Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bruce’s death was wrecking.

It was like the family stopped breathing.

The JL barely held together to tell Nightwing, Dick barely held together to tell the family. Damian did not understand, he made many questions, demanded answers, answers that Dick couldn’t give because he was just as lost. Jason’s eyes were never so green, he looked sick, like he would throw up if he dared to open his mouth, hands closed in trembling fists, he didn’t say a word when he left the cave stumbling.

The cave had never been so quiet, so empty. It was like a void grew in the walls, the shadows stretched, threatening to swallow him whole. Tim…looked confused, not like Damian, no, his eyebrows furrowed as if a piece of a puzzle was missing. He looked like he wanted to say something, to ask, but he didn’t, and Dick was almost glad for it.

He didn’t realize that Tim didn’t leave the cave.

The days that followed were a blur. Dick felt numb, out of his body. He needed Bruce to tell him what to do, how to deal with this, but he couldn’t, because he was dead. Bruce. Dead. The words spun in his head for what felt like ages, his skin felt cold, limbs always shaking. It was like watching himself from outside of his body. And Damian? The boy was probably the reason he didn’t crash. He was still an older brother, he was still Dick Grayson, his brothers needed him, and Gotham needed Batman.

The funeral wasn’t big. They told the press Bruce Wayne was missing - just like one day, Jason Todd went missing - and the real one? Where a rest of a suit laid in an expensive coffin? Dick didn’t have the stomach. Damian asked to go, he just shook his head and buried himself in his bed. He didn’t move for… actually, he doesn’t know. Tim appeared with food and pleaded for him to take a bath and move. Since it’s impossible to escape from Timothy, Dick did it. He couldn’t help but realize that Tim didn’t look half as bad as him. Tired, drained, but… he wasn’t rotting in a bed

Maybe he was just used to carrying off grieving adults, it was like how he got in the family in the first place, first with Bruce, now with him. He wished it would be different, that he weren’t the one shutting down, but he just managed to be so glad for having Tim there, helping with Damian - none of them had energy to bicker anymore - helping with Alfred, helping him. He was sure he managed to get Jason in line too. Tim was Tim, he had a thing for holding this family together.

Being Batman was definitely the worst experience of his life.

That suit wasn’t his, that name wasn’t his. He couldn’t stand seeing himself wearing the suit. It took a long, long time until he actually started to answer when people called him Batman. It felt wrong. Everything. He wasn’t Batman, he wasn’t as smart as Bruce or as good. He wasn’t Bruce. He missed him, in every second of his life, in each breath, each step. He wished his father were back, to be held in his hug again, to hide inside his cape, to be a fourteen-year-old watching a movie with him instead of patrolling because he got sick, to laugh at his first attempts at parenting, to steal his shirts and scare him off with circus tricks. He even missed all the times he got mad at him. He just wanted him back.

That’s why he can’t understand why he reacted the way he did when Tim said Bruce could be alive.

Maybe was fear. Fear of having hope, fear of believing just to fall back into the dark spot he dug himself into. Or maybe it was just concern. Tim was in denial, he couldn’t search for a dead man forever, it would kill him, and Dick wouldn’t lose his family again.

Suddenly the cave was crashing him.

“No.” He barely heard his own voice

“Dick, I can find him. He’s still out there, he’s just lost, I can’t leave him. We need to help-” His ears buzzed.

“You’re crazy.” He breaths out. Tim looked tired, so tired, thinner, eyes widen as he speaks with so much hope. The one that faded as the words registered. His look was…painful to stare at. Dick looks away.

“What?” Timothy hoped he heard wrong. Why was Dick looking at him like that?

“He’s dead. There’s no one to find. This family needs you here, not looking for a dead man.” Dick didn’t plan to sound so… flat, so emotionless. Tingles spread over his hands, he feels cold, nauseos, its like being out of his body.

“This family needs him, Dick.”

“He’s dead.”

“He’s not! I can show you everything I found.”

“TIMOTHY, STOP.” Both of his brothers flinched. “Are you hearing yourself? I know it’s hard, for all of us, but you can’t live in your illusion. Bruce is not out there. He’s not coming back. He is gone.”

Dick felt exhausted, tears stuck in his throat, his hands shakes violently. He dont recognize his own voice. “You’re wrong. I’m not watching you drown in this. I’m…I’m giving Robin to Damian.”

Why did he say that? He was supposed to have a conversation with Tim, to explain that Damian needed to cling to something, that he never got the chance of being Robin and how they both knew Robin gives you magic. Now? It sounded like a punishment. For what? For grief?

Damian’s eyes widened. “Grayson.” God, Dick forgot he was standing there. His tone was serious, trying to reach him, asking him to stop. What do you think you’re doing? He could read it on his face.

“It’s not up for discussion.” He just needs this night to end. He just needs everything to stop. He can’t breath when he turns back to the monitor. He can’t breath when Tim just stands there, frozen, with that… look on his face. He can’t breath when he finally leaves. He can’t breath when Damian walks towards the stairs.

“He dont deserve this,” Damian says before disappearing toward the manor. It’s quiet, firm, bitter.

Dick breaks.

He can’t describe how it feels to see Bruce again. The man looks older - older than only a year - tired, maybe sick. Dick doesn’t care. He’s back.

He cries until his throat hurts when Bruce wraps him in a hug, his body shakes. Bruce whispers some soft words he can’t register, the tone is enough, his voice is enough. Jason also lets himself break, just as Damian - even when he tried to hide the tears. That’s when Dick and Bruce do the exact same move.

They look around. Tim isn’t there.

He was. A minute ago, he was standing in a corner looking smaller than ever, exhausted, biting his nails.

He can see a flicker of worry and disappointment flash through Bruce’s tired face. Guilt hits Dick like a tidal wave. A lot happened and Dick is sure he doesn’t know about the half of it. How could he? Last time he actually talked with Tim was a year ago, when he pushed his brother away, when he took more than he initially realized from him.

The few times they exchanged words, everything he said sounded less and less like himself.

“You’re not supposed to be a sidekick, Tim. Not mine. We can work together, but not like that.” The suit felt wrong on his skin.

“That wasn’t a one-sided decision.”

“Damian needed Robin.” His mouth taste like metal.

“And I didn’t?”

Dick didn’t answered.

“What do you expect me to do without it?” It was genuine. Dick knows how Tim fought for that mantle, to be accepted, to be good enough, to carry the weight of a crashing Batman. It was the last thing Bruce gave him.

“You’ll figure it out.” But at that moment, he just needed air.

“Dick?” Bruce’s voice dragged him back, a hand falling on his shoulder. “Are you okay, honey?”

He let out a breath and nodded, giving him a small smile. “Tim is out on a mission. I’m sorry.”
It was a lie. His brothers knew, but none of them said a thing. Instead, they just played the part. Dick wished he hadn’t felt Damian’s stare.

“Morning, Alfie” Dick walked in the kitchen still half-sleep, everyone was still asleep, Duke were out on patrol last night, Jason probably already sneaked out, Damian will probably check on Bruce first before even think about eating.

“Good morning, Master Grayson.” There’s someone sat on the table.

The sleeping beauty blinks before actually look at it. Actually, him.

Oh are you serious?

“Oh, now you decided to show up?” A weird feeling spread over his chest. Anger, maybe?

“Im on my way out.” Tim mutters already getting on his feet.

Alfred stops him with both hands over his shoulders. “Breakfast first, Master Timothy”

“Do you have any idea of how worried Bruce is?” His tone is harsh but somenthing eased his muscles with such a raw emotion that he felt a lump on his throat. Relive. Tim is here, at home, in one piece, after months.

“When he get well enough to call me Im sure he will make it clear.” Well, now its anger.

“Call you? You cant be serious, you didnt even talked to him. You were there! I had to lie on his face and say you were out in some damn mission cause you didn't have the decency to stay.”

“He was busy”

“He was back.”

“As I said he would.”

Dick stopped. The guilt would never get ligther. “You cant took it on him if you’re mad at me.”

Tim made a face as Dick had just said the stupidest thing in the world.

Alfred placed a bag with a lot - really, a lot of food in it at the same time Damian’s voice came from a close room. “Its Tim back?” The amount of hope in the strained words made his heart clench, he send a glare to Tim but the third robin was already leaving, rushed and impatient steps.

Damian appeared supporting some of Bruce’s weight, Dick was quick to help him with that.

“How’s your brother?” Bruce didnt searched in the room as Damian did, a defeated acceptance on his voice as he sat down on his usual spot - during the inital months he was out Timothy started to own that spot, now its a bittersweet memory for a ton of reasons.

Dick took a breath. He dont know. The realization hits harder then he expected. Tim was there a second ago for the first time in months, and Dick didnt even asked.

“Alive.” Its the only thing he’s sure. A shilver run down his spine as he hear his own voice, its flat, bitter, since when he talks about Tim with this tone?

Bruce’s gaze hardened and he dont try to face him. “Looking like he will keep himself this way?” Damian asks pouring a mug of coffee before place in front of his father.

He dont know. He didnt looked at Tim, he was too relieved to finally see him…and too busy arguing. The tension between them were getting worse everytime they bumped into eachother, right now he knows he should have greeted Tim as he does with Jason, a joke, a smile and a hug. But its like seeing his face press a ton of pounds against his chest, his mood is instantly gone, and they argue, over and over again.

