Archive of Our Own ^beta

Tim races through the streets of Gotham with Nightwing by his side. Something hollow thumps in his chest, something empty shaking in his gut. 

They cross the length of the city each night to stop the rampage of criminals that seem dead set on wreaking havoc. There’d been a time, once, when Batman still roamed the streets. There’d been a time when crooks would be smart enough to not be so bold in their actions- but without the Bat in the picture, they take to the alleys and the streets and destroy Gotham’s name. 

To fix it, both Nightwing and Tim run ragged through the night, trying to stop as much as they can before the sun ghosts the sky. 

Tim’s tired, ready to drop down and sleep, but they still have the Fashion District to patrol and the docks to survey. As he rushes beside Nightwing, he thinks back to one of their earlier conversations- one that had taken place a few weeks after their decision to team up. 

“It never used to get as bad as this,” he’d said. “Not with Batman around.” 

Even now, Tim still hasn’t been told who’s behind the mask. They’ve been working together for almost half a year- but Tim’s known who Nightwing is since the moment Nightwing first came into the spotlight. (He’d figured it out before he’d first decided to don his own mask, after all- Nightwing, the first Robin, Dick Grayson- they were all one in the same.) All he’s been told about Nightwing is that he had used to be the very first Robin, that he did know what drove Batman back into hiding.

“You think it would’ve been better if he’d stayed?” Tim asked. 

“Maybe for the people of Gotham,” Nightwing had replied, giving him a noncommittal shrug. “Not for him. Though, I’m pretty sure that he’d have taken you in as Robin if he’d stuck with the gig, hm?” 

No way, Tim had thought. He still thinks it. Batman- Bruce Wayne, he’s certain- wouldn’t have picked him to carry on Robin’s legacy. Though, he had thought of going up to Wayne Manor- had thought of demanding to wear the R and the cape, once Robin’s disappearance really hit him. But- that was it. He had thought about it, sure, but three months after the public death of Jason Todd and the quiet disappearance of the second Robin- (they were one in the same, if Tim was really correct)- Batman vanished from the scene. Bruce Wayne had retired a handful of weeks earlier.

Batman had disappeared. Wayne had retired. 

Tim never got the chance to ask.

So, instead, Tim found his own way to be a hero. Instead of one R on his chest, he gave himself two- to pay homage to the traffic light colored child that had claimed Gotham’s streets, and because he couldn’t bring himself to steal an R that didn’t belong to him. He swore to himself that he’d carry on the legacy because Robin couldn’t.

Because Batman wouldn’t.

Being as young and as inexperienced as he was, it wasn’t too much of a surprise that he’d- eventually- ran into Gotham’s other protector. (Robin, Dick- Someone who kept on losing and someone who kept on finding. ) It wasn’t a surprise when Nightwing asked him to hang up the cowl, but it was a surprise to have Nightwing ask to patrol together, once Tim made it clear he couldn’t give it up. 

“I’m used to being with someone else,” Nightwing had defended, when Tim started to get suspicious. “I- It’s normal for me. Even as Nightwing.” 

Well- sure- Tim didn’t have very much experience with working with other people. His parents weren’t around much, so Tim was used to doing things alone. Even out on the field. But, at the time, he figured it better to work closely with Nightwing. 

Ever since then, it’s just been the two of them against Gotham’s endless sea of bad guys-

Which brings him back to now- to the grimy Gotham streets and Nightwing’s newest joke. They cuff yet another crook, grab yet another goon. Tim’s just glad that they’ve already finished up with Crime Alley. Nightwing seems to hate it- (Jason Todd, Catherine, a dirtbag father)- but Tim never says a word about it. 

(Trust has always been something that Nightwing grants too easily, and Tim doesn’t want to ruin that. He- he likes being trusted. He likes having someone beside him.) 

It’s not really like Tim ever has much time to ask, as they’re passing through. There’s always too many kidnappings to stop, too many purse snatchings and attempted assaults. They spend hours saving little kids, stopping teenagers from running away, preventing abusive scumbags from using their fists. The rest of the city is only a little better, but not by much. 

Like, now.  

Tim drops into an alleyway- not too far from their initial destination. He hears something like a child, letting out a wild war cry. It’s young and pitched and enraged, something that sets off all of the alarm bells in Tim’s head. Nightwing drops down before him, much more graceful and experienced, ready to take on whatever stands in their way this time. Somehow, they’re fast enough to catch the first punch being thrown, to catch a two hundred pound man and slam him into the concrete like a sack of bricks.

There’s two more men just like him, all three large and bulky.

And then-

And then there’s a little boy. There’s no way he’s any older than seven, a hood pulled up over his face and obscuring any other feature than Tim can see.

He’s absolutely tiny. He’s unbelievably small, but the way that he leaps right into his prior fight tells Tim that this child’s been trained by someone. Someone- but Tim, for the life of him, can’t pinpoint who. 

Nightwing can’t seem to either, since when he looks back to Tim, he mouths, who is this kid?

No idea, Tim replies.

They move, then, Nightwing surging back into the fight just in time to deck one of the men before he can slam the child- this tiny, small little child- into the wall. Tim throws himself into it too, staff extending beneath his fingertips. The end slams into the mouth of another one of the men. Together, Nightwing and Tim knock all of them down in seconds- the men no match for the two of them.

The moment they realize the men aren’t getting back up, the child whirls on them, pulling his hood off his face with small, brown hands- revealing pudgy cheeks, an adorable scowl, a pale scar lining his temple and another across his cheek, curling up to his ear. His locks are dark, soft with baby curls.

It’s his outfit, though, that catches Tim off guard. 

On his face sits a pine green mask, pupils whited out just enough to show faint pupils racing beneath them. His sweatshirt is slim, hanging three sizes too big on him. It’s dark, pitch black, with yellow stripes on the cuffs. It’s the same shade as the jeans on his legs, but Tim can’t tell if it’s rips are purposeful or accidental. What little skin that’s revealed is rubbed raw and scrapped up, either scabbed or a bloody red. On his feet are bright red All Star converse, looking thoroughly loved and worn. His shirt, too, is the same shade of red- but it looks like he’d bought it at a dollar store for nothing more than a dime. 

The most striking thing is what lies on his chest, right over his heart. 

A golden R shines as brightly as Tim’s memory of the bat signal, lighting up the night. 

The child before them lets his scowl fall when he registers Nightwing’s blues and Tim’s reds. The whites of his domino mask grow wide and his fingers twitch for something that isn’t there. “You,” he says, voice little and high. It’s laced with some kind of foreign accent that Tim can’t place off the top of his head- Middle Eastern, maybe? “You- You are both heroes, are you not?” 

His words are clipped- English isn’t his first language, Tim assumes. 

“I’m Nightwing,” Tim’s companion says, crouching down before the child- who looks absolutely dwarfed beside Nightwing. Nightwing has a grimace on his lips, but the child just looks insulted that Nightwing would crouch down to his height. “This is Red Robin.” 

The child nods, but aims a glare- at least, Tim assumes it’s a glare- at Red Robin. “ I am Robin,” he says. “The real one.” 

Yeah, Tim thinks. He’s totally Robin- Just not with that cheap costume, thrown together almost haphazardly.

It must bleed through his body language, because suddenly the child looks unbelievably angry. “Timothy Drake,” he says, and something stops in Tim’s heart. The child’s voice gets stuck on the o of Tim’s name, making it all sound way too formal. “Richard Grayson.” 

When Tim’s heart beats again, he’s just as angry. “Hey,” he says, sharply. “You can’t just go around saying our names, y’know?” 

Nightwing holds up a hand, telling Tim to cool it. “Let’s go talk somewhere else, okay? Somewhere where no one can hear us. I- I get the feeling you know some stuff, right?”

The boy- Robin, Tim guesses, just so he can stop saying the child in his head- gives a formal nod. “We should. Come, I have a secure safe-house nearby.” 

For some reason, Tim doesn’t say anything when Nightwing- (Dick? Now that it’s out in the open)- and his goddamn lack of trust- agrees to follow Robin. Robin drags the two of them to some rundown apartment building. Tim can see the security cameras, though- looking far too new compared to its home it’s connected to. 

They take the fire escape instead of the entrance, crawling up to the fourth floor where a shattered window awaits them. Robin pays no mind to it as he slips in, but both Dick and Tim pause before they enter, wary of what lies beyond. 

Tim doesn’t see any traps at first sight, but the way that Robin directs the two of them cautiously, he knows better than to assume. The rest of the apartment- a living room and a drab kitchen- is pretty sparse. There’s a ratty couch and a decent amount of appliances in the kitchen, plus some old looking TV up on the wall. 

Tim takes some care when he goes to sit down on the couch, but once they’re both sitting, Robin assumes a position standing before the two of them. He looks like he’s presenting in front of a class, or something- all tense and nervous. 

“Richard Grayson,” he repeats, nodding to Nightwing, and then Tim. “Timothy Drake. Your domino masks are unneeded at this time- you do not need them.” 

Tim almost snorts. Does he really think it’s going to be that easy? 

Well, okay, he thinks, when he sees Dick reaching up for his mask, maybe it is that easy.

Tim reaches over and stops Dick before he can pull his domino off. “Hang on, hang on,” he says. “Who are you? You’re like- You’re literally like five. How do you know who we are? And- And why do you know-?” 

“And,” Dick breaks in, “why are you running around as Robin?” His tone goes into mother hen mode. It’s one that Tim knows well- since, when they first met, Nightwing’s idea had been to get Tim off of the streets and all. “It’s so dangerous, especially for someone as young as you- You could get hurt!” 

“Do not patronize me,” Robin suddenly barks out. “I assure you that I am fully capable of protecting myself. My age nor my height are a matter to be concerned about.”

Dick winces at that. 

“Now, to answer your questions- I believe I already introduced myself as Robin, did I not?” 

“Less vague,” Tim quickly adds. “You know our names- just- just tell us yours.”

Robin tries to stare Tim down, but Tim just returns it- glare just as strong. Tim might be young, but this child before him is most definitely younger, and TIm won’t let himself be shown up by a five year old. (That, actually, trudges up some thoughts. In what world should a child know how to glare so terribly over something that isn’t spilt milk or- or sharing?)

“Very well,” Robin says. “I am Ibn al Xu'ffasch.” It takes Tim’s brain a second to translate. Ibn al Xu'ffasch- Son of the bat. “Secondly, I am not five, I have just turned six.” The way he says it makes it sound so much better than five. Just like any other child would, he says it full of pride at being ‘so old’ too. 

Six, Tim thinks. Tim himself isn’t much past his fourteenth birthday, but he’s been mature ever since he was ten. And- and six sounds so young. He’s going out and fighting bad guys as well as Nightwing can at six?  

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Dick raise a hand to his gaping mouth. He must be thinking along the same lines as Tim. Who would ever allow their child to go out at six years old? Who would train them to be as good as Robin is now? They’d had to have started at no older than- than- 

He’d had to have been training since he was just a baby.

“Regardless. I have done my research on you two. I have a mission to accomplish, and you, Grayson” -Robin points a small, pudgy finger at Dick- “are necessary to completing it. Firstly, I should explain what Ibn al Xu'ffasch can be translated to.” 

There’s a lull in the conversation as Robin folds his hands together. Tim has to hold back a laugh. He’s trying to sound grown up, and Tim can’t quite tell if he’s failing or not. Either way, he still looks absolutely adorable.

“Son of the bat,” Tim speaks up, just to fill the silence. 

Dick gasps. 

Abruptly, he stands up, shoulders tense. The movement is so quick and unexpected that it forces Robin back a few steps, hardly managing to suppress what looks to Tim like a wince. Tim’s parents might not have been around much to scold Tim, but he still recognizes the fear of anger like the back of his hand. 

Something sinks deeper in his gut, worse than it had been earlier.

“There’s no way,” Dick says, as Robin looks up, gaze laced with something Tim can’t name. Dick and Robin really look at each other for what Tim feels like might be the first time. “Ra’s- and Talia and B-”

Robin nods, and Dick’s fists clench. 

“She never told him that he has a son?!” Dick screeches, hands flying up to his head. Robin flinches again, and even Tim can’t still the thumping in his chest. “She kept you from him- And- And how long would she have- How much longer would she have kept you from him?!” 

“Originally,” Robin- Ibn? Tim feels like it’s a fake name- says, ever so carefully, as if he’s afraid of setting Dick off, “it was going to be until I beat her in battle on my birthday. Once it was found that the great Batman had retired, it would be never. There wasn’t any need for me to meet my father if he would not be able to do anything to further my training. Upon some realizations, I realized that I had to decide something- something for myself.” 

“So- So you escaped the League,” Dick says. “You escaped Ra’s and Talia, just to meet B.”

“No,” Robin says. “I have no intention of telling Father of our relationship when I find him. He- I am not his, I am Mother’s. My goal is simply to have him return to the streets of Gotham as the Batman. Gotham needs him more than I do. He was a great warrior and I will not allow him to turn back from his destiny because of some street rat.” 

The way he says street rat makes it sound- sound almost personal. Tim knows that he means Jason Todd, but his tone makes it feel like he knows of Jason Todd beyond research and thick files.

It also has Dick near seething, but Tim can tell he’s trying not to let it show. “You won’t talk about him like that,” he says. “He went through a lot- Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to talk ill of the dead?” 

“Nothing stays dead,” Robin hisses. “No one stays dead.” 

“It figures you’d think like that,” Dick returns. “What, with Ra’s and Talia filling your head with all of that sorry stu-” 

Suddenly, Robin’s own dark, round cheeks flush, his face scrunching up with his nose. “Do not talk of Mother that way, you-”

“Okay!” Tim interjects. It’s fun to watch the two bicker, but if Robin gets on that train of thought, it’ll just become a back and forth argument. He’s repeating the exact same thing back at Dick. “Okay, okay. How about we don’t diss other people- especially people who mean a lot to other people- and why don’t we start telling ol’ Timmy over here what the hell you two are talking about. Who’s Ra’s?” 

It’s not actually a name Tim recognizes, surprisingly enough- and neither is Talia. Right now, all he really understands is that whoever this Talia chick is, she did it with the Batman to have Robin. Plus, she has to be absolutely crazy, if she’s the one training Robin already. Seriously- Robin is actually Batman’s kid?

“Ra’s is my grandfather,” Robin says, straight to the point. “He is the Demon’s Head and the leader of the League of Assassins.” 

Oh, Tim thinks. That’s a name I recognize.  

And it’s one he knows.  

