Work Text:
For Tim, growing up isn’t giving up on hopeless dreams. It’s just developing new, increasingly detailed hopeless dreams.
Case in point: Batman.
When Tim was three, he dreamed that the monster under his bed would steal him away. Now that he’s nine, he dreams that Batman will kidnap him instead.
Tim watches from a rooftop as Batman places a hand on the new Robin’s shoulder, just like he always did with the first one, and pulls him flush against his side. Jason leans in, soaking up the warmth on the cold winter night. And Tim thinks, I want that.
And Tim dreams, I could have that.
See, Batman kidnapped Jason Todd and took him home and gave him a father. And Tim knows that there are a lot of differences between himself and Jason. Jason was starving, Jason was brave, Jason was worthy. But still, Tim dreams of a hand on his shoulder and a halfway hug.
It spirals, from there. Tim’s aware that his photo collection is creepy. He beats himself up for it every night, chain-sucking peppermint candies to stave off the nausea that the guilt plants deep in his stomach. But it’s worth it. Because when he feels cold, he looks at Batman smiling at Robin and wishes.
The dream starts with a hug, but it builds and it builds and it builds. Tim dreams that Batman is his mentor, that Bruce is his father, that Bruce loves him. And in his strange, parasocial relationship, he loves Bruce right back.
What Batman and Robin have is perfect, and Tim craves it with his entire being. Tim builds an altar to an idol called ‘Batman’ and worships at it. And so, Bruce is the first person Tim ever really loves.
Which means that when Tim becomes Robin, it’s literally a dream come true.
Tim warned himself that Bruce wouldn’t be everything Tim built him up to be—the perfect superhero, the perfect mentor, the perfect father. So, it’s okay that reality doesn’t match up with his dreams. He’s not surprised, and he’s grateful for every scrap of affection he gets.
“Go home, Tim,” Bruce growls.
“Nope,” Tim says cheerfully, popping the ‘p.’ “Not until you go to sleep.”
“You have no right to be here.”
That’s true. Tim does have no right to be in the Batcave. And yet, he has to be here. Batman needs a Robin. Bruce needs to sleep. “You need to sleep. I’m doing this for you. So, I absolutely should be here, until you stop wallowing.” It’s one of Tim’s eighth grade vocabulary words this week. If Tim was Jason, Bruce would commend him. But Tim isn’t Jason, so Bruce doesn’t even notice. Tim reaches out to put gentle hand on Bruce’s shoulder.
Bruce pushes him away roughly. “Leave, Tim.”
Tim closes his eyes for a second and regroups. When he opens them, his face is blank. “You’re being inefficient, Bruce. You’ve accomplished half as much in the past three hours as you should get done in one. If you don’t sleep, I’m going to have to pick up your slack on your case files.” Tim looks Bruce in the eye and brings in the sucker punch. “Or I’m going to have to take on the behind-the-scenes Wayne Foundation duties.”
It's a good threat. Bruce hates the idea that Tim could be part of his family. And only family should be able to touch Thomas and Martha Wayne’s legacy.
Bruce looks away and stands up, pushing Tim away again when he moves towards him to help. The man staggers upstairs into the Manor, where hopefully he’ll get some sleep. Mission accomplished, Tim walks back home under cover of darkness.
Tim expected to be hated, so when Bruce shows tiny hints that he doesn’t, in fact, hate Tim, it’s a pleasant surprise.
Who is Tim kidding? Those moments are some of the best of Tim’s life. But you can’t have a low without first having a high, and Tim quickly finds himself paying the price.
After all, it’s hard to be betrayed you never had any expectations at all. There’s no betrayal without belief. It’s how Tim isn’t bothered much when his parents extend their trips. He’s learned not to care, not to ever believe them. It’s been a fact of life ever since he was a toddler—Tim’s parents don’t love him, and they never will. But Bruce—Tim can’t unlearn his dream.
So, Tim is betrayed. And he copes with that too, worming justifications into the fabric of his relationship with Bruce. Bruce was tired; he didn’t mean what he said. Bruce is emotionally incompetent; he doesn’t understand how he broke Tim’s trust. Bruce is paranoid; he’s just trying to look out for Tim so that he can survive.
Sure, Bruce can be reckless and violent and cruel, but he’s Batman. That’s what happens when you patrol Gotham. And that’s what happens when you lose your son. Anti-heroes are still heroes, and even full-fledged heroes struggle sometimes. That’s what Tim’s for. A light, a crutch, a Robin—whatever Batman needs. It’s not quite what Tim dreamt of as a kid, but it’s close enough.
And yet, it gets so bad that Tim thinks of quitting, sometimes. He actually does, once, horrified by how Bruce played with his emotions and friendships, watched Tim tear himself apart for a test. On his birthday. But this is—this is a dream come true. Tim looks at his pictures, and now instead of just simulated comfort he can feel Bruce’s real hand on his shoulder. Because he does that now. Because Tim is Robin and Bruce is Batman and this is everything Tim has ever wanted.