“Ask him.” He spits out. “Dick.” The scolding comes from Bruce, its firm but his eyes are just asking him for some time, for a quiet morning.

His father never looked this tired before and he knows a part of it its becuse he’s worried with Tim. He wants to get mad, to say Tim is being selfish, maybe he does think like that, but he also knows its his fault. He pushed his brother away, he’s keeping him away, and honestly? If it means seeing Bruce actually rest again he can leave the manor while Tim is around, they dont need to talk or even look at eachother.

God, when did they turned out like?

Chapter Text

Bruce’s death was confusing - for lack of a better term.

Dick almost refused to tell how it happened, but Jason wouldn’t accept silence.

Darkside, something like a gun, dusted - melted, Tim doesn’t want to know for sure. It’s just… they don’t have a body. And yes, in this family, that means a lot.

What gives them certainty Bruce wasn’t teleported? Fine, the Justice League can search the globe - and part of the universe, but what if magic hid him? Enough that not even Superman could find him? What if his body changed? What if his body changed and he lost his memory?

He blinked back to the present when Jason stormed out of the cave.

The silence is heavy. Tim’s heart is pounding in his ears, buzzing. He can’t be gone, that’s not like him. He tries to keep his throat from closing.

Dick looks sick. He’s supporting himself on the dark wall, and Tim actually thinks he might fall mid-sentence. His shoulders are slumped, like a hole opened in his chest.

Damian is frowning, but Tim knows he understands it. He just doesn’t want to accept it. Not yet. And maybe they’re pretty alike in this part.

“They’re sure he’s gone?” Damian insists. They can’t be we don’t have a body.

“Yes, Dami, it’s his DNA on the suit. B…” He stops like he can’t breathe. “B is gone.”

It hits Tim. Dick sounds hopeless, lost, and suddenly Tim feels it too.

Bruce Wayne. The Batman. Their father - and Tim is so glad he managed to call him that at least once, is gone.

“It’s obvious that they would find DNA on his suit, it doesn’t mean anything.” They can’t be sure.
The words seem to be draining Dick’s life.

No. It’s not over like this. It can’t be. He will find Bruce, he will bring him back... but first, he needs to be sure the family that remained here is something close to fine.

“They saw it, Dami.”

“It could have been an illusion.”

“Damian.” His little brother looks at him. Eyes filled with tears, he can see the defiance on his features, fists clenched at his sides as he tries so hard to look strong.“We make questions tomorrow.”

Without Dick, his tone implies.

Damian clearly wants to argue, wants to deny it, but the boy swallows his tears as his body shakes slightly. He seems to understand something in Tim’s gaze and nods.

He turns to look at his older brother. Dick doesn’t meet his gaze, he looks like he’s about to pass out, sick, pale. It hurts Tim in a way he can’t describe. That’s his brother, that’s his Robin, the kid he saw in the circus who promised his signature backflip, the main reason he figured out their identities and even got into the family, the first brother he ever had, looking empty.

He thinks about hugging him, but he doesn’t think Dick would even notice. He’s too out of it. “Want me to put him in bed?”

The three of them know no one needs to put Damian to sleep, but he needs Dick to snap out of it, to look at them.

It works enough, since he shakes his head and mutters something like, “No, I’ll do it.” And Damian is already moving.

The young boy wipes a stubborn tear with a shaky hand, and Dick gives him a forced small smile before giving him a side hug. They make their way to the stairs.

But he’s not going to sleep.

No. He will search for any proof that Bruce is out there. And trust me, if he doesn’t find a body without a heartbeat, he’s doing everything to bring his father back. Bruce wouldn’t let anyone be left behind, and if someone can find him anywhere in this universe, that someone is Tim.

This family has had enough of people dying while waiting.

Bruce is not gone until Tim says so.

He doesn’t really enjoy funerals.

When he asked Dick what they should tell the press, his brother said “The truth”… so Tim said Bruce was missing.
Because he is.

The torn suit in that coffin means nothing more than - Bruce is missing and without his armor. Which means Tim needs to be as fast as he can.

He would have skipped a fake funeral, but maybe, just maybe, some of his brothers could decide to show up, and he couldn’t leave them alone like this.

None of them do show up.

Tim keeps himself far enough to run from the pity looks. He knows Clark is probably the only one aware of him, and oh god, he’s glad the Kryptonian doesn’t try anything.

It doesn’t take long till they leave , a bunch of heroes has better things to do… he decides to ignore the bitter taste the thought brings.

That’s when he decides to step closer. They haven’t buried the coffin yet, maybe hoping that some of his kids will show up. Well, here he is.

He looks down at the fabric.

It’s just that, just fabric… except it isn’t.

It’s his suit.

At least what’s left of it.

Tim can see the shape of it, the shoulders, the utility belt, the burned cape, the… the stains of blood, the cowl. He can see Bruce wearing it.

Tears roll down before he can stop them. It’s him, he reali- thinks. He can’t see the body but… but he can.

He can see the shape of Batman on the rooftops, he can see it through the lens of his camera, he can see Bruce putting the armor on every night, he can see the slower movements when he takes it off, he can feel the cape around him from the first and only time he slept mid-patrol.

And it’s laid in a coffin.

A sob wrecks his throat as he steps back. It’s him. No no no no. It can’t be. Bruce is not dead.

He can’t be.
He can’t.

What would he do? What would Robin do without Batman? What would Dick do without Bruce?
How would the family live? Dick looks like he’s slowly dying, Jason is unreachable, Red Hood is violent as ever, Damian is trying so hard but Tim can hear his sobs during the night, Alfred stares at the portraits every morning.

He can’t watch this.

Bruce is alive. He needs to be. Or else… no. He’s alive. And Tim will find him.

He forgot how tiring it is to keep a depressed adult alive
.
“Dick, I’m not asking you to go down the stairs, I’m not even asking you to sit, just eat.”He tries again, a spoon of scrambled eggs waiting for the circus boy to open his mouth.

And again, he doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at him.

Tim wants to cry in frustration.

“Dick, you will eat. If you don’t, I’m getting IV nutrients shoved into your system.”Suddenly he’s twelve again, threatening a rotting Bruce Wayne to leave the manor and breathe some fresh air or else he’ll get the whole press in his room and force an interview.

He didn’t miss this. He doesn’t like how often he gets flashbacks and déjà vus. He won’t even start about the nightmares. He just… misses his brother so much.

Tim doesn’t need Dick to be fine. He doesn’t need the fake Dick Grayson that’s all perfect smiles and charm, he just needs Dick to be here. To look at him, to move, to breathe.

He has to blink away the damn tears. It’s like the air burns. A deep breath doesn’t make anything better.
Last time he felt this alone, his house looked like an old museum.

“You’re crying.” The hoarse voice speaks. Tim takes a shuddering breath.

You can’t leave me too. That’s not fair. “Eat.”

This time, his brother does.

The shot actually teleported Bruce.

Tim just needs to figure out where he went.

That gun wasn’t used at any other moment during the fight, why use it on Bruce? Why just kill him? That would be too easy. The blood on the suit was from injuries he got during the fight, not from the shot. If his body disintegrated or whatever it did, there would be no reason for his suit not to do the exact same.

Tim just needs to figure out what happened.

He needs to figure it out while he keeps WE working, while he makes sure Jason won’t die by accident, while he watches Dick go out in a suit that isn’t his, while the same Dick that would drag him out of his office slowly becomes an empty shell, like an illness is spreading over his body, while Damian learns how to be a normal kid without Bruce, without the training he was used to, while he learns how to deal with grief and anger, how to deal with the family’s grief.

…He’s tired. Exhausted.

He just needs to find Bruce. it will make everything okay. Dick will be fine again. Jason will be back, Damian will find himself. Alfred will—

“You’re crazy.”

It’s so quiet Tim hopes he heard it wrong.

“What?” He just needs help to figure this out. He can’t do this alone. He won’t manage.

“He’s dead. There’s no one to find. This family needs you here, not looking for a dead man.”

It cuts like a knife. The way the words slip easily from his mouth, so sure, so indifferent, almost like the dead man isn’t his father.

“This family needs him, Dick.” You need him.

“He’s dead.”

“He’s not! I can show you everything I found-”

“TIMOTHY, STOP.” He flinches, hard.“Are you hearing yourself? I know it’s hard, for all of us, but you can’t live in your illusion. Bruce is not out there. He’s not coming back. He is gone.”

Dick never talked like this to him. It doesn’t sound like his brother.

Why is he the mad one now? Why is he being yelled at? Why… maybe, maybe Dick isn’t totally wrong.
Maybe it’s an illusion. Maybe he’s actually crazy.

“You’re wrong. I’m not watching you drown in this.”

I’m not watching you drown in this. Why not? Why is Tim the only one with no right to feel? Why can no one watch him drown when the whole fucking family is under ten feet of water?

“I’m… I’m giving Robin to Damian.”

That’s when he stops.

Actually stops. Frozen. Still.

It takes a beat to actually register it.

