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Dick notices a lot of things.
It’s tied to his obsessive care of those he loves and his need to make sure everything’s okay with them. He catches on to several new fixations, behaviors, or feelings, and utilizes this knowledge to make the other party more comfortable or coax them into a conversation.
(And yes, sometimes he does end up liking the same things, but that just gives him more chances to bond with his loved ones, and he’s grateful.)
He’s also the first to see any injuries his family or friends try to hide, and while he does call out the drastic ones, Dick normally pulls that person aside and treats it himself, wanting them to feel safe and secure.
Sometimes, he’ll stay up and check on concussed family or team members. Other times, he prepares cups of tea or hot cocoa, depending on the person, and Dick will even get a heating pad ready for various ailments. Cramps, stomach aches, and even a certain someone’s back since it still smarts after being healed from the massive injury it took so many years before.
His siblings complain he does too much and that he rarely allows them to do anything for him in return, but it’s not a problem.
Dick likes being there for everyone.
A lot of it ties to his responsibility as the eldest sibling in this family, sure, but there’s also something sweet about the fact that nearly everyone he cares about trusts him with so many things—from the secret of Jason’s budding relationship with Roy to Damian’s confession that he enjoys Jon Kent’s friendship more than he thought, and even Cass’ quiet admittance of her lack of romantic feelings for anyone.
There’s so much knowledge locked away in his head, and Dick plans on taking it all to the grave. He continues to observe everyone and makes sure to keep the peace whenever arguments or tension arise.
So, of course, Dick’s the only one to notice when Tim stops eating.
★★
Dick finds Tim in his room.
His little brother is hunched over a laptop, the light of the screen casting strange shadows on his hollowed cheeks.
He gazes down at the offering in his hands and sighs before sticking a bright smile on his face, nudging the door open further.
“Special delivery for my favorite little night owl,” Dick chirps when Tim looks up from his laptop. He holds up the mug and waits for Tim’s nod before stepping in further, setting it on the coaster on Tim’s bedside table.
“Thanks,” Tim says airily, only to pause a moment later and sniff the air. “Chamomile?”
“Your favorite,” Dick says, gesturing to the mug. “I figured you’d want some right about now.”
Tim grabs the tea and eyes him with a wary expression. Dick meets his gaze, unwavering, and it’s not long before Tim sighs and slumps back against his mountain of pillows, taking a sip of his steaming drink.
“You know,” he says tiredly.
“Know what?” Dick says, glancing down at his nails. The polish on one of his middle fingers is chipped, so Dick starts working on peeling it off. “I know a lot of things, Timmy, so you’re gonna have to be more specific.”
It’s quiet.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Tim finally mumbles after a while, sipping his tea again. His knuckles look more pronounced as he cups his hands around the mug, and Dick wonders if he’s trying to leech the heat off it, if the chill has settled into his bones. “It just happened. And I’ve got it under control, I swear.”
“I know,” Dick says kindly, remembering the first time he heard a similar reason.
★★
A few months into Tim’s role as Robin, Dick comes home to find a little bird so far away from the nest.
“Why do you keep breaking in?” Dick wonders aloud as he places his groceries on his counter.
“Because you haven’t given me a key,” Tim says, not lifting his head. He’s currently lying face down on the couch, practically swimming in one of Dick’s old Gotham University hoodies.
“I thought you would have copied it by now,” Dick says wryly, lips twitching when Tim makes a half-hearted noise of complaint. “What? Am I wrong?”
“No,” Tim grumbles, sitting up. “I thought about it but figured I shouldn’t invade your privacy too much.” He slides off the couch and pads over, peering into the bags. “I don’t want you to get sick of me yet.”
“I don’t think I ever will,” Dick says, ruffling the kid’s hair. He puts all his groceries away and grabs the ingredients needed to make grilled cheese and tomato soup, glancing at his brother when he asks, “So, why’d you visit? And do you want to patrol with me tonight?”
“Can’t,” Tim says, draping himself across Dick’s counter. “B says I’m benched.”
“Well, B isn’t here.”
“He took away my suit, too.”
