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“Hey Tim. Do you have a moment?” Dick asked as he spotted his second youngest brother attempting to sneak out of the cave. Again
Tim turned and glared at the eldest Wayne. Dick stuttered to a stop. He knew things were bad between them ever since Tim had gotten back from saving Bruce from the timestream. “What do you want, Dick?” And somehow, Tim made his name sound more like an insult than Jason ever did. Dick watched as Tim forced his face and body language into that carefully blank gala façade. Dick hated it, and he didn’t know how to breach the gap that had grown between them.
“I just wanted to talk to my little brother,” Dick said, trying (and failing miserably) to avoid any landmines in the conversation.
“Well, then you have Jason and Damian for that. I wasn’t planning on staying,” Tim replied as he made his way over to his bike.
“Alfred said he was making your favorite. Coconut Shrimp with sweet potatoes and a Lobster Bisque,” Dick cajoled.
“You’ve got the wrong brother. That’s Jason’s favorite because I’m allergic to shellfish.”
Wait. WHAT?!?!
“Since when?” Dick exclaimed.
“Since I was seven. I even had an allergic reaction at a Wayne Gala when I was like 9 and ate some kind of lobster and shrimp dip. You were there and helped me when my parents had left because they forgot about me and left me behind. Again. Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve got things to do.”
And with that, Tim mounted his bike and sped out of the Cave. Dick wondered again how things had gotten so bad between them.
“Tt. It’s about time the pretender learns he’s not wanted or needed here,” Damian said as he stepped out of the shadows.
Dick whirled around with a frown. “Damian, how long have you been there?”
“I came down to ensure that the imposter didn’t take anything he was not entitled to,” the youngest of the Waynes said with a sniff.
“Damian, Tim is allowed to have anything in the Cave or in the Manor. It’s his home too,” Dick admonished slightly.
“This is Father’s home. Drake is just the unwanted pretender.”
“Who says he’s unwanted?” Dick asked, aghast.
“Everyone. Todd says it all the time. Drake and Brown do not talk like they used to, and Brown avoids him like he is carrying some kind of disease. Father will not look at him. And just now, you could not even remember his allergies. Obviously, that means that Drake is not a part of this family.”
Dick went still. That couldn’t be right. It just couldn’t. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that Damian was right. Dick heaved a sigh. He just wanted to spend time his little brother, the one who seemed more ghost than teenager, and now that opportunity had slipped through his finger. Dick ran his hands through his hair, and let out a frustrated huff.
“Come, Richard. Pennyworth is, indeed, cooking coconut shrimp and a coconut tofu option for the evening meal. I wish to enjoy some before Todd grabs all of it.” And then, the younger boy was gone, and Dick was once again alone in the Cave. He double checked to make sure that he was actually alone this time before trailing after the smallest Bat. This was NOT how he pictured his night going.
Dick sat quietly at the meal, not truly engaging. Jason was loudly bantering with Steph and Duke about a new upcoming play that they wanted to go see. Bruce, Cass, and Damian were talking about Damian’s upcoming art gallery and Cass’s ballet recital. And Alfred was in the kitchen preparing to bring out dessert.
“Dick, chum, everything alright?” Bruce asked, and the table went quiet.
Dick had to force himself to put on a pleasant smile. “Sure. Just some thinking about a case I’m working on in Blüdhaven.” Bruce searched his face before resuming his conversation with Cass and Damian. Cass gave him a searching look, as if she knew the emotional turmoil that was sitting heavy on Dick’s heart, before she tuned back into her conversation with Bruce and Damian.
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Nightwing sat watching the Gotham skyline replaying his interaction with Tim over and over again in his head. He knew, logically, that the definition of insanity was doing the same thing and expecting different results, but no matter how many times he replayed his interaction with Tim and subsequent conversation with Damian, it didn’t change the utter rage and hostility he’d seen on Tim’s face nor the absolute dismissal in Damian’s tone.
“Nightwing, Black Mask is monologuing from inside of the Gotham Cathedral. Also said that he’s planted bombs. Red Hood and Red Robin are closest to the scene,” Oracle’s voice came over his comm.
“Copy. ETA 5 minutes,” was all Red Robin replied.
“Replacement. Dickwing. I’ll be there. Got some drug runners that have been selling to kids in Crime Alley I was busting and might be late to the party,” Hood’s voice came out growly due to his modulator, but Nightwing appreciated that he was going to have backup.
Nightwing flew over Gotham’s rooftops as fast as his grapple and shoulders would allow. When he arrived on scene, Red Hood and Red Robin were both on an adjacent rooftop although they were standing as far apart as the roof would allow. Hood looked over at Nightwing as he approached, but Red Robin kept his face distinctly turned towards where Black Mask was supposedly holding people hostage.
“Heat signatures indicate around thirty hostages with ten, armed hostiles” Oracle’s voice informed the vigilantes. “The bomb is located on the second floor near the organ. There appears to be two hostiles guarding it. I can’t see the timer; the camera doesn’t have a good enough angle.”
From there, the vigilantes made a plan. Red Robin would take the bomb and hostiles on the second floor since he was, unfortunately, the fastest at disarming bombs. Nightwing would slip in the shadows and attempt to get the hostages clear. Hood would act as the noise maker and distraction using rubber bullets and flashbangs. They were as prepared as they could be.
Side note: they were NOT prepared.
Black Mask stood on what was recognized as the dais of the cathedral as if he were holding a sermon. He was monologuing about how he had pulled Gotham out of the slums and had done more for Gotham than Brucie Wayne could ever imagine. The hostages all had tear-streaked faces and were nodding as if afraid to disagree with the crazed madman.
Nightwing crept in, using the shadows to his advantage. It always amazed him that the rogues and villains of Gotham never checked the deep pockets for a Bat or Bird, always expecting their operations to be safe or the exception. Right on time, Hood’s distraction went off.
“FUCK! IT’S THE BATS!” One goon screamed. There was gunfire, but thankfully it was aimed away from the hostages. Nightwing made quick work of cutting them free and leading them to safety. He was just getting the last few out of the door when he was noticed.
Almost as one, the thugs turned their guns towards Nightwing. The black-and-blue clad man screamed out a warning for the civilians to dive and run for cover while vigilante pulled out his escrima sticks and began drawing their fire. It was almost like watching a dance or ballet. A dance with a fatal outcome, but a dance nonetheless. Nightwing with his escrima sticks electrified ducked and wove in between the thugs and goons that made him seem like some kind of exotic dancer.