He gazes at Damian. The boy looks just as stunned. His ears ring.
~ What is he supposed to do? Without Robin he… who even is he? How can he help people? After years learning, earning the right to be called Robin after Jason’s death, after fighting for it, after forcing Bruce to accept him and facing the consequences.

Dick is… giving it to Damian?

What is he now? Nothing? All for what? Why? What did he even do?

He expects something, anything.

Dick doesn’t even look at him.

Tears blur his vision but he refuses to let them roll down. Dick just threw him away like he was nothing. Did he ever meant something to him?

Tim can’t see his brother in that corpse standing in the cave.

He just lost both of them. He lost him. He stumbles out of the cave when the tears roll, his chest shaking in sobs.

He will find Bruce.

He will bring his brother back.

The League of Assassins wasn’t supposed to be an option.

It isn’t. It’s a last resort.

The JL won’t help him, they think he’s grieving, just like his team and the rest of the people he knows. He doesn’t have time for this. Dick is Batman. Damian is Robin. They can survive without him.
Bruce might not.

“You know, Detective. Since Damian left, his position has been empty. I need someone capable of leading my people, of carrying my title, of being my heir.” Ra’s' voice is low, amused even. He knows Tim has nowhere to go. “And you need resources. We train you, you find him, and I have the delight of watching him realize I finally got my hands on one of his.”

Tim doesn’t plan to obey. He just needs the resources. He can put on a façade for long enough. He forces his body to stay relaxed.

“We got a deal, Al Ghul.”

The smile that creeps up on the old man’s lips will never leave his memory.

The year that comes after is a blur of pain, stress, anger, numbness, and a spark of hope

Last time he looked in the mirror, he went straight into a panic attack. How did he let it go this far?

It’s disgusting, the way Ra’s speaks like they’re close, how easily he walks through the League, the scars that keep Tim from forgetting who they really are.

Tim misses his brothers, but not the ones living in Gotham. He misses his brothers. The bickering with Damian, the movie sessions with a cat-shaped Dick Grayson, sneaking into Jason’s place just because he could.

All of that is gone. Has been gone for a year and four months.

Just like him.

He can’t even force himself to want them back. That version of them doesn’t deserve this version of him. They would be just as disgusted, disappointed. Maybe Dick would even throw him out again.

But he won’t be selfish. He can live with the guilt, with the nauseating feeling every time he looks at himself, he’ll have to.

Because he found Bruce.

Right now, at least 105 League bases have been destroyed. The information was sent to the Justice League. Tim is back in Gotham after what feels like ages.

Ra’s is going to kill him.

The drug is keeping his body from do more than dragg itself. He can only see the bright green of Ra’s' eyes while he stares Tim’s battered, bloody body. Everything hurts. His mouth tastes like blood.

“I hope he comes back early enough to find the coffin open,” he spits.

He hears the blades. Tim doesn’t want to die like this. He won’t die by these hands.

With the last ounce of strength he has, he throws his spent body against the closest window. The glass shatters.

He’s falling.

He found Bruce. The family will be fine. They’ll be okay again.

He closes his eyes as the cold wind stings his body. He greets the ground.

Except it doesn’t come.

What does come is a pressure on his side, throwing him somewhere, a hold. Then they hit a rooftop.

His mind goes back to Ra’s as he starts to squirm. Everything hurts.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” The breathless voice reaches his ears. He feels a déjà vu.

The widened eyes find the black blur under him - a part of his brain expected blue. Arms are wrapped firmly around him. He can feel them shaking. “You caught me.”

Tim breathes out. Confused. Stunned. It didn’t even cross his mind that Dick might be close, and even if he did, he wouldn’t have called.

“I’ll always do.” And for a moment, Tim lets himself believe it

It sounds so much like his brother, like his brother. he ignores that it’s a lie. He ignores the suit he’s seeing.
He ignores the feeling that if Dick knew why he was falling, he would’ve let him hit the ground.

Tim tries to be there when Bruce comes home. He planned to, really. But the manor seems to be judging him, yelling, staring.

None of his brothers try to actually talk to him. Maybe because he’s pressed in a corner. He still feels like his skin is being chewed every time he looks at Dick, it’s oppressive, he just wants to leave.

Then he sees him.

Bruce.

His body goes still. He fears he will fade if he blinks.

He’s older. Tired. Probably sick - Tim figured it isn’t exactly healthy to be stuck in time, but he’s there. Standing. Breathing. Smiling.

And for some reason, Tim can’t breathe.

He will hate me. He hugs Dick, his brother finally cries. It’s ugly, loud. I don’t have an excuse. I accepted. I killed because I planned it. He hugs Jason. His brother cries.’ll be sent to Arkham. I should let him. I deserve it

But he wouldn’t be able to stand the disappointment in Bruce’s gaze. The disgust. The anger.

So Tim leaves through the kitchen. Shaking, wheezing, he walks toward his apartment.

They would never forgive him. How could they? He chose all of this. It wasn’t pit rage. He wasn’t forced to do anything. He just did it. Because it would bring Bruce back. Because it would fix things.

Last time he feared Bruce, he was thirteen.

It’s almost ironic.

Chapter Text

Coming back from time was tiring.

Being lost was stressful. Bruce was never a fan of magic, and the bare thought that he might not be able to figure this out frightened him.

Back in the days when he was a lonely man wearing armor and searching for revenge, for a twisted version of justice, he would have given up and accepted his death. He was dying, after all. He didn’t belong there. His body wasn’t supposed to be there. And he was starting to feel it.

It was supposed to be a slow, lonely death.

But he couldn’t just accept it. Not when he had left a family in an empty cave, friends in a watchtower, and a company that kept a city from falling apart. He would see his boys again, no matter how long it took, no matter how weak his body got, he would figure this out. Someone had to.

Being back in the manor after a year lost and a long process of identity verification from the League was everything he could have asked for.

His heart had never been so full of relief as it was when he saw his boys.

Dick was the first to fall into his arms. Bruce held him as he sobbed, gently rubbing his back, his own tears stinging his blue eyes. His eldest carried exhaustion like a second skin, weighing him down, Bruce felt a lump on his throat.

Seeing Jason there made him realize how much he had feared he wouldn’t be. He definitely got some threats about disappearing again, and this time Bruce didn’t hold back his laugh, too relieved to see him, to hear him.

Damian had grown so much. He was taller, his posture was still as straight and proud as ever, but his lips trembled with an emotion he couldn’t hide. Bruce knelt to hold his youngest. Damian had hugged him once before all this, on Bruce’s birthday, after a small kitchen party. He had been so small, he hadn’t tried to hide his tears like he was trying to do now.

He searched the room for Tim. The League had told him Tim was the one who figured it out, that they believed he was dead, but the boy had proved them wrong. Bruce owed him more than he could ever say.

Except he wasn’t there for him to even try it.

Panic surged through him for one terrifying second before he heard Clark’s voice in his mind, reassuring him all his kids were alive. He hadn’t used the word “fine” though.

He glanced at Dick. His gaze was far away, unfocused, jaw clenched. He looked sick. Bruce hated how much he could see himself in that face. “Dick.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay, honey?”

He blinked back to reality, nodding weakly. Bruce didn’t believe him for a second.

“Tim is out on a mission. I’m sorry.”

He frowned. The Titans were in the Watchtower. Was he out alone? Did he just give the League the answers and then left? Without making sure it worked? Without making sure they wouldn’t mess it up?

Damian glared at Dick, who looked away.

Yeah. Tim was not on a mission.

Bruce figured it was better to ask later. He and Tim… weren’t on the best terms when he left. They were getting better, but maybe… maybe Tim was just busy. Maybe he changed. Bruce was tired, deeply relieved to be back and to have found most of his boys, but tired. He still had an Alfred to hug, and God, how much he missed him.

His kids were acting weird.

At first, he thought they were just adjusting to having him around again. Bruce barely moved from bed. His body ached. No matter how long he slept, it never felt like enough to chase the exhaustion from his bones. Fever clung to him in the early days.

Dick was around often. Bringing meals, helping him down the stairs when he got sick of his room. But Bruce couldn’t ignore that Dick refused to meet his gaze. They hadn’t really talked. Dick kept saying he should rest, that they could talk later, as if he couldn’t speak and stay down at the same time.

Jason would come and go. He looked at Bruce like he might disappear again. When he was close enough, he asked how Bruce was feeling, and Bruce could hear that little boy, the one who once sat beside his bed when he was sick and Alfred was gone. Sometimes he brought cookies. On one of Bruce’s feverish days, he was sure Jason read him one of the classics. Sadly, he could only remembered the voice but not the story.

Damian had been the most honest with him

“Grayson took your mantle while you were gone,” he said casually during one of their talks. “He was afraid of what would happen in Gotham if crime thought Batman was dead.”

Bruce didn’t answer right away. Dick, the one who had moved out to be more than Batman’s sidekick, to be his own person, to protect his own city, to be better than Bruce could have ever asked, forced himself into a mantle that wasn’t his.

“What if I was?” Bruce said. “He couldn’t keep that forever.”

He hoped he wouldn’t. Batman was haunted, a shadow of a man built from trauma and a desperate need for justice. The mantle weighed heavy on his shoulders. He refused to force it on anyone else.

