t been easy for Dick either, he’s been tryin ta hold his whole family together. Now, I get he made the wrong choice but he’s tryin his hardest.”

“His best isn’t very good.” Kon said angrily.

“It’s easy to judge from the outside Conner, we don’t see how he’s trying all the time. We can look in and say ‘that’s the wrong move’ but we can’t see how it looked from his point of view.” Pa said firmly. “He’s been pulled in every direction since Bruce passed and it was only a matter of time before something slipped, it’s unfortunate that it was Tim but it wasn’t intentional.”

Kon didn’t have a response to that. Really, he was still angry that Dick wouldn’t help Tim, he was mad that his friend might be dead and it was all because his older brother decided that his shiny new brother was more important. He also knew that saying that to Pa was probably just going to get him a lecture again. 

“Think ya can stomach anything?” Pa asked finally.

“Yeah.” He said.

“Alright then, lets get some supper in ya and you can sleep off this funk. Tomorrow, we can start brainstorming ways ta get your sweetheart home.”

“He’s not my sweetheart.” He said, though he was blushing.

“Not yet maybe, but he will be soon.” Pa teased, ruffling his hair. “Now let’s go, you know your Ma doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

With a nod, Kon put the letter and the dinosaur plushie on his pillow and followed Pa down to the dining room.

~~~

The alarms blaring through the League base urged him to go faster. He had Pru strung over his shoulder, her oxygen tank awkwardly in his hand as they stumbled along. So far, nobody had tried to stop them, but he knew it was a matter of time.

It had started with two bases in Egypt; he'd been able to hack the computers to turn off the safety precautions that would prevent overheating. The fires they caused had easily spread to the munitions rooms and all the gunpowder had caught like, well like gunpowder. He’d done the same with as many other bases as he could in the short time he’d had to work with, timing it so that this base would be as empty as possible so he wouldn’t be stopped. 

Still, his heart was in his throat as he dragged Pru to the plane. Every second ticking by felt like his last and while he knew that the fire hadn’t started in this base yet, the anticipation made him feel hotter than if he were actually standing in an inferno.

Finally, the hanger was in sight and he nearly cried with relief. Just a few more minutes and he would be in the air and on his way back home. 

And then, because nothing can ever work the way it’s supposed to, he was greeted with Talia standing in front of their plane.

“Fuck.” He choked. 

Pru groaned beside him, her knees weak from the excretion. If it came to a fight, they were both screwed. Pru couldn’t even stand and there was no way Tim stood a chance against one of the greatest fighters to ever live. Best to just hope she made his death quick. 

“Hello Timothy.” Talia greeted. 

“Hey.” He gasped, still trying to catch his breath.

“I took the liberty of getting the rest of the equipment you’ll need onto the plane. We wouldn’t want your friend passing over the ocean, would we?” She said cooly.

What?

“What?” He asked.

“I’m not stupid Timothy, I know you’re leaving.” She said, crossing her arms.

“You’re not gonna, you know, stop me?” He asked.

“I probably should.” She admitted, “But I can’t be the end of another child. And you’re trying to bring back my beloved. I imagine if you’re leaving now, you have the proof you need.”

“I do.” He said carefully.

“Alright then. Come on.”

Cautiously, he dragged Pru up the stairs of the plane and quickly dropped her into one of the empty seats. Talia followed them aboard and he wondered if it was all just a ploy to get them cornered before she killed them. He waited, tense, for the swipe of a blade but none came. Instead, she started hooking Pru up to the equipment he’d gathered. 

“She’ll need to rest once you get her to where you’re going.” Talia said.

“I know.”

“Do you have a place to stay? I wouldn’t recommend you take her anywhere Damian has access to, he has no honour, he’ll kill her before she can recover.”  

“I have a place away from Damian.” He answered. 

“Good.” Talia said with finality.

She turned to him and he once again braced himself for his death. Instead, Talia cupped his cheeks and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Good luck, my darling.” She wished. 

“Thanks.” He whispered.

He stood still as a statue and watched as Talia climbed down the stairs and onto the concrete floor of the hanger. On autopilot, he pulled up the ramp and started the engines, reeling from the interaction he’d just had. Before shutting the cockpit door, he gave Pru a brief look over, checking all her lines to make sure nothing had been tampered with, he also did a safety check on the plane. 

Nothing was wrong. Truly, Talia al Ghul had just aided in his getaway. He looked forward to seeing the pigs out the window on his flight, since the world had gone mad.

“Alright, next stop, Gotham.” He muttered, picking up speed and feeling the rush as the plane took off from the runway.

Below him, fire broke out in the centre of the base, spreading quickly from all the accelerants he’d stashed around the place. Across the world, as many bases as he’d been able to get access to met the same fate while simultaneously, hundreds of League plants were exposed for what they were on various news channels and on political blogs.

He wasn’t in the clear yet, not even close. He still had to convince the Justice League to look at his evidence for what it was, he still needed to convince them to help him bring his mentor back. Then he and Pru would need to properly heal.

It was going to be a long journey but hopefully, it would be worth it. 

Chapter Text

It’s early afternoon when they arrive in Gotham and it’s easy to grab a cab to get to their safehouse for the next month. He doesn’t know if Ra’s knows that he’s behind the destruction of his bases or not yet but he isn’t taking any chances.

Thankfully, this is Gotham City, home of amorality. A well placed one hundred dollars tip in the cab driver's pocket plus the promise of more to come and he readily agrees to get them some groceries. Mostly shelf stable foods and bottled water, the driver brings him back the order and Tim easily hands him another three hundred dollars for his trouble.

The bedding he has stashed away is dusty and probably a little moth bitten but it’s not the worst he’s ever slept on. There’s one bed and a couch and since he’s mobile he obviously gives Pru the bed and he tries his best to make it comfortable for her. He moves the television from the living room to the bedroom and balances it on the dresser. He can’t log into Netflix or anything but pirating isn’t below him and it’s easy to find any show or movie they want online. 

Once Pru is set up and recovering from the journey, he starts cleaning the kitchen and bathroom of all the dust that’s accumulated after years of disuse. He wouldn’t have cared before but since both of them are recovering from pretty serious injuries and they have no allies at the moment, it’s probably best to do everything possible to avoid infection. Then he showers and starts on lunch.

For himself, he makes a peanut butter sandwich and for Pru, he heats up some chicken broth and grabs a jello cup. The television is playing Grey’s Anatomy but Pru’s dozing off rather than watching it and he has to nudge her to wake her up.

“Brought lunch.” He says when she opens one eye at him.

They eat together and watch the doctor show. Pru eats slowly, the plastic spoon weighing her down after she’s expended so much energy during the flight and the ride over. 

“I know it’s not ideal but I can help you get cleaned up later.” He offers.

Blushing, Pru nods and hands him her half empty bowl to be placed on the dusty table by the bedside. He sets his down beside it, not feeling very hungry. 

“I’ll let you get some rest.” He says finally, getting up and taking the dishes with him. 

As much as it’s for Pru to get some rest without him beside her, it’s for him as well. He may not have frequented this particular safehouse very often, but it has a very Gotham feel to it regardless.

The pattern of the popcorn ceiling, the type of wallpaper commonly found in low income housing in Gothams Narrows, the steel window decor, and the smell of smog in the air, overwhelms him with the fact that he’s back in his home city again. 

This wasn’t how he intended to return, he’d wanted his father with him, he wanted to come back and be able to look Dick in the eye and say ‘I was right’. Instead, he’s back as a phantom, sneaking around to not be seen or else Ra’s could come snapping down on him and Pru and anyone else who could get in his way. 

Being so close and yet so far is hard, like he’s failed but comes so close to succeeding. He wants Bruce back, because he’s exhausted, he’s so tired of having to be on his own for everything, no safety net to fall back on. 

And because he’s an idiot, he grabs a very encrypted laptop he keeps stashed in every safehouse and starts working the codes to get the information he needs regarding Bruce’s survival. He may be out for the count at the moment but the Justice League would benefit greatly from having one of their founders back, step by step instructions on how to get him back would be enough for them to complete his mission for him. Then maybe he could go home and recover in his own bed without having to worry about the Demon Spawn poisoning his soups. 

~~~

Getting his information from the private server he set up is easy, getting into the Leagues servers is childs play. Why they haven’t updated their online security since he’s been gone is stupid beyond all measure, considering the nature of their work and the fact that their real names and next of kin are kept on them. 

It might have something to go with the fact that Batman is gone and he was the one who used to do those updates.

All the more reason to get him back. Really.

He plants a virus in their system, one with a cure only he and Bruce will know, since it’s password deactivated and a reference to a camera lens Bruce got when he’d accidently broken his old one. It hadn’t really been Bruce’s fault, he’d been so focused on the shot he hadn’t noticed that he’d wandered somewhat into traffic. Bruce had hauled him back to the sidewalk before he got hit by a car but the motion had forced him to drop his lens and it’d broken on the concrete. 

Nobody else would know what lens in particular Bruce had gotten him as a replacement and the two of them had used it as a proof of identification phrase many times in the past. So until either he or Bruce gets up to the Watch Tower, every screen is going to be displaying instructions on how to get him back and the PA system will be reading them aloud. 

