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“I have a gift for you.”
Janet holds her hand out, smiling faintly, and Tim ambles over, taking her smooth, cool palm in his. She kneels down to look into his eyes, the stark blue a mirror to his own. There’s something a little sad in her expression, a regret Tim doesn’t understand. A tiny box rests in her free hand, and at her encouraging nod, Tim takes it.
Inside, a delicate silver ring sits nestled in a velvet cushion. Thin engravings swirl around the band, forming a pattern Tim tries and fails to follow with his eyes. It looks too big for him, but when Tim tries it on, the band shrinks to fit his finger.
“Oh, it’s magic! This is really cool,” Tim says, awed. “Thanks, Mom!” He looks up at her and matches her thin smile with a bright one of his own.
“I want you to wear this any time you’re around other people,” she instructs. Janet hesitates, a rarity for her. “It’s charmed to hide your soulmarks. Your father and I don’t think it’s appropriate for anyone to see them.” She smoothes a strand of hair out of Tim’s face. “Something so personal shouldn’t be anyone else’s business.”
Her mark isn’t hidden. Tim can spot the design creeping out from underneath the short sleeve of her dress—a palm-sized design for Jack. A tiny airplane, a trowel, miniature pyramids, and jungle leaves all mingle together on Janet’s arm. He wants to ask why he has to hide his marks when her mark is in plain sight, but he knows better.
Tim nods, understanding the seriousness in her tone, and she nods back, pleased. She presses a kiss to his forehead and stands.
“You need to guard your heart, son,” she says, “and sometimes that means keeping the most beautiful parts of yourself hidden from prying eyes.”
“Okay, I will,” Tim replies, ever the dutiful son. “Thank you, mom. I love you.”
“You’re welcome, Timothy.” She smooths her skirt and crosses the foyer, reaching for her purse. “Behave while we’re gone.”
The door shuts behind her before Tim can respond. He stares after her for a moment, wishing she’d come back, pull him in for a hug, and maybe stay for a while longer. When he hears gravel crunching under tires, Tim sighs and wanders upstairs. He sets the ring on his bedside table and turns to the mirror, frowning. He’s always wondered why his marks are so different from his parents’. The designs are boxed in, not spilling freely but confined and cramped. His mom and dad both have one each, but Tim has two, and he sees them frown in disapproval whenever they catch sight of his marks.
Sometimes he worries that something is wrong with him. His parents have never explained, though, so he doesn’t know how to fix it. Tim sighs, searching the marks for whatever it is his parents see. Maybe it isn’t something that can be fixed.
He doesn’t want to look at them anymore, so he puts the ring back on and pretends it isn’t a relief when the magic washes over his skin.
The next day, Tim goes to the Gotham Public Library. This particular branch is a bit out of his way, but it’s worth it to see Batgirl. Barbara is really nice, and she doesn’t talk down to him the way his parents do. She points Tim in the right direction and gives him a recommendation for a book to start with. The book is heavy, and there are a lot of words Tim doesn’t know, but Barbara is patient with his questions.
He learns a lot that day. He learns that marks form when you start to love someone and change appearance when that love is returned and they gain your mark. He learns why his marks are boxed in, not freely trailing across his skin like his parents’ marks for each other are. Most importantly, he learns what the word unrequited means.
Tim gets in the habit of keeping the ring on unless he’s completely alone, and becoming Robin doesn’t change that. Bruce sees his unmarked skin and assumes he can’t form bonds, and Tim doesn’t correct him. It takes him some time to realize that had been his parents’ goal with making him wear the ring all along. It suits their image as loving parents if Tim is the defective one, incapable of expressing love through soulmarks, or perhaps incapable of love altogether. After all, if it comes out that Tim has unrequited marks for his parents, it would reflect poorly on Jack and Janet.
When he’s alone, though, Tim takes off the ring, hoping that this time will be different—that his marks will have changed since he last checked them. Maybe now his parents love him back. The marks never change, but Tim finds himself clinging to childish hope. It becomes a nightly ritual, as routine as brushing his teeth.
Three months into being Robin, Tim goes to Blüdhaven to spend a weekend with Dick. He says it’s for Robin training, but he says it with a wink, so Tim isn’t too sure what he means. As it turns out, Robin training means sparring, rooftop tag, and finally, train surfing. It’s Dick’s favorite game to play as Nightwing, and Tim can see why. Train surfing kind of reminds Tim of skateboarding, just more intense. It’s so much faster than skateboarding could ever be, and the adrenaline rush has him grinning from ear to ear. He sees Dick throw back his head to laugh, the sound snatched away by the wind.
Exhausted and a bit breathless, Dick grins, leading the way back to his apartment for a night in with pizza (andouille and pineapple) and movies. They watch horror—the cheap kind, cheesier than the pizza. They toss popcorn at the screen and laugh at the terrible effects, and it’s the most fun Tim thinks he’s ever had.