“He would’ve tried. I think it was his way of denying it.” When Bruce frowned, Damian continued. “Letting Batman die would’ve meant accepting that you died. We could’ve made schedules, patrol rotations. It would’ve been hard, but not impossible.”

“But instead, he wore the suit. He kept you alive.”

Bruce wasn’t sure why, but the thought felt bitter.

“He started acting like you,” Damian addmited. “Talking like you did in the suit. It was… different.” His tone grew quiet. Hesitant.

Damian had watched his brother change. Bruce realized that. He just wasn’t sure how to address it. Whether it had been good or bad for him. Whether Damian even wanted to talk about it.

“Different,” Bruce echoed. “Did it scare you?”

The boy froze. The silence stretched.“Dick doesn’t scare me,” he finally said.

“That wasn’t my question,” Bruce said gently.

Damian’s eyes met his. The usual defiance was still there, but something softer had grown underneath. Bruce couldn’t help but feel proud.

“I was scared I’d lose him.” It was barely a whisper. The boy looked back at his tea. “He… faded. Of course, he was still there. He never left. But it was different. He wasn’t himself. He didn’t talk like himself or act like it. I was scared he’d stay like that forever.”

Bruce absorbed the words. He knew grief. He knew how it warped you. He had turned into someone else after Jason’s death. If Tim hadn’t been there…

Tim.

“Grief is tricky,” he said. “Everyone reacts differently. Your brother was trying to do what he thought was best. It’s okay you were scared. You care about him. You could see he wasn’t okay when he couldn’t. That’s scary.”

Tim had described this once. How sometimes he just wanted to scream at Bruce to snap out of it, to stop killing himself, how helpless he felt being pushed away over and over.

Damian seemed to take it in, nodding, biting his hips anxiously.

“You’re Robin.” Bruce couldn’t stop himself. It came out more like a question than a statement.

The boy paled. He grimaced so genuinely that Bruce felt like he’d insulted the mantle.

“Yeah,” he said, leaving the tea untouched, he leaned back in the couch. “Dick gave it to me.”

Dick? Tim was Robin. Did he step down? After everything he went through to earn it? It sounds impossible. Bruce had tried so many times to get that kid out of the suit, it never worked, if somenthing made him even more confident to stay. What on the world could have changed that?

“Son,” Bruce said, taking a breath, trying to stomach the idea. “Did Tim leave?”

That would explain it. His room was empty. He hadn’t stepped foot in the manor since Bruce returned. No one dared to speak of him. Even Alfred said the boys would tell him eventually. The whole family was hiding something.

The silence stretched. Damian looked for words, his face darkening. Bruce’s chest tightened.

“They had an argument,” he started. “Grayson and Drake. Richard took Robin from him.”

Confusion filled his mind. Bruce wasn’t sure he heard it right.

Dick adored Tim. When Bruce was trying everything to get that thirteen-year-old Timothy out of his life, Dick Grayson was training him, picking him up from school, having movie nights with that big-eyed kid.

”...He took it from him?”

Damian avoided his gaze. “I don’t understand either. Tim was… Drake was trying to tell him you might be alive, and Richard just snapped. He was overwhelmed, stressed, he said he feared Timothy would lose himself searching for you.”

“I still don’t get why he did it, but Drake hasn’t stepped in the cave since then.”

Bruce’s head spun.

“No one wouldn’t have even noticed the distortion if he hadn’t brought it up.”

Bruce could hear the pride in Damian’s voice. Tim had proven himself. Not for the first time. Not for the last.

“But he wasn’t Robin,” Damian added. “He was just Tim.”

That shouldn’t have hurt. But it did.

Tim wasn’t just Robin. He was the boy who made Bruce believe in family again. The one who put it back together after it fell apart. He had earned the name in every way that counted.

A year. Tim had spent a year knowing Bruce was out there, somewhere, and no one believed him. No one listened to him. Not even Dick.

His mind wandered back to Dick’s hands trembling, to his glassy stare, to the weight he carried. Was it guilt? He wanted to ask. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

He needed to talk to Tim.

He needed to talk to Dick.

But first, the boy who’s right in front of him.

“How was that for you?” Dick changed, Tim…was away, Jason was out of himself. And Damian… Damian stayed. He could have called Talia, he could have walked back to the League of Assassins, but he didn’t. He stayed there, in the middle of it.

Damian didn’t seem ready for the question.

“I don’t know.” Bruce waited, his gaze still firm on his son, not demanding, just giving space.

“I was mad. Drake didn’t deserve that. He was helping so much. I know you weren’t here, but he was keeping Richard from rotting. I watched him feed him like a baby, get the WE by himself because Grayson was terrified to lose the only normal thing you left. He stayed with me until I fell asleep, he helped Alfred with the manor, he… he was here, and then Dick pushed him away.”

Bruce waited.

“But I wasn’t mad. Because Grayson was suffering, he was trying so hard to keep the city safe. He was himself with me, he comforted me, trained me to be his Robin, made his stupid movie nights, but he was sick. I was mad Timothy actually left, I was mad that Todd was freaked out, but I was worried why Drake hadn’t come back, I was worried if Todd was going to survive all by himself.”

He saw tears prickle the boy’s eyes. Damian was pulled into a hug, he didn’t try to move away.

“I was scared to lose all of them.” The small voice trembled. Bruce just held him closer.

They staid there in silence for a long while.

“Where is he now?”

Damian tensed. “We’re not sure.”

His breath caught. “What do you mean?”

“He left,” the boy said. “After the Justice League confirmed you were alive. He gave them the information, stayed to make sure they didn’t screw it up, and then he left.”

Bruce’s heart dropped.

They hadn’t seen him? Since before Bruce came back?

“Have you tried calling?”

“Yes. Alfred did, too. We tried to find him through the JL’s systems. Even Drake’s safe houses were wiped clean. He… he planned this.”

Bruce would honestly have a heart attack if he wasn’t sure Timothy was in one piece by the end of this week.

At least he knew he had been in the manor. He heard him and Dick having a not-heartwarming conversation down the stairs. It was early in the morning. By the time he got there with Damian’s help, Tim was already gone.

“How’s your brother?” Bruce tried, taking a seat.

“Alive.” The bitter tone caused Bruce to glare at him.

“Looking like he will keep himself this way?” Damian asked, pouring a mug of coffee and placing it in front of Bruce, who mumbled a quiet “Thank you.”

“Ask him.” he spat out.

“Dick.” The scolding came before he could stop it. Not sure if it was from the unbothered way he spoke about his brother, as if Bruce hadn’t been losing nights of sleep over seeing him, or from how rudely he was suddenly treating Damian.

His eldest looked at him for a moment before sighing. His shoulders still tense, he looked… guilty, tired. It was hard to look at him. Bruce just wished he would talk to him.

“I’m sorry. He got breakfast and left. I don’t know.”

He turned to get himself some coffee. Damian lowered his head, and Bruce caught himself looking at Alfred for answers. He just needed to know his kid was fine.

The butler approached him with some pancakes. “He’s alive, indeed. But he was once healthier, I must say.”

It didn’t help to ease his nerves. Tim wasn’t doing well. Bruce was trying to give him space, to not overstep, not hover. But he missed his son, and he couldn’t keep going knowing he was not fine.

Before Bruce… left, Tim was already pulling away.

When they discovered the Red Hood was Jason, that he was alive, that Bruce could bring him back, the family made it a mission.

Then Jason tried to kill Tim.

He broke into the Titans Tower and slit his throat.

Tim almost died. It was Jason himself who stopped it in the end.

Tim said he came back to his senses when he saw him bleeding. Said he was just… hurt, that had the wrong idea about being replaced. Said it was okay to bring him home.

Tim almost died. And still, he defended him.

He insisted Jason should come back to the cave. To the family.

Bruce was still stunned He had almost lost another Robin. Another son. And the one who did it… was Jason. His boy.

Looking back, Bruce knew he should’ve handled it better. Should’ve held Tim and told him how terrified he was of losing him. Should’ve told him he mattered just as much as Jason. That what happened wasn’t okay. That losing him was never an option.

But he didn’t.

He just brushed the hair from his face, listening to that broken voice. Alfred had already told the boy three times to stop talking. “I can find him.” Tim had said.

And he looked so sure, Bruce let him.

Tim found Jason. And, to everyone’s surprise, they got along. Long before Jason and Bruce could. It’s honestly impossible to scape from Timothy.

Bruce wasn’t proud of it, but it was only when Jason came back that he started acting like a decent human being again.
He tried to make up for it. For Tim. For being such a poor mentor. But Tim just looked at him, confused, and said
“We’re fine. If I was mad at you, I would’ve left when you asked me to.”

But it wasn’t about that.

It was about how Bruce had treated him. Tim wasn’t just Robin. He was his son. Even with living parents and a mansion to return to, he was his son, and Bruce should’ve treated him like one from the start.

They were getting better. Tim spent more time at the manor while his parents were out the country, Bruce noticed the bad sleeping habits, how Dick would carry him over his shoulder and drop him in bed when it got too late.

Tim could fall asleep anywhere, the couch, the dinner table, Bruce’s office, even during class. Bruce got called to the school more than once for it.

Tim loved opening cold cases just for fun. He even started sneaking into Bruce’s office to do it.

