Chapter Text
In his dream, Tim was falling. Uninspired. Unoriginal. He’d had this dream a hundred times before. It went the same way; he was walking, usually somewhere vaguely like the Drake manor grounds. He was looking for something, he couldn’t remember what it was but it was very important he found it. He would look behind rocks and in trees, until he took a wrong step and the ground disappeared from under him. He would fall, down, down, down, until he landed at the bottom of a cave, both his legs broken.
Tim had done research on dreams. Apparently it was rare to have a falling dream that didn’t result in the dreamer waking up before they hit the bottom. He wondered what it meant, if it meant anything at all, that his dreams required him to lie at the bottom of a pit, broken, staring up into the sky, before finally allowing him to wake up.
It went the same way this time. He fell, heard the snap of bones, even felt a sort of pain — or maybe it was just the fear and knowledge that it should hurt —and he started crying.
Then he woke up.
Tim’s hand went to his face. It was dry. The tears had only been in his dream. Good.
Tim slowly gathered his senses. He felt the couch under his hand. He was in Dick’s apartment. Ah, right. He and Damian were in trouble. His injured arm twinged as he sat up. He glanced at his watch. It was almost noon. It made sense. They hadn’t arrived in Bludhaven until four in the morning. No one else in the apartment seemed to be stirring.
Tim quickly got dressed then went to the kitchen to find coffee.
There was already a mug sitting on the kitchen table. Someone had beaten him to it.
“Good morning, Drake.” Damian entered the room, holding his own mug, though it was probably tea. He hated coffee most of the time. Damian took a seat at the table, across from the mug. He looked up at Tim and gestured to the mug. “I have made you coffee.”
Tim slowly slid into the seat. This was weird. He sniffed the coffee. Damian hadn’t actually ever put anything in his drink, but…well, it seemed prudent to be wary. It smelled normal. Maybe this was Damian’s way of trying to apologize.
A cup of coffee, though, was not the same thing as an apology.
Damian said nothing about Tim’s obvious suspicion; he just sipped his tea and stared at a scratch in the table.
Tim took a sip of the coffee. “Is Dick awake yet?”
“Grayson is still asleep,” Damian said.
Tim took another drink of coffee. The kitchen was uncomfortably silent again. The two of them had to talk, they had to find an agreement. They both wanted the same thing: to get back to cape stuff. Someone needed to make the first move. Tim mentally braced himself.
“Look, Damian-” he began at the same moment as Damian blurted,
“Drake, we must speak-”
Both stammered back into silence. Tim recovered first.
“Look, we agreed we’d keep a working professional relationship going for cape stuff. We both messed that up last night.”
“Agreed,” Damian said.
“So, we’re on the same page. We need to show Bruce and Dick that we can be trusted in our positions, that we can support each other in the field. Personal feelings aside.”
“Personal feelings aside,” Damian echoed.
“Right. Er, good.”
Damian went back to his tea. This still felt weird.
“How is your arm?” Damian asked.
“Fine,” Tim snapped, harsher than he meant to. “I’ve had much worse, I…” But he trailed off. Damian knew that. And Damian had also had much worse. In fact, he’d probably had the worst injuries of anyone in the family besides Jason. The edge of a scar, faint but still visible, peeked over the edge of his collar. Tim tried to remember how Damian had gotten it, but couldn’t, which meant it was probably a scar he’d had before coming to Gotham.
Yeah, how could Tim ever hope to compete with that?
He felt a flash of anger, though quickly tried to suppress it. Professional relationship, that’s what they agreed on.
“Drake…do you hate me?”
Damian asked it so quietly. Tim felt his stomach twist and he hesitated.
“It is understandable if you do,” Damian said, still so quiet. “I would just like to know.”
“Damian,” Tim sighed, running a hand down his face. “You know that’s a really unfair question, right? Because how the hell am I supposed to answer? You seem to hate me plenty, so how do I respond?”
Damian shrunk down in his seat. “I don’t hate you.”
“Again, how would I know that? Everything you have ever said or done to me indicates otherwise.”
“I don’t want to hate you. I want - I want-”
“What?”
“I want to apologize.”
“Ok. So do it,” Tim said, crossing his arms.
“I don’t know how.”
This was probably where Alfred or Bruce or Dick would tell him that he should be kind to Damian, to know that he was trying his best and accept that. Tim was not in the mood.
“Yes, you fucking do,” he snapped. “You’ve apologized to Bruce. To Alfred. To Dick, even. Not often, but you can do it.”
“Forgiveness only travels downward,” Damian said, not looking Tim in the eye.
“What?”
“That is what my mother taught me. Only one of greater strength may forgive one of lesser strength. The weak may not grant the strong pardon. It upsets the balance of things.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Tim said flatly. “You won’t apologize to me because I’m weaker than you?”
“No! No, I am merely trying to explain why I haven’t apologized. In the past.”
“Because you thought I was weak?”