Hood and Nightwing were so busy, they missed Red Robin over the comms saying that he was unable to completely disarm the bomb. He was able to minimize the area of effect, but it was still going to take out the entire second story. The two vigilantes on the lower floor felt the building rumble before they saw the fireball. Nightwing screamed his younger brother’s name while Hood froze in panic.
At that moment, it was every Gothamite for themselves. Black Mask no longer had any control over the situation. The goons dropped their weapons and ran for their lives as part of the cathedral threatened to collapse. They lost Black Mask in the confusion, but the villain wasn’t their priority. Their priority was the Bird who was probably…maybe…possibly…caught in the ground zero of the explosion and trapped under the collapsing rubble.
Nightwing pulled on a rebreather and changed the filters in his mask to account for the fire. Hood was thankful that his helmet had automatically adjusted to new environment. They searched for several minutes before the heat from the fire and the threat of the building becoming further unstable forced them out.
Batman and Robin were waiting for them once they ran out of the building. Nightwing’s suit was no longer black but more gray, and Hood’s helmet looked more pink from all of the dust that had settled on them.
“Nightwing, Report!” Batman growled out. Robin crossed his arms over his chest, a clear indication that the youngest Bat was worried. Who he was worried for, Nightwing didn’t have any clue.
“Oracle commed to say that Black Mask had taken hostages and planted a bomb in the Cathedral. Hood and RR were nearby for an assist. RR was assigned to disarming the bomb,” Nightwing started.
“Tt. Figures that Drake could not even disarm a bomb properly. If I had been here, this would not have happened,” Robin said with a sniff. Nightwing looked at the smallest Bat aghast. Did he not care that Red Robin was still potentially trapped inside the building? That it wasn’t his fault that the bomb had had two kill switches and a pressure plate? That RR had done his best to mitigate the damage?
“Batman, emergency crews state that they’ve found our missing bird,” Oracle chimed in. Nightwing shelved the conversation for later.
******
Red Robin hadn’t even wanted to be there, responding to Oracle’s call for help for stupid motherfucking Nightwing. He just knew that if he showed up the dick would give him his lethal kicked puppy face or sad puppy eyes, and then he’d want to “talk”. Well, newsflash, Nightwing, there was nothing to talk about. At least, nothing that Red Robin had wanted to talk about. After all, Nightwing could, respectfully, go fuck himself. Three times sideways, with Bane hopped up on triple his normal dose of Venom as a participant.
But Red Robin also knew that if he didn’t go, he would get yet another lecture about being a team player from Batman. Who could also go fuck himself but with Joker…well, maybe NOT Joker. Maybe Two-Face. At least Two-Face was normal sometimes. Red Robin didn’t think he would wish The Joker on anyone.
He grappled across the rooftops, shoulders aching (from a dislocated shoulder two days ago, but Alfred didn’t need to know that thank you very much), and head pounding. He was going through caffeine withdrawals on top of a migraine with an aura. Half the lights around him as he flew were either starbursts or were blurry in his left eye. His head also felt like someone was stabbing an ice pick into his eye and scrambling his brain with it.
Stupid fucking Oracle. Stupid Fucking Hood. And STUPID FUCKING NIGHTWING. The lot of them.
He nearly toppled over when he landed on the designated roof and was thankful that he was the first to arrive so that the others didn’t see him nearly faceplant on the roof. He managed to pop a couple of Tylenol just as he caught the tell-tale sounds of a grapple connecting with the roof and Hood’s distinct footsteps.
The younger Bird pointedly ignored the anti-hero’s barbed “Replacement” as they waited for Nightwing to arrive. They only had to wait a few minutes before the sound of another grapple caught their attention. Oracle sounded off in their respective ears with intel about Black Mask’s operation within the cathedral. Red Robin was, of course, assigned to bomb duty, not that he expected anything else.
‘Oh sure. Assign the smallest and weakest Bat to the part with the least number of goons,’ he thought bitterly as he put Thing 2 in a silent chokehold then shook his head.
That wasn’t entirely fair. He knew that his smaller hands and more advanced wrist gauntlet made him better at diffusing bombs. Plus, he was often better at stealth operations that either ‘Wing or Hood. But that didn’t take away the sting that he was being assigned the least difficult part.
Or…well…it was supposed to be the least difficult part.
Thing 1 went down as silently as his counterpart had, and then Red Robin turned his attention to the bomb. Oracle was a gentle and reassure presence in his ear, which was comforting since when he opened the faceplate of the bomb, he discovered that 1) it had TWO kill switches 2) it ALSO had a pressure plate and 3) all of the wires were the same color.
FUCK HIM RUNNING!
“Oracle! What do I do?” He called over the comm, nearly panicked.
“Easy, Red Robin. I’ll walk you through disarming the bomb as best as I can,” Oracle reassure the younger Bat.
Red Robin took several calming breaths before getting to work. Unfortunately, everything he did only served to make the timer on the bomb either go faster or skip time. He muttered profanities under his breath the entire time. When the timer skipped down to thirty seconds left, Oracle had him stop messing with it.
He quickly cobbled together something to place over the bomb that would, hopefully, mitigate any damage. He knew it wouldn’t hold, especially since he didn’t know what type of explosive Black Mask had used. But hopefully the only person getting hurt and/or killed would be the one with the protective gear made to withstand such force. It wouldn’t protect his head or protect him flames or falling rubble.
He called out a warning to ‘Wing and Hood and then dove for cover over the two goons, protecting them from the worst of it. The sonic boom rocked him backwards, sending him flying into a wall. He hoped the goons survived, but well, he already had a body count from other explosions that he caused intentionally; what were two more dead bodies from one that was definitely NOT his fault.
The heat was the next thing he noticed once his ears stopped ringing and his vision returned. He glanced around, but his head now felt like a sumo wrestler was playing on a jack hammer inside his skull so forgive him for not immediately being able to recognize where he was. There was a staticky noise in his ear, and it took him a moment to realize it was his comm. Busted in the shockwave from the explosion.
The building above him groaned as it threatened to crumble around him. He hoped that ‘Wing and Hood were able to the hostages out. He hoped that they weren’t hurt. He may not like either of them, but that didn’t mean he wanted them to be hurt. Well, ‘Wing he kind of wanted to be hurt; Hood he was indifferent to. The building groaned again, and then he was falling.
‘Well, fuck,’ was the last thing he thought before darkness took over his vision.
When he opened his eyes again, it was to the distinctly worried face of Nightwing hovering over him as he was being placed on a backboard and laid gently inside the Batmobile. He didn’t need to go back to the cave. He could take care of himself. Thank you very much. He attempted to squirm to get off, but Nightwing firmly held him in place.