And the little things too, the way he got his coffee, his love for photography, how that kid was a tiny genius.

Then Damian arrived.

An Eight-years-old trained assassin that Talia had managed to kept hidden from him.

And he hated Tim.

Bruce thought it was jealousy. Damian kept talking about being the “legitimate son” and refused to accept the others as family.

Bruce spent so much time trying to show him what home meant. That not everything he learned was right, that he could be just a kid with them.

Tim started showing up less. Said once he was trying to make things easier for Damian. Bruce nearly had a stroke explaining he’d never pick one son over another.

Damian would learn to live with Tim.

And he did. They still bickered, of course. But Bruce saw something like respect starting to grow in the youngest.

Tim’s presence was quiet. Steady. There was still a lot to fix, but for the first time Bruce felt like they had time.

Then he died

And then… came back.

Now his kids are acting like they unlearned how to act towards each other. Dick protected Damian, but somehow, Tim slipped away. Jason’s more violent than ever, now was trying to make up for it.

And Tim, somehow, was the one who brought Bruce back.

And no one knows where he is now.

Bruce just wishes he’d been there. That he’d said something. That Dick had said something.

He’s tired and worried.

He just wants his boys to be okay again.

Chapter Text

It took one glare from Alfred for Bruce to know he’d stay in the cave this time.

It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, just a robber. Nothing new, nothing creative. Except the criminals were way stronger than they expected.

It took one flying Jason for them to wonder if they were dealing with metas.

“Jeez, you good?” Nightwing grimaced under his domino mask, dodging a fist that would definitely have sent him to keep his little brother company.

“Been better,” Hood hissed back. Took a second for him to be back in the room.

Damian was supposed to deal with the hostages, five women and two terrified men. Easier said than done. Try to move seven hysterical people out of a building while two gigantic men are trying to snap your neck at the same time you have to keep them from snapping the hostages' necks.

In simple words, Robin was having a hard time keeping grown adults from killing themselves.

“Where do you guys need me?” Damian’s eyebrows shot up at the contorted voice.

His eyes searched while still trying to shield the civilians, finding a familiar frame in the window above.

Tim’s suit still looked a lot like Robin’s, except the light-traffic colors were mostly gone, replaced by a dark red. A bat symbol replaced the "R".

“With the hostages,” Nightwing and Robin answered at the same time.

He moved fast.

Bruce’s breath caught in his lungs, a mix of relief and worry. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose.

With Tim’s cover, Robin managed to escort all the civilians out of the building and make sure the ambulance got them. It was just enough time for his brothers to get the enormous men down, not unconscious, but at least chained. They’d have a good ride to Arkham.

“Someone’s hurt?” Nightwing asked. It was less intimidating than Batman’s "Report", but it grew to have the same effect on Damian.

“A few bruises.”

“I broke a wall with my back. I'm great.”

“Had worse.”

The last muttered words made the three of them look at the same spot, Tim. He was twisting his wrist, trying to see how actually injured it was. From Robin’s angle, it didn’t look good.

“Head back to the cave.” Batman’s voice ordered through their comms. Jason could swear he saw Timothy flinch just slightly.

“On our way.” Nightwing answered, then stopped in his tracks. “You’re coming?” All of them knew who he was talking to. None of them liked his tone.

“Of course he is. We’re not giving him an option,” Jason said instantly, even though he knew it was a lie.

“I have a case to work on. I’m not injured.” Tim was already turning his back.

“You can’t do it in the cave?” Damian tried, keeping his tone from sounding too hopeful.

“I don’t want to.”

That made all four of them tense. They expected at least an excuse.

“Never kept anyone from dragging me back to that place. Your wrist looks like shit, it won’t take long,” Jason insisted, stepping closer.

“It’s not even sprained.”

“And I had B hovering over me for a scratch.”

“Big shit.”

“Watch your mouth in front of the kid.”

Tim and Damian sucked in air to protest.

“I won’t be there. Just go, get yourself checked, and let me know when I’m good to go.” Nightwing cut them off. In one blink, he was gone out the window.

Tim clenched his jaw. Jason was sure the boy stopped breathing. He couldn’t say what the third Robin was feeling as he stared at the window. Bruce’s sigh through the comms made him move. None of them asked if he was really coming. Hood just took his bike and made sure Robin could hold tight enough.

Tim arrived first.

He just… couldn’t force himself to walk in. It had been more than a year since the last time he felt welcome in that cold cave, nearly two since he saw Bruce in there. A lot happened in between. He didn’t feel worthy to step in.

Someone cleared their throat a few steps away, causing him to snap out of his thoughts.

Alfred.

“Master Tim, I see the suit did fit you.”

A small smile crept up on his lips. It had taken him a long time to dare to wear it.“Never thought otherwise, coming from you, Alfie.”

Alfred had been the one to give him the Robin suit, against Bruce, against Dick. He was the one to offer him the mantle and allow him to save them, even when he wasn’t ready, even when he still didn’t deserve it. And he was the one to send him a new suit when he was no longer Robin.

“Would you give me your company on the way in?” Alfred nodded to the metal door, so small Tim almost missed it.

A hole dug itself in his chest.

“Should I?” was smaller, quieter.

He saw the butler sigh. “I wouldn’t lose the chance to make sure you’re still fine, Master Tim, and I guarantee you Master Bruce thinks the same.”

A bitter feeling pulled on his chest with the thought of worrying Bruce, but it wasn’t too different from when he thought of actually talking to him.

Tim was hiding a lot of things, and Bruce always had this ability to see through him, to see all his sins, his lies, to leave him exposed without a single word.

Was he ready for it?

Some voices that sounded a lot like bickering caused him to frown. Then Red Hood was standing there.

“Told you he’d be here-Hey, Alfie.” Jason waved vaguely. “We’re dragging his ass inside, he’s injured.”

Tim groaned. “My wrist is fine.”

Because it is. Wow, bruising, what a terrible thing. Nothing popped out! He’s completely fine.

“Oh, our conversation would have been different if you’d told me you were injured, Master Tim.” Alfred gave them space for whatever Tim wasn’t up to.

“I am not.”

“Todd.”Damian sounded somewhere between bored and annoyed, as usual.

Not dramatic to say Tim didn’t have time to process what happened before he was lifted and thrown like a sack of potatoes over Jason’s shoulder and moving. They were inside in a second.

“Really?” he managed to spit, surprised by how actually annoyed he sounded.

“Don’t even try it.”

He recognized the way to the medbay, the humid smell, the familiar coldness, the shadows of the bats above their heads.

In his memories, he would be laughing, throwing jokes at his favorite Robin who carried him effortlessly, sticking his tongue out in a childish way just because he could. The bare thought pissed him off now. He didn’t need Jason to baby him, to drag him in like the man with an inflated ego he is. Not after being the one to scold him back to sanity. Not after a year of barely talking to him. He doesn’t need any of this.

“Put me down.” He muttered, pushing his torso up, knees already pressing against Jason’s armor.

“Tim, cut the blush-”

He didn’t let him finish. His body spun as his leg wrapped around Jason’s neck. Then he threw both of them backwards. His brother lost balance instantly, clearly not expecting such a reaction. They both hit the ground, and a dry but loud sound reached his ears. Jason let out a groan as his palms reached his nape.

Damn. Did he twist his neck? Did Jason hit his head? He completely forgot it wasn’t a harmless move.

He swallowed an apology as he noticed Damian standing a few feet away, frowning, eyes fixed on him.

Oh.

Bruce didn’t teach him that move, did he?

“For great heavens, what is going on in here?” Alfred appeared, closer, and right behind him was Bruce.

Tim thought he muttered an apology. Maybe he didn’t. He just tripped back into the medbay since they were blocking the way out.

Great. Just great. He probably gave Jason a concussion, and Damian… fuck, of course he noticed. How wouldn’t he? He’ll tell them. He’ll have to explain it. Will they even let him explain? It wouldn’t matter. He’s guilty. There’s no way out.

He shouldn’t have come. He should have left Gotham the moment Bruce came back. Maybe faked his own death. Maybe just moved out of the country. Maybe… maybe find Ra’s and let him finish the job, anything, anything but stepping in the cave again.

He groaned. He hadn’t been inside the med bay in months.

Last time was with Damian, after a patrol gone wrong. They barely even talk- mostly his fault though.

He sat on the edge of the bed like usual, scanned his own wrist with the little device, waited for it to beep and then read it. Small crack. Needed rest and a light wrap, maybe two days of not punching people.

He wasn’t going to rest. And he was definitely going to punch people.

The door opened and he froze.

The boots were too heavy to be Dick’s.
The steps werent violent enough to be Jason.
The size definitly wasnt Damian’s.

He didn’t turn. His hand closed around the table's edge, breathing uneven.

“That was unnecessary. I’m sorry.”

He sounded stable, which was great, because he didnt felt like it. He just freaked out because Jason was trying to be a decent person, to do something he was supposed to be used to. Dick used to do it all the time.

“Good you realize it.”

The silence was cold.

“How’s your wrist?”

“Fine”

The air didnt felt enough. He couldnt face Bruce, but he could feel his gaze. Tim lowered his eyes.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“You should be.”

That made him blink. He looked up. Bruce was by the door. And it sounded like he meant it.

