Archive of Our Own

Villains in Gotham were dangerous, unhinged, and immoral, but when they teamed up with other people, they were horrendously lethal. Poison Ivy, with all her pollens that she uses to pollute her enemies' minds and her righteous agenda to save the earth, was a deadly force to reckon with, but never like this—she had never been this vicious. 

“20 dead so far.” 

And she definitely had never been this deadly. 

"Batman and I are searching for more victims," Stephanie continued, her voice cutting through the static air in the cave.

The line went silent for a moment. 

“We will keep you updated.” 

This time the silence was permanent. 

Part of Tim wanted to be out there, aiding Bruce and Stephanie in their efforts to find people and clean up, but the rational part of his brain knew that he needed to be here, in the cave, collecting as much information as possible. They needed to take down Ivy before she struck again, the stakes were too high. 

They had gotten lucky this time, though lucky wasn't exactly the word Tim would apply to the situation that was unfolding, Ivy had made a mistake. A small one that didn't stop her from killing men and women left and right, but one that might aid in taking her down in the future. She lost control, too excited to show her plans off to Batman, and dropped a foreign weapon—one that she had been using to help push her agenda—inadvertently leaving behind a clue to the ever-unfolding mystery that was her recent attacks. 

Her attacks were commonplace in Gotham, but they were never organized. She was like a weed, popping up at random to attack; organization was not important, her rage-fueled her decisions, and her anger blinded her. Ivy was hot-headed and temperamental; her recent attacks were cold and phlegmatic.

Ivy was detached. 

And that didn't make sense. 

The computer dinged, pulling Tim out of his spiraling thoughts. The weapon had been fully analyzed and a report had been made. 

There was no point in reading it, Tim already recognized the weapon, but he had company which meant he had no choice. 

He read the report that popped up and tried to act surprised. It was hard these days to put effort into emoting, but he needed to, otherwise, there would be questions—ones that Tim didn’t want to answer right now, or ever. 

He stared at the computer screen, thinking about what the next move would be. 

The ugly blue light emitting from the batcomputer highlighted the shadows on Tim’s face. He looked older, too old for a 17-year-old, and when the computer dinged for a second time, he aged another 10 years right in front of Dick’s eyes.

“What is it?” Dick asked, breaking the stiff silence that existed whenever they were left in a room together.

Tim looked over at him, tired eyes meeting concerned ones, but couldn’t make himself speak. The silence had a grip on Tim, it was suffocating him slowly.

He beckoned Dick forward instead, moving to the side so Dick could better see the screen. 

The cave was quiet, no one was in it besides him and Dick. 

The silence made his skin crawl. 

It wasn’t too long ago that the silence would have been comfortable but that was gone now—and Tim wasn’t sure if it would ever return. Tim wasn’t sure if he wanted it to return. 

It would have been nice if everything returned to normal, Tim mused, when he brought Bruce home, but that didn’t happen. Too much had changed when Bruce was missing for things to easily slide back into place—nothing fit right anymore. 

Tim watched as Dick read over the report that popped up, the scan had taken a while to complete, but the information was vital. Tim already knew, when he saw the foreign weapon Poison Ivy was using, that it belonged to the League of Assassins, but there was no way to casually slip in that piece of knowledge without being met by some uncomfortable questions. 

It was something small that existed in Tim’s mind many months ago, the increasing worry about keeping what he went through, in trying to find Bruce, a secret, but it had been easy.

Too easy. 

No one asked. 

No one cared. 

The pit in Tim’s stomach grew. He was being pathetic. Bruce had gone through a lot, Tim didn’t deserve anyone’s attention, but he wished they cared. 

Just a bit. 

He didn’t need them to care that much, just enough to ask what happened. 

They never did. 

Why would they have?

He wasn’t their family. 

“She stole from the League of Assassins?” Dick finally asked, pulling Tim out of his thoughts. 

“I guess.”

“Shit,” Dick’s muttered under his breath. It wasn’t an ideal outcome. 

“I have to speak with Ra’s,” Tim said, keeping his voice steady even as his stomach churned. “He’s our best bet.” 

“Tim-”

They didn't have time to argue. 

“Dick,” Tim cut him off, quickly, “he’s our only option. We're running out of time.” 

