Chapter Text
Tim carefully removes the mask.
Damian’s eyes are not blue. They are not lifeless. They are a simple green color, untainted by any resemblance to Wayne’s bloodline and free from the filth of Lazarus’s pit. This is the color of Thalia’s eyes. Thalia, who has once again let her child down.
Tim turns away, unwilling to show either relief or judgment. He has no right to think that way about someone else’s mother. He shouldn’t think that way about Thalia, or his Damian will bite his nose off when he finds out.
This Damian is starting to look more tense. This can’t be the result of a paralyzing blow, unless he had other corresponding injuries before Tim attacked. Or, more likely, the reason is that he’s afraid of something. He’s been well trained to hide his fear, but not as well as Tim. Not as Tim. Of course, a serial killer and sadist would want to see a little fear in the eyes of his kid toy.
Tim doesn’t show that he’s staring even more intently in the direction Damian is so eager to avoid looking. There are security cameras. Someone is in the security cameras. And considering that Commissioner Gordon was lying on the operating table…
“Batman? B, have you checked the cameras? It seems like someone’s there.”
Damian, next to him, freezes even more, no, freezes in a different way. Tim knows he can’t move because of the paralysis, but this inaction looks deliberate. He’s trying to look harmless or gather his strength. He’s trying to escape or attack. He’s afraid of what they’ll see in those cameras. He’s afraid of what they’ll do to him? How much further could this Batman go? There, on the wall, the heads of Batman’s opponents are already hanging. What could be worse–
“N-no...don't. They... they’re just kids...”
Tim breaks into a run, without even hearing the end of the sentence: this isn’t the tone of someone who’s afraid for themselves. It’s the tone of a kid who is afraid. This Damian looks to be eighteen; he was raised by the League and the repugnant Bruce Wayne. He shouldn’t be afraid like this.
“Bruce, step aside, you’ll scare them.”
Tim nudges Bruce when he hears his stifled gasp. These are children. Two children who clearly can’t decide between huddling in a corner or kneeling before their supposed abuser, because that’s what’s expected of them. This isn’t the first time he’s encountered something like this as Robin. It still hurts terribly in his chest.
"No one will harm you, I promise. Everything will be fine. It's over"
Bruce takes deep breaths beside him — obviously, this sight hurts his father even more — and clenches and unclenches his fists, trying to ground himself. This scares the kids even more; Jay hides Dickie behind him, lowering his head more, so low that it has to be painful.
Tim presses the emergency beacon — this seems like a sufficient reason to call for help, even if Superman bursts in, ready for a fight, and for a few seconds is taken aback by the situation. He looks around and braces himself, his face contorted with disgust, but when he notices the kids in Batman’s arms, he habitually shields it, trying to appear as a bastion of support and reliability, and extends his arms.
Tim is used to seeing Superman like this — and maybe it doesn’t bring the same sense of invincibility and hope as it once did, but it still soothes him. Having Superman on your side increases your chances of winning, gives you strength, and a sense of unity with the team.
These kids are clearly used to some other Superman. Tim doesn’t want to know which one, but he has vague suspicions, which grow stronger when Damian cries out. He looks desperate. He looks the way Tim felt when their little Damian was pierced by a sword. Devastated.
Bruce is trying to interrogate Damian. He’s stubbornly silent, calculating something, not trusting, afraid, angry. He’s not very good at hiding his emotions — he must be really tired. Tim doesn’t understand how Bruce doesn’t notice it — though, no, that’s a lie. He knows why. Because Bruce is so terrified by what his double has done, so terrified by what he thinks he might have done, that he once again slides back into the very beginning of Batman: a raw, hot, brutal desire to protect; an animal that thinks only of how to defeat the enemy trying to eat its young. Not spending much time thinking about poison in the food, traps, a wound bleeding right this second. He doesn’t want to notice how these children are afraid of him. He doesn’t want to notice how afraid Damian is, because he has already labeled him as an accomplice.
God, why did Dick have to be absent right now? Tim can handle Bruce on the verge of murder and on the verge of panic, but Bruce, who can’t see beyond his nose because of panic and thoughts of murder, is a whole different headache — and his eldest son is the one who handles it best.
Gordon intervenes. They talk it over. Damian stifles a laugh at Superman’s attempt to look like the embodiment of truth. He begins to look truly weary, as if he has already come to terms with everything and given up. Tim doesn’t like it when his brother looks like that. Humility doesn’t suit Damian at all.
