Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You’re where?” Dick asks, sure that he must have heard Tim wrong.

“In Blüdhaven,” Tim repeats, sounding far too cavalier for a teenage runaway. “I only had enough change for a minute on the payphone—can you believe they still have these? I guess Supes has to change somewhere, but with the clear glass and all, it doesn’t seem very—”

“Tim, focus,” Dick says, already grabbing his keys and jacket. “Tell me where you are.” Tim gives him the address. It isn’t far, thankfully. Not longer than ten minutes from Dick’s building. “I’m going to pick you up. Stay put, you hear me? Don’t move from that exact spot until I get there.”

He can practically hear Tim rolling his eyes. “Yes, Mom.”

It’s a short trip to the street corner Tim gave him, during which Dick fluctuates between irritation at being interrupted on his one night off a week, and mind-mashing worry as to what the hell his pseudo-little brother is doing in Blüdhaven at ten PM on a school night.

He finds Tim on the sidewalk close to the payphone—he’s always been an obedient kid, if headstrong at times, but all Robins are like that—talking to a homeless lady. “No, no,” he’s saying. “The flash-sideways are in the afterlife. Everything else still happened the way it played out through the seasons. I would know; I watched Lost seven times, plus the DVD commentary.”

The lady gestures with a gnarled hand to Dick when he approaches. “This your brother?”

Tim nods with a smile. “Hi, Dick.”

The woman tells Dick with a wink, “I kept an eye on him for you. Y’can never be too careful on this side of town.”

“Thanks for looking after him,” Dick replies. He gives her a twenty for her trouble, then ushers Tim to the car idling at the curb.

When they’re inside and merging back into traffic, Dick can see that Tim’s hands are shivering and his nose is bitten red from the cold. “Chilly?” Tim shakes his head. Dick turns the heat on anyway. The thin hoodie Tim is wearing is unsuited for the city’s harsh autumn.

“So,” Dick starts. “Does Bruce know you’re here, or do I need to make a phone call?”

“My dad’s got me this week, actually. I only see Bruce on patrol.” It shouldn’t come as a surprise that Tim was with his dad, but it does. Dick knew that Jack was back in Tim’s life and nearly back to full mobility, but Dick also knows that Tim tends to spend more time at Wayne Manor than he does at Drake Manor.

“Does he know you’re here?”

Tim shrugs. “I didn’t tell him where I was going, but it’s got to be on his list of guesses.”

“Christ, Tim. You know I could be accused of kidnapping a minor for this, right?”

“Relax, my dad saw me leave. He’s probably assuming I’ll be back before morning.” Tim opens the glovebox and rummages around. “Do you have any snacks? It was a long two hours.”

Dick turns into a Wendy’s drive-thru. “It took you two hours to get here? Where the hell did you go?” Blüdhaven is only a half hour outside Gotham by car. “I thought you had the Redbird.”

“Dad confiscated my keys after I broke curfew last week.”

“I would have picked you up if you’d called.”

“Well, at first I thought I could just walk, but I got tired of that pretty fast. Then I hitchhiked from Bristol to Burnside where I met this guy with a motorcycle who gave me a ride to the edge of town in exchange for my library card ‘cause I didn’t have any cash on me, but a library can give you infinite knowledge, which is priceless. Then another guy let me ride in the back of his truck all the way to Blüd, but I forgot which building you’re in, so he dropped me off ten blocks away.”

They’re up to the window by now, and Dick schools his horrified expression long enough to order himself a fish sandwich. He turns to Tim. “What do you want?”

Tim leans over Dick to ask the teenager behind the glass, “Is it possible to get the bacon cheeseburger with fries and apple slices?” At her confirmation, he says, “Then I’ll have that. And a chocolate milk. Please.”

By the time they get their food, you’d think it took an extra hour from the way Tim ravenously digs into his burger. It’s well after dinnertime. Dick turns them back onto the street towards his place. “Then what happened?”

“Hm?” Tim catches a drop of mustard on his shirt, licking it off the fabric.

“You hitchhiked to Blüdhaven, and then what?”

“Oh. Yeah, so I started walking until I found a payphone, and that lady from before gave me some change. Then I called you, and that’s about it.”

“Can I ask why your dad couldn’t drive you here? Or Alfred? Or, hell, you couldn’t have gotten a cab?”