Dick stops cutting carrots. “He did what?” he asks, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. Dick thinks he fails, judging by the look Tim shoots him. He sighs, picking his knife back up to continue his chopping. “Why’d he take your suit away, Tim?”
Tim doesn’t answer.
He sits up properly but doesn’t look at Dick as he toys with one of the tomatoes. Dick leaves him to it and gathers a handful of the chopped carrots, placing it in his blender, where he blends it until there are little to no chunks in the orange liquid.
“B benched me because of my eating thing,” Tim finally says when Dick has all the ingredients in a pot, letting it simmer before he can do more. “It’s not a big deal.”
The last words are rushed out, like he’s trying not to worry Dick. Unfortunately for him, Dick is the biggest worrywart to ever exist, so he ends up leaning against a different counter to observe his little brother, noting the lack of baby fat on his face and how he seems paler than before. His eyes are sunken in with dark shadows beneath them—tinged slightly purple in some spots.
He looks like he might fade away at any moment.
“Want me to talk to him?” Dick says instead of bursting into tears like he wants, turning away to check on his soup. It’s starting to bubble, so Dick stirs it, focusing on the soup to give his brother some semblance of privacy. “I’m sure I can get him off your ass.”
“You—” Tim stammers a couple of times, stumbling over something unintelligible. He stops after a while and then sighs, sounding relieved. “I mean. Yeah, that’d be cool. Thanks, Dick.”
Dick shuts his eyes briefly and takes a few calming breaths. “You’re welcome, Timmy,” he says, making sure to push as much warmth into his voice as possible. “You know I’ve always got your back, no matter how big or small your problem might be.”
“Oh,” Tim says, voice wobbly. “Thanks.”
Nothing more is said as Dick continues to make his meal.
It gives him time to think about this ‘eating thing,’ as Tim put it. Dick doesn’t remember if there was something in Tim’s medical file about it, but then again, if his parents didn’t take him seriously about it (which is likely), Dick doubts there’s a note or diagnosis written in those scanned pages.
He’s still thinking about it when he’s sliding half of a grilled cheese sandwich over to Tim, a cup of soup beside it. Dick notes the disgust that flickers over Tim’s face when he sees the meal, and when Tim opens his mouth, Dick speaks before he can say a word.
“Wanna hear the story about how I bugged Deathstroke so much he brought me back to the Tower?” Dick asks, picking up the other half of the sandwich and biting into it. The cheese pull is amazing, and the whole thing is delicious, so much so that he spoons some tomato soup into his mouth while the bite is still in there. “S’funny.”
“Manners,” Tim scolds, as if he’s not a heathen regularly. Still, he lights up and leans closer. “Really? What’d you do?”
Dick launches into the story, hoping to make his brother smile or laugh. He succeeds in doing both, and when he nears the end, he brings up more situations during his time as a Teen Titan where they all resorted to annoying the hell out of the enemy instead of fighting them.
“Eat your food,” Dick tells him gently when there’s a lull between stories, and quickly moves on.
Somehow, this works, and Dick notices how Tim eats his sandwich and a majority of his soup before leaning against the counter, enraptured by Dick’s story. He startles later when Dick stands to take the dishes to the sink, wanting to get started on his cleaning.
“You’re staying the night, right?” Dick asks, looking over his shoulder. Tim’s staring at him, visibly confused, but Dick knows it’s not because of his question. “I think I have a pair of your old pajama pants lying around, and you can just borrow one of my old shirts if you want.”
Tim bobs his head, but it seems like there’s something on his mind. After a while, Tim stands, fiddles with the cuffs of the hoodie he stole, and whispers, “I’ve got it under control, Dick. I swear.”
Dick shuts the water off and turns around, seeing how ghostly Tim looks under his kitchen light. He walks over and wraps his arms around his too-thin brother, pulling him close and ignoring how all his bones are jutting out, so unlike the wiry, muscled boy Dick was barely getting to know not too long ago.
Tim stiffens briefly but eventually sinks into the embrace, clinging to him like a child would to their mother’s dress. Dick makes no mention of this, merely tucking some of Tim’s soft hair behind his ear before resting his cheek on top of Tim’s head.
