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They were talking.
About what Tim didn’t know, but he knew they were talking.
He could vaguely hear the murmurs of the voices outside his room in the manor; they were keeping him up.
Well…
That wasn’t the only thing keeping him up.
He didn’t normally stay in the manor.
Not anymore.
Not since becoming Red Robin, but tonight-
Tonight he conceded.
He agreed to stay.
It would be easier that way.
That’s what he thought, that was his reasoning behind the decision, and he was starting to realize how dumb it was.
He fucked up.
It was all his fault.
And instead of leaving, he stayed to deal with the fallout.
It was an accident.
Tim wasn’t sure anyone would believe him, but it was. He didn’t mean to hurt Damian. Everything just… happened so fast.
Damian was trying to help Tim, trying to assess an injury, and Tim had hurt him.
One moment, there was a hand near the zipper of his suit, and the next, Damian was on the ground crying out in pain.
Tim heard a pair of footsteps receding; he turned to face the door and waited.
Bruce was still out there, lingering. The older man hadn’t spoken to him yet, it was only a matter of time.
Bruce hadn’t been there when it happened—too busy dealing with Poison Ivy—but he was there now.
There was a gentle knock on his door-
“Tim.”
Tim didn’t respond.
Bruce knocked another time, just as gently, though his voice was a bit louder as he called out Tim’s name for the second time.
Tim forced himself to respond. “It’s unlocked.”
The door opened slowly and the room was flooded with dim white light from the hall. It was hard to make out much besides the silhouette of Bruce in the doorway.
“Can I come in?”
A simple question.
Short.
Basic.
But that wasn’t what Bruce was really asking.
He wasn’t just asking to come into the room; he was asking to talk.
Tim didn’t want to talk.
Not now, not with Bruce, maybe not ever.
“It’s your house,” Tim muttered, eyes still locked on the silhouette.
“Tim-”
Tim sighed. “Sure Bruce, you can come in.”
Bruce moved further into the room but kept the door ajar and the lights off. Tim was grateful for the latter.
Neither one spoke for several moments.
“I um-" Bruce started, but quickly cut himself off. It was strange, unnerving, to see the older man so at loss for words. There was something about the whole situation that reminded Tim of how young and old Bruce was. He was a child that never had the chance to grow up—somehow both wise beyond his years and incompetent—a walking, breathing contradiction of a man.
“I heard about what happened,” Bruce finally stated, as he awkwardly walked to the bed Tim was laying on and sat down.
He sat near the edge, close but not too close—his backside a near few inches from Tim’s feet.
“Yeah…” Tim didn’t need the clarification—he knew why Bruce was there. “I figured.”
Bruce looked at Tim—silently prompting, asking, for him to continue.
Tim didn’t feel like talking.
He didn’t even know what happened.
It was all so quick.
One moment he was on a rooftop, next to Damian, watching the city below and holding onto his freshly wounded shoulder.
The next moment-
He didn’t know.
There was a hand on the zipper to his uniform and then screaming.
Just screaming.
That’s the one thing he remembered the most.
The screams of pain.
Maybe he would hear them again when his head hit the pillow; maybe not. It was a gamble that Tim had to take.
“I wanted to hear your side of the story,” Bruce muttered into the quiet air.
Tim let the words hang between them—suspended and fragile—as he tried to find a good answer to give the man in front of him.
“I attacked Damian… and I broke his arm.”
Final.
Direct.
The truth.
That was his side of the story.
He attacked the kid.
Bruce looked away, his hands were clasped together, and one thumb was rubbing circles on top of the other. “I know.”
Tim looked out the window.
It was snowing.
Slow and steady. Ice was climbing its way up the window—it would block out the sun come morning—it made the snow in the distance look fuzzy and soft.
“Why?” Bruce asked.
There was no reason why.
Not really.
Or if there was one, Tim didn’t know it.
“I don’t know-“
“He said he touched the zipper to your uniform-“ Bruce looked at him, before looking away again- “and you-“
“Freaked out,” Tim finished for him.
Bruce knew.
Of course, Bruce knew. Damian, or Dick, maybe even Jason, had told Bruce what happened—the finer details about what happened.
The details Tim was hoping to exclude.
“Are you- did something happen?”
Tim’s stomach felt tight.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Tim replied, attempting to stall.
He didn’t want to talk anymore—he didn’t want to in the first place, but now he definitely didn’t. Not with Bruce. Not in the manor. Not about what happened.
Which was nothing.
Nothing happened.
