Archive of Our Own ^beta

He doesn’t realize it all at once, of course. It’s a slow, agonizing process with no end in sight. Tim figures that the first push came from Barbara. You would think it was the punch that started it, but no, it was really Barbara.

_______________________

Barbara has been texting Tim for hours now. He just wants to sleep. 

Tim types out a message, squinting where he lays on his side in the dark.

Tim scrunches up his face. The motion makes his bruise twinge.

Tim’s stomach tightens, and he smushes his face into his pillow before he responds.

Tim is about to pass out to get away from this uncomfortable conversation when he gets another text. It’s Cass this time.

The text sends his stomach flipping. Cass usually isn’t the type to get affected by family drama. If she’s getting a funky read on Bruce… that could be a problem. But Tim doesn’t see the urgency. It's not like anyone got hurt.

Tim doesn’t text Damian.

_______________________

One week later, his phone dings. An old rerun of Grey’s Anatomy is playing on his laptop because Steph has been telling Tim to watch it for years. It passes him by without making any impression whatsoever. He grabs his phone where it sits next to him on the couch and raises his eyebrows.

Tim considers this, tempted to say something along their usual lines of conversation, but recognizes an olive branch when he sees one. He wonders if Barbara nagged Damian into making contact. Before he can decide on an approach, his phone dings again.

Tim huffs and replies, his chest unclenching even though he wasn’t aware of ever tensing up in the first place.

The delay is long enough that Tim wonders whether Damian has fallen asleep. He pulls his laptop back into his lap, but he suddenly can’t focus. He isn’t thinking anything in particular. Just anxious, wondering what sort of transformative personal revelations Damian might be having in the middle of the night.

Tim turns off Grey’s Anatomy, mentally setting aside a couple of moments that he could recall to Steph later to prove that he at least tried to watch it, which is a good distraction until he slumps into bed.

_______________________

Whatever the deal was with Bruce and Bane, or whatever (it had kind of whooshed by Tim, much like Grey’s Anatomy had), it’s over and things more or less return to normal-ish.

 Tim, eventually, comes back to patrol with the bats, and then joins them in the cave after. He’s been purposely avoiding Bruce for a while as a means of passive aggressive punishment. Bruce may or may not miss him as a person, but Tim knows for certain that Bruce has been hurting from the lack of Tim’s contributions to the team.

 But, of course, the man isn’t going to apologize. The closest he’s gotten was when, during the first patrol on which Red Robin came near enough, he made eye contact and nodded. Whatever the fuck that was supposed to communicate. Regret? Apology? Approval? Nothing at all because he was stretching his neck and he wasn’t actually looking at Tim at all because damn mask lenses ?

 Whatever, Tim doesn’t see the point of his little strike anymore. He’s over it.

 So, now he’s getting back into his civvies in the cave’s locker room, unshowered and thinking about how much he doesn’t want to drag himself home. He could shower here, sure, but he just prefers his own shower. Maybe this is a pettiness holdover.

 Bruce isn’t back yet--he’s wrapping up some stuff with Gordon while he sent everyone else home.

 “Drake.”

 Tim turns to see Damian standing in the doorway, freshly showered. “Sup, Damian.”

 Damian makes a face and turns his face away, but doesn’t leave.

 Tim gives him time. He slowly stuffs everything into his bag, does a couple of cool-down stretches. He sits on a bench, giving Damian more time by scrolling through his phone.

 “Drake,” Damian repeats.

 Tim looks up.

 “Why did you avoid us?”

 Tim frowns. “I wasn’t avoiding you specifically--”

 “I know,” Damian says impatiently. “You were avoiding Father. Why?”

 Tim knows the easy answer, ‘because he punched me in the face like a dick,’ is not the answer Damian wants.

 “Because I needed space and was probably also being a little petty and dramatic,” Tim says, eyeing the Demon before looking down at his phone again. He senses Damian still has something to say.

 “So it wasn’t because you were… because you were concerned?”

 “...Concerned?”

 Damian avoids Tim’s eyes.

 “Damian. Concerned for Bruce?” Tim swallows. “For you?”

 “For yourself,” Damian says quickly.

 Tim’s stomach flips. “No, it’s fine, Damian. I’m not scared of Bruce, no matter what an asshole he might be, alright? I can handle myself, and so can you,” Tim says quickly, unsure what exactly he’s implying or what he’s feeling.

 Damian nods quickly, stiffly. “Yes. Of course.” He turns and walks out.

 Tim takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out through his mouth, willing himself to relax. He isn’t sure why this conversation made him so tense. This is just another episode on the Bruce Being Bruce show. 

He walks out, bag over his shoulder, feeling even more bone tired than he was after he first changed. Damian seems to be spacing out for once, standing near a guardrail that ran along one of the cave’s precipices, staring into the abyss on the other side. This fucking family.

Tim thinks he might regret doing this, but he knows he’ll be even more pissed at himself if he feels like he passed up a chance to move his relationship with Damian officially and firmly out of the He Might Still Try To Murder Me stage that they’d been in for the last few years.

“Hey,” Tim says.

Damian looks over, wary and confused.

“Do you… want to spar?” Tim says, finding the sentence as it leaves his mouth.

Damian’s face screws up. “Why?”

Tim knows that Damian knows that this is a proposed bonding activity. But Tim knows Damian probably wouldn’t tolerate the outright statement of such from anyone but Dick.

And Dick is, well. Not here.

“It’s a good cool-down. Plus, it’s something to do until Bruce gets back. I know that you want to debrief with him before you go to bed.”

Damian nods. “True. Then yes. We can spar.” 

Tim follows Damian to the sparring arena. Damian pulls down a katana from the weapons wall.

“Uhhhh--” Tim says.

Damian tosses the sword at Tim. On instinct, Tim dives to the side in a cartwheel. The sword clatters loudly on the ground.

Tim looks up. Damian looks from Tim, to the katana, to Tim, and raises a sardonic eyebrow. “Incredible.”

“Shut up,” Tim says, and stoops to take up the katana.

Damian takes down another sword for himself and strikes a cool get-ready pose.

Tim strikes a pose he remembers from a Star Wars poster. Damian barely chokes back a laugh. Tim narrows his eyes. 

God, please let this not devolve into something shitty, Tim thinks.

Damian surges forward, Tim dodges. Damian makes a swipe, Tim blocks.

“Nice,” Tim says out loud to himself.

Damian shakes his head as they circle each other, swords still raised.

“What?” Tim says. “I’ve barely used these. This is like if you tried to keep up with Dick on the uneven bars,” Tim says, and immediately regrets it when Damian’s face falls.

Before Tim can stutter out an apology, Damian attacks again, and Tim gladly chooses silence as they spar.

Tim wonders where Bruce is. This is taking longer than he expected. He really wants to go home.

Tim and Damian stand apart after a few minutes, both breathing hard. Tim gets the feeling that Damian is very much going easy on him, which he has no complaints about.

Damian does a whooshy thing and gestures Tim forward again, which looks really cool.

Tim huffs. “Ugh, that’s so anime.”

Damian attacks again in response, which is fair. He almost immediately does the thing where he wraps (?) his sword around Tim’s and flicks it away. The katana flies through the air and clatters on the ground.

Tim shrugs and starts dodging Damian’s swipes, which are kept very clean and careful, thankfully.

The Batmobile finally rolls into the cave, and Tim internally sighs in relief. This little play session could only go south eventually, especially with how tired and cranky he’s beginning to feel.

Tim dives for his katana on the floor and whirls to meet Damian. On the next attack, Tim tries to replicate the disarming trick Damian did earlier. He doesn’t quite manage it--Damian’s sword catches the inside of Tim’s arm, and Tim yelps, his sword crashing to the ground along with him. He clutches at the scratch on his arm even though it’s not bleeding much.

Damian steps back immediately, face pinched, opens his mouth to--

“Damian!” Bruce roars, suddenly right behind Damian.

Damian jumps so badly that he drops his sword, and before Tim can even say anything, Bruce grabs Damian by the neck and takes one long stride to slam Damian into the wall.

“What did you do to Tim?” he snarls. His cowl is down. Tim can’t see his face from where he is on the floor, but he can imagine.

Damian’s mouth is opening and closing, his body shaking, eyes wide.

“Answer me!” Bruce demands. “What did you do to him?”

“Bruce,” Tim says, scrambling to his feet. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

Bruce doesn’t move, his eyes still boring into Damian, and Damian staring back like a deer in the headlights.

“Bruce,” Tim says louder, “We were sparring. It’s just a scratch. I’m fine.” 

Slowly, Bruce lowers his hand from Damian’s neck, straightens up.

Damian’s eyes don’t leave his father’s, seemingly frozen.

Bruce steps back, backs away, and maybe he says something, maybe he apologizes, but Tim doesn’t hear it over the pulse pounding in his ears. He can’t look away from Damian’s face. As soon as Bruce is out of Tim’s line of vision, Tim walks slowly to Damian, who hasn’t moved, his eyes focused on nothing.

“Damian,” Tim says quietly.

Damian looks up at Tim, expression hard, and then darts up the steps to the manor.

Tim doesn’t follow. Damian is the type to need a lot of space.

Bruce has already disappeared into the locker room. Tim considers standing his ground here, waiting until Bruce comes out and giving him a piece of his mind. Giving him what for. First punching Tim, and now this.

Tim knows that in a perfect world, or at least in a storybook world, that would be a satisfying and productive thing to do. Here, in reality, he knows better. If Bruce. If he really. If Tim really thinks Bruce might be. Be.

(Which Tim doesn’t want to think about, but....)

If he is, and if Damian really does need to be protected, then the least possible productive thing Tim could do would be to confront Bruce, because that would just get taken out on Damian.

Hell, even without all this heavy shit, whoever happens to be living at the manor usually suffers on some level when Bruce is angry, whether it be from harsh words or glowering looks, and Tim has no desire to contribute to that.

Plus. Even though there’s a growing part of Tim that wants to confront Bruce in a blaze of self-righteous glory, there’s also a much more rapidly growing part of him that’s exhausted and wants no part of this anymore.

Tim books it the hell out of there. 

_______________________

At home, Tim sits with his messaging app open on his phone again. This time, Deep Space 9 reruns are playing. They’re much more to Tim’s taste, though not his favorite Star Trek series by far--but anyway.

Tim, now that he’s calmed down, thinks he was probably overreacting earlier. Damian is fine, and Tim honestly feels kind of validated to know that Bruce would defend Tim so vehemently. Still, Barbara and Cass’ words weigh on him, urging him to act despite his better judgement.