“Jeez,” Tim says, aloud. “You must’ve had one hell of an upbringing, I guess. Uh- and let me just work the rest of this out. It’s a lot. You’re Dick Grayson, apparently? Like, of the Flying Grayson's, and then Bruce Wayne adopte- wait-” He feigns surprise, but he’s probably laying all of this on a little thick. It’s necessary to get out there, though, because now he can stop playing dumb at everything. Actually, he’s just kind of surprised that Dick’s buying this whole thing. “Bruce Wayne is Batman?! And- That means Bruce Wayne did it with one of Ra’s assassins- No, no- Ra’s’ daughter? To have you?! Oh my God.” 

“Yes, Drake,” Robin seethes, and woah, Tim doesn’t like that. “That is how it works. Now quit your sorry act. We have business to attend to.” 

Okay, there’s still one thing Tim doesn’t get. “What is this business you’re talking about? I know you said you want Bruce- wow, by the way-” (Honestly, the fact that he’s actually right has him on a big enough high as it is.) “-to go back to being Batman. But- Why?” 

Dick’s too busy having an internal freakout to add onto their conversation- wavering back and forth between mourning Bruce’s now outed identity, screaming about Robin’s supposed parents, and mumbling about Robin’s age. 

Robin gives them another scowl, as if calling them dumb for not figuring it out for themselves. “I plan on forcing my father back into the field. It is as simple as that. Both Gotham and I require a Batman for life to continue on.” 

Tim sizes Robin up, and only feels a little bad for what he’s about to say. Now that he’s really looking, he notes that besides being tiny, Robin is downright scrawny. Tim would almost worry that he’s malnourished, if he didn’t- oddly enough- have baby fat on his cheeks. If he’s really the grandson of the head of the League of Assassins, life couldn’t have been easy for him. 

“What,” he challenges, “you need him to save you from your big, mean, ol’ granddaddy?” 

For a single moment, the child (!) before him looks completely furious with him. He locks it away far too quickly. “I need the Batman back in action to pull away Grandfather’s attention, yes. But it is as I said. I have no intention of telling Father who I am. It is only that, once Grandfather is preoccupied with the Batman, Mother and I will be able to-” He cuts himself off far too quickly, and Tim isn’t really sure if he wants to know what he was going to say. 

“To?” Dick finally prompts.

“Unimportant,” Robin says. “Help me get Father back to being the Batman.” 

“The Batman,” Dick repeats, in disbelief. “Just how do you plan on bringing him back?” 

“Again, it’s as I said. You are going to bring me to talk to him. Father will not take kindly to a stray vigilante coming up to his front door step. He would be more apt to listen to me if I had you on my side- Furthermore, he would be more apt to listen to you.” 

Robin says his plan with such conviction, Tim feels like it might just work.

“Oh boy,” Dick utters, under his breath. He moves forward on what Tim can only call instinct, and reaches out his hands to pick Robin up. It’s something that someone would do for a four year old, but even with Robin’s age, he only looks up at Dick with a blank stare. 

“What are you- What-?” Robin looks puzzled, after a moment. His brow quirks up as he tries to keep up his mature act, but he just looks overwhelmed as his gaze turns to Tim. “What is he doing? Is he- Is he ill?” 

To that, all Tim wants to do is to bark out a nasty laugh. It’s such a sad thing, that this kid here doesn’t actually know what being picked up is. When Dick’s face falls to mirror a kicked puppy, Tim wants to laugh even more, but that just points to him being a big dick, so he refrains from it and watches Dick swoop down anyway and pluck Robin from the ground. 

Robin lets out a screech and cries out, “Unhand me!”, giving Dick a powerful kick with his tiny legs. Dick grimaces. “Unhand me- G rayson! ” 

Dick only double checks their masks before he gestures for Tim to follow him. He slips out through the window, and once he’s standing on the fire escape, he says, “We’ll just have to go to the Batcave.” 

Wait, wait, wait.  

They’re- They’re going to the Batcave?! And he said it so offhandedly, as if it’s not going to be the greatest moment in Tim’s life?! He’s going to go into Batman’s secret lair! Oh, Tim’s so totally glad that Dick’s back is to him. He’s probably got the biggest, dopiest smile on his face right now! Hell, he doesn’t even care that Robin sees it- besides, the kid is far too busy trying to get Dick to put him down. 

Dick just drags a hand down his face, breathing out, “Good God.”, and Robin just continues to shriek like a wounded dog. 

Robin glares at Tim as they move silently through the city, but Tim can’t seem to focus on him long enough to really care. 

Excitement flows raw through his veins. While Dick just seems focused on having a breakdown- muttering aloud about how is B going to react to me just appearing on his doorstep- and with his child nonetheless!- Tim can feel himself vibrating with pure emotion. He feels like he’s going to unravel at any moment. It’s almost unbelievable that he’s going to get to see this ‘cave’ that Dick’s talking about. It’s wild to think that, on top of that, he’s going to get to meet Bruce Wayne.  

Both Tim Drake’s and Red Robin’s dreams are coming true, and Tim is here for it.

Eventually, Dick turns back to look at Tim, pausing in their rush to get to the cave. “It’s a good thing that Bruce still has a city entrance open,” he says, crouching down to give himself a breather. “God, I think I’m getting old, or something. I think I owe Alfie and B a lot more credit than I give them.” 

Tim’s still bouncing around, too hyped to give himself a break. “Alfie- Alfred? Like, Alfred Pennyworth? Bruce Wayne’s butler? He’s in on thi- woah!” 

His foot lands right on the edge of the rooftop, his weight sending him toppling over into the alleyway below. He hears Dick screech out Red!, hears Robin give a tiny shout of his own. Tim pulls in a breath, trying to quell his emotions. He needs to get a handle on them before he messes up anything el-

“Well, well, well,” comes a villain-esque mumble, “what do we have here?” 

Oh boy, Tim thinks. Bad guys. 

Tim looks up, all sense of excitement fading. Instead, he only feels dread. Accompanied by the sharp pain in his leg- he must’ve fallen on it wrong- it’s all adding up to bad news. That bad feeling in his gut is back at full force, but it fades a little when he realizes-

Hey, I know these guys.

They’re not very smart- the two of them together add up to a grand total of one brain cell- and they also have the world’s biggest grudge on Tim. Just like the guys from earlier, Brody and Carl- the worst names for a crook that Tim’s ever heard- are built like gym rats, with ratty hair on their heads and dark clothes to blend in with the crowds. 

Tim hears Nightwing drop down behind him, who then leans down to put Robin on the ground. (Based on Robin’s unhappy grunt, Tim’s willing to bet that Nightwing put the kid down behind him. ) When the two crooks register the blue painted onto Dick’s chest and the R on Robin’s, they- naturally- get pissed.  

“It’s a fuckin’ Bat!” Brody screeches. He’s still got a prominent scar running up his cheek, from the last time him and Tim happened upon each other. Brody had slipped off the roof like Tim just did, sliced up his face when he’d slammed into the ground. It’d been- quite frankly- scary. Tim had thought he’d killed him, at first. 

“Two,” Carl adds. His voice is gravely from the cigarettes Tim always catches him smoking, dashed with a faint accent Tim can’t place.

The term ‘Bat’ isn’t a new one- it’d been coined back when Batman was still around. Any vigilante spotted in Gotham was called it, the emblems on their chest apparently a pointer to Batman. Crooks just assumed that all vigilantes worked together, most of the time. Except in Tim’s case- Tim wasn’t considered a Bat since he came into the scene after Batman retired. Sometimes, with the Robin part tacked onto the end of his name, bad guys did refer to him as such, but not often. Nightwing was the only real residential Bat of Gotham- he’d been Robin and he’d been Nightwing, all before Batman’s disappearance. 

But, as always, that golden R would always be a pointer to Batman. So would Nightwing’s blues. 

Tim allows himself a moment to pull himself to his feet. Brody doesn’t look too thrilled about fighting them, now that he realizes it’s not just Tim-

And then Robin decides to charge at them.

Nobody’s expecting it. 

Robin slips between Nightwing’s legs before Dick can grab the kid, and the look on not only Dick’s face, but the crook’s faces? It’s priceless. Robin’s small, which makes him quick in a way that you wouldn’t assume a child to be. In a flash, Robin’s swinging himself up onto Brody, using the crook’s shoulders and his momentum to latch onto Brody’s back. He wraps his tiny arms around Brody’s back, forcing his head back. 

Brody takes a few steps in surprise, his face crumpling in pain. When he notices the weight on his back, he reels back and slams his back into the wall nearby as hard as he can. Robin lets out a sharp cry, which pulls Carl into action. When Brody stumbles away from the wall, Carl grabs onto Robin’s sweatshirt and yanks him off of his companion, throwing him with enough force to send a normal person sprawling. Robin rolls once before coming to a stop, quickly finding his way on all fours, letting out a growl like a feral cat.

“Robin!” Nightwing cries, sounding uncomfortable using the name. Robin’s eyes shift over to him and Tim can tell he’s glaring again. His shout draws the attention of Brody and Carl, who leap at Tim. 

Tim ducks down, letting them fall into a pile behind him. He turns on his heel and pulls out his bo-staff again, heart pumping in his chest. Nightwing surges forward to help Tim, and- even though Tim’s leg is hindering his ability to fight- they start knocking the bad guys down. 

The addition of Robin messes it up- Red Robin and Nightwing are used to working side by side. They can do it as easy as clockwork, but with Robin in the mix, everything feels like it goes to hell. Robin’s clearly not used to teamwork. He just relies on brute force that he doesn’t have. Tim recognizes his movements well enough to realize that he’s kind of out of his element- his movements telegraph that he’s used to having a weapon in his hands. Besides the brute force, he’s brutal. He’s just barely restraining himself from a killing blow each time. Most of the time, he goes for cheap shots instead- ones that Tim wouldn’t expect to see from a League of Assassin’s soldier. 

Tim, repeatedly, finds himself tripping up. He’s unused to having Robin running around- the kid hardly comes up to Dick’s waist- and his leg keeps messing with him. Even Nightwing falters, so he doesn’t end up hurting Robin.  

Somehow, they end up defeating Brody and Carl. Tim kneels down to tie them up, leaving Nighwing to ‘rip into’ Robin. Dick’s type of lecturing is built on a series of disappointed stares and the repeated use of phrases like, “What if you got hurt?”. By the end of it, Robin does look somewhat upset, though more off-kilter than anything. He returns Dick’s words with, “I am only doing what I was taught. Be glad that these men are not dead.”

After that, Dick moves onto Tim.

“You scared me,” Dick says, nailing Tim with one of his patented Disappointed Parent (TM) looks. “When you fell- I-” 

Tim suddenly has a vision of the Flying Graysons’, falling to their death from the trapeze above. “I’ll be more careful,” he promises, feeling bad. “I’m really sorry, N. I’m just- I’m super excited about this whole going-to-the-Batcave-and-meeting-Batman thing, y’know?”

Dick reaches over and ruffles his hair. “I getcha. Man, I must’ve been the same when I first figured out B was- well- B. Hell, I’m the same right now- a big bundle of nerves.” His eyes shift down to Tim’s leg. “We’ll get moving to the cave- Alfie will help you patch up your leg when we get there. Does anything else hurt?”

“All I’ve got are a couple of bruises,” Tim replies. “Other than that, I’m good. You and Robin?” 

“We’re fine. Mostly just scrapes and bruises too.” Dick lets out an exaggerated sigh. “These dudes really need to get better at this kinda stuff, huh?”

Tim quirks a grin. “Totally.” 

Once Dick pulls Robin back into his arms- and Robin starts screeching again- they both ready their grapples. Tim pulls the trigger, the weight of the gun already working to subdue his nerves. The zip and thunk of the grapple hitting its target is familiar and welcomed, too. Tim gives the line a hardy tug, finding it’d caught true. He takes off after Nightwing, landing on the roof in time to hear Dick gasp-

There’s a figure on the roof, in startling greens and dashing golds.

It’s a tall, lithe figure with long hair and curvy curves- a woman with sharp features building up her face, gorgeous green eyes, ruby red lips. Her skirt is long, a slit cutting through the side of it, possibly to not impede her movements. Her feet are in heels, and her top is revealing- but most alarming of all are the twin katanas in her hands. She looks like, even without the swords, like she could break Tim in half like a glowstick. 

He doesn’t think he wants her too.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Robin’s own eyes widen beneath his domino. He quits struggling- and- he leans into Dick’s embrace. What.

The woman takes a step forward, her words thick with the same accent as Robin has. “My heart,” she greets. “I normally wouldn’t come to collect you myself, but I thought it better than sending soldiers to find you.”

“Mother,” Robin returns, voice ever so tiny and small. 

And, oh, Tim thinks. It’s Talia. 

“I’ve let you run around long enough, my heart. You are needed back at your grandfather’s side, not here in Gotham,” Talia continues, heedless to Robin’s apartment turmoil. She shakes her hand, beckoning Robin to her side. “Come here.” 

Nightwing doesn’t set Robin down. Robin doesn’t make him.

“Damian,” Talia snaps. 

Huh, Tim thinks, next. 

He’s well aware of the fact that his mind should be crashing, but he knew that Ibn al Xu'ffasch couldn’t have been Robin’s real name. It was a cover, (albeit a bad one), to protect his identity. But, Damian does seem to fit the kid more than Ibn ever had. 

Damian al Ghul. Ibn al Xu'ffasch al Ghul. Damian Wayne.

Damian Wayne.

That, oddly enough, works.

“I have to stay here, Mother” Robin- Damian- says, meekly. “I have a mission to complete, and I-” -his voice wavers- “-I will not allow you to get in my way.” 

“You still have training to complete, my heart,” Talia seethes. “You have not yet been appointed any mission here in Gotham by Father, and until your training is completed, you won’t. Furthermore, you should not be running around with these imbeciles. Come here.” 

Funnily enough, it’s Nightwing who speaks. He shifts just so, so that Robin isn’t in Talia’s direct line of sight. “Robin isn’t going with you,” he says, voice steady. “Robin won’t be going with you. Not now, not ever. Not until he decides too. He has a father with as much claim to him as you, y’know- and you know that B deserves to meet him.” 

(Tim thinks about what Damian had said earlier, about not telling Bruce his identity.) 

“His father is nothing more than a coward,” Talia replies, and Nightwing’s hand curls into a fist. In his hold, Damian shakes. “Damian, come here.”

Yeah, Tim realizes. Damian’s actually shaking.

Something shifts in Tim’s mind. He’s only known Damian for a few hours at this point, but it hits Tim again- The League isn’t the best place to raise a child. They’ve been training a six year old to be a soldier, and with the way that Talia’s talking makes it sound like there’s far much more training to be accomplished before Damian even turns seven. And, if Tim’s right, the training is only going to get worse.