“Upstairs. In the main bedroom. Tim is there, he–”
Clark breaks away, barely pausing to hand the kid back into Batman’s care. Tim with a twitching eye thinks that they should have just been transported through the portal and handed over to Alfred. Unfortunately, he can’t do it himself, because he won’t leave that Bruce with that Damian, and Batman won’t leave this reality until he’s figured everything out.
He casts a condemning look at his father as he pulls Dickie closer, and then walks over to Damian. The boy doesn’t even pay attention to his footsteps. He reacts belatedly to Tim’s words — as if someone else had said them — and when he finally raises his head, his gaze is filled with the emptiness that Tim had been so afraid of. He isn’t here.
He and Bruce are used to bickering. Both know he’ll do what he thinks is right — that’s what their whole relationship is built on — but Tim is still offended by Bruce’s attempts to persuade him. He probably knows better than anyone how dangerous Damian is. Dick was his Batman. Robin obeys Batman, albeit reluctantly, with reservations, with his own ideas and deliberate mistakes. Batman and Robin are equal in the sense that they respect each other and listen to each other’s decisions.
They were Robin and Robin. They were equal in the sense that they didn’t owe each other anything and didn’t listen to each other. Each believed they knew better, that they could do it better. No one was going to give in. Tim hates thinking about how patrols went back when they both wore the same cloak — not because he hates the time with Dami, but because it gives him a headache to think about how terribly inefficient they were. Back then, it seemed like the only possible reality, but now, when everything is going well for them, it’s just a complete nightmare for his ego. And for Damian’s ego as well, he’s sure.
This Damian has sobered up enough to try to help transport himself to the Cave. His attempts are weak but desperate; he’s afraid that his inaction will be met with punishment. Tim is afraid of what the other boys will be like if Damian is this bad, but he can’t stay here to keep an eye on them. Bruce mentioned that if he can’t handle it, he’ll call Selina? Well, Tim is going to hand him over to Jason right now and see how these two black cats will be giving him a hard time in the near future.
He stops by the bench next to the vehicle, allowing Damian to awkwardly sit down on his own. When asked if he has any wounds that require immediate care, he shakes his head. Realizing that they probably have different criteria, Tim asks again what kind of wounds he has in general. Damian looks even more awkward as he lists several bruises on the shoulder where Tim hit him, on his neck, a bruised ankle, and a strain on his right shoulder. Nothing serious or suspicious, considering they were catching Gordon, but Tim still feels an itch inside. He’ll need to find a reason to examine the child himself.
Tim leaves him alone on the bench, ordering him not to leave, not to touch anything, and to call out for him if anything happens, and then runs off to say goodbye to Alfred and Bruce and to hug his father and grandfather. And if this reassures not only the little, angry Jay, who is trying to discreetly shield the younger Tim with his own body, but also Tim himself, then no one needs to know about it.
Bruce hugs him back, stiffly, awkwardly from sadness, anger, and fear. Tim doesn’t let go. He waits until Bruce becomes even more stiff with the tension inside, and then he deflates like a balloon. He doesn’t shift his weight onto Tim — after all, he’s not Jason, damn it, he can’t handle it — but he relaxes in Tim's grip. They stand like that for a little while longer; Tim feels warm and safe. He knows that Bruce knows this. He remembers that Bruce doesn’t fully understand something.
“They’re not us, Bruce. I’m serious, B, they’re not us. Don’t look at them the way you look at us. They’re completely strangers to you, and you should treat them like any other traumatized children.” He whispers, not wanting Jay to overhear and draw any conclusions, and slaps Batman on the shoulder blades when he tries to say something in response. A quiet squeak comes from the direction of the couch. “I’m serious, Bruce. You don’t know them, and they don’t know you. They’re afraid of you, like a familiar stranger. Get to know them. Don’t expect anything from them, as if you know their habits. Give them information. They’re children, and they’re not your children.
Bruce looks devastated. Without the Batman cowl he’s always softer — although, as Tim realized, that’s just his personal feeling. Dick and Jason talked about Batman‑with‑Bruce‑face, but Tim always saw different people. Bruce is too full of love and sorrow, while Batman is full of fear and anger. They’re two sides of the same coin, stemming one from another.
Tim makes eye contact with his father one last time and leaves to take Damian to a safe unfamiliar environment. At the last moment, he turns around and shouts, enjoying the way Bruce freezes awkwardly.
"By the way, if I don’t see them here tomorrow morning, I will call Jason and Selina myself. You don’t want it to be me, do you?
Because if it’s not Batman who comes to their door to tell them about the situation and ask for help, but Robin, they’ll definitely give him a hard time for twice as long.