He knows he should text Damian. Again, he’s not really sure how to phrase it. But he can imagine that Damian might have had this exact same problem the last time he and Tim texted. Thus, Tim takes the same strategy Damian did.

Tim waits. He wonders if the kid is still up. Either way, they should be nice messages to wake up to, he hopes. But after a few minutes, a reply comes through.

Tim sits back, feeling something new uncurl in his chest. Damian is… well, terrible, but kind of cool and alright when he isn’t actively trying to physically or emotionally harm Tim. A low bar, admittedly, but one they often failed to clear nonetheless. Now that some of the air is cleared, Tim can see the appeal that Dick saw--Damian’s kind of like a vicious chihuahua. Annoying and loud and violent, but funny and endearing because it’s so pathetically tiny and cute.

Tim shakes his head, clearing it of Damian’s chihuahua fursona.

Anyway, he feels bad for inadvertently causing drama by being there, but he’s simultaneously kind of glad it happened. He has his friends, but Damian doesn’t have much going on for him at the moment, being home and away from his team for the next however long.

Tim sleeps, and dreams of herds of bloodthirsty chihuahuas.

_______________________

Tim just so happens to run into Jason.

Well, okay, maybe he did track him down a bit to a completely different state. Po-tay-to po-tah-to.

“Loving the new getup,” Tim calls from a rooftop away.

“Thanks, I think it brings out my eyes,” Jason responds without missing a beat. Then he immediately tries to run away.

“Wait,” Tim calls, and does a sick flip over to the next roof before giving chase. “It’s not about capes! It’s…. Something else!”

Jason canters to a stop and turns to face Tim. “That makes me even less excited to hear what you have to say.” He doesn’t run, though.

“It’s about… uh.” Tim realizes now that this question will probably not be received well. “It’s a personal question, so…”

Even with the domino, Tim can tell Jason is bugging his eyes out at him. “What the hell, dude?”

“I’m kind of working through a personal transformation and I was hoping your answer would help, so I guess it’s a really open ended question?”

“Haha, are you finally coming out or something? Don’t tell me the old man is a homophobe. Or a transphobe? Who am I kidding, he probably is.” Tim gives Jason a deadpan stare until Jason gives in. “God, okay, but you owe me one.” Jason strides over to the edge of the roof and sits, his feet dangling over the edge. “I get the feeling that this is more of a sitting conversation.”

Tim follows, and braces his palms on either side of himself. It takes him a moment to double-check the words in his head, making absolute certain that he's not wasting this chance.

Jason doesn't rush him, just looks somewhere into the middle distance, seemingly at peace. It makes Tim a bit jealous to see him so relaxed. 

Now confident in the sentence he's constructed, Tim opens his mouth, careful to keep his voice even. “Did you feel safe, when you lived at the manor?” Now that the words are out there, Tim leans forward, looking down at the ground below, waiting. 

Jason doesn't seem surprised to hear this question. He doesn't even look at Tim when he speaks, barely pauses. “Yeah, I did. Not at first. Because it’s not places that made me afraid. It was people. I didn’t know Bruce or Alfred, and I didn’t have a reason to trust them.”

Tim nods. That makes sense. “But then you did?”

“Eventually, yeah. I did.” Jason says. The past tense weighs in the air. “Was that all you wanted to know?”

“Well… would you feel safe coming back to the manor? Even if you were on B’s good side?” Tim hazards, looking at Jason.

Jason huffs. “Hell no. I mean, for one thing, I’ll never really be on his good side again. Try to murder your family once--okay, maybe a few times--and he’ll spend the rest of his life waiting for you to fuck up again. You’ve got it good, Red. I suggest you do your best to keep it that way, because once you step out of line, there’s no going back.”

Tim swallows and looks down at the street below. “Yeah.”

Jason tilts his head back and sighs. “You know he told me that he was a fool for ever believing in me?”

Tim, his stomach churning, turns to look at Jason. “Yeah. I watched his cowl footage.” He’s not sure what drove him to do that. It was exactly what he expected to see and it still upset him anyway.

Jason nods. “Like, the implication being that he regrets ever taking in a street rat like me in the first place, I guess. Real cute, huh.”

Tim nods. “That sucks.”

“Yeah,” Jason agrees. “If Roy hadn’t shown up to stop him…” 

Tim’s fingers fidget against the edge of the roof.

“And the cherry on top is that he hunted me down afterwards, you know, when I could walk again, no thanks to him. He wanted to ‘talk things out’,” Jason said, applying heavy air quotes. “He told me I was never welcome back in Gotham, that Roy was dead, and tried to like, be all dad-ly, telling me to let my feelings out or whatever.”

Jason lowers his gaze and turns to Tim. The eye contact is intense, even through the masks, pinning Tim in place. “And I let him. I hugged him. I still don’t know why I let him do that. Why I did that.”

Tim doesn’t know what to say. Something like grief presses on his throat. “We all do weird shit sometimes. Especially when it comes to Bruce.”

Jason snorts. “Yeah.” He gets to his feet and dusts off his cargo pants. “That all, or did you need more extremely personal confessions from me?”

“No, that--that about covers it,” Tim says, getting to his feet as well.

“What triggered all this heavy introspection?” Jason asks, aiming a grappling hook god knows where, since this is a backwards, uncivilized city that doesn't have multiple gargoyles on every rooftop.

“He punched me,” Tim explains, suddenly realizing how stupid that sounds out loud in their line of work. Batman punching whoever might have the misfortune to be in range is to be expected. It’s kind of his whole thing. “And recently he… he thought Damian hurt me, and he lost his temper over it.” Yeah, this sounds way too underwhelming for Tim to have tracked Jason out of state for it.

Jason eyes Tim. “Sounds bad, if you tracked me down over it. You two watch out for each other. I’d offer to help but, as aforementioned, he told me to go fuck myself.”

“Yeah.” Tim feels hollow, unsure of what he’s even accomplished here.

“You were right, before. This has nothing to do with capes. This problem, this is something that has nothing to do with The Batman. This is something that started with B before he ever became a furry crimefighter.”

“Thanks, Jason,” Tim wheezes.

“Don’t get too used to it,” Jason says before jumping off the roof, but the usual bite in his tone isn’t there.

_______________________

Damian texts Tim in the middle of the day.

Tim is recently arisen from his bed, drinking a cup of green tea and waiting for his hair to dry.

Tim has barely squashed the kneejerk impulse to text back demanding to know if something happened before there’s a knock on his front door. He jumps a little, and then gets up to check. His security cameras show that it’s Damian.

Tim swings open the door. “What would you have done if I said no? Or weren’t here?”

Damian waltzes past him. “I knew you were here.” 

Tim rolls his eyes and latches the door. “I don’t have a lot of food.”

“Not hungry,” Damian says, dropping onto the couch, stretching over as much of the cushions as his tiny body will allow.

Tim bitches internally about this. And, okay, fine, “Where am I supposed to sit now?”

Damian waves his hand dismissively.

Tim sighs and perches lightly on the coffee table. It’s made of glass, and Tim has a vivid image flash through his mind of his ass going through and getting glass all up in there, but thankfully the surface holds. Of course it does. This coffee table probably cost him a stupid amount of money.

Damian, not privy to Tim’s coffee table-related musings, has begun to stare into the middle distance. 

Tim clears his throat, and Damian turns a baleful eye on him. “So do you… What’s up…?”

Damian tuts. “I need nothing from you but your home, Drake.”

Tim interprets this to mean that Damian wants his company, because Damian could, theoretically, run away to a literal other planet if he wanted to get away from Bruce for a while, but he has specifically chosen to come here.

“Rude,” Tim says aloud, taking a deep drink of his tea, as it’s cooling fast and about to get gross.

After a couple more minutes, Tim gets tired of worrying irrationally about his ass going through the coffee table. “Move,” he says, standing and lifting Damian’s legs.

Damian makes a pained face, and Tim plops down onto the far cushion before lowering Damian’s feet onto his lap.

Tim was about to make a quip about something or other, but he notices Damian breathing out in a measured way that means he’s actually in pain.

“Are you injured?” Tim asks quickly, a bit of vigilante coming through in his tone.

“No,” Damian answers.

Tim waits, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

“I am not really injured,” Damian clarifies, “though Father says I am not well enough to go on patrol tonight.”

This is a familiar argument. “Twisted ankle?” Tim asks, knowing it was one of the most common injuries for a Robin, what with all the acrobatics.

Damian half-shrugs, which Tim takes as confirmation.

Tim wonders what caused Damian to not want to recuperate at the house (and travel all the way here on a twisted ankle, jfc). Probably just flared tempers from the old you’re-not-going-on-patrol-and-that’s-final song and dance.

“Well I’m putting on some garbage until I head out for patrol,” Tim says, reaching for the remote and flicking the TV on.

Damian tuts. “I have no interest in trashy entertainment.”

“I’ll let you have the remote,” Tim says, offering him the thing.

Damian eyes it warily.

“I don’t care what you put on, I just like the white noise,” Tim explains, holding the remote closer to Damian. The kid snatches it from Tim after a moment of hesitation and begins flipping through channels. He settles on a nature documentary about some kind of deep sea fish that Tim has never heard of.

Tim senses that Damian is watching him, even though Damian is doing his best to hide it.

“Nice,” Tim says, settling in to watch.

Damian relaxes. Tim wonders if Damian is even aware of his own habits in seeking approval. 

Deep sea fish are fucking scary, Tim soon learns.

_______________________

Tim texts Steph about it, eventually. The idea to do so comes to him late one night, and Tim falls asleep in the middle of listing everything that’s happened. In the lazy light of mid-afternoon, he checks his phone to find several messages from Steph. That’s never a good sign.

Tim frowns and punches out a reply with one hand, rubbing sleep out of his eyes with the other.

Tim throws his phone into his pillows and starts his morning routine. After Tim has had a glass of water and a leftover breakfast burrito, he feels like he might have gone off on Steph more than was necessary, and he promises himself that he’ll make sure he’s fully awake next time he wants to reply to or send an emotionally charged text. But when he digs his phone out of his bed, Steph has already replied.

Tim flops back on his bed. This conversation is making him feel wrong in a way he can’t articulate. They trail off into talking about Grey’s Anatomy (read: Steph asking what Tim thought about Grey’s Anatomy and Tim expertly dodging the questions), but the conversation sticks in Tim’s brain like a bit of popcorn in his molars.