With the kind of future that Damian has before him, he deserves a chance to talk to Bruce. 

“I am going to get Father back on the streets. The Batman will return,” Damian promises, with the same conviction he’d used earlier. “I will, Mother. When he comes back to being the Batman, I can train with him like you said-” 

“You will do no such thing,” Talia barks. She starts walking forward, sheathing one of her swords to free her right hand. She reaches it out, palm facing up. “I will tell you one more time. Come. Here.” 

Tim’s mouth moves on its own. 

“Robin deserves to meet his dad,” he says. “Leave.” 

Talia’s expression goes from commanding to purely enraged. Unlike Damian, she doesn’t dare race forward or lunge at them. She’s quick, though, and appears right before Tim, the tip of her sword sitting snug beneath Tim’s chin. Tim gives her the best glare he can through his domino, pressing his lips in a thin line. 

Instead of sweeping Tim’s head clean off his neck- (he swears he’d heard Damian shout from behind him- in worry)- Talia snaps her fingers. 

Another figure- this one dressed in red- leaps over the side of the building, finding their way beside Talia. He, Tim notes, has broad arms, probably built with muscle. His eyes are a swirling blue, the rims of his irises tinged a toxic green. His hair, fluffy and curly, has a tuff of white at the front, falling down past his eyes. He’s wearing a mask on the lower part of his face, over his mouth and a good half of his node, but Tim hears Dick draw in a sharp gasp of recognition nonetheless.

“I don’t want to be here anymore than Talia,” he says, “but Ra’s says you need to come back, kid.” 

“Street rat,” Damian hisses.

“Jason,” Dick breathes. 

Tim’s brain is going to combust. 

“As happy as I am to see that my death affected the mean ol’ Bat so bad that he quit, it’s still such a shame that he didn’t have the balls to kill off the Joker,” Jason- holy shit- snarks. “I guess he didn’t care that much about me, did he?” 

Talia reaches out, eyes glinting, but not in pity. 

“B was destroyed by your death, Jay,” Dick rushes to say. He looks like Jason just kicked him straight in the groin. 

“The Joker isn’t dead yet,” Jason repeats, craning his head to the side and letting it crack. He waves his hand in the air. “Anyways, just- just give us the kid, okay? We’ll leave you alone.” 

“The kid has a name you know,” Tim can’t help but shout. 

As much as he can’t possibly believe that he’s actually talking to the most recent Robin- the very Robin that put Batman into retirement with his death, the very Robin that changed the very course of history- he can’t help but hate him. Surely he has to know what the League has done to Damian? Surely he has to see how bad Damian doesn’t want to go back? And, to think- Jason’s saying that he wants to be out of Gotham because Batman didn’t kill the Joker. Tim’s willing to bet that Batman only quit the gig so he didn’t kill that damn clown.

A distant panic strums through his veins as Tim says just that. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Jason asks. “How the fuck would you know?” 

“Jason,” Dick says again, this time in warning. (Tim’s just kind of thinking how funny it is that everyone’s ignoring Talia right now, in favor of this really- quite frankly- fucked up reunion. “This is Red Robin. He’s been helping me protect Gotham- but- Listen. The two of us- we aren’t enough by ourselves. We’re running ourselves into the ground-” 

“Why do I care?” Jason replies. 

Dick just keeps talking. 

“I agree with Robin. Gotham needs a Batman- but to get Batman back, Bruce- Bruce needs his son back.” He holds Damian a little tighter, before he says, “All of them.” 

How come it feels like he’s including Tim in that too?

“Enough!” Talia barks. She’s trying to make sure Jason doesn’t have time to think about the implications of Dick’s words. Dick’s trying to get Jason to come home, and Tim- Tim kind of hopes he will. “Give me back my son, and I might just spare your foolish-” 

Jason takes a single menacing step forward, ready to reach for Damian, but Dick steps back.

Damian meets Jason’s eyes and out of his mouth spills a single word. 

It’s enough- That’s all it takes for Jason to turn on his heel and launch himself at Talia. A war cry falls from his lips, and all Tim can think is, oh, how fast his loyalty shifted. Dick shoves Damian at Tim, pointing north as he says, There’s a cave entrance a mile that way. Get there. Now. Don’t let Robin out of your sight, before he leaps forth to join Jason’s side. 

“We’ll hold her off,” Dick adds, “and then we’ll meet you two at the cave.” 

Tim just pretends like he doesn’t have whiplash and follows his orders.

As Tim takes off in a dead sprint, pushing away the pain riding up his leg with every stride- Damian keeps his eyes behind them. His fist is gripping Tim’s cape as tightly as he can manage, dark fingers going pale with the force. Tim keeps his arms wrapped around the kid, rubbing at his back when he’s not leaping to a new rooftop. 

He’s never had to rush through Gotham this quickly before, but he knows her like the back of his hand and he can’t afford to stumble. 

Eventually, just as Tim starts thinking, God, I hope I know the entrance when I see it, he hears footsteps behind him. They’re just short of a mile, now, away from where they’d come from- but these footsteps click.

“Mother,” Damian warns, breath hot in Tim’s ear. 

“I know,” Tim replies. He’s the older one, now, so he fights to keep his voice steady, even as his heart thunders in his chest. He stops and sets Damian down behind him, turning to face Talia. He hisses at Damian to continue forward. “You heard what N said- get to the cave and follow his orders-” 

Talia makes a final leap onto their rooftop, and hot damn, she looks pissed.

With her sword, she swipes quickly, her hair a mess like someone had shoved her to the ground. The only thing she manages to cut off is Tim’s sentence, thankfully enough. 

Tim bleeds into the defensive, dodging each one of her attacks. A small thought of, why do I need to be involved in all of this family drama when it’s a) not even MY family, and b) I’ve only known this kid for a couple HOURS?!, pops up in his head. He shoves it down- he wants to help Damian, so he needs to stall enough to let him slip away. 

He uses his bo-staff to parry her blows, trying his damnedest to keep it’s tip away from him. Talia’s the more experienced fighter out of the two and it shows. He manages to keep each cut she does land shallow, thankful for his thick suit. He fakes a fall to deliver a hit to her knees and gets a swipe to his cheek for his troubles, at one point, and at another, he flips over her like Nightwing had taught him and just barely misses a stab to his side. 

He can’t keep it up forever, though, and eventually, she knocks him down. Her blade re-assumes it’s place beneath Tim’s chin, digging in just enough to draw a bead of blood. 

Tim’s never been more afraid in his life. 

Please, Dick, please come save me, oh God-

Something slams into Talia’s side- something unbelievably small.

Damian.

Damian lets out a shriek, one so much like the cry that had drawn Dick and Tim to him in the first place. Tim’s in no shape to do anything more than push himself up on his elbows, his eyes wide as he finds himself with a first class seat to the shitshow that’s blooming before him. He watches as Damian attacks Talia with a raw fury Tim hardly sees anymore- and- Talia actually looks surprised by it. 

“This is not Red Robin’s fight!” he cries out, reaching for the hilt of the other katana she’d sheathed earlier. His tiny fist closes around it, and with some effort, he pulls it free. The blade catches in the moonlight, shimmering bright before Damian leaps back into battle, his anger, confidence and passion blooming tenfold. The blade in his hand must be familiar, Tim gathers, but it’s also stopping Damian from fighting dirty. 

For a moment, Tim thinks that it’s going to cost him the fight. Talia presses down on Damian, their swords clashing, but Damian slips between her legs and stands behind her, quickly swiping at the back of her knees. Talia leaps up, over the blade, and as the fight continues, she lands far more cuts and hits on Damian than he does on her. 

She’s not going easy on him.

(Tim thinks, hey, that’s not right. He thinks, that’s your son, Talia. He thinks, please don’t hurt him. He’s only six.)

“You will return home to me,” Talia roars, louder than the Heavens themselves, tearing through the skin of Damian’s forearm. Unlike Tim, he doesn’t have any armor to protect him from the blow. “You will return home to your grandfather. You will continue your studies and your training and you will fulfill the role you were born to assume as your grandfather’s heir!” 

Tim blinks, and the unthinkable happens.

He doesn’t even see it happen, it’s so quick- one second it looks like Damian’s going to drop his sword, and the next, Talia’s on the ground, a scream tearing from her mouth, the blade of Damian’s katana running straight through her shoulder and into the ground. Damian’s hands are wrapped around the hilt tightly- he’s leaning his whole weight on it as he looks down at the woman he calls his mother-

He’s crying. 

Damian’s first words are hardly any louder than a whisper, quiet enough that if a pin had dropped, you’d have heard the pin rather than his promise: I will not return.  

“I will not be Grandfather’s puppet any longer,” he says, and his voice shakes, but Tim knows the fury of a hurricane when he sees it, he knows- “Before he threw you in the pit, you had promised- You swore to me that we would leave him. ” 

“Damian,” Talia breathes, and her voice is full of pain.  

“You knew!” Damian suddenly cries- flipping from a child’s voice made of fear to a battle-hardened warrior created from rage. “You knew of his plan, and you still wish for me to return! You wish for me to become not only his heir, but his body!” 

“You overheard,” Talia says, small. 

All Tim can think is- what?

“I will not return,” Damian promises, finally falling back. He moves over to Tim’s side, reaching out a hand to help him up. Tim takes it, groaning as he aggravates his wounds. He can’t stay here, though.  

“Your father doesn’t want you,” Talia gasps out. “He won’t accept you as you are.” 

“No,” Damian whispers. “He won’t.” 

“You have killed, my blood-” 

“I have,” Damian says, to that, and Tim thinks, Jesus Christ. “I swear upon all that is holy- I will never kill another soul as long as I live.” 

What the fuck, Tim thinks. What the absolute fuck.

This boy before him is six, six years old and has already shed blood, has already learned his way around a sword, has already learned how to kill to survive. This boy before him has been raised for a purpose- to be Ra’s’ body?- and for that purpose alone.

It’s wrong.

In nothing more than a slow trudge, Damian and Tim find their way back to where they’d left Jason and Dick. They don’t make it much more than half of the way before Damian drops down, careful to deposit Tim on the ground without messing up either of their injuries any more than they already are. Tim spares a moment to think that they should’ve gone to the cave. 

“Will you be alright here while I go fetch Nightwing and the street rat,” Damian ‘asks’, tone flat. It makes more of an exhausted statement than a question. Tim’s just surprised that the kid’s still moving.

“Yeah,” Tim says, trying not to freak the fuck out, “yeah, no, kid, yeah.” 

He can’t believe that they just beat up Talia al Ghul. Honestly, the contents of the past hours have been more than enough to send Tim reeling. Tim fought off Talia al Ghul and almost died, only for a six year old to beat her completely. Secondly, they’re still going to speak with the Batman- granted, a retired one. Plus, Tim just talked back to an ex- Robin, who by all rights should totally be dead right now. Thirdly?

It’s just a whole hell of a lot to digest. 

Because, hey. It’s like he’d said. 

What the fuck.  

Damian looks down at him for a second longer, before he says, “Apologies. For- For tonight.” Before Tim can formulate some kind of response, the kid’s gone, dashing over to the next rooftop, and Tim’s alone. 

He’s alone, and for some reason-

Tim wants to start bawling his eyes out. 

When Damian comes back, he’s sitting on Dick’s hip like it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s funny, kind of, when you consider that literally three hours ago the kid was looking at Dick like he was a madman because he didn’t understand what being picked up was. Now, his head lolls against Dick’s chest, eyes half lidded as he tries not to pass out- possibly from the pain of his injuries or emotional and physical exhaustion from the fight. 

Jason’s beside them, mask pulled off of his face and one of Dick’s spare domino masks pressed over his eyes. He moves forward to slide Tim onto his back, piggy-back style, and Tim freezes, but he sighs in relief at not having to walk back to the cave. It’s still weird- Jason’s completely tense and Tim’s already decided to hold a grudge against him for helping Talia. 

Because whenever Tim’s out of his depth in non-life-or-death slash battle scenario, his go to solution is to talk, he finds himself saying, “I’ve never met Mr. Wayne in my life, but he’s gonna drop dead when he sees that he’s got three sons coming home.” 

“Yes,” Damian says. “He will certainly be pleased to see the three of you.” 

Tim’s first question is, “You’re still not going to tell him?”, instead of commenting on the fact that the kid is including him as one of Bruce Wayne’s sons. Tim’s never met the dude in his life- he can’t qualify as one of his sons if he’s never even exchanged a single hello with him. 

“I cannot,” Damian replies. “The mission is more important than our blood status.” 

“Why do I feel like that’s something that B would say?” Dick grumbles, at the same time that Jason says, “We literally just kicked Talia’s ass and you’re gonna pull that shit?” 

“You said you weren’t going to return,” Tim says. “If you’re not going to tell Batman, then- where are you going to go?” 

Damian stays quiet, but Dick runs a quick hand through the kid’s hair. “He’ll stay with us, regardless of what he’s planning on telling B.” He flashes a quick grin at Tim and it just looks tired. “So are you, RR,” he adds.

Yeah, okay. 

Tim can deal with that. 

Getting to the cave feels like it takes years. 

It feels like it takes longer when Jason lags just enough to let Dick slip ahead, only speaking up when he’s sure that Dick is out of hearing range. 

Tim watches as Dick and Damian leap ahead of them, switching to the left at one point to avoid the rooftop they’d left Talia on. A pit forms in his gut- now he’s alone with Jason, who Tim has gathered to be a pretty cool and a very scary dude in the hour that Tim’s known him. He’s half ready to pull back out his staff and slam it into Jason’s face- by all accounts, Jason’s a zombie and Tim still doesn’t know if that means he eats people’s brains to stay sane. 

Instead of setting Tim down to eat his brain, though, Jason says, “Y'know, kid, I’m pretty sure that if B hadn’t quit being Batman, he’d have chosen you as his new Robin.” 

It’s not what Tim’s expecting, but his brain just fades back to when Dick had told him the same thing, back to when his plan had been to storm up to Wayne Manor and say “Choose me so I can be enough for someone.”

Thinking back on it now, it’s hard to believe a world where he’s picked to be a hero. He likes- oddly enough- what he’s made for himself. He’s established a name, a gathering of bad guys to deal with, someone to stay by his side when he’s bleeding out and someone to stay with when they’re gasping for air. 

No way, Tim still thinks. There’s no way anyone would choose me, other than Dick.

That’s just because Dick’s Dick. He’s trusting to a fault. He’d have chosen Tim as his family in seemingly any life. 

Instead of saying that, though, Tim just says, “He’s got a Robin- He’s got Damian now.” 

