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It’s a little after eleven on the day before the Wayne Foundation charity ball. For weeks, the media and press have been talking nearly exclusively about the night--every year the projects become a little wilder, a little more ambitious. Last year shocked the press with over $25 million going to work on the East End. The donations are one thing, but Bruce Wayne knows that it’s mainly a beauty contest of the Gotham elite. His children have always been under scrutiny of the public eye, but this year especially, Bruce has prepared them to be at the top of their game.
His plan has so far gone off without a hitch, everyone being agreeable and relatively at ease; until now, that is, when they’ve already entered the stylists’ salon for his boys to get their hair cut. The stylists are a private group that only serve Gotham’s best and brightest, only six in total, yet worth every penny--the salon was packed with people waiting. Bruce needed only to flash his smile to the receptionist for the five of them to essentially cut in line and get to the styling chair.
“Alright, Tim, you’re first,” Bruce says, and Tim doesn’t answer, just sits in the chair, blankly staring ahead as if he had heard nothing at all. Bruce frowns. “Tim?” Tim is far away, eyes distant and empty, something he only sees in his son in the most dire hours of patrol. He gently shakes Tim’s shoulder.
That seems to jostle him back to reality. “What?” Tim snaps, and it’s with unprecedented bitterness unbefitting of a simple haircut. Bruce looks at him with a frown that speaks for itself. Tim leans his head back against the chair. “Just do it,” he says, throat tight.
“What?” Bruce asks, and Dick and Jason gawk and giggle at how caught off guard he is--until they notice what has Bruce frowning. Tim’s eyes are glassy, and his face is tense, using all of his strength to keep himself from breaking down in tears right in the middle of the salon.
“Why,” Tim chokes out, “are we doing this in public?”
Bruce squats down a little to meet eye contact with the sixteen-year-old. “Tim,” he begins, in the gentlest voice he can manage without sounding patronizing. “Why are you crying?”
It didn’t work. The distance between him and Tim was small, but he still leans as far away as he possibly can. “I’m not ,” Tim insists. “I’m not crying. I’m not.” His voice grew more panicked the longer he spoke. “I just--Why--You---” Tim’s eyes can’t hold themselves and spill over despite his efforts to keep them at bay.
Bruce knew it would be too good to be true that a single plan involving his kids would go smoothly. He heaves a sigh of frustration, which only seems to escalate Tim’s panic. “What is going on?” Bruce asks, voice firmer.
Jason speaks up, frowning. “Bruce, let me take this one.” Bruce looks at him, an eyebrow raised. “It smells,” he elaborates, and Bruce understands instantly, shifting his eyes over to Tim, who looked less like a partner of Batman and more like a cornered rabbit. Saying that something ‘smells’ was their shorthand for talking about abuse: specifically, parental abuse. The term emerged from teaching Damian what was rational versus what he had been taught and became common vernacular between the Bats.
Jason takes Tim’s hand with a tenderness uncommon but not uncharacteristic for him, and leads him to the bathroom--just as he remembers, down the hall and to the left. Thankfully, it’s a private bathroom. Jason locks the door and sits down next to Tim on the floor, who has begun sobbing now that they’re alone. “Tim, what’s going on?”
“I--” It’s tough for him to even get the words out, and Jason can tell he’s having trouble breathing through the panic. He puts his hand on Tim’s back as a reminder. It works. “I just--I don’t even know what I did,” he cries, and something twists in Jason’s gut. He’s never seen Tim so upset, and it is a harrowing sight: someone Jason considered unbreakable is suddenly just a child in need.
“You’re not in trouble,” Jason says. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” He feels anger burn in his chest. Associating a haircut with punishment is highly unusual; the only people who could have conditioned Tim to this line of logic are his parents. Janet and Jack died last year in a plane crash. Jason didn’t actually know much about them besides that they were Gotham elite snobs who dealt in archaeology. Tim never spoke about them and almost avoided the topic.
It is possible , Jason thinks, that Tim is hiding a horrible truth about his parents . The bat-family had a rocky start given Jason’s former insatiable need for revenge (among other things), but once they began to rebuild and heal, they all grew closer. Tim had been coming out of his shell, but Jason suspected they were approaching the tip of an iceberg.
