Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Things start to change on a Friday morning. 

Dick’s in Gotham, visiting from Blüdhaven for the week while his precinct is closed for cleanup, after a hazardous toxin contaminated the entire building. He’d decided to take the opportunity to spend some time with his family. Two birds, one chemical spill. 

As much as he enjoys flying solo as Nightwing, he has to admit it’s been nice teaming up with Batman and Robin this week. They spent the majority of last night tracking down Scarecrow and dragging him back to Arkham. It wasn’t a fun fight by any means, but they scraped by without any death or dismemberment, which is always a plus in Dick’s book. A run-in with fear toxin is never his idea of a good time, but thankfully, everything turned out fine.

Dick makes his way downstairs to the kitchen, yawning and stretching as he enters the room. He wishes Alfred and Bruce a good morning, and Alfred presses a mug of coffee into his hand. He looks around, confused for a moment until his sleepy brain figures out what’s missing.

“Hey, where’s Timmy? Is he sleeping in?” 

Alfred sighs, but he doesn’t say anything. Bruce hardly looks up from the morning’s paper. 

“He’s been at home since last night,” he says, turning the page. “Why do you ask?” 

And, what? Why isn’t Tim staying with them? Dick has so many questions, and the unaffected expression on Bruce’s face isn’t helping the unease swirling around in his stomach.

“Didn’t he get hit with the toxin, too?” Dick frowns, and his adoptive father nods, brow furrowing as he reads one of the headlines.

“I gave him the antidote before I sent him home,” Bruce replies. The silence must linger for a moment too long, because he finally looks up and meets Dick’s eyes. “He’s fine, chum.”

Logically, Dick knows he’s right. The antidote neutralizes the toxin and starts working almost immediately, but still, it doesn’t sit well with Dick. Everyone responds to neurotoxins differently, though, and a person’s reaction can change with each exposure. It’s why hospitals keep patients overnight for observation after a run-in with Ivy’s pollen, Joker gas, or fear toxin. The Bats have the same protocol, or at least, that’s what Dick thought. He takes a sip of his coffee, chewing on his next words before he speaks.

“I’m going to check on him,” he says after a minute. He offers Bruce a smile, hoping to ease any implication of an accusation in his tone. “Just for my own nerves’ sake.” 

Alfred gives him an approving nod and passes over a tin with muffins inside—still warm from the oven. Dick grabs his coat and keys and heads out to the garage. He’ll offer Tim a ride to school while he’s at it. 

The drive isn’t far, and soon enough, Dick finds himself ringing the doorbell, waiting for his little brother to open the door. He waits, rocking back and forth on his heels, until he hears footsteps approaching. Tim answers, and Dick is suddenly very, very glad he stopped by.

Tim looks rumpled, not just in a sleepy, barely awake kind of way, but in a disheveled way—the kind that only plagues someone after a restless night. There are dark shadows under his eyes, and his expression seems more than a little haunted. 

“Dick?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. His voice is a wreck, like he’d been screaming. Dick’s heart twists in his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“I didn’t realize you went home yesterday,” Dick says sheepishly. He’d been the first one to head upstairs, after all. “I wanted to check up on you.”

“Oh,” Tim says, blinking in surprise. “Why?” 

“Because I care about you,” Dick says, keeping his tone light. He doesn’t want to spook his skittish little brother, as he tends to whenever he gets a little too heartfelt for Tim to handle. “Here,” he says, handing the tin over. “Alf made muffins.” Tim seems grateful enough for the change of topic, judging by the way his shoulders lose some of the tension lining them.

“Thanks,” Tim says. “I’m okay though. Bruce gave me the antidote before I left.”

“You look like you had a rough night,” Dick replies with a frown. He brushes a thumb against the shadows under one of Tim’s eyes. “You should stay home today, kiddo.” 

“I’ve gone to school after worse nights,” Tim says, shrugging. He tries to smile, but it comes across as pained rather than reassuring. “Really, I’m okay.” 

“How long did it take for the antidote to kick in?” Dick asks, raising a brow. He hedges around why he’s really asking, opting for an explanation Tim will actually accept. “We’ll have to add yesterday’s exposure to your file, since no one monitored you last night.” 

“Average response,” Tim replies. “The antidote took its usual time to start working—about four hours.”

