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Tim was already regretting setting foot in the manor.
It had started with something relatively benign. So much so, in fact, that Tim could no longer remember what the initial catalyst had been. Just that Damian had overreacted to it, and then Tim had snapped back, and now here they were, screaming at each other across the sitting room.
On the tail end of an Arabic epithet Tim was pretty sure was entirely uncomplimentary, Dick hurried in, looking frazzled.
“Hey!” Their oldest brother called, inserting himself between them as he so often did. “What’s going on here?”
“Drake,” Damian began nastily, “has invaded our home and proceeded to befoul it with his presence.”
“Damian.” Dick chastised sharply. “Tim is allowed to be here whenever he wants. He is family.” The eldest turned to Tim. “And Tim, perhaps you could refrain from antagonizing Damian when you’re here?”
Tim scowled. “Oh, fine. You’re taking his side again.”
Dick sighed. “I’m not taking sides…”
“Drake is not family!” Damian chose that moment to interject.
“Dami…”
“WELL MAYBE I DON’T WANT TO BE!” Tim shrieked back. “You and Dick can keep whatever you’ve got going on, I hate both of you.”
“GOOD!” Damian screamed back. “No one wants you anyway! My father should have never taken in such ungrateful, undeserving peasants! I’m glad he’s gone, so he doesn’t have to see the mess you’ve made of his legacy!”
Dick hurried from the room.
Both boys froze for a moment. Dick was always trying to play peacemaker for them. Why had he left?
Suddenly they both shrank back from the doorway. In Dick’s place stood a terrifying sight. Alfred, his face like a thundercloud, loomed over them. “Master Damian. To your room at once. There will be no patrol for you tonight.”
“But…”
“Go.”
Damian went. Tim tried to make himself very small.
“Master Tim.”
“Yes?” Tim squeaked. He’d very rarely seen Alfred more than mildly displeased. The man was truly terrifying.
“You will apologize to your brother before you leave.”
“What?” Tim cried. “He started it, the little brat!”
“Not Master Damian.” Alfred corrected. “Master Dick.”
That wasn’t much better. “Why should I?”
“Because you said things you knew would be hurtful to him. Master Damian did as well, but we are still working with him. I will have him make it up to Master Dick in his own way. You, however, are old enough to make your own apologies.”
“Fine.”
“Very good, Master Tim. Might I suggest letting everything cool down for a bit before you do so. Dinner will be in half an hour, and then Master Dick will have some free time before patrol.” With that, Alfred swept from the room.
Tim slumped, the fight draining from him now that he was alone. In its place, guilt bloomed. He really had let this fight get a bit out of hand. Damian was unendingly frustrating, and Tim was perfectly aware that he had legimate reasons for not liking the little gremlin. But he also needed to be the adult everyone seemed to think he was and maybe handle things a little better. At the very least he could walk away instead of engaging.
He needed to talk to Dick.
Alfred had said to wait, but suddenly Tim couldn’t let another second pass without making things right with his older brother.
It was strange to be seeking Dick out in the master bedroom of the Penthouse rather than in his apartment or even his old bedroom at the Manor. So much had changed when Bruce had died. Tim had always been close to Dick. From being his Robin temporarily so many years ago to all of their joint Titans missions, Tim had always been able to rely on Dick.
Until Damian had arrived, and Dick had tossed him aside like yesterday’s newspaper.
He froze in front of the bedroom doorway, that familiar anger flooding him again. Why should he apologize to Dick when Dick was the one who should be apologizing? Dick was the one who had hurt Tim.
He never knew if he would have turned away in that moment.
A hard crack sounded in the room, and then the tinkling of shattered glass.
Tim shoved the door open.
Dick stood with his back to the door, his hands planted on the top of the dresser. The built-in mirror lay in shards across the dresser and at his feet. His shoulders were slumped.
“Did you punch the mirror?” Tim asked, half shocked and half exasperated. Dick’s temper had resulted in several broken objects throughout the years, though not lately.
Dick didn’t answer, merely tensed up further, keeping his face hidden.
“Dick, you’re standing in glass.” Tim started forward. “You’re gonna get cut up. And what about your hand?”
Dick snatched his hand to his chest, but not before Tim saw the blood.
A lot of blood.
“Whoa!” He hurried forward, careful of the glass, reaching for the hand. “Dick, that looks bad! We need to get that fixed up right….”
He finally got a good look at Dick’s face.
“Dick?” He asked, his voice small and uncertain even to his own ears.
Dick moved to cover his face, remembered halfway his hands were covered in blood and glass, and stopped. He closed his eyes instead, but the tears kept coming.
Tim swallowed hard. “Let’s get you to the bathroom so I can look at your hand.”