Tim freaked out for no reason—in the middle of dealing with an Arkham breakout—and Damian was hurt because of it.
Bruce remained silent and unyielding. Tim suppressed a sigh.
“No. Nothing happened-"
“Tim,” Bruce muttered, finally looking straight at him. It was too dark to tell how Bruce looked, but his voice sounded tired.
Tim felt tired.
“Nothing happened,” Tim spit out, as he turned around in the bed to face the wall instead of Bruce. “Good night, Bruce.”
Tim heard the man stand up, but the door never closed and the faint light continued to illuminate his room.
Bruce was still there—lingering, maybe waiting, but for what Tim didn’t know.
He owned up to what he did, he admitted he attacked Damian—that should be the end of the conversation.
Tim wanted that to be the end of the conversation.
“Tim-”
But Tim didn’t always get what he wanted.
He curled further into himself as if he could somehow make himself disappear within the bed sheets.
“-You know that I’m here for you, right?”
The question was met with suffocating silence.
“And,” Bruce continued, “that I love you no matter what.”
Tim couldn’t hold back the tears that had been threatening to spill over the whole night. He squeezed his eyes shut and hoped that Bruce would just leave already.
He wanted to be alone.
He needed to be alone.
“I’ll…I’ll be downstairs- probably for a while. If there’s- if you need anything, come find me. Okay?”
“Okay,” Tim whispered after the door closed.
------------------------
Sleep didn’t come.
Not that Tim expected it to.
Despite all his years as Robin, and all the training he had undergone to be able to adapt to anything, there was always something off-putting about sleeping in a bed that wasn’t his.
He could handle the ground with practiced ease, yet the soft embrace of a bed that wasn’t his was too much.
The bed…
It was his.
At one point.
It still was.
In a way.
But it had been so long.
Too long.
Tim had pushed everyone away—had found a new place to live and stay—and now everything that was once familiar felt foreign.
Finding Bruce had taken a larger toll on Tim than he originally thought it would, and it wasn’t until late at night that he realized how fucked everything had become.
But Bruce was back.
That’s all that mattered.
He completed the mission, finished the task, brought back the man everyone thought was dead-
So why did it feel like he lost?
Tim sighed as he rubbed his eyes with his fingers.
He could leave.
Technically, Bruce and he had talked about what happened.
That’s the only reason he stayed—to give Bruce his side of the story—and it was no longer valid.
Tim stood, his stiff back popping as he did.
The curled-up position he had been in for the last few hours had wrecked his already sore body—it was somehow comforting to his mind and detrimental to his body.
He was going to leave.
------------------------
The walk to the cave was quiet.
There wasn’t a sound in the house.
Everyone was asleep.
There weren’t very many quiet nights in Wayne Manor—someone was always up and moving—so when they happened, they left a sickly feeling in the air.
Or maybe, Tim had been in his head too long and was starting to make something out of nothing.
He had been doing that a lot.
That’s what got him into this situation in the first place.
He shook his head. It didn’t matter.
His hand stilled on the top of the motorcycle he had driven to the manor before patrol—before everything.
It was still snowing out, the roads would be slick with ice, and Tim wasn’t sure he wanted to make the long trip home.
He knew it was a stupid idea to even attempt to leave given the weather conditions, but he wanted to.
God, he wanted to.
Maybe he was losing it.
It felt like he was losing it.
Losing everything.
Everyone.
He was thinking with his heart instead of his brain.
He couldn’t keep doing that—it would, one way or another, get him killed, but it-
It was hard to keep things straight now.
Hard in a way it had never been. Tim had never had so many issues keeping his emotions locked down—he would feel them, he always allowed himself to feel them, but he never let himself be dictated by them. And now…now they seemed to control his every move.
The sound of someone clearing their throat startled Tim out of his thoughts.
He hadn’t been paying attention—too busy focusing on his feelings rather than his surroundings.
“Are you leaving, Master Tim?”
Tim moved his hand away from the bike where it had been resting. “I- yeah… I think I am.”
“You think?” Alfred asked, moving closer to the younger boy.
He was dressed down, likely roused from his sleep—by what, Tim wasn’t sure, but he knew they all had their own nightmares that embraced them each night. Alfred was no exception.
Tim nodded in response to the question.
“It was a clean break,” Alfred offered, filling the silence that Tim tried to grow.
There was no point in asking for clarification—Tim knew exactly what Alfred was referring to. His stomach churned.
“That’s-” Tim didn’t know what to say. “That’s…good.”