That sent, he curls himself up under the dusty blankets and tries his best to get some sleep.

~~~

Bart hadn’t been in this time when Jason Todd had died but he’d certainly heard about it. At first, he’d judged the absolute shit out of Bruce, I mean, who leaves their kids belongings locked in a room like a shrine, drinks themselves into a stupor, and then needs a different kid to drag them out of it? Didn’t sound very adult to him.

He’d heard a lot through Wally and Grandpa about what it was like for Dick and Bruce, apparently Bruce nearly got himself killed because he was so clouded in grief that he couldn’t function. Dicks depression had gotten so bad that he’d been temporarily forced to live in Wally’s room at their house on suicide watch. Still, he’d kinda figured it was the Bats being over dramatic as always.  

Now though, he’s not so sure, his family just spent the majority of a year thinking that he was dead and it looks like things have been pretty rough, judging by the state of the house. Usually, they eat food cooked at home but the plethora of take out containers in the fridge, garbage, and on the counter speak to a change of habit. Grandpa’s desk in the study is piled high with manilla files labelled ‘unsolved’ with several open and a half empty jar of instant coffee beside his laptop, the couch in the study also has a bed made on it, like Grandpa’s been spending most of his time here and not going to bed at night.

Wally’s room is messy, the bed is disheveled and the sheets look gross, like they haven’t been changed in months. Poking around shamelessly, he finds several self help books on the loss of a sibling hidden under his bed, checked out from the library at his university. Kyle’s room, on the other hand, is way too neat. His desk is spotless, without a single tube of paint, coloured pencil, or charcoal on it, he’s also taken down several of the photos from his walls, mostly the one where he was in them. 

It’s like being in a different house entirely, nothing like the one he’d left eight months ago. What’s worse is his room, it’s the only room in the house that hasn’t changed, save for some dust gathering on things. There’s even a basket of folded laundry still on his bed, it’s like they just closed the door and tried to never think about what was behind it, though there are some empty boxes on his bed. Other than that, nothing has changed at all. So while he’s standing in the center, looking around, Grandpa waits at the doorway like a vampire waiting to be invited in.

“I uh, I couldn’t get around to packing your things up, so everything is how you left it.” He says, his voice thicker than it should be.

Now that he’s really looking, he can see that his Grandfather looks a lot more worn than he usually does. He can see the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hair and skin are greasy from bad food and vitamin deficiency. His clothes are wrinkled and stained and while he doesn’t show it, he can feel the swirl of emotions he feels through the speedforce.

“I missed you Gramps.” He says, not sure what else to say.

It’s the right thing though, Grandpa’s face melts into a smile and he pushes himself off the wall and over to pull him into a hug. Usually, he hates how short he is, today he’s just happy that he’s still small enough to be picked up by his grandfather.

“I missed you too kiddo, so much.” Grandpa chokes, squeezing him so tightly his ribs compress a little painfully. 

“Where are the others?” He asks, holding tight.

“Wally and Kyle are both in class. Kyle is done at two, Wally’s done at four, but I texted him to let him know we have a situation at home so he’ll probably ditch his last class. Your Papa is heading in from Oa.” He replies.

“I missed them too.” He whispers, holding tighter. 

Grandpa spins them so he can sit on the bed, holding him on his lap and he feels five years old again, still living in the future off stories of his heroic grandfather he’d never been able to truly meet. Now he’s fifteen and thankful that he gets to hold his grandfather and live with him. He's glad that he accidently got two older brothers and another grandpa. He’s glad he got to meet his friends. 

He can feel Barry’s grief and gratitude through the speedforce, amplifying every time he gets squeezed particularly hard. It’s nice to just be held by his grandfather for a while.

~~~

Four hours later and all of them are laid out on a blanket under the massive oak tree in the backyard. Hal is propped against the trunk with Kyle under his arm while Barry’s laying with his head in his husband's lap, Bart on top of him like an overgrown lap dog. Wally’s laying beside Barry, curling in so tight it’s almost comical so his entire six foot frame can be under one arm with his head beside Bart’s on his torso. 

He can’t imagine that it’s very comfortable for Grandpa to have the entire weight of his grandson on his chest, plus Wally’s upper half but he hasn’t voiced any complaints, plus, Papa’s running a free hand through his hair so he’s not moving unless he has to.

There had been a brief discussion about dinner that had boiled down to hamburgers pretty quickly. 

The Garricks are heading over soon and they’ll be making hamburgers once they get here. They’ll be getting groceries on their way over, since their house has nothing except leftover takeout. 

Iris is also on her way, and in a move that defies all laws of physics, she arrives first. She drifts her car partially into the driveway but mostly onto the grass, narrowly missing a decorative stone sculpture. Wally lazily tilts his to see what's happening, winces at the sight of the ruined lawn, and then shifts back towards Grandpa to keep cuddling.

“Bart!” Iris cries, throwing herself out of the car.

Again, Wally turns to look at what’s happening and rolls his eyes. Because their also speedsters, Barry and Bart can see him running over and turning off the car, then running back and reclaiming his place. 

“Grandma!” He replies, just as eagerly.

He climbs off Grandpa as carefully as he can, careful not to disturb him too much. He rushes over to Iris and uses his speed to take a second to observe her. She’s also more disheveled than she was when he last saw her, her hair is better kept than Barry’s but it looks flat and unstyled. Her shirt is wrinkled more than it should be from just a day of working, she hasn’t been ironing her clothes like she usually does. 

“I missed you!” He declares, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

She’s lost a lot of weight. 

“Oh Sweetheart.” She whispers, doing her best to squeeze the life out of him. If he were a cartoon character, his eyes would be popping out of his skull. 

He’s not a cartoon character though, so his eyes stay in place while his organs move around.

Then, her affection turned sour and she grabbed his shoulders firmly.

“Where on Gods green earth have you been?” She demanded, “Do you have any idea how worried we all were? You could have called or left a note!”

“I got kidnapped by the future!” He defends, not wanting to be on the receiving end of her wrath. Grandma is wonderful to have in your corner, you do not want to make her angry.

