Chapter Text
Tim un-straightened his tie. It was a habit he'd picked up from Jason back when they were strangers brushing suit shoulders at galas and not brother-heros half-heartedly trying to kill each other. That thought sat a little uncomfortably in Tim's throat. He looked himself over in the mirror one more time and, finding himself sufficiently disheveled, turned back out into the hall.
It wasn't really a fair description these days, he decided, as he dodged the light shining out from the ballroom. Jason hadn't really tried to kill him for a good couple of years now. Maybe they half-heartedly saved each other's lives now? God that was kitschy . Coexisted? Too friendly sounding . Ignored each other from their separate apartments?
Tim bit the corner of his bottom lip. That last one was more like it. Its uncomfortability was emphasized by the way he was slinking around outside the gala's bathrooms like the trespassing child he used to idolize. He made a mental note to try and stop by Jason’s more, whether he liked it or not. To be honest, they could both use the company.
"Tim? Are you hiding back here?"
Oh great. Fantastic. The absolute last person he wanted to see right now.
Tim thought he would have been able to avoid Dick at a party of this size, and for the most part he’d been right, if only by faith luck and pixie dust. With Bruce recently unstuck-from-time his oldest son had been enlisted to help him play the weepy, recently reunited family member and up the kidnapping cover story (or whatever they’d decided on, Tim was only briefed on the story on the way into the gala and, admittedly, he hadn’t been listening all that closely). They’d traipsed off into the sea of people as soon as the four of them had arrived, taking Damian with them and leaving Tim alone to awkwardly socialize with tipsy adults he’d met a decade ago.
It was all well enough though. He was still a bit trapped in the flood of emotions that came with being seventeen, recently fired by your brother, called crazy and then proved not crazy by bringing your ‘dad’ back from the ‘dead’. Not to mention his barely healed organ loss or the fact that these days Damian seemed to exist with the sole goal of rubbing salt in both his physical and psychological wounds. But he was doing fine, really, pinky promise. He kicked at the springy metal door stopper and watched it twaaanngg back into place, hoping Dick would forget he was looking for him. Forget about him entirely actually. Just leave him to die in peace alone back here like he’d always-
Dick rounded the corner, breaking out into a grin when he saw Tim scruffing his dress shoes by the bathrooms. "Oh good, you're still here! We were looking everywhere for you; I thought you might have left early."
Tim was halfway through faking a smile when he caught it, "We?"
Damian answered the question by existing, following Dick's shadow out of the ballroom, backlit dramatically like a yet-to-be-revealed villian in a cheesy horror film. "Your tie is crooked Drake. I'd have expected more from one actually raised with the sole ambition of looking professional."
Of course. Tim’s fake smile turned into an involuntary sneer as his upper lip twitched back like a gag reflex for people who existed just to get on his nerves. "What's your point? You can't even tie a tie on your own."
"I can!" Damian straightened his posture in a way that would only seem threatening to someone who fights for a living, his eyes already wide with preemptive anger, " and even if I couldn't Father would have taught me correctly."
Dick's grin was gone. He glanced between the two of them as they spat at each other, weighing his options. He sighed, "Tim... there's only a half hour left. Can you just not provoke him for thirty minutes?"
"Me provoke him?!" He bit the argument curling in the back of his throat, digging his fingernails sharply into his palms. He could already see Dick's eyes glazing over as he turned to semi-scold the goddamn murderous golden child. Tim let out a breath and unfurled his fists. "You know what, fuck this I'm going home." He turned.
“Tim- Dami hold on. Tim!” Dick called after him, but didn’t follow. Tim reinserted his fingernails into the crescent indentations on his palms. “Tim don’t do this please he’s just a kid-”
“I am not just a-”
“How is he just a kid still?! After everything he’s done!”
Dick furrowed his brows, stepping closer to speak in a stage whisper as their argument turned heads at the edge of the ballroom, “Don’t do this here,” He’d put on a pseudo-batman voice that was probably meant to intimidate the two of them, but succeeded only in making anger flare tight in the back of Tim’s throat.
He gritted his teeth, “If he’s just a kid how come he took nightshift huh? Don’t you think that’s a bit intense for just a kid Dick?” Dick’s eyes widened. Shit. Tim knew that was too far as soon as he’d said it. Shit. A heavy bead of anxiety settled in his chest. Shit.