Simply getting their ends trimmed off doesn’t warrant such an extreme response , Jason reasons. Tim is afraid he’s going to be humiliated. It isn’t a stretch to think his parents held high standards for him, given their status as aristocrats. Tim likes his hair long. Erasing a person’s identity by shaving their head is a dehumanization tactic. Jason’s blood boils at the connection, but he doesn’t show it.
Now armed with a theory, Jason starts (delicately) trying to prove it. “Why would Bruce do that to you?” Tim is a very logical person, so he hopes that he’ll pick up on this one.
Tim doesn’t, but the stream of tears and babble that comes out of him next is all the evidence Jason needs to know that he’s right. “I don’t know,” Tim sucks in a sharp breath, “I don’t know, I-- I did something wrong. I-I did something wrong. I don’t--” he lets it out, shuddering. “I don’t know what I did. Ma--What if it’s me? I’m--I did something bad. I--” Jason reaches out and firmly cups Tim’s face with his hands.
“Bruce is not going to shave your head,” he says, maintaining eye contact. “What happened to you is not normal,” Jason continues. Tim’s shaking like a leaf and he tries to turn his face away; Jason won’t let him. “Hey, look at me. Look at me,” he says, and Tim meets his eyes again. He’s glad Dick had been there for him when he’d had panic attacks of his own--otherwise this would probably not be going as well. “Yeah, eyes on me. Great. Just breathe, okay? You’re not bad. You didn’t do anything. You are not in trouble. Getting a haircut is not what you think it is. We don’t have to do this today. We can come back when you’re ready. Eyes here, Tim. Okay? Tell me you understand,” Jason says, and Tim shakily nods.
Jason pulls him close as he cries, saying nothing more but making his presence known to his little brother. He’s not sure where the feeling came from, but Jason has the acute desire to protect Tim in this moment, and any moment that follows. He thinks about the rest of the family; they will want to do the same thing, and knowing that makes Jason feel weird and warm.
Tim pulls away after a while. “Sorry. I mean, um, thank you,” he says, sniffling. He seems much more present. “ Jesus Christ , that was embarrassing!”
“No,” Jason says, shaking his head. “You got nothing to be ashamed of, Mothman.” Tim cracks a smile at the nickname only Jason calls him. “We need to talk about your parents, though.”
“Uh,” Tim says, trying not to physically cringe. “That’s alright. I don’t know, I think-- We don’t need to---”
“Nope. We need to know this kind of stuff, Tim. It’s big.” Tim sighs, unable to argue. “You ready?” Jason stands, offering a hand to Tim, and the two exit the bathroom.
When they get back to the stylist’s chair, Dick, Damian, and Bruce already have their hair done. The stylists didn’t do much, just tasteful touch-ups. Jason is almost surprised at how good they look. Bruce’s brows furrow in concern. “Is everything okay? What’s going on?”
Behind him, Tim squirms nervously. “Tim’s not getting his hair cut today,” Jason says with a look. “We need to talk privately.”
Dick looks worriedly over at Tim, but doesn’t say anything. In fact, none of them say anything at all as they leave the salon and the valet goes to get the car. Tim won’t look at anyone, not even Jason, and the room feels heavy, impossibly large and impossibly fragile. Every so often, Jason catches Damian sneaking glances at Tim. He’s suspecting the same thing they are, and by the look on his face, he doesn’t quite know what to make of it.
The ride was awkward, and everybody’s quiet when they come in. Bruce beckons to Jason and Tim for the two of them to follow into a small living room. It’s cozy, with several well-loved couches and very ugly embroidered pillows that nobody knows the source of. Dick comes, too, and no one verbally objects to his presence. Damian stays behind, with Alfred in the kitchen nearby.
Bruce sits down across from Jason and Tim, looking weary and almost old , something Jason never sees. “Tell me what’s going on,” he says, and if he were talking to anyone else, it would be an objective request--but these are his children, experts in reading Bruce’s expressions, and Tim seems to deflate a little.
Jason pats Tim on the shoulder, trying not to seem patronizing (and not doing a good job). “I just thought that, like… That I was, y’know, in trouble.” Bruce looks unsatisfied by this answer. “And, I just, um… did not realize,” Tim picks at a loose thread on his sweater. “That, uh… that I was there for, like, a real haircut.”