She looks up towards Barry, who just raises a thumbs up but doesn’t do much more to come to his defense. Whatever, it’s enough to convince her of his innocence. 

~~~

The household ends up taking the week off work and school to readjust to them all being home. It’s mostly been cleaning, restocking the kitchen, catching up on laundry and sleep, all while they spend any spare second physically attached to each other. 

Barry and Hal are starting to reconnect too, he’d accidentally walked in on them holding hands and crying together, obviously deep in a very difficult conversation. He’d beat a hasty retreat. 

Wally had quietly taken his books on handling the loss of a sibling back to his university's library, telling them he was just going for a snack run. He’d taken his backpack, clearly heavy with books, and returned with an empty backpack and no snacks. He hadn’t talked to him about it, it’s not really a conversation either of them really have the capacity for at the present. 

Slowly, their house has regained order, going back to the happy place it had been when he’d left. Wally and Kyle start joking again, nudging each other playfully while passing in the hallway, playing video games together, and joking in a language only the three of them really understand. Wally’s getting his energy back and Kyle’s doing his art again.

Barry’s started dressing in his bow ties and sweater vests again, he’s making his stupid puns again and he never thought he would be happy to hear them. He and Hal are cooking together and even went on a little picnic date together, just to catch up. Everyone is looking better, their skin is clearer and they’re gaining back the weight that they’ve lost in his absence. 

Tonight, they’re having a Star Trek marathon, complete with popcorn and all kinds of snacks and fun drinks. Wally and Kyle took  a mocktail class on Wally’s twenty-first birthday, since he doesn’t drink, so they’re having some fun fruity drinks. They’re starting with the original series, obviously, and he’s excited.

Kyle and Wally and sharing the armchair in the corner, just a pile of limbs. It’s a habit they’d formed during childhood that they apparently haven’t outgrown. Hal and Barry are sitting together, Hal’s one arm over Barry while his husband rests his head on his shoulder. The pair are sharing a bowl of popcorn. He’s sprawled out on the rest of the couch, his own head on his grandfather's arm, pilfering their popcorn.

They’re five episodes in when Hal and Barry’s JL alerts go off on their phones. Hal rolls his eyes while Barry just silences his. 

“To hell with them, eh?” Wally jokes.

“I told them we were taking time off to reconnect and recover and that we weren’t to be called unless there was a world ending crisis.” Barry groans.   

Hal nods in agreement and they continue with their show and their popcorn. When that episode ends, they make more popcorn and continue with the sixth one.

Then Barry gets a call from Clark that he begrudgingly answers and heads to the hallway to not interrupt. Steadily, the volume of the call rises until Kyle untangles one arm and pauses the show while the rest of them start to stand in concern. The call ends abruptly and Barry hurries back in to grab Hal.

“The Watch Tower has been hacked.” He relays briskly. “Hal and I have to go.”

“What can we do?” Kyle asks, he and Wally standing in unison like they weren’t a tangle not even a second ago.

“Stay here, have your suits ready to go in case something goes wrong.” Barry orders, changing into his Flash uniform. “I’ll call Jay at the tower, tell him to stand by too. Other than that, stay inside.”

None of them question the command. Their family doesn’t have the same military like structure other vigilantes have but they do respect the knowledge and insight the older capes have, so when Grandpa says to stay inside, they’re going to.

Hal ghosts a hand down Barry’s back and then they’re off in a flash of green and red, leaving the three of them waiting for an update. The atmosphere is tense like the air before a thunderstorm, sharp and still and dark. 

Kyle’s the first to move, ever the levelheaded eldest and they follow suit. Despite two of them having super speed and one of them having a lantern ring, they take their time cleaning up, bagging up the snacks, disposing of garbage, and doing the dishes. Wally even turns on the roomba, Sir Cumfrence, to clean up the dropped bits of food and they all sit to watch him clean up.

Itty, who’s been absent, probably sleeping on Wally’s bed, makes an appearance and settles on his lap, mewing at him until he pets her ears. Other than the cat purring, it’s uncomfortably quiet, like it always is when something is going wrong and they’re waiting for marching orders.

“Who do you think hacked the tower?” Wally says finally, reaching over to scratch Itty at the base of her tail.

“My money’s on Lex.” Kyle mutters in response, “He’s been giving Uncle Clark a hard time recently.”

“He’s never hacked the tower before.” He points out.

“I’ll bet it’s a power play,” Kyle reasons, “Just reminding everyone that he’s a super genius and that he could expose all of us to the public if he wanted to.”

“Asshole.” Wally curses.

“Maybe it’s some new guy.” He suggests, though he hopes not.

“That’d suck, we don’t need another nutjob trying to take over the world.” Wally says.

And then they lapse back into silence, each in their own thoughts. Kyle shifts until he’s resting against the arm of the sofa with his legs kicked over Wally’s lap and pulls out his phone. Wally keeps petting at Itty until she climbs onto his lap for pets, abandoning him. He sticks his tongue out at the older redhead and gets up to pace out his nerves.

He drifts between the pictures hung on the walls, staring at the moments captured in time. Some of them are from before any of the kids showed up, just Hal and Barry with their friends, much younger, smiling at the camera at bars, parks, and get-togethers. Then Wally shows up, small and always clinging to Barry. The mood changes in those photos, his understanding is that it was hard to photograph his older cousin when he first started living with their parents because of his nerves. Most early pictures of him feature him asleep or when he doesn’t know there’s a camera.

His favourite is one with Barry and Wally on Jay and Joan's porch swing, Wally’s head is heavily on his dads shoulder and he’s nearly asleep while Barry reads a book. He doesn’t know much about the event but he can feel the love in the shot, he knows Hal had grabbed the camera and taken the picture as quickly as he could. It’s why the picture looks the way it does, glare from the sun making the cover of the book hard to see and Barry’s hair looking like it’s glowing. But the feelings in the picture are there nonetheless, a little boy putting his full trust in an adult to keep him safe, an adoring spouse wanting to preserve the scene he’s happened across.

With Wally comes the original Titans, there are no pictures of them in uniform but there are so many pictures of them all. Donna, Roy, and Wally smiling widely with ice cream smeared all over their faces, all of them in Ollie’s pool, and Roy, Dick, Donna, and Wally sleeping in a pile on a blanket in the grass. He knows the story behind that one, Uncle Ollie had hosted a BBQ at his house that had run late into the evening, the kids had swam, eaten hamburgers, roasted marshmallows, and played with sparklers until they were exhausted. The blanket was Aunt Diana's but they had borrowed it to picnic on and had later fallen asleep. Apparently, there had been quite the search for them until Uncle Clark found them sleeping in a puppy pile.

Then Kyle shows up, slightly older than Wally and the family of three grows to four. Christmas and Hanukkah pictures get bigger and Wally gets a brother to run around with. Collages of the pair playing in the sprinkler on a hot summer day fade into leaf piles to jump in that drift into snow forts and hot chocolate with marshmallows. One picture has Hal with Kyle on his shoulders and Wally under one arm, all three are smiling and happy, Kyle's face is tilted up towards the sun while Wally’s clearly crying from laughing so hard. Another picture has Barry, dead asleep, with one boy under each arm, also asleep. 

Birthdays, first days of school, grade eight graduation, and halloween costumes, all are documented and hung on the wall. The love is visible to everyone who enters the house. When he comes into the frames, the pictures expand again. He, Kyle, and Wally on the couch playing a video game, he and Jay sitting on the porch with plates of pie. He, Hal, and Kyle trying their hardest to decorate cookies but getting in each other's way, Kyle’s hair is grey with all the icing sugar powdered in it, Hal’s got pink frosting spilled down the front of his shirt and he’s struggling to keep his piping bag closed while bright blue frosting erupts from the top. 

He can almost hear that picture, Kyle trying to make his cookies as beautiful as possible while yelling at Wally, who keeps darting in and dumping sprinkles or candies on them. Hal had cursed like a sailor when the seam of his piping bag split and icing had dumped down his shirt and onto his plate of cookies. All of them were doused in pink and eventually he’d just tossed sprinkles and chocolate chips at the problem and gone to have a glass of wine. Bart had joined Wally in messing with Kyle, putting drops of different coloured icings on his cookies to get him wound up until karma had caught up with him and he’d overfilled his bag. 

Barry, Joan, and Jay had been at the table decorating their own cookies much more peacefully. Wally had been over there before he’d drifted to annoy his elder brother. The three had laughed until they’d cried and finally Barry had run upstairs for the camera and caught the shot. Kyle and Joan had definitely made the prettiest cookies but he still stood by that the ones Hal had ‘decorated’ tasted the best just because they were ninety percent sugar. The kitchen had been horribly sticky and at some point, Itty had walked through some spilled icing and tracked pink paw prints all over the house and onto Hal and Barry’s bed but they’d all cleaned it up while laughing. 

He wonders if Hal ever managed to get the pick paws out of the white comforter or if he just accepted that they’re now a permanent fixture of the blanket. It’s Barry’s favourite so it’s not like he could just bin it and get a new one. Speedster flaw, or more accurately, ADHD flaw, Barry’s sensitive to textures and is picky about bedsheets. And that blanket was a gift from Bruce, probably made in Finland by people who have studied the art of blanket making for generations that nobody without three private jets has ever heard of. 

Time fades while he paces around, pausing to stare at pictures. Occasionally, Itty distracts him by winding around his ankles or climbing up his back to his shoulder but mostly, he just wanders aimlessly. He’s both comforted and disturbed by the fact that no call to action comes.

Two hours later, Hal returns, tense and shifty but unharmed. Concerningly, he barely hugs his older boys and makes his way to him, taking him firmly by the shoulder.

“We need you to come up to the tower.” He says firmly.

He’s shocked to silence while he follows his Papa, walking past Wally and Kyle, both trying their best to look unaffected. He’s trying to do that too, look more professional than he feels, less scared. He’s sure he’s failing, he feels like he’s walking to his execution and he doesn’t even fully know what’s happening. 

His skin tingles while they’re phased up and the air changes from their nice fresh air in their home in the outer suburbs of Central surrounded by trees and grass to the filtered and filtered air of the Watch Tower. The lighting is all fake, the air is uncomfortably still except for the vents every few feet, even the floor feels wrong as the artificial gravity pulls him down. Papa isn’t bothered given that he’s spent a disproportionate amount of his adulthood in space with similar conditions. 

He doesn’t spend much time in the Watch Tower and he frankly, hates it. The Titans, Young Justice, the Birds of Prey, and the Outlaws don’t tend to be brought up to the Leagues base very often. Major injuries requiring surgery or intimate medical care, exposure to alien illness that require quarantining, and a world ending event requiring all hands on deck are the few exceptions. 

Which is why it’s so odd that not only is he here, but Diana and Clark are leading in Kon and Cassie, who shrieks audibly when she sees them both. He forgets about his apprehension for a moment as he’s engulfed in yet another bone crushing hug, this time from another one of his friends with super strength. His bones really can’t take this kind of force for much longer, super healing only does so much.

Then Cassie pulls back abruptly and slugs him in the arm, hard. 

“What the hell!” She demands, giving one to Kon too. “You assholes fucked off to the future and just left Tim and I behind? What, you thought we’d just sit around with our thumbs up our asses and wait for you!”

“We were kidnapped!” Kon says quickly, hands up innocently. “We were trying to get back as soon as we figured out where we were.”

“Yep!” He tacks on, trying to avoid her wrath.

“Well don’t do it again!” She snaps.

And then her anger dissolves like salt in warm water and she bursts into tears, the ugly kind with choking breaths and snot running down her face. Regardless, Kon’s teary too and so is he and all three of them are holding each other as close as they can. It’s uncomfortable, not because the hold is too tight again or because he can actually feel his tears mixing with his friends on his shirt, but because there’s something missing. They’ve never been a trio, always a quartet and they’re down a member.   

Hal, Clark, and Diana are polite in the distance they give them to greet each other, quietly off in the doorway but their tension is noticeable. Something is still very wrong and for some reason, all of them are needed to fix it, their reunion is just holding things up.

When they detangle, they’re guided into a control room and the problem becomes more noticeable. All the screens are filtering through a variety of pictures, artefacts and old things, and once the pictures are done, the screen is filled with walls of texts. At one console sits Jay, Barry, Dr. Fate, and Micheal Carter, deep in conversation while they look at the screens. At another is Barbara Gordon and she’s clearly trying to fix whatever the issue with the screens is, she’s got two laptops connected to the consoles and is switching rapidly among the WatchTower computers and her own. 

“What’s going on?” Kon asks, crossing his arms.

“There have been some, uh, developments, in Tim’s case.” Clark says awkwardly.

Cassie stiffens beside them and swallows hard. Diana’s quick to put a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s not bad news.” She assures quickly. 

“No! Not bad at all, the opposite actually!” Clark agrees.

“It was Tim who hacked the Tower.” Hal says, tilting his head towards the screens. “Oracle is trying to trace the code, see if she can find him but that could take days. We were hoping that the three of you might be able to give us some more insight where he might be.”

“Why would we know, we haven’t seen Tim since before he left.” Cassie points out, rocking on her heels.

“We know, and we’re not accusing any of you of anything, we were just hoping that you might know about where he might go to hide. If he ever mentioned any safe houses he had that he might not have disclosed to us, or if there was a space the four of you ever went.” Hal says.

“No place you haven’t already looked.” Cassie answers, hands on her hips, “And I assume you’ve checked them again.”

“We have.” Diana promises, “But he still doesn’t want to be found and we were hoping that the three people who know him best would have an idea as to where he is.”

“Do you think he’s gone back to Gotham?” Kon asks, eyes down and closed. “Maybe he’s gone home.”

“He’s not at the manor!” Barbara calls, “We’ve already checked there. And all of our safehouses in the city.”

“Maybe he hasn’t come back because he knows his ‘family’ doesn’t fucking want him anymore.” Cassie hisses.

Bart gets the idea that she’s holding onto some residual anger. He’ll have to ask her about it, since it seems like there’s a lot happening that he’s not up to date on.

“If he’s been gone for so long, why would he come back now?” Bart asks.

“All of the stuff on the screens is proof that Batman is alive but stuck in the timestream. Before the fight with Dick, Tim had been saying that he was alive and none of us believed him.” Clark says, “He’s got the proof now and he’s sent it to us, now would be the perfect time to come back.”

“Why didn’t you believe him?” Kon demands, eyes starting to tinge red.

“Kiddo, things were not good after you and Bart were gone. All of the Titans struggled with the loss, they’re practically disbanded now.” Hal says patiently, “Tim took your loss hard, he almost had a mental breakdown, he was fragile. He took a little break and then came back saying that Bruce was alive. We all thought it was just his mind trying to cope with all his losses.”

Kon grinds his teeth but doesn’t say anything. 

“So Bruce is alive, can you get him back?” He asks, tilting his head.”

“That’s what they’re working on right now.” Hal says, gesturing to Barry and the others.

“Maybe, when you get him back, Tim will come back.” Bart suggests.

“Yeah, that’s what your Grandpa thinks too.” Hal sighs, ruffling his hair sadly.

“So get Batsy back then.” Kon says firmly.

“We’re working on it, Conner, it’s just a very complicated thing. The only ones who are really able to understand it are the ones who have used time travel before, but we have to be very careful to not screw up the timeline.” He assured. 

“Whatever.” Kon muttered, rolling his eyes. “I’m going to go poke around our old hideouts, see if I can find him.” 

“I’ll come too.” Cassie agrees, moving to stand beside him.

“Me too!” Bart adds, linking his arm with hers.

Clark sighs and looks to the other two, who look just as apprehensive.

“Fine. But please, stick together, keep each other in eye sight and keep your phones with you.” He says, stressed.

“And Bart, curfew is nine thirty.” Hal adds sternly. “And I mean it, things are getting a little scary out there, I want you home before then or right on the dot, not five minutes after.”

“I agree.” Diana nods, “And your mother will too, I want you to be either with me or at home by nine thirty as well.”

There’s an awkward silence as Clark and Kon look at each other.

“Don’t you dare try to give me a curfew.” Kon spits finally. “You couldn’t even be in the same room as me before I went to the future. You didn’t give a shit then, don’t start now.”

“I know, I just-” Clark tries.

“Good.” He interrupts, turning on his heel. “C’mon guys.”

Bart and Hal share a look and he’s quick to dart forward for a quick hug.

“I’llseeyoulaterloveyou!” He says in a rush before running after his friends.