Dick had said, years ago, that Tim shouldn’t put himself down, that Batman would’ve loved to work beside Tim. Tim’s not sure what Jason’s going to say, but when he hums, Tim knows he hadn’t responded with what Jason was looking for. 

“He’s really calling himself Robin, huh?” Jason asks. 

Tim assumes that Jason doesn’t know about Damian’s whole plan, and suddenly makes the executive decision to fill him in on it- and get some answers while he’s at it. “He wants to get Batman back in Gotham,” Tim says. “He didn’t really tell us why, but he was talking about personal reasons too? Like getting Ra’s occupied again for some reason- and for the general sake of the city. Well- hey, earlier when me and Damian were dealing with Talia, Damian said something about Ra’s having plans for him? About- About Ra’s using him as his- as his body? What-?” 

While Tim’s expecting some kind of pause in the conversation, Jason seems to be expecting it and he continues talking without too much reprieve. “I wouldn’t put it past the bastard- I didn’t know about it, though. I guess Ra’s is getting old- like, his body is. He needs a young body so he can last the next- uh, however many years he wants to live for. Since Damian’s his blood, Talia and Ra’s must’ve been training him just for that.” 

Ha, imagine looking down at your infant grandson and thinking: You. I want your body. Time to start training to be my host.

Jesus Christ.

While Tim had decided to hold a small grudge on Jason, right now all he feels is an overwhelming hate for the boy carrying him. Tim’s body grows tense with the silence as he mulls it all over, his hands curling into fists. He can’t believe Jason- he can’t believe Talia and Ra’s, that they’d do this to their own blood. He finally can emphasize with why Dick had sounded so mad when he’d figured out that Talia hadn’t told Bruce- 

“You-” Tim starts, feeling himself flounder. He pushes all of his anger forward. “You were going to bring him back? You were ready to follow Talia’s orders and you were going to bring him back to the League!” 

The League is abusive- horribly abusive- and Jason was going to bring the kid back there so that his grandfather could continue abusing him in order to mold himself the perfect body- Oh god, Tim’s really mad now.

“Yeah,” Jason says, after a beat. “I guess I was.” 

“What is wrong with you?” Tim screeches, pushing himself up on Jason’s back. He swings out his arm and his hand barely clips Jason’s ear, but it’s enough to get the dude growling. “He’s six years old. Six! No six year old should be training for anything besides, I don’t know, the soccer team? He shouldn’t be killing, and to think that you thought that it was better to help Damian’s abusive mother bring him back to his abusive grandfather-” 

The silence stretches, before Jason says, softly. “Talia’s not like that. She- She didn’t used to be-” 

“You just mean that she’s not like that to you. ” 

Jason doesn’t reply as he picks up the pace. 

The entrance that Dick was talking about hides behind a couple dumpsters in a brightened alley, close enough to the outskirts of the city that Tim doesn’t really remember seeing it before. Once Dick opens it, it dips down into a metallic tunnel. It’s cold inside, and the faint blue lights that are embedded in the floors somehow make it feel so much more frigid. It’s long enough that, when Tim squints down the hall, he can’t make out the end of it. Dick prefaces their walk with, We used it for our vehicles, like my bike and the batmobile.  

Even with the months of not being used, there’s hardly a single cobweb in sight. Tim imagines feeling the rumble of the batmobile as it rushes down the way, and thinks, Maybe, if this goes according to plan, I’ll get to really feel it some day.

“I’m pretty sure B already knows we're here,” Dick says, offhandedly. Tim’s really the only one who’s listening to him, though. Jason’s got his eyes set forward, lips pressed into a thin line, and Damian’s conked out on Dick’s shoulder, having fallen asleep sometime during Tim and Jason’s ‘delightful’ conversation. “He might not come down, but Alfie will.” 

Jason shifts his hold on Tim’s thighs as he blinks, and says, “I really miss Alfie.” 

Just as Tim’s certain they’re about to stop walking, Dick says, “Man, Alfie really misses you too.” It’s sarcastic and gentle and light, but it still has Jason sucking in a sharp breath as his shoulders grow impossibly more tense under Tim’s hold. 

It’s at this moment that Tim remembers- Jason isn’t much older than Tim, if he’s being honest. Jason’s barely eighteen, possibly younger. And, above all, Jason is a victim.  

He’d been murdered by a clown, blown to pieces after finding himself at the wrong end of a crowbar- However he’d come back to life, it must’ve been traumatizing all the same. 

He’s a victim, Tim reminds himself. He deserves to see Bruce again.

While the realization doesn’t make Tim hate Jason any less- he’ll be upset that he tried to make Damian go back with Talia for a while longer, sue him- it does make him want to be a tiny bit nicer. Jason deserves to have a smooth reunion with his family, and Tim won’t get in the way of that.

If he did, he’d end up hating himself for the foreseeable future. 

Tim’s thoughts manage to carry him all the way to the mouth of the tunnel, where Dick then motions for Jason to stop. Jason moves to put Tim down before he has Dick shoving Damian at him. For a moment, Tim thinks that they’ve got to be on the same wavelength, because when Jason slides down the wall and thumps heavily into place beside Tim, Dick just disappears through the doors ahead of him.

The exact moment that Dick shifts Damian, Damian’s eyes fly open. He goes deathly still and silent when the first thing he sees is a face full of Jason Todd, but Jason just purposefully arranges the kid just so, so that Damian’s peering over his shoulders and right at Tim. Jason utters something in a language Tim doesn’t know, and only then does Damian blink. While he lets out a breath, he doesn’t relax just yet. 

For some reason, that’s what it takes for Tim to realize he’s tired. Bone tired. He feels like he’s been awake for years.  

Hushed words start to rush through from the doorway ahead of him, but Tim just lets his eyes droop.

By the time that he opens his eyes again, it’s to Dick and Damian looming over him. Damian’s hands are clasped together in front of him, eyes wide and dark skin looking pale. If Tim didn’t remember who they’re about to meet, he’d almost go as far as to say that the kid had just seen a ghost- even though his eyes bore straight into Tim, who’s most certainly alive, thank you very much.

Hell, even Dick looks pale and worried. He carefully pulls Tim into his arms like Tim’s some kind of paper doll. “C’mon, Timmy,” he says, but his words don’t really register the right way in Tim’s head. They feel like water, sliding right off of the ol’ noggin’ and dripping straight to the floor. “You’re losing a lotta blood, buddy, stay with me now.” 

Well that doesn’t make any sense- Tim barely fought Talia for more than, like, ten minutes before Damian went head to head with her. 

As he blinks over Dick’s shoulder, Dick starts rushing into the cave. You’re leaving Dames behind, lies thick on Tim’s tongue- the kid looks terrible, what with red oozing from the little holes in his clothes, dripping from his arm and his temple- but the only thing that falls is Tim’s jaw, right at the exact moment they step into the cave. 

It’s exactly that- just a huge cave, with honest to God bats and stalactites and stalagmites, with water dripping from the ceiling and the sound of it rushing from down below. In the dead center of the cave is a flat stretch, a thousand white sheets pulled over a thousand old things, and to the side of it sits a neat line of uncovered cases. The batsuit sits right beside an old Robin uniform- one that Tim hazily connects to Jason Todd and to Batman. There’s a huge set of monitors pressed up against the wall, a set that makes Tim itch to get his hands on, a set that stretches up higher than two Tim’s stacked on top of each other.

Ha, that’s a funny thought. Why in the world would there ever be two of Timothy Jackson Drake, and why would they ever be stacked on top of each other?

He’s forced to quit thinking about Tim One and Tim Two when Dick settles him onto a cot, pulled up right beside the huge computer set-up. Jason, sans his domino mask, and an old man in a sharp looking suit are beside him, and the moment that Tim’s lying down, all three of them steer the cot over to something that looks oddly like a doctor’s office.

Though, instead of the white, white, white, it’s all a sickly shade of grey and black.

Huh, Tim thinks, and the cot is so utterly comfy that his eyes slide shut. 

The last thing he hears is Dick’s plea for him to stay awake.  

Tim wakes up, heart pounding in his chest, to a child looming over him.

It takes a moment for him to connect the child to Damian, even though he’s still wearing his domino mask. He hasn’t changed his outfit, either, though Tim realizes that he’s not in his costume. Instead of Red Robin’s reds, he’s in a soft blue shirt that’s only a size too big and sweatpants that have a hole in the cuff. There’s an IV in his wrist, snaking up to a pole with a bag full of clearish liquid hanging from it. As he tries to suck in a breath, he notes the suffocating feeling pushing at his chest- there’s bandages wrapped around his upper chest, peeking up out of the collar of the shirt that isn’t his. 

“How long-?” 

“Not long,” Damian replies, cutting him off. His words are clipped and formal, even as he rudely helps Tim sit up and shoves a bottle of water into Tim’s hands. “Grayson said you woke up rather quickly.”

Once the water’s been drowned, at least half of it, anyway, and set back on the table on Tim’s right- it’s one of those with the wheels on the bottom, and Tim bets if he gave it the tiniest shove, it’d go skirting towards the railings on the other side of the cave. He kind of wants to give it his best shot, but Damian’s still staring at him. 

“Grayson called you an idiot,” he says, matter-of-factly, and-

It doesn’t sound totally implausible, but Tim finds himself scanning Damian’s face none-the-less. The kid’s eyes are literally everywhere except Tim. 

He’s worried. 

Damian’s worried about Tim.

Tim reaches up and pulls Damian close, wincing at the effort. Damian lets off a squawk that rivals his one from earlier- when Dick had plucked him from the ground- but he doesn’t attempt to murder Tim for it, so he counts it as a win. He settles his chin on the kid’s head- why’s his hair so goddamn soft- and says to the empty cave, “I’m okay, Dames.” 

Damian forces himself out of the hold just enough to show Tim his scowl, nose scrunching and brows furrowing beneath his mask. “Dames?” he asks, like Tim had just called him some kind of swear word. For a moment, Damian looks like he’s going to say something else, but he only slides off the bed and holds up his index finger, telling Tim one moment. He disappears off to somewhere, leaving Tim on his own. 

Right about when he’s considering pushing the cart again, Damian comes back, hot on Dick’s heels. Jason’s moving alongside them, a fourth party member taking up the rear end. Dick’s walking too fast for Damian to keep up, so the kid ends up lagging behind. 

When Dick finally reaches Tim’s bedside, he ducks down to wrap Tim in a gentle hug, a smile crossing his face. “God, kiddo,” he breathes out, “you had all of us worried. Feeling any better?”

Tim hazards a shrug, trying not to smile back. “How long was I asleep for?” he asks, instead. 

“Not long,” Dick replies, same as Damian. He ruffles Tim’s hair, before helping him swing his legs off the side of the bed, so Tim’s sitting on the edge of it. He notices, for the first time, that Dick’s changed his outfit too- tight sweats on his pants and a loose tank top on his chest. There’s bandages around his upper arm, too, and Tim’s willing to bet that he looks like a mummy beneath his clothes. “It’s about noon, and I think we got here sometime around four.” 

“Four- like four am, right?” 

Dick nods, popping the p of his yep.

“Did I miss meeting B?” Tim asks, next. 

As Dick starts, “You’re good-” , the old man beside Jason says, “Master Bruce won’t be present until tonight. He was due back in a few days, originally, but I alerted him to our- company. He should be joining us for supper tonight.” 

Jason’s changed, too, into jeans and a blue and black sweatshirt that looks more like it’s Dick’s than his. His hair is down, not as fluffy as it was last night. He must’ve just finished up in the shower, or something. 

“Oh. Okay. That’s- That’s good,” Tim says, as he thinks, Who the hell is that.

Dick blinks, before he gestures to the man. “That’s Alfred Pennyworth, by the way.” 

“I’m Tim Drake,” he says, even though he feels like Alfred already knew that. Tim’s eyes shift back over to Damian, who’s moved into the background with all of the other people around. He’s got his hand balanced on the monitor’s counter, eyes concentrated on watching Tim and everyone else interact.

It’s hyper-vigilance. 

“You didn’t patch him up?” Tim whispers, turning to Dick.

“He wouldn’t let any of us close enough,” Dick whispers back. “He flinched away when we brought it up, but he settled long enough for Jay to take care of his arm. That’s- That’s about it, though.”

Touchy kid, Tim thinks, dutifully ignoring Dick’s kicked puppy look. He slips down from the cot, using Dick’s shoulder to stabilize himself, before making a bee-line for Damian. He’s only known the kid for about a day, but each minute brings around a new surprise. Honestly, Tim’s just not sure how Dick hasn’t gotten through to the kid already- or Jason, since he’s known the kid for longer.

When Tim gets near, Damian steps back. “I do not need medical attention.” 

“What you need,” Tim tries, feeling like a tired mom of an annoying three year old, “is a change of clothes and a handful of band-aides.”

As if right on cue- honestly, so much so that it’s scary- Alfred reappears at Tim’s side, holding a box in his arms. “I have both Master Bruce’s and Master Dick’s old clothes here- Though Master Dick was much older than you when he first came, I have no doubt that you will be able to find something suited to your tastes, Young Master-” 

“Do not call me Master,” Damian hisses, so quick it gives Tim whiplash somehow. “Damian will do nicely by itself.” 

Alfred blinks, but he’s not yet put off by the kid. He sets down the box, pulling a smaller one from it’s contents. It’s white, with a red plus sign- a first aid kit. “Why don’t we take care of your wounds and do away with that mask of yours, hm?” 

“Alfie has a rule about ‘no capes’ upstairs in the manor,” Dick supplies, “besides the occasional case file.”

All that gets them is another glare. “If I am not allowed a mask upstairs, it seems I will just have to remain down here,” Damian says, like he just got his opponent in checkmate during a chess match. 

Tim just rolls his eyes in response as he settles in beside the kid, sitting on his heels. He reaches for the box and cards through it. Some of the clothing looks like it’d fit Tim, honestly, and others look fit for an actual six year old who doesn’t talk like a Shakespeare script. As much as he wants to toss over footie pajamas covered in little cats, he pulls out a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt- one that’s sure to swallow Damian whole regardless, because, just like Tim’s been saying, Damian is tiny.  

“Are these okay?” he asks, shaking them out. 

Damian’s nod counts as another win, so Tim shoves the box aside. He stands and makes his way to that roll-y table that was sitting beside the cot, wincing as white hot pain shoots through his body, and plucks a roll of bandages, gauze and a couple other things from it. 

When he comes back, he asks, “Do you want to do it yourself? Or- Do you need help?” 

