Chapter Text
- Bruce -
Tim moves into the manor on a cold, dreary Tuesday just after the New Year. Bruce had stood by him at his mother’s funeral just a week prior. He had looked down at the familiar mop of black hair that didn’t quite fit with the immaculate black suit Tim was wearing and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, ignoring the way he could feel Tim tremor as he tried to hold back tears. Bruce tried not to picture a similar scene, two decades prior, where Alfred had done the same for him.
Tim had spent the past several days at his father’s bedside while the man lay in a coma. It had taken Bruce, Alfred, and the hospital social worker combined to get the kid out of the hospital room. Now, he’s quiet, which isn’t the most unusual circumstance for Tim, but usually, when Tim is quiet, Bruce can see the gears in his head turning as he goes over whatever problem he’s trying to solve. Tim’s good at that - solving problems. But there’s no solving grief, and Tim is quiet.
“How about some lunch, lad?” Alfred asks as they set the last of Tim's bags down in the foyer. “I think unpacking could wait.”
“I’m not hungry,” Tim replies.
Alfred looks over at him, worry evident in his gaze. They both knew that Tim had barely eaten since the funeral. “Grief often takes a toll on the appetite,” Alfred says. “So I’m afraid I must insist you at least try to eat.”
Tim shrugs, but he follows Alfred when he moves toward the kitchen, so Bruce counts that as a win.
He sits in the kitchen and watches Tim push his food around the plate for half an hour, taking bites only when Alfred sends a reproachful look his way.
“Can I be excused? I think I just want to lay down,” Tim says eventually.
Bruce tries to smile at him, to send him a warm look. Tim doesn’t even meet his eyes. “Of course, Tim. Whatever you need.”
After Tim leaves, he and Alfred stare down at his full plate of food left on the kitchen counter.
“I think maybe I should ask Dick to come to stay with us for the weekend,” Bruce says. “He might have better luck cheering Tim up.”
“ I certainly hope so,” Alfred replies.
--
Tim doesn’t get out of bed that night or the next morning. Bruce knocks on his door lightly around noon, expecting to hear a groggy response to come in, but no sound comes through the other side. He knocks again.
“Tim, buddy, can I come in?” Bruce asks.
No response. Tim could be sleeping, could just have not heard him, but Bruce feels something uncomfortable settle deep in his gut. He’s worried.
The thing is, he’s been worried about Tim for a while. Since before his parents were attacked. He’d been worried since he’d caught Tim crying in the locker room before patrol last month, since he’d noticed Tim had stopped hanging around the manor before patrol as often, since his grades had started to slip.
He cracks the door open slowly, intending just to peek inside, just to check that Tim is okay.
The bed is empty. It looks like it wasn’t even touched. Bruce bursts into the room, not even bothering to fight the panic that takes over immediately. He remembers when he had checked in on Jason this way. When he’d found his note. When he’d been too late.
“Tim!” Bruce calls, and that’s when he hears a thump from the en suite. Was Tim sick? Was he hurt? Had he been hiding something?
He opens the bathroom door, and there’s Tim. He’s lying in the bathtub, dressed in an oversized t-shirt and pajama bottoms. There’s a pillow at the end of the tub and a blanket draped over the side. Tim rubs at his eyes, looking up at Bruce with confusion.
“Bruce?” He asks. “What are you doing here?”
“Did you sleep in the bathtub?” He asks, ignoring Tim’s question completely.
“Um-” Tim says. “Yes?”
“Is there something wrong with the bed?” Bruce asks.
“No! No - I just sometimes can’t sleep, and this is just better.”
“Okay,” Bruce says, uncertain. “That’s fine. Alfred made lunch.”
“Do I have to?”
Bruce tries to smile at him. “I think so, kiddo. Alfred will have my head if I don’t at least keep you fed.”
Tim rolls his eyes, but it’s good-natured. “Fine, but only for Alfred.”
- Tim -
Really, things had started going downhill for Tim about a month ago when Bruce started investigating the Chisholm case. Daniel Chisholm was the vice president of one of the largest pharmaceutical companies on the East Coast, Ventex Pharma. Two years ago, the company had developed a drug meant to lessen the after-effects that came with fear toxin. But they’d hidden information about the addictive properties of the drug, and when an addiction epidemic began to spread across Gotham, someone had to go down. Chisholm was the one to take the fall, betrayed by his own older brother. He’d been sentenced to three years but released after only nine months - and it seemed he’d made some new business connections on the inside. Counterfeit pills had begun to flood the illegal drugs market. Batman and Robin were on the case.