“Four hours?” Dick feels like he’s going to be ill. It should be immediate, and if Tim has a delayed response to the antidote, they’re going to have to reformulate. If this is his typical reaction, they should’ve reformulated ages ago. “Bruce knows that’s average, right?” He watches as Tim nods, heart sinking. He’s going to tear Bruce to shreds over this. “Okay, gotcha. I didn’t know that. Must’ve been a long night.” He hums sympathetically and reaches out to ruffle Tim’s hair. “How about instead of just staying home, you come back to Haven with me? We can spend the weekend together.”

Despite his clear exhaustion, Tim manages to look elated. Dick smiles, fighting past his anger to focus on the kid in front of him. He tells Tim to go pack a bag and waits in the foyer as Tim scurries off to his bedroom. As soon as the kid ducks out of sight, Dick lets his eyes shut and runs through some breathing exercises. He can’t let Tim see how upset he is, because knowing that kid, he’ll assume it’s his fault.

Dick can’t understand why Bruce would let him walk home by himself after exposure to fear toxin. Even if the antidote had worked like it should have and started reversing the toxin’s effects within the first few minutes, he shouldn’t have been left alone. For Bruce to send him away, and worse, to send him away knowing he’d be suffering for hours—it’s just not right. He knows Bruce never wanted another Robin, but he has one now. He can’t justify pushing Tim away last night under the guise of keeping things only between Batman and Robin, not Bruce and Tim, especially not when Tim needed them to make sure he’d be okay. Robin isn’t just a mask. There’s a living, breathing kid underneath the cape, and he needs the adults in his life to take care of him, even beyond Robin.

It breaks Dick’s heart that Tim doesn’t seem to understand that. 

The kid comes bounding back down the stairs with a bag slung over his shoulder, and Dick hopes his smile isn’t too strained. 

“Do you need to let Mrs. Mac know that you’re heading out?” Dick asks.

“What do you mean?” Tim asks. He frowns adorably, the picture of innocent confusion.

“Is she not awake yet?”

“Uhh, I dunno. I guess I can call her, but I don’t know why it can’t wait. She’s not going to come over until Tuesday afternoon.”

“Wait, she doesn’t stay here with you?” 

Tim shakes his head, and Dick’s heart sinks to somewhere around his toes. He knows Tim’s parents are on an archaeological dig in Cairo, but he didn’t know Tim was alone. He’d thought Mrs. Mac was a live-in housekeeper. She’s not even coming over for another few days? 

He’s trying hard not to think of Tim wandering around that big, empty house, caught up in whatever hallucination the fear toxin made him see. What if he’d fallen down the stairs? What if his heart stopped before the antidote could work?

Could Dick have lost another little brother?

What was Bruce thinking?

“Okay,” Dick says, fighting back the worry to keep his voice even, “well, I guess she can call you out of school in a little while, then.” 

“No need,” Tim replies with a shrug and a grin, “I can change my attendance record myself.”

This adorable, frightening child will be the death of him.

The drive to Blüdhaven is a quiet one, with both of them lost in thought. Dick hopes Tim isn’t dwelling on whatever awful things he saw under the toxin’s influence. He doubts Tim will talk about it; the kid has always been closed off when it counts. 

Maybe a distraction will help. Dick was planning on surprising Tim for his birthday next weekend, but he can always get another gift for him.

“I got you the new Wendy the Werewolf Stalker special edition box set,” he says.

Tim turns to him with wide eyes, and it’s clear Dick has caught him off-guard. After a moment, the kid lights up.

“Can we have a marathon? The new season is really good,” he asks. 

“Only if you let me put pepper on the popcorn.”

“And extra butter?”

“Of course. I’m not a heathen,” Dick says. Tim gives him a skeptical look, and Dick grins as innocently as he can.

“You like your coffee extra sugary,” Tim argues, “and that’s heathen behavior.”

“Sure, Jan.”

“I thought I was Cindy!” Tim says, aghast. He can’t stop the laughter bubbling up between the words.

Dick parks outside his apartment building, pleased to hear Tim cheering up. Dick snags Tim’s bag and locks the car behind him, leading the way to his apartment. He’s determined to make this a good weekend for his little brother. It’s the least the kid deserves.