Dick lets out a small oh, drawing back to join Alfred and Jason. “Let’s give them space,” he whispers, before all three head to the stairs. 

Damian shifts, drawing back Tim’s attention. In a very small voice, he says, “I think I may need help.” 

He says it like it’s a horrible thing to admit. He says it like being hurt- like needing help- is some kind of sin.

“Okay,” is all Tim says. “Okay.” 

He helps Damian pull off his shirt, and his first thought is to reel back. The sheer amount of scars covering Damian’s back is startling- some look relatively new, all red and angry and sharp against his back. Others are a pale pink, smaller in size. They’re all light compared to Damian’s darker skin tone. They’re all terrible to look at- and- and-

No child, Tim thinks, should ever have this many scars.

Sure, Tim does have his own scars. He has ones from when he was Damian’s age, earned by falling down the stairs or out of a tree. But these- These look worse than a simple accident with a knife in the kitchen. These look like something out of a medieval story book- like the Whipping Boy, or- or- And, the closer he looks, the more scars he recognizes. Ones from a snake bite, from stab wounds, from a bullet. Most are from what Tim assumes to be a sword.

The kid is six.

The kid is six years old. What the hell is he doing with all these scars?

Tim thinks about his own. He’s got two bullet wound scars, so far- which is one more than Damian’s. While they’d both been the scariest moments of Tim’s entire life- (especially the first one. It’d happened before he’d ever met Dick, and the pain was enough to knock him out of commission for a handful of weeks. He’d had to take care of it himself. He’d had to get the bullet out. By himself.)- he’s sure that they’re nothing compared to Damian’s. 

Besides all of his scars, Damian’s wounds aren’t that bad. The worst of it was patched up by Jason, albeit messily. Jason was probably in a rush to get it done and over with, all while making sure Damian didn’t punch his teeth in, so Tim lets his anger slide. He fixes the bandages and plasters a whole bunch of band-aides over his knees and legs. He deals with the nasty bruise blooming at the kid’s back, and the smaller one ghosting his neck. 

Some prodding shows that Damian’s ribs are tender. Tim’s not entirely convinced that the kid isn’t lying to him, so he ‘accidentally’ presses a little too hard and figures that the ribs need something to settle them.

Soon enough, the kid’s swaddled up in bandages and a new outfit- one that positively drowns it. Even Little Bruce hadn’t been as short as Damian. 

He’s still adamant about wearing the mask, though, so Tim decides that that’s his next matter of business. If Alfred has a rule, Tim’s going to follow it to a T. He won’t let Damian ignore it, either, and he’s certainly not letting himself stay in the cave all by himself.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” Tim asks, gesturing to it. 

Damian presses his lips into a thin line. “Father will connect the dots. He is not stupid.” 

It takes a bit of self-control to keep him from biting out, How do you know? You haven’t even met him yet. It’s true, sure. Neither of them have met Bruce yet. And they won’t- not for a big more, anyways. 

“You’re really not going to tell him,” Tim repeats again, a little lost. “I really think you should. He’d be happy to know he has another son. And- What? You’re going back to Talia after what you told her?”

“I must go back to save her,” Damian says. “She should not have to stay with Grandfather.” 

And- oh, Tim thinks, feeling stupid. That’s what the deal was.

Tim’s said it over and over that Damian’s only six- that he’s only a kid. He is. At his core, Damian is just that. He’s a child who’s one wish is to save his mother, because for all of her years, Talia hadn’t managed to save herself.  

He just wanted to save his mother from her father. 

He just wanted to save her from the cycle of abuse, and to do that, he’s willing to sacrifice whatever it takes.

Without thinking, Tim says, “You’re a really good kid- But- you deserve to meet your dad for real, Damian. You- He can help you with Talia-” 

“I cannot-” Damian breathes out, breath hitching. By his side, his hands shake like a storm. “I cannot tell him. He will be disgusted by me, just like Mother said. I have killed, Drake-” 

Tim surges forward and pulls Damian into another hug. This time, Damian just freezes under Tim’s hold. His breathing stops dead for a moment when Tim plucks the kid off of his feet- when Tim starts promising with everything that he has- 

“Bruce won’t be disgusted by any bit of you, okay? None of you- Not your skin, not your blood. Not your mother or your past, or anything of the sort.” 

“How can you-” Damian starts, sounding just like the child he should. “Are you certain, Drake?” 

“One hundred percent,” Tim swears. 

Damian’s little hands creep up to his domino mask.

Under the mask, Damian’s eyes are a blazing emerald green, just like Talia’s. They’re wide, bigger than dinner plates, even when the kid isn’t surprised or overwhelmed. Somehow, they make him look impossibly younger than he already looks. 

When they come upstairs, Jason doesn’t look phased. Alfred’s eyes widen the slightest bit at the specks of blue that hide within the sea of green- all surrounded by long lashes and a soft brow. 

Dick surges forward and plucks Damian off of his feet, swirling him around before Damian can react. “You look beautiful, Dami!” he cheers, pulling him ever so close. “You look so much like Talia- but you’ve gotta admit- You look so much like him, too!” 

It’s late when Bruce comes back.

Alfred has already laid out dinner for the boys- wonderful, steaming chicken alfredo. The sauce is so utterly thick and beautiful that Tim is nearly vibrating in his seat. He loves chicken alfredo, and Alfred’s cooking is by far the best thing that Tim’s ever tasted. Everything melts together in his mouth and brings actual tears to his eyes, when he tastes it. He tells Alfred as much, even as Dick digs right into his plate with nothing more than a rushed, Thanks, Alfie!

Jason takes his sweet time, falling into an easy conversation with Alfred as he starts eating. “It’s as good as ever, Alf,” he says, and Tim can see the tears prickling his eyes too. 

Damian looks tiny in his seat, perched on top of a thick book so he can reach his plate. He hasn’t yet touched it, or said so much as a thank you to Alfred, no matter how much Dick urges him to. He just sits there, eyes boring into his plate as he stabs at it with his fork. 

“C’mon, Dami,” Dick urges, “Take a bite!” 

The doorbell rings and Alfred hurries off to answer it, as everyone else stills in their seats. 

Jason breaks the silence by reaching over and grabbing Damian’s fork. He pushes some pasta onto it and makes a fake airplane noise that leaves Damian hissing and Dick cooing, before ‘flying’ it in front of Damian’s lips. “Open wide,” he says. 

Alfred and Bruce- holy shit- walk into the room, and Damian makes the mistake of opening his mouth, letting Jason move the fork forward-

Damian’s entire face convulses, screwing up as his nose scrunches up harder than anything Tim’s seen from him yet. He plants his hands on the table and rears back, trying to push his chair from the table and reach for a napkin at the same time. His feet are too high up from the floor, so the chair only rocks precariously. 

“This- This is horrid!" Damian screeches, once he’s spit his mouthful into his napkin. “It was a test! You poisoned it somehow, you blasted street rat, you!” 

Alfred hurries over to remedy the situation. “Master Damian,” he says, “I can assure you that Jason did no such thing-” 

Damian turns on him, eyes narrowing as his cheeks flush up, words dripping venom made to hurt. “It is not Master Damian! There is no Master!” he wails, standing on his seat. “You have poisoned it! I should have known it was a test!” 

As Alfred places a hand on Damian’s shoulder, urging him to take a seat, Tim’s eyes shift over to Jason. He’s looking- well, not guilty. There’s no way he did poison the kid’s food. But- he looks upset somehow, in a way that Tim can’t explain. Alfred kneels down on one knee, eyes only on Damian. “What’s wrong with it, young sir?” he prompts. 

His eyes widen, just as Tim understands. 

“You’re not from America,” he says, brash. 

Damian sinks down in his seat, looking terribly tiny. 

Dick turns over to hiss, Tim, that was uncalled for, but Tim steamrolls ahead. “It’s the difference in culture!” he explains, waving his hands. “American food isn’t- it’s not the same as most other places- so it probably tastes a lot more different than the food he's used to!"

“I should’ve known to make something more suited for your taste buds. American food happens to be very- rich in some areas.” Alfred pulls back Damian’s chair, holding out his hand to help the kid down. With red cheeks, Damian takes it. “My apologies, young sir. Why don’t we go find something edible for you?” 

“I suppose,” Damian utters out. He only makes it a single step before his eyes land on Bruce Wayne- and his skin goes pale. His hand clenched around Alfred’s before he wrenches it free, sucking in a sharp breath. 

Everyone turns their attention to Bruce Wayne, who’s standing in the doorway with wide, blue eyes. His brows are furrowed. His body is completely tense. Before he can say a word, Dick forces his way to his feet and scurries over, as if he’s preparing to contain a nuclear fallout from happening. 

Damian, for his part, just books it out of the room. 

“Oh brother,” Dick utters, watching him go. “Okay, okay- I can explain before you freak out, yeah? Alfie said we had visitors, and- uh- here they are-” 

Bruce ignores him in favor of breathing out, “Jason?”

“In the flesh and blood,” Jason replies. 

Bruce inches open his arms and Jason happily barrels into them, knocking the two back a few steps. “Is it really you?” Bruce asks into his hair, as he holds him impossibly tight. Jason returns the hold just as tight, letting out a humorless snort. He mumbles out a breathless, watery, I should hope so, as Jason rests his forehead on Bruce’s shoulder.  

For a moment, Tim doesn’t think either of them are ever going to let go.

When they do, Bruce’s eyes are all on Tim. Dick slides over and awkwardly waves his hands, presenting Tim to the real life ex- Batman. “This is Tim Drake,” he says, shifting his weight. “He’s been helping me out on the streets as Red Robin. I think you’ve heard of him?” 

“Drake,” Bruce echoes. “As in our neighbors?” 

“Those are the ones,” Tim replies, fingers twitching. Being in the presence of Batman- having his attention on him- It’s all nearly overwhelming. “H-Hi. Hello.” 

Smooth, Tim thinks. 

“You’re young,” Bruce comments, offhandedly. He reaches out his hand, and Tim shakes it. He’s certain that his shoulders are shaking too, with his fried nerves. 

“Not too young, apparently,” Tim finds himself biting out. He doesn’t really mean any ill-will towards Bruce in any way- he’s only pissed about Damian, not Bruce’s past track record of Robins. At least they were Tim’s age when they started. Even so, Bruce gives a hearty wince. Tim’s quick to say, “Sorry, I’m not mad at you. It’s- It’s been a really long day.” 

It’s been a long twenty four hours, in any case, Tim thinks. It’s hard to believe that this time yesterday, he’d been out on the streets with Dick, moments away from having his life flip on its axis.

When Bruce looks at Dick, Dick only mouths, I’ll tell you later. “I should thank you for having Dick’s back,” Bruce says. He sounds uncomfortable- Tim’s not sure if it’s because they’ve never met, or because Tim had seemingly snapped at him. Either way, he sounds like he’s out of his depth. 

“There’s no need to thank me?” he tries. 

Bruce relaxes a tiny shred. Score. “And the- child?” 

“I’ll introduce him when he comes back in,” Dick says, taking charge. “Let’s- Let’s sit down and eat before the food gets cold. We’ve got a lot to talk about, after all.” 

The twinkle in Bruce’s eyes says he’d be delighted to hear all about it. 

When Damian comes back, Alfred’s trailing carefully behind him. Damian’s walking slow, his eyes trained on the bowl in his hands. Tim can’t tell what’s in it, but whatever it is, Damian seems pleased. He even lets Alfred help him back into his seat- the one straight across the way from Dick, and right between Jason and Tim. It sets him across from Bruce, who’s eyes trail right to him, once Damian’s finally settled down.

Damian pretends to notice, ever so carefully ignoring his stare as he shoves his food into his mouth with a pleased hum. His feet kick underneath the table, nearly an entire foot off of the ground. 

Jason leans over and pokes at Damian again. Subtly, he gestures over to Bruce. Damian tries to kick Jason under the table to tell him to ‘bug off’, but his legs can’t reach. Instead, he makes a face- head turned just enough so that Bruce can’t see him. Jason’s arm sneaks over and his hand finds his way under Damian’s chin. For a moment, Damian looks like he’s daring Jason to do something, before Jason flicks his hand up quickly. Damian lets off a chopped cry, his fork clattering to the ground in surprise. 

“Street rat,” Damian hisses.

“Demon,” Jason returns. 

Damian’s nose scrunches up again. Before he launches himself at Jason, he thinks better of it and bites down on his lip. He slides down from his seat and crawls under the table for his fork silently. Once he has the spoon, he has to climb back into his chair to sit down. Alfred appears by his side a moment later, trading out the fork for a clean one. Damian looks startled, which soon turns to confusion when Alfred slips away without a word. 

Dinner continues. 

Bruce doesn’t say much, and Jason finally realizes Damian’s not going to give him the response he’s looking for, so he turns back to his own plate.

Jason gratefully takes a third and fourth helping, and Damian acts much the same- though, he does eat with a tad more grace than Jason. Alfred has to keep coming in and switching out the two of their plates- and, well, bowl, in Damian’s case. He doesn’t look phased by it. In fact, when Jason finally gets around to apologizing, Alfred only shakes his head. “It’s no problem, Master Jason. Eat as much as you’d like.” 

Tim doesn’t end up eating much more than a second plate. The food’s so good he gets full all too quickly. It’s a real shame. 

By the time that Bruce and Dick finish their own second helping, Damian finally decides that he’s done and pushes his bowl forward. Jason looks a little hesitant to follow suit, but Alfred assures him that, once they’re all sitting in the den, he’ll bring out plenty of helpings of dessert. 

“Sorry for the trouble,” Jason says again, as he starts clearing the table. Tim gets up to help, too, but Dick urges him to take Damian and go sit down. When Dick nods at Bruce to go with them, something sinks in Tim’s gut. Even Damian looks worried when Dick says it. 

He pushes it aside and swoops down to pick Damian up, but Damian dodges. It’s not too odd, but Tim had really thought they’d had a breakthrough earlier. He lets it go, though, only feeling stupid for trying. 

Bruce leads them to a room by the cave entrance, passing the big grandfather clock without so much as a glance. He looks out of his depth again as he gestures to the TV and couch. “You can watch whatever you’d like,” he says, “while we wait. If- If you’d like.” 

Tim shrugs, but when he notices Damian staring at the TV, he moves for the remote. “I don’t think they’ll take too long, but we can always start something. Uh- How’s Disney sound?” 

“Disney?” Damian says, accent curling awkwardly around the word. 

“It’s a brand,” Tim explains. He’s not surprised to find that Bruce can get whatever movie he wants somehow, so he just throws on Bambi- it’s a movie for babies, isn’t it?- and takes a seat on the couch. Damian looks at the screen with a calculating stare, immediately making a face when the cartoon deer rush onto the screen. 