~~~

The safehouse becomes stifling very quickly, the walls closing in around him with each passing hour. After globetrotting for so long, never spending very long in one place, having a set residence is hard to accustomize himself to.

He’s been trolling through some old servers he has hidden away from his early Robin days before Bruce even really liked him. They’re ones he’s managed to keep hidden from the rest of the Bats and he couldn’t be more grateful for them now, when they’re giving him a gateway to the outside world without exposing himself to it and by extension, Ra’s.

From what he can see, the Demon’s Head is not happy. Civilian deaths near their few remaining bases are rising steeply and there are inklings of League activity in various cities around the world. Mostly ones that he’s publicly known for being fond of, Paris, Montreal, Helsinki, London, and of course, Gotham. 

They won’t claim the kills of course, they operate in the shadows, but it’s obvious to anybody who knows to look for the clues. People killed in their homes, doors locked with no signs of forced entry, no guns, and no evidence. It’s clear what’s happening.

Ra’s is trying to smoke him out, force a confrontation out of him. He knows Tim, knows his morals and values, he knows that the needless death of civilians is going to get to him and that if he keeps pushing, Tim will come out of hiding. And the scary thing is, he’s right. He’s applying the right kind of pressure that’s going to force him out of hiding.

He’s hopeful that Dick will stop the ones happening in Gotham but the other cities down have their own vigilantes to go toe to toe with Ra’s men. Their people are defenseless and the knowledge that every day he hides away means more dead people is eating away at his gut.  

He’s considered going out a few times, biting the bullet and trying his best to stand against Ra’s. He knows he won’t win, he’s not up to that fight and may never be, but hopefully he’ll put up enough of a fight to have people say he tried at his funeral.

If there’s anybody left who cares enough to have one for him.

Pru will feel his loss, obviously, but she’s been an assassin for a long time and they don’t exactly do funerals. She’ll carry his loss alone and he’ll have no headstone, no obituary, and no one else to remember him.

His alarm rings and he’s quick to silence it, going back to his computer. He’s lurking through the cameras and emails of Wayne Enterprises now, snooping through financial records. Unsurprisingly, there are large sums of money that's been taken from the companies rainy day fund and is unaccounted for. At least to the corporate accountants, Lucius Fox definitely knows where it is, as several emails to Hush detail. Apparently the considerable sum of money they’ve been paying him to play Bruce isn’t enough, he needs about four and a half million more.

And Dick has seemingly forgotten his email password, since the many, many, /many/ emails Lucius has sent him remain unanswered. And unopened.

Barbara has been checking in on it though, he can’t see to what extent since he’s pretty sure that going near her code will have her coming in and blowing his cover. If she does that, Ra’s will be on him like bees on honey.

His alarm rings again and he once again, silences it once more. 

Watch Tower activity has increased significantly since the hack. Barbara has even been brought up. Hopefully they’re working on bringing his mentor back, he’ll die a lot happier if he knows his sacrifice was worth it.

Wayne Enterprises stocks are dropping and have been since Damian has started making more appearances in the public eye. Twitter doesn’t like him and neither does Reddit. Tumblr seems fine with him.

Lex Luthor has been taking grief counselling since Kon passed. Odd to think that he would grief the person he created to be a weapon but apparently he’s a little bit human under all the head wax. He feels sorry for his therapist but also has an insane wish to be a fly on that wall, his curiosity is killing him. Does he cry? Is he missing the loss of a son or the loss of a weapon? Why is the super villain showing more humanity surrounding the death of his genetic offspring than one of the most well known symbols of goodness?

Why is this safehouse so fucking cold?

He abandons the laptop briefly to put on a pot of coffee and to wrap one of his blankets around himself. Then back to the snooping.

Four cups of coffee later, he jumps and drops the computer when he hears someone stumbling down the hall. It’s Pru, holding herself up against the wall with one hand and dragging her oxygen tank with the other.

“What are you doing up?” He demands, going to help her stay up.

In response, she hands him a paper with a drawing of a bed.

“Yeah, I’ll sleep in a bit, I just gotta figure out this problem I’m working on.” He says, “Let’s get you back to bed.”

“-eds.” She rasped, then broke into a coughing fit.

“Yeah, we’re going to bed, c’mon.” He muttered, slinging her arm over his shoulder.

“-Eds.” She said again.

“I know, we’re going.” He said, helping her back to her room and into the bed.

Pru leaned back slowly, clearly in pain. Walking on her own probably hadn’t been a good idea, now when she needed so much rest. Not to mention trying to talk, that must have hurt too.

Leaving her to settle in, Tim put some ice cubes in a cup and added some water and a straw and brought it back to her. His friend lit up when she saw the water and drank greedily, the cool water probably felt amazing on her sore throat. When she’d finished, he went and got her another, which she finished quickly as well.

“Good?” He asked when she’d finished, setting the glass on the table.

Pru gave him a thumbs up and tugged the blankets up to her chin. He agreed, it was oddly cold in their safehouse and he couldn’t figure out why. Regardless, he switched her tank out for a full one and gave her one of the blankets from his bed, he would be fine but Pru was still too frail to thermoregulate properly.

“Good night.” He wished, waving awkwardly.

Pru pointed at him and then raised up two fingers, a silent ‘you too’, they really needed to get her some books on ASL. Hopefully, she would be able to speak again but in the meantime, flashcards and charades were too complicated.

With a refreshed set of eyes, he went back to snooping through Wayne Enterprises code, noticing that there was something weird in Hush’s emails. Many were sent out to a private email with a private server, concerning the ownership of the company. Ice went through his veins as he read over the recipient.

Ra’s al Ghul was trying to take control of Wayne Enterprises.

Chapter Text

He doesn’t have the supplies appropriate for any sort of confrontation, only the barest bones on gear. This safehouse wasn’t often used, it was out of the way, inconvenient, and slightly difficult to access, in the event of severe injury it wasn’t wise to come out this far for medical attention. Because of the distance between this area and the more populated part of Gotham, it wasn’t ideal for recon, surveillance, or as a base for undercover work.

He hadn’t even really meant to wind up with it, he’d accidentally stumbled upon it once when he and Bruce had been wandering around looking for projects for the Martha Wayne Foundation. He’d appreciated the building for its architecture and he’d taken some nice pictures of it with his phone, later he’d come back with his camera. Then he’d learned that it was set to be demolished because the owner didn’t want to pay to have it repaired with the original designs still intact. He’d convinced Bruce to try to have it repaired as it was a very old building and represented a lot of culture in Gotham. 

The Martha Wayne Foundation had paid for the repairs, campaigned to have it categorised as a historically significant building to keep it protected. He’d made an under the table deal with the owner to have a small apartment in the building, it’s under the name Cameron Bowen. He’d justified it to himself as a safe house and had put the barest efforts into turning it into one but mostly, he’d used it as a crash pad for late night photography. Sometimes, he was just too tired to make the commute home and wanted to spend the weekend exploring the borough. It’s an odd part of town but it’s got cool buildings, neat graffiti, and niche statues to photograph and he enjoyed finding different angles to take the pictures at and see how they turned out. 

That choice is biting him in the ass now as he scrambles to gather enough gear to make it to Inner Gotham to the Wayne Industry building. He has more equipment for his damn hobby than he does to save his life and it fucking shows. He’s got two grapples at least, the minimum Bruce would ever let him out with. The spare bō is a godsend, at least it’s functional and not rusted out like he worried it would be. 

Otherwise, he’s got twenty batarangs, and even less smoke bombs. He has a suit but it’s not properly armoured, he has no distress beacon or exit strategy, he’s also going in completely solo. He hasn’t been properly alone since he got recruited by Pru, Owens, and Washington and they were pretty damn good backup, they’d all worked well together and their missions had been overall successful, last mission aside. This shift is like giving up a lamborghini for a 2010 Ford Fusion, rough and uncomfortable. 

Still, it needs to be done and there isn’t anybody he can reach out to about it to lessen the load. So instead, he reaches out to Lucius Fox through an email that he knows Barbara will probably see and tells him that he’s going to try to help as best he can. The rundown he can give the man is brief and has tons of holes in it but he can’t risk anything getting back to Ra’s through Hush.

The response is just as brief and it’s mostly questions trying to clarify that Tim is who he says he is, though he does agree to meet up and discuss it if it is him. If he’s some stranger, he’ll be thrown out on his ass.

Fair enough.

Over his suit, he’s got a button up that has some questionable stains, might be ketchup, might be blood, and some jeans that are slightly too big. He doesn’t have a belt and he doesn’t want his cape accidently falling out so he’s using a strip of old pillow case that he’s tied around his waist. He’s showered, washing up as best he can with a single bar of Irish Spring soap and his hands. He does not have a razor but fortunately, the peach fuzz he’s grown isn’t too terribly noticeable.

He doesn’t have any makeup to cover up the marks on his face so he looks kinda beaten up but he’s obviously himself. He’s not at his best, not even close but he’s not dead yet and it’s the best he has to work with at the moment.

He’s got an old bus pass that probably has some funds on it, if not, no Gotham bus driver is gonna kick him off for not paying. He’s wearing the only pair of boots he has at the moment and he’s ready to go.

So long as he can get Pru away from the door.

She must have dragged herself out of her room when he was changing in the bathroom and dropped herself against the door. She’d made it very clear that she didn’t like the idea of him going out and putting himself in danger, she’d written a very long note that boiled down to ‘don’t be fucking stupid, stay here’ that he’d taken to heart. Still, he needed to do this.

“C’mon Pru, don’t be like that, go back to bed.” He begged.

Pru shook her head and pointed at his bed on the sofa, her desire for him to stay inside made clear. 

“You know I have to go!” He said firmly, trying to convince her to let him leave easily.

With a frown, she handed him a note.

You’re going to die if you leave.

“No, I won’t.” He says even though he knows he’s lying through his teeth.

Pru nods firmly and stares him down. She knows he’s lying too, that he probably won’t come back if he walks out the door and she’ll be well and truly alone.

It’s terrible really, the situation he’s gotten her in with his bullshit. Her friends are dead, she has no family, and she’s now a deserter to the closest thing she had to a community, all for him. When he dies, she’s alone and that’s unfair.

He needs to find somewhere for her to go when he doesn’t come back, someone who can help her when she needs it. The question is, who can he send her to?

The answer is one Dr. Leslie Thompson. She’s great at not asking questions and she knows more than he does about treating injuries as severe as hers. So he writes down her number and address as well as a safeword that will let her know that Pru is safe to trust.

“Listen, I promise I’ll do my best to come back but if I don’t, Dr. Leslie can take care of you.” He says and hands her the note written on the back of hers.