“Baby bird, we’re taking you back to the Cave for treatment. If you don’t stop struggling, we’ll have to sedate you,” Nightwing said firmly. Red Robin slumped in defeat. He HATED the feel of being sedated.
The Batmobile roared as it flew through the dark street. Red Robin would hiss and moan as the barely legal street tank hit the pock-marked roads. Red Robin swore Nightwing hit Every. Single. GODDAMN pothole between the cathedral and the Cave. It was like he was doing it on purpose. But he was running his hands through Red Robin’s hair, which the younger couldn’t help but want more it. It truly was a Catch-22 because he was mad at Nightwing but wanted Nightwing’s touch. He wanted to have his cake and eat it too.
Alfred and Dr. Thompkins were waiting for them in the Cave’s medical bay as the Batmobile rolled up. Tim was insistent that he was fine. No matter that his head felt like said sumo wrestler from earlier was now using his brain as a trampoline, his leg felt like fire incarnate, and every meal that he’d eaten since he was eight threatened to make a reappearance. HE WAS FINE. He could absolutely take care of himself.
Neither Dick nor Jason, who were both now maskless (or in Jason’s case, maskless AND hoodless) as they carried the backboard over to the waiting medical bay for Alfred and Dr. Thompkins to examine Tim. He was cranky, and by the end of the exam, down right obstinate. But Alfred and Dr. Thompkins had long since gotten used to working with Gotham’s nightlife types. Alfred from working with those who worked to save Gotham, and Dr. Thompkins from working with everyone who stepped foot into her clinic. Between the two of them, they could out-stubborn a singular Bat.
Tim finally resigned to his fate of being manhandled onto a bed. Dr. Thompkins barked out orders which had Dick, Jason, and surprisingly, Damian racing around to follow them. Dick got the supplies for an IV. Jason got the supplies to cut Tim out of his Red Robin suit. And Damian got the supplies to hook Tim up to various monitors. While Alfred, needing no orders, maneuvered the portable x-ray machine so that they could get images. They suspected that Tim’s right femur was broken. Dr. Thompkins herself began scrubbing her hands and putting on PPE so that she could stitch the lacerations on Tim’s side, face, arm.
All in all, Tim needed a total of twenty-seven stitches, three for the one in his forehead just above his left eye, ten for the one in his right arm, and fourteen for the one in his left side. She would have to keep a careful watch on ALL them, especially since the boy had the survival instincts of a wet paper towel. She was almost glad of the broken leg because at the least the leg would keep him benched for a few weeks. At least the femur fracture was a simple, transverse break. It could have been worse.
Tim was glaring at everyone and couldn’t wait until he could get up to his room in the Manor. STUPID FUCKING ORACLE SENDING HIM ON THIS STUPID FUCKING MISSION. STUPID FUCKING NIGHTWING FOR BRINGING HIM BACK TO THE CAVE. STUPID FUCKING EVERYONE ELSE. He didn’t even want to be back here. It wasn’t his fault.
Fortunately, Dick was able to keep Damian out of the medbay once Dr. Thompkins was done. Or maybe it was Bruce. Because Tim swore on every deity that if he saw the little shit, he would immediately launch himself into Gotham Harbor or maybe the nearest volcano. He didn’t know. But violence would be enacted.
He was losing the battle against sleep when he felt large, rough hands card through his hair and an equally rough voice whisper, “Sleep, chum. I’ll be here when you wake.” The last thought that ran through his head before sleep took him was ‘Oh, shit. That’s B’s worried voice. Why would he be worried about me?’
Tim woke with the suddenness that only vigilantes do. And then remembered WHY that was such a bad idea. His head resumed the sumo on a jackhammer, his side where something had knicked him erupted in fire, and his leg was shrieking. AND they were taking turns screaming for attention, as if to say “NO! I hurt more.”
“Tim? Easy. I’ll give you some more pain meds,” Bruce said quietly, as if he knew just how much pain Tim was in. Tim whimpered as he waited for the medicine to kick in.
“B’uce? W’at?” He slurred as the meds took effect.
“Tim, sweetheart, you gave us quite a scare. But for now, rest. I’ll be here when you wake,” Bruce said with soft hum.
“’Kay,” Tim replied as he let the medicine take him back under.
The next time Tim woke, while he was still in pain, it was at least bearable. And true to his word, Bruce was still there. Bruce put down the WayneTech table he’d been working on when he realized that Tim was awake again. When he asked if Tim would like any more pain meds, Tim declined the narcotic and opted for something a little less strong. Bruce hated the thought that Tim might be in pain, but he couldn’t force his son to accept the stronger pain med. Bruce was slightly confused about the order for the antibiotic, but that wasn’t due yet. And there wasn’t anything in Tim’s medical file, so he filed it away to ask about later.
Alfred came down and cleared Tim to be able to transferred up to the Manor, BUT only if he promised to stay in the provided wheelchair and allowed someone to at least escort him from the Cave to his room in the Manor. The boy sullenly promised he would stay in his wheelchair, but only if it was Bruce who pushed him up. Bruce readily agreed.
Tim remained stubbornly silent on the trek up to Tim’s room however Bruce tried to wheedle information out of him. Bruce heaved a sigh as he pushed open the door. He helped settle Tim in his bed and informed the boy that he would be right down the hall if he needed anything. Or he could call for any of his brothers. Tim merely rolled his eyes. Bruce hear the distinct sound of Tim’s locks and traps engaging as he shut the door. What had happened when he’d been lost in the timestream?
“Did he talk to you?” Dick asked in a worried voice.
“No, chum, he didn’t. Not a single word,” Bruce replied as he pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to stave of a blossoming headache. Bruce could tell it was futile.
The next few days were…interesting. Tim was playing a VERY interesting mix of keep away and hide and seek, except that he was the one keeping himself away, and he was ALSO the only one hiding. If he was in the library and someone walked in trying to talk to him, he would quickly and brusquely roll himself out of the library. If he was in kitchen helping Alfred, he would promptly exit. If he was at one end of a hallway, he would turn and disappear into different room or wing of the Manor. No matter who it was, even Bruce, they couldn’t pin him down long enough to talk.
Dick was the one the catch him. He was just about to pull his disappearing act, again, when Tim felt his wheelchair come to an abrupt halt in the hall.
“Not so fast, Baby Bird. We’re needed in the family sitting room,” Dick practically chirped as he guided the younger’s chair.
“STOP! Dick, stop!” Tim cried as he struggled to regain control of the chair. But Dick didn’t stop, and he pushed Tim into the sitting room. He arranged Tim’s chair so that he finished the semi-circle that had been set up. Tim took one look before realizing what was being done. “WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!?!” He yelled.