“ -tt-” Damian on the other hand, now looked delighted , “What a pathetic argument to resort to. As if I was not already more qualified that you will ever be,” He sneered, “All I have heard is that you still view me as a threat: a compliment that, unfortunately I cannot return to to such an insignificant-”
“Enough.”
Bruce.
All of their heads snapped to attention. It was almost funny, Tim thought, despite anything else, Robin instincts run deep. If an outside observer watched B snap from Brucie to Batman like that you could almost understand the “ Bruce Wayne exposed as abusive father? What really happened to Jason Todd??” tabloids that popped up every couple of years.
“Both of you, outside now, ” He didn’t have to ask twice. Well, Tim was halfway out already so he really didn’t even need to ask him once. That being said, chances were this wasn’t going to be a jaunty, everyone can just go home after the argument type of conversation. He chewed on his bottom lip, letting the door swing into Dick’s shoulder behind him. Little victories.
His brothers followed him out the exit he’d been trying to leave through in the first place, and turned to face Bruce who despite wearing perhaps his gaudiest of suits still managed to look impressively intimidating. The scene really was a bit hilarious, the heirs of the Wayne legacy grouped in an awkwardly formal semi-circle in the back alley behind the venue. Dick stood between Tim and Damian, acting as a human buffer for the glares Damian was presumably shooting Tim’s way.
Bruce sighed, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think the two of you wanted to be benched for the foreseeable future.”
Tim felt his stomach drop. God anything but that, it’s all I’ve got left . He swallowed partially to maintain composure and partially because his throat had become mysteriously dry. He ran through a couple of options: stay benched and lose himself to his encroaching depression; pull the “I’m an emancipated minor” card and go out anyway; fall to his knees and start begging?
He took a measured breath. All terrible options. Tim was many things. An insomniac? Of course. Sarcastic? To a fault. But he wasn’t an idiot. And all of those plans were idiotic. Fortunately:
“No- I-... Father!”
Right on cue .
“It is unjust that I would be punished for Drake’s inability to have a simple conversation without taking offense!”
Tim bit his tongue, literally bit his tongue, drawing beads of metallic blood into his mouth. This was perfect. Now with any luck B would take the bait…
“What I’m more concerned with is that somehow both of you thought it was acceptable to argue about patrol in front of multiple hundreds of witnesses.”
Damnit
Apparently Tim had run out of pixie dust earlier that evening.
“B, I-”
“Enough.” Bruce rubbed at the corner where his eye met his temple, and Tim fect a pang of guilt for the headache he’d somehow been roped into causing, “I’m not benching you. There’s no point if neither of you would listen, and I think it’s fair to assume neither of you were planning on helping Alfred clean house in lieu of patrol for the next couple of weeks.”
Tim maintained his steady eye contact with the white accents of Bruce’s dress shoes.
“Working against each other both of you are a detriment to the team,” Bruce continued, “and frankly, I am willing to put in neither the time nor the effort into policing two of you at once. So, until you learn to be civil with one another you will do it yourselves. You’ll be patrolling together until further notice. Go suit up.”
Tim’s head shot up as Damian stepped forward, visible to Tim now for the first time since their lecture had begun. He looked remarkably like a miniature businessman, his brows knit together in frustration, “Father, I cannot be the only one to think that a simpler solution would be to make cuts regarding the involved personnel,” He gave a pointed glance past Dick’s outstretched arm.
Tim scoffed, his eyes flicking between father and son, “Wow asshole I may not like you but I never told them to cut you from the team . Way to be a team player yaknow?” He decided against giving Dick the pointed look that he definitely deserved.
He seemed to get the message anyhow though, stiffening slightly in Tim's periphery. Damian continued on however, either unaware of or, more likely, unconcerned with the tension thickening the air around them. “This is exactly my point,” his voice was measured, a perfect, albeit younger, imitation of his father’s, “It would be fruitless of me to try to convince you that Drake has no value as a technician, or even in combat. But if he is truly so insecure as to be throwing petty jabs, after all the training he has, at what point is he a lost cause .”