There was just one problem. Daniel Chisholm had been one of his parents' major funders - he’d provided the money for at least one of their digs each year. And he had something on his parents.. Something on Tim.
If Batman investigated, there’s no doubt he would find out. The man was nothing if not thorough. Tim wasn’t stupid enough to try and keep Bruce off Chisholm’s tail altogether, so he just had to hack into Chisholm’s system and get the evidence off his computers before Bruce managed to get in.
The one advantage Tim had was having access to Bruce’s case file, so anytime Bruce got ahead of him, he could catch up immediately, and then he just had to keep working faster. The time Tim spent as Robin kept Bruce away from the files as well, and the other cases he was working on often caught his attention.
Tim was getting closer. He slept a couple of hours a night, pulling all-nighters the way he usually did for school projects, slamming back energy drinks every hour to keep himself up. But the less he slept, the more he couldn’t stop thinking about what exactly it was that he couldn’t let Batman see. And if he thought about it for too long, he felt shivers down his spine. He couldn’t sleep in his bed, could barely stand to look at it. He couldn’t eat - even just the smell of Alfred’s cooking sent waves of nausea rolling through his body.
The Drakes were new money. Both his parents had come from nothing, and they often reminded him how lucky he was, how hard they worked to give him a better life than they’d had. His mother had been homeless once, when she was eighteen, and her mother had kicked her out - for what, Tim had never learned.
But Janet had taught him a lot of what she’d learned while pulling herself out of the gutter. If you make yourself the smartest person in the room, then you have all the power, she’d told him. The only thing more powerful than knowledge is money, and sometimes for that, you have to make sacrifices. It’s all about keeping the people with the money on your side, Tim.
Just months before Chisholm had been sent to prison, the last expedition his parents had led had been a complete failure. An embarrassment. They had needed something to keep Mr. Chisolm on their side, so Tim had done what he had to. And that was that. Tim was fine. Chisholm was in jail soon after.
Then, three weeks after Chisholm got out of prison, his Mom died, and his Dad fell into a coma.
And then, Tim was very much not fine. There had been one thing Janet had forgotten to teach him. There’s another type of power - something money or knowledge could do nothing to stop. Violence. It’s a lesson he had learned from Bruce and Dick and Lady Shiva, one his Mom must have learned as she died painfully on the floor.
But Tim can’t lose focus of the mission. So every chance he gets, he slips back to his room to work on breaking into Chisholm’s server. The thing was surprisingly well guarded, and even Bruce had been running into roadblocks. He was sure to send it off to Oracle soon, and there was no way Tim could out hack Babs. And that meant that she’d see, and then she’d tell Bruce and Alfred and Dick, and everyone would know.
Bruce seems distracted, though. He keeps peeking in on Tim and asking him to eat. Tim begins to feel the paranoia creep up on him that perhaps this is one of Bruce’s tests. Maybe he suspects Tim is hiding something. Maybe he already knows, and this is some sort of sick game to see how long he’ll keep the lie going.
The nightmares only start to get worse, and as the week trails on, he finds himself not sleeping at all some nights. It’s not just Chisholm in them anymore - it’s his parents crying out for him to save them and his father’s hospital bed. It’s Bruce sneering down at him, calling him pathetic, and Dick pushing him away.
Tim just takes a breath and turns back to the case. Because no matter what else happens, he can’t let Bruce find out the truth.
- Dick -
By the time Friday came around, Dick was exhausted. He’s just finished his second 72-hour shift of the week, and he’d performed two rope rescues in the last day alone. Now he has the next five days off, but he doesn’t feel the relief that usually comes with a break.
Bruce had called him and asked him to come to the manor because he was worried about Tim. He’s taken the week of the funeral off to be with the kid, but it had felt like Tim was miles away whenever he tried to talk to him.
Dick remembered what it was like when he lost his parents. How suddenly, everything was out of control, and it felt like his entire world had disappeared in a matter of seconds. So, when Bruce said that Tim wasn’t doing well, Dick had promised to head to Gotham the moment he finished his shift. He probably would have ended up going over anyway - he’d been plenty worried about the kid on his own.