“Language, Master Tim,” Alfred scolded gently.
Tim glared at the butler, but knew that he was defeated. However, he wasn’t about to face his so-called family alone. He subtly called for Kon and waited with his arms across his chest. He almost made sure that Kon brought Bart. That way Bart could collect all of the Kryptonite so that Kon couldn’t be hurt or incapacitated. It was one of the many contingencies that Tim had come up with after retrieving Bruce from the timestream. He just didn’t think he would need to use this soon. Bunch of nosy fuck-ass vigilante detectives. The lot of them.
Bruce glowered…actually glowered…at the Super and Speedster that suddenly appeared in his house. Most of the others were in a similar state. The only one who seemed to not only expect the metas but happy to see them was Tim. Bruce’s frown deepened.
“I take it that this is some kind of intervention,” Tim practically spat the last word and glared at the gathered Bats and Birds. Everyone felt a shiver go down their spine at the look on Tim’s face.
“You didn’t need to call in your friends, Timbo,” Dick snarked.
“Oh, but I DID, Richard because no one in this fucking family respects my boundaries. So, they’re here to make sure you do and to make sure that you listen,” Tim’s voice dropped a register, and again everyone shivered.
“Dude, you just got full named,” Steph nearly cackled.
“Language, Master Tim,” Alfred chided a second time. Tim merely pulled out his wallet and handed a wad of cash to Bart for him to place in the swear jar.
“That should solve the issue because I imagine there will be lots of swearing in the next few minutes, Alfred,” Tim replied blithely. Alfred looked non-plussed, unsure of quite how to proceed. He merely sniffed and sipped his tea in response.
“Tim, chum, we’ve been worried about you,” Bruce began.
Tim turned his upper body to face Bruce, and the older man clacked his jaw shut. “Oh, now you’re worried about me. What right do you have to be worried about me, Bruce Thomas Wayne?” Bruce pulled back at the sheer vitriol in his third son’s voice. The room went pin drop silent.
“You’re my son. Of course, I’m worried about you,” Bruce attempted to rally.
“Don’t give me that bullshit. I’m only your son when I’m convenient or useful. You haven’t strung three sentences together to me since you’ve been back. WE haven’t even had so much as a lunch date. But you’ve been out with Damian six times, Richard and Duke twice, Jason and Cass three times each, and even managed to get with Barbara and Stephanie.” Everyone winced as they realized that they had all been relegated to full names, except for Cass.
“Come on, Baby Bird, it can’t be that bad,” Dick started.
“DON’T YOU DARE, RICHARD JOHN GRAYSON! YOU WERE MY BROTHER! BUT EVER SINCE THE FUCKING DEMON SPAWN CAME, I GOT DEMOTED! I’M JUST THE NEIGHBOR KID! WHEN YOU CAME HOME AND FOUND JASON IN YOUR ROBIN SUIT, YOU WERE SO MAD! AND YET, YOU GO AND DO THE SAME SHIT TO ME! WHEN DAMIAN PUSHED ME OFF THE DINOSAUR OR CUT MY GRAPPLE LINE OR ANY OF THE OTHER MURDER ATTEMPTS OR ALL OF THE DEROGATORY REMARKS, ‘BE THE BIGGER PERSON, TIM’ OR ‘HE’S JUST A CHILD, TIM’. I’M FUCKING SEVENTEEN! AM I NOT CONSIDERED A CHILD TOO?!?! OH WAIT, I KNOW THE ANSWER TO THAT! I AM…WAS…FUCKING WAS ROBIN. THEREFORE, ROBIN DOESN’T COUNT AS A CHILD! WE HAVEN’T EVEN GOTTEN TO WHERE YOU THREATENED TO LOCK ME ARKHAM! FUCKING ARKHAM! JUST BECAUSE I KNEW…FUCKING KNEW BRUCE WAS ALIVE! YOU WOULDN’T EVEN LISTEN TO ME! I COME DOWN TO THE CAVE, AND THERE’S THE LITTLE DEMON SPAWN IN MY FUCKING COSTUME, TELLING ME THAT HE’S GOING TO BE ROBIN, THAT I’M NOT NEEDED ANYMORE! AND YOU FUCKING LET HIM! SAID HE NEEDED IT! BECAUSE AFTER ALL, I WAS JUST THE FUCKING PLACEHOLDER!
AND YOU JASON PETER TODD-WAYNE! YOU ATTACKED ME IN TITAN’S TOWER IN SOME MISPLACED FIT OF RAGE! SAYING I REPLACED YOU! BUT YOU NEVER EVEN GAVE ME THE CHANCE TO EXPLAIN! YOU NEVER EVEN QUESTIONED TALIA AL FUCKING GHUL! SURE, THERE WAS A NEW ROBIN, BUT IF I HADN’T STEPPED IN, THERE WOULDN’T EVEN HAVE BEEN A GOTHAM TO COME BACK TO! BATMAN WOULD HAVE EITHER KILLED HIMSELF OR GOTTEN SOMEONE ELSE KILLED! GORDON WAS ONLY WILLING TO LOOK AWAY SO MANY TIMES BEFORE HE WAS ABOUT TO ARREST HIM! I CAN’T EVEN TELL YOU HOW MANY TIMES I HAD TO CALL 9-1-1 OR PATCH SOMEONE UP MY-FUCKING-SELF JUST TO PREVENT THEM DYING BECAUSE BATMAN HAD GONE TOO FAR! ALL THOSE STORIES ABOUT ‘RED HOOD DOESN’T HURT KIDS’ OR ‘RED HOOD DOESN’T KILL KIDS’! BULL-FUCKING-SHIT! I WAS FIFTEEN! A GODDAMN FUCKING CHILD! OH WAIT! AGAIN! I WAS ROBIN, AND ROBIN ISN’T A CHILD! I’M NOT YOUR FUCKING REPLACEMENT! I WAS THE FUCKING DUCT TAPE HOLDING BATMAN TOGETHER WHEN RICHARD REFUSED TO AND YET…AND YET, YOU’RE PERFECTLY FINE WITH DAMIAN IN THE SUIT, EVEN THOUGH IT WAS STOLEN FROM ME! IF ANYTHING HE’S THE REAL REPLACEMENT!
AND YOU, STEPHANIE MINERVA BROWN! YOU START A GANG WAR IN FUCKING GOTHAM, FAKE YOUR DEATH, AND THEN GO IN WITH BRUCE ON MY SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY BULLSHIT! HAVE I MISSED ANYTHING?!?!” Steph shook her head, tears streaming down her face.