She stares at him, anger, confusion, and pain written all over her face. It’s hard, Pru’s the least emotionally vulnerable person he’s ever met, beating out Bruce from his decades long place as reigning champion. She only shows happy and nothing, this is way out of character. 

“Pru.” He whispers, kneeling down and hugging her tight. “I have to go.”

She chokes and it sounds painful, like there’s something in her throat that she can’t get out, and she returns the hug. Her hands are shaking, drifting up his back and gripping his shirt before drifting up to his neck and hair, her face is buried in his shoulder and he can feel her tears soaking the fabric. When she finally pulls back, she grips his face as hard as she can, the shaking of her hands transferring to him and soon both of them are shaking messes.

She traces his face, his cheekbones, his jaw, the bridge of his nose, the scar above his eyebrow, everything. Memorising his features, trying to commit every little thing to memory. He’d done that with his mother when he found her body, the knowledge that he would never see her again had urged him on, to remember all the little details pictures can’t pick up. 

She finishes reluctantly, and hugs him again, allowing herself to be lifted and helped back to her bed. He’s moved all the blankets to her bed, along with the cases of water, boxes of granola bars, cereal, crackers, and dried fruit. Everything is close enough to reach easily, her medications, her oxygen tanks, and the supplies she needs to keep her injury clean. She’ll be taken care of when he’s gone, she’s strong, she’ll get by.

“I have to go now.” He whispers, taking an extra second to tuck her in and grab her hand. “I love you and I’ll see you later.”

Pru glares at him but nods in bitter acceptance. He releases her hand slowly and walks through the small apartment and out into the hallway. He has places to be.

~~~

Dicks pissed, no other way about it. He’d told Damian not to go out, that he wasn’t allowed to be Robin until he learned some compassion towards others. His stunt with the glass at the bottom of his shower did not help his case that he deserved to be a vigilante.

But apparently, his orders don’t mean anything because he stole Tim’s bike and has gone out on his own. Forcing him to abandon patrol and go searching for his youngest brother.

With each hour that passes, his anger is partially replaced by fear. Damian may have League training but frankly, the rogues of Gotham can come up with some pretty crazy shit that even that kind of training won’t prepare you for. Fear Toxin, Joker Gas, literally anything Poison Ivy comes up with, Riddlers traps, Damian doesn’t have enough training to begin to deal with those. And the longer he’s out without him or Jason or Selina to have his back, the more likely it is that he’ll run into somebody who has the desire to do him serious harm. Scarecrow and Joker have no qualms about hurting kids, hell, they’re some of they’re favourite test subjects. Riddler may not internationally seek them out but the Robins have always been fair game to him and if one dies picking the wrong answer to his riddles, that’s their own fault in his mind. 

Ivy, at least, never targets kids, but she may make an exception if Damian pushes her enough or makes a move against Harley. 

Another possibility, though he hates to think about it, is that Damian is the terror others are watching out for. He’s still clinging to the training he’d received under his mother, lethal methods included. Anybody he runs into whom he deems a criminal is in danger.

At the very least, Damian isn’t fully aware of all the trackers hidden in his suit and while he’s been evasive so far, Dick’s getting closer. He’s a few blocks away and he’s got the lecture he’s going to give the kid already prepared.

Alfreds in his ear, also pissed about this whole thing. He’d had to cancel a night he’d planned with Jason because of this, another in a long string of cancellations because of Damians poor behaviour. 

He winds up hearing it before he sees it, a yelp of pain followed by Damians shriek and anger. He’s flying over rooftops as fast as he can, cursing the cape for slowing him down when he needs to be faster. Say what you will about the Nightwing suit, and many have, the lack of extra fabric helps reduce resistance when he runs, it helps him shave off those few extra seconds they don’t have to spare in situations like these.

He finds Robin, katana out, rushing at a small figure who’s already hunched over. A killing blow in motion that he’s racing to stop. 

He hates what he has to do but needs to and he throws himself at Robin, tackling him away from whomever he’s trying to hurt. The katana falls from his grip and the blade slices a line down his cape but at least it doesn’t cut through anybody's skin. 

Robin howls under him, fighting hard to get out of his grip. His face is twisted in a scowl, so angry at whoever he’s trying to get at that he’s practically spitting when he starts spouting insults at them. 

“Enough!” He snaps, forcing Damian flat onto his back and holding him there. “Stop it!”

Robin tries to push him off him and throws a punch up at his face, which he catches and blocks. 

“Knock it off!” He orders, “Stay there.”

And with that, he gets up and grabs the katana, glaring at it angrily. He hates this stupid blade, hates what it represents to Damian. It’s not like he’s the first bat to have a fascination with blades, Bruce had collected some on his travels, Jason had loved the history of them and the method of how they were made. Tim and Cass each had a few small daggers that they’d admired for the craftsmanship. He’s positive that Alfred has some blades hidden around the manor but he knows he’ll never find them even if he spent the rest of his life looking.

The issue is, Damian doesn’t see his blade as just a work of art that happens to be a weapon. He sees the damage he can inflict with it as art and that makes him incredibly dangerous. Part of him just wants to snap the damn thing but he’s worried that if he does that, Damian will find a method of lethal force that’s easier to hide. 

Still, while it’s in his hand, it won’t kill anyone, so he holds it. And then he moves to inspect the stranger Damian’s been trying to tear a strip off of. 

And he realises that they aren’t a stranger, they look different but it’s Tim, regardless of how he’s changed.

“Timmy?” He gasps, trying to get a better look in bad light.

“Who’s askin?” He gasps, using his bō to help himself up with one hand while the other holds his side.

“You’re alive.” He whispers, feeling himself shake. A weight lifting from his shoulders while a completely different one takes it place. 

“Sure, no thanks to him.” Tim spits, shaking himself off and glaring harshly at Robin, who’s also lifted himself up and is glaring back.

“Where have you been?” He demands, suddenly angry at his little brother. “Do you have /any/ idea how worried we’ve been about you? We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Tim looks up and looks him in the eye for the first time in months. He looks different, older than he should be at sixteen years old. He’s too pale, even for him, he’s lost so much weight and there’s some places he can see where his skin is loose from rapid loss. 

“Why would you look for me?” He spits, just as angry as he had been last he’d seen him. 

“I’ve been asking the same question.” Damian snarls.

“Fuck off brat.” he groans before looking back to Dick. “Whatever, I’ve got places to be.”

He turns to try and leave but he lunges forward and grips his arm as tight as he can, ignoring the annoyed sound from Damian.

“Wait Tim, just hold on a second.” He begs.

“I don’t have a second, I have to go.” Tim growls.

“Please, Timbo, I haven’t seen you in so long. Please, just come home for a second.” He pleads, trying to convince him to stay.

His brother spins and the look of pure hurt on his face makes his stomach hurt.

“I don’t have time to play happy family reunion with you, I need to go and take care of some things. And I don’t need you and your pet basket case getting in my way.” He snarls, jerking his arm in Dick’s hold. “Leave me alone Dick, I don’t need any help.”

“Please, Alfred misses you, I miss you.” He tried.

“Ha, right.” Tim laughs without humour. “Very funny, now let me go.”

The apathy in his little brothers voice cuts deep. For as long as Tim’s been missing, he’s been imagining the reunion and somehow, he’d never imagined it going like this. He’d imagined hugs, some tears, and a chance to apologise for how their last interaction had gone. More anger had never been something he’d imagined and it hurts so badly to be rebuked at every turn. 

He lets go reluctantly, since his contact isn’t helping at all. Tim’s favouring one side, the one Damian apparently hit but that’s not the only thing he seemingly favours. He’s moving slowly and not in a way that suggests caution, more like he’s hurt in more than one spot. And he has no idea how it happened because he hasn’t seen his brother in so long, the thought that he could have been hurt and he wasn’t around to help him makes him nauseous.

Tim takes the loss of contact as his chance to leave, giving him and Damian a very wide berth to get to the edge of the roof and grapples away. Dick watches him go, heart in his throat. 

Was he even planning on letting them know he was back? That he was alive? It doesn’t seem like it, their presence actually seemed to annoy him, like ants that keep coming back or a cold sore. It’s like their family is something that Tim didn’t even miss. 

Damian tuts behind him and he spins to see him trying to follow, grapple already out and the frustration he’d felt towards his youngest brother resurfaces fast.

“Whoa whoa whoa, not so fast!” He orders, snatching the grapple gun out of his hand. “You are going to head back to the cave, you aren’t even supposed to be out.” 

“Drake has shown his ugly mug again, clearly something is wrong.” Damian says with a sneer. “I should investigate.”

“I should investigate, you are going home.” He says. “And take Tim’s bike with you. And when I check it later tonight, it better not be damaged.”

Damian shows his teeth and looks ready to argue but Dick cuts him off.

“Robin is a privilege, not a right and it would be best that you remember that.” He reminds, standing up straight. He’s not tall but the lifters in his boots give him a few extra inches. “That suit can go away tomorrow or you can go home tonight. Your choice.”

“Tt.” Damian spits, but he does turn and head the other way. 

He watches him go until he’s out of sight, then he turns and grapples off in the same direction as Tim.

~~~

Prudence Woods was many, many things. She was an assassin, a polyglot, a lover of rock, and a sniper but she wasn’t an idiot. She knew very well that Tim did not intend to survive this confrontation, why else would he have left her with the contact information for someone else? Why would he have moved all of the food, blankets, and medical supplies into her room? No, Timothy Drake fully intends to die tonight.

Whether it’s suicidal intent or just a disturbingly uncaring outlook on his own life, she isn’t sure but she knows she won’t be sitting around flicking the bean while the last friend she has left dies senselessly.

It’s not easy to drag herself out of bed and to change from the boxers she’s been sleeping in to sweats, every movement feels like she’s doing it while carrying one hundred extra pounds. She leaves on the sports bra and doesn’t bother trying to put on an extra shirt, the thought of taking off the cannula to do that is a little daunting. 

She doesn’t have any shoes, not that she had previously needed any while she was supposed to be bedridden but life keeps throwing curveballs. Instead, she doubles up on thick, woollen socks and vows to avoid anything noticeable sharp. 