This seems to raise more questions, but it only takes a second for Bruce and Dick to connect the dots in their heads. “But, um,” Tim continues. “Jason, he, like, told me that it’s not normal, and so I guess when you say haircut, you don’t mean, like-- I’m not actually, like, getting my head shaved,” He says, cheeks turning red from shame. “Like, that that’s not what… that means… So, um… I’m sorry.” The two sitting across from Jason and Tim have expressions of abject horror. It’s quiet for a long moment.
Dick is the first one to break the silence. “Your, um-- Janet and Jack were like that?” he asks. Jason continues to be amazed by the level of tact and kindness in his older brother.
Tim gives a little shrug. “I mean, it wasn’t, like… that , but, um… Mostly my mom would do that kind of stuff, but, like, yeah, so, um--” He keeps readjusting his position on the couch, each little squirm a little more prim and proper than the last, and it makes Jason want to grab him by the shoulders and force him to sit still. He doesn’t do that. “I was-- like, at the haircut place I thought I was in trouble, ‘cause that’s… like, that’s what-- like, okay, I’m not really convinced that isn’t, like, a normal thing--”
Jason cuts in. “It isn’t, trust me. What sane person would shave their child’s head as a punishment? It’s a dehumanization tactic, Tim,” he says, brow furrowed and voice hard. “It’s torture.” Tim shifts in his seat again. He knows this to be true, and everyone else does, too.
An understanding comes over Bruce, and he isn’t frustrated anymore. Rather, he’s a touch sad, and he looks at Tim in that way that only Bruce does, that same comforting way he looks at Jason when he’s hysterically upset but won’t admit he needs help. “I will never and would never do that to you, Tim,” he says, and Tim is blinking away tears, hesitant but desperately wanting what his family is offering. “Never. Why did you keep this from us?”
He swallows, eyes on the floor. “I didn’t think it was weird ,” he says quietly. “Or, that it, like, mattered .”
“Nobody else was getting their head shaved,” Dick tries to reason.
Tim nods. “I thought-- I don’t know,” he says. He knows that it’s an inherently faulty line of reasoning, but Jason knows that logic won’t apply to mindsets created by trauma. It’s simultaneously irrational and based on personal experience, and he’s never needed to challenge it until now. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Dick says. “We just care about you. We want to be in the loop, y’know? You’ve never really talked about what your home life was like.”
The whole room can see the gears turn in Tim’s head as he considers what to say next. He sighs, and Jason sees something flip in him, ashamed but brave. “They didn’t, uh,” Tim begins, and he pauses, unsure, but after a moment, like turning on a faucet that just got rid of all its hard water deposits, he begins to spill. “They didn’t do that kind of stuff to me a lot ‘cause, like… they weren’t ever really home. Like, I never thought it was an issue because nobody asked and I wasn’t going to bring it up, but I’m pretty sure that’s--”
“--Not normal. Yeah,” Jason interrupts, earning him a look from Dick. “When did they start leaving you at home? How long?”
Again, Tim pauses to ponder and collect his words. “I think when I was, like, five or six? I had a nanny, but she really only came over once a week. So, I had to, like, feed and clothe myself, and, like, go to school on my own. Like I’d be home, uh, on my own, for, like… usually it was six months? But the longest I’ve ever been without seeing them is, uh… Eighteen months,” he says, and physically cringes at the horrified stares of his brothers and father.
“ Eighteen months ?” Dick asks, eyebrows scrunched together with worry. “How old were you?”
Tim seems to regret talking about it, so Jason gently pats his back for encouragement. He leans closer, appreciative. “Um, like, twelve, so it was okay, ‘cause I could take care of myself and keep the house clean and stuff.”
“That’s when you became Robin,” Bruce chimes in.
Dick’s eyes light up with understanding. “So that’s how you got all those photos-- You said you had stalked us, but you were-- you literally were tailing us in the streets,” he says, and Tim nods. Jason knows he shouldn’t be proud of Tim’s ability to sneak around given the circumstances, but he’s impressed that Tim had such working knowledge of the streets. It’s not easy for a kid to get through that part of Gotham, much less a kid from Crescent Hills.