“DO I EVEN NEED TO START ON DAMIAN THOMAS AL GHUL-WAYNE…WAIT, MAYBE I DO! LET’S SPELL IT OUT! FIRST MURDER ATTEMPT, HE PUSHED ME OFF THE DINOSAUR. SECOND MURDER ATTEMPT, HE CUT MY GRAPPLE IN DOWNTOWN GOTHAM! IF I HADN’T BEEN ABLE TO GRAB A FLAGPOLE, I WOULD HAVE FALLEN 10 STORIES! HE’S REPEATEDLY ATTEMPTED TO REMOVE ME AS THE CEO OF WAYNE ENTERPRISES, EVEN THOUGH HE’S CLEARLY TOO YOUNG TO RUN THE COMPANY AND DOESN’T EVEN HAVE A DEGREE! THIRD MURDER ATTEMPT…HMM LET’S SEE. OH YEAH, THAT WAS JUST A MONTH AGO WHEN HE PUT POISON IN MY COFFEE! HE’S CONSTANTLY CALLING ME NAMES AND INSULTING ME OR SAYING THAT I’M INCOMPETENT! IS THERE ANYTHING THAT I’VE MISSED?!?!
OH WAIT…BRUCE THOMAS WAYNE! OF ALL YOUR ROBINS, I’M THE ONLY ONE YOU’VE PERSONALLY BROKEN BONES ON IN THE NAME OF ‘SPARRING’! THREE BROKEN FINGERS, A BROKEN NOSE, CRACKED RIBS, A BROKEN WRIST, AND A BROKEN ANKLE. YOU CALLED IT ‘SPARRING’ OR ‘TRAINING’! ANYONE ELSE WOULD CALL IT A BEATING OR ABUSE! I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO GOT SENT AWAY FOR TRAINING! JASON AND DAMIAN DON’T COUNT! DAMIAN WAS BORN IN THE LEAGUE, AND JASON WAS FOUND BY THE LEAGUE WHEN HE REVIVED! BUT YOU SENT ME FUCKING AWAY. HELL, FOR THE FIRST SIX MONTHS, I DIDN’T EVEN THINK YOU KNEW MY NAME! YOU KEPT CALLING ME FUCKING JASON! AND WHEN YOU DIDN’T CALL ME JASON, YOU ONLY CALLED ME ROBIN!
EVERY SINGLE FUCKING DAY, I HAVE TO LISTEN TO THIS SO-CALLED FUCKING FAMILY CALL ME NAMES OR TALK DOWN TO ME! ALL THE FUCKING TIME, I HAVE TO BE IN CLOSE PROXIMITY TO THOSE WHO HAVE ABUSED ME!”
“TIM! No, that…that’s not…” Dick interrupted, appalled.
“Isn’t it?” Tim spat back. “If this were any other child, it would be called exactly what it is. ABUSE. If Red Hood were any other rogue and not Jason, and he’d done the things to Damian that Jason had done to me, you’d be keeping Damian as far away from Red Hood, from his abuser, his torturer, his attacker, as possible. If Damian were any other person and said and done those things to anyone else, any other CHILD, you’d keep that CHILD as far away from Damian as possible.
But it’s ok because it’s just Tim. I don’t know if it’s because Tim is the exception. Or if it’s because as Robin, Robin is the exception. Except that can’t be it. Because Jason never says those things to Damian, and Damian has never once threatened serious bodily harm on Jason or Richard. Sure, pulled a knife or twelve, but never actually attempted to murder Jason or Steph or Cass or Duke.”
Tim sat back in his wheelchair, his chest heaving. His eyes were glistening with unshed tears. Kon leaned down and squished Tim on one side, and Bart did the same on his other side, creating a Tim sandwich between them. That was what finally broke Tim as he finally began sobbing. But it wasn’t the loud, noisy sobs like one would expect. They were silent, heaving sobs. Because somewhere Tim had learned that crying loudly meant being punished or ignored. Making noise meant getting attention, and attention wasn’t necessarily a good thing. It was a survival thing. He’d learned to be quiet. To be invisible. To disappear into the shadows. Everyone else sat in stunned silence. All they could was watch as Kon leaned down and scoop up Tim bridal-style and take him out of the room.
“Well, that could have gone better,” Jason said, running a hand through his hair, once Kon was…well not out of hearing range since the Kryptonian could hear everything within the wall of the Manor, but at least out of normal hearing range.
The rest of the family didn’t see Tim for another three days. They barely saw Kon or Bart. If someone other than Alfred attempted to knock on Tim’s door, they were shooed away by either an angry Speedster or an enraged Kryptonian. They weren’t too sure which was worse. It wasn’t until the third day that they realized that something was wrong.
“Something’swrongwithRob!” Bart said as he raced into the kitchen.
Bruce took a moment to parse out what the speedster said before rushing out of the kitchen and following after the teenager. “What’s wrong? Symptoms?” It sounded suspiciously like ‘Robin. Report.’ And even though Bart wasn’t a Robin, he still responded.
“He’s got a fever of 103.8 that we can’t get down even with fever reducers. His left side seems hot to touch. His breathing is labored, and he can’t keeping anything down,” Bart dutifully reported.
Bart opened the door, and Bruce caught Kon whispering something “Rob, you’re gonna have to tell them” as he made his way over to Tim’s bedside. Tim feebly shook his head, but Kon replied. “If you don’t, I will.”
“Tell me what, sweetheart?” Bruce said as he took out the thermometer to retake Tim’s temperature. Not that he didn’t doubt Bart’s assessment, but he wanted an up-to-date temperature when he called Dr. Thompkins. His heart clenched when the thermometer read 104.1. Tim shook his head. Whether in trying to fight off Bruce’s mother-henning or in not wanting to tell him whatever Kon was urging him to tell, Bruce didn’t know. “Kon, pick him up so we can take him to the cave. Bart, go grab Alfred and tell him to call Dr. Thompkins.”
Both teenagers answered a quick “yes sir” even as Kon ever-so-gently picked up the third teenager. Tim tried batting at Kon, but the Kryptonian was unmoved. Kon followed as fast as humanly possible (he didn’t want to do any more damage to the Bird in his arms) after Bruce towards the Cave’s entrance in Bruce’s study. Tim moaned weakly in Kon’s arms.
“K’n…don wanna,” Tim muttered.
“Tim. Rob. Buddy. If you don’t, I will,” Kon repeated his earlier statement.