Three years. Three years, and the dream grows faint but never disappears. Three years, and the pedestal cracks but never cleaves.
Bruce is the first person Tim ever loves. But Dick is the first person who ever loves Tim.
Dick has just so much love that Tim is constantly in awe. Dick loves the world and the people in it, and while he has exceptions, while he can hate, it’s a far cry from anyone else Tim has ever met.
Tim senses it for the first time when he is three and Dick is twelve and the boy holds him for a picture and says, “I’ll do my quadruple somersault just for you.” Tim can tell that this boy loves him, just like he loves the lights and the noise and the circus animals and the ring. Dick’s love wraps around him like a warm blanket. And Tim wants more of it, so, so badly. Badly enough that he latches onto the first vaguely father-like figure he sees.
So, Tim loves Bruce first, but really, it starts with Dick.
It ends with Dick, too.
Sometimes, Bruce is cruel to Tim. But Bruce always has a reason, and even if Tim doesn’t think it’s a good enough reason, it’s always enough that Tim can’t really fault the man. Tim might’ve developed a parasocial relationship with Batman at age nine, might’ve taken advantage of the adoption to take on the Wayne name, might’ve served as Robin for three long years, but…Bruce, ultimately, is not his father.
Bruce might not be the kindest mentor to Tim, but he’s still a good man and a good father. Tim saw that, firsthand. Who other than a good father would pull their son close and hug him, even when he messed up? Who other than a good father would give out love without it being earned? Who other than a good father would break through the walls of an angry newly-orphaned acrobat or a terrified street kid and help them find a home?
So Bruce is not Tim’s father, but Tim can still dream.
Tim finds out by accident. He wishes, sometimes (all the time), that he hadn’t forgotten his English homework in the cave that day. He wishes he’d followed protocols in the first place and kept his civilian work in the Manor above. He wishes, more than anything, that he hadn’t woken up at 3:12 AM and thought, ‘oh fuck, I never finished that essay’ and walked groggily down to the Batcave.
But he does go down to the Batcave, shuffling in his fuzzy socks and comfy pajamas, one hand on the wall in case he trips in his exhaustion.
And instead of the silence he expected, Tim is hit by the sound of angry voices.
“—kidding me, Bruce? How could you even do that!” That’s Dick. What is he doing here? He normally calls ahead when he visits, and Bruce tells Tim because he knows that having Tim around will keep everything much calmer. When left to their own devices, Bruce and Dick still fight frequently, even if Tim mostly only hears of it second- and third-hand.
“He needs to be prepared,” Bruce says. His voice sounds calm, to the casual observer. But Tim can read Bruce’s moods like a thermometer reads the temperature. Bruce is millimeters away from his breaking point.
“Fuck prepared,” Dick says. “You never did this shit with me. Just because Tim lets you get away with it—” Tim’s heart sinks. They’re talking about him. They’re arguing about him. Bruce is fighting with Dick and it’s Tim’s fault.
Tim feels guilty for causing conflict, but more than that, he feels guilty for the warm feeling that’s settling in his chest. Because Dick is fighting on his behalf. People don’t fight for Tim; it’s just not how it works. And yet Dick, with his wide-open heart, is here, doing just that.
Tim clenches his fists and tries to feel bad. But even his pulse rabbiting in his throat isn’t enough to wash away the joy that Dick is willing to stand up for him. Instead of leaving, running away, he moves closer until he can see, transfixed.
Dick stands in front of Bruce in jeans and a sweatshirt, gesturing wildly. Meanwhile Bruce is wearing his full Batman costume, cowl and all.
“I never did that for Jason either and he died because he let his mother trick him. And look at how that turned out for you,” Bruce adds. “Trusting allies you never should’ve trusted. I should’ve—”
Tim can tell from the way Dick’s face pales that Bruce has crossed a line. “You do not get to go there,” Dick says, voice hard. “How dare you?”
“I am trying to—” But there’s no chance of Bruce convincing Dick to stand down, not now. Tim is watching a runaway trolley, tearing towards disaster with no way to stop. He could (he should) intervene. He could (he should) walk into the cave and make his presence known. Bruce and Dick don’t fight much when he’s around. Tim could make it better. Isn’t that his job? And yet, he’s endlessly selfish. So, he stands there and watches silently.
(Tim wishes he didn’t, that he diffused the situation and went back to bed, none the wiser.)
“You’re trying to make Tim like you! He has friends, a family, a life, and you can’t stand that, can you?” Dick speaks with such vitriol that Tim can’t help but flinch. Where is this coming from? Dick and Bruce fight, sure, but what Dick’s accusing his father of is horrible. “You can’t stand that maybe someone else could be happy, so you take a sixteen-year-old and destroy him. Because you’re a goddamn selfish bastard!”