Dick let Tim manhandle him into the bathroom, his brother like a limp doll. Tim pushed him down gently onto the closed toilet lid, lifting the injured hand gently and resting it on a towel next to the sink. There was a basic first aid kit in Dick’s cabinet, like there was in every room of the Manor. Tim retrieved it and silently began to pick the glass shards out of the wounds.
Dick was still crying silently, his face tilted away from Tim. It wasn’t sobbing or weeping, just slow, steady tears.
Tim’s heart was breaking.
Dick was always the strong one, the happy one, the everybody-get-along one. Tim knew he’d been struggling with Bruce’s death, with Damian, but he hadn’t thought it was this bad.
He pulled out a particularly deep piece of glass and Dick hissed, flinching reflexively.
“Sorry.” Tim said. Now that the silence was broken, “Is it the pain?”
Dick shook his head miserably. Tim hadn’t thought so, but it didn’t hurt to check just in case Dick was hurt worse than Tim could see.
“Was it the fight?”
Dick didn’t answer, but his shoulders stiffened.
Tim swallowed again. “Was it something I said?”
Dick finally met his eyes. His gaze was vulnerable, pleading, more open and raw than Tim had ever seen it. “Do you really hate me Timmy?”
“What? No, Dick, I just…” Tim sighed. “I was just angry. Mostly at Damian, in the moment, I guess, but I’ve been angry a lot lately. I don’t hate you. I’m just tired of not having a place here.”
Dick looked confused. “You always have a place here, Tim. Always. You left, we didn’t kick you out.”
Tim shrugged. “Yeah, well it kinda felt like you did.”
Dick stared at him. “That’s why you left? You thought I didn’t want you here?”
“You took Robin away.” Tim tried not to put any heat behind the words. “You’re Batman and Damian is Robin now and it looked like you didn’t need me. Plus you don’t believe me about Bruce still being alive. I just figured some space might be good.”
“Timbo, Bruce is dead.” Dick said softly.
Tim gritted his teeth. “See? Seems like I’m not needed here.”
Dick huffed. “That’s not what I’m saying, Tim. I’m worried about you, kiddo. I know you’ve struggled with some stuff in the past and I’m afraid that Bruce’s death has brought up some old wounds. I’m worried you aren’t handling it well.”
“Well, I don’t need to handle it if it’s not true, Dick.” Tim pulled the next bit of glass out a little rougher than he intended. He instantly regretted it when Dick couldn’t quite hide his wince. “Sorry.”
“I want you here, Tim.” Dick said to the floor. “I want all of you here, Jason included. I want all of us to be a family. I want…” his voice broke, “I want Bruce. But I can’t…I can’t hope for that Tim. I can’t let myself hope for one second that he’s out there somewhere. That he’s coming back. Because if I even think that, and he doesn’t. I’d fall apart. I am falling apart. I’m living his life, running his company, raising his son, and I can’t do it Tim. I can’t see an end. I’m going to die in the cowl.”
“Dick!” Tim dropped the tweezers in shock.
His eldest brother was sobbing, his shoulders shaking violently. Tim stepped forward and curled over him, clutching Dick’s head against his chest. Dick wrapped his arms around Tim’s waist, his still bloody hands limp.
Tim gripped him tight as Dick quaked with the force of his grief. Shock and horror and anguish wrapped themselves around Tim’s chest like a band. He’d never seen Dick fall apart like this.
“I’m sorry, Timmy. I’m so sorry. I know I screwed everything up. I’m sorry.”
“Hey.” Tim stroked a hand through Dick’s dark curls desperately. “Shhh, you didn’t screw everything up. I don’t hate you Dick, okay? Shhh, you’re not going to die in the cowl.” He had to swallow a lump in his own throat at that. Was that the future Dick saw everyday? Live Bruce’s life until he died in the suit? No wonder Dick was falling apart. No wonder he couldn’t allow himself to hope that Bruce would come back and save him.
And Tim had been making things worse instead of better.
He’d been so upset about the Robin thing that he hadn’t stopped to listen to Dick, hadn’t even considered Dick’s perspective. He was right to be upset about the way Dick had handled it, but he’d been in the wrong in the way he’d shut Dick out, thrown it in the older boy’s face.
They both could have handled it so much better, and maybe they could have saved each other rather than drowned side by side.
“I’m sorry too, Dick.” Tim whispered into Dick’s hair. “I’ve not been a very good brother.”
Dick shook his head. “My fault. I pushed you away. I understand if you hate me.”
“Never.” Tim said firmly. “I’m not thrilled with the whole Robin thing, and I’d like to have a conversation about that at some point. But right now, the only thing you need to know is that I’ll always love you, Dick Grayson. You’re my big brother. And from now on, I’m gonna try to be a better little brother.”
Dick sniffed, pulling back to give Tim a watery smile. “You’re already the best, Tim.”