“Yes. But I don’t think that anymore! You’ve proven-”
Proven. That’s all he ever did around here. Prove himself. Damian was still talking, but Tim wasn’t listening anymore. He stood up abruptly.
“It’s fine,” he said flatly, interrupting Damian. Damian tried to say something else, but Tim was already leaving the room.
_______________
There weren’t many places to go, so Tim went to the fire escape outside the living room window.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the pack of cigarettes he’d stolen off of Jason. He hadn’t used any of them, yet. He wasn’t even sure why he’d taken them; mostly just to prove that he could. He wondered if Jason had realized it yet. Tim pulled one out of the box. He didn’t have a lighter. There were a few potted plants sitting on the fire escape (Tim was surprised Dick hadn’t killed them yet). Tim reached behind them and found what he was looking for: an old coffee can filled with cigarette butts and a zippo lighter in a plastic bag. Jason dropped by Dick’s apartment for more reasons than just to get bullet wounds treated.
Dick found Tim twenty minutes later. He eased himself out of the window and sat next to him, not saying a word. They both stared out over the building rooftops. Dick finally turned and started to say something, then stopped abruptly.
“Tim - are you smoking ?”
“No.” Tim belatedly dropped the burned-down cigarette butt in the coffee can next to his foot.
“Oh, I’m so going to kill Jason,” Dick muttered. “Can’t believe he let you-”
“He’ll kill me first,” Tim said. “I stole them off him a few weeks ago.”
“Can’t you just stick with coffee, keep to one vice?” Dick said, exasperated.
“Just add it to one more way I’ve fucked up, I guess,” Tim said sullenly.
“Well, even if your talk with Damian didn’t go well, it didn’t escalate to the usual levels. That’s progress.”
Tim hmphed and turned away, fiddling with the lighter. Dick craned his neck slightly, trying to see into the coffee can. It was filled with at least two packs’ worth of used cigarettes.
“Don’t worry, they’re all Jason’s, except the one,” Tim said.
“Does he seriously use my fire escape for his smoke breaks?”
Tim grinned. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.” Dick glared at him. Tim shrugged, “Only when you’re not home.” He fought the urge to light another one, just to see what Dick would do. He didn’t, though, and the silence stretched.
“Tim,” Dick started, “I had a talk with Damian last night and I think if you could just be patient-”
It’s the same thing every single time, Tim thought, Just be patient, just play nice.
“All I do is be patient with him!” Tim exploded. “No matter what happens to me, it’s always Damian’s had it worse, Damian is trying so don’t be so hard on him, can’t you just get over it. It doesn’t matter what he does, how bad he screws up, he always gets a second chance.”
Dick turned his head toward Tim. “Second chance?”
“If I screw up, that’s it. I get benched, I get taken off an assignment, I’m done.”
“Tim-”
“No, no I know that’s not completely true. But - it’s just how it feels. I know Damian’s just a kid, and he’s getting better but…”
“But you’re also just a kid,” Dick said quietly.
Tim felt a moment of relief, because Dick understood. Then the horror of what he’d said, that he’d admitted weakness, spread through his body. Tim could feel his thoughts spiraling.
I’m also just a kid and Damian’s hurt me, but everyone expects me to be able to take it like a grown up, and I should be able to, I play pretend like I am a grown up. I want everyone to see me like I’m an adult, to give me responsibility. What if I can’t keep doing that, then what?
Dick put a hand on Tim’s shoulder, stopping the mental spiral. “You’re right. Sorry. I forget sometimes, you’re always in a suit of one kind or another. I think that’s one thing that runs in the family. We were all in a hurry to grow up too fast. Then again, most of us didn’t have a choice in the matter.”
None of them did. Bruce, Jason, and Dick lost their parents. Steph, Cass, and Damian had the misfortune of being raised by theirs. All of them had to grow up, to protect themselves. Except for Tim, apparently, who couldn’t figure out how. He wore the suit, but he knew - and felt sure everyone else knew - it was all a front. He was just a dumb, scared kid with a camera.
Another unwanted thought came to the surface and Tim found himself saying, “I just can’t stop thinking - Damian was right! I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t…”
“Tim, stop keeping score,” Dick said.
Tim paused. He looked at Dick, confused. “What?”
“You keep score of everything,” Dick said. “I can see you tracking every achievement, every success, every failure and assigning yourself value based on that. You’re always adding things up, trying to determine how to make yourself even more useful.”
“I don’t do that,” Tim said automatically.
“Yes, you do. You have to stop. You cannot live like that, ok?”
“Why not? Living “like that” is what’s gotten me here. Making myself useful. Proving I’m an asset to a team.”
Dick put his hands on Tim’s shoulders and turned him to face him. “No,” Dick said, “The reason you’re here is because you have a family that loves you. Because we care about you for more than just your brilliance and skills.”
“That’s not why Batman took me on as Robin, and you know it.”