“I,” Bruce says, voice rising, “am helping him avoid your mistakes. You would have Tim suffer just to prove that you know better than me!”
“I’m trying to save him from you, Bruce!”
It happens so fast that, for a single, blessed moment, Tim thinks he hallucinated it. One second, Dick is screaming at the top of his lungs. The next second he’s on the floor, bleeding from his bottom lip.
(The altar cracks.)
Save him from you, Tim hears Dick’s voice echo, just over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. Save him from you. Save him from you.
Tim expects—Tim doesn’t know what he expects. He’s frozen. He can’t expect anything, can’t think anything. All he knows is that he just watched Bruce hit Dick in the middle of an argument and he doesn’t—this wasn’t a fight. Bruce just didn’t like what Dick was saying. Bruce just—
Tim doesn’t know what he expects, but he knows it isn’t this. Because instead of Bruce rushing forward to apologize or Dick fleeing the cave or Dick punching Bruce back, right in the nose…Dick just stands up, spits a wad of blood on the cave floor, and goes back to arguing—only this time, he’s much more calm. “Yeah, B. Real winning argument there.” Dick shakes his head. “You drove Tim to the brink of insanity. That isn’t training. That will never fucking be training! And it’s not going to happen again.”
“You aren’t Batman anymore, Dick,” Bruce says. “I am. You have no say in this.”
It’s surreal. Tim feels like this has to be a nightmare. He’s floating, half out of his body. Are they not going to address this? Bruce should be groveling. Dick should be furious. But there’s no shame on Bruce’s part and no betrayal on Dick’s. Both of them are acting like this is normal.
(The altar breaks.)
“I’m his brother,” Dick says. “That’s enough. What’s past is past, Bruce, but you’re not doing this again.”
“It wouldn’t work again. Tim is capable of learning from his mistakes.”
Dick shakes his head. “You’re impossible.” With that, he walks towards the exit to the cave.
Tim ducks back into the study and hides between a bookshelf and the wall, heart racing.
You can’t have betrayal without belief. Dick doesn’t feel betrayed. And that means he didn’t believe Bruce wouldn’t hurt him in the first place.
Tim learns three things:
- Bruce hurt Dick.
- Bruce has hurt Dick before.
- Bruce will continue to hurt Dick unless something changes.
(And Tim’s dream shatters into a million pieces.)
Tim loved Bruce first, but he’s a selfish little creature. Dick loved Tim first, and Tim—Tim needs that, more than he’s willing to admit. And despite being Robin and Robin being Batman’s, Robin was Dick’s first too.
So Tim doesn’t call Dick, doesn’t let Dick talk him out of it. Doesn’t turn to his older brother for strength and support and advice. Doesn’t ask Dick to let him let it go.
Because Tim wants to. God does Tim want to let this go. He wants to not know, wants to forget, wants to erase. Wants to accept Bruce’s tests as a sign of his care and his half-hugs as the best Tim will ever deserve. Wants to play happy family and pretend. Wants to dream.
But he can’t. Because Dick loved him first, and Bruce hurt Dick, and it’s clear now where Tim’s loyalties lie.
With trembling hands, Tim prepares to implode his life. He calls Kon first, sobs to him over the phone, and then washes his face while his best friend talks gently in his ear. “What do you want to do?” Kon asks.
Tell a trusted adult, is what they say in school. But Tim’s trusted adult is Dick, who obviously can’t handle this on his own. And Tim’s second trusted adult is—was—Bruce, who is the problem.
“I’m going to talk to Superman and Wonder Woman,” Tim says. “But I want to make sure no one can ignore this.”
Word travels fast among the younger heroes. If this is normal for Dick, then surely at least a couple of his friends suspect and will come forward when the rumors reach them. That, combined with the tendency of rumors to spread like wildfire, will mean that Clark and Diana can’t just sweep this under the rug.
Tim doesn’t know if Clark and Diana would do that. Tim doesn’t know Clark very well at all, other than through Kon, and what he heard wasn’t particularly flattering. But if anyone could talk to Dick, it would be him. And if anyone would fight tirelessly for the truth, it would be Diana.
“You sure about this, Tim?” Kon asks. He’s not trying to dissuade Tim, not with that tone. No, he’s genuinely asking.
Is Tim sure? The shards of his broken dream are sharp and cut into his skin. If he’s not careful, he’ll bleed out. And yet, you can’t rebuild something on a faulty foundation. Even impossible dreams have to have an element of plausibility that Tim just lost.
Batman is a good father.
He’s trying, so it’s okay.
If I’m good enough, maybe Bruce will love me.
“Yeah,” Tim says. “I’m sure.”