Chapter Text
Dick kept half an eye on Red Robin, removing his suit with practiced efficiency as he focused on Damian and Steph. Damian was frowning even as Steph breathed in and out slowly, her toes wiggling in Damian’s hands, and Dick drew him back as Steph yawned.
“I can take a little more,” she said—Damian broke off with a sullen, irritated sulk, and Dick kept a firm arm around him—but Dick merely smiled.
“It’s okay, Steph. Get some sleep.” They hadn’t quite figured out what flavor of supernatural she was—Dick was betting on phoenix—but her emotions sparked and fizzled, and it wasn’t healthy for any of them to consume too much.
It had been enough for him and Damian—mostly Damian—when Jason was off with the Outlaws, but now everyone was gathering back in the Manor, and Dick met the stressed lines on Jason’s face as he got off his bike.
“How was patrol?” Dick asked lightly, tracking every visible sign that Jason was getting hungry. Roy and Kori would be back in a couple of days, though, and Jason could endure till then.
“Uneventful,” Jason said, and turned towards the Batcomputer, “Hey, Timmers. Quiet night?”
Tim raised a hand in acknowledgement, but didn’t otherwise respond, seemingly engrossed at whatever he was looking at. Jason’s eyes flickered green, and he turned back to Dick—Dick couldn’t hide the wince.
He was well aware that this was his fault.
He hadn’t—Tim’s emotions had been all over the place, swinging wildly from grief to a fierce determination so thick it—it bordered on fanaticism. When Dick had tried to blunt his emotions, Tim retreated behind his mental walls, and all of Dick’s pleas couldn’t bring him out.
And then he’d talked about Bruce being alive—and he was right, he’d come back with proof and half the League of Assassins in flames, and they were just waiting for the Justice League to retrieve Bruce—and Dick had been worried that Tim had snapped under the grief.
And Dick had only made it worse.
Dick had apologized for not believing him, had nearly gotten on his knees and begged for Tim to come back to the Manor, but there was something cold in the way Tim looked at him now, emotions locked firmly away, and Dick was terrified he’d lost his little brother the moment he took away Robin.
Jason paused to ruffle Damian’s hair, but the impling didn’t snap back, his gaze fixed on Tim. Tim, who wasn’t looking at any of them, who barely acknowledged them at all, who’d returned to stay at the Manor but only talked to Dick if Dick asked him a direct question.
Damian’s emotions shifted, reaching out like he was trying to tug on—on Tim, and Dick immediately pulled him back, shock flaring up as he clamped down on Damian’s stray emotions. Tim’s emotions were hidden behind mental walls, but Damian was exuding desperation-hunger-come-back.
“What are you doing?” Dick asked quietly, Jason hovering close. “Damian, you can’t just broadcast your emotions.”
“I’m hungry,” Damian muttered, half petulant, half sincere, and Dick pulled him into a hug and squeezed his eyes shut.
Bruce was alive. Bruce was alive and would be coming back soon and he could fix the giant mess Dick had made of—of everything.
“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Dick said softly, “How about we go meet the Titans tomorrow, hmm? There will be plenty to feed over there.”
Damian nodded sullenly, and Jason tugged him towards the stairs. “Good night, Tim,” Dick called out softly. Swallowed, and dared to say, “Sleep well.”
Tim didn’t even twitch.
Damian wasn’t quite willing to let go of Dick, and Jason’s face had the same slightly frantic desperation, so they piled into Bruce’s room—the only one with a bed big enough to fit all three of them comfortably—and onto the bed. Dick ended up in the middle with a little brother tucked in on either side, and he smiled faintly.
Bruce would be back soon, and everything would be okay. Everything had to be okay.
He felt Jason and Damian ease down to sleep, but he couldn’t slip all the way under, emotions too mixed and roiling behind the mental walls he kept firmly fixed in place. The longer he stared at the ceiling, the more aware he was of his hunger, his guilt, the sick churn of breaking something he couldn’t fix. He was so engrossed in his spiral of self-loathing that he didn’t even register the creak of the door until the shadows on the ceiling shifted.
He craned enough to see a slight figure standing in the doorway. “Tim?” he called out softly, abruptly alarmed. He gently disentangled his arms from around Jason and Damian and slowly shifted upright. “Is everything okay?”
Something—something had to be wrong, if Tim had sought him out, but Tim didn’t say anything, just closed the door behind him and walked forward.
“Tim?” Dick’s heart was thudding in his ears, alarm rising higher. “Are you okay?”
“Dick,” Tim said levelly, his voice eerily toneless. He climbed up onto the foot of the bed and just—sat there. Staring.