He knows that if Bruce called him for help, it would be pretty bad. According to Bruce, the kid was barely eating and rarely left his bedroom. As an older brother, it was his job to drag Tim out of his room, kicking and screaming if he had to.
He makes it to the manor in record time for 9 am on a Friday. He sends a quick thank you to the universe that the night shift had been blessedly quiet, and he managed 8 hours with little interruption. Bruce opens the door before he even finishes jogging up the steps.
“Dick,” He says, relief evident in his voice. “I am so glad you are here.”
“That bad, huh?” Dick says.
“He just needs a little extra support right now, chum. I’m hoping he’ll see you as a more neutral party. Every time I try to ask him what’s going on, he just looks at me like he’s afraid of getting caught.”
“You think this is something more than just grief? I mean, the kid had every reason to be upset right now, B.”
“I’m not sure - Alfred and I have both noticed some worrying habits since he’s moved in. I caught him sleeping in the bathtub, and when I asked him why he completely avoided the question. I don’t think he slept again until yesterday afternoon. Alfred noticed that a large number of energy supplements were missing from the cave, and I went up to talk to him. I found him passed out at his desk. He was working on a case; I think he’s obsessing.”
“What’s the case?” Dick asked.
“A new distributor for black market pills. Daniel Chisholm. He's former Gotham high society turned criminal. His family disowned him after he landed himself in jail for fraud.”
“Why would Tim be so fixated on that? After his parents were just attacked….”
“Exactly. The case was pretty low on my radar, honestly. But now I’m thinking I should have Barbara take a crack at it.”
“And in the meantime, you want me to distract Tim?” Dick guessed.
“I just want him to get his mind off this case in general. He hasn’t been taking care of himself. Just get his mind off things, and please , if you can, get him to eat.”
“Okay,” Dick glances up the stairs. “I’m guessing he’s in his room?”
Bruce nods, and Dick heads up the stairs. Anxiety swirls in the pit of his stomach. As much as he tries not to compare Tim to Jason, sometimes the worry builds. If Tim is obsessing over a case, and if this has something to do with his parents, he could get in over his head. What if he isn’t doing enough? Being a good enough brother? What if he lets Tim get himself killed?
Dick takes a deep breath, releasing the worries. They won’t do him any good at this moment. Right now, he has to be there for Tim. When he reaches Tim’s door, he knocks lightly but only waits a few moments before cracking open the door and poking his head in.
Tim whips his head around, automatically pushing up from the desk and into a fighting stance. A sloppy fighting stance because the kid is definitely off his game. He has large dark circles under his eyes, and his face is deathly pale. He’s pretty sure the kid hasn’t seen the sun in days if the blackout curtains tightly covering the windows are anything to go by.
“Woah, sorry, Tim,” Dick says, throwing his hands up in surrender.
Tim drops the stance. “Dick? What are you doing here?”
“I thought I’d visit while I’m not on shift. I was hoping maybe you would want to sneak out and get Bat Burger with me.”
Tim glances over at his laptop. “I don’t know….”
“Come on, Tim! I need my partner in crime if I’m gonna break Alfred’s rules,” Dick says, smiling warmly.
He hesitates, but Dick knows that Tim has a hard time saying no to hanging out with him. One perk of hero worship - it’s really easy to bribe his little brother into spending time with him.
“Okay,” Tim says, eventually.
Dick wraps an arm around Tim’s shoulders. He sniffs dramatically, and lightly pushes Tim away. “But first, you definitely need a shower. You stink!”
“Hey!” Tim says, swatting Dick’s hands away. “Alright, alright. Give me half an hour.”
“I’ll meet you in the family room!”
--
On the drive to Bat Burger, Dick manages to make Tim laugh with his antics and rock out with him to old Green Day songs. They order at the drive-through and Dick drives them over to the lake a couple miles down the road from the manor. He parks by the water, and carefully unwraps his burger.
“So,” Dick says, trying to project casual curiosity. “What were you working on?”
Tim’s shoulders tense. “What?”
“When I came in earlier and startled you. I know you must’ve been in the zone; anything interesting?”
“No,” Tim replies too quickly.
So Dick drops it and turns the conversation to stories from his last shift and the antics of his fellow firefighters. He watches the tension leave Tim’s body as soon as the subject changes and tries not to let the spike anxiety that something is wrong shine through. Right now, he’s here to make his little brother relax. Bruce and the rest of the family are on it. They are not going to fail another kid.