Chapter Text

Tim is asleep on the sofa, tucked under a knitted throw Dick draped over him. His cheek is pillowed by his hand, and he’s snoring quietly. Dick thinks he looks a bit like a baby chipmunk. He moves to the kitchen, puts the leftover pizza in the fridge, and pours himself a glass of water. He takes a slow breath. The water is cold, as is the phone in his hand. Dick sets the glass on the counter and hits the dial button. 

Bruce answers on the third ring.

“I’m about to leave for the night,” he says, sounding distracted, “did you need something?” 

“Just wanted to let you know that Tim’s with me,” Dick replies, fighting to keep his tone open. He doesn’t want to pick a fight, but he will if he has to. “He mentioned something earlier that had me a bit worried, B. I wanted to talk about it.”

He gets a grunt in response—Bruce’s typical way of telling him he’s listening.

“He told me the general fear toxin antidote we use takes an average of four hours to be effective. He was alone for most of that time last night, and that concerns me.”

“It’s likely he would need his own strain of the antidote for it to have its usual instantaneous effect, which would take just as much time to synthesize for each strain of the toxin,” Bruce says, “but I fail to see the need for concern regarding last night. He was safe.”

“He was completely unsupervised,” Dick argues. “He could have had a poor reaction, or he could’ve hurt himself while he was hallucinating. How is that not concerning to you?”

“This has never been a problem before,” Bruce says, sounding confused. Dick hates that tone of voice because it makes him feel like Bruce sees him as just another puzzle for him to solve. He’s a person, not a mystery, and all Bruce has to do to figure him out is to communicate with him. 

“I didn’t know about this before today,” Dick admits. “That’s on me, yes, but I’m worried about it now that I do know about it.”

“Tim is smart enough to keep safe,” he says, “so I wouldn’t worry. He knows how to take care of himself.” Dick is about to reply when Bruce speaks again. “I’m heading out for the night. We’ll talk soon.” Bruce hangs up, and Dick doesn’t feel any better after the conversation. He doesn’t understand how Bruce doesn’t see the problem for what it is. 

Robin isn’t just a mask; he’s a child. Dick scrubs a hand over his face, sighing. He knows that Tim was right about Bruce’s downward spiral after Jason’s death, but every time he’s confronted with the reality of it, he can’t help but be surprised. Part of Bruce died with Jason; the kindness and gentleness that bled from Bruce to Bat is gone. He’s only ever Batman with Tim, never just Bruce. 

Dick hardly sees his father in the man anymore. He knows Bruce cares, but glimpses of anything beyond the cowl are rare. Tim isn’t a son to him—merely a soldier. Something in Dick’s heart aches at the thought. Tim is a bright kid, and he hates to think that Bruce isn’t giving him the attention he needs to keep him safe outside of the mask. Dick supposes the responsibility falls to him. Tim stirs as he makes his way back into the living room, sitting up with mussed hair and bleary eyes.

“Did I miss the end of the episode?” He asks.

“Nah, I paused it when you fell asleep,” Dick replies.

“You didn’t have to,” Tim says, frowning a little, like he doesn’t understand why Dick would consider him. Heart aching, Dick reaches out and ruffles his hair. 

“I wanted to wait,” Dick says. He pokes Tim in the ribs. “It’s more fun watching together, anyways.”

“Oh,” Tim answers, looking surprised, “Well, I’m awake now if you want to keep watching?” 

“You need your sleep,” Dick says, ruffling Tim’s hair. “We can order breakfast tomorrow from Gina’s Diner, if you’d like.” 

“Are you trying to bribe me into going to sleep?” Tim asks, raising a brow.

“Depends on whether or not it’s working.”

“Goodnight,” Tim says, laughing. “You should get some rest, too.” 

“Will do, baby bird,” Dick promises. 

He offers Tim a warm smile. He’s a thoughtful kid, and Dick appreciates that almost more than anything else about him. After all, his kindness led him to Dick’s doorstep, demanding that Batman needs a Robin for the good of the people of Gotham. That kindness led him to taking the cape himself, and, as a result, to becoming Dick’s little brother. He can’t help but to be grateful. Tim himself deserves a little more kindness in his life. It almost seems like Tim is constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop—always so hesitant to accept the same consideration he so easily gives to others.

He’ll go to bed as he promised, but first, Dick wants to do a little research. 