Poison Ivy had upped the stakes one too many times over the past month in Gotham. She was pulling out all the stops, refusing to back down, and she had help; too much was hanging in the balance—if they didn’t act now, countless lives would be lost, so many already were. 

“Is there anyone else that might know something?” Dick asked when the cave grew silent. “Jason might know som-”

"Jason hasn't worked with the league in years."

Dick ran his hand through his hair, pulling on the ends. He wasn't looking at Tim anymore, his eyes were locked on the screen as he mentally went through every person that might be able to help. Tim already went through the list; Ra's was their Hail Mary. 

Dick's eyes snapped up to Tim's and Tim realized Dick came to the same conclusion. 

"No. Someone else has to know something, we can't-"

"Dick-"

"I don't like this idea, Tim, there has to be-"

"Dick, we don't have time."

"Let's wait until Bruce gets back-"

"No," Tim cut in, quickly. There was no way Bruce would allow Tim to talk to Ra's if Dick wasn’t on board with the decision. He needed Dick's support. "We need to talk to him—I can handle this, Dick."

"I know you can handle it." Dick shook his head. "But we don't need to get Ra's involved."

Oh. 

"You don't believe me," Tim said, ignoring the concerned look from Dick. "You think there is someone else we could go to for help—you think I'm lying."

The words were like ice sliding down Tim's tongue. 

"No- I-"

"You either don't believe me or you don't trust me to be able to handle this. Which one is it, Dick?" Tim was too tired to be angry, his voice came out small and quiet. "I thought we were past this." 

“No- Tim-” Dick cut himself off a second time, no longer looking at Tim as he spoke. “I trust you but-” Dick's eyes locked onto the batcomputer, scanning over the plethora of information that was currently being displayed. “I’m just worried about you.”

Tim bit back a scoff. 

“I can handle myself.”

It was a statement, a provable fact, not an opinion that Tim was pushing. He handled himself just fine all these years, specifically the last few months when Bruce had been gone, and he would and could continue to handle things. 

Even if the things he had to handle grew more and more unpleasant each day. 

“I know you can,” Dick said easily, it was clear he wasn’t done with the argument. “But Ra’s is-”

“We’re running out of time.”

Dick might not be done with the argument, but Tim was. 

“How can we contact him?” 

Dick had conceded. Tim felt grateful, even though part of him longed for Dick to keep pushing, to make Tim accept that this was a bad idea—to protect Tim. It was stupid. 

“I know a way.” 

----

Getting in contact with Ra’s was never hard when you were Timothy Drake. In fact, it was concerningly easy. 

The man was already in Gotham, which solidified Tim’s theory that Ra’s was somehow involved with Ivy’s deadly attempt to take over Gotham. 

The two stood in an empty building complex with wide windows that circled the room they were in. 

It was a far way down. 

Tim stood away from the windows, not wanting a repeat of their last interaction. Shattering glass with his body, unsure if he would survive the fall, wasn’t fun the first time—Tim doubted it would be the second time. 

Ra’s locked the door. An unnecessary precaution, but one that gave the illusion of privacy. He didn’t know if Ra’s was aware that he was wired at the moment, but Tim wouldn’t put it past the man. Then again, the last time Tim sought out the man, he was all alone—abandoned by those he loved and trusted—maybe Ra’s thought it was the same type of situation. 

“You called?” Ra’s said, his smooth voice cutting through the tension that was beginning to build. 

Tim leveled his breathing. He had a mission—he couldn’t fail it. His nerves never settled, even as he tried to force a wave of calmness over his tense body.

He had a codeword in case he needed out and two people who would intervene if he spoke it out loud instead of just chanting it in his head. 

That was his only reassurance that things might turn out okay. 

Bruce was listening in, Nightwing wasn’t far away. 

But Tim couldn’t get cold feet—not here, not now. 

Ra’s was the only one that could help. 

“I need your help-”

“It appears that we’ve already had this conversation, Timothy,” Ra’s said, his dark eyes looking over Tim briefly. Tim’s stomach clenched at the way his name was drawn out. “Why repeat it?”

Tim wasn’t sure what that meant—if it meant Ra’s was willing to help or not. It wasn’t like Ra’s to talk in riddles…

“Poison Ivy is destroying Gotham-” Tim tried to continue. 