“What is this?” Damian asks, a moment later, crawling onto the couch beside Tim. He gives Bruce a side gaze, for a moment, but he must not find what he’s looking for- or what he’s afraid of seeing. 

“It’s called Bambi- you’ll see a baby deer in a second. That’s him.” 

Damian blinks and settles in at Tim’s side, eyes trained on the screen. “This all seems highly unrealistic,” he decides, the moment that the owl speaks. 

“The squirrel didn’t tip you off first?” Tim says. “Or the baby birds?” Bruce gives a tiny snort, from over at the doorway. Tim gestures for him to come sit down, so he chooses the chair beside the couch instead. The deer finally shows up on screen, so Tim nods his head. “The bright one- the baby. That’s Bambi.” 

“Why do they call him Little Prince?” Damian asks. 

“He’s the prince of the forest, I guess.” 

Again, Damian’s nose scrunches up, voice dropping down an octave as he says, “Back with Mother- Some of our servants used to call me Little Prince. Todd said it as some sort of joke.” 

That doesn’t seem too far fetched, Tim thinks. After all, from what he saw of Talia and heard of Damian, they seemed pretty much like ‘royalty’. “You’re just like Bambi, then,” Tim jokes. “You’re two peas in a pod.” 

Damian tilts his head to the side, not really understanding the saying. “I am not like this deer. Bambi is naive.” 

“How do you know?” 

Instead of replying, Damian squints at the screen. “Only this ‘ Thumper’ has brown eyes.” 

“They have to make him look different,” Tim explains. “He’s important to the storyline, but his siblings aren’t.” 

At the whole bird scene, Damian’s nose scrunches up so much, Tim almost thinks that he’s going to absorb it. His nose is so tiny- a little button nose with a red blush tinted over it. Tim takes a moment to wonder, has anyone ever played I Got Your Nose! with the kid? His mother had played it a few times, with Tim, when he was very young. When he got older, she claimed that he was too old for such childish things.

Tim didn’t know that Damian’s age was apparently too old.  

Right when Damian recoils- it’s when Flower appears on screen- Tim reaches over, placing his hand over Damian’s nose. He folds his hand into a fist, thumb poking through his index and middle fingers. 

“I got your nose,” he says. 

Damian reacts impossibly quicker than Tim thought he would’ve. Lightning claps on the screen as Damian’s hands fly to his nose in a slight scramble, pudgy fingers prodding at the nose that- clearly- is still in place. His face fills out with a heavy flush as he turns to glare at Tim, cheeks puffing out like a squirrel. “I suppose you must have hit your head harder than I had originally thought, Drake,” he huffs.  

Wait, Bambi, wait! the mother deer on the screen cries out, drawing both of their attention. 

Tim already knows what’s going to happen, but the music and the scene itself fills his gut with a pit of despair. It’s a morbid thing, for a Disney movie to have. Nothing happens though, so it doesn’t entertain Damian for long. He has forgotten about the whole nose thing, so Tim changes tactics to some trick that one of the kids at school had shown him, when he was really young. 

“Hey, look here,” he calls, as he puts his two hands in front of him. He pretends to take his thumb off of his right hand, and it draws another real gasp from Damian. His jaw falls open, just the slightest bit. 

“You- Your-” His eyes go wide when it seems that he can’t think of anything to reply with, so his hands just go to Tim’s. Before Damian can touch him, though, Tim crashes the sides of his fists together, before presenting both of them to Damian, wiggling both of his thumbs. Damian gasps again, gingerly tracing his finger by the base of Tim’s thumb, before he rocks back. “It was another trick, was it not?” 

“It was,” Tim replies, but when Damian just looks upset, Tim quickly adds on, “but it’s all in good fun.”

He turns his head over, accidentally catching Bruce’s eye. He’s looking over with something twinkling in his eye- something that Tim can’t place. It’s not really something he’s seen very much, after all. 

Tim looks away quickly, reaching for Damian’s hands. He turns them over, palms facing up, and traces the lines. “You know, I think my mother knew someone that could read your palms and tell your fortune-” 

Damian’s not listening. His eyes are on the screen as Bambi’s mother calls his name- as Bambi calls Mother with increasing fear blooming in his heart-

A gunshot goes off- a terribly fake sounding one that still has Bruce wincing- as the deer race off the screen. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Tim can see Damian still and tense up, but when it proves that both Bambi and his mother are alright- and, huh, Tim thinks, how long until she does die, then? I thought she died early on in the movie- he settles down and returns his attention to Tim. 

“Can you- can you read fortunes?” he asks, as the scene bleeds into a snowy day, ice skating adventure. 

“No,” Tim replies, almost disappointed in himself as Damian seems to deflate the tiniest bit. “I think I’d like to, but I don’t know how.” 

“Perhaps you should learn, Drake,” he comments, settling a little closer to Tim’s side. They’re over halfway into the movie and there’s still no sign of Dick, Jason or Alfred. It’s a little odd, and Tim’s starting to get the feeling that they’re supposed to be doing something other than watching a movie, like, heaven forbid, talking.  

The music starts to get dark again as another shot squeals through the screen. Bambi’s mother suddenly urges Bambi to run, to keep on running, drawing their attention all over again. A third shot booms, sounding different than the last, the TV shifting to show Bambi, running alone. 

There it is, Tim thinks, watching Damian out of the corner of his eye. 

We made it Mother, Bambi calls, on screen, before realizing that she’s not there. 

Damian’s face falls in horror.

Mother? Bambi continues, the Disney movie oblivious to Damian’s emotions. The poor deer looks spooked and concerned, but the pit that drags at Tim’s gut is only for Damian, now. The kid’s eyes are wide again, brows curving down as his mouth hangs slightly open, hair tousled just so. He looks pale again, just a bit.

The stag shows up on screen to tell Bambi, Your mother can’t be with you anymore.

Damian looks just like Bambi for a second as the room fills with sudden quiet-  

“Oh,” Damian says. 

The movie starts up a song, a colorful spring scene complete with chirping birds, but Tim realizes that the mood is utterly ruined as Damian blinks quickly. 

“Oh,” he says again, impossibly softer.

His fists curl up in his lap as he peers down, continuing to blink harshly. He reaches over for the remote by Tim’s side and clicks the TV off right before the movie can re-introduce an older version of the main trio. He goes to push himself up, but Tim grabs him around the waist and holds him at his side. 

Damian stifles out a sob that catches both Tim and Bruce off guard. Bruce doesn’t do much more than sink into his seat, unwilling to take care of it, and Tim takes charge again. He settles Damian onto his lap, feeling silly, and wraps his arms fully around the kid’s shoulders. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m sorry for that, by the way. I didn’t-” 

It’s not like he didn’t remember, or anything. He did, and he was actively waiting for the death to happen, but- He didn’t think that Damian would react with tears.  

And, as it turns out, neither was Bruce.

Tim kind of shoots him a glare, but he doesn’t think Bruce catches it, as Damian wipes at his eyes. The kid nearly shoves himself off of Tim’s lap, quickly returning to his spot beside him as if nothing had ever happened. 

“We should watch something else,” he says, instead. Somehow, Damian’s voice comes through as a solid tone, instead of something wobbly and childish. 

“It’s okay to cry,” Tim finds himself saying. 

Damian shoots him another glare. “I was not crying,” he says.

Tim just reaches for the remote. 

Damian falls asleep, head lolling on Tim’s shoulder. He’s snuggled up pretty close, nearly spilling into Tim’s lap. His face is serene, lips slightly open and lashes fanning out against his cheeks. Tim catches Bruce looking again, but ignores it in favor of turning the TV’s volume down a few bars- they’re watching Robin Hood now. Tim reaches up to stroke the kid’s hair, and settles deeper into the couch. 

Oh boy, he thinks. 

They’re not even done with the night yet. 

Finally, once Robin Hood is over, Jason and Dick waltz into the room, plates balanced carefully in their hands. Dick hands his second one over to Bruce, while Jason pours his onto the coffee table and moves over to beside Tim. Since Tim’s pretty much placed himself in the center of the couch, and has Damian spilling onto one half of it, Jason just kind of stays standing, eyes on Damian. 

He must notice how Tim’s beginning to droop, because he says, “Maybe we should keep this whole talk for morning. Timmers here is fucking dead on his feet, and this kid already passed out.” 

“Timmers?” he says, instead of arguing. Maybe he’s right- it feels late and Tim’s still tired from earlier. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep for long, though. Just passing out here on the couch feels like it’d be easier, if he’s being honest. 

“Timmy-Tim-Buck-Two,” Jason supplies.

Tim hums. “Maybe you should go to bed instead.” 

Jason quirks his brow, but when Dick gives an affirmative, he ducks to pick up Damian. 

Damian’s eyes fly open, and not even a moment later, he’s grabbing at Jason’s wrists and flipping himself out of Jason’s hold. He leaps for Jason’s head, and Jason lets out a swear. He drops his arms to his sides and rolls to the floor, dropping Damian hard. Damian slams into the ground before he finds his balance. “Okay, okay,” Jason rushes to say, holding his hands up in front of him in a surrender motion. “Sorry, kid.” 

Damian gives a hazy blink, eyes clouded over. “Todd,” he says, levelly, as he takes in his surroundings. “This is not the compound.” 

“No,” Jason says. “Go to sleep.” 

“Why?” Jason moves forward and sweeps Damian off his feet, even as Damian squirms. “What are you-? Put me down, Todd-” 

Tim watches, worried, as Damian continues to try and gain his bearings. His eyes are still kind of glassy- Damian must not be all there right now. Jason whispers to Damian that it’s time they all get some sleep and leaves the room before anyone can say anything about it. 

Dick, for his part, moves forward and pulls Tim into his arms. “Sorry, B,” he says. “Tomorrow, we’ll explain all of this- and, and we’ll tell you about Dames, and all of that. Uh, I’ll be back down for desert, okay? We don’t want Alfie’s food to go to waste.” 

Tim doesn’t say a word as they disappear up the stairs. 

Tim’s dreams are empty, but he spends the time leading up to deep sleep thinking about Damian. He’s a weird kid, and Tim’s a little confused by him- but in the time that he’s known him, he’s gathered enough about him to create a general past for him. As for Jason, he doesn’t know enough about him. All Tim knows is that Jason died and somehow came back, somehow ended up in Talia’s hands. He wants to know how- he wants to know why Talia ever thought it was okay to take a hold of these two boys’ lives and twist them.

He wants too, until sleep drags him under and he wants nothing more.

He wakes up at noon again, but there’s no one looming over him this time. 

The room Tim is in is only a guest bedroom, completely void of anything besides needed basics. There’s a new set of clothes over to the side, skinny jeans and a hoodie. When he changes, he keeps on his tee-shirt. It’s soft and comfortable. He just pulls on the hoodie and zips it up halfway. The jeans take a little time to pull on- they must’ve been Dick’s old one, because Dick’s said that he was a tall teenager after puberty, and to wear these easily, Tim needs to roll up his pant legs. 

There’s socks too, though the pair had rolled to the floor somehow. Tim takes his time pulling them on, almost falling on his face once he tries to get his second one on. 

He’s okay by the time he finally leaves his room, tired and itching for his phone. It’s still at home, where Tim should be right now. It’s not like his parents are home, or like they really care. Tim can count the amount of times that his parents have accidentally stumbled in on him- half in his hero costume- and hadn’t even blinked. They didn’t know, of course, they weren’t around enough for that. 

His point is- his parents just don’t care.  

He’s ready to walk into the kitchen and find it empty, but Dick’s in there, sipping away at a coffee mug. When he sees Tim, he slides over a second mug- one that’s steaming hot. Tim’s too young by normal standards to have coffee and Dick knows it, but with the absence of actual parents that could adult in the picture, Tim had his hands on coffee ever since he was about ten. He’s been told it’ll stunt his growth by a lot of people, and it makes sense. Tim’s small for his age, too. 

“Damian’s with Jason and Bruce,” Dick supplies, sleepily. “They’re all outside helping Alfie. You should’ve seen Dames when Alfred said they were going to work with him. He started throwing a fit about servant work and when Bruce was about to say something about not being rude and stuff, he decided just to follow along. The second he got his hands in the dirt, he literally- literally, like, lit up like a light bulb.” 

“So he likes it?” Tim asks, after slurping down at least half his mug. There’s a full coffee pot behind Dick, so, he’ll just. Have more. “I wouldn’t have expected him to.” 

Dick shrugs. “I think it’s just more of playing in the dirt. I don’t think that he did it very much in the League.” 

“What, played much?” 

“Well, yeah.” 

Tim finishes off his mug, and resolutely thinks that he doesn’t want to think about that. Today, at least until they get to actually talking, is going to be a good, normal day. He gets up to get himself another cup, almost preferring to just grab the coffee pot itself. He could drown it all down in a handful of minutes, but it’s not really polite to drink out of other people’s coffee pots. 

After a bit, Dick groans and runs a hand through his hair. “This has been a massively fucked up couple of days, huh?” 

“I guess,” Tim replies, thinking if it’d just be better to grab a bigger mug. He doesn’t want to root through the cupboards looking for it with Dick still here- he’d just look stupid if he did. In the end, he just brings back his first mug and settles back down. “I wasn’t expecting to end it in Bruce Wayne’s mansion, or meeting Batman, anyway.” 

“I don’t think any of us do. I mean- except Jason, I guess. He- uh, did you know that when he met Bruce, he was trying to jack the wheels off of the Batmobile?” 

Tim nearly chokes on his coffee. “Wh- What-? He- He really-?”

Dick grins, laughing a little. “He did.” Tim didn’t know that. He knew how Dick came around to Bruce, but not how Jason did. And- The mental image of a tiny little kid pulling the wheels off of the actual honest-to-god Batmobile? Golden. “He was gonna sell them, I think, but he got greedy and went to go get another one. That’s when B caught him.” 

“Damn,” Tim says. “I wish I had that kind of guts.” 

“I think you do,” Dick returns, reaching over the table to lightly push at Tim’s shoulder. “B made me a hero- made Jay one too, but that was after B told us he was Batman- or after we figured it out, anyway. But, you made yourself a hero, Tim. And, it’s like I’ve been saying, you-” 

“Jason said it too.” He doesn’t really feel like he wants to hear it again, so he pushes himself up, feeling a little rude. “Maybe we should go see what they’re doing. And then we can get this whole ‘make Bruce Wayne Batman again’ thing done and over with.” 