Later that night he does a bunch of googling about childhood emotional neglect with his browser in incognito.

He reads several articles about childhood emotional neglect. The greatest hits of CEN include but are not limited to: causing children to mask their feelings so as to always avoid the appearance of weakness! causing children to avoid intimacy despite longing for it! and causing children to express basically every symptom of avoidant personality disorders through adolescence into adulthood!

Then it finally clicks in his stupid brain.

“Oh,” Tim says out loud into the dark. “That’s why she compared him to my parents.”

_______________________

Damian comes over next week. And the week after. Damian shows up roughly once a week, citing some excuse about injury or boredom or something. Thankfully, he doesn’t mind sitting in silence while Tim works, so Tim has zero complaints. Sometimes they work on cases together. Barbara, being a cyber goddess and all, finds out about this arrangement and texts Tim her approval and thanks. Tim isn’t sure how to feel about that.

One day, Tim digs out his PS4 and boots up Spider-Man.

Damian, though he tries to hide it, is clearly excited about this. Tim offers him the controller after finishing a single mission. Damian snatches it quickly, and starts teaching himself the numerous controls.

“Ah, a fellow gamer,” Tim says. “The few, the faithful.”

“Gaming is a multibillion dollar industry that has arguably become more popular than the movie industry,” Damian says blandly as he swings a pothole cover into a civilian. “Oops.”

Tim shrugs.

They play for hours, trading off the controller every so often.

“Wanna crash here?” Tim asks. He’s surprised that he hasn’t offered before, since Damian often shows up at ungodly hours.

Damian keeps playing, not answering for a good while. “I’m not sure.”

Tim considers. He wonders if Bruce knows Damian is here (probably). He wonders if Bruce knows how often Damian comes over (maybe).

Tim lets Damian stew in silence through the end of the mission. When Damian passes the controller back, Tim turns off the console and stands, stretching. “Well, I’m going to bed. You’re welcome to crash here, but keep the noise down.”

Damian huffs, but says nothing.

When Tim emerges from his bedroom after a couple hours of sleep, Damian is passed out on the couch, limbs neatly arranged as if he’s in a coffin. 

Tim is surprised by the sudden, overpowering urge to just fucking end Damian. Like, just elbow-drop this motherfucker. The feeling is weird and affectionate, a welcome change from struggling with desires to actually hurt him.

Well, Tim doesn’t know what to do with that, so he settles for throwing a blanket at Damian’s head as hard as he can as he walks past to the kitchen.

Damian squawks like a startled bird and flails accordingly. Tim feels a primal sort of satisfaction. Yes. This is good.

_______________________

Tim ends up getting a couple of broken ribs and a sprained shoulder during patrol. He’s agreed to stay at the manor, at Alfred’s insistence. It’s hard to deny the man anything.

Damian isn’t doing the best either, though his injuries only amount to heavy bruising down his left side. The two of them were caught in an explosion--Damian had run ahead despite Bruce’s orders to stay back. Tim had gone after him, sensing trouble.

Bruce, as always when he is disobeyed, is furious.

“How many times do I have to have this discussion with you,” Bruce growls. He towers over Damian, still wearing the suit.

“I thought civilians were in danger. Robin never abandons civilians,” Damian shoots back, arms crossed, the hood of his Robin getup making him look like the petulant teenager that he is.

“Robin obeys Batman’s orders,” Bruce says, perhaps for the thousandth time in his life.

“That was never true. Not with Richard, not with Todd or Drake.”

Dick’s name seems to be on par with Voldemort these days. To mention his name leaves behind a horrified silence.

“You could have died,” Bruce says, his pitch quieter.

“As could you, any night. I will not disrespect the mantle of Robin because you are afraid.”

Bruce takes a half step forward, and Damian half a step back. “Do you know what I sacrificed to bring you back? The danger we all put ourselves through? And you want to just throw that away?”

Damian falters, but then rallies. “I won’t use my resurrection for anything less than making Richard proud, then.”

Tim is afraid that Bruce will interpret this as Damian respecting Dick more than he does his own father (which may well be the case), but to his relief, they both sizzle out.

Tim and Alfred, who have been observing the argument like a tennis match from the med bay, glance at each other sadly. They all miss Dick, obviously, but Damian has probably been taking it the hardest, even though he’s the one trying more than anyone to pretend that he’s unaffected.

The argument about safety and duty is a familiar one that every version of the Dynamic Duo has gone through. There is nothing new under the sun.

Bruce turns to the two of them, pulling his cowl back. “Can you two give us a minute?”

Tim catches Damian’s eyes and raises his eyebrows in question. Damian shrugs miserably, obviously aware that there’s no getting out of this conversation either way.

Tim gets to his feet and lets Alfred take his hand to wrap it around Alfred’s elbow. The man takes Tim all the way upstairs to the guest room that Tim always stays in, makes sure he’s comfortable, and leaves Tim to fall asleep. Tim passes out within minutes.

_______________________

The next morning, Tim is the first to join Alfred at breakfast.

As Tim works through some oatmeal, he wonders where the hell Damian and Bruce are. They usually come down before him. 

Bruce shows up eventually, and Tim regards him with a curious eye. He looks tired, like he barely got any sleep. There’s a new bruise on his jaw. Tim hides his smirk. Looks like Damian did just fine.

“Where’s Master Damian?” Alfred asks, as he takes away Tim’s now empty bowl.

Bruce grunts and shrugs. Tim wants to make a comment about how childish this is, but can read Bruce’s mood well enough to know that would only end in ruin.

“I’ll fetch him down,” he says, and vanishes.

Time ticks by, but Damian still doesn’t show. Tim finds some really awful memes and spams them all to Kon via text, looking forward to the angry replies he’ll get when Kon finally checks his messages. Who knows when that will be, these days. 

Bruce doesn’t start a conversation, and Tim doesn’t either, getting lost in his thoughts (read: the sauce). As long as Tim doesn’t mention Selina, everything will be fine.

Tim misses Kon--sometimes, he even forgets that Kon came back from the dead. But he’s off with his wife or whatever now. The thought makes Tim feel old and sad. His lonely ass wants to be wooed, dammit. The urge to drop everything and disappear to some faraway place grips him. It’s a feeling he gets more and more these days. Even if he travels all over the world for cases, he never really feels like he’s getting anywhere. 

Eventually, Alfred comes down, expression unreadable. “Master Bruce, may I take you aside for a moment?” 

Something is wrong. The last of Tim’s sleepiness evaporates, leaving him alert and anxious. He searches Alfred for clues but sees nothing amiss. Regardless, it stands to reason that whatever is going on has to do with Damian. But Damian isn’t hurt or dying, because if so, Alfred wouldn’t be asking to speak to Bruce privately about it.

“What happened?” Tim asks.

“It’s alright, Tim,” Bruce says gravely. He looks resigned, like he knew this would happen, and follows Alfred to the kitchen, where the door latches shut with a soft click.

“That’s not reassuring,” Tim says to an empty room. He has to go check on Damian, see what put that horrible blank expression on Alfred’s face.

Just as he’s getting up, Tim hears Damian’s footsteps behind him. Tim turns to Damian, his mouth already moving. “Morning, Da--”

He trails off, mind working through what he sees in a split second.

Damian looks like he was trying his best to be casual, wearing a Gotham Knights jersey and yoga pants. He meets Tim’s eyes without hesitation. On his cheekbone, there’s a red bruise in the shape of a hand. Something about it made Tim’s detective brain itch, begging him to examine it further.

The second passes, and Tim sucks in a breath. “Morning, Damian,” he repeats.

“Good morning,” Damian says primly, and takes his usual seat at the table. He pulls out his phone and starts playing a puzzle game like nothing is wrong.

Tim can’t help staring at the bruise that wasn’t there before he went to bed last night. He has trouble immediately placing what’s off about it before it clicks. The fingertips of the mark reach all the way up to just below Damian’s eye socket, in a way that would not be possible if Damian had been wearing his domino when it happened. When Tim examines the bruise further, he can tell the size and shape of it matches Bruce’s bare hands, rather than his armored gauntlets.

That realization is all it takes for sudden, frightening rage to grip him, its icy claws reaching to his bones and causing a tremor in his fingers. He finally sees what Barbara saw, now that he imagines the scene playing out in civilian clothes, as it probably did.

This was not Batman hitting Robin, a vigilante disciplining his protege. This was a fully grown man, a father, hitting a child. His child. Exactly the kind of thing that they’ve been trained to stop.

“How many times,” Tim says, his voice cold and shaky.

Damian doesn’t look up from his phone, but his eyes narrow. “This is the only time he’s raised a hand to me, outside of a training context. Stop your coddling, it’s not even an injury.”

“Damian,” Tim says, louder and exasperated. He wonders, now, what happened first: Damian’s bruise, or Bruce’s. He wonders if it matters. Why did he think it was funny before?

The door to the kitchen swings open, and Bruce steps through. Tim can glimpse Alfred hovering behind him.

“Damian,” Bruce says sadly, moving towards his son.

Tim finds himself glowering at the man with more disgust and disappointment than he knew he was capable of. Bruce gives Tim a fleeting glance, but his attention is on Damian. 

Damian gives Bruce a long, cold look, and steps back.

“Can I talk to you?” Bruce says, his voice a deep rumble in his chest.

Damian frowns and looks away. He blinks a few times at the ground, shakes his head as if to clear it, and books it out of there.

Bruce falls in close behind without a word to Tim or Alfred.

Tim gets up to follow them, but Alfred’s hand stays him. “Let Master Bruce handle this,” he says, his face solemn.

Tim shakes his head, too angry to formulate any thoughts. Alfred’s hand settles as a grounding weight on Tim’s shoulder. He looks deeply into Tim’s face. Tim stares back, his anger beginning to sour into something like grief. He shakes Alfred’s hand off and steps back.

“Master Tim,” Alfred says placatingly. “You must forgive Master Bruce. We all lose our tempers from time to time. And I promise you this behavior will not continue, if I have anything to say about it.”

Tim just looks at the ground. “You’re enabling him, Al. It’s all you ever do.” The words feel blasphemous leaving his mouth, but once they’re out, he can’t take them back, because he realizes that he means them.

He looks up to Alfred, who regards him with a grieved expression, looking his age for once. Tim hates it. He hates this.

Tim goes up to his guest room and gathers his stuff to leave. When he looks out the window, he can see Damian and Bruce sitting on a bench in the garden, apparently talking. Having a real back-and-forth conversation, not just Bruce lecturing.