Tim cringed at the words as they left his mouth.
“You know, he’s worried about you-”
“Damian?” Tim interrupted.
“I was referring to Master Bruce, but I must say, you have us all a bit worried.”
He had hurt Damian—had broken the kid’s arm—and yet everyone’s focus was on Tim.
“I’m sorry-”
Alfred cut him off with a soft sigh and a sad look that Tim couldn’t quite decipher. “You should say goodbye before you leave.”
Tim shook his head. “It’s late; he’s probably asleep-”
“I wasn’t. You weren’t. Do you think he will be?”
“I- uh. No. But-”
“He’s been waiting for you. I do not doubt that he still is.”
Tim frowned.
He didn’t want to speak with Bruce.
He already had.
There was nothing more to say.
“You don’t have to,” Alfred spoke with a softer tone, eyes still watching Tim closely. “I will inform him of your departure after you leave if you do not-”
“I’ll say goodbye.”
Alfred gave him a small smile and moved to the side, silently urging Tim to be on his way.
It would be easy.
It would be simple.
He could do this.
He had to do this.
It would prove that he wasn’t allowing his emotions to determine what he did.
------------------------
Bruce was in the library.
It was a nice place to be.
Always warm; always inviting.
It had been a while since Tim had been in the room.
There were books everywhere—stacked in tiny piles in front of the shelves, scattered about any and every surface that had space—it was the one room that Alfred didn’t tidy.
It was still clean and in a strange way organized, but… it felt less like a place and more like a living, breathing, thing.
Bruce was on one of the couches, in front of the fireplace, there was a book in his hand and though he did not turn when Tim entered the room, Tim had no doubt that the man knew he was there.
Tim opened his mouth to let out a small goodbye-
“You were wrong,” He said instead, even as the goodbye was on the tip of his tongue.
He watched as Bruce gently closed the book
“What?”
Tim made his way over to the couch, dreading each step that brought him closer to the older man—to deal with the situation he wanted to avoid. He sat on the opposite side of the couch, never looking Bruce’s way.
“You were wrong,” Tim repeated. “Nothing happened… but-”
Tim cut himself off, eyes intensely focusing on the fire in front of them.
He needed to be honest.
But it was hard to be honest with others when he couldn’t even be honest with himself.
“I- she was-” Tim took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
It was stupid.
He was being stupid.
Overreacting.
He knew better.
He was taught better.
Tim made to stand when a gentle hand wrapped itself around his upper left arm. Tim winced in slight pain as the motion pulled at his wounded shoulder and Bruce pulled back his hand in response.
“Tim, please-”
Tim could feel the tears that threatened to fall slowly make their way down his face.
He couldn’t remember the last time he cried so much.
Maybe when his father died.
“You were gone and then-” Tim shook his head - “I did- I didn’t want to. Sometimes… sometimes I did- I did want to and- but I didn’t- I wasn’t thinking straight-”
“Tim,” Bruce interrupted as he moved closer to the younger boy but still left some distance between the two of them. “Kiddo, I don’t know what you are talking about.”
More tears fell.
Tim knew he was making little sense, but his head was a mess and every thought was coming out jumbled and strained.
“I think I killed people-”
“What?”
“I blew them up. That’s- I think- drew his attention to me.”
“Whose attention?” Bruce asked instead of addressing the other part of Tim’s confession.
“Ra’s’,” Tim muttered. “I blew up his bases.”
Tim could feel Bruce look away. He noticed, from the corner of his eye, the way Bruce slightly crumbled into himself as the weight of Tim’s words came crashing down around him.
“It was my fault-”
“No-”
"It was,” Tim doubled down quickly. “It was my plan.”
There was a beat of silence. Neither one spoke, even the fire seemed to dim at Tim’s words.
“Your plan?” Bruce asked, looking for clarification that Tim wasn't sure he would be able to give.
“A lot- a lot of things happened while you were away.” Tim fidgeted with his hands as he spoke. “But I had it under control.”
Bruce nodded at the words but remained silent—quietly asking Tim to continue.
“I impressed him. He- I guess in some weird way, it could be considered an honor to have been chosen to produce an heir for him-” Tim felt Bruce tense next to him as everything slowly fell into place, creating a picture that no one wanted to see- “but I-”
Tim shook his head slightly. “I knew Cass was there. It was my plan. I had everything planned.”
Bruce didn’t speak. Part of Tim was grateful, the other part wanted to scream at the man to say something—anything.