By movie number three, it’s late, and Tim is half-asleep, tipped over to lean on Dick’s shoulder. He can barely keep his eyes open, and between the blanket covering him and the hand in his hair, he’s losing the fight to stay awake. He’s just so warm and cozy, and really, he could stay here forever. Tim yawns as the credits roll, and Dick huffs a laugh, ruffling his hair.
“Go brush your teeth before you pass out,” he says, pushing Tim gently off of him.
Tim grumbles but complies, standing and shuffling into the bathroom. His hair is sticking up in every direction when he looks into the mirror. He shakes his head fondly, and he can’t help but think this is what it would feel like to have an older brother. He brushes his hair and his teeth, and he takes off the ring, studying his parents’ marks on his left arm, one on top of the other. There’s no change to them, as usual, but something else catches his eye in the mirror.
There’s a new mark on his right shoulder.
The design is centered around a trapeze, and flitting around it are two tiny robins, flying together. Honestly, Tim isn’t surprised to see Dick’s mark, and he wonders for a moment if he should show him. He shakes his head, frowning at himself in the mirror. He hasn’t known Dick for long. Tim knows he can be intense, but he doesn’t want to make Dick uncomfortable, or worse, feel obligated to love him back. He puts the ring back on and takes a slow breath, trying to slow his racing thoughts. He can be normal about this. He has to be normal about this, if he wants to avoid hurting either of them.
Dick must see something in his expression when he comes back, because he pulls Tim in for a hug as soon as he sits down. It’s part of both the problem and the solution, but Tim leans into it anyway. Clinging to Dick makes him more likely to keep the mark, but it’s almost worth it for the comfort.
Sometimes, Tim wonders if he’s the most selfish person in the world.
The art showcase is crowded with parents and their kids, meandering between displays and chatting idly with the students who submitted their work. Tim stands alone at his booth, explaining the meaning behind his photographs to any curious people who wander over to look at them.
The photos depict different artifacts on display within Drake Manor. Sterile, glass cases reflect the light, distorting the items within. Each shot shows a single artifact, vibrant snapshots of different cultures starkly contrasted against the surrounding decor of the manor’s rooms. Tim’s favorite photo is of a small statue of a family—two parents clinging to their child—in a display case in their living room. What should be perfectly ordinary and inoffensive, a pristine couch and rug in muted whites and beiges, becomes just the opposite next to the chipped clay and fading, dirt-smeared paint.
Tim isn’t expecting Bruce to show up to the exhibition, but he does, anyway. One moment, he’s alone, watching the crowd move around him, and the next, there’s a solid presence at his side.
“Why don’t you tell me about your display?” Bruce asks, squeezing his shoulder in encouragement. “Why did you title it ‘Loneliness’?”
“It’s a commentary on archaeology,” Tim says, smiling a little sadly, “The artifacts my parents bring back are taken from where they belong, right? They’re so far away from the people who made them…the people who loved them.”
“Didn’t you invite your parents to this exhibition?” Bruce asks wryly, raising a brow. “Not sure they’d like a critique of their hobby.”
“Sure I did,” Tim says with a grin. “If they’d shown up, I just would’ve lied about the meaning.” That startles a laugh out of Bruce.
“Troublemaker,” he says, ruffling Tim’s hair.
Tim beams up at him, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. He’s glad Bruce is here—probably more glad than he would’ve been had his parents actually bothered to show up. The inside of his wrist feels warm, and Tim has a sinking feeling he knows what’s happening.
He waits until he’s safely back in his own empty manor before he takes the ring off, bracing himself for the worst.
The mark is outlined in the shape of a polaroid, a photo of the lush crown of a tree, with a tiny bird’s nest nestled in its branches. It’s so empty, but it’s so promising at the same time. Tim’s heart twists in his chest at the sight of it. The potential in those lines on his skin is almost overwhelming, but the threat of more heartache also lurks within them, too.
And Tim knows. He knows he’s a little leech who gets attached to the first people to show him affection, even if it’s the bare minimum politeness will allow. He knows the Wayne family doesn’t want a shallow imitation of the Robin who should be there in his place. He knows he can’t sit and watch himself do the same thing over and over and over again—the same thing he’s done for years—and wait and hope that someday he’ll be loved in return. He doesn’t want to face the disappointment day after day. Not anymore.
He puts the ring back on and does the most logical thing he can think of. He vows to never take it off again.
Tim doesn’t look at his marks for six months, and he’s perfectly happy not seeing them.
Unfortunately, a trigger-happy goon and highly flammable chemicals starting a warehouse fire ruins his streak of 187 days without taking off the ring. Tim had taken his gloves off to check the pulse of one of the men hired to guard the supply, and when the explosion rips through the warehouse, he shields his face with his hands. The metal band of the ring gets so hot he yelps. His palms are burned, too.