The Drakes are in Türkiye. They’ve been in Türkiye for eight weeks, and prior to that, they were in Micronesia for five weeks. Mrs. Mac comes by twice a week to tidy the house and deliver groceries. A groundskeeper comes by once a month to tend to the lawn. Tim is otherwise alone. Dick tracks flight logs, spanning years, and forms a grim picture. Since Tim turned five, his parents have spent an average of 9.4 days in Gotham per year. 

In hindsight, it explains a lot about Tim and his behavior. Dick thinks back to the shy, almost surprised smile on Tim’s face any time Dick gives him affection—a hug or a hair ruffle. The way he soaks up attention like a sunflower drinks in light makes so much more sense with this new context. He’s so alone. Sure, Robin has Batman, but who does Tim Drake have? 

Me, Dick thinks, he has me.  

He knows Tim deserves better, especially after Dick failed his first little brother. He just hopes he’s enough. Somehow, he’s the best the kid’s got, and he can’t let him down. He can trust Bruce to protect Tim as Robin, with Nightwing’s help, of course, but Dick realizes now that there’s no one else looking out for Tim as a civilian. He’ll have to find a way to check in on the kid more throughout the week.

His mind is spinning, but he goes to bed, hoping to get some sleep. It takes a while for him to drift off, and when he does, he dreams of falling.

In the morning, they decide to walk to the diner, rather than order in. It’s a beautiful day, if a little windy. Tim is still half-asleep as they walk, stumbling along like a baby deer, so Dick fills the drowsy silence with chatter. Dick didn’t get much rest the night before, but he’s doing his best to be as chipper as he can for Tim’s sake. The dark shadows under his brother’s eyes look a little lighter this morning, so at least one of them slept well. 

Gina’s Diner doesn’t look like much. The building is old and worn down; the vinyl booths are cracked and faded, and a broken jukebox takes up a corner of one wall. The food makes up for the lack of atmosphere, though. Dick had thought to investigate when he first moved to Blüdhaven, convinced the food had to be laced with something addictive, but it really is just that good. Gina herself had been amused rather than offended when Nightwing came snooping around.

Gina grins when she spots Dick and Tim enter the diner. Dick is pretty much a regular at this point, and he’s brought Tim almost every time the kid visits. 

“Mornin’ boys,” she greets warmly. She nods toward a booth in the back corner of the diner, a strand of graying hair falling into her eyes. “Take a seat, and I’ll be with you in a minute.” She bustles over after she finishes wiping down one of the tables, notepad in hand. “Hi sweet pea,” she says to Tim, “keeping your big brother out of trouble?”

“It’s a tough job, Ms. Gina,” Tim replies. 

Dick grins. The first time Gina called them brothers, Tim had flushed a bright red. Dick knows that Tim had been worried Dick would be offended, but when he caught sight of the warm look on Dick’s face, he’d relaxed and smiled shyly back at him. He’s glad Tim seems more comfortable with the title now. It’s one he’s gladly given as many times as he can, but it’s different coming from someone outside their dynamic. Dick likes that people can see the two of them and think of them as brothers. 

They both order their usual—coffee and waffles for Tim, and a latte, an omelet, and hashbrowns for Dick. He knows Tim will steal a bite or two of the hashbrowns, but he doesn’t mind. While they wait for their food, Dick peppers Tim with questions about the upcoming week. That’s how he learns that Tim has a photography competition that Friday. 

Dick grins. He has an idea.

Their breakfast is incredible, as always, and Gina gives Tim a free apple fritter to go. Dick loops an arm around Tim’s shoulders as they walk back to his apartment. They’ll continue their Wendy the Werewolf Stalker marathon for a while, and if Tim wants to venture out later, Dick will take him to the arcade. He’s determined to make this a great weekend. And after he drops Tim back off in Gotham on Sunday, Dick will figure out the best way to surprise him for the competition on Friday and his birthday the following day. 

In the meantime, he plans on working on how to take care of the kid—physically, mentally, and emotionally—the way he deserves.

Chapter Text

Taking classes in the summer to graduate early isn’t Dick’s idea of a good time, but Tim has never complained about his schedule. Sometimes, Dick wonders if that’s because Tim genuinely wants to graduate early or if he’s just been taught by his parents not to complain. Either way, he finds himself at Tim’s school on Friday evening, wandering between displays to look for his little brother.