“Yeah, I’m, like, the World’s Greatest Paparazzi,” he says, cracking a smile, but quickly stops at the look on their faces. “Right. Not funny. Um, yeah, so… I just had a lot of time on my hands, and all I cared about after Haly’s Circus was Batman and Robin.”
Dick stares. “You were there?”
Tim nods. “I don’t know if you remember, but I actually took a photo with you before the show. I still have it. It’s in my room.”
“Wait, yeah-- You’ve told me this, sorry,” Dick says. Tim had mentioned it only a couple of times, years ago when explaining his deduction of Batman and Robin’s identities. “Sorry--wait, oh my God! Oh my God--Wait, so they--oh, wow, um, Jesus ,” he blabbers as he realizes the implications. “I’m so sorry, Tim.”
Tim nods, face somber. “Yeah, I have this theory, that, like-- I’m pretty sure they were, like, disillusioned with parenting after that, ‘cause of all the, um… like, I had a lot of nightmares, and night terrors, like, when you yell in your sleep? They got sick of that really fast, and I don’t even blame them--”
“--They never took you to a psych or a doctor or anything?” Jason cuts in. Tim shakes his head, evidently confused by the mere question. “ God . It’s a shame they’re already dead, or I’d murder them,” he huffs.
“ Jason Peter! ”
“They abandoned him, Bruce!” Jason snaps back. “You know more than anyone that that is not how parenting works!” Bruce is silent, but Jason feels victorious about this one.
“It wasn’t really that serious,” Tim tries to interject.
“It was, Tim.” Bruce centers his gaze on him. “It’s clear that you’ve been extremely hurt, and we all take that very seriously.”
“Well, but, like, it’s not as bad as, like, Damian’s childhood, y’know?” Tim reasons. Recently, they have all been working very hard with Damian to make sure he knows what a real home is like. “It’s not--”
Jason interrupts again. “No, dude. That, like, doesn’t even matter,” he says, that protective urge swelling up in his chest again and with it losing all articulation. “You guys had different experiences, yeah. Like wildly different , but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t, like, ‘that bad’. It sucked major dick, actually.”
“Language, Jason,” Bruce frowns, and Jason just shrugs. “I know you have an aversion to therapy, Tim,” He says, pressing through despite Tim’s objection to the mere subject. “But talking with someone is critical. It lets us know how and when to help.” Dick has moved to sit on Tim’s other side, throwing his arms around his brother and pulling him close. Tim seems to melt into it, like he’d never been cuddled before in his life, and Jason has a sneaking suspicion that hugs weren’t really on the Drake family agenda.
Tim nods. “I just don’t want to cause problems,” he half-protests, but Tim’s resistance is fading as he tucks his head into the crook of Dick’s neck.
“You’re not causing problems. We love you, dude, and we care about you, like, a lot,” Jason says, and Tim nods again, and the whole room seems to collectively sigh in relief. The furniture and the floor and even the air is content. “We’re gonna ask questions, though. Specifically, Dick is going to ask questions,” Jason jokes, and Dick snorts. His brother’s caring and investigative nature often come together to function as valuable problem-oriented emotional support (even when Jason doesn’t really want it). “He’s like a forensic therapist,” he says, which sends all three into giggles.
In the corner of his eye, Bruce sees Damian hiding behind the doorway. Their eyes meet, and with a little nod from Bruce, Damian comes in. He pauses, looking between Jason and Dick before Jason waves him over to sit with them on the couch. Damian raises his eyebrows in a warning to him as he sits next to Jason, who has his hands up innocently--for about two seconds before he tousles Damian’s hair. “ Todd! In case you didn’t notice, my hair was just put in place not two hours ago!” Jason only laughs.
Tim speaks up. “Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you guys,” Tim begins, but he’s smiling. “A while back, I preordered Animal Crossing: New Horizons for our switch, and--”
“You WHAT? ” Damian gasps, clearly and genuinely feeling betrayed. “How dare you keep this information from me, Timothy!” He springs to his feet. “We must go play at once!” Damian starts to pull Tim out of Dick’s hold, and with his yelling, sends the entire room into a frenzy, boys scrambling to get upstairs to the game room while they still have free time (one of them definitely slipped on the tile).
Bruce cracks a smile. Maybe things are going right.