“You don’t have to do it alone,” Dick murmurs. “I’ve got you, Tim. I’ve got you.”
★★
Dick watches his brother work from where he’s perched on Tim’s office chair (that he definitely stole from WE), noting the slight tremble in his hands and the way he sometimes wraps his index and thumb around his wrist while he’s waiting for a tab to load or thinking about something.
“Come on,” he says a bit later when there are only dregs in their mugs. “Help me make some soup.”
“Everyone’s asleep by now,” Tim says dryly, but he sets his laptop aside and slides off the bed, twisting his torso. Dick barely twitches when he hears it crack, zeroing in on the protruding clavicle that appears when Tim’s big shirt slides down his shoulder. “They’ll be mad if you wake them up.”
“Then I’ll just have to be quiet,” Dick replies cheerfully, tearing his gaze away from the sight. He instead glances around the room, smiling when he spies a few photos taped to Tim’s walls. “Getting back into photography?”
Tim also looks at the photos, and Dick’s happy to see the smile that stretches across his little brother’s face. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, laughing. “Uh, Bart found my camera and got curious, so… I decided to take some pictures and make us all copies.”
“Hm.” Dick spies Tim’s camera on his desk and picks it up carefully, turning it on and picking the correct settings like Tim taught him. He moves over to his little brother and tosses an arm across his shoulders, smiling brightly into the camera. “Say ‘Holy Saying Cheese is Cheesy, Batman!’”
Tim immediately bursts into laughter, with Dick not too far behind as he snaps the picture.
★★
(This is what Tim sees.
His big brother, the man he has looked up to for what feels like his entire life, doesn’t treat him like glass when the weight slips off his body. He doesn’t look horrified when Tim leans over and shows off every knob of his spine.
Dick doesn’t stare at Tim from across the table during meals, waiting for Tim to eat. Instead, he draws Tim into a conversation and starts telling him a story about a mission from his Teen Titans days, which always enthralls Tim. At some point, he pauses, and distractedly says, “Eat your food,” before continuing, hands gesticulating as he recounts a crazy situation or a fight.
And surprisingly, Tim listens.
He lets himself get pulled into the story again before picking up his grilled cheese sandwich. Tim dips it into his cup of tomato soup and brings it up to his mouth, exhaling shakily.
Dick’s words wash over him as he takes a bite.
Most of Tim’s attention is on Dick because he knows if he dares to focus on his food, he’ll lose his momentum and get too sick and upset to finish.
It helps that Dick doesn’t watch him, too focused on his story and occasionally pausing to pick through his meal—half of a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tomato soup, the same thing on Tim’s tray.
After what feels like hours, Tim’s surprised when he looks down and sees that his sandwich is gone and that most of his tomato soup is missing. He glances at Dick, feeling a curl of fondness in his heart when he realizes Dick’s still telling his story and not gazing at Tim with pride and relief like Bruce or Alfred.
“Thanks,” Tim murmurs into Dick’s shirt when they share a hug later, nestling against his chest. Dick always feels warm, and Tim feels too cold nowadays, so he tries to absorb as much as he can. “M’sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Dick says as he brushes his fingers through Tim’s hair, causing him to hum contentedly. “Remember what I said before, Timmy? I’ve got your back, no matter—
“—how big or small my problem might be,” Tim finishes, leaning back to smile at his big brother. “I know. I remember.”
Dick gazes at him with so much affection that it causes warmth to crawl up to Tim’s cheeks. He hides it by burying his face in Dick’s shoulder, squeezing the older man tightly.
Sometimes, Tim doesn’t know how to stop, even with all his claims of being in control of this… thing. It can be overwhelming at times, and there have definitely been moments where Tim wants to curl up under his bed and cry his eyes out over how complicated it feels to exist.
But at least it’s easier to deal with, thanks to his big brother.)
★★
There’s a new picture on Tim’s wall.
He’s wan and sickly, but his eyes are creased as he laughs, hand caught in motion as if it tried to come up to his mouth to cover up his laugh. Dick has an arm across his shoulders, body turned toward Tim as he, too, laughs. They both look happy, and that’s all that matters.