Dick gets up too, not really trading any words with Tim as he gestures for him to follow. There’s a door leading outside that Dick slips through. Tim joins him, making sure not to spill over his coffee mug. He kind of regrets not wearing shoes, but Dick’s completely barefoot, so he doesn’t think it’s that big of a problem. The grass feels weird through the socks, so he just leans down, pulls them off, and shoves them in his pocket.

Now, he just feels comfy. It feels nice and cool, slightly ticklish. 

A couple yards away, Damian stands, completely barefoot. His sleeves and pant legs are rolled up, his skin covered with prickly mud. He’s not really smiling, but he’s absolutely having fun, windmilling his arms around as he slams down into the dirt again and again. Tim can hear Alfred, who’s crouched down with a spade in his hand right beside Damian, shirt sleeves also rolled up to his elbows, gently reminding him that they’re supposed to be working, not messing around. He doesn’t look mad, and he’s not trying too hard to stop Damian, so Tim guesses it’s just a cover. 

Especially with how Jason’s standing off to the side, smiling a little as he settles his hands on his hips. When Dick and Tim join him- Bruce is just exiting a shed a little bit away- he leans back a little to whisper, “I’ve never seen him this- this undone before. He’s not even stoic anymore. He’s just-” 

“Having a time,” Tim supplies. 

Jason shoots him an odd look. “I guess?” 

Bruce finally gets over to them, shovel swung over his shoulder. “We’re planting some flowers,” he explains. 

“Is Damian trying to plant himself?” Tim asks. He must say it too loud, because Damian whips around, cheeks tinted red again. 

“Drake! Grayson! We have flowers!” He reaches over and holds up one of the pots they have of soil, and then the flower seed packets they have. “We’re planting them!” 

“You are?” Dick replies, and Tim can hear the little babying-ish tone to his voice. He puts his hands to his face in mock surprise. “Do you think I could help you?”

Damian nods, gesturing for Dick to join him. As soon as Dick gets to his side, Damian thrusts his hands into the dirt again and pulls some of the soil up. It falls from his hands, drifting down back to the earth, but he just plunges his hands back down, mushing it all under his hands. “It is so soft,” he says, patting it. He grabs Dick’s hand and pushes it down into the dirt, next, looking up to see his reaction. 

“It really is soft,” Dick says, like he’s never touched dirt before. 

With his dirty hands, Damian reaches up and pushes his hair out of his face. Dick’s just too slow to catch his hands before he can smear the dirt around his face. 

“Since Master Timothy is awake, I suppose you should go get a bath, Master Damian,” Alfred says, after a moment. Damian’s too distracted to tell him not to use ‘Master’, but not enough so that he forgets to turn to Alfred and pout. Dick reaches between them to boop Damian’s nose and the kid startles back an inch, blinking like a doe. 

“C’mon, Lil’ D,” he says, reaching down to pick him up. “We’re dirty now.” 

“May we come out later?” Damian asks, over his shoulder. He gives Tim a little wave when they pass. “I like the dirt.”

Dick bounces him. “After we talk to Bruce, okay?”  

They disappear inside. Tim sips at his coffee once, looking at the mess that Damian left behind. Jason bumps into Tim’s shoulders. “We should go help.” 

“I guess,” Tim says again, and gets to rolling up his sleeves. 

They’re all finally packed up in the den for a mid-afternoon snack, (and Tim’s breakfast), when Damian decides to bring up the reason why he’d even come all this way in the first place. In front of them sits some kind of pie- an awfully delicious one, Tim’s already had two slices and he’s aiming for a third- that Damian hasn’t touched yet. He’s too busy shifting his weight from leg to leg as he twiddles his thumbs, looking like a college student presenting his thesis, rather than the elementary school student he actually should be. 

He keeps looking up to Tim, for some reason, but the look in his eyes isn’t really looking for help so much as something else. He keeps looking at Bruce, too, but at least Tim’s pretty sure he knows why.

Damian clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. Dick’s got a fork sticking out of his mouth, eyes wide like he hadn’t been expecting Damian to start up so soon. He looks- honestly- like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, though there’s not much reason for it. 

“I suppose it is about time I explain why I sought you out,” he says, meeting Bruce’s eye. All of the nervousness washes away as he holds his head high, hands finding a spot clasped behind his back. “It was not my intention to bring this street rat with me-” 

“-you didn’t even fucking tell anyone where you were going,” Jason tacks on, and Tim really wants to ask him more about his side of the story. “One second, I’m training, and the next second, the guards are racing through the hallways-”

“-but now that he is here, you have all the more reason to to hear me out. After all, it was Todd who drove you to abandon your city.” Dick winces at the wording, and sneaks a glance at Bruce, who so far just looks amused by the fact that this six year old before them has the gall to speak like this to him. “Regardless, I have a simple request to demand of you.” 

Bruce quirks his brow. Tim has a feeling that he already knows what Damian’s about to say. 

“It is imperative that you return as Batman,” Damian says, and- His voice cracks the tiniest bit around the word imperative, his eyes growing just a tiny bit wider as he tries to subtly plead with Bruce. “It is for the sake of Gotham. For the sake of her people. The world has grown in your absence, but not for the better. Criminals run rampant around her streets- These vigilantes you have left the city to are trying their damnedest, but all of us know that they are not enough on their own.” 

Tim doesn’t even feel insulted by that- he already knows that they aren’t. Dick knows it too- They’ve run themselves ragged, and it seems impossible to think that there’s any way that it’ll ever get easier with just the two of them around. 

Damian gestures to everyone in the room- sans Alfred, and he’s probably not talking about Bruce. “You can take your pick of your Robin-” 

“I’m good,” Dick says, quickly. “Don’t count me in, here.” 

Jason doesn’t say a word, but he does look to Tim. He probably wants Robin back, he’s still young and spry. (He can’t help but laugh as the word spry passes through his mind.) But- He’d said that Tim would be a good Robin, so maybe he’s thinking about that, too? 

There’s no doubt in Tim’s mind that Damian wants to be Robin, too, but with his own personal mission still ahead of him, Tim doesn’t think he’ll ever wear the actual R for years to come. 

“I find it hard to believe,” Bruce starts, pushing himself up to rest his elbows on his knees, “that Gotham is the only thing driving you to demand this, son.” 

Tim doesn’t miss Damian’s little wince at being called son. He even goes as far as to say, “Do not call me son, Wayne.” in a little hiss. He does look off-put, probably not wanting to admit it. He had hardly wanted to when talking with Tim. Finally, he mumbles out, “I need to help my mother.” 

Bruce blinks. “Your mother?” 

Damian doesn’t answer as he levels Bruce with a stare. 

“What does she need help with that requires Batman?”

“I need you to draw Grandfather’s attention away from my mother and I,” Damian nearly spits out. “I am not being stupid-” 

“I never said you were,” Bruce says, carefully. “Who’s your mother?” 

“Moving on,” Damian says, quickly. “As you can see, it is entirely imperative that you-” 

Jason stands, quick enough to startle half the people in the room. “You’re doing this for your mother?!” he bursts out, incredulously. “You ran all the way to fucking Gotham because you actually thought that Talia would leave Ra’s once the big ol’ Bat came back into the picture?” 

“She told me,” Damian says, voice small. “She had promised we would leave-” 

All of the brotherly banter that they’d shown at dinner yesterday vanishes, as Jason continues, almost seething. “You ever think that she was lying to you? Or- Or you ever think that she was playing you? Giving you false hope?” 

“It was the pit that changed her!” Damian shouts. “It was the pit, not her! She would never have lied to me, back then- She wanted to leave-” 

“She’ll never leave now,” Jason replies, voice cold. “She won’t leave him in a hundred years, even if Batman does show his face again. You’re living in a fucking delusion if you think she will- just for your sake.” 

Damian looks awfully close to tears, as his fists clench by his side. “Maybe so,” he replies, “but at least if the Batman was back, she would allow me to go train with Father!” 

“You honestly think that you’d be able to beat her anytime soon?” 

“Why are you even arguing about this?” Tim finally shouts. “Both of you, sit down and cool off. You’ve both gone on long enough, okay? Listen. You’re here right now, Damian- and if you really think that Talia’s not going to leave Ra’s, and if you really think you’re in danger if you go back- Why? Why would you go back, Damian?” 

“I-” 

“And- Look, Jason, I’m mad enough as is with you right now. But- Seriously. He’s six. You can’t just dump all of that on the kid and pretend like you just did God’s work, okay? She might be a psychopath, but she’s still his mother.” 

Dick whistles, starting to clap, just as Tim realizes his whole outburst and goes red in the face. “Sorry,” he utters, taking his seat. 

The room goes into a brief stint of silence- Jason stunned at Tim’s outburst, Tim too embarrassed to continue leading the show, and Damian busy trying not to have a possible mental breakdown. Alfred, from his spot in the doorway, just has his eyes on Bruce, who looks like- 

He looks like his brain just broke. 

“You said your mother was Talia,” Bruce says, sounding lost, “and your grandfather was Ra’s. ” 

“As in the al Ghul’s,” Dick replies. 

“How old are you, Damian?” 

When it seems apparent that Damian’s not going to speak, Jason says, “He just turned six.”

Bruce goes white as a sheet. 

Tim finds Bruce, sitting with Dick, in the kitchen. They’ve both got beer bottles in their hands, which makes Tim want to steer clear. As much as he wants to ask Bruce, do you know? Have you figured it out?, he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t try to listen in on their quiet murmurs, either. 

He listens to his gut, and he goes to find Jason and Damian. 

Damian isn’t with Jason, when Tim finally finds him. He’s in the library, lounging in one of the corners, a book resting on his belly. It’s at an awkward enough angle that Tim can’t see the cover, but it looks thick. 

Without preamble, Tim says, “I had some questions.” 

He walks over and plops down beside Jason, unsettling the book. Jason- who’d hardly been disturbed- just licks his finger and turns the page, eyes moving over the words at a slow pace. “Of course you had questions,” he grumbles. Jason gestures to the library’s doors. “Why not ask literally anyone else?” 

“‘Cause you’re the only one that can answer them,” Tim replies, matter-of-factly. 

Jason mumbles something that’s definitely not PG-13, before his eyes shift to the right side of the page. “Fuckin’ shoot, then.” 

Score. “Why did Talia bring you with her to Gotham? What happened before she did?” 

“No idea, to that first question?” Jason tries, side-eyeing him as he flips the page again. “I was training with one of the League’s plentiful teachers- They’re all supposed to be Damian’s, but Talia shoots some of the more advanced one’s over to me while she waits for Damian to finish with whatever teacher he’s with at the moment. Well, uh, I was training and then I heard an uproar in the hallway, so I decked the teacher and went to check it out. The guards were all storming past, and Talia was literally stomping her way through all of them.

“She was pissed,” he continues. “I thought for a second that someone had tried to fucking kill her, or something, or that someone had managed to infiltrate the League. The second she saw me, she barked at me to join her and we went to go talk to Ra’s. Completely stupid, by the way, but he was fuming too. If you’ve never seen this guy, hallelujah. He’s ugly as hell. He kept yelling about how he wanted to fucking kill Dames for even trying to jump ship, but the kid was gone. Talia convinced Ra’s to let her go, but he didn’t want to let her go alone, ‘cause- What if his second heir ran the hell away from him? What then?

“She told him she’d take me, and I have a reputation of being ruthless-”

“Hard to imagine,” Tim interrupts, reaching over to poke at his stomach. It’s a move that he normally wouldn’t have the guts to do, especially with a near stranger, or someone he doesn’t really like, but. Hey. 

Jason reaches up and shoves at Tim’s face. “Somehow, the two of us left- and voila, two weeks and plenty of searching later- here we are. Anything el-” 

“Wait, he was gone for two weeks? By himself?” 

“Well, yeah. I honestly think it was longer- I think he was supposed to be- uh,” Jason pauses, “away from Talia and Ra’s when he left, so there’s no telling how long it was. At most, three weeks? Half a month.” 

Huh, Tim thinks. 

“How’d you end up in the League? I know- I know you died. I know how you died. But- That’s it.” 

Jason’s eyes go a little hard, before he pushes himself up and slams the book closed. He sets it aside before Tim can see the title, turning to face Tim fully. “Why do you want to know?” he nearly growls. “Is this all fun and games to you?” 

“No,” Tim says, hardly missing a beat. “I’m curious, I guess. If it’s insensitive, then- Don’t answer.” 

“It was,” Jason replies, “so I won’t.” 

Night comes. Tim finds his suit laid out in the cave and Dick directs him over to the locker room so he can change. Jason’s lounging over at the computers, beside Damian, who’s staring at Jason’s old Robin uniform. When Tim comes back out, he’s only a little surprised that it’s all patched back up. 

“You sure you don’t want to join us?” Dick asks Jason. “If you don’t want to throw on the ol’ Robin uniform, I’m sure the city wouldn’t mind seeing Batman for a night.” 

Jason gives a shrug, looking over to Damian. “I might, I guess. I can just go out in my League uniform. Just- I’ll use the domino mask instead of my other one. B can watch the brat.” 

Damian snarls. “I do not see why I cannot just go out as Robin,” he huffs. “You all need as much help as you can get.” 

He gets ignored as Dick pulls at the fabric of his Nightwing suit. “I don’t think B can watch him. His brain is fried- We had drinks earlier and he just kinda looked like he was about to lose it. If he looks at Dames, he’ll- Man, I don’t even know what he’ll do.” 

“Apologies,” Damian replies, shortly.

Dick reaches over and ruffles Damian’s hair. “None needed.” 

“You should allow me to go with you,” Damian presses again. 

“As much as we want to, Dames,” Dick starts, “we can’t. You’re six-” 

“And fully capable.” 

“Unless B comes down here and says that you can, then, I’m sorry. It’s a no, Damian.” At least, as Dick looks down at Damian, he has the gall to look regretful. “Maybe I can talk to him and see if we can take you out in a couple nights, okay? For now, just focus on getting better.” 

Damian’s glare says that he probably really wants to comment on Tim’s injuries- which, apparently, were worse than Damian’s. Gotham has already spent a night without vigilantes cleaning up her streets, but she can’t go another one. Tonight will already be hard enough as is. Tim had promised earlier to try and take it easy, but he’s not so sure he’ll be able to. Damian understands all of that too, which is why he finally drops the topic. 

Tim doesn’t miss it when the kid goes back to staring at that old Robin costume. 

Patrol is exhausting. By the end of it, they’ve dealt with over double the normal amount of crooks- a good chunk of them are League assassins. Jason heads back to the manor while Dick and Tim make a detour to the Drake's estate. 