He spots Tim talking animatedly to the judges circling his booth. Dick grins as he approaches, watching in amusement as Tim talks with his hands, pointing and gesturing as he explains his artistic process. He spots the exact moment Tim recognizes him, eyes going wide with surprise. He grins as Dick walks over, his whole face lighting up. 

“You came!” Tim says brightly. The joy in his tone mingles with something a little too surprised for Dick’s liking. 

“Of course I did,” Dick replies, smiling back at him, “and I’m taking you out for ice cream afterwards.” 

“You don’t have to,” Tim says shyly. “It’s not a big deal, just a school competition.”  

 “I want to,” Dick says, poking his little brother’s shoulder. “I’m also dragging you to Blüd afterwards, and we’re going to celebrate your birthday tomorrow.” 

“Wait, really?”

“Of course! I already ordered a cake from Gina, too,” he says with a wink. “We can find something fun to do—whatever you want.”

“You must be Tim’s brother,” one of the judges says. She’s older, with kind eyes and smile lines.

Dick nods, ruffling Tim’s hair in the most obnoxious way he can. Tim squawks, indignant.

“I’m disowning you!” He says, pushing Dick away with a laugh. 

The judges chuckle, moving on to the next display, and Tim grins up at Dick. 

“There are only a few more entries the judges have to look at,” he explains. “We should be able to leave soon.” 

“I want to look at your photography, first,” Dick says. He faces the prints, marveling at the use of color and composition to create more interesting photos. He whistles lowly. “Dang, Tim, you’re really talented. Do you have a favorite?”

Tim points to a photo near the center of his display. It’s of two birds in a tree—a bluebird and a tiny robin, huddled together against the chill of a Gotham morning. Dick recognizes the background from the garden of the Drake estate. His heart feels like it’s melting in his chest, warm with the affection he has for his little brother. He drags Tim close into a hug.

Dick isn’t surprised when Tim is announced as the winner, but that doesn’t stop him from being fiercely proud of him. They go out for ice cream to celebrate, and Tim smiles broadly the whole time. 

Tim’s birthday is warm and sunny, and it’s perfect. Dick gives Tim a new skateboard and takes him out for a visit to the local skate park. They have cake from Gina’s and the best pizza Blüd has to offer. He manages to surprise Tim that evening with a visit from his Young Justice teammates, and the hug Tim gives him in thanks is bone-crushingly tight. The kids stay up too late, eating too much junk food and watching too many movies, but it’s worth it for the way Tim smiles the entire time he’s surrounded by his friends. By the time Dick has to take him back to Gotham as Sunday draws to a close, Tim can’t stop chattering about how great the whole weekend was.

He says it’s the best birthday he’s ever had. Dick pokes him in the ribs and argues that it’s the best he’s had so far.

“We could use your help in Gotham,” Oracle says in his comm. Dick stops mid-patrol and makes his way toward his bike, asking for details as he crosses rooftops. “Batman’s off chasing Killer Croc, and Robin was dealing with a bank robbery. Things went south, and the thieves took him hostage.” He hears Oracle pause as he reaches his bike and starts the engine. Dread pools in his stomach. “They’re threatening to kill him, N. Get here as soon as you can.”

“On my way,” Dick replies. “Can you handle any cameras for me? I’m about to break a lot of traffic laws.”

Oracle hums the affirmative, and Dick races off to Gotham. The trip usually takes around 45 minutes, but with Dick weaving around cars at breakneck speeds, he makes it to Gotham in less than 20. He finds the bank in question and sneaks inside, careful not to warn any of the thieves of his presence. He knows Robin knows he’s here, though, judging from the way Robin relaxes a fraction as soon as Dick spots him. The kid’s head is bleeding from a nasty cut, and his shoulder looks dislocated. Protective fury washes over Dick, and as he charges, leaping into the chaos with a vengeance, he’s more than happy to remind the perpetrators exactly what a pissed-off Nightwing is capable of.

Once the thieves are bound, most of them unconscious, Dick frees Robin from his bindings and helps him to stand. Robin sways a little, steadied by his older brother.

“I’m okay,” Tim murmurs. His voice slurs, and his movements are sluggish, like he’s moving through molasses. “Thanks for the save, Wing.”

“Of course,” Dick replies. He helps Tim out of the building and leads him toward his bike. “Let’s get you back to the Cave and patched up, okay?” He unmutes his comm as he helps Robin onto the bike. “Hey B, I’ve got the baby bird, and we’re on our way back to base. Everything good with Croc?”