“Ah,” Ra’s interrupted again, his eyebrow raised in mock amusement. “Still doing their dirty work, I see.”

“Ra’s-” 

“I’ve always liked you, Timothy-”

“Ra’s-” Tim tried to inject. He didn’t need Ra’s waxing poetics about Tim’s intelligence; he needed information that would help take down Ivy. 

Ra’s shook his head, silencing Tim with the gesture. He was closer now to Tim. 

“Exceeded all my expectations—a near impossible thing to do, yet you managed.” Ra’s laughed. “Let’s make a deal—I’ll tell you what I know, but-”

There was a long pause as Ra’s seemed to pick out his words. It was all for show, whatever deal he was going to offer Tim had already been selected and carefully worded within Ra’s mind. 

“You have to hear me out-” Ra’s had a nasty smile painted on his face. “-first.”

Tim’s stomach dropped. Wherever this conversation was heading, it wasn't good. Even still, he stood his ground, refusing to let Ra’s see him break. 

Bruce was just a codeword away. 

He shouldn’t feel this way regardless. Ra’s hadn’t demanded anything of him other than an ear to lend—all things considered, especially for Ra’s Al Ghul, that was a mild request in exchange for vital information. 

It didn’t add up in Tim’s mind; his curiosity was piqued even as his stomach rolled, and a thousand sour thoughts collided in his skull. 

“Fine,” Tim agreed, unsure where the conversation was heading. 

Tim waited but Ra’s didn’t say anything. If it was a trap, a way to trick Tim into wasting his time, Tim would fall for it—on purpose. There was nowhere left to go, no one else they could ask for information, for once, Tim had all the time in the world. 

Everyone who could be saved would be saved by others—Tim wasn’t needed for that part. His only task was getting information. A nearly impossible task made harder by Ra’s silence. 

“Well?” Tim finally broke the silence, egging Ra’s on. 

Ra’s remained silent. He was too close to Tim, the air felt warm around them, and Tim wanted to leave. 

He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be in the same building as Ra’s, or anywhere near the man—halfway across the world wouldn't be enough distance in Tim’s mind. 

There was nowhere for Tim to go. Any move he made now would be too noticeable; he wanted to melt into the walls. 

“Ra’s.” Tim snapped but kept his tone calm and collected. “What are you waiting for? What do you want-”

“I want you to hear me out, sweetheart,” Ra’s said, as he stepped closer to Tim. His outstretched hand caressed Tim’s face softly, and Tim fought the urge to flinch away—he couldn’t ruin his only chance at stopping Ivy because of some, more than slight, discomfort. “I want you to join me.” 

Ra’s looked him up and down twice, eyes greedily scanning Tim’s body, and the knots in Tim’s stomach curled tighter. 

Even though he knew people were watching, listening, and ready to step in the moment things go south, Tim felt alone. 

The empty halls that surrounded the two of them, the silence in the air as Ra’s stopped talking, and the coldness seeping into his bones, even with Ra’s warm touch, reminded him too much of home.

His home. 

Not Wayne Manor but the barren wasteland that Tim grew up in. 

“Ra’s-” Tim tried again, moving his face away from the outstretched hand. Ra’s reacted by crowding Tim further. 

His taller figure loomed over Tim, pushing him against the wall. 

Tim was trapped. 

He was locked in a room with Ra’s Al Ghul; suffocating slowly. 

His dinner from last night slowly crawled up his throat.

But it was okay. 

Bruce was just a word away. 

Right? 

“I’ve been watching you.” Ra’s finally takes a step back, still too close to Tim but no longer as invasive. He was playing with the space around them, refusing to let Tim get comfortable; keeping the younger man on his toes—as if Tim wasn’t already. “Though I’m sure you already knew that.”

He said it with a shrug and Tim wasn’t sure if he was supposed to answer—confirm or deny. At the end of the day, there was no point in wasting his breath. Ra’s knew that Tim was aware of the surveillance, why lie? 

“Yeah,” Tim said, voice indifferent even as his stomach continued to roll with unease. 

Ra’s looked out the enormous windows that enclosed the room and Tim looked at the man who always seemed larger than life in the most savage of ways. 