Tim pauses to watch them, bag over his shoulder as he peers down at them.

Damian nods at something, and Bruce puts his arm around Damian, pulling him into a half-hug. Damian sinks into Bruce’s chest.

Tim’s chest hurts. He moves away from the window and sits at the foot of the bed, suddenly too tired to move.

He stays there until he hears Damian’s footsteps echoing down the hall outside. That spurs him to jump up and swing open the door, just in time to see Damian moving towards his own room. 

“Dames,” Tim says. Oops. Tim usually tries not to use nicknames unless he’s trying to piss Damian off, but it slips out without his permission.

Damian turns, either not noticing or ignoring Tim’s slip. “Make it quick. I’m not in the mood for any more heart-to-hearts.” His expression is guarded, waiting for an accusation, or a plea.

Tim falters, not sure what it is he needs to say. Once again, Barbara’s advice guides him. “You’re welcome with me any time,” he says firmly. He hopes to god it’s the right thing to tell Damian.

Damian processes this. Eventually, his body language loosens. “I already knew that,” he says, waving a dismissive hand, and disappears into his room.

Tim will take that as a victory.

_______________________

That night, at his own place, Tim considers. He remembers talking himself out of his instincts before, after the whole sword incident. Even now, there’s an insistent voice in the back of his mind arguing that Tim is overreacting, that he’s not being fair.

That’s his dad too, after all. The only one he has left. And hasn’t Tim lost his own temper with the brat plenty of times before?

He texts Barbara about it, asking her to lift the appropriate footage from the cave security cameras. She does it without commentary, and her silence alone is enough to communicate that she already saw what happened and she’s not happy about it. She asks if he wants to watch the footage himself, and he says no. He asks her to store it somewhere that Bruce can’t get at it. Just in case.

He hates this, he hates it so much.

The weight of the progress that Tim has already made with Damian suddenly weighs on him as a responsibility. Tim is the only sibling that Damian has left. Dick is off being a misogynistic amnesiac, Jason rightfully won’t interact with any of the bats after Bruce beat him within an inch of his life, and Cass is inaccessible, living in Hong Kong and only visiting occasionally. He sees now why Barbara has impressed upon him a sense of urgency.

He texts her again.

The next day, Tim picks up Red Dead Redemption 2 and sends Damian a picture of himself holding it with a cowboy sticker on his head over snapchat. Damian actually types out “tt” over text, which Tim thinks is hilarious. Damian accuses Tim of a transparent attempt to instigate a bonding activity (his words, not Tim’s), and Tim doesn’t deny it.

He can do this. He can .

_______________________

Their routine continues as usual. Damian shows up roughly once a week, and they usually play video games, or do casework. It’s a sort of normalcy that is unfamiliar to Tim. He guesses that it’s new for Damian, too: when he had Jon and Dick in his life, he tended to only have a tolerance for work, not play. Tim can remember Dick stressing about Damian not acting like a “real kid.” Tim wasn’t very sympathetic about Dick or Damian’s feelings at the time.

Tim is kind of grateful that he has Damian to focus on, instead of whatever his own feelings are towards Bruce. He wonders if Dick poured so much effort into his relationship with Damian as a means of escapism, rather than the superhuman goodness that Tim tended to assume of him.

Tim manages to pretend nothing is wrong, and carries on with his usual level of contact with Bruce. He tells himself it’s so that he can watch out for Damian. To be fair, he does go out of his way to keep them from having time alone when he can. And Tim would hate to cut Alfred out of his life, misgivings or not. 

But that tentative calm can’t last for long.

Tim is getting home from his day job when Damian texts.

Tim does not like that last message. Not perfectly punctuating a text? Something has to be up. He wonders how the hell Damian plans to transport everyone/thing here. In fact, Tim bothers to wonder how Damian has transported himself here every time. Surely he doesn’t walk here. Maybe he usually gets an Uber?

An hour later, there’s a loud knock on the door. Tim, who is putting the finishing touches on his Get-All-My-Shit-Off-The-Floor project, swings it open, dusting his hands off on his jeans.

Damian is standing in the doorframe, one hand holding Titus’ collar and the other holding a cat against his chest. Titus is eagerly sniffing at Tim, while Alfred remains silent.

Tim is so distracted by the animals that it takes him another second to register Damian’s face. It looks like he’s been crying. Shit.

Tim moves out of the way so that Damian can walk in, animals in tow.

“How did you get here?” Tim asks, if only to avoid asking about Damian’s wellbeing, which he knows would be unwelcome. His chest feels like it’s in a vice. What could have happened to drive Damian to bring his pets? Titus doesn’t even have his leash, and Alfred isn’t in a cat carrier, so Damian must have left in a tizzy.

“I drove,” Damian says tiredly, stroking Alfred’s head and looking tired.

“You drove.”

“Just the town car,” Damian says dismissively, as if that explains everything. Alfred squirms, and Damian puts him down. The cat scurries under the couch.

Tim kneels in front of the dog and lets him sniff his knuckles before administering a thorough ear-rub. “You remember me, boy. That’s it.” Titus loses interest in Tim and trots off. Tim tries not to watch nervously as the dog canvasses the apartment.

Damian, now free of both his burdens, drops onto the couch with a huff and turns to Tim.

“Titus goes out at dawn,” Damian says. Tim rifles in his side table drawer and hands Damian a notepad and pen, and the kid takes it and starts writing instructions in neat print. “He gets fed twice a day, before his morning walk and at dusk. I… I didn't bring any of his toys. I’ll bring them next time. And this is the food brand he eats.” 

Damian glances at Tim, and then down at the notepad. “It’s pretty expensive. If you like I can--”

“It’s cool,” Tim interrupts.

Damian nods and keeps going. “This is Alfred’s food. He usually supplements his diet by hunting around Manor grounds, but he should be alright without fresh meat for a while. I’ll bring his litterbox next time. Do you have cereal boxes and rice?”

Tim nods. He’s reasonably sure, but if not, it’s a non-issue to just go buy a real litterbox.

“That will do as a makeshift litterbox until then. I can compensate you for--”

“Damian,” Tim scolds. “You don’t need to pay me back for everything.”

“I have gained enough respect for you to not want to be a drain on your resources,” Damian says, gripping the pencil tight, staring hard at his list.

“And I respect you enough to not mind doing this for you,” Tim shoots back. ‘Respect’ is a weird word to describe this thing they have going where they snipe at each other regularly, but Tim will take it. Even in this serious situation, his heart floats a little lighter in his chest at what seems to be verbal approval from Damian.

It must show in his face, because Damian scowls. “Don’t go feeling all special." 

“I reserve the right to feel as special as I want, bastard,” Tim deadpans.

Damian gathers himself, and finishes telling Tim all the ins and outs of caring for his animals. Really, it’s amazing that he trusts Tim enough to watch them at all. These animals are Damian’s pride and joy.

In the ensuing silence, Damian sinks back into the couch, glaring at nothing. It feels like Damian is waiting for Tim to do something. To ask what happened or to tell him what to do.

Ever since Tim’s started feeling sibling-ly, he’s been fighting with a constant mantra of What Would Dick Do? While he can admit that Dick was successful in taming the shrew, as it were, he doesn’t want to just copy the man. If Tim’s going to be Damian’s big brother (eugh), it will be as himself, and not as the artificial replacement of someone who wasn’t around anymore. Still, sometimes he uses Dick’s imaginary behavior as a springboard for his own.

What would Dick do here? Maybe offer some comfort unsolicited, or start demanding that Damian stay here. Is that what Damian needs? Is it something Tim would do? He isn’t sure. Tim wants data; he’s a detective, dammit, but he’s also the only member of this stupid family with any sense of subtlety, so.

“What about Bat-cow?” Tim asks, with a tone that gave Damian the option of waving it off as a joke or answering it as a serious question.

“I had to leave her behind,” Damian says, voice wobbling on the last word.

“...I don’t think I can take care of a cow,” Tim muses, frowning.

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

Tim thinks over everything he’s seen so far.

“You’ve implied this is a temporary arrangement. Do you plan to take them back to the manor?”

“No. I was thinking of establishing a permanent home for them elsewhere.”

“Are you trying to move out at the ripe old age of thirteen?” Tim asks, eyebrows raised.

Damian shrugs.

“Always trying to one-up me,” Tim grumbles.

Damian huffs, and Tim thinks it may be a laugh.

“So, I’m guessing Bruce was giving you a hard time about taking responsibility for your pets,” Tim says, and when Damian doesn’t contradict him, continues, “Maybe you wanted to go back to the Titans? And threatened to give them away?”

Damian shrugs again, eyes shifting.

Tim hopes so, because any other option is worse. “I don’t mind watching them,” though that’s kind of a lie, because it’s a pain and he’s worried they’ll destroy something or he’ll kill them on accident, “so you don’t need to like, try to live on your own or whatever you’re planning.”

“I appreciate it,” Damian says stiffly.

“You staying?” Tim asks.

Damian stays silent. Tim waits, getting the feeling that the kid is a kettle on a hot stove about to start screeching.

Eventually, he does.

“I know what you’re thinking about Father,” he says, jumping to his feet and pointing at Tim in accusation. “What you’re all thinking! You all think I’m weak!”

Tim moves to his feet as well, face blank. He assumes that included in the “all” are probably Barbara and Cass. Titus moves to Damian’s side and whines anxiously.

“Nah,” Tim answers. 

“You do! And I can defend myself. We all can. This is ridiculous!” Damian continues, stomping his feet. “I come here despite him trying to stop me. I can defend myself! I’m not a child, and I’m not helpless!”

Titus barks at nothing, looking confounded. The cat is still nowhere to be seen--probably hiding.

“Keep it down before we get a noise complaint,” Tim reminds him. “And I know all of that. It’s what I thought, too. Bruce would never actually injure us, and even if he tried, we can easily fight back.”

Damian is breathing hard, looking at Tim with fists clenched and baring his teeth. Tim hopes that he won’t be back on Damian’s shit list by the end of this conversation.

“He wouldn’t,” Damian snarls. “He’s never hurt me. I know that you’re always assuming, wondering, whether I’m lying about my injuries.”

Tim doesn’t deny this, but he is at least relieved to know, since he doesn’t see a lie in Damian’s face.

“You’re all trying to paint him to be something he isn’t.”

Tim waits for more, but it seems like Damian has finally run out of steam.