Tim gritted his teeth, sucking blood from the puncture in his tongue. A swirl of conflicting emotions yanked at the void in his chest. What he really wanted to do was scream. Shout at Dick and Bruce and Damian until his throat was raw and they understood just how goddamn unfair all of this always was. And why always to him? Tim spent a lot of time trying to tell himself that, no, he wasn't just supplementary, they really needed him, they wanted him there even. But good lord if it didn't seem like everyone was constantly trying to prove his anxieties right.
He swallowed again, his dry throat catching on even drier patches on the back of his tongue. No. They needed him. Maybe just as a failsafe, but they needed him. He couldn't get himself kicked off for something as inconsequential as his feelings . As much as it pained him, Damian was right about that.
And so he said nothing.
The quiet was tangible as Bruce glanced between them, his gaze lingering on each uncomfortably. Tim made an effort to maintain both the eye contact, and the personal firewall he had between his face and his emotions. But he could feel his nails digging back into their bloody sheaths in his palms. Bruce was smart enough to know.
“Tim would you mind helping Alfred get the car ready?”
He’d failed .
Tim took a measured breath, letting his eyes fall back down to examine the asphalt, “Sure.”
He turned on his heel, not too quickly can’t let them see, and just made it around the corner before he broke. It was slight, maybe imperceptible even, but he could feel it: the hitch in his chest when he breathed, the autonomous tug downward at the corner of his mouth. He was supposed to be better than this. He was supposed to be past this kind of reaction.
The alley broke way into the main road, blocked off for the event Bruce had been headlining before they’d dragged him out into the dusk with their whining. Of course Alfred had already pulled the car around and had it sitting with his hazards on by the front entrance. The butler’s eyes brightened as Tim approached the backseat, though his apologetic expression suggested he was well aware of the circumstances.
“Master Tim, I trust the others will be following you shortly? It’s my understanding that you and Mater Damain are to leave a bit early tonight. Prior engagements.”
It was all he could do to nod, looking back to see Dick walking out behind him, followed slowly by Bruce and Damian in a hushed argument.
They were just too far for him to hear them. Oh god he really didn’t want to hear them right now, regardless of which side Bruce had ended up taking.
He needed to talk to someone. He needed to talk to a non-bat .
Tim was calling Kon before he'd even made it into the car. He fumbled with the seatbelt, balancing his cellphone precariously between his ear and shoulder, clicking it in just as Kon's muffled " mmh? H'llo?" interrupted the quiet ringing.
"Are you asleep? It's like eight pm dude."
Kon yawned, "Well not all of us can get by on three hours a night," There was a quiet shuffling, then the click of a light, "What's up man? Everything okay?"
He paused, glancing at Damian still trying to argue with Bruce outside. Dick looked over, meeting his eyes momentarily before Tim looked down, suddenly intent on cataloging the lint on his dress pants.
"Tim?" Concern bled through the tiredness in Kon's voice now.
"I'm fine. It's fine, just..." he picked at a loose thread above his knee, "It's just family stuff. I have patrol but would it be alright if I came over your’s later? We don't have to talk even. I just... I need somewhere to be that isn't here." He swallowed back whatever emotions were being brought up by the parts of that need he was choosing not to examine right now.
There was a momentary pause, just a bit too long to be a breath, "Of course man I just... are you sure everythings alright?"
The car door opened on Tim's left.
"Yeah, hey listen, I gotta run. Sorry for the late call," he hung up before he could get a response. The leather sagged beneath him as Damian settled into his seat, scoffing under his breath as he presumably, Tim wasn’t looking, took in the disgraceful sight of Tim’s knees pressed against the back of the passenger seat. But it’s fine. Totally fine . Tim had already decided pretty firmly against entertaining anymore arguments, at least until he figured a way out of babysitting, so he leaned his temple against the cool glass. He could feel his phone buzz a moment later, probably a text from probably Kon. He glanced down.
“ wake me up when u get in” typing… typing… a pause, then, typing... Tim bit back a sigh. Kon was worried, if he was deleting and rephrasing that much. “ i just wanna touch base ok?”
God what an asshole move. Now he’s making his friends worry on top of everything else. Maybe Damian was right, and Tim was somehow manipulating his way under the skin of everyone he cared about without even realizing it. What could he even do then? If his existence was psychological cancer? The loose thread he’d been picking at was quickly becoming a small hole on the inside corner of his knee. He decided he didn’t want to think about that right now.
“ ok”