As stated, she wasn’t an idiot, she wasn’t going to go help Tim confront the Demons Head, that would be a bad comedy. She’s going to outsource that shit and she knows exactly who to find.

~~~

As frustrating as it is to have had Alfred cancel again, the evening is not lost. Selina was available and she’d been happy to step up and help him out.

She and Jason are handing out care packages in Crime Alley to those in need. He’s got a wagon hooked illegally to his bike loaded up with backpacks so he can hand them out. 

The backpacks are full of things someone in need can use. Gift cards to nearby grocery stores, clothing stores, and pharmacies, packs of socks, granola bars, beef jerky, water bottles, rain ponchos, sleeping bags, and vouchers to some motels he and Selina work with. 

She’s a little bit away from him, distributing packs that are more specialised to women and mothers with things like feminine hygiene products, tylenol, formula, diapers, and contact information to some doctors who are willing to help them pro bono. 

He wishes Alfred were here, this is something that he’d been looking forward to and his grandfather had promised to bring some meals with him to hand out as well. He gets why he isn’t here, since the little demon snuck out and stole Tim’s bike to do it, he just wishes that he was here. 

Nonetheless, he has a job to do and he’s not going to give up on it just because Dick’s hitched himself to a bad wagon. There are people who need these care packs because they don’t have the means to buy a new pair of socks or some rain protection when they need to buy food or pay rent. There are mothers who are barely scraping by, giving everything to their children while they go hungry.

It’s both a rewarding and a harrowing task to do. Rewarding because he’s helping the people who he ran with as a child. Painful because even with all of this, it’s not enough. He can’t cram enough into these backpacks to change their lives for good, he can’t make the world fair.

He’s so distracted by his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Selina until she puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls him into a hug. He’s much bigger than her but as he’s sitting on his bike, they're almost the same height and he can tuck his head under her chin.

“What’s wrong kitten?” She whispers, playing with his hair.

“Nothing Lina, just thinking.” He replies, hugging her back.

There’s a commotion nearby that makes both of them break apart quickly, both on high alert. He’s armed but it’s all concealed and he knows Selina is the same way, neither were hoping to fight tonight but they’re prepared either way.

The crowd parts like the red sea as a small figure with an oxygen tank stumbles towards them. Selina shoots him a look and readies a package needlessly as they person staggers towards them and thrusts a note into Jason’s hand.

“Hey.” He greets awkwardly, taking the note and trying to hand her, as he can see up close, a backpack that she shoves away.

The girl, who can’t be older than him, is not in good shape. Oxygen tank aside, she’s got stitches across her neck that are inflamed and leaking blood and some pus, and she’s littered in bruises.

“You okay honey?” Selina asks, wrapping her arm around her shoulder to try and steady her. “C’mon sweetheart, let's sit you down.”

He shrugs off his jacket and hands it to her and Selina wraps it around the girls bare shoulders. The girl nods to the suggestion and her knees buckle, though Selina catches her and eases them both down to sit on the curb. She’s panting hard, like it’s hard to get enough air in, even with the tube stringing under her nose. Her face is red with excretion and he gets the feeling that this girl should not be out of the hospital, let alone out on these streets by herself.

“Re,it.” She chokes, flopping one hand towards his, still holding the paper she’d shoved at him.

Nodding, he unfolds the paper and looks at the chicken scratch scribbled across the page. He can’t blame her for bad handwriting, poor kid can barely stand.

‘Tim’s in trouble.’

His heart drops in his chest but he has to remind himself that Tim isn’t an uncommon name, it’s possible she’s talking about someone else.

“Who’s Tim?” He asks quietly, trying not to freak out.

“Yr, Brother.” She chokes out, chest still heaving.

Selinas eyes are wide and she’s looking back and forth between him and her.

“Where is he?” He demands.

“Wayne build.” She gasps and the blood coming from her neck starts coming quicker. Whatever, he has what he needs.

“Alright, I’m going. Selina, can you get her to Leslie and meet me there?” He asks, going into autopilot.

“Of course.” She says, lifting the girl into her arms. “C’mon honey, let’s get you taken care of.”

Tm.” She gasps.

“I know, we’re going to get him too.” She soothes.

He unhooks the wagon from his bike, uncaring that it’s still in the street. It’s tall for Selina but it’ll be fine for the short distance to Leslies Clinic. She’s probably roof hop to Wayne Enterprises anyway. He waits until she and the girl are on the bike before he runs off to grab his helmet from his apartment, he’s not in his usual Red Hood gear but he doesn’t want to waste time changing. This may be the one and only chance he has to help Tim.

~~~

He’s on the roof of Wayne Enterprises quickly, taking some questionable risks to get there as fast as he has. What’s surprising is, Dick’s already there, in full Batman regalia. 

“Fuck are you doing here?” He hisses, gun drawn.

“Tim’s back, I followed him here.” He whispers back, a batarang in his hand.

“You’ve seen him?” 

“Yeah, he and Dami got into it, found em both.”

Right, somehow he doubts that Tim sought out the demon for a rematch. What’s more likely is, the brat found him and caught him off guard, forcing Tim to defend himself. Not that he’s going to argue with Dickhead about it now.

“Whatever, where is he?” He asks.

“He and Lucius are in his office, I don’t know what they’re talking about.” Dick says, gesturing to a window where, with a bit of squinting, he can make out two figures by the desk. 

“Does Barbie have eyes on them?”

“Yeah but the cameras in his office don’t have mic’s so we’re not sure what they’re talking about.” Dick says, inching forward.

It’s something though, at least. It’ll make it harder for Tim to just disappear for another seven months. He’s not exactly sure how he’s in trouble though. Maybe his little bald friend was just over reacting.

And then, because he’s never been lucky, the windows of the office blow out and some fucking ninjas rush in. Awfully familiar ninjas too. 

“Sonova bitch!” He shouts, lifting his arm to shield himself from the glass. 

In a heartbeat, he and Dick stand in unison and draw their grapples, quick to dart in. 

Fortunately, neither Tim or Lucius are hurt, though Tim’s not looking great in his hobo inspired outfit. Regardless, he steps between the two of them and the ninjas, using himself as a barrier between them. He has two guns drawn now and he’s ready for a fight, ready to draw some blood. Why the League of Assassins is here, he has no idea, but that’s not really something he’s concerned about.

For a moment, they’re all locked in a silent stand off, nobody moving or ready to lash out. And then, in a heartbeat, all of the ninjas lunge forward as one and he shoots, catching two of them right between the eyes and dropping them. 

It doesn’t phase the rest, doesn’t even slow them down, they just step over the bodies of their fallen comrades and continue on their onslaught towards them. 

He empties his chambers, shooting to kill every time. To hell with Dickies adherence to the ‘we don’t kill’ nonsense, this is the League of Assassins, they either get with it or get out of the way, and the ninjas will make them move to get to Tim. Why they’re so interested in his little brother, he doesn’t know, but that’s a question for later.

The approaching enemies don’t give him a second to reload and he’s forced to engage in some hand to hand, dodging blades as best he can without leaving Tim and Lucius defenceless. Batman isn’t doing much better, he’s fighting as best he can and he’s holding his own but neither of them have a second to usher the other two out of the line of fire.

It’s a very uneven split, two people versus however many ninjas Ra’s sent but they’re holding them off pretty well. However, it’s not going anywhere, no matter how many ninjas he knocks out or kills, another is right there to take its place and there’s no opportunity to progress the battle in any way. Logically, he knows they need to move, get themselves somewhere else where they aren’t literally cornered, they need to have Tim and Lucius somewhere else so they can both manoeuvre more. He might be a brickhouse that can stand toe to toe with most opponents but Dick can’t, he’s an acrobat, scrawny and light. His strengths rely on him being able to move and jump, to exhaust his enemy by forcing them to expend needless energy trying to follow him. Even as spacious as the office is, it’s not big enough for Dick to truly thrive as the type of fighter he is and it’s going to bite them later.

“Call some back up!” He yells, dodging a punch, grabbing the arm, and using the momentum to pull the assailant forward to crack their head into the wall. They drop at the blow but soon enough, there’s a slice of heat across the back of his shoulder and he has to spin to block another swipe with a blade.

Batman nods and taps a button on his belt, clearly getting tired. “This is Batman, requesting back up at Wayne Enterprises.” He says.

The knowledge that there’s more capes on the way just makes the ninjas fight harder, more ruthlessly. He ducks out of the way of one weapon only to get nicked by another, he’s spinning continuously to leave his back to them as little as possible but it’s never enough.

And then, because nothing can ever get better before it gets worse, the hallway door opens and Ra’s al Fucking Ghul steps in like he owns the damn place. His beard is perfectly combed, his robes and green cape hang perfectly, and the blade he carries is hanging on his side.

“Sorry to interrupt the little reunion but I really must /borrow/ Timothy.” He drawls, stepping towards the two on the floor.

Lucius is barely moving and the lump on his head suggests a concussion, so he can’t help, and Tim is curled up with both hands on his side, his movements uncoordinated. Whatever hit him in the explosion, it hurt and he can’t shake it to protect himself. It leaves him defenceless, since neither he or Dick can move to stand between him and the approaching killer.

“Leave him alone!” Batman yells, trying to fight his way towards them.

“No can do, I'm afraid.” Ra’s says plainly, grabbing Tim by the arm and hauling him up. His little brother sways and grunts in pain but he does try his best to shove him off. It’s like a kitten swatting at a great dane. “Timothy and I have some unfinished business to discuss after he left in such a hurry.”

He gives Tim a little shake as he says the last sentence and starts to drag him off towards the door. His heart drops and he catches a second wind. He doesn’t know what possible business Ra’s could have with Tim, but he knows in his whole fucking chest that the second Tim is out of their sight, they’ll never see him again. 

“No!” He shouts, throwing himself haphazardly across the distance between them. Multiple blades cut through his jacket and into his skin as he does but he ignores them all, focused only on his little brother. 

It may be his imagination or it may be the extra rush of adrenaline, but in that moment, as Tim looks at him, he swears he can see all the pain and desperation he’s been carrying for too long. It’s the look of someone who’s watching their last hope slip through their fingers.

He doesn’t make it, of course he doesn’t. Ra’s turns, dragging Tim off his feet with the haste so he’s hanging one by the arm the Demon’s Head is holding, and kicks him right in the face. The helmet means nothing breaks but it still hurts like hell and slows him down. The delay is all the opportunity his men need and he’s back to fighting for his life against ninjas, watching his brother get dragged away.

“No!” He yells again, fighting as hard as he can. “You can’t take him.”

“Yes, I can.” Ra’s says, dramatically rolling his eyes.

“No, you can’t.” A shadow hisses from the dark hallway, and then there's a crack louder than thunder and Ra’s drops Tim like a ragdoll, clutching his cheek as blood drips from his hands.