“Even when it was happening, just as I knew it would, and I had the upper hand, I was still-” Tim cut himself off for a moment. “Scared.”
He looked away from the fire and down at his lap instead. “I was so scared, Bruce.”
It was hard to admit, now and in the moment, how terrified he felt. How cold his blood felt when the woman, Ra's' half-sister, reached for his zipper, or how for a brief moment he wondered what would have happened if Cass hadn’t been there to help.
“But I knew; I was prepared. It was my plan. It shouldn’t have bothered me-”
“Tim-”
“And I tried,” Tim continued, paying no mind to Bruce. “I tried to make jokes about it when it happened, I tried to ignore how I felt because I knew I couldn’t focus on that. I- there were so many things going on that needed my attention. I just- I thought- I thought I had it handled Bruce, and I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“I didn’t mean to hurt Damian. He was trying to help, but when he reached for the zipper I just-”
Tim couldn’t speak anymore.
There were no more words to say.
He told Bruce the truth, not everything, but they didn’t have time to go into everything.
“Tim-” Tim slowly dragged his eyes away from his lap and to Bruce’s face. The man looked sick with worry; a steady stream of tears was cascading down his face. “Can I- you don’t have to say yes,” Bruce clarified quickly. “Can I hug you?”
Tim tensed for a moment.
He wanted a hug.
He really wanted a hug—to be held and reassured—but…
What if he freaked out again?
What if he hurt Bruce like he had hurt Damian?
“I-” Tim shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Okay,” Bruce muttered. “Do you want to keep talking-”
“I want a hug.”
Bruce didn’t say anything.
“I-” Tim let out a harsh laugh. “I really do, but…”
“But?” Bruce prompted when Tim didn’t continue.
“I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
“I know.”
“And I don’t want to hurt you-”
“You won’t,” Bruce said, his voice certain and unwavering.
“But-”
“It’s okay-” Bruce lifted his arms, but didn’t move any closer to Tim. He was waiting—letting Tim decide while keeping the offer on the table despite Tim already refusing it.
He felt like a small child seeking protection from the real world as he threw himself into Bruce’s arms.
Bruce slowly rubbed his back as the sobs that Tim had been holding in racked his body.
“It’s not your fault, Tim,” Bruce muttered over and over again, with quiet apologies shoved in every so often.
So much happened.
Too much.
But it would be okay.
It had to be okay.
Tim wasn’t sure he would know what to do if things didn’t get better.
But he couldn’t focus on that.
Not now.
He wasn’t sure how long they remained like that, but eventually, the crying ceased and Tim slowly withdrew from the embrace.
Tim was tired, exhausted, and by the looks of it, Bruce was too.
“You need to get some sleep, kiddo-”
Tim let out a soft laugh. “You’re one to talk.”
Bruce smiled, but it was still slightly strained. “We can talk more in the morning if-”
“I don’t want to talk anymore,” Tim muttered, dragging his eyes away from Bruce as he stood up and made his way to leave the room.
“You don’t have to talk to me-”
Tim shook his head, his back was still turned. “I don’t want to talk to anyone about it.”
“Okay,” Bruce conceded, but Tim could hear the apprehension in his voice. He didn’t blame the man for it. He knew he would sound the same if their positions were switched. “You don’t have to. But if you ever do…want to… I have some names of people who can help.”
Tim stilled, unsure.
He offered a small nod as an acknowledgment of the words. It wouldn’t hurt to at least know a few people if he ever…if he wanted to- needed to talk.
“Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Tim-”
Tim scoffed. “Bruce-”
“Parents are supposed to protect their kids-”
Tim turned around. “I don’t- I’m not… it’s not your fault Bruce-”
Bruce looked at him. He looked more tired than Tim had remembered despite just seeing the man only a few seconds ago. “It’s not your fault either.”
Tim remained silent, not wanting to push any further but also not agreeing with the sentiment.
Bruce was the first to look away, his eyes moving back to the fire that was still burning.
Tim was the first to break the silence.
“Goodnight Bruce.”
They were at a standstill, both shouldering the blame for the cruel acts of another individual and refusing to let the other be burdened.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” Bruce said, but Tim could hear the question that lurked beneath the words. The silent are you staying? that Bruce never asked directly because he didn’t want to pressure anyone.
“Yeah,” Tim replied, pretending that he didn’t see the way Bruce seemed to breathe a bit easier upon hearing Tim’s answer. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
When morning came, not all would be well, but maybe it would be better.