“I have it handled,” Bruce says shortly. Judging from his clipped tone, he’s angry about something. “Waylon Jones is headed back to Arkham as we speak.”

“Glad to hear it,” Dick replies easily. He’s used to navigating Bruce’s foul moods by now. “We’ll see you at home. Nightwing out.”

He mutes himself again but doesn’t sever the connection. As he drives back toward the Manor with Tim tucked carefully in his arms, he hears Batman speak again, to Robin this time.

“You should’ve been able to handle that situation on your own, Robin.” 

“Sorry B,” Tim says softly, voice meek despite the syrupy quality to it. “I know I messed up.”

“I’m disappointed in you,” Bruce continues, voice sharp with annoyance. “Nightwing shouldn’t have needed to come here tonight. He has his own city to take care of—people who need his help and can’t get it now.” 

“Should’ve been better,” Tim says softly. “It’s my fault.”

“I expect perfection from you, Robin. We’ll have to increase your training,” Bruce says. “Mistakes like the ones you made in the field tonight are unacceptable.”

Dick can’t reach up to unmute his comm, no matter how much he wants to yell at Bruce to knock it off. He won’t risk taking his hands off the handlebars or losing his grip on his little brother. Thankfully, it isn’t long before they’re back in the Cave, and once Dick helps Tim over to the med bay, he’s finally able to chime in.

“That’s uncalled for, Batman.” His tone is frigid. “Robin is injured. You should show more care for your partner’s well-being than for whatever shortcomings you think you see in him. How many times did I play the Boy Hostage role when I was Robin? You’ve never spoken to me like that after a kidnapping. What is wrong with you?” 

“You should’ve told me Robin was injured,” Bruce snaps. “He’s coherent enough to hear what he needs to, though. Mistakes in the field are costly, Nightwing. You know this as well as I do.”

“What I know is that you need to back off,” Dick says, matching his tone. He can feel himself start to lose his grip on his temper and fights to control it. He doesn’t want to explode into an argument with Tim around. “Look, I’m going to get R patched up, and then I’m making sure he gets some sleep. You’re going to leave him alone until you’ve cooled off and he’s well-rested enough to defend himself against you being an asshole to him.”

He cuts his comm and tosses it on the table next to the cot Tim rests on. He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, taking a moment to calm himself down before he shifts focus to helping reset his brother’s shoulder and disinfecting the cut on his head. Luckily, he doesn’t need stitches, so patching him up doesn’t take long. 

“Come on, kiddo,” Dick says, gently ushering him up. “Let’s get you upstairs and into bed.”

Tim’s brow scrunches adorably. 

“Upstairs and…outside? Next door?” He asks. He looks like he could fall asleep standing up, much less make it to his house without losing the fight to stay awake. When Dick shakes his head, Tim frowns. “I don’t have a room here.”

“Stay in my old room, then,” Dick says with a shrug. “Problem solved.”

“Bruce doesn’t want me here,” Tim argues. “Just—can you just drive me home instead?”

Dick sees the desperation in his expression and relents, hating himself as he nods. Tim’s relief is stark, and it hurts Dick’s heart. This should be his home. 

They change into civvies and head back out of the Cave, thankfully making it out of there before the Batmobile returns for the night. Neither one of them wants to deal with Bruce tonight. When Dick parks in Tim’s driveway, Tim turns to him and thanks him for the ride, fumbling with his seatbelt. Dick manages to get out of the car and over to the passenger side before Tim frees himself. 

“Let’s go,” Dick says, jerking his chin toward the empty house. He grins at Tim’s confused look and softens. “I’m going to stay here tonight, just in case you need anything. I’m sure your parents can spare some couch space.”

“Take the spare room,” Tim says, still looking baffled. “You don’t have to stay. Unless you’re too tired to make it back home. I mean, you’re more than welcome to stay here. You don’t have to, though.” 

Dick slings an arm around Tim’s shoulders, guiding him inside.

“You deserve to have someone looking after you, kiddo. Especially when you’re hurt. I want to stick around.”

 Tim seems uncertain, but he doesn’t argue, and Dick takes that as a win.

Chapter Text

“My parents are coming home,” Tim says, and Dick has a hard time determining the tone of his voice over the phone. He presses his cell between his ear and shoulder, balancing on one foot to tie his shoe. “I think they want me to attend the Wayne Gala with them over the weekend.”