The Gotham sky looked ashen and sick; Ra’s looked determined. 

“Did he hurt you?” Ra’s finally asked after deciding the sky was no longer of interest.

“What?”

This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to be going. Tim was supposed to meet with Ra’s, make a deal with the devil, and get vital information regarding Ivy—he wasn’t supposed to be thrown into a conversation he couldn’t make sense of. 

“Bruce.” It was a simple answer, but that made the problem more complex in Tim’s mind. 

“I don’t-” Tim cut himself off, rewording his gripe into a question Ra’s might answer. “What are you asking Ra’s?”

Ra’s didn’t look disappointed and that itself threw Tim for another loop. 

Maybe Ra’s could tell Tim wasn’t playing coy or being childish by acting ignorantly. Still, Tim expected to see some sort of upset flash on the face of the man in front of him when he realized Tim couldn’t keep up with the conversation. 

After all, it wasn’t too long ago that the title of detective had been given to Tim by the man. 

“Did Bruce hurt you?”

Tim repressed the shudder he felt building inside him at the way Ra’s said Bruce’s name. 

“No-”

“No? Lying now, are we?” Ra’s asked, moving closer to him. Tim wished he would just stay still and stop moving around the room. He felt like prey being toyed with by a predator before being devoured. “I saw his rage after Ethiopia, I felt it. But it wasn’t directed at me—it wasn’t directed at you either, but still, you took it, didn’t you?”

Yes, Tim wanted to say, but he kept his mouth closed as he thought about the times when Bruce was close to shattering completely. Tim was there—ready and willing to pick up pieces that pierced his skin. 

It was a small price to pay to keep Gotham safe, not only from crooks and villains but from who Bruce could have, would have become. 

Bruce’s rage after Jason’s death made him cold, tough, and distant. 

The long nights of training only reminded him that he wasn’t fast enough, strong enough, smart enough, it hurt but it shaped him—it taught him how to be better. 

Bruce would wear him down, constantly demanding more, and more, and more. But Tim understood—he did. Bruce wanted, needed, Tim to be the best version of himself possible—Jason’s death was a reminder of how fragile everything was, including things that seemed larger than life, things like Robin. 

Those were the better nights—Tim understood and adapted. 

Other nights, when Bruce was still mourning the loss of his second son, he would put their lives in danger—forcing Tim to act fast or bleed out on the streets that would be tainted red if not for the constant rainfall that affected Gotham. 

Even still those nights were still not the worst—Tim learned how to think quickly. 

The worst nights were after long patrols when Tim would leave when morning was breaking—leaving the warmth and love that penetrated every corner of Wayne Manor—returning to his empty home. 

It wasn’t Bruce’s fault, which made it worse. 

Bruce didn’t know about Jack and Janet’s lack of check-ins with their only son. Bruce didn’t know how removed his parents actually were. Bruce didn’t know that sending him back home was the worst punishment imaginable and that Tim would do anything to prolong his time at the manor. 

Bruce didn’t know anything, but Tim did. 

He knew then what he knows now—he was expendable.

He was a burden—help that never went away after the job was done and now just lingered annoyingly. 

He wasn’t Bruce’s son; he wasn’t Dick, Damian, or Jason. 

Tim didn’t need to be Bruce’s son. 

Tim had parents—or he did. 

Now he just had a home that had always been empty and two gravestones to bring flowers to. 

Ra’s had both his hands cupping Tim’s face, forcing Tim’s face up and his mind away from his lingering thoughts about his deceased parents. 

Shame rolled through Tim’s body. 

It wasn’t shame that stemmed because of the situation he was in—backed into a corner with Ra’s invading his space—no that would make sense. It was shame that blossomed when some part of him realized how relieved he felt at Ra’s words.

Ra’s saw the burden Tim had taken on; he was the first one to comment on it—to acknowledge it. 

It felt nice in some twisted and fucked up way. 

“I wouldn’t hurt you like that,” Ra’s said gently, barely above a whisper, “you could be my boy.” 

Even if it was a false promise, the kind words and soft gestures made his skin burn after so many years of feeling ice cold. 

Tim always wanted to be needed and needed to be wanted and here Ra’s was. 