Catwoman darts in, using his pain as an opportunity to knee him in the groin and bring her elbow up and cracking him in the jaw. The element of surprise wears off quickly but it doesn’t matter, because Selina obviously isn’t here for the long haul, instead, she drags Tim up and over her shoulder in a fireman's hold, and runs back into the hallway. Still, getting Tim out of the way gives him and Batman the ability to move more, since Ra’s and the ninjas seemingly have no interest in Lucius and are even avoiding him as best they can. 

Finally able to move more than two steps without leaving his brother open to attack, Jason grabs the nearest ninja and throws them through the hole in the wall, uncaring whether or not they catch themselves. He also grabs a scythe that’s been dropped and uses it to unburden two nearby ninjas of their outstretched hands. 

He’s not often thankful for the pit, it’s a burden in most scenarios, making his anger more fiery, forcing his logic to take a step back. It makes him scary and dangerous and he knows it.

Right now though, it’s a blessing. His vision is going green and he’s loving it, he can feel the pit surging through his veins, sewing up some of his worst injuries, making him faster, stronger, and better. It’s not a Star power up or anything, but hopefully, it’ll be enough to turn the tides in their favour. 

He’s aware, vaguely, of Batman nearby and of the blood and other miscellaneous gore on their suits, but it doesn’t bother him, just fuels him forward. More ninjas are coming and a sick part of his brain screams in celebration, eager for more blood to spill. 

Scythe in hand, he cuts his way through the moving bodies until he and Dick are back to back, moving in tandem as they duck and swing, blocking punches and throwing out their own back at their offenders. Batman’s abiding the no kill rule but even with him only knocking them out, there’s still a growing layer of blood staining the carpet, thank god Wayne Enterprises has the money to replace it, since no amount of soap is going to clean all this out.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees one ninja fall for a reason he can’t see, only for two more to follow suit. He’s about to warn Batman of another incoming hostile when something zings past him and embeds into the wall.

A red arrow.

Two more ninjas fall and this time, he can see the thin arrows sticking out of their necks and eyes, then there’s a wild hoot and Arsenal materialises in the edge of the hole in the wall and lets another arrow fly.

Thunder cracks again, but this time, it’s not Selina, it’s Flash and he looks pissed. His red suit is covered in sparks as lightning crawls along him. He blinks and when he opens his eyes, the floor is covered in the bodies of unconscious assassins. Some may be more than unconscious but if anyone asks, he’lll take credit, no need to get Uncle Barry in trouble.

“Go get your brother, we’ve got this.” He orders, producing a coil of rope from. Somewhere, he’s not sure. 

Regardless, he doesn’t need to be told twice and he and Batman race to the door and out into the hallway. It’s dark, the only light being the emergency exit doors with their red signs above them. It’s also incredibly loud, not that he’d really noticed during the fight, but alarms are screaming and he can barely hear himself think over them.

“Split up.” Dick orders, pressing a comm into his bloody hand. “Let me know if you find Catwoman and Tim.”

Usually, he’d defy any order from his big brother on principal alone but today, he accepts. There are things more important at the moment than his need to mess with Dick.

Dick heads left and he goes right, fastening the comm into his ear and tuning in to the proper channel.

“Agent A?” He asks. “You there?”

“Always my boy.” Alfred responds, sounding more stressed than he ever has before.

“Any word on our missing bird?” He asks, creeping around corners. Usually, he doesn’t bother walking quietly, he likes his enemies to know he’s coming so they can freak themselves out but he’s worried that Selina will hide herself and Tim if she mistakes him for an enemy.

“Nothing so far.” Alfred says.

“Oracle?” He asks.

“A lot of the cameras were destroyed in the explosion, I wasn’t able to see which way they went.” She says briskly, “I’m working on locating them now.”

He mutters a curse word that would have Alfred scolding him usually, though his grandpa doesn’t correct him. He’s still carrying the Scythe he’d picked up from some ninja, though he does take a second to reload his guns too, he’s not getting caught with his pants down again. Ra’s came prepared and that’s given him an advantage and a headstart that he’s trying to close, not being armed properly isn’t an option.

When he clears his section of the floor, he heads to the staircase, inching down the stairs as quietly as he can. The lights in the stairwell are off and he doesn’t know where a switch would be to turn them on, so he’s flying blind, literally. All the while, he’s trying to put himself in Selinas shoes.

She hasn’t had enough time to properly exit the building, not that he’s sure she would even if she had the opportunity. Tim’s hurt, how bad he doesn’t know, but badly enough that he’s struggling to move by himself. She probably got here on his bike but it’s loud and hard to drive when you have an unconscious or barely conscious person to stabilise. He could do it, especially with someone as small as Timmy, but he and Selina are the same height.

So that means, she’s probably found a place to tuck herself and Tim away while they wait out the fight. It must be some place hard to get to but not so difficult that she couldn’t help Tim into it, a place low to the ground so she could drag him would be best.

Like a trash chute.

Wayne Enterprises doesn’t have many but they do have some and he hurries to the nearest one, checking for enemies before unlocking the lid and shining his phone flashlight down the tunnel. Sure enough, Selina has strung up a net and she and Tim are resting in it. She’s also grabbed a first aid kit off the wall and has patched up his side, if the gauze sticking out from under his shirt and the open red box behind him is any indication.

“Got them. Trash Chute on the 76th floor.” He whispers, hearing affirmatives from Oracle, Alfred, and Batman.

Selina nods up at him and helps Tim up into a sitting position. It seems that Tim’s more alert and coordinated, not ready for a fight but not about to fall over because of a faint breeze. Still, he needs her help to steady himself enough to reach up and grab his outreached hand and he’s not much help pulling himself up, relying on him and Selina to get him out.

Once he’s got him, Jason pulls him into a hug as tight as he dares, the green fully disappearing from his vision. While Selina pulls herself up and out he just holds him and familiarises himself with his little brother, the way his head feels resting on his chest and how his hands grip at his torn shirt. Tim’s way too small, he’s lost weight and muscle and there’s a tremor to him that wasn’t there when he left. His hair is frankly disgusting and his shirt may once have been a lighter shade but now it’s so stained it’s an odd colour of black. 

“Oh Babybird.” He whispers, holding him tighter and swaying side to side. “I’ve got you.”

Tim’s chest shudders under his hand and he holds onto him tighter.

“Jay.” He rasps and then breaks off into a cough. Normally, it’d be disgusting to have his younger brother coughing and snotting all over him but he’ll let it slide today. Clearly, his brother’s been through it these last few months.

“He’s got a pretty nasty wound on his side.” Selina says, tense beside them. “I think we need to get him up to the Watch Tower for treatment.”

“Not Leslie?” He asks.

“With the League in town, I want him somewhere as safe as possible.” She says in a tone that leaves no room for debate.

“Alright, well Flash is upstairs, he’ll be able to get us up.” He says and scoops Tim up. “C’mon you, let’s get ya up.”

“Pru.” He whines, pushing at him.” “Gotta check on Pru.”

“Not now.” He brushes off.

“Hold up a second kitten.” Catwoman says, pausing him in his tracks. “Is Pru by any chance a little bald girl?”

Tim frowns and glances at her.

“Yeah, how’d ya know?” He asks.

“She’s the one who let us know you were playing with fire.” He says.

“She’s not supposed to be out of bed!” Tim gasps, struggling again.

“Easy kitten, I got her to Leslie, she’s alright.” Selina soothes, brushing her hand through his hair, ignoring the grease.

Tim scowls but regardless, he settles down.

“The hell are you doing here anyway?” Jason asks, hanging back as Catwoman pulls ahead and checks ahead, whip in hand.

Suddenly, she screams and there’s a flash of green and red, and she drops to the floor, clutching her stomach tightly. Ra’s al Ghul darts out of the darkness and lunges at him, bloody sword at the ready. He doesn’t have time to deflect or draw his own weapon, so he does the only thing he can think of and turns, shielding Tim with his own body and feels the tip of the blade push into his skin and through muscle. He gags at the pain and drops to his knees, the metal in his body shifting cruelly before pulling out just as quickly as it went in.

Try as he might, he can’t keep a hold of his brother and the smaller body slips from his hold and onto the floor. The edges of his vision are going dark and he’s fighting it hard, pushing for the green to come back. He can feel the pit moving through his veins, slowing his bleeding enough that it’s no longer lethal but it’s not giving him the rush he needs to get up and fight. Instead, all he can do is lay in his own blood and watch as Ra’s stalks towards them, slowly wiping his blade clean of blood while Tim struggles to his feet, using the wall beside him to steady himself.

“Detective.” Ra’s says calmly, like two people aren’t bleeding on the floor by his feet. “You’ve dealt me quite a lot of damage. I hope you know I can’t let that go unaddressed, regardless of my fondness for you.”

The tone makes him want to puke, there’s absolutely no reason for a man that age to be speaking like that to his younger brother. 

“You must have known I wouldn’t be staying.” Tim snarks back, reaching under his shirt and pulling out a collapsable bō. He doubts that’s going to do anything, Tim’s not at his best at the moment. 

“Despite my kindness.” Ra’s snarls, his already green eyes getting brighter. “You slaughtered my men in their own beds, destroyed their homes, tore apart families. All I’ve done for you and you threw it back in my face.”

“Don’t pretend you care about human life Ra’s, how many families have /you/ killed?” He snaps back, “Hell, I know you killed one of your own grandchildren.”

Ra’s narrows his eyes but shakes off the accusation. “It appears my daughter and I need to have a conversation about keeping family matters private.”

“I thought you wanted me as your heir?” Tim asks sarcastically. “Doesn’t that make me family?”

If they make it out of this alive, he’s going to have to sit Tim down for a very long conversation. How on Earth did Tim wind up on Ra’s list of potential heirs? He wound up on that list and it wasn’t for any good reason.

“Don’t overestimate your worth to me, Timothy, heirs are replaceable, as you well know.” He says. “You owe me quite the debt and I’m here to collect.”

“Whadaya want?” Tim asks, the hint of a smirk on his face. “I’ve got a pretty sizable beanie baby collection, those are worth something, right?”

He laughs but Ra’s darts forward and slaps his brother across the face, hard. The blow knocks Tim off his feet and he staggers, barely catching himself on his knees before he falls on his face.

“I think that I’ll be taking something a little more substantial instead.” He says with a cruel looking grin. Then, he straightens and corrects his cape. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go meet with Mr. Elliot. We’re discussing the future ownership of the company, after all, Mr. Wayne has been having some, shall we say, mental health problems recently. Might be best to not have the stress of running a company on his shoulders.

The implication is clear and Jason once again curses Dick for having the brilliant idea to let a nutcase like Elliot pretend to be Bruce. Wayne Enterprises has a lot of sway in various sensitive areas, a lot of vulnerable people receive assistance from charities majorly funded by W.E and with Ra’s at the helm, many of them will start getting fed a steady diet of LoA propaganda.