“Bruce asked me to go, too,” Dick replies. “At least misery will have company.” 

Tim snorts as Dick grabs his keys, and he smiles at the sound of his little brother’s laugh. He locks the door behind him and starts down the stairs. 

“I’m actually on my way to Gotham now,” Dick says. “I should be able to join you and B tonight.”

“That’s great!” Tim says brightly. “I was planning on training in the afternoon. I can show you the progress I’ve made with that flip you taught me last time.”

“Looking forward to it, baby bird.” 

As much as Dick likes the home he’s made for himself in Blüdhaven, he sometimes wonders if he should relocate back to Gotham. Then he thinks about Bruce and how suffocating the man can be, and he stops thinking about it. He wonders how Tim is managing, grateful he can check in with him in person later that day.

Alfred greets him with a hug and a fresh pot of tea. Dick sits at the kitchen counter, catching up with his grandfather, and eventually, Bruce ambles in, presumably on the hunt for coffee. It’s already late afternoon, but Dick has a hunch he’s just waking up after a long night of patrol. Bruce blinks a little at the sight of him, and Dick offers him a hesitant smile. He never knows where he stands with Bruce anymore. They butt heads more than they talk civilly, but he’s still Bruce, as frustrating as he might be. Not to mention, their last conversation didn’t go well.

“Hello, son,” Bruce says with a nod. “It’s good to see you.”  

“You too,” Dick replies, taking the olive branch. “How’s your week been?” 

They fall into a familiar, if stilted, rhythm. The small talk is fine, but Dick knows he’ll eventually have to tread into uncomfortable territory. 

“How’s Tim doing?” 

“He’s doing well,” Bruce replies. “He hasn’t made mistakes in the field since the bank robbery incident. His eye for detail in his detective work is impressive, and it’s improving by the day. His strength and endurance still need improvement, though.” 

Dick raises an eyebrow. 

“I meant personally,” he says, “Tim, not Robin.”

“Ah,” Bruce says, “Tim is managing his responsibilities well. His grades are steady.”

“Is he keeping up with his hobbies? His civilian friends?”

“To my knowledge, yes,” Bruce answers, sounding uncertain. 

“You really should get to know him better,” Dick says, trying to keep his voice light. He doesn’t want Bruce to see this conversation as a challenge. “He’s a good kid, you know.” Dick weighs his options, unsure if he wants to bring the topic back to Robin. He knows Bruce will respond better with the right motivation, but he doesn’t want this to be all about their vigilantism. “Trust comes with familiarity,” he finally says, “and ultimately, that’s what makes you better as a team, both in and out of the cape.”

Bruce sighs, but he looks thoughtful. 

“Tim mentioned that he’ll be going to the gala this weekend,” Dick offers. “Apparently the Drakes are coming back to town.” 

As furious as he is with Bruce for the way he’s been treating Tim—as nothing more than a soldier—he still has hope that things can improve. Bruce is stubborn as a mule and emotionally inept, but he can learn. It just might take some nudging in the right direction, first. 

He hopes Bruce is willing to change. For Tim’s sake.

Dick hops off the counter and heads toward the door, stretching his arms above his head as he walks. 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going down to the Cave. Tim and I are going to practice acrobatics when he gets here. We’re going to make the most of his free time before his parents’ flight lands.”

It’s strange, seeing Tim with his parents. His smile is more brittle, self-assured in a subtly practiced way. Dick only sees the undercurrents of unease because he knows the kid so well. Tim brightens the tiniest bit when he sees him, and Dick smiles at him.

“Jack, Janet, welcome!” Bruce says with a broad, vapid grin. His Brucie persona is in full force, and Dick fights the urge to roll his eyes. “How are your travels treating you?”

“Very well, thank you,” Janet says as Jack shakes Bruce’s hand. “We just returned from a Megalithic site in Malta.”

“Fascinating work you two do,” Bruce replies with a chuckle. “It’s all far over my head, of course, but it sounds like a grand time.”

Jack and Janet launch into an explanation of their latest findings, and Dick takes the opportunity to chat with Tim.

“It hasn’t even been an hour, and I’m already sick of this suit,” Dick says by way of greeting. Tim’s smile turns wry at the edges.