“Do you feel safe there?” Tim asks.

“Of course I do,” Damian hisses. “Don’t be an imbecile.”

Tim swallows, praying he’s about to say the right thing. “Safe like you felt safe with your mother?”

Damian seems to be in shock for a second, and then looks devastated. 

Tim feels awful, but he adds one more thing. “I’m not saying you’re actually unsafe. No one’s saying that.” Even if Tim thinks it sometimes. “I know you could be safe in the middle of a gunfight. But your mental and emotional health matter as much as your physical health. You deserve to feel safe.”

Damian glares petulantly at the coffee table, and starts blinking back tears. 

Tim hates this, because it makes tears well up in his own eyes. “Can I hug you?”

Damian’s face scrunches up like he’s drinking vinegar, but he nods.

Tim moves in and wraps his arms around Damian carefully. When Damian responds in kind, Tim tightens his grip.

“I miss Richard,” he says brokenly into Tim’s chest.

“Me too,” Tim says, putting his face in Damian’s hair. He wishes he didn’t have to be the adult. Hell, he’d even take Jason being here. But it’s just the two of them now.

“Father loves me,” Damian whispers.

“Yeah, he does,” Tim agrees. “He loves all of us, I think.”

Damian takes a deep breath and lowers his arms. Tim releases him and steps back.

“Sorry, Titus,” Damian says, crouching to nuzzle his forehead against his dog’s cheek. Titus licks nervously at Damian’s face, and Damian giggles shakily. “Be good for Drake.”

“Alfred?” Damian calls to the apartment as he stands. Alfred slinks out from behind the TV. Damian walks over and strokes the cat’s head. “Be good.”

Damian faces to Tim, and nods. “I apologize for the outburst. Text me if any problems arise.”

Tim takes a centering breath, and relaxes. “Same time next week?”

“I never show up at the same time, you fool,” Damian says, rolling his eyes as he turns to the door. 

Tim laughs under his breath. “See ya ‘round.”

_______________________

Steph invites Tim over because she needs help with a science test. Tim settles at the little dinner table under the low fluorescent light while Steph digs through her backpack.

“You had a chance to say ‘come over my parents aren’t home’ and you didn’t take it,” Tim says sadly.

“Well I didn’t know she wouldn’t be home!” Steph pulls out an overflowing binder and slaps it on the table. “She got called because the night shift person didn’t show.” 

Tim makes a noise of disgust. “I hope they get fired.” 

Steph shrugs as she opens the binder and flips through the contents haphzardly. “The paycheck will be pretty sweet, and she should be home any minute. And who knows? Maybe that person got injured or had an emergency or something.”

Tim makes a ‘yeah right’ expression but doesn’t comment further. “So what’s giving you trouble?” Tim asks, leaning forward on his elbows. “You’re a whiz at chemistry and physics already.” He glances at the page she has open. “...Wait. Cultural anthropology?”

Steph bites her lip and raises her eyebrows. “Social science is still science.”

Tim frowns. “I’m not sure how helpful I’ll be with that. Why did you ask me of all people?”

“Okay, you got me,” Steph says, stretching. “I might have said that to get you over here. It’s impossible to hang out with you anymore. If you’re not busy, you’re sleeping.”

“Or trying to bond with a demon baby,” Tim mutters.

“Yeah, that too,” Steph says, grinning as she leans back in her chair. “Not gonna lie though. If you could proofread my paper that would be fantastic.” 

Tim chuckles and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah, okay. Let me see the prompt.”

About an hour passes. Tim is relieved at how easily him and Steph still get along despite all the stuff that happened. Dying and un-dying and all that. Somehow, the conversation slips into talking about Barbara.

“She’s such a badass,” Steph says reverently, hands laced together under her chin. 

“Probably more than anyone I know,” Tim agrees. “Hey, what was the word requirement again?”

“Two thousands words.”

“Then I think you’re good,” Tim announces.

Steph sighs in relief. “Thank god. But, yeah, she’s just… really intense, you know?”

Tim nods, sensing that Steph just needs him to listen.

“Like, I couldn’t ask for a better mentor, obviously. I’ve already learned so much. But most of the time I feel like one day she’s gonna be like ‘oh actually you’re the worst, get out of my sight.’ Or that I’m gonna make a horrible mistake, and she’ll drop me like a rock.”

Tim nods.

“And I’m trying to balance that with the stuff I’m already learning in class and trying to help out my mom around the house when I can… I don’t know how all these other vigilantes can do this day in and day out without going insane.”

“I feel like you already have to be a little unstable to put on a costume anyways,” Tim says.

“Yeah, I guess,” Steph says. She saves her paper to a flash drive and closes her laptop. “Sorry that I got a little emo there.” 

“Turnabout’s fair play,” Tim says, the final words swallowed into a yawn. 

“Oh man, you can totally go home. I hope this hasn’t upset your schedule or anything.”

“Nah, Damian isn’t going to be over tonight since he’s helping Bruce on a case, and I don’t plan on patrolling since no one likes to commit crime in the freezing cold.”

“Oh yeah, how’s that going?” Steph asks, leaning forward, her hands folded in front of her on the table.

Tim shakes his head. “I don’t want to just dump anything on you…”

“Tim, I promise if I get overwhelmed, I’ll change the subject.”

“Well… it’s bad, I think,” Tim admits. “I feel like every time I see Damian again, he looks more sad and anxious than the last time. But I don’t know, maybe I’m just projecting that onto him.”

“Is he getting hurt?” Steph asks, her eyes narrowing. 

“No,” Tim says. “At least I don’t think so.”

“I want to kick Bruce’s ass, but he’s the kind of guy who causes more problems the more attention you give him,” she grumbles. “Barbara and I talked about trying to get him convicted or something so that he can’t adopt any more kids,” she admits. “Without exposing our nightlives. Though that’s probably a nuclear option.”

Tim nods numbly. “Good to know, I guess.” 

The front door swings open, and from that direction Tim hears a loud, tired sigh of relief.

“Hey, Mom!” Steph says, waving and smiling.

“Tim, what a nice surprise,” Steph’s mom says politely as she hangs up her purse and kicks off her shoes.

“Hello, Ms. Brown,” Tim says. 

Steph’s mom walks over and pulls Steph into her side before pressing a kiss into her hair. “Hey, baby girl.”

Steph leans into the embrace. “How was work?” 

“Oh my god, you would not believe what Ethan did.” The woman slumps into the chair next to Tim, running a hand through her hair.

“Don’t tell me you found him sleeping in the supply closet again!” Steph gasps, with a clear glee for gossip.

“Even better,” Steph’s mom replies with equal excitement.

Tim gets up to leave.

“Oh, sorry if I’m interrupting you two,” Ms. Brown says quickly.

“No, Mom, it’s fine. Tim was helping me with a paper, but we already finished.”

“Yeah, I should head home, I need to get ahead on sleep anyways. Long week ahead.”

“Don’t I know what that’s like,” Ms. Brown groans in sympathy. Her hand grabs Tim’s firmly, and she runs her thumb over his knuckles a couple times. “Thank you so much for helping my amazing daughter. Her attention span is terrible.” 

“Mom,” Steph protests playfully, pushing at her mother’s arm.

“Take care of yourself, alright?” the woman says, looking deep into Tim’s face.

Tim feels like she’s looking through him. He wonders if Steph told her anything about what he’s been dealing with, or if she’s just concerned by nature. Instead of spinning a polite, empty reply, he nods once, seriously.

Ms. Brown lets Tim go as he says his last goodbyes and leaves.

All the way home and in the moments before sleep, he can’t help thinking about the way Steph’s mom acted. His parents never called him by pet names, never initiated casual, affectionate touches. He never got to have an easy back-and-forth conversation with them. 

That word, neglect, hasn’t really left his mind since Steph brought it up weeks ago. 

Growing up, he saw parents in TV and movies that were affectionate, and just assumed that no one was really like that in real life. Even when he saw real parents being affectionate with their kids, he would assume that they were pretending to act like a perfect family for observers.

He’s interacted with Steph’s mom several times in the past. But now that he’s been thinking so much about the way he was treated both with his parents and with Bruce, he really noticed every touch and every kind word from her. Even that small touch on his hand made Tim’s chest swell. He tentatively accepts that emotionally available parents might actually exist.

He starts to imagine what it would be like to have that kind of constant affection and support every single day. He literally cannot imagine Bruce in that role. His parents aren’t much better fits. With a pang in his chest, he remembers that while Dick was busy most of the time, whenever he was present, he was compassionate in a way that Tim had never experienced as a child. Alfred, he was kind as well. But neither of them talked about their inner realities as freely as Steph and her mom did with each other.

Eventually, Tim realizes he feels jealous. In the privacy of his mind, he allows himself the childish wish that he could have had a parent like Steph’s mom. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so messed up.

_______________________

It’s a few weeks later, when they’re playing Bloodborne together, that Damian broaches the topic again. Tim has been carefully avoiding it. 

“You seemed surprised that I wanted to live on my own, yet you disapprove of me staying there,” Damian says, non-sequitur style, as Tim tries to take down Father Gascoigne. His hands are currently occupied with stroking Alfred, who is sleeping in his lap. Titus is sleeping on the floor with his head across Damian’s feet. Tim guesses that taking care of them for half a month isn’t enough to sway the pets’ loyalties. 

“Yes,” Tim says, “Though I don’t disapprove, so much as…. Don’t like it.”

“That’s the same thing,” Damian scoffs.

“It’s not, and you know it,” Tim says, right before he dies. “Fuckin’ stupid-ass hoe--” he offers the controller to Damian, who shakes his head. Tim shrugs and starts the fight over.

“So,” Damian says, a minute into the fight, “What do you mean by that?”

Tim wonders whether he should just be honest or whether to drag out Damian’s floundering, like an asshole. He goes for the latter. It takes a lot of teasing to make up for attempted murder.

“Just that,” Tim says, using a slightly confused tone, eyes focused on the TV. He just barely dodges an attack and sighs in relief.

“Then what other option does that leave me?” Damian asks pointedly. “If staying with Father and staying on my own aren’t options.”

“I dunno, I hadn’t thought about it,” Tim lied. 

“Oh,” Damian says, voice small.

Okay, now Tim feels like a dick. “But now that I think about it,” he says slowly, smirking, “staying here could be an option. This only just now occurred to me.”

Damian scowls and shoves Tim’s arm. “I can’t believe you.”