Tim starts stuffing his own clothes into a dufflebag- one pulled from his father’s closet- and grabs his phone and charger. His phone is completely charged- hallelujah. After a brief moment of thought, he decides to take his computer too. His parents aren’t due back for another week at the very least. Ever since Tim turned thirteen, servants weren’t normally around while the Drakes were out of town, so there’s no one to say goodbye to. 

“Where are they?” Dick asks, gingerly placing himself down onto Tim’s bed. He’s not bleeding too much, so Tim doesn’t tell him to get up. “Your parents, I mean.” 

Honestly, Tim doesn’t actually know, so he just gives Dick a shrug. “They’ve probably left a note somewhere around here- I haven’t found it yet.” 

“Huh. Do they normally just leave you alone for weeks at a time?”

“Ever since I was little,” Tim admits. “Though, before- They normally kept servants around the house, so I wasn’t alone.” 

Dick’s face goes sad, like a kicked puppy. “That’s- That’s not okay. You know that, right?” 

Of course he does. 

They let the topic drop.

The days start passing faster. Patrol feels like it gets easier- now that Jason’s with them. Once, Tim even gets to take the night off, as Dick and Jason take over patrol. Bruce continues to avoid Damian, which wears away at Damian’s whole mood. He gets more violent and snappish, turning to scathing insults whenever Tim tries to talk to him. 

Dick repeatedly tries to talk to Bruce, over drinks and coffee and shared meals. They’re all ruining Wayne’s sleep schedule, with their odd hours, but Alfred and Bruce attempt to take it in stride. Jason starts spending mre time with the two whenever he’s awake, trying to fill in those few missing years with tea and stories. 

Damian hates it. 

Jealousy, Tim thinks, once, thy name is Damian. 

The kid spends more time in his room than he does with everyone else, and when he’s not, he’s either silent or horibly rude. He’s trying to push himself away from everyone, trying to get them to hate him, or something, to make it easier on himself. 

Tim sees it, but he doesn’t want to let it happen. He tells Jason, tells him to talk to Damian because they know each other. Jason tells him not to worry about it. Damian’s just adjusting. He’s like this all the time- a fuckin’ demon, that kid, I swear. Tim tells Dick, tells him to talk to Damian about it. Dick’s a people person. He can find his way to anyone if he tries hard enough. But, in the end, Dick just tells him: I know, Tim, and I’m trying, but between Bruce ignoring his own kid, and patrols, and Jay- I’m- It’s a lot. I’m sorry.

God, Tim feels horrible, after that. 

Bruce is off the table, and besides, Tim hasn’t talked to Bruce much beyond the whole Bambi fiasco.

So, Tim decides, I’ll talk to Damian myself.

At least, he tries to talk to Damian. The moment he cracks open the door, Damian nearly screams at him, tells him, “This is my space! Get out!”, right after he attacks Tim. Tim just stumbles back, heart racing. 

“Sorry, okay- I just- I wanted to talk to you-” 

“There’s no need,” Damian snarls. “Now, if your big head won’t process it for you, I told you to get out!” 

Tim feels utterly out of his depth, and calls the whole mission.

It’s a Saturday, when Tim gets stuck in a room with Bruce Wayne. Alone. Completely alone. 

He’s panicking- it’s right after lunch and Tim’s sitting in one of the out-of-the-way lounges, scrolling through documents on his laptop. He’s not really going to school right now, so he doesn’t have much work to be getting done. Mostly, he’s just completely bored. He’s already gone through most of his social media, his Tumblr account too. 

So, yeah. He’s panicking, because there’s nothing to pull his attention away from Bruce. And, besides, it’d be rude to plug in his headphones now that there’s someone else in the room. That means he’ll have to talk. To Brce Wayne. By himself.  

Oh boy.

“I had been thinking about what Damian asked,” Bruce starts, sounding just as awkward as Tim feels. It’d taken Tim a bit to realize that it was just socialization that got on Bruce’s nerves, since it wasn’t something he really expected to see. Playboy Bruce Wayne- socially awkward? “I had a question for you.” 

“You’re not-” Tim flounders. “You’re thinking about coming back?” 

Bruce sinks down a little in his chair, though it doesn’t make him look any smaller. “Not- No, I suppose- Probably- Probably not.” Tim feels almost disappointed at that- that’ll only drive the stake deeper into Damian’s miserable mood. 

“But- If I were,” Bruce continues, soft, “Batman would need a Robin.” 

Tim’s gut drops seven stories. Tim thinks about chucking himself out the window.

“I’ve been talking with Dick and Jason, and they- They both pointed me to you. I don’t want to give you false news- I don’t want to tell you that Batman’s coming back- I- My son has come back to me.” Sons. “I can’t lose him again.” 

Tim’s brain tells his gut to do a flip. His gut does three.  

“So in your place,” Tim hazards, fists clenching, “you’re willing to let your other son go out on the streets and get thrown around? You’re- You’re willing to let me- a child, by definition- go out instead?” 

Bruce looks taken aback when Tim raises his voice, but he takes it in stride. “You’re just like Jason- like Dick. Once you’ve been introduced to the idea, there’s no turning back. But- I figured that I should see. If I come back as Batman… It’d be an honor to have you as my Robin.” 

Tim thinks about years ago, thinks about the fallout of Jason’s death and thinks about wanting to be Robin. He thinks about a world where, maybe, things are different. Where Tim becomes Robin, where Bruce stays Batman, where the world doesn’t shift on its axis because things can’t stop changing. A world with long nights, of promises, of bruises that Tim still has in this world-

He thinks, and he thinks-

I don’t want that anymore, he thinks. 

Tim doesn’t want to be handed the R, anymore. He’s earned Red Robin’s title. He hasn’t earned Robin’s. It isn’t his. He hasn’t made it his and he doesn’t want to make it his.

“No,” Tim says, so hurried and certain that he almost gives himself whiplash. Snapping shut his laptop, he nearly scrambles to his feet, the air around him feeling suffocating. “Listen, I’m sorry. I- I don’t want to be Robin. Once, yeah- I did once. But, that was so long ago. Back when you were Batman.” 

“You did?” Bruce asks. 

“I wanted to ask you- I wanted to find you and ask you to make me Robin. I was going to demand it- But you dropped off the map. Batman disappeared. I made myself something instead.” Tim shoves his computer into his bag to prevent his hands from curling into fists. “I made myself Red Robin and- And I ran into Nightwing and- everything I have here- It’s mine. I created it for myself and I’m not giving it up. Not for a Batman that might not even come back.” 

He meets Bruce’s eyes, but what he finds- it’s not enough to make him want to stay. 

Tim turns on his heel and he leaves.

Patrol comes. 

Tim pulls on his uniform with detached silence, fixing his belt and his cape over and over. Dick doesn’t comment on it, but his gaze lingers on Tim often enough that Tim knows he’s seconds away from breaking out into Mother Hen mode. In his paranoia, Tim had skipped dinner. He hadn’t wanted to see Bruce, talk to him face to face after their earlier confrontation. He’d yelled at him, had- had- 

His only regret was that he hadn’t yelled at Bruce about Damian.  

As Jason mills around the cave, putting new twists and gadgets on his own costume, Damian sits on the counter of the Batcomputer. He swings his feet over the edge of it, staring at the Robin costume and peering over at Tim. It’s the first time he’s come out of his room all day- he makes a point to show up before patrol and watch them get ready. He looks tired- far more tired than any six year old has the right to be. 

No one says a word when he slides off of the counter and moves over Tim, before he just peers up at Tim all creepy like. As much as Tim doesn’t want to talk to anyone, he decides to stare right back at Damian, as he says, “Can I help you?” 

“You should not go on patrol tonight,” Damian says simply. 

Tim arches a brow. He’s waiting for the second line, for the: so I can take your place. It doesn’t come, so Tim utters, “Why not?” 

“Grayson told me I could not go on patrol because I was hurt and because I needed to rest,” Damian says. “You look tired too. You will make a mistake if you go out tonight.” 

“Are you trying to tell me that- that you’re worried about me?” Tim asks. “I- I’m good, Damian. I’m not-” 

“You are- you are upset,” Damian says. “Grayson told me that- that when someone is upset, you are supposed to- to talk about it.” 

It’s a real change in tune compared to when Tim had gone to talk to him earlier. “‘Grayson’s’ been telling you a lot of things,” Tim scoffs. “Was this before or after you yelled at me to get out of your room?” 

Damian’s cheeks go red. “Grayson told me- He- I am sorry for my actions earlier. We talked after you came to visit, and I understand now that I should- I should be thanking you for- for caring.” Again, like most of their previous interactions when Damian feels upset in some way, his nose scrunches up. 

Wow. 

Tim spreads open his arms without really thinking about it, and pulls Damian into an awkward embrace. Damian’s face buries into Tim’s stomach- well, kind of- Tim’s short, but Damian’s tiny. Tim rubs his hand along Damian’s back, before whispering, “Thank you for apologizing. That’s- That’s really grown up of you.” 

“I would hope so,” Damian utters, muffled. “I am not a child.” 

“‘Course not,” Tim replies, before bending down and pulling Damian up on his hip. “Are you going to bed before we go, or are you staying up until we get back?” 

Damian squirms in Tim’s hold. “I will stay awake,” he says, reaching up and fisting Tim’s cape in his hands. He peers over Tim’s shoulder, his eyes seemingly staring out at nothing. Tim starts walking back towards the computer to take a seat, watching as Dick stumbles out of the locker room, pulling at his suit uncomfortably. Dick looks over and smiles when he sees Tim holding Damian. 

“Hey, hey, kiddos,” he coos, reaching up to ruffle Tim’s hair. “Ready for patrol, Red Robin?” 

There’s a distant yell of “YUM!” by Jason. Tim ignores it. 

“I am,” Tim replies, sticking his chin up, daring Dick to say otherwise.

Instead of saying, go to bed, Tim, Dick reaches up and pulls Tim and Damian to his chest, squeezing them both tightly. “I love the two of you a whole lot, okay? I know it’s been a wild ride, these past couple days and all, but-” Dick pulls away, his hand finding a spot on Damian’s cheek. “I’m really happy that you’re here with us, Damian. I really am.” His thumb rubs at the kid’s pudgy cheek, smiling again, before looking up to Tim. “And I’m really happy I met you, Timmy. I like working with you.” 

“I like working with you too, Dick,” Tim says, snaking an arm around Dick’s back, and pulling him back in for another hug. 

Eventually, Jason comes back into the room and gives his own hug to them, though it’s short lived. When he pulls back, it’s to wrap his arms around Dick’s waist and hoist him up into the air. “C’mon, Dickie, we’re burning night-light.” 

“Put me down,” Dick shouts, “c’mon Jaybird, I thought you loved me-” 

“Aw, bro,” Jason pretends to whine. He sets Dick down, albeit roughly. “Let’s get out there, Timmers- Dickhead.” 

“Be safe,” Damian says.

“Always,” Dick replies. 

Jason sweeps out his arm, gesturing for them to take their leave- 

It’s just as Bruce thumps down the stairs, hair messy, eyes bright. He’s got that look on his face- the one that tells of adrenaline and excitement. It shakes Tim, probably shakes Damian too with the way that the kid stills in Tim’s lap. Plus, it’s the first time that Damian’s probably seen Bruce since the last dinner he attended. 

“B?” Dick asks, like he’s not sure what he’s seeing. 

Bruce gives something like a grin, and Tim swallows his question of, are you high?  

“Have room for two more?” he asks, back, not slowing in his beeline to- 

He’s headed right for the glass case in the center of the cave- the one with Batman’s suit locked up inside of it-  the one with the original signal gleaming on it’s chest. 

Dick blinks, but after a moment, he looks just as excited as Bruce. “Are you sure? You’re really-?” 

“For now, just one night,” Bruce says, but it’s a yes if Tim’s ever heard one. 

“Wait,” Jason says. “Two?” 

Bruce looks straight at Damian, before he strides over to him, abandoning the suit. Damian startles back and hits Tim’s chest, and to steady him, Tim wraps his arm around the kid. While he wants to run, and he knows that Damian wants to do the same thing, Tim knows that this is a conversation that needs to happen. It’s better it happens now, with Dick and Jason and Tim around- instead of Damian all alone. 

Even though they’re sitting on the counter, Bruce still has to crouch down to meet Damian’s eyes. “I haven’t been the best father, in this past week that I’ve known you,” he starts, softly, and in the middle of his sentence, his eyes shift up to Tim, before passing back down to Damian. 

“True,” Jason voices, over at Dick’s side. Dick just elbows him and hisses, Shut up.

“I want to let you know that I’m very- It’s- I’m happy to have you here. I understand that everything leading up to this point, it must’ve been hard for you. And- then, for you to come here and have me- ignore you- I owe you an apology, Damian.” 

Damian tries to say, no apology needed, but ends up only squeaking out a sharp no-?.

Bruce reaches up and takes Damian’s hands in his. Damian freezes up, but doesn’t pull away. “But- I also want to thank you. You brought- not only Jason home to me, but- You brought Dick - Dick hasn’t come home in so long. And- and you brought Tim, you brought- you brought yourself. ” 

His gaze turns up to Tim when it turns out that Damian’s not going to say something- the kid’s shaking like a leaf now. “I’m proud of all four of you. I’m proud of what you’ve created, Tim, with Red Robin.” 

Bruce pulls away and turns towards Jason and Dick. “I’m proud of Dick for being Nightwing, and I’m proud of Jason for coming home- and,” he continues, looking down to Damian, “I’m so proud of you, Damian, for making it this far on your own. And now you have the rest of us here, and I swear to you, I will help you with Ra’s and Talia if you’ll have me.” 

Damian squeezes Bruce’s hands. 

That’s that. 

Batman and Red Robin stand on a rooftop, watching as Nightwing chases after Red Hood, Robin perched on his shoulders. The duo’s capes flutter in the rushing wind, the sounds of the quiet city washing over them. 

“You’re really going to keep him as Robin?” Tim asks. 

Bruce turns his head up, taking a deep breath of Gotham’s foggy air. “I would consider this as a trial run,” he says, letting his shoulders fall lax. “He’s six, after all. I normally wouldn’t allow a Robin out on the streets that’s no older than ten.” 

“And Batman?” 

“I think I’d like to continue as Batman. It’s- I had forgotten what the city was like, at night. I miss the view.” 

Tim imagines he’d miss it too. 

(There was a time, years ago, when the world shifted on its axis. Bruce Wayne, driven by grief, had hung up his cowl and stuffed away his cape. Tim Drake never became his ward, Damian was never given the chance to meet him. 

In the end, though, as in every world-

They all find each other. 

Tim wouldn’t have it any other way.)