“Join me,” Ra’s said, his thumbs wiping away non-existent tears. “They won’t hurt you again. I promise .” 

The finality of the statement jolted Tim. 

He believed Ra’s. 

It no longer seemed like a false promise—it felt real. 

Too real. 

“I can’t-”

“You can’t-” Ra’s raised an eyebrow. “-or you won’t?”

It wasn’t a bad idea. 

It was a terrible idea, actually. 

But Tim couldn’t help but contemplate it. 

It would be nice—almost like a fail-safe for when Bruce inevitably asked him to leave. If he said yes now, he would have the guarantee that someone else would be there with him—wherever there was. 

He wouldn’t stay in Gotham, he had long since planned to move, but he never figured out where to relocate to. 

Gotham had always been home, in more ways than one. He was a part of the people, he loved them and hated them and wanted to protect them until he died, but…

There was no point for Tim to stay in Gotham anymore. 

Bruce was back. 

Dick was no longer Batman. 

Damian was Robin. 

Jason stopped killing. 

Gotham didn’t need Tim anymore. 

Things were finally how they were meant to be—a completed puzzle that Tim didn’t fit into. 

There was a vigilante for every street in Gotham nowadays—Tim was obsolete. 

He knew what he signed up for—it was a job, not a family that he entered. Tim was a placeholder—nothing more, nothing less—he knew that, he always knew that, but that didn’t make reality hurt any less. It was like expecting a punch in the face—you could prepare for it, plan for it, brace for it, but it still hurt like a bitch. 

Ra’s must have sensed the dilemma stirring in Tim. 

“They underestimate you—everyone underestimates you, but we could show them how wrong they are.” He was staring at Tim, peering down into the whites of Tim's mask. “All you have to do is say yes.” 

The word was ready to leave Tim’s mouth, but he bit his tongue before he spoke. 

Even if Tim wanted to say yes, and some part of him—a part that was growing with each passing second—wanted nothing more than to say yes, Bruce was listening in. 

“I’m in the middle of something right now, Ra’s” Tim said, trying to exert confidence he didn’t have. 

The conversation was draining; the conversation to come, at the Batcave, would be even more draining. He was glad he didn’t have a comm in, it gave him some sense of privacy, but it meant the comments would come in tenfold when he returned. 

Ra’s didn’t seem convinced, but he removed his hands from Tim’s face, backing up as he did. 

Tim finally felt like he could breathe again. 

“Who is Poison Ivy working with?” 

It was direct, to the point, and out of place given the last 10 minutes but Tim needed to know—he wanted to get the information and leave before he did something stupid—like join Ra’s. 

“Me.”

The blood running through Tim’s veins turned to ice. 

“Why?”

“A miscalculation on my side. I had the belief that our agendas aligned,” Ra’s looked at Tim as he said that. “But unfortunately, that is not the case. A small oversight that is now being dealt with as we speak.”

“The death of humanity isn’t part of your agenda?” Tim asked even though he knew the answer, it was a poor attempt at fishing for more information. Ra’s saw most of humanity as a cancer that was poisoning Earth; Poison Ivy saw all of humanity as a cancer. 

He felt more in his element now that the conversation had shifted; the confusion was no longer ever-present in his mind. 

Ra’s moved over towards the door, a small smile on his face. Tim saw shadows moving around and knew that members of the League of Assassins were here—waiting to evacuate their leader. 

“I’m a fair man, Tim.” Ra’s unlocked the door. “As are you.” 

He looked at Tim, a subtle show of respect that Ra’s reserved for those he held in high esteem. 

“Which is why I know you’ll let me leave here without a problem and why my offer to you still stands.” 

Tim bit his lip and shook his head—he wasn’t going with Ra’s. 

“For you, detective, the offer will always be on the table. Contact me when you change your mind.” 

And just like that, Ra’s was gone. 

Tim let out a heavy sigh as he ran his hand through his hair. 

Contact me when you change your mind

…when you change your mind…

…when you change…

…when…

Not if, when. 

----

Nightwing didn’t say anything the whole way back. He remained silent, throwing glances at Tim every so often as they made their way through Gotham and back to the manor, but he never spoke. He never addressed the conversation Tim had with Ra’s, even though he had listened to the whole thing. 