“Maybe that's not how it started, but that’s how it is now,” Dick said. He had not let go of Tim’s shoulders. “Listen to me: Stop. Keeping. Score. You’re not going to win.”
Tim pulled away from Dick. He drew his knees up to his chest, refusing to look at him.
“I don’t know how,” he muttered.
“It’s ok. Start small. You can start by taking some painkillers for that arm, because I know it hurts.”
“It’s not that bad," Tim said.
“It’s an injury and injuries should be treated, no matter how “bad” you’ve decided they are. Come on.”
They went back inside. Dick made him sit down in the kitchen again and take some Tylenol. Damian wasn’t there, but Tim felt pretty sure the kid was lurking in the hallway. Dick began rummaging around in his fridge, saying he’d make everyone a decent sandwich. After several minutes, he closed the fridge.
“Everything’s gone bad again,” he sighed.
Tim tried to hide a smirk. He glanced up and saw that Damian was indeed lurking in the hallway, trying to hide his own smirk. Dick was perpetually going to the grocery store, then forgetting about everything he'd purchased.
Dick went to get his keys. “Alright, I’ll be back.”
“I’ll go with you,” Tim said, standing up.
“I thought you could stay here,” Dick said, giving the hallway a meaningful glance. Damian had disappeared again, but the meaning was clear. “Have a talk, maybe.”
“So everything can go back to the way it was,” Tim said, failing to hide the disdain in his voice. He sat back down heavily.
Dick paused. He glanced toward the hallway again. He lowered his voice slightly, “You know, Alfred told me something once, when I was having a hard time after someone I trusted betrayed me. He said that forgiveness cannot be earned and it is rarely deserved. But trust must be earned.”
“Dick, what are you talking about?” Tim said.
“Forgiving someone doesn’t mean going back to the way things were. Just because you forgive Damian for what he did doesn’t mean you have to trust him yet.”
“Well, good, because I’ve never trusted him,” Tim muttered.
“Tim-”
“I see your point.”
“Do you?”
Tim picked at his nails. “I don’t know. It’s all so…”
He thought about the way his parents, mostly his mother, would profusely apologize when they left him for months at a time. She would beg his forgiveness, offer atonement - none of it ever mattered though, because they would leave him again. For Tim’s parents, forgiveness was just another bandaid people slapped on a bullet wound.
But maybe it meant something more in this family.
“Damian,” Dick said, raising his voice so he could be heard in the next room. “I think you should tell Tim what you told me last night, ok? Text me if you want anything from the store. Oh, and we should change the bandage on your arm when I get back.”
Then he left.
A few minutes passed. Damian shuffled out of Dick’s room and down the hall. He sat in the chair opposite from Tim.
Alright, Tim thought, Round two. But this time he talks first.
The silence got more uncomfortable by the second, but Tim did not break it. He idly checked the time and went back to starting at a wall.
“I don’t know what to say,” Damian said, finally.
“You heard Dick. Tell me what you said last night.”
Damian looked a little pale. Still, he squared his shoulders and said, “I was afraid last night.”
Tim was not expecting that. “What?”
“I was afraid I’d hurt you. Maybe killed you. I was so afraid that I…” He swallowed hard, like he was admitting to a crime. “I asked for help.”
“Well,” Tim said, then wasn’t sure where to go from there. He had suspected, maybe even hoped, that Damain’s unusual vulnerability from earlier had been some kind of shock, or maybe even faked. But he was still so earnest. “Well, I’m glad you did.” Then he added, “But it’s also kinda my fault that I got hurt.”
Damian took a deep breath and looked Tim in the eye. “Can you forgive me? Not just for what I did last night, but for how I have behaved in the past?”
Tim reflected. Strangely, he found that he could forgive Damian. Despite all his posturing, he had no desire to hold this over boy. It was easier to forgive when it was properly being asked, instead of assumed.
“Yes. I can. I forgive you, Damian.”
“Do you - that is, could you trust me?”
“I…” Tim paused again.
Damian cleared this throat. “I know we have been forced to trust one another on missions, but that is not the same thing as giving someone your trust.”
Tim sighed. “I want to trust you too, Damian. I just - it might take some time. Can you understand that?”
Damian nodded solemnly. “Thank you, Drake - er, Timothy.” Tim had a strange desire to laugh at the use of his full name. “It is more than I deserve.” Damian got up to leave the room, shoulders drawn and hunched.
“Damian.” The boy turned back. “Can we just stop keeping score? Of who deserves what and who’s more valuable or useful? I’m tired of it.”
Damian cocked his head. “That is acceptable.”
“Ok. Then, um, could you help me change the bandage on this?” Tim lifted his injured arm. He probably could have done it himself. It would’ve been a bit hard to reach, but he could have managed. But then he wouldn’t have been able to see the slight smile on Damian’s face.
“You are hopeless at tying bandages, Drake,” he said. “Here, let me assist you.”