“I’m not.” Tim said anyway, more firm this time.

“I believe you.”

They looked at each other.

Tim’s voice was low. “I don’t hate you.”

Bruce’s voice was lower. “I know.”

The words lacked. Guilt, shame, all of it flowed his mind, it has been a long while since he felt this small.

“You stopped showing up.” Bruce broke the silence.

“I wasn’t needed.”

“You were wanted.”

Tim stayed quiet.

Bruce took two steps closer.

“You still are.”

By who? He wanted to ask.

A million thoughts flowed through his mind. Apologies, explanations, shame, everything stuck in his throat. He expected Bruce to ask, to notice, to see he was hiding something, to realize the dirt under his rug.

“Thank you, son.”

He wasnt sure if his brain registered.

It sounded so… genuine, low, a breath, relieved.

Tim felt himself go cold.

“Don’t thank me.” He nearly spat out, Bruce tensed.

The silence stretched. The room felt uncomfortable.

“You found me, Tim. I would have died if it wasn’t for you.”

Bruce explained so quietly, so gently, like he would to a child.

Tim felt nauseous. Ra’s flashed right in front of his eyes, everything he did at the League, everything he learned. Torture methods, moves, principles, every task he accomplished, every test he passed, every sick game he was put in, the vibration when the bases exploded.

“You don’t want to thank me.” He nearly whispered.

He saw when Bruce’s breath changed, when his fists tightened just slightly. Tim wanted to crawl out of his skin and burn it.

“I don’t know what happened, Tim. None of us does. Whatever it is, it doesn’t change anything. You saved me. Again.”
A humorless chuckle escaped his lips. “You’re my son, and nothing will change that.”

His kids could go mad, become ruthless serial killers and never look back, bathe in blood and have fun with it, they were his kids. He couldn’t escape it. Neither could they.

Tim shook his head softly, then seemed to think for a moment.

“Why did you forgive Jason?”

It wasn’t an accusation. Just a question. A hopeless, faint question.

Bruce sighed.

“Because he came back.” The words were easy. “He was here. Willing to change into something that I could know better.”

The deal, the boundaries, the way they slowly went back to trusting each other, Tim could remember.

“You’re so disappointed when he kills.”

Tim breathed out. For a moment, he wondered if Bruce actually heard him.

“You’re right, but… usually it’s not about him. I’m disappointed because I couldn’t offer enough solutions to keep him from killing. Because justice in Gotham is still so bad that when he finds a dangerous person, he’d rather kill them than send them to jail.”

His tone was serious but somehow… calming. Honest. So honest that Tim felt like he shouldn’t be listening.

He swallowed dry. Bruce, always taking the blame for everything.

“What if he didn’t have a reason? What if he had other options but… chose to kill?”

“He always has a choice, Tim. Pull the trigger or send them behind bars. He has his own rules, his own way of reading the world that I don’t fully understand, but I’ve learned to respect.”

But it wasn’t just the murder. No, it was about all he was willing to do.

He went to Ra’s even after all he did to Dick, to Damian, even Jason. He left Gotham. Left his brothers. Agreed to become his heir - even if he never meant it. Trained and learned everything they taught him. Used their resources. Ate their food. Wore their clothes.

“You shouldn’t forgive me.” He managed to speak.

“Why not?”

The simple question had a way longer answer.

“Did Damian say something?” He just needed to know if Bruce knew already.

He could almost hear the confusion in Bruce’s body language.

“No,” he assured. “And he did say a lot of things.”

It actually took a chuckle from Tim.

Bruce deserved to know, actually, all of them. And he wasn’t willing to tell them twice.

“Can you call Dick?”

Chapter Text

Dick arrived in ten minutes.

Bruce’s call had been short, but he could hear something strained, just slightly. Maybe the sickness really had made him a big softie, or maybe Dick had finally learned how to read him.

When he arrived, he found Bruce, Jason - chest wrapped like a burrito - and Damian in front of the computers. Bruce was seated, Jason leaned against the desk, and Damian stood with his usual posture.

Then he saw the seat in front of them. Tim.

Sitting down, left wrist lightly wrapped, still in his gear. He didn’t let the surprise stop him, he just walked toward them.

Had Tim told them what he did when Bruce was gone? How sick he was? All he’d said?

The bare thought made him lower his head just slightly as he stood beside Damian.

“What’s going on?” he broke the silence.

“Drake will tell us where he was when Father was gone.”

Dick could be wrong, but he heard a hint of accusation in his tone. He looked down at Damian and found his gaze glued to Tim, a knowing glint in his eyes, like he was there just to make sure Tim would tell the whole truth.

Tim met Robin’s gaze. His hair was longer, curls hugging his neck, some falling from his forehead into his eyes. His skin had always been pale, but the purple under those stormy eyes had never been so dark.

“Do you want to…” Tim gestured vaguely toward the group. Damian tensed. “No, I don’t mean, like, rudely or anything. It’s just… you noticed already, right? Dick’s been training you to be a better detective. So, tell them what you noticed.”

Safe to say all eyes turned to Damian. If Tim had done it on purpose to shift the attention, it definitely worked.

The boy’s jaw clenched before he spoke, green eyes never leaving Tim. “You trained with Grandfather.”

Now the eyes were back on Tim. Raised eyebrows, worried gazes, and Jason looking like he was about to give a thirty-minute lecture.

“What?” Bruce’s voice was low, but so genuinely confused that Dick could’ve laughed if he weren’t part of the same situation.

Tim shifted, sending a nervous glance toward the older man before quickly looking back at Damian.

“Tell us what made you think that.”

Damian’s fists clenched at his sides, but for some reason he didn’t look proud. His gaze now was almost… apologetic.

“Your fighting style changed. It would explain why Grandfather tried to kill you.”

Bruce raised a hand to stop him, and Dick realized he’d never told him about the incident.

“Ra’s tried to kill you,” Bruce stated, low and contained. He waited until Tim nodded. “When was this?”

“Two weeks before you came back.” He didn’t explain further, which made Jason raise an eyebrow. “I figured out where you were, how to bring you back, so I sent it to the JL.”

“And how the fuck did Ra’s al Ghul get involved?” Jason finally asked.

Tim moved the hair out of his face and leaned back. His mouth lost color and he took a breath. “I went after him for resources. To find Bruce.”

Dick grimaced. That was incredibly dangerous. And stupid. Ra’s doesn’t help. It’s never simple. He has thousands of trained killers everyfuckingwhere if he decides he’s tired of you. He’s dirty. A sadist. A cold-blooded murderer.

“Why?” Batman asked.

Dick felt his body go cold.

“Because no one would help,” he answered before Tim could. It took an effort to keep his voice from trembling. “I asked them to.”

Of course Timothy Stubborn Drake would find another way. Especially after he pushed him away. Especially when it was about Bruce. He was just… so scared Tim would burn himself out, go mad, make it worse. He could feel Jason’s glare.

“Why?” Batman repeated.

“Because I didn’t believe him.” Dick forced himself to look at his father. “I didn’t believe you were alive. I thought he was grieving. That giving him hope would make it worse.”

“Yeah, taking Robin and kicking him out was a great way to make it better,” Jason spat.

“I didn’t kick him out.” It was faint. Defeated.

“Dick,” Tim started, then closed his mouth. Opened it. Closed it again. Then sighed, pressing his fingers against his closed eyes. “You made it look like you it” he finally said, quietly.

It hit like ice water.

“You took…” He stopped and sighed again. “I was no one without Robin. That was you saying you didn’t need me in the field. You didn’t need me here. My parents were dead. My team didnt trust me. I had… I had nowhere to go.”

“I thought you were too unstable to go out in the field, I didn’t—”

“Were you stable?” Tim raised his voice. “Were you fine enough to go out with an eight-year-old alone?”

He didn’t answer.

“You didn’t even look at me.” His voice broke. Tim turned just in time so no tears would fall. It was awkward even to think about hugging him. “Ra’s, right?”

Dick sighed. They would talk. About everything. Later.

Batman nodded, and by the frown on his forehead, Dick wondered if they had ever mentioned the Drakes’ deaths before.

“It was a deal. He said he needed an heir. I needed resources. He would train me and I would find you,” Tim said, like it was the most normal thing in the world.“But I didn’t plan to actually get the position, so when I found you I sent everything to the JL and… exploded 105 of their bases.”

Jason choked a laugh. “What?”

“I helped them way too much during that year, Bruce. They were too strong. I couldn’t let them think they actually had my loyalty.” He didn’t take a single breath.

Damian lowered his head, and Dick expected anger. Instead, he saw the boy pressing his lips to hide a smile. What the hell was going on?

“You exploded 105 bases? How many of those do they have?” Jason squeaked.

“A lot.” Damian and Tim said in unison.

Bruce raised his hand again, and the four of them fell silent.

“Alright.” He took a breath. “How long did you stay there?”

“A year.”

Dick could almost hear Bruce’s brain working.

“Your parents?” Was he even listening to the rest?

“Car crash.” Bruce tilted his head. “A month after you were gone.”

The man pressed his eyes shut. Really, how many of those habits had Tim unconsciously stolen? Hard to believe Damian was the only blood-related one.