Tim stacks his fries onto his burger patty in a crosshatch, covering every spare inch in a layer of salty potato and grease. “It all happened kind of fast. Dad and I got into this huge fight, and it’s not very dignified to go back upstairs for my wallet and then storm out.” Dick is quiet while he eats his sandwich, trying to figure this out. “Dick?”

“I’m just—trying to think if I should call Bruce first or your dad.”

Tim makes a face. “Can we maybe just… not call either of them?”

“Tim, you’re in a strange city you don’t live in, staying with a person your dad barely knows. He’s probably worried sick.”

Tim rolls his eyes and scoffs sourly. “I doubt that.”

“What happened between you two? I thought you were getting along.” Tim and Jack have always had problems, and it’s not Dick’s business to pry, but he pays attention when Tim vents to him about how inattentive his father is. Jack has been improving lately, but Dick still feels better knowing that Bruce is keeping an eye on things from next door. Just in case.

“It was stupid,” Tim says. He dips his apple slice into his chocolate milk. “Most of our fights are stupid.”

“Do you two fight a lot?” Dick inquires.

“Does it matter, Officer Grayson?” Dick winces. Of course Tim is too sharp to miss Dick’s slip.

“Sorry. I’m just trying to get an idea of what happened.” So he knows whether he needs to add child services to the list of people to call.

“He didn’t do anything,” Tim says. “I was just mad, and he got mad at me for being mad, and it spiraled out of control from there. Pretty soon I was on the front lawn and the first person I thought of was you.”

“You could have gone to Bruce,” Dick reminds him. “Alfred. Even Selina would help you out if you asked.”

“I know,” Tim says, eyes downcast. “It was dumb of me to come all the way here. I’m sorry I ruined your night.”

Dick lowers his sandwich. “Tim, I’m not mad about that. You know I like hanging out with you. But what you did was dangerous. You could have gotten kidnapped.” Even a Robin can be overwhelmed in numbers— especially if that Robin has nothing to fight with but his own hands.

Tim gives him a look. “I think I can handle a few kidnappers on my own.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But going out like that without any gear or money was stupid.”

Tim’s head dips, ashamed. He picks the sesame seeds off his burger bun and eats them one at a time. “Sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Dick turns onto his street. “What were you fighting about?”

“Same old stuff. My dad got us reservations at my favorite Tex-Mex place for tonight and promised we’d go together, just the two of us. I rescheduled a date with Ari for it. I told Bruce I might skip patrol if things went well.”

“It didn’t go well, I take it?”

Tim shakes his head. “I waited an hour for him to come home. I had my jacket on and everything. I told Mrs. Mac not to bother making dinner because we were going out. When Dad finally came home, it was just so he could change into a fancy shirt for his date.” Tim doesn’t attempt to cover up the disappointment in his voice. “He invited Dana to a movie instead. He didn’t even remember our dinner until I brought it up. He said he’d order me a pizza instead.”

Ouch. Dick has his fair share of daddy issues when it comes to Bruce, but that has got to particularly sting. “I’m sorry, Tim. That’s not fair.”

“That’s what I said. And I know—” Tim clears his throat, staring stubbornly out the window. “I know he’s got his own life to live, and I shouldn’t be hung up on one stupid dinner. But he keeps saying he wants us to be closer, and I try to give him an inch, and he just— forgets. And the next day he says he’s sorry, so I forgive him, and we start over. Over and over and over. I wish he’d just be honest and say he doesn’t like me instead of telling me he does and not following through.”

Dick has no idea what to say to that. They’ve pulled up to Dick’s apartment building by now—a convenient pause in the conversation, which gives Dick some time to think. They gather their trash and head up to Dick’s place. Tim has been here loads of times—more often when Jack was in the coma. Dick learned early on that Tim can’t stand a quiet house, which makes it a wonder how he’s adapted to sleeping in the manor.

“Sorry about the crappy accommodations,” Dick says as he retrieves an extra blanket from the closet. “The only guests I usually have are the Titans, and we’ve been cuddle buddies since the spandex days.” He makes up the couch for Tim. It’s kind of lumpy, but it’s better than the floor.

Dick says, “You can spend the night, but you know you can’t stay here longer than that, right?” At the heartbroken look that earns him, Dick amends, “I mean, you can. Of course you can. You know I’d keep you the whole week if I could. But your dad’s definitely not going to be cool with you missing school for so long. And Bruce is going to start asking questions soon, if he isn’t already.”