“Tim, is everything okay?” Dick asked again. He desperately wanted to reach for his brother, but he’d lost that right and—and he had no idea what Tim was doing here, couldn’t sense any stray emotions, and every possible reason for Tim seeking him out was a blaring sign of ‘no’.
Tim let the silence stretch a little while longer before he said flatly, “You’re hungry.”
Dick blinked at the non-sequitur. “I—I don’t—I’m not sure what you mean?”
“I said, you’re hungry.” Tim was still perched on the foot of the bed. “You haven’t asked to feed.”
Well, no, that seemed like it was a bit rude, to ignore someone and hurt them and ask them for food the moment they came back.
“It’s okay,” Dick said gently, delicately. Tim must’ve caught something of what Damian was projecting. “We’ll be fine. You don’t need to—”
“Don’t want to feed off of me?” Tim asked, voice still perfectly level, but there was a bitter tone to it.
“No, Tim—” Dick strangled his tone before it rose too high, and shifted out of the blankets. He was pretty sure he’d woken one of them, he heard breathing stutter, but Tim was turning away and Dick had to—Dick couldn’t—“I’m not—I didn’t mean—I just thought that it might make you uncomfortable.”
Tim didn’t turn back to him, but he didn’t get off the bed either.
“Why would it make me uncomfortable?”
Dick blinked. “Because you hate me,” he said plainly.
Tim did turn at that, moonlight reflecting off his frown. Blue eyes gleamed sharply, bright but nowhere near a demonic glow. A human in a nest of the supernatural.
“Now you get to decide how I feel?” Tim asked levelly.
Dick squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said, quiet and muffled, “I am so, so sorry for not believing you, Tim.”
“I’m aware,” Tim said sharply, and Dick knew that an apology was just words, that he needed to fix it, but he didn’t know how.
Dick took a deep breath and let it out slowly, before dropping his hands. “The last time I felt your emotions, you threw up a wall and told me to back off,” Dick said, quiet and as steady as he could make it. Tim had gone very still. “I didn’t want to push.”
Tim reached out a hand, and Dick caught it, squeezing softly. The moonlight illuminated something fragile in Tim’s expression.
“I’m still mad,” Tim said quietly, voice rough, “I’m—I’m furious and—and upset. You—I trusted you, and then I found out you didn’t do the same.” It felt like knives scraping along his ribs, but Tim hadn’t let go, and Dick clung to his hand like it was a lifeline. “I needed someone to believe me,” Tim almost whispered, “And you practically told me I was crazy.”
Dick’s eyes had gone from prickling to burning.
“I can’t forget that,” Tim said, his voice hoarse, “I can’t—I can’t get over it, and I don’t know when I will. If I will.” He swallowed thickly, and withdrew his hand to rub at his eyes. Dick tried to pretend like it didn’t feel like a physical loss.
Dick extended his hand again, hoping that Tim would take it, hoping that Tim would stay and not storm out, not cut Dick to pieces and leave him bleeding—
And Tim nearly tackled him. Dick almost rocked back from the force, instinctively wrapping his arms around his little brother and holding tight as Tim shook quietly, the collar of his shirt turning wet.
“But you’re still my brother,” Tim said, whisper-soft, “You’re still my family and I’ll always be there for you.”
Dick tightened his hold, curling around Tim and burying his face in his hair, swallowing down the gasping sobs but unable to do anything about the tears. His throat was closed up and his eyes were burning and cool tears slid down his face and it hurt, but he was holding his little brother and there was a curl of warmth in the void inside his heart.
A heavy arm slung around them both and an annoyed grumble came from the other side, the sound incongruous to the safe-home-please-feed-me that poked at them. Tim made a watery chuckle and squeezed tighter before withdrawing.
“Sure, brat,” he said lightly, “Feeding time.” He looked at Dick and his smile was tremulous, but it was there. “It’s been way too long since I’ve had one of the infamous Grayson massages. My back’s probably all twisted up in knots.”
Dick managed a chuckle, and tugged Tim further on the bed. Tim easily flopped down onto his stomach, curling up on a pillow and closing his eyes as Dick shifted to straddling him. Jason moved near Tim’s head, and began quietly stroking as Dick squeezed down on Tim’s shoulders.
Tim was right—he did have a lot of tension locked up in his muscles, but between the hair strokes and the massage, they managed to turn him into a melted puddle. Damian fell asleep first, content and satiated, uncontaminated pleasure swirling around them in eddies, and Jason and Dick both managed to eat enough to satisfy the hunger pangs before Tim slipped into sleep.
Dick curled around Damian, resting an arm across Tim’s back as Jason bracketed Tim’s other side. All together, snuggling close and waiting for Bruce to come back, Dick felt like they were a family again.