Somehow, he manages to drag the unconscious goon outside, gasping in lungfuls of—well, not clean but not smoky, at least—air. He reaches for his comm, cringing as his burned fingers brush against it.
“Hey B? I might need a ride back to the Cave. I don’t think I can grapple.”
“I’m on my way, Robin.”
Thankfully, he’s close by, and the Batmobile comes roaring up the street within three minutes. Tim waves awkwardly, hoping Bruce will spot his injured hands and open the door for him. He does, and Tim slips into the car, careful not to bump his palms on anything.
“That looks like it hurts,” Bruce murmurs, nodding toward Tim’s palms. “We’ll get Agent A to look at them as soon as we get back.” He offers him a tight smile. “Don’t worry, kiddo, we’ll get you feeling better soon.”
“Thanks, B,” Tim replies. His adrenaline is seeping away, leaving him exhausted and in pain. He slumps back against the seat, and Bruce squeezes his shoulder.
When they get back to the Cave, Bruce ushers him out of the Batmobile and into the med bay. He helps Tim hop up onto one of the cots and waves Alfred over, already turning Tim’s hands palm up to examine the burns. Dick follows the old butler into the med bay, expression pinched in worry. He reaches for Tim and wraps an arm around his shoulders.
“Tim, we need you to take your ring off,” Bruce says softly. “I know you like to wear it as much as possible, but we can’t treat your burns with it on.”
He doesn’t want them to see his marks, but he doesn’t have a choice. Tim just hopes he’s not about to make either Dick or Bruce feel awkward. He loves them, and that’s all there is to it, and it doesn’t matter how they feel about him. He slips the ring off his finger and braces himself. He glances at his marked skin and bites back a gasp.
Dick’s mark is a whorl of color. It’s chaotic and bright, and the design spills over his shoulder, down his arm. Train tracks twist around in dizzying patterns, and the mark now has a tiny circus tent and elephant to go with the trapeze. A sun boasts of all the warmth Dick brings to his life, and a crescent moon hints at their nightlife. Silk ribbons twirl around the two little birds in flight centered in the design.
Bruce’s mark has changed, too. The outline is gone, and instead, the design forms a bat-like shape. A small camera, rolls of film, miniature polaroids, a steaming mug, and a magnifying glass surround the bird’s nest. It isn’t empty anymore, though. Three tiny birds flock in the nest, and a larger bird flies toward them, the tips of its wings forming the bat shape’s ears.
They’re beautiful. They’re—
“They’re requited?” Tim asks, eyes wide.
“What? Tim, of course they’re requited. We love you so much,” Dick says. He squeezes Tim’s shoulder. “I’ve had your mark for ages, baby bird.” He frowns, studying Tim’s expression. “Did you not know?”
“I haven’t looked at my marks in over six months,” Tim replies. “I didn’t want to face the reminder.” He looks up at Dick, sees the worry in his eyes, and he grimaces. “I didn’t want you to know I had marks for you both so early on. I didn’t want to intrude.”
“You could never intrude,” Bruce says. He brushes Tim’s hair out of his eyes with a gentle hand. “You’re my son, and I love you dearly.”
Tim glances back down at Bruce’s mark, at the proof of his words. He’s a detective, and he trusts evidence above all else, and right now, the evidence is on his skin, in the thin lines on his shoulder and on his wrist.
“For a long time, I wondered whether or not I even could form requited marks,” Tim says. He passes his thumb over one of his parents’ marks, letting loose a sigh. “I thought there was something wrong with me.”
“C’mon, Tim,” Dick says with a soft smile, “you’re the best. You deserve all the love you’re given and more. And for the record, just because you loved us first doesn’t mean we love you any less.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t know sooner,” Bruce adds. He tends to Tim’s burns with a furrowed brow. Tim can’t tell if the expression comes from concentrating on what he’s doing or what he’s saying. “But I hope you understand now how important you are to us, and if you don’t believe it yet, I hope we can prove it to you.”
“You don’t have anything to prove,” Tim says. “I know you love me.” He grins—a lopsided little smile. “I can see it.”
“We want to,” Dick replies, ruffling Tim’s hair, “and we always will, baby bird. That’s what family does. You’re my little brother, and you’re Bruce’s son. As long as we’re around, you’re going to have requited marks, kiddo.”
It sounds almost too good to be true, but Tim knows these people, and he loves them. He knows how good they are—how seriously they take their promises. He trusts them with his life, and it’s not hard for him to trust them with his heart, too. After all, he has undeniable proof right in front of him. Tim is loved. It’s more than enough for him to take a leap of faith.
“Family,” he says softly, “I like the sound of that.”
Instead of a reply, he gets a hug from both Bruce and Dick. It’s probably the best hug he’s ever gotten. He sneaks another look at the marks on his skin and lets himself slump into their arms, content. He’s loved; he has a family who loves him; and he thinks this might be the happiest moment of his life so far, blooming with the promise of more to come.
Tim has never known a word more beautiful than requited.