The elevator dinged and the four of them piled out. The rest of Gotham’s vigilante Cauldron were waiting, although Dr. Thompkins would only allow Bruce and Kon (since he was currently carrying Tim) inside the medical area. Bruce instructed Kon to lay Tim down and watched as the Super laid him down ever so gently. Tim chased the Super’s hand like the touch starved boy he was.
“Rob. Tell. Them.” Kon said, his voice hard and firm, but tender and soft at the same time.
Bruce narrowed his eyes, then he remembered the antibiotics that he’d seen Dr. Thompkins order for Tim before he’d been moved up to the Manor. “Tim, does this have anything to do with the antibiotics that you were ordered?”
Dr. Thompkins sucked in a breath. “Timothy, please tell me you’ve been taking them?” The good doctor begged. Bruce grew even more concerned. Tim shook his head. “Damn vigilantes. Determined to either die or send me to an early grave,” the doctor mumbled. “Alfred, we’ll need to set up another IV. I’m pushing a high dose of antibiotics every twelve hours for the next three days. After that, we may be able taper it down to either a lower dose of the antibiotics or to a different antibiotic.” Alfred nodded, never doubting the doctor’s ordered even if he didn’t know why she was pushing such an order.
“B’uce,” Tim slurred, slightly coherent. He shivered slightly as Alfred placed ice packs on his neck, under his armpits, and around his groin. “Haveta tell you.”
“What is it, sweetheart?” Bruce asked as he leaned forward, not wanting to miss any words from his son.
“When I w’nt lookin’ for yu, lost ma spleen. H’rt so fuckin’ bad,” Tim whined.
Bruce.exe stopped working. Giant blue screen of death. No reboot. No save. No recover file. Because what the ever loving fuck.
“Language, Master Bruce,” Alfred reprimanded his pseudo-son.
Bruce looked at his father figure in confusion. Oh right. He must have said that last part out loud. Bruce shook his head to clear his confusion and pinched the bridge of his nose. A neon green light appeared just behind his eyelids as he ground the palm of his hand into his eyes. Neither of those actions did anything to prevent the stab of pain that would through his eye like an ice pick to the brain.
“I’m sorry. Did Timberlina just say that he lost his fucking spleen?” Jason yelled. And here Bruce thought Kon was the only one with super hearing.
Instead of answering his son, Bruce turned towards the Kryptonian. “Kon, what do you know about this?”
“He didn’t tell me much, Mr. Bruce. Just that he would need to be on preventative antibiotics for about three years since he got you back from the timestream,” Kon replied. Bruce heaved a sigh. He turned when he heard Dick let out a strangled sob.
“Dick, chum?” Bruce questioned, fearing what he was going to hear.
“It’s all my fault,” Dick sobbed in despair.
“It’s not…” Bruce started.
“It kind of is,” Kon interrupted. Bruce glared at the Super. “If he’d listened to Rob before all of this started, then none of this would have happened.”
“I never meant for Tim to feel replaced. I was going to have a conversation with him,” Dick pleaded.
“But you didn’t. And on top of that, you never stopped or prevented the little demon spawn from doing or saying those things. For a whole year, you were acting as Damian’s parent. And instead of parenting him, you were trying to be his friend. Every time he said or did something to Tim, it wasn’t Damian who was punished; it was Tim. You’ve made Damian think that not only is acceptable, but that he can continue to do those things,” Kon said, his voice tight with barely controlled fury. Dick wiped his tears and hung his head because everything the clone was saying was true.
“Kon, do you know how he lost his spleen?” Bruce asked, attempting to redirect the conversation back to what was more urgent, although he knew he shouldn’t have let things fester because look where that got him.
“No, sir. I don’t. He never would tell us. But he did make us a promise that if he ever had to tell you Bats, then he would tell the whole story. So, once he’s stable, we can get the story out of him,” Kon said with air of finality.
It was another two days before Tim regained any sort of lucidity on a permanent basis. During those two days, he would wake long enough to drink a protein shake or some nutrient dense broth before sliding back into unconsciousness. Bruce, Dick, and Alfred took turns monitoring his temperature and changing out his ice packs. Everyone heaved a sigh of relief when his temp finally dipped below 99.0 and stayed there.
On the third morning, Dr. Thompkins came in and checked Tim over. She saw that his temp was trending down and staying there, she switched out his antibiotics for something that could be given orally and that had fewer side effects. She ordered for the older Waynes (one butler extraordinaire included) to remove the ice packs as Tim had begun shivering from actually being cold rather from being feverish.
About an hour after the last ice pack was taken away, Tim blinked his stormy blue eyes open and groaned. Bruce, once again, put his WE tablet away and stepped up to the side of the medical bed to run his fingers through Tim’s hair. The action pulled a soft whine from Tim. Bruce used his tablet to send a quick signal to the others to let them know that Tim was awake. Tim glared at him as if he knew what his dad was doing. Bruce chuckled. And if there was a wet sound to it…Well, no there wasn’t. Mind your business.
Tim huffed and puffed and did his absolute damnedest to avoid the upcoming topic, but he couldn’t avoid Kon who promptly reminded him that as a Robin, Robins don’t break their promises. So, with Kon and Jason’s help, they brought in chairs and other places to sit so that Tim could tell his story.
Tim heaved a sigh and took a huge gulp of the water that Bruce offered him. He looked pleadingly at Kon who merely folding his arms across his chest and motioned for him go on. “So, it starts the day I found Damian in my Robin costume. Richard and I had been fighting about Bruce being alive. I knew he was alive; I just needed to prove it. Richard wouldn’t listen to me. At first, he suggested that since I’d suffered so many losses so close together, Bart, Kon, my dad, Steph, and then Bruce, that I was maybe having some kind of psychotic break, and that maybe I should seek therapy in Metropolis.” Everyone turned to glare at the errant Dick Grayson, who at least had the decency to hang his head in shame.
“Then, when I continued to push my whole “Bruce is alive” spiel, Richard threatened to shove me into Arkham.” Another intake of breath. Jason’s eyes flashed green. Tim held up a hand before the older could go off on the eldest Wayne sibling. “That’s when I found Damian in my Robin costume. Richard said that Damian needed it otherwise he was going back to the League. That I didn’t need to be Robin anymore.
So, since Richard wouldn’t listen to me, and he convinced the entirety of the Justice League that I was mad with grief, I knew I was on my own. I managed to evade all of the cameras in Gotham, and disabled all of my trackers. Not that Richard was even looking for me. Too busy with the little demon spawn. Anyways, I began my quest in Europe.