“Only four more to go,” he says.

Dick elbows him for that, and despite it being nothing more than a gentle nudge, he sees the way Tim’s expression tightens. 

“Tim—”

“Don’t,” Tim interrupts, voice soft but tone firm. His eyes flick back to his parents, still absorbed in their conversation with Bruce. 

Dick takes him by the elbow—tossing a quick word over his shoulder about getting some refreshments—and leads Tim away. 

“Talk to me,” Dick says once they’re out of earshot.

“It’s nothing,” Tim replies stubbornly. He frowns at Dick even as he accepts a glass of water from him. “I’m fine, okay?” 

“I need a better answer than that, Tim.”

“I’m just a little on edge. My parents are already annoyed with me, and I really can’t afford to screw up tonight.”

“What happened? Why are they annoyed with you?”

“I’ve got straight A’s in school, but they still think my grades are too low,” Tim says with a sigh. “Ninety percent in a class isn’t good enough. They won’t accept anything below ninety-five.” He looks away, refusing to meet Dick’s eyes. “Mom told me I have to quit the photography program I’m in, so I can get my grades up.” 

“But you’re one of the top students in your year,” Dick argues, perplexed, “and also probably the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

Tim shrugs, defeated. He looks small and exhausted.

“If I don’t behave perfectly at this gala, they’ll be even more upset with me. I just…” He pauses, searching for the right words. “I want to make them proud of me. I feel like I always manage to screw up somehow before I reach the mark.”

“That’s stupid, Tim. Your parents should be more than proud of you. You’re a great kid.” 

Another shrug. Dick wants to wrap him up in a warm blanket and give him a cookie, but he doesn’t think high society would approve. He makes a note to himself to get a dozen cookies from Gina’s before Tim’s next trip to Blüd.

“Regardless,” Dick says. He waits for Tim to look up before he continues, “I think you’re great, so at the very least, you have a big brother who’s proud of you.”

That gets a smile out of Tim, and it’s the first one of the evening that looks genuine—like it’s really Tim talking to him and not some pod person or robo-child in his place. It takes a valiant effort not to ruffle Tim’s hair and ruin the effort it probably took to get it so neat for the gala.

 “Thanks, Dick,” Tim says. He glances back at his parents and freezes. “Oh man, they’re looking this way. I think they’re done talking to Bruce. Gotta go.”

Tim rushes off to rejoin his parents, and Dick is left watching him go, uncertain. He’s not sure if anything he said managed to sink in and make the kid feel better. Jack and Janet Drake have their own gravitational force on Tim, constantly drawing him back and pulling him down whenever they’re near. Rare as it is, it’s still hard to see when it does happen. Inevitably, when they leave again, Tim will bounce back, but it aches to see him be so hard on himself.

Dick takes another minute to try some of the hors d'oeuvres before he thinks he’s able to brave the crowds. He’d much rather be soaring over the city right now, looking for trouble. Dick knows he’s more than charming when he wants to be, but he doesn’t appreciate the mind games he has to play when he attends events with Bruce. Keeping up with every snippet of conversation, tidbit of gossip, or word dripping with thinly veiled scorn all feels like navigating a minefield. It’s exhausting, and now he doesn’t even have the comfort of good company. Bruce has drifted off into a circle of wealthy businessmen, chatting idly about WE stock and investments, and Tim’s parents are watching him like a hawk.

Dick manages to keep an eye on Tim throughout the rest of the party, but he isn’t able to talk with him again until the event ends and he and Bruce are saying goodbye to each of their guests.

“Thank you for having us,” Jack says, shaking Bruce’s hand again. His free hand claps Tim on the shoulder. At a glance, it seems like a jovial gesture, but the grip on his son looks more controlling than casual. 

“Happy to have you,” Bruce replies, voice still bright. He started feigning a slight slur to his words two hours ago, and Dick reminds himself to make fun of Brucie later. 

“We had a wonderful time,” Janet adds. “You’ll have to share your caterer’s contact information.”

“Come now, Janet, you know a magician never reveals his secrets.”

Jack and Janet laugh easily, but Tim stays quiet. His father’s hand still rests heavily on his shoulder.

“Have a good night,” Bruce says, waving as Janet gets handed her coat.

It isn’t until the Drakes turn away that Dick sees it.

The cuff of Tim’s crisp, white sleeve is turning red.