Not too long ago, it would have been weird to see a silent Dick Grayson, flying through the skies of Gotham, but their dynamic had shifted when Dick gave Robin to Damian—now it seemed that the two always existed in silence.

Still, Tim thought Dick would have had something, anything, to say. 

Tim’s mind replayed the words spoken from Ra’s’ mouth—they seemed as sweet as candy and too good to be true. 

People didn’t just keep Tim around.

Ra’s would probably tire of Tim quickly and then where would Tim go?

He would never kill for the man or act for the man—Tim had too strong of morals, but what if there was a spot beside Ra’s where-

What was he thinking? 

Ra’s was a master of tricks and manipulation—he wanted to break Tim, he wanted to use Tim as a weapon, and he was using Tim’s loneliness to get what he wanted. 

Tim followed Dick into the cave, silently scolding himself for being a fool—but it was hard not to fall for tricks that were designed and based around him, his life, his feelings, and his thoughts. Ra’s knew just what to say and Tim was almost desperate enough to agree. 

Bruce was at the batcomputer, eyes locked on the screen, reading over old reports. Dick made his way over to the man, and Tim watched as he leaned down and whispered a few words that made Bruce’s hand tighten around the mouse. 

Tim wasn’t sure what was said, but it didn’t matter at this point. Tim couldn’t go back and change the conversation—what he said or how he reacted—even if he wanted to. There was no reason for Tim to want to—he didn’t want to relive the moment, even if a better outcome was possible. 

Was there a better outcome possible? Ivy was dealt with, Ra’s left, and everything would return to normal. 

That was the best outcome in Tim’s mind. 

Dick and Tim changed—Dick into pajamas, Tim into sweats, and a long-sleeved black shirt that was too big. 

Dick didn’t shower, neither did Tim—there was no need, nothing happened that would warrant it, but Tim still wanted to feel the hot water burn Ra’s touches off his skin. 

He would take a shower when he returned home. 

He had a report to write. 

He would have to wait until Bruce was done before he started. 

Granted, he could start now, but it was better to wait. 

He hated writing reports when Bruce was nearby, he always felt like he was doing them wrong, reverting to a child who needed help formatting pages and spelling basic words like “alley” and “blood-stained”. 

Dick left with a promise of returning with some snacks but the look he sent Bruce suggested he wouldn’t be returning for a while. 

Tim moved closer to the batcomputer, trying to assess how much time it would take before Bruce left—if it was more than an hour, Tim would suck it up and write the report, even if Bruce’s proximity helped highlight Tim’s flaws. 

Bruce cleared his throat, Tim’s eyes moved from the screen to the older man, but he didn’t speak. 

Tim wasn’t sure what there was to say—or if there was anything to say at all. 

He stared at the cracks in the floor, following the long, crooked, lines that spiraled out. Bruce was almost done—Tim just had to pass 15 minutes. The floor would keep him occupied until then. 

“Tim,” Bruce began, spinning around in the chair, staring now at Tim instead of the batcomputer, “are you okay?”

Tim looked up confused. Bruce’s full attention was directed at Tim; an unconcealed look of concern was present on his face.  

“Ra’s and I didn’t fight?” 

It came out as a question and Tim winced. 

Bruce knew they hadn't traded physical blows—so what was he asking Tim? 

“I know,” Bruce replied, earnestly looking at Tim. There was a small pause, a lull in the conversation before Bruce continued. “Are you okay?”

It was the second time that night that Tim felt seen. 

Truly seen. 

Bruce wasn’t looking for something in Tim, Bruce was looking at Tim. 

Waiting, kind and patient, for a response. 

“Bruce-” Tim’s voice cracked. 

“Tim,” Bruce stretched out his arms, holding them open. Tim didn’t hesitate—he threw himself into Bruce’s arms with ease. 

Tim was crying—normally he would be ashamed, but tonight, for just this once, he let himself weep. Bruce’s arms wrapped around him like a sturdy cage, holding him in place, and Tim wanted nothing more than to curl up and be held like this forever. 

It was unprofessional and wrong, but Tim wanted the feeling of Ra’s off his skin. He wanted to be held tight, like he was important, like he mattered, not like he was replaceable, expendable, worth less than others around him. 

Tim wanted someone other than Ra’s to see his worth and his struggles. 