Somewhere along the way, I attracted attention, and not the good kind. I was dodging League assassins. They eventually caught me and took me back to Nanda Parbat. From there, Ra’s was being his dirty, creepy self, but I bested him, and he wanted me to ‘lead’ the League, which I did for a few months. The three assassins that captured me were now under me. As much as I didn’t want to use anything that Ra’s offered, he was the only resource I had.
Somewhere in the Gobi Desert, we were attacked by a different assassin group called the Council of Spiders. Two of the three assassins died, while my third companion had her throat slit. I was impaled by an assassin called the Widower. He hit me in my right side. Pru, the League assassin that survived, somehow, took us both back to The Cradle. League doctors there said that they could not save my spleen. Ra’s has it in a jar that he keeps on a shelf in his study.
Ra’s then thought he could kidnap Tam, yes my secretary Tam, in order to force me into compliance. It didn’t work because Pru and several others defected to my side, and that’s when I blew up the League.”
“HOLY SHIT!!! That was you?!?!” Jason asked in stunned awe.
“We got out, but not before Ra’s threatened that he would take everything that I hold near and dear to my heart. When Tam and I got back to Gotham, Thomas Elliot had nearly ruined WE. Tam and I had to fake our engagement. Together with Lucius we managed to rebuild WE. It’s why I had to get emancipated. One night, while working at WE, Ra’s attacked me in Wayne Tower. But Lucius and I already had several contingencies in place by that time. So, when he kicked me out of the 60th story window…”
“Did…did…did you know I would catch you?” Dick asked, choking back another round of sobs.
“It wouldn’t have mattered. WE was safe. The Justice League had the proof to bring Bruce back. I had just spent the better part of a year globe-trotting chasing clues, leading assassins, being chased by different assassins. You didn’t believe me, and I didn’t even have Robin. All I had was yet another stolen name that wasn’t even mine. At the time, I didn’t even know Kon had come back. I was…utterly and completely broken. I didn’t know you were nearby,” Tim whispered into the near silent Cave.
Dick was crying again, but no one moved to soothe him. He’d once told Tim that he’d always be there to catch him. And at one point, Tim had had absolute faith in Dick’s ability to do just that. But some time in the last year, Dick had opened a rift so wide and deep, it might as well have been the Grand Canyon, between him and Tim that Tim had lost that shiny and sparkly faith in his older brother. He hadn’t even called for backup against the quasi-immortal, definitely insane, leader of the Demon’s Head cult that was trying to kill him. He’d just accepted his fate as fact.
“Tim, is there any way we can make it up to you?” Bruce asked stiltedly.
“I don…I don’t know, Bruce. But they say actions speak louder than words.” Tim’s voice was small, and his shoulders were slumped in defeat. It broke everyone’s heart to see such a thing on what was a once proud and confident young man.
They filtered out of the medbay, since Dr. Thompkins stated that she would release Tim back up to the Manor in a couple of hours now that his fever had finally broken. The caveat was that Tim had to promise to STAY at the Manor for the entirety of his leg being in a cast. Tim threw out several VERY colorful cuss words while the rest of the family nearly cheered. It would give them time to attempt at fixing their mess.
It started with Bruce asking Tim to play a game of chess. He remembered playing chess with a much younger Tim and reluctantly enjoying it. Tim had brute forced himself into Bruce’s life, and now Bruce couldn’t imagine his life without the vibrant and brilliant young man. They played until it was time for another dose of Tim’s pain medication, and then Tim fell asleep, snuggled up on Bruce’s broad chest. Before Tim fell asleep, the patriarch stuttered out an apology for everything he’d done wrong leading up to Tim’s explosive confrontation, and he’d done so very many things wrong. He also let his third son know that he would still love him, no matter if he continued being a vigilante or wanted to step back from it. In fact, Bruce had said, he had never wanted any of his kids to step into the dark underbelly of Gotham’s nightlife. For Dick, it had been about seeking justice for his parents’ murder. For Jason, it had been about offering him something permanent. For Cass, it was about being something more than a weapon like David Cain had wanted her to be. And for Damian, it was about proving that he could be more than the League’s brainwashing.
But Tim…Tim had seen Bruce in a time that none of the others had seen, not even Dick. Dick had seen some of it, but he hadn’t seen the worst of it. Tim had pulled Bruce out of his depressive and suicidal spiral. Tim had truly been Bruce’s light in the darkness, and Bruce made sure that Tim knew he didn’t deserve that burden.
Jason hijacked his wheelchair and dragged him into the second library. Everyone knew that the second library was Jason’s library. No one went in there without permission. Jason shoved Tim’s wheelchair in front of the roaring fire, and then pulled out his copy of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Tim looked up intrigued. He’d never read the book but had wanted to. Jason read out loud until he saw the younger boy’s head droop against his chest. Jason quietly stood up and carefully shifted the third robin onto the sofa and covered him with fleece blanket. Jason didn’t apologize directly. But he did gift Tim a customized bo staff, which in Jason’s love language was as good as an apology.
Damian invited Tim into his art studio. He’d learned that Tim used to take photos and wanted someone that he could share his love the finer arts with. Tim was only too happy to show the youngest Wayne his many, many albums of his days “Bird” watching. Damian was amazed that Richard, Jason, nor their Father had ever noticed the little budding stalker. Damian admitted that he felt insecure in Timothy’s shadow. Back at the League, all he’d ever heard was “Timothy this” and “Drake that”, and it had made him doubt Bruce’s ability to love him or have a place for him. Tim reassured the other that that wasn’t how Bruce worked. That Damian would always have a place at Wayne Manor. Tim told Damian how he’d always wanted a little brother, but he’d given up on that particular dream because Jack and Janet barely even wanted him. They’d only had him because it was expected. Damian’s eyes flashed in anger when Tim had told him that. Tim continued on to say that he’d been ecstatic to learn he was finally going to be a big brother, however unconventionally. Damian felt his heart crack in his chest at the distant look in Tim’s eyes. Because he wanted to be that little brother. Damian promised to do better. To be better. Tim reached out and ruffled Damian’s hair. Damian tolerated it with a small scowl on his face.
Steph invited Tim to girls’ night in, where the girls all gathered in Babs’s room on the first floor and basically had a sleepover. They painted their nails; talked about the latest gossip; braided their hair; gave each other facials. The works. Steph apologized for her part in Tim’s sixteenth birthday fiasco and for making Tim think she was dead. Babs apologized for not trying to track him harder while he was away from Gotham. She knew she probably could have found him, if she’d really put her considerable resources towards finding him.
Of course, Duke and Cass didn’t have anything to apologize for.