Tim manages to not die, despite the interference. “Ha!” But then, “Wait, no, FUCK!”

His yelling wakes the cat, who gives him a reproachful look and jumps off Damian’s lap. The owner of the lap gives Tim a look similar to the cat’s.

“Whoops,” Tim says. He offers the controller to Damian, who snatches it out of Tim’s hands.

“This fight isn’t even hard,” Damian says.

“Whatever.” 

Tim waits for another half hour for Damian to reopen discussion, but it seems that he’s done.

Tim swallows, knowing that Barbara wouldn’t want him to press, but… “You’ve clearly been thinking about it. So why don’t you?”

Damian seems to punch the buttons with more rigor than usual, but doesn’t look at Tim. “I can’t.”

“I thought you said you could leave any time,” Tim says drily.

“Physically, yes,” Damian insists.

“But not… metaphysically?”

“I don’t have any other options.”

“I just told you that you’re welcome here,” Tim says, exasperated.

“Do you really think that Father would let me live with someone else, long-term?” Damian asks, finally pausing and turning to Tim. “If he did, it wouldn’t be much different from living at home.”

Damian is right, Tim thinks. Bruce prefers to keep his Robins close, or to work with a team that he can supervise. If Damian moves in with Tim, it will bring down Bruce’s scrutiny on their every move, if he doesn’t forbid it outright. Short of going dark or going below the grid or whatever, Bruce will know where Damian is and try to control him no matter where Damian goes, whether he’s with Tim or not.

“We can get him to leave us alone,” Tim says, suddenly deciding that such a thing can be made possible.

“It would be a lot of trouble when I am perfectly able to still live at home,” Damian says.

Tim’s mouth purses into a hard line, remembering that Steph and Babs had their backs. “We can. It wouldn’t be hard to get him in legal trouble over the number of injuries we’ve all sustained.”

Damian looks horrified. “I refuse to punish my father for not conforming to common ideas of acceptable child rearing.”

There it is again, that excuse that the normal rules don’t apply to this family.

Tim keeps going, keeping his voice level. “I’m not saying we should. But we can. It would be easy to get Bruce in legal trouble for… abuse.” Tim hates saying the word aloud. Because now it’s real. “And we could do it without getting everyone in trouble for being vigilantes, too. Maybe since Bruce is such a stickler for the law, if we go through the legal system, he’ll respect that.” Tim kind of doubts it, but.

Damian is quiet. “I already betrayed one parent. I don’t want to do that again.”

Tim compares Damian’s situation to his. It’s a bit similar. Tim inadvertently chose Bruce’s lifestyle over his parents’ safety and ended up with no one but Bruce as a result. Damian, in realizing that his mother and grandfather treated him like trash, ran to Bruce, who was a much safer option. Now they were both realizing that while Bruce was better than nothing, maybe there were things better than Bruce. Maybe they deserved better.

He wants to criticize Damian for using the word ‘betrayed’, because wanting to live somewhere safe is not a betrayal. But Tim is feeling the same way. Bruce has given them everything they have. How can they do something like that to him, just because he’s not an ideal father figure?

“I don’t want to do that either,” Tim agrees.

_______________________

Damian shows up at Tim’s place only two days later, which is odd.

Tim opens the door a crack, leg acting as a barrier to keep Titus from nosing the door open and escaping. “Damian?”

“Drake,” Damian says.

Tim lets him in, and gives Damian a minute to greet his enthusiastic pets. Tim might still be a little salty that the animals haven’t warmed up to him yet.

“Okay, so, ‘sup?” Tim asks, going to the kitchen to grab whatever salty snack he sees first. Damian follows, Alfred perched on his shoulder.

“I would like you to accompany me to the manor after patrol tonight.”

Tim digs his hand into a Cheez-it box. “Well, I was planning on being there anyways after patrol--”

“Yes, obviously.” Damian is looking straight at Tim like he’s forcing himself to make eye contact. “But I will need your assistance.”

“Oh,” Tim says through a mouth of artificial cheese. He swallows. “Why?”

“I am going to tell Father that I wish to live with you,” Damian says, his voice kept carefully neutral and disaffected. “If… If that is alright with you, of course.”

Tim expected to feel overjoyed, if and when Damian said those words to him, but it just twists his stomach in knots. He’s already dreading the tantrum Bruce will throw. “Oh…” 

When Damian starts to look crestfallen, Tim remembers he’s in the middle of a conversation. “Yeah, yes, of course. To going with you and to staying with me.” 

Damian takes a deep breath and nods, pulling himself together. “Excellent. We leave posthaste.”

God, Tim can see why Dick found a tiny baby talking in Shakespearean so endearing now. No, focus. This is real, and this is happening.

Tim will have to look his father figure in the face and tell him that he’s not fit to take care of a child. He feels like he just agreed to his own execution.

He stuffs more Cheez-its in his mouth. It’s a pretty terrible last meal.

_______________________

 “You wanted to talk to me?” Bruce says as they all settle into the cave after patrol. He’s the only one still in costume--Tim and Damian had showered right after arrival.

Damian glances at Tim, who drops himself into the computer chair. “Yes.”

Bruce nods. “Well, what is it?”

Damian glances at the ground. “This might take a minute.”

“Of course.” Bruce says, looking wary. He sends Tim a glance that asks for privacy. Tim doesn’t move.

“No, he stays.” Finally, Damian takes a deep breath and speaks, looking somewhere past Bruce’s right shoulder. “I feel like you can't see me.”

Bruce is bewildered, and so is Tim. Damian keeps going, looking as if he’s rehearsed this. 

“You think you're so much better than my mother. When I first came here, you were furious with me. I could feel it. Nothing I did was good enough for you and I felt like when you looked at me, I was just a symbol of your failure. Then you left.”

Bruce is frowning now. He glances at Tim for clarification, but Tim just shrugs pensively, having as good and idea as Bruce does of where this is going.

“Richard worked with me, calmed me down. And you came back and reaped the benefits of that without having done any of the work. Even then, you hated when I talked about my past. You ignored it because it was easier for you. And then I died.”

Aside from the rare joke about it, Damian never talks about his death, at least not where Tim can hear him. Regardless, Tim feels like he’s hearing things not meant for his ears, and he wants to leave, but he made a promise.

“Son…” Bruce says sadly, reaching out a hand for Damian, but the boy steps back out of his reach.

“And then I became a symbol of failure again, like Todd. Another tally against you. So you saved me. And when I came back, suddenly I was wanted, not only by you but by everyone.” Damian casts a glance to Tim, who barely keeps himself from looking away, “I was suddenly a symbol of hope or redemption or what have you. I ceased to be human and became a lifeless idea that everyone could use to their own emotional wellbeing, and I was left alone and isolated again, invisible behind the ideas that you all projected onto me.

“Especially you. To you I had become the prodigal son come home, proof that you could do better than you did with Todd, a tally in your favor.”

Damian takes another centering breath.  

“You deny me my past, and dictate my present and future. I have to break my bones and rearrange them to fit into the mold you want for me in order for you to see me at all. But I'll do it all the same. I'll do it again and again. What else can I do?”

At this, seemingly finished, Damian wilts slightly, and finally meets Bruce’s eyes fearfully.

Melodramatic, but surprisingly emotionally literate for a hyper-violent weirdo like Damian. Tim wonders if Damian has always been this open when Tim isn’t around, or if this is a recent development.

Tim is thrumming with anxiety, but the controlled calm that’s saved his life countless times grounds him and keeps him from saying anything. It doesn’t sound like Damian is leaving. It sounds like he’s testing Bruce one last time. He seems to be genuinely asking Bruce what can be done.

Bruce pulls back the cowl. He looks devastated. “Damian, I had no idea you were feeling that way. If I had known--” 

“Am I wrong?” Damian asks, searching Bruce’s face with eagle eyes.

“I brought you back to life because I love you, son,” Bruce says, placing a hand on Damian’s cheek. “I would do anything to keep you safe.”

Damian leans into the touch, but after a moment he shrugs it away.

Bruce’s eyes move back to Tim, who fights the urge to gulp comedically. “Why did you want Tim here?” He looks back at Damian. “What is this really about?”

Tim is already feeling ragged from the emotional toll of what Damian has said, but that was just the journey to the top of the rollercoaster, and now they’re about to drop. Tim waits with bated breath for Damian’s decision on whether Bruce’s answer was good enough.

“He’s here because I would like to stay with him for the time being,” Damian says, meeting Bruce’s gaze with a challenge in his eyes.

“He--” Bruce is so taken aback that he’s speechless for once, and he looks Tim up and down like he's cataloguing all Tim's flaws. “You want Tim to be your guardian?”

Tim just about throws up at the word guardian, but keeps his cool.

“Why?” Bruce says, turning back to Damian. Well, at least he didn’t say no outright.

“Because.” Damian loses his nerve for a second, but rallies. “Because I don’t feel safe here.”

“That’s ridiculous. You of all people know how heavily guarded--”

“When I lived with my mother,” Damian interrupts, “it was implicit that if i failed, I would be punished. And I was, many times. Death, of course, being the ultimate punishment. My entire life, it felt like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. And it did, obviously,” he says, rubbing at his sternum. “I wasn’t good enough. And now, with my father, it’s the same. I feel like i’m just waiting for the inevitable.”

“You think I would hurt you?” Bruce says incredulously.

Damian hesitates. “I saw what you did to Todd.”

Bruce’s entire demeanor changes. “Don’t compare yourself to him.”

“The second he stepped out of line,” Damian said, hands curling into fists, “you beat him to the point he could not stand for a month. If I fail you, will you do the same to me?”

“You won’t fail me,” Bruce grinds out.

“I already have,” Damian says, his voice shaking and breaking. “And I’m just waiting for you to find out.”

There’s a horrible silence after that. Tim aches to offer comfort not only to Damian, but to Bruce, who looks heartbroken.

“You can’t live with Tim,” Bruce says finally. He holds up a hand to stop Damian’s retort. “Tim may be emancipated, but he’s not equipped to be your guardian. This is a poorly thought out decision,” Bruce sends a baleful look to Tim, “on both your parts.”

“I’ve thought about it, actually,” Tim says, sitting up straight, chin high. “Even if you cut me off from your accounts, I have enough of my own earnings in savings that I can support us for a long time before I find a decent day job. And I’m a hyper-competent vigilante. How hard could it be to find a job that pays a living wage?”

Tim imagines a comedy smash cut to two months from now when they’re starving because Tim can’t hold down a job. As if to echo his thoughts, Damian mutters something about hyper-competent being a stretch.