Tim laughs bitterly and once again, pulls himself to his feet.

“Well I hate to bother ya more Ra’s, but I’m afraid that’ll be a wasted trip.” He says, and pulls out a large package of paperwork. “As of seven months ago, I’m an emancipated teen and as of ten minutes ago, Lucius signed over majority shares of Wayne Enterprises to me. I’m the official CEO and I have no interest in signing them over to anyone.”

Ra’s scowls and for a second, Jason is struck by how similar he looks to Damian with the grimace on his face. He and Selina are struggling to get up, very aware that another fight is about to break out and Tim is not able to fight. 

And fight they do, though it’s painfully one sided. Tim, for his part, is trying his best, blocking about a quarter of blows thrown at him. Other than that, Ra’s is completely dominating the fight, knocking Tim around like a tantruming toddler with a doll, hitting his brother so hard it sounds like raw steak hitting a cutting board.

Selina is up on her feet and grabs the butt of her whip, which he can see is cut, likely from the blade, and chucks it as hard as she can at al Ghul's head. It hits, making a thunk that he’ll definitely be laughing about later, provided he lives through the night. The blow to the head doesn’t even slow him down though as he grabs on tight to the front of Tim’s shift and starts slamming him hard against the nearest window, again and again, until cracks start appearing in the glass.

By the fifth blow, Tim had stopped fighting, instead gasping in pain with each crack against the glass. There’s blood showing up on the glass, meaning either the cut on his side is being made worse or there are new cuts they need to be worried about. 

Selina staggers forward and grabs Ra’s arm, only for him to throw her off. He’s still trying to get up, trying his hardest to fight through the pain and to not slip on his own blood. He can feel helplessness, a feeling he hasn’t personally experienced since his last living day as Robin, flooding his chest as he watches his limp brother hanging in a madman's hands before the glass shatters and he’s thrown from the building.

~~~

When he’d taken up the mantle, one he’d never wanted to begin with, he’d never imagined it would go like this. Somehow, he’d diluted himself into thinking that Bruce would live forever and when he’d died, he’d been nine years old again, standing in front of another cold headstone. Only this time, instead of having someone else wrap him up in a hug and tell him that everything was going to be okay, he’d had to fulfil that role for his younger siblings and he had to admit, he’d failed miserably.

In one month, he lost Cass to an abyss he hadn’t even known about and Jason to his anger, then, two months after that, he’d managed to drive Tim away too. His family had splintered under the weight of his failures and he was left trying fruitlessly to put them back together, holding them as tight as he could.

So when Barbara had told him that Tim was alive and so was Bruce, with irrefutable proof? He’d been ecstatic, so excited that he’d worked himself up into tears, and he’d been counting the days till he saw his second father again like a child waiting for Christmas. 

And then, when he’d seen Tim for real, in the flesh? It was the cherry on the sunday and he’d been clinging to it all evening. It’s why he isn’t going to even try to bother Jason about all the dead bodies in Lucius's office or the severed limbs, if a few dead assassins is what it takes to get his brothers back, so be it. Maybe, with all four of them and Bruce working together, they can get Cass back too and their family can be whole again.

When he got the word that Jason had found Selina and Tim, he’d heaved a sigh of relief Bruce would never have expressed while wearing the cowl. God, he can’t wait to hand it back over, if it’s anything these past few months have shown him, it’s that he doesn’t want to be Batman.

He’d stalled a little, taking a few minutes to talk to Flash about how the Bruce retrieval is going, only to find out that it’s underway. Apparently’ that’s why only two people had been able to answer his distress call, the Justice League was busy focusing on extracting one singular person from the time stream without jumpstarting the apocalypse and setting up a quarantine for Bruce once he’s out. Who knows what kind of illnesses he could have picked up while lost in time, the last thing they need is to accidentally bring back Smallpox.

Then they’d heard it, the sound of something hitting against a window a few floors down. Both he and Flash had rushed to the hole in the wall just in time to see glass blow out from the building and a person to fall from the window, one he’d recognize anywhere.

Tim.

He doesn’t think before he jumps, grapple already drawn. All he can think about is his parents, dead from a bad rope. How his mother had screamed his fathers name, her last word, her last thought probably being that he had weakened his grip but was about to catch her again. He wonders if she had the chance to register that that wasn’t the case. He remembers his father reaching for her, falling in slow motion from his view, trying to catch the woman he loved, trying to catch her one last time.

He remembers how they’d looked, on the ground. His mothers face had looked odd and he’d learned later, in college, that it was because her skull had shattered and the bones in her face had shifted under the skin. He hadn’t had much time to look at his father, ushered away by Haly and a police officer.

He needs to catch his brother, he has to, he can’t live with the memory of how he’ll look after hitting the ground. His parent’s had fallen from a shorter height than this and it’d been gruesome, he’s seen jumpers from roofs lower than this and the damage done to their bodies, he can’t see Tim’s like that.

But he’ll never make it, Tim fell before he even jumped and he’ll never catch up. Still, he's reaching, stretching his arms out as far as they’ll go until he can swear he feels the ball of his shoulder pulling from it’s socket to obey him.

Then there’s a push on his back and he’s in reach, lightning flashing around them as he grabs his brother as tightly as he can. He twists and shots, knowing this city so well he’s as sure of his aim as he is of his own mind. Tim is limp under his arm, unconscious and unaware of how close he came to death and he lets out a hysteric laugh. 

He pulls up to the roof of the neighbouring building and he drops to his knees, holding Tim tight and pressing his head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat through his torn shirt. He’s crying and he yanks the cowl off, to hell with whomever sees him, he doesn’t care, his brother is alive and that’s all that matters.

“Batman to WatchTower, two to transport up. Medical required.” He orders, pressing on his communicator. 

He feels the tingle of the Zeta on his skin and Gotham City fades away, replaced with the WatchTower transit room. People flood in, dressed in scrubs, and Tim is lifted from his grip and laid on a gurney while medical jargon is spoken like another language, one he doesn’t understand. Tim is taken away and one nurse pauses long enough to tell him that they’re taking him for treatment but that he’ll be allowed to see him later, and he’s on his knees, sobbing and smiling all at the same time. Because his brother is alive and here, and that’s all that matters.

~~~

Being back in his time is like putting on your sneakers after having to wear ice skates that are laced too tightly. For the first time in what feels like a thousand years, he can breathe.

He’s in his suite in the WatchTower under quarantine, which he has to admit is a wise idea, even if all he wants is to go home and see his children. While he waits, however, he’s over indulging in modern luxuries. Hot showers, clean pyjamas, a proper mattress, and toilet paper, all things he took for granted before but never will again.

While he waits to be cleared by the doctors, he’s caught up on a lot of sleep and missed meals. The WatchTower cafeteria doesn’t beat Alfred but it’s worlds better than witch trial era cuisine, give him two day old mashed potatoes over cholera soup any day.

Hal, trying his best to be helpful, has even made a run to the manor to grab him his own pillow and some loungewear. No food though, and that concerns him. He’s sure Alfred would have at least had something to be brought for him, anything.

There’s so many possibilities, he’s not sure how long he’s been gone or what’s happened during that time. He chose not to have a T.V in his room and he’s regretting that now as he’s way out of the loop, not to mention, his laptop and League cell have been confiscated since the doctors want him resting not researching.
 
Alfred isn’t exactly young and he’s hoping that he didn’t pass while he was away, without him even getting to say goodbye.

Hal knows something but he won’t tell him. Nobody will tell him anything. When he asks about his family, he gets a noncommittal hum and the person dashes out quickly. Clark and Diana have swung by for quick reunions behind the quarantine glass but they always leave just as quickly as they’ve arrived, and sometimes he swears he sees Conner or Bart walking by, even though he could have sworn that they’d passed before he left. He definitely remembers going to two funerals with Tim for teammates passing.

He’s getting antsy, was he brought to the wrong time period? Is there another him walking around and that’s why nobody will answer any of his questions? Or is it possible that, despite his best efforts, he’s changed the timeline and screwed up reality? What if he’s screwed it up so badly that he doesn’t even have his children?

He’s honestly sure that he’d rather die of cholera than live without his babies another week.

“Please.” He begs Clark the next time he comes around, pressing both hands as hard as he can to the glass. “Just tell me what’s going on.”

And Clark, always the bleeding heart, looks both ways down the hall and nods.

“Things got bad for your family after you left Bruce.” He whispers, still looking over his shoulder like a fugitive. “I can’t tell you all of it, you’ll have to hear it from them. Anyway, the League of Assassins showed up in Gotham the same night we got you back. Selina and Jason got hurt pretty bad and they’re recovering right now. Tim was in bad shape before the fight and it just made it worse, he was brought in in critical condition and it took a long time to stabilise him. They’ve got him in ICU now, trying to keep him steady.”

Fuck of course, he hadn’t even thought of that. Of course Ra’s would use his absence as the chance to get his grimy hands on Gotham, and he’d have no problem cutting through his family to get it.

“But they’re okay.” He pushes, heart in his throat. “They’re alive?”

“Yes, they’re alive and they’re going to get better.” Clark soothes, pressing his hand against his through the glass. “They’re going to be okay Bruce.”

“Can I see them?” He asks.

“Not yet, you have to understand, some of the injuries they sustained are pretty bad. They may be stitched up but the docs don’t want them getting upset and tearing anything open again.” Clark explains, “A few more days Bruce, and you’ll be out of quarantine and able to hug them again.”

He lets out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a sob and he has to lower himself to the floor. Clark follows, ever the loyal friend, his hand never leaving the glass. 

“They’re okay Bruce, they’re going to be okay.” He repeats.

“Thank you.” He gasps, working on those breathing exercises Leslie gave him.

Clark nods and looks both ways again.

“I have to go, I’ll see you later, okay? Maybe we can eat together.” He offers, though he doesn’t give him the chance to respond before he’s gone again.

Bruce spends the next hour pacing by the glass, understanding how lions feel in zoos. On display and helpless. People pass by but none are ones he particularly cares about.

Until he sees a familiar flash of traffic light colours down the hall. Why Tim is out and about when he should be resting, he doesn’t know, but it doesn’t stop him from calling to him. His son freezes in place but slowly makes his way down the hall, like he’s drawing it out.

As he gets closer, he realises it isn’t Tim in the Robin suit, and it’s not Stephanie either.

“Hello Father.” Damian says plainly, standing at attention on the other side of the glass.

Something is definitely wrong.