Tim nods sullenly. “I know.”

“I’ll take a sick day tomorrow and drive you back to Gotham.”

From the look in Tim’s eyes, you’d think Dick were sending him to Alcatraz. “I don’t want to go back.”

“He’s your father, Tim.”

“He doesn’t even like me.”

“He loves you. Even if he’d bad at showing it, I know for a fact he does.” That Jack is making so many attempts to become closer with Tim is proof enough, even if he lacks the devotion to follow through on his promises. Love and responsibility don’t always go hand in hand, unfortunately. “I’m not saying what he did was okay, but it’s not my place to judge whether he’s a good parent or not. This is between you and him.”

Tim doesn’t look surprised by the verdict. “That’s reasonable,” he mutters.

Dick grabs a spare pillow from his bedroom and tosses it to Tim. “If he ever did do anything, you know I’d help you out, right? I wouldn’t let you stay there if it wasn’t safe.”

“I think I’m safer with my dad than with Bruce,” Tim says, chuckling hollowly. “At least he doesn’t teach me to fight traffickers with a stick and some batarangs.”

“Believe me, I know.” Dick sits down on the couch beside Tim, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “I’m sorry he canceled on you.”

Tim shrugs. His eyes are a little wet. “It is what it is. I should be relieved. The more he ignores me, the less I need to worry he’ll notice the Robining. Everyone gets what they want.”

“It’s not immature to want to spend time with your dad.” God knows Dick can relate. He and Bruce will always have their problems, but Dick will never miss an opportunity to go back home. He’s more than capable of doing his own laundry and preparing his own meals, but there is something deeply warming about his biweekly trips to Gotham so Alfred can do his laundry and make him a few meals to take back with him.

And Tim’s mother is dead. His dad nearly followed her. Who can blame Tim for holding on tight after all that fear and uncertainty? And who in their right mind wouldn’t blame Jack for rebuffing him at every turn?

Dick ruffles Tim’s hair and politely doesn’t mention the tears wetting his eyelashes. “What do you say to some TV before bed? I’ve got a few episodes of Star Trek taped for you.”

Tim wipes his cheek on his hoodie sleeve and grants Dick a small smile. “Sure.”

“I don’t care, Jack. That doesn’t change the fact that Tim feels like you don’t care about him. He hitchhiked twenty miles in the middle of the night just to get here because he thought you didn’t want him around.”

Tim groans into his borrowed pillow. He must have fallen asleep last night sometime during the first episode. He turns his sleep-crusted gaze to the kitchen, where he can’t see Dick through the doorway, but the apartment is small enough that he can hear his side of the phone conversation loud and clear.

“I’m not saying you’re a bad father. It isn’t my business to decide who’s right and who’s wrong here. This is between you and your son.” There is a short pause as he listens to whatever Jack is saying. Dick sighs. “He’s fine, don’t worry. I gave him the couch for the night. I can send you a pic if you need proof of life. Yeah, I’ll drop him off in a bit. I have no idea when.”

Dick’s voice changes from drained to annoyed. “Look, Jack, the poor kid’s exhausted. I’m not going to wake him up and drag him out the door. We’re going to have breakfast, then I’ll give him some time to relax and get his thoughts together before I take him home. He’s safe with me, I can promise you that.”

Another pause, but Tim can feel the mood shifting. The terrain has changed to something jagged. “What does Bruce have to do with this? Jack, no—I don’t—” He listens for a minute. Tim doesn’t breathe. “If you want to use Tim’s friendship with Bruce as an excuse to neglect your son, that’s fine. I know Bruce would be more than happy to take full custody of Tim. If you’re going to be Tim’s dad, then you need to step up and actually be his dad, or you are going to royally fuck that kid up.”

Tim flinches. He’s torn between being mortified that Dick saw through him so clearly, or touched that he thought it important enough to scold Jack about. Tim’s glad he’s not at home right now to witness the meltdown.

“Whatever, Jack,” Dick says. “I’ll drop Tim off this afternoon.” Judging by his pissed-off sigh, Jack didn’t stick around for a goodbye. It’s quiet for a moment before he hears Dick dial the phone again. The click of the stove turning on. “Hey, Alf, it’s me. Is Bruce in?” The sound of eggs cracking into a bowl. “No, everything’s fine. Just a wayward bird came to Blüd last night. Yeah. He hitchhiked all the way here, can you believe that?”

