Chapter Text
Everything in the strange family Bruce Wayne created for himself is based more on things unsaid than the things that are said.
Tim spends three months away from any fingers of contact his family has on him, working by himself in Mexico, then Argentina. He’d thought of going east again, but predictability is a bad niche to have. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but there was plenty to do while he was in the south—crime is never restricted to a geological location—and his brain was sufficiently occupied for those months.
When he finally wraps up every little thing he started since he’d gotten there, he boards a plane. He does this quickly, with no forethought or pre-planning, and flies home. He knows–with every piece of his being–that if he allows himself to, he would never go home.
But cowardice is not the trait of a hero. It’s not the trait he wants on his own shoulders.
While he is away, he honestly can’t tell if he has fallen properly off the map. He isn’t sure if Bruce is still watching his moves, though he thinks he has done well enough to remain out of sight.
He sits on the plane to Gotham, and meditates. He doesn’t want to think of anything else at the moment. He ignores how meditating feels like moving from one form of cowardice to another, and focuses on his physical body returning home.
How long before his mental body gets home is debatable.
When he lands in Gotham Airport, he steels himself. He digs his nails into his palms and resolutely says to himself,okay, it’s time to stop being a coward. Right now.
It’s easier said than done, but he determined to try. Timothy Drake-Wayne takes a taxi straight to the Wayne Manor. Inside the cab, sitting alone with his own thoughts to accompany him, his brain tries to catch up with him and force him into panic. Only years of practice shoves down the feeling, and he’s left with a phantom panic, racing heart and shaking fingers.
It feels like there are physical walls blocking the path up to the front door, and he has to push himself through each one. He has a single bag on his shoulder, and this bag is knocked off when Dick tackles him in a hug.
Tim didn’t see him coming, so that’s a surprise. “Oof.” He manages, falling to the stone path with a lot of older brother on top of him.
“Babybird!” Dick cries, kissing him quite violently on the cheek before staring at him with bright blue eyes. “You’re home!”
“I’m home.” Tim replies, a little weakly.
An overjoyed expression settles on Dick’s face, and he kisses Tim’s cheek gratuitously once again.
Then he’s suddenly being lifted to his feet by strong hands, Dick’s grinning face still in the corner of his eye. A fifty-pound weight melts off his chest, leaving him with an almost delirious feather-light step. Dick wants him here.
“Come on, come in, it’s so good that you’re back, I’ve been waiting forever! Bruce said we had to let you come back on your own—well, you know, in his own way—but anyway—“
Tim gives Dick a pointed look, and his older brother just grins. They step onto the elegant threshold into the manor, and Dick fixes Tim by his shoulder, the grin falling.
“Look,” Dick skims his lip with his teeth for a millisecond. “I get why you went. Just… I missed you, okay?”
“I missed you too.” Tim says, an automatic response before he can consider the words. Dick flashes him a reassuring look, and pulls them in the front door.
[]
“Looks like you decided to grace us with your presence again.” Jason says to him when he’s unpacking, leaning in Tim’s bedroom doorway.
Tim pauses, twisting to look at him. Jason spoke without any tone that’s particularly encouraging, but there’s something in his face that betrays his words. “Hi Jason.” Tim says, trying to give the proper tone to match his.
Jason just smirks, pushing away from the doorway and leaving again.
When Alfred comes and summons him to supper, Tim is given a private smile. Bruce’s eyes flicker approvingly up at his presence at the table, but there’s not an acknowledgement.
All in all, Tim thinks that he’s gotten the best end of the stick. He’d rather not have a fuss anyway. Damian seems content to give him that–all the youngest Wayne does at the sight of him is raise an eyebrow.
Dick is still beaming.
Just like that, he’s home. All of them are home.
[]
Tim finds himself working patrols with—of all people–Jason. Dick lingers around him constantly at the manor, like he’s trying to make up for lost time. Bruce keeps an aura of quiet approval. But, the final piece is Damian.
It’s late on a December night, the air cold and brittle. Tim is looking for a particular book in the manor library, yawning to himself and hiding his fingers in the edges of his sweater sleeves. It’s quite dim between the stacks, Tim squinting at the titles and not finding want he wants. He’s turning a corner to the next stack when he accidently kicks a bag at his feet. It spits the contents onto the clean floor, two books and a handful of papers.
Tim immediately picks up and makes sure the books are okay, placing them back into the bag. The papers are more spread, and he finds himself pausing on one hand-drawn paper in the middle.
Family Tree it reads is tight handwriting.
He sits back a little, surprised. It’s obviously Damian’s, with the tiny hand-drawn Damian Wayne in the center. But what’s surprising is that Dick, Jason, Cass and him are included. In the low light, he can see the tiny details put into each drawing.
Not sure how to react, Tim lowers the drawing and picks up the rest of the papers, tidying them and placing them in the bag. He keeps the family tree, examining it carefully and turning it over.
What they mean to me is written across the top. In red pen, a teacher has marked what Damian wrote down.
Tim glances around, wondering if it’s a bad idea to read this. Curiosity wins out.
It says that Dick is someone he trusts, Cass is someone strong and Bruce is someone important to him. But Tim doesn’t mind those, eyes stuttering when he reads that Tim is someone I believe in.
Tim stares, dumbfounded. What does that mean?
Slowly, he puts the paper back in the bag. Then he pulls the sweater tighter around himself in the cool atmosphere, glancing at the stacks and deciding he could look for his book tomorrow.
[]
Damian stops him in the hallway the next morning, face drawn and frosty. “You read my homework.” he bluntly greets, looking put-off and stiff.
Tim draws in a breath, not even asking how he knows. “It’s a good family tree.”
His fingers flex, and Damian makes a very distinctly ‘not-pleased’ face. “That was not yours to read.”
He doesn’t attempt to lie, folding his fingers together in front of himself. “It’s still good.”
Damian fumes, but falters just a little, trying to make the next request sound like a snap. “Don’t tell Grayson about what’s on the back.”
“I won’t.” Tim says.
His little brother scuffs the carpet for a second, still mad but flickering his blue eyes up to Tim for a second. “And don’t take yours to heart.”
“I won’t.” he says, but his lips upturn slightly.
Damian huffs, brushing past him. Tim glances over his shoulder, thinking that maybe Damian isn’t as complex as he thinks he is.
He smiles to himself, walking to the library. He feels in place, found, maybe even welcome in the manor for once. No one has to say anything—the things unsaid are much more important anyway. Tim’s always known that. He’ll likely never know what Damian meant when he says that he ‘believes in him’, and Tim doesn’t actually want to know. Everything unspoken is much sweeter anyway; none of his family has been great with words.
His family.