Alfred, for his part, apologized for allowing everything to happen under his roof. He didn’t offer excuses or platitudes, but he promised that he would do better in the future.
Dick took the longest to find Tim. He found the wheelchair bound vigilante in the game room playing one of the Call of Duty games. Tim was propped up on a bean bag with his leg resting on the ottoman. Tim greeted the other still using his full name. Dick winced because yeah, he totally deserved that. Dick sat at the other end of the couch. Bruce had bought a section sofa specifically for Tim to recover on during his convalescence. His leg was currently propped up on several pillows, and he was wrapped up in a few throw blankets.
The boy didn’t even spare a glance towards the eldest Wayne sibling. Which ouch. But also mood. Dick watched as Tim played for a bit. He seemed to be playing with a few people online. Dick wasn’t sure if the ones playing with Bart and Kon or some of Tim’s other friends. Dick was the first to break.
“Tim, can I talk to you?” He asked when Tim seemingly got to a spot where he could either pause or come back later. He told his gaming buddies that he would sign back on in a bit.
Dick watched as Tim bit back a sigh before turning his upper body to face him. Dick scooted closer to his second younger brother and leaned forward. He desperately wanted to take the younger’s face and cup it, but he didn’t think would appreciate that too much. Dick noticed that his hands were shaking, so he clasped them together. It didn’t help.
Dick swallowed thickly and then wished he’d brought something to drink, but with the way his stomach was roiling, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep it down. “When you first became Robin, I made a promise to myself that I would do better by you as your big brother.”
Dick finally gave into his impulse and took one of Tim’s hands. Tears pooled in Dick’s eyes as Tim flinched with the action. Dick wanted to look down or look away in shame, but he wouldn’t. Tim deserved to be met head on. For once, Dick wouldn’t take the coward’s way out.
“I was a truly shitty brother to Jason when he first came to the Manor. I was mad that Bruce had fired me from Robin and replaced me with Jason. And when Jason died, we had only just begun mending our relationship. And then you popped up. This bright-eyed kid threatening to blackmail me if I didn’t come back to Gotham and be Robin again. It was so absurd. After you left my apartment that first time, I actually got my head out of my ass for the first time in…well, a really long time.
And I know that Bruce told you no too. It wasn’t until we were trapped by Two-Face, and you had to come rescue us that I realized you were serious. I was willfully ignorant to what Bruce put you through. You didn’t deserve that; you deserved so much more than what we gave you. I took you train surfing and heard you laugh, then I wanted to hear it again and again. And slowly, ever so slowly you became my little brother too. Not a replacement to Jason. NEVER a replacement. A new little brother.
But somewhere along the line, I fucked up. I’m not going to offer up excuses or platitudes or any other justification. After Damian came along, I guess I felt like you would be there like you’ve always been, but that wasn’t fair to you either. Because you’re right. You’re just as much a child as he is. And abuse is abuse no matter who is doing or where it coming from. Whether it’s coming from an adult or an eleven year old child.
As Red Robin, you are an invaluable member of the team. Babs is constantly saying that she couldn’t do half the things she does without your help. The steps I took for you to become Red Robin were wrong. I should have talked to you about becoming your own vigilante identity before you saw Damian in the Robin costume. I wanted you know that I saw you as my equal, and I felt like it was time for you to branch out.”
“That wasn’t your call to make, Richard,” Tim stated, face devoid of emotion, like he was about to attend a gala.
Dick HATED that Tim still called him Richard. “You’re right. It wasn’t my call. I could have given Damian a new name. I SHOULD have talked to you. I SHOULD have believed you about Bruce. There are so many ways I fucked up with you. I felt you'd always be there; that we could just pick back up where we left off. But that…that's not how relationships work. And now there's a chasm between us, and it's my fault. I regret that more than words can say,” Dick finished, finally letting the tears fall.
Dick was surprised when he got a lap full of a little brother. “I don’t forgive you.” Dick let out a pained noise as he felt like he’d been sucker punched by the Joker, but Tim held up a hand. “I don’t forgive you right now. But I’d like to. I’d like to reconnect. I’d like to learn who this Dick Grayson is. We can never go back to who we were before. There’s too much pain between us. But we can build something new.”
“Thank you, Timmy. Thank you so damn much,” Dick breathed out. And finally pulled Tim into a bone crushing hug. Tim went boneless as he laid his head against Dick’s chest.
Dick knew that he had a long way to go. He knew that once trust was broken, it would take a really long time to rebuild it. He was just so damn thankful that Tim would be giving him that chance. That he hadn’t completely shut him out. Things were going to be fragile now, and probably for a long while. Tim would still flinch around Jason and Damian. He would have to be constantly reassured that he was wanted AND needed. But that was a Future Dick problem.
Right now, he had a Baby Bird in his lap who was demanding cuddles and was trying (and failing) not to fall asleep in the safety of his eldest brother’s arms. Dick pressed a kiss to Tim’s head, and Tim let out a sleepy, contented sigh. He mumbled something about finally being able to rest because he knew that Dick (Dick could have died right then because Tim had reverted to calling him Dick) would keep him safe.
Dick stirred as he felt a weight settle over him. He blinked bleary eyes awake, only to see Bruce lean down and press a kiss to his forehead and then move to Tim. The weight had been Bruce covering Dick and Tim. Tim shifted slightly, and frown slightly marring his face as he winced in pain.
“I hate to wake him, but it’s time for both his pain meds and his dose of antibiotics,” Bruce whispered.
“Let him sleep. It won’t hurt anything if they’re delayed by an hour or so,” Dick replied. Bruce frowned but pulled out his phone and sent off a quick text to verify with Dr. Thompkins. She confirmed that as long as Tim did not miss any doses of the antibiotic, delaying the dose by an hour would not do any significant damage. Dr. Thompkins did stress that the dose couldn’t be delayed by more than two hours in order to remain effective.
Bruce ruffled Dick’s hair, pressed another kiss to both of their hair, and set an alarm on his phone. He took a seat in the armchair while pulling out his tablet so that he could get some work done. Work that he realized Tim had been doing. Bruce heaved a sigh. He was still realizing how much he’d pushed off on the boy. He knew Tim wouldn’t want to give back the entirety of managing Wayne Enterprises, but he should never have had to bear the weight of the entire company for so long.
The entire family had a long way to go. But they would get there because Tim had decided to give them all not second chances but third, fourth, fifth, and sixth chances. Things would heal. Eventually. Not today. And not tomorrow. And probably not next week or next month. But given time and effort from everyone, things would heal. Bruce and everyone else would make sure of it.