He gives Alfred a rundown of the night’s events, leaving some details out for Tim’s discretion. Tim figures now is the time to get up. He makes a whole show of it, yawning loudly so Dick will hear.

He shuffles to the kitchen and finds Dick whisking eggs in a bowl, his cell tucked between his ear and shoulder. He mouths a silent, Morning, to Tim and gestures to the orange juice on the counter. Tim goes to fix himself a glass. “Yeah, that was him.” He holds the phone out. “Say hi to Alfred.”

“Hi to Alfred.”

Dick puts the phone back to his ear. “Cool if we come over today? Just an hour or two to buffer before I hand him over to his dad. We can do lunch.”

He listens to Alfred for a moment, then lowers his voice conspiratorially. He must know that Tim can still hear him, but Tim appreciates being kept in the loop if he so chooses. “I don’t know. Probably not. But it can’t be healthy either if it’s gotten to this point, right? I just want to make sure there are plans in place for the next time something like this happens. Yeah.”

He shifts back to normal speaking volume. “You can expect us in a couple of hours. I’ll text you on the way. Yep. See you then.” He hangs up and turns toward Tim. “I know you were listening.”

“Is he mad?” Tim isn’t talking about Alfred.

“He’s worried about you. Scared him to death when you didn’t come home last night.”

“Right.” Tim doubts Jack even thought about his runaway son until he returned home from his date and had no one around to entertain him anymore. “He’s got to be peeved we’re going to Bruce’s first.”

Dick grimaces. “Yeah, I gathered that was a sore spot.”

“He doesn’t like Bruce much,” Tim explains, unnecessary as it is. Anyone can tell that. For all that Bruce helped Tim during the Drakes’ kidnapping and then Jack’s coma, Jack was not thrilled to learn his son had been just dandy while he was gone. “Every time I go over there, he says all this stuff about how I should make friends my own age and how Bruce is ‘grooming’ me and stuff. I think he’s jealous of Bruce.”

Dick’s stance is casual while he pours the eggs into the warmed pan, but Tim knows when Nightwing is on the case. “Do you think he should be?”

Tim sips his orange juice instead of answering. Then, after a quiet speculative moment, he says, “I don’t think I’m a very good son.”

“What are you talking about? You’re a great son. Your dad would be a mess without you. So would Bruce.”

“He’s jealous of Bruce because he knows I love him more.” That stuns Dick into silence. Tim quickly adds, “Or—not more. But enough. Normal sons don’t do that. They don’t just— switch their dad out for a new one. Mom’s dead and he’s all alone, and I’m off playing kid for a guy who already has his own son. Two of them. Bruce doesn’t need me anymore, but my dad does.”

Dick chews his cheek, scrambling the eggs while they cook. “Do you want me to make you feel better, or do you want me to be honest?”

Tim rests his chin on the counter. “Honest. Obviously.”

“Being a parent means taking care of your kid’s emotional needs, as well as the common sense stuff like food and shelter. You know that some babies die from a lack of attention? It’s a real thing. It’s why skin-to-skin contact is so important when people have babies. When a kid is deprived of that kind of nurturing later on, it’s not unreasonable for them to go looking for it somewhere else.”

Tim scowls at the cluttered countertop. “I don’t want you to be honest anymore.”

“Do you think you’re the first person in this room to think he’s a shitty person because of Bruce? My dad’s been dead for over a decade, and I still feel guilty sometimes for letting Bruce take his place.” Dick abandons the stove to give Tim a side-hug. “You’re allowed to love more than one person. It doesn’t make Jack any less your father. And he’s not going to love you any less just because you argue sometimes.”

Tim wouldn’t know how to respond to that even if his voice weren’t clogged with emotion. He buries his face in Dick’s shoulder and they just stand there for a moment in the kitchen, Dick not pulling away or sending Tim off, even when the minutes pass, even when he gets bored. It’s nice. Tim hasn’t been hugged like this in a long time.

“You’re burning the eggs,” Tim mutters eventually, his words muffled in Dick’s shirt.

Dick chuckles and squeezes Tim tighter, even when he struggles to free himself from the bear hug. “They’re better crispy anyway.”

“They’re so not.” Tim pushes against Dick’s chest, gasping for air dramatically in his futile vie for freedom. “You’re smothering me, doofus!”

He can practically hear Dick’s smug smile. “Sorry. Can’t hear you. Not done hugging.”