“You’re barely a legal adult,” Bruce insists. “You don’t have the capacity to raise him.”

Oh holy shit, raising a child, Tim did not think this through, but-- “I have a hell of a lot more emotional availability than you do, though.”

Bruce gets mad then. Like, mad-mad. He stomps over to Tim, and it takes all of Tim’s willpower not to cower. “You think you can take my son from me?”

Tim looks up into Bruce’s eyes, numbed by the rage he sees there. He feels like he's just stepped on a landmine. He daren't move. 

“Father,” Damian says primly, “he’s not taking me. I’m leaving on my own.”

Tim holds Bruce’s eyes easily, feeling like he’s in a staring contest with a predator looking for a sign of weakness. He can sense Damian’s anxious stare on the two of them. Tim really hopes that this doesn’t devolve into a physical fight.

Suddenly, the rage dissipates as quickly as it came. Bruce steps back and looks between the two of them coldly. “Fine.” Tim senses the incoming but. “But you’ll be back.”

Damian gestures for Tim to follow and leads them… not towards the cars.

“Uh, what are you doing,” Tim whispers, walking half a step behind Damian.

Damian ignores him. “Father, until I have reason to believe that you will not treat me as you did Todd, I will not stay here.”

Damian walks to Bat-cow and hops up onto her back. He reaches a hand down to Tim.

“This is happening,” Tim observes. He takes Damian’s hand and settles behind him. Bat-cow moos, but doesn’t buck them off. Tim wonders if Damian trained Bat-cow to be ridden. Apparently yes, since Damian takes her fur on the back of her neck and uses it to control her movements. Like fucking Ratatouille. This family.

Bruce is standing back, glaring at them both, which is kind of scarier without the cowl.

“Farewell, Father.”

“Bye, Bruce,” Tim says, waving.

Bat-cow moos.

Tim holds his head high and looks straight ahead, and so does Damian. Upwards and onwards. They did it, and nothing could taint this moment.

Thing is, it takes a really long time to travel by cow. Bat-cow begins her slow clump down to the exit, Bruce glaring at them the whole time. Just getting down to where the cars are takes a solid minute, and Tim begins to feel like he’s posing for a painting or something with how still he’s being.

“Can you make her go faster?” Tim hisses under his breath.

“If I could, I obviously would have,” Damian retorts.

Bruce does not cease to try to melt them with his eyes, but neither does he comment. He does, however, open the bay door for them, when they finally get there.

Tim manages to keep it together until they’re outside with the bat door shut behind them. Then he bursts out into laughter. Is he slightly hysterical from the tension? Maybe. 

Damian starts to laugh too, his body untensing. Tim isn’t sure he’s ever heard Damian laugh when it’s not to gloat.

When they’re about a quarter of a mile away from the cave, Tim finally catches his breath. Damian has long since stopped laughing.

“You seriously trained Bat-cow to carry you?” Tim wheezes. 

“I am heir to the mantle of the Batman,” Damian quips. “Of course I did.”

“Weird flex, but okay,” Tim says, trying not to dissolve into laughter again. “I would love to hear the mental math behind that one.”

Damian shakes his head, but there’s still a small quirk to the corner of his mouth that suggests he’s amused.

“So,” Tim says once they’re about halfway to the front gate. “What exactly is your plan here? We can’t bring her into my apartment. She literally will not fit.”

“And it’ll take two days to walk there, at this rate,” Damian adds. “Don’t worry, I have a plan.”

“Buuuuut you’re not going to share it with me?”

“Nope,” Damian says, popping the p.

“Fine, then. Keep your secrets,” Tim sniffs, and leans back on his palms.

When they exit the gate, Damian pulls gently on Bat-cow’s fur, apparently signaling a stop.

Damian pulls out his phone and sends a text. Tim tries to read over his shoulder, but Damian elbows him in the ribs when he tries.

“Ow. Bastard.”

“Reading someone else’s mail is a federal crime, Timothy.”

While Tim is still reeling from that whole sentence, Jon Kent appears out of the ether with a gust of wind and some sort of blanket-thing draped over his arm.

Damn, Tim almost mistakes him for Kon for half a second, what with the kid being suddenly seventeen and all. Tim processes, for the first time, how rough that whole thing must have been for Damian. 

“She all ready to go?” Jon asks, and holy hell his voice got deep. “Hi, Tim.”

“Hi, Jon.”

“Yes,” Damian answers, and hops down. Tim follows suit, and groans. He’s going to be sore tomorrow. Cows are too heckin’ wide to ride. He prefers alicorns.

Damian is still talking. “--she’s due to renew her vaccinations by next September, and she shouldn’t be due for a heat for a week or two.”

Jon nods, his hand moving to stroke her head. “Sounds great. And don’t even try to offer to pay us for the trouble,” he says as Damian is opening his mouth. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Sure,” Damian says as he sulks at the ground. He looks back up at Jon. “You’ll take good care of her.”

It sounds like Damian meant for it to be an order, but it comes out as a question instead. 

“Of course, buddy,” Jon says, settling a hand onto Damian’s shoulder. “She’ll get along with the other girls just fine.”

Damian turns back to his cow and just barely touches the tip of his nose to hers. She moos sadly at him. “This is for the best, girl. It wasn’t good for you to be cooped up down in that cave all the time, anyway.” He presses a kiss between her eyes, and steps back. “I’ll visit you when I can.”

“Alright, girl, let’s go,” Jon says, and he wraps the blanket-thing under Bat-cow’s belly.

“Oh,” Tim says in realization, as Jon holds the ends of the blanket tight in one hand and slowly hovers upwards until Bat-cow’s hooves leave the ground.

“Thank you,” Damian says.

“Anytime. I better be seein’ you around,” Jon says. “Bye, Tim.”

“Bye, Jon,” Tim says.

Then Jon and Bat-cow are gone, though Tim can track them with his eyes. Jon must be trying to take it easy on the cow. Tim doesn’t know anything about the science of transporting cows via Kryptonians, and devotes no further thoughts to the topic.

“So,” Tim says, with the both of them standing outside the manor gates. The whole situation is harder to laugh about now that the absurdity of the cow is gone. It feels real. “Did you have a plan to get us back to my apartment, or were we just going to walk?”

Damian blinks. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

_______________________

It’s not until after they’ve Ubered home and Tim’s given Damian a blanket to sleep on the couch that it fully hits Tim.

In the privacy of his room, he has something of a freakout.

Oh god, has he just committed to raising a thirteen-year-old? And the demon child, out of all the thirteen-year-olds he could have picked. The child who nearly succeeded in a murder attempt. God. 

Bruce had said guardian . No, that can’t be right, Bruce is still Damian’s father, and there’s no reason to transfer legal rights to Tim.

Still. He’s a role model and shit, now. As much as he doesn’t want to be a replacement to Dick, he has to admit that he’s found himself in a very similar situation.

After the conversation with Steph about emotional neglect, he’s hyperaware that he is now responsible for filling that need in Damian’s life that both Talia and Bruce neglected. Dick was so great at getting Damian to stop being a little psychopath, but then he went and got himself shot in the head. Damian has lost faith in three guardians now. Tim doesn’t want to be the fourth. But surely it’s inevitable. Tim still deals with depression, with suicidal thoughts, with anxiety. He’s such a fucking mess. Why did he ever think this was a good idea?

He sits heavily on his bed, breathing into his hands. He will have to completely rearrange the way he lives his life: his routine, his home, his habits. There isn’t room for error.

A gentle knock sounds at his door.

“Come in,” Tim says, not bothering to pretend like he isn’t having a crisis.

“You are freaking out about this,” Damian observes.

“Yeah, a bit,” Tim admits.

“Are you concerned for your safety?” Damian asks, still just outside the room. It’s too dark to see his expression.

“What? No, I don’t think Bruce will try anything. I just… I think he might have been right.”

“Father is wrong. We are fully capable of being self-sustaining. You said so yourself before.”

“Yeah…” Tim agrees weakly. “I just…” Damian, in an act of rare tact, waits for Tim to finish his thought. “I can’t be as good as Dick was. At taking care of you.”

Damian sits on the bed next to Tim, but out of arm’s reach. “I am insulted that you think I need to be taken care of.” Tim sighs and drops his hands from his face. “I’m a fully functioning human being. Assuming that you are one, too, that makes us equals and a team.”

Tim wants to agree, but he also knows that he is an adult and Damian is a minor, and he’s seen enough discourse on Tumblr to know that’s something that cannot be ignored.

When Tim doesn’t respond, Damian continues. “You will never be able to replace Richard. No one can.” Damian drops his gaze to the floor at that.

“Yeah, I know,” Tim says sadly.

I defy thee, emotional neglect, Tim thinks as he gears himself up for the next part. “And I won’t try to replace him,” Tim says. After a pause, he adds, “I…. I’m glad you’re here.”

Damian looks uncomfortable, and walks to the door. Just when Tim thinks he’s going to leave without saying anything, the kid turns back. “I appreciate all the effort you are willing to devote to me. I am glad to be here.” He starts to shut the door.

“Damian, wait,” Tim says, and is relieved that Damian actually listens. “What did you mean, am I concerned about my safety? Is there some threat I don’t know about?”

Damian’s hand fidgets on the doorknob. “No. You already know full well what I’m capable of.”

“Damian,” Tim says, rolling his eyes. “I would not have agreed to this if I still thought you were gonna knife me to death.”

Damian flinches. Tim frowns.

“Seriously, Damian, it’s fine,” Tim says when Damian doesn’t respond. He’s not ready to say he forgives Damian, but he’s more or less over all the murder attempts at this point. He gets that Damian was more than a little fucked up at the time. Though maybe this is another instance where he should care more about how people treat him. 

Damian shuts the door without saying anything else.

Well, considering everything, that went as well as Tim could have hoped.

_______________________

 The next morning when Bruce is supposed to be at work, Tim and Damian drive back to the manor. Tim doesn’t even get the chance to put his key in the door before Alfred is swinging the door open. Tim can tell from his expression alone that he is aware of what happened last night, one way or another.

Tim stares, feeling like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Damian stays silent.

“You’re here to pack up Master Damian’s things, I presume?” Alfred asks.

“Yeah,” Tim says.

“Of course,” Alfred says, and lets them inside. Tim creeps in, feeling off-kilter.