“Okay. First of all, I’m sorry for your loss, son. I’m sorry you had nowhere to go. I’m sorry you felt that if you weren’t Robin, the family wouldn’t want you.” It was genuine. Dick swallowed his guilt, but he was sure the frown wasn’t just about that.

“Now.” He paused. “You killed a lot of people.”

Jason and Damian instantly opened their mouths, but Bruce just raised a finger. “Before either of you defends him, I just stated what he already knows.”

Tim didn’t answer. His jaw was tense. He looked at Bruce like he was expecting the worst. Dick was ready to grab his brothers and hide them in Blüdhaven until Bruce accepted he wasn’t going to do anything.

“That’s why you didn’t come home.” He couldn’t decide if it was a statement or a question.

“That’s why I didn’t come to see you,” Tim corrected.

Bruce seemed to register that.

“I understand why you did it. The League would be too strong with the information you could give. You wanted to prove to Ra’s that he never had you, that he was tricked. I understand. That doesn’t mean I agree.”

Dick was sure Tim wasn’t breathing.

“But I wasn’t here to give you another direction. You did what you thought was right. I can’t blame you for that.”

“I worked with him. With the League. I followed them. I killed a thousa—”

“To bring me back,” Bruce interrupted. “And I owe you my life for it.”

The family owed him their sanity.

“You’re not proud of it, Tim. I can see that. You’re not proud of going after Ra’s, of training with them, of killing them, and that’s enough. It’s enough for me.”

Tim eased just slightly. He looked around at them. Dick wasn’t in any position to disagree. Jason and Damian surely didn’t care. Alfred… if anything, he’d probably just withhold coffee for a while.

“But you’re grounded,” Bruce stated.

“What?” Tim said so genuinely that this time Dick did laugh.

“So I can keep you here and still parent you for killing.”

“You can’t ground me. I’m emancipated.”

“How?”

“Aren’t your parents dead?”

“You meant orphaned.”

“You signed it,” he pointed at Dick, who quickly raised his hands.
“I did not.”
“No, you did not,” Tim laughed a bit. “I did. With your… signature. And Barbara’s.”

He blue-screened. Just as every single soul in that room.

“When? Why? How the fuck?” Dick choked out. He wasn’t the one to swear, but honestly. What the fuck?

Tim covered his smile with his hands. “Like, a week after my parents died? You were so sad when Lucius said he was struggling to keep WE. I wanted to help, but I couldn’t legally work full time as an orphan, so I just paid a random couple to go with me and sign my emancipation. But then I realized it had no cameras and would be less suspicious if the names on the paper were actually related to me, so I… forged both your signatures.”

No one moved for at least a minute.

“How do you know our signatures?” Dick finally managed. He could feel a headache starting to form.

“I know all the family’s signatures. It’s pretty useful.”

Bruce sighed. Dick was still too stunned to speak. Jason was pretty amused. “I knew there was no way Bruce would agree with that shit-” He muttered to himself.

“Would you teach me?”

“Damian, for heaven’s sake.”

“He’s right, it’s useful.”

“It’s illegal.”

“He just said he exploded a thousand people-”

“Okay,” Bruce interrupted, and Jason had to muffle a laugh. “We’ll revisit the emancipation issue later.
About Wayne Enterprises.”

“You did know about that,” Tim already defended himself.

“I did. Lucius made me aware,” he assured. “He also made me aware you were still working while we couldn’t find you.”

“Yeah, it was still my job. And you were sick.”

“I can type, Tim.”

“Are you guys letting him work?” All three of them raised their hands at the same time.

“No, we’re not.” The voice came from behind.

The four of them pretended they didn’t flinch. Alfred.

“And we’re keeping it that way for a while.”

Bruce wasn’t dumb enough to argue, despite looking like he wanted to. “Now, we have answers and a grounded boy. That’s enough for one night.”

Everyone got the hint and started moving. Tim whispered an “I’ll teach you this weekend” toward Damian, who smiled in a way Dick hadn’t seen in a while.

They still had a lot to talk about—there was no way Ra’s would stop the killing attempts in one go. The League had targeted Tim more than they ever did any of them. Dick wasn’t naïve enough to think things between them were fine.

They weren’t. Maybe they never would be. But it could at least be somehow better.

Not now, though. Tim was grounded. He was back. And... emancipated at seventeen.

Fucking Christ.

Tim didn’t look at him before heading upstairs with Damian. Alfred sent Jason a glare, and Dick was sure it was enough to make him stay the night.

“Dick.” Bruce’s voice made him stop. “Stay for a moment.”

So they weren’t done with the therapy session.

They waited until they were alone. Dick forced himself to face him.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“I fucked up. Badly.” There was no reason to pretend otherwise.

“You’re human, Dick. You were grieving.”

“So was everyone. So was Tim. So was Jason. There was no reason for me to treat him like that, B.”

“I don’t want to defend your actions. It was unfair—you know it, they know it. But I was unfair when I was grieving too.”

Dick sucked in air to protest, but Bruce didn’t give him time. “And Tim forgave me. I know you think I was just rude to him. I wasn’t. I was mean. Cruel. I pushed him away. I hurt him. He was scared of me. And yet, he gave me a chance to change.”

He didn’t answer.

“Damian said he helped in the first months. He saw your state. He understood you weren’t yourself. That doesn’t mean you didn’t hurt him. You were mad at him because he left.”

“I pushed him away.”

“You didn’t mean to. You didn’t think he wouldn’t come back, not with how stubborn he is. But he did. You were mad. He was mad. It’s understandable.”

“Talk to him. It might not be easy. It might not be quick. But it’s worth it. You still can fix this.”

Dick wasn’t so sure. Not when he treated Tim the way he did. Not when Tim treated him the way he did. They acted like strangers now, arguing bitterly. He could barely believe it hadn’t always been like this.

It would be uncomfortable, for both. It was easier to avoid each other. To pretend they’d just changed. But… he missed his little brother. He missed how it was easier before.

“I’ll try.”

He could only hope Tim would be willing to try too.

Bruce opened his arms and Dick barely had to think before leaning into the hug. He would try to fix it—to fix them—even when Tim was the fixer. He’d do it for them.

“You’re not proud of it, son. That’s enough for me.”

A weight lifted from his shoulders and he sniffed. Bruce doesn’t hate me. He doesn’t hate him for tearing the family apart, for pushing Tim away, for not acting like the leader everyone expected him to be. He had been so scared he would.

“Now let’s sleep. Enough emotional talking for one night.”

Dick almost smiled.

“Ra’s won’t stop in one.”

Bruce tensed.

“No, he won’t.”

Chapter Text

Tim had taught Damian how to forge their signatures.

Look, he had promised, ok? And he was grounded - meaning he was stuck in the manor until Bruce said otherwise anyway.

“See? With practice, you won’t even need to think before writing it.” He leaned back on the library couch. “I hid a lot of suspensions from my parents this way.”

“Hm. I can’t imagine why you would have been suspended,” Damian muttered, still copying Dick’s signature. Really, his R in "Richard" had way too many curves.

“I used to skip a lot of classes, especially after I got my camera. It was way more fun admiring my photos than actually sitting through chemistry lessons,” he admitted with a shrug.

Damian paused for a second, then nodded and went back to writing. “I draw during a lot of classes too.” A beat. He glared at Tim. “Do not tell Father.”

Tim chuckled. “I won’t rat you out, Dami. Sleep in peace.”

Learning his parents’ signatures had made a lot of things easier, Ms. Mac’s too. The Waynes had come after, after Robin, after they became family. It had started as a funny little hobby and ended up making some things easier too. Damian would probably be way more chaotic with it, but, eh, younger siblings, right?

“Richard mentioned you liked photography. I’ve never seen any of your pictures,” Damian said, breaking his train of thought.

“Actually, you might’ve. Bruce has two in his room. Jay’s got one in his apartment. Dick ha-used to have one too,” he corrected himself quickly. “It was an old hobby.”

He missed it. The weight of the camera. Adjusting the lens. Getting into the weirdest positions for the perfect lighting. Stalking the Bats.

“The pictures of the Robins? You took those?” Damian asked after a stretch of silence.

Well, Bruce had the Robin ones, one with sixteen-year-old Dick Grayson and another with fourteen-year-old Jason Todd. Batman stood beside them in both, faintly smiling. If he remembered correctly, Dick was walking on his hands, yapping about how stupid some goons were. Jason was sitting on a rooftop, arms crossed, smiling.

Tim loved those photos.

“Yeah. I used to follow them around as a kid to take pictures. That’s how I figured out their identities.”

The last sentence seemed to catch Damian’s attention. He looked at Tim, not asking directly, but Tim could tell he wanted to know. And… he wanted to say it. The nostalgia made it lighter.

“I met Dick when I was five, before the accident with his parents. I got a picture with him, and he promised he’d do his signature flip for me onstage. Was magical. I don’t think he remembers, but I do. Then the whole thing happened, he was adopted by the family next door, and a few years later, Batman had a Robin.”

Long story short. Better that way. Skip the part where he was a panicking fanboy at every gala that Grayson appeared.

“I followed them to take pictures. Then Robin did that flip. I recognized it and the rest was easy to figure out. Then came Nightwing. Then Jason Todd got adopted, and we had a new Robin. Was easy to keep track.”