Tim pushed further into Bruce’s space. 

“I’m sorry-” Bruce started. 

“It’s not your fault; Ra’s is a creep,” Tim interjected quickly.

Even though the words Ra’s spoke were nice, and the deal he offered Tim intriguing, the man was still a creep. A predator waiting, lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce and attack whatever he wanted—a predator who knew how to make his victims feel isolated and alone—who knew exactly what to say and how to say it. 

Tim was an easy target—Ra’s didn’t have to lift a finger—Tim was already isolated and alone. He was drifting in the Gotham Sea without a family and with no friends. 

“I’m so sorry,” Bruce repeated and it took a minute to distinguish his shakes from the man holding him. 

Bruce was crying, his arms tightening around Tim as he did, and Tim felt even more off-centered. 

Why was Bruce crying?

“It’s okay-” 

“I hurt you-”

“No you didn’t,” Tim argued back. 

Bruce hadn’t hurt him. 

Even during their first training sessions, Bruce pulled his punches and stopped as soon as it became too much for Tim—stopping even when Tim begged Bruce to continue, afraid that when the training stopped, it would all be over, and Tim would lose the one good thing he had in his life.

Bruce had been at the lowest point in his life and yet he still didn’t lash out at Tim, who was ready and willing to take whatever was thrown at him. Sometimes, Bruce even let him stay at the Manor—it was a rarity, but he cherished the moments when he would wake up to the smells of Alfred’s cooking. 

“I pushed you away,” Bruce muttered, “all you did was try to help and I pushed you away.” 

Tim didn’t know what to say as he clung to Bruce. He didn’t understand why Bruce was apologizing. 

Tim didn’t expect a place in Bruce’s family, Tim already had a family when he became Robin, it would be selfish to have two. 

Bruce did right by Tim. He gave Tim the chance to be Robin, trained him, and fought beside him—trusted him, and that’s all Tim ever asked for. It wasn’t Bruce’s fault that Tim was no longer needed—it was the natural progress of things. 

Tim arrived when there was no one else and now there were so many people waiting and willing to help. 

Tim did his job. 

And he did a good job. 

“How many nights?” Bruce asked.

“What?”

 It seemed as though Tim traded one confusing conversation for another. 

“How many nights did you spend alone at your house?” 

“Bruce-” 

“I thought you preferred returning home, but that wasn’t the reason was it?” 

Tim didn’t answer. 

“I made you feel like a burden,” Bruce continued. “You hate being there, don’t you?”

Tim shook his head timidly, unable to move too much with the grip Bruce still had on him. Dick’s hugs were near impossible to escape but they seemed like light touches compared to Bruce’s. 

“It’s not so bad,” Tim said. 

It was, at first, when he was young and still believed his parents when they said they would be coming home every once in a while. But it was all Tim knew now—he had gotten used to the isolation and lack of family structure. 

All things considered, Tim could have had it worse. 

His parents weren’t around a lot, but they weren’t bad people. 

Tim had no reason to complain. 

Others had it worse and they managed, so why was it so hard for Tim? 

He was overreacting. 

And maybe he got a colder Bruce, one who was more distant than fatherly, but he didn’t need a father. 

“Stay the night-” Bruce finally pulled back and Tim untangled himself from the man’s arms. The hug could have lasted a lifetime and it still wouldn’t have been long enough for Tim. “-please.”

Tim wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t want to intrude-

“Don’t go back to that empty house, Tim,” Bruce added, sensing Tim’s hesitance. 

“Bruce- I- Damian-”

“I’ll talk to him, okay?” Bruce said, one hand gripping Tim’s arm as if he was afraid the moment he let go Tim would disappear. “You always acted indifferent—I didn’t know his words got to you.” 

Tim wiped the tears off his face, blinking away the new ones that threatened to emerge. 

“I’ll- Okay,” Tim finally said. 

“Okay?”

“I’ll spend the night,” Tim clarified. 

 Bruce smiled and stood up. The batcomputer was now idle, the report for tonight wasn’t even started. 

“The report-”

“The report can wait, Tim.” Bruce wrapped his arm around Tim’s shoulder as they walked to the elevator. 

He wouldn’t be returning to an empty house tonight.