Alfred helps them pack all the essentials into Tim’s little car. The group of three is quiet the whole time, something that’s magnified by how completely empty the manor is. No other kids, no pets, nothing but the three of them, moving Damian’s stuff out.

“Thanks, Al,” Tim says, resting his hand on the trunk that they’ve jammed shut. Damian is still inside, gathering an armful of stuff to carry in his lap.

“You are welcome to return any time,” Alfred says.

“Oh,” Tim says sadly. “I gotta ask. Are you angry at me?”

Alfred is quiet. “I have thought on what you said about the way I enable Master Bruce. I don’t know if I agree, but I understand that you were right to be upset at what happened to Master Damian, and I understand why you are helping him to relocate.”

“But you’re angry at me,” Tim fills in for him.

Damian walks out the door and approaches them from across the driveway.

“No,” Alfred says. “You’re both children doing what you think is best for each other. If I am angry at anyone, it is myself and Master Bruce.”

When Damian approaches the pair, arms full of loose art supplies, Alfred turns to him. 

“Master Damian.” He places a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “I am so sorry that you do not feel safe under my care. I had no idea that you were feeling so strongly. If you ever wish to return, I will do everything in my power to prevent something like this from happening again.”

Now more than ever before, Damian looks torn and hesitant. “I am sorry, Pennyworth. I don’t wish to cause you pain. Nor Father.”

“My boy,” Alfred says, pulling Damian into a hug without disturbing his cargo, “I know you mean no harm. What is most important is that you are somewhere where you feel safe.”

“I do feel safe with you,” Damian says quietly.

Alfred sighs. “But not in this house. Which is why you must go with Master Timothy for as long as you need to.” He turns his gaze to Tim.

Tim feels himself getting croaky. He really doesn’t want to cry in front of Damian--wait, isn’t he supposed to be a good role model now? Shouldn’t he be modeling a healthy emotional response or something? Should he just start bawling now to make a point? Oh, fuck--

Alfred pulls Tim into a hug as well. “I am so proud of you for getting over your differences,” the man says. “And I will tell you a secret, Master Tim.” He whispers the next part. “Master Dick had no bloody clue what he was doing either.”

Tim barks a laugh, pulling away. “I’ll remember that. Thanks, Al.” 

With one more round of awkward goodbyes, Tim and Damian get in the car and drive off. Tim glances in the rearview and sees Alfred standing alone in front of the manor, watching them go, his hands primly behind his back, as always. The sight makes Tim so sad that he avoids looking in the rearview again all the way home.

_______________________

 Tim cleans out his office as a bedroom for Damian. Going furniture shopping is a huge pain and ends in some flared tempers, but eventually Tim’s apartment is transformed into an adequate living space for two teenagers and two pets.

One morning when Damian sleeps in after Tim--a rare occurrence--there’s a light knock on the door.

Tim is currently petting Titus and answering emails on his phone, and has a bad feeling about answering the door, but he does it anyways.

Bruce is there, looking, well. Dad-ly. He’s in a navy pullover and khahi pants. God, why does Alfred let the man dress himself? Next he’ll be wearing socks with sandals. A disgrace to his parents’ names, he is. “Good morning.”

Tim shuts the door, thinks about it for a second, and then reopens the door. Bruce hasn’t moved. “Good morning.”

“May I?” Bruce asks.

Tim considers this. Bruce looks perfectly innocuous, in control and calm, nothing like when they left the cave before.

Tim nods, hoping that this won’t go south. The two of them take a seat on the couch.

“Well?” Tim says.

“I want to know how you’re handling all this,” Bruce says.

Tim gapes a little. Bruce? Asking after his emotional state? Would wonders never cease. “I’m fine.”

“Are you really?” Bruce asks, frowning. “Are you sure Damian didn’t pressure you into this to get back at me?”

Tim blinks slowly. “You think Damian is capable of making me do anything that I don’t want to do?”

“Of course not,” Bruce says quickly, looking away.

Tim is reminded of Jason’s anecdote about how Bruce sought him out after everything that happened, wonders if this is another example of that.

“I think it’s really admirable of you to commit to taking care of Damian and his animals,” Bruce says, rubbing Titus’ ears when the dog trotted by with a toy in his mouth. “It’s a lot of responsibility.”

“I can handle it,” Tim snaps.

“I know you can. I wasn’t being fair before,” Bruce says. He looks down at his hands.

Tim lets the man stew, uninterested in offering anything to this interaction.

“The manor is really quiet without any Robins running around,” Bruce says. “Alfred finally has peace, for the first time in…. What, 15 years?”

Tim can’t help but smile a little, even as he knows the man probably does miss having surrogate grandkids running around breaking his shit. “Good for him.”

“Yes. But I do hope that Damian comes back soon. And you’re always welcome too, Tim. No matter what happens, or what mistakes I’ve already made,” Bruce’s eyes drop to the spot on Tim’s jaw where his punch landed all those months ago, “I’ll always consider you a son.”

“I know,” Tim says miserably. Nobody is enjoying this conversation.

“And tell Damian, when he wakes, it’s alright if he chooses not to continue being Robin.”

Tim is a little surprised at that. “Really?”

Bruce nods. “Yes. I find that no matter what happens, I always find myself with a Robin again sooner or later. Batman needs a Robin, that’s what you told me, right?”

Tim pales at his own words. Yes, he did say that, didn’t he? As much as he wants to tell Bruce to never try to be a father figure to some other lost soul, to stop this weird cycle once and for all, he knows it wouldn’t be productive, so he lets it go.

“Tim,” Bruce continues when Tim fails to reply, “I should have said this before. I’m sorry for what happened. Because of Bane’s psychological attacks, I was not in my right mind when that happened, but it never should have happened at all. I’m sorry.” 

Tim nods numbly, unsure what to do with an apology.

Bruce searches Tim’s face and sighs when he doesn’t seem to find what he was looking for. He stands, and Tim stands with him.

Tim holds the door open and looks up at Bruce, feeling raw. He loves Bruce. He spent years idolizing Bruce. He wouldn’t be who is without Bruce’s guidance, resources, and acceptance. And at this point, he kind of wants Bruce out of his life. Tim hates this. He hates this entire thing.

“I’m going to miss you, Tim,” Bruce says, gathering Tim in a hug. “Both of you. I hope you come home soon.”

“I….” Tim can feel his voice about to break, and he takes a deep breath and starts over. “I’m… g…” No. He wants to get through this without crying. “I’m going to miss you, too, Bruce.” And then Tim has to bury his face in Bruce’s chest because maybe some tears are escaping and he doesn’t want anyone to see.

Bruce holds him there for a minute before slowly releasing him. Tim wipes his eyes with the hem of his shirt.

“See you around,” Bruce says, stepping back.

“See ya,” Tim says, and stops just before he closes the door. “Bruce?”

The hope in Bruce’s eyes when he turns around makes Tim want to die. “Yes, Tim?”

“Work on yourself,” Tim says, and he’s proud of the steel in his voice. He looks Bruce in the eye. “Get your shit together.”

Bruce’s face gets cloudy. He nods stiffly and walks away.

Tim deflates, his pulse pounding, and finally shuts the door with a gentle click .

Of course, Damian is standing there when he turns around.

Tim is about to make a joke, but he bursts into tears, surprising himself. He stumbles over to the couch and curls up into a ball, trying to be as quiet as possible.

Titus bounds over and starts licking Tim’s ankle where it peeks out below his sweatpants, whining in sympathy.

Damian’s hesitant footsteps move closer before vanishing as Damian perches on the arm of the couch. He pats Tim’s shoulder. “There, there,” he says, and it’s legitimately the sweetest gesture he’s ever made towards Tim, and it makes Tim cry harder.

Damian seems distressed by this, and leaves. Fine then, Tim is perfectly happy to cry by himself. He’s an expert on that at this point. He’s shocked a minute later when a blanket is wrapped around him and Damian settles next to him on the couch as a warm, quiet presence.

Tim loses momentum pretty quickly after that and wipes his disgusting face on the blanket, grimacing. He’ll need to launder this to get all the snot out of it. When he emerges from his misery cocoon, Damian quickly shoves Alfred into his lap. The cat doesn’t seem happy to be there, but doesn’t move. Titus, now that he has access, licks Tim’s face. Tim falls prey to the universal law that it’s impossible to be sad when a dog is kissing your face.

Tim distracts Titus from the onslaught by rubbing behind his ears. “Sorry for losing my shit when you just woke up.”

Damian snorts. “Don’t worry about it.”

The two of them sit on the couch in silence for a bit. When Tim finally, finally feels like he’s not coming apart at the seams, he takes in a deep breath and gives Damian his cat back.

“I said something similar to my mother after I was resurrected,” Damian says. “About how I would give her the chance to redeem herself.”

Tim looks over at him curiously. “Oh?”

Damian nods, but doesn’t elaborate. Tim knows without asking that Damian is still waiting for his mother to prove herself.

Tim wipes his eyes one last time, willing the post-crying tremors away. “Do you want breakfast?”

“Only if you let me handle any necessary seasonings. Your white people taste buds are depressing.”

“That’s fair.” Regardless of Tim’s actual heritage, he has to admit that his palate is, clinically speaking, white as fuck.

As Damian seasons the shit out of some sauteed vegetables, Tim makes a group chat with Barbara and Steph as he flips some naan on the bare burner every few seconds.

“Timothy, get off your phone and pay attention to the hot burner,” Damian says, exasperated. “Kids these days,” he grumbles as he stirs the vegetables with extra vigor.

Tim notices the naan is a little burnt and quickly flips it again. “My b.”

Tim looks at Damian apprehensively. Well, those two haven’t lead him wrong yet, so. “Hey, Dames.” His voice is still croaky from all the blubbering.

Damian turns with a wary expression at the unusual tone. “Yes, Timothy?”

Tim stares for a second and then breaks eye contact. Without looking, he ruffles Damian’s hair, and is slapped away, but not before he gets out a quick “Love you, kid.”

Damian huffs and pours the vegetables out into a serving bowl. While his back is turned, he mumbles “I know.”

The mission is a success, against all odds. Look at them, being all normal as if they don’t have as many traumas as the cool kids had Silly Bandz in 2009.

Tim sits with Damian at the coffee-table-turned-makeshift-breakfast-table, and does his best not to act like a wimp when he eats the vegetables Damian made.

Damian clears his throat after a few minutes of silent eating. “Uh. You too.” He immediately stuffs a massive bite of food in his mouth.

Tim grins. “Aw hell yeah.”