“You figured out their identities that easily? How… how did Father never notice you following them?”

Tim almost laughed. “I kept a good distance. And in their defense, I had nothing better to do.”
Really, he was a kid with too much free time, rich, unsupervised, and obsessed with Batman. Not everyone in Gotham could say that.

Damian didn’t look satisfied with the answer, but he didn’t say anything for a moment.

“So, you stopped after Todd’s death?”

He was still the only one who never stuttered when talking about Jason’s death. Tim envied him a little.

“Yeah. But mostly because I couldn’t take pictures of Robin and be Robin at the same time. I had to let it go.” And also because he was busy keeping Bruce from dying.

“Never found time to go back.” He had taken a few pictures during holidays at the manor, and maybe, just maybe, even one or two of Dick and Damian during their Batman and Robin era. He thought it might help him to accept the idea if he was going back to photographing Robin instead of being Robin.

It helped reinforce the idea that he was an outsider again.

“Do you still have those pictures? From back then?” Tim hadn’t expected the question, but he nodded. “I would like to see them.”

Tim actually looked surprised. Damian? Really? But… sure. Maybe he just wanted them for study. “Of course,” he muttered, glancing at the paper. Damian had already moved on to Bruce’s signature.

He wasn’t sure when exactly they had gone from murder attempts to this, but… he was glad they had.

“It’s good to have you back,” Damian said simply.

Dick did manage to teach that kid some communication. Impressive.

“You guys were doing fine without me.”

“We weren’t.” It was fast. “I wasn’t. You… concerned me when you didn’t come back.”

Tim felt his fingers go cold. His gaze dropped to the floor.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t fair. I was just…”

“Mad because I was Robin,” Damian completed. “I was too.”

That made Tim frown.

“I thought you wanted it.” Wasn’t that the reason behind the murder attempts?

“I did. But not like this.” Damian took a breath, the kind of ugh-I-have-to-do-emotions breath. “I used to think Robin was my birthright. But then you were already there, and… you were so good. Everything Father could have asked for. A detective I could never be. The most solved cases. Your fighting style matched the family perfectly. You had a great public image, and you were socially skilled.”

He seemed to push the next words out.

“Father didn’t need me. I realized that as soon as I arrived, and I was so mad you had ruined everything I was raised for." His grip on the pen grew tigther "I tried to prove myself better than you. But I couldn’t. I felt like I had to fight you for your spot. But then, you stepped back. No argument, no challenge. You just… stepped back.”

“It gave me the space to realize. for them to show me I had a place in the family. Not as Robin. Just… as me. Without having to fight for it. It changed a lot of things. I understood that Robin would one day be mine, and I wanted to be worthy of that. And I was okay with it because you were a great Robin.”

Tim didn’t know whether to feel honored or resentful. He had never been sure if he had a place in the family without fighting for it.

But Damian thought he was a great Robin.

“But then Dick took it from you,” Damian added. “I felt like he gave it to me just to punish you. Not because I deserved it. Not because I was ready.”

Deep down, Damian had hoped for a moment when Tim would pass him the mantle. That he would be chosen.

“I saw how much it hurt you. Robin’s not supposed to make you feel like that.”

Then Damian went back to practicing signatures like he hadn’t just gutted him with words.

Tim felt like his feelings were spiraling in a chaotic loop.

No one had given him the mantle. He stepped into it. Dick was the first, the angry one, the acrobat, the one to give the name, the colors, the persona, the one to light up Batman towards more than just a shadow.

He did gave it to Jason. He offered his suit after seeing Bruce train him. Jason was the most reckless but also the most empathic, the Crime Alley knew he was one of theirs, he helped further than just stoping robbers, he gave hope to more people than just Batman.

Than he was killed by a clown. A clown who made a whole city hunted from losing their little bird.

And that included Tim.

Jason was killed. Gotham mourned. Bruce broke. So Tim insisted, again and again. Until Bruce trained him. Until he stayed.

Dick accepted him as a brother. But as Robin? He always looked for Jason in the suit. They all did.

He thought he had done what it took to stay. He thought he was never as good as the others.

But Damian thought he was a great Robin.

“I was never mad at you,” he said after a moment. “I was mad because Dick made it seem like it was nothing. He just gave it to you.”

It made him feel like he had never mattered. Like he was always meant to be replaced. Like Dick was just waiting for an excuse.

“I wasn’t nothing.”

“It wasn’t,”

Tim wasn’t sure when the tears appeared, but he wiped them away quickly.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Damian repeated.

And Tim was glad he pretended not to notice him sniffing.

Damian was struggling to figth aside Bruce. When Dick trained him as Robin he trained him to fight aside him, not Bruce, and it was way more different than he expected.

That’s how a simple patrol ended with a Robin being stitched up. Damian expected Bruce to be where Dick would be, he wasnt, obviously.

“What’s going on down there?” Tim dared to ask.

Dick was sitting on the couch, looking way more guilty than usual.

“Bruce is trying to apologize, but at the same time trying to scold Damian to pay more attention to their training, and at the same time just... lost on what to do,” he said without looking at him.

Tim hummed. “It doesn’t have a lot to do with it. He’ll have to get used to fighting alongside Bruce all over again. It won’t happen overnight.” A year of training isn’t gone in one night.

“I know, we know, it’s just frustrating since he got hurt.” Tim could see Dick beating himself up over it. He couldn’t care as much as he should.

“It will get better,” he assured flatly.

He could see the exact moment his brother grew annoyed.

“Can you be less like this?”

Tim was already throwing his hands up.

“Can you stop hating me?” he snapped back. Everything he does is wrong, jeez.

Dick opened his mouth to argue, but sighed instead, leaning back on the couch. He ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't hate you," he said firmly.

"I don't hate you either, but I can assure you I used to like you more."

It's not hate. Tim could never hate Dick, never, but he definitely does not like him right now.

Dick chuckled, bitter. “Yeah, I can get that.”

And there it was, the tension, the metallic taste in his mouth, the numbness in his fingers. When did talking to his brother become such a stressful experience?

“I want it to change, Tim.” Dick still couldn’t face him. “I really do, but I need you to tell me how.”

The last words were nearly whispered. Tim wanted to shout at him for sounding so vulnerable, for forcing him to ease.

“I don’t know, Dick. I don’t need apologies. I know you weren’t yourself, I saw it, I know...” But does he? Does he really know if Dick ever considered him as a Robin? As an equal? As his brother, just like he did with Damian?

“Why did you give it to him?”

The question felt like it was scratching his throat raw. Dick looked like he wanted to disappear.

“Because I was scared.” He flinched. “I was scared that he would go back to the League, that he wouldn’t be able to move on. I planned... I planned to talk to you before, so we could do it together, because Bruce was dead, and Damian would never be Robin. He would never experience it. He would never have it.”

And God knows how much that boy needed it.

“But then you brought up that theory and I was so scared that you would lose yourself just to give us a fake hope that I... I said that.” His voice was shaky, choked.

Tim took a breath. “You didn’t even look at me.”

He swallowed a lump in his throat. “You threw me away and you didn’t even look at me.”

“I didn’t-” Dick pressed his face against his palms. Tim was at least a bit better knowing he wasn’t the only one crying.

“I don’t know what I expected, Dick. I was tired, everything was too much, and talking to you seemed like the only way.” He kept his voice quiet. “I know I sounded crazy. I just... I didn’t think you, of all people, would react like that.”

He expected a pity look, a worried gaze, a hug. Not that.

“I know I put us in a complicated situation, that I could be really wrong. But... you left me.”

Now he was the one to look away. The tears were embarrassing, and he couldn’t get rid of the lump in his throat.

“You changed and... and I wanted my brother back. I thought that bringing Bruce back would fix everything, but... we changed.”

Tim changed. Dick still despised him.

Dick finally looked at him. His own eyes were red, wet. He didn’t disagree.

“And it’s okay because people change, it’s fine. I just... I’m just not ready to lose you.” It took painful effort not to sob.

The flying boy. The Robin. His first brother. The one who did sleepovers and tried so hard to make him feel welcome when Bruce was doing nothing but pushing him away. The man who taught him how to do a flip and walk on his hands.

He wasn’t ready to let that go. To accept that it had changed. He was too selfish to do so.

Dick stood up, shoulders slumped, and pulled Tim into a hug.

Tim sobbed. He was pretty sure his brother did too.

“You didn’t lose me,” he whispered against his hair. Tim really wanted to believe it.

“I was mad because you left. And I was so worried, so damn worried,” Dick kept going. “Every time we talked, I felt like I messed up. I was mean. I’m sorry.”

“You weren’t mean.”

“I wasn’t your brother.”

There was no argument to that. But hearing Dick admit it... it actually did something.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t. You’re my brother, Tim. My little brother. The one I found first. No matter how much Bruce says otherwise.”

It actually pulled a shaky chuckle from Tim.

“You always will be. Can... can we just try to fix this? Just a bit?”

Because Tim was right. They changed. But when Jason changed, he was still his brother. Dick could only pray Tim was willing to do the same for him.

The boy nodded against his chest. “Yeah. We can try.”

It wouldn’t happen overnight. But it was already better.

The whole family had changed, and the whole family was readjusting.

They could give it a try.