- Tim -
When he gets back to the manor, he’s actually feeling a bit more confident. Dick is always telling him that he needs to take breaks, and at first, he thinks that maybe Dick is right. He feels refreshed and more prepared to tackle the code. He feels lighter than he has since everything with his parents, thinking that maybe this has been the first time since then that he’s managed a smile at all.
That feeling disappears the moment he opens his computer. Bruce sent the file to Barbara. She’ll probably have it cracked within the next few days, depending on how high up on her priority list it is.
That means there’s only one option. Tim will have to break in and connect the server manually if he wants to get in before Babs. The server that's located in Chisholm’s own apartment.
The thought of being back there makes Tim’s stomach drop. He can feel cold sweat breaking out across his skin, and his next breath is ragged. He sinks down to the floor of his bedroom.
He can’t go back there. But there’s no other choice.
For a moment, Tim can picture himself back in that room. Can picture that grin on Chisholm’s face in stark clarity. Can feel where the man had gripped his arm so tightly and said why don’t you come with me? And his Mom and Dad had excused themselves for some fresh air, and stepped out on the balcony to finish their drinks. And they’d left him alone there.
You can’t afford to let your emotions get the best of you, Tim. His mother’s voice echoes in his head. Tim closes his eyes. He wishes she was here right now. She’d tell him to get it together. Life is hard, and the only way to beat the game is to be harder. She’d run her hand through his hair and pull him off the ground. You know, one day I’m not going to be here to pick you up, Timothy. You have to learn to pull yourself up.
Camera flashes echo in his head, but Tim pushes them away.
That day had come a lot sooner than either of them had imagined. So, he took a deep breath and pulled himself up. He has work to do.
- Bruce -
Bruce couldn’t seem to find the connection between the attack on the Drakes and Daniel Chisholm, and it was starting to get to him. Usually, he can tamp down his frustration of not being able to find leads pretty well, but with every passing hour, he can’t help his growing anxiety that there’s something he’s not seeing, and it’s going to end up hurting Tim.
The general connection between Daniel Chisholm and the Drakes was easy to puzzle out. Chisholm had funded some of the Drakes’ largest expeditions, and in return, they’d smuggled artifacts of interest to the Chisholm family to the United States. Mostly early Christian artifacts intended to be displayed in the museum the Chisholm family funded. As far as Bruce can tell, Tim was unaware of his parents' illegal activities. But that still left the big question unanswered: what exactly was Tim looking for?
The more he digs into the Drakes’ past, the clearer it becomes that Tim’s family had some dark secrets. Bruce knew that the Drakes traveled often, but he hadn’t realized just how much time Tim spent alone until he went over their travel expenses and other financials and discovered they often spend half the year or more abroad.
Before Janet’s death, they had been gone for four months. They’d missed Thanksgiving, and the last time Tim had seen his mother alive had been in September. Bruce recalls asking Tim if he had holiday plans with his parents - and Tim had just smiled and said he was excited about the holiday. It’s becoming clearer that Tim has no problem lying to him.
And Bruce can picture Tim, sitting alone in his house night after night, and never saying a word. He can picture it all too well. He considers that perhaps, in Tim’s mind, that kind of thing is no big deal. He remembers the way that when Tim had first started as Robin, he’d pushed himself far beyond his limits in training.
He’d found the boy collapsed on the training mats more than once. Finally, he’d had to sit him down and teach him about tapping out.
“But if I just give up on everything, how am I supposed to learn?” Tim had asked.
“Learning is a process, kiddo. Just because you take a break and rest doesn’t mean you are giving up. It’s making sure your body has what it needs to be able to learn,” Bruce had told him.
Tim had stared up at him, eyes wide and unsure. He’d barely even turned 13 at the time. And he’d looked at Bruce like nobody had ever said anything like that to him before like nobody had ever cared.
Bruce swallows the lump in his throat. If Tim was lying to him, clearly, he hadn’t been as successful in creating a safe environment for the kid as he thought. Maybe I should just go check on him. Make sure he knows that he can tell me anything.
A notification lights up his screen. It’s Barbara. She must have managed to crack the code. He hurriedly hits the accept button, and her face appears on his screen. She looks grim. Red flags immediately go off in his head.
“Bruce,” she says. “We need to talk.”