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Dick swallows hard as he looks at the entrance to this place. This place being Tranquil River Mental Hospital—the place that Tim has apparently been for the past few months. All those months that Dick worried, the last time he saw Tim branded in his mind—the anger, asking Dick to trust him. And as much as Dick didn’t want to—he let Tim go. It was—he thought it was best to trust that Tim knew what he needed. Tim seemed like he knew what he needed. And Dick would just wait for him—and be there if things didn’t turn out like Tim was claiming.
But then they did. Bruce—Bruce was alive. And Dick was elated. If Bruce was alive, then Tim would definitely find signs of it—and after he did, he would come home. It’s what he said he would do.
So Dick waited. And waited. But there was no sign—none—of his little brother. Not even through Ra’s coming to town and trying to take over Wayne Enterprises–only stopped because Barbara had somehow figured out his plans to use Tommy Elliot and attack Bruce’s holdings. Dick’s calls remained unanswered.
Which—Dick was starting to get really worried. Tim wouldn’t brush him off like that, not when everyone—when Gotham—was in danger. Had something happened? Was Tim okay?
It was Barbara who found him, in the end. Tranquil River Mental Hospital over in Pennsylvania–that was where she located him. Said it looked like he had been there for a couple of months.
Two hours away. The whole time, he was just two hours away.
How had he ended up here, of all places?
The place looks nice enough. The drive up to the entrance through the grounds showed a well-kept lawn, pleasant looking gardens, large trees, and several recreational centers. About as nice as a mental hospital could look, Dick supposes.
He takes a deep breath as he goes inside. Thankfully, it doesn’t look too clinical and sterile in there. The lobby is filled with warm colors and plants, and the sun filters in nicely. The receptionist looks up with a bright smile.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“Uh, Dick Grayson,” Dick says. “I, um. Called ahead. I’m here to see my little brother—Tim Drake?”
“Of course!” The woman says. “If I could just see some identification?”-Dick hands her his license and she scans it quickly before returning it-“That all seems to be in order. You can go ahead and follow me this way to our visiting gardens. Your brother will be waiting for you there.”
The snake through the halls, past other patients in hospital scrubs. Dick starts to get antsy. This is a real mental hospital—the thought of Tim in here for the past few months…it’s hard to imagine. They exit out a set of double doors and, oh—a lump forms in Dick’s throat. Oh, Tim.
His little brother, there. Dressed in light green scrubs, looking healthy and no worse for the wear. It’s—Dick could cry in relief. Tim looks up and something in Dick’s chest stutters.
Why does he have such an angry look in his eyes? He almost looks as if he’s genuinely upset to see Dick. Is he—is he still mad at Dick? He had been angry, yes, but when he left Dick thought–he thought that under all that, their bond still existed. Their trust in each other. Their brotherhood.
This Tim doesn’t seem to feel that way at all, not with the stone cold expression on his face. The receptionist leaves them with a cheery goodbye and they just look at each other for a moment. Dick’s smile falters. Tim’s face doesn’t loosen up at all.
Dick gingerly takes a seat at the table, across from Tim. “Tim, hey,” he starts, keeping his voice gentle.
“Dick,” Tim snaps. “What are you doing here?”
How can he even ask that? “What do you mean—Tim, of course I came for you. You’re in a place like this—how? Why? No, wait, I mean—how are you?”
“Oh, you care about that now? You don’t think I’m crazy anymore?” Tim spits, sounding downright hostile.
The wild accusation stings. That Tim would ever think that if him—“Tim,” he says, trying his best to be patient. “I never thought you were crazy—grieving, yes. Crazy, no.”
Tin snorts derisively. “Sure,” he says sarcastically. “Which is exactly why you conspired to put me in here.”
Dick can feel the moment his temper snaps. He can be patient with his little brother—but he also won’t just sit there and let Tim say these awful accusations to him. “I don’t know what exactly you think,” Dick says testily as a man in a white doctor's coat walks past their table with another patient, looking at them slightly curiously. Dick pauses—no need to be eavesdropped on—and continues on only when the man and patient have disappeared back into the building, door shutting softly behind them. “But I’ve been nothing but concerned about you, Tim. How dare you-”
Tim’s demeanor changes on a dime. Tim slouches back in his chair and lets out a tired groan. Dick stops talking, slightly startled at the sudden change. “Man,” Tim says, flashing a grin at Dick. “I thought that guy would never leave. Hey, did you sneak me in some O'Shaughnessy’s, by chance? This hospital food is destroying me slowly.”
Dick just blinks. What just happened? Tim just looks expectantly at him, with a hopeful smile on his face. He blinks one more time, trying to make sense of Tim's strange behavior. “Tim?” Dick asks slowly. “Care to explain to for the class what’s going on?”
Tim looks confused for a moment before his face lights up in understanding. “Oh. Ohhhh,” he says. “About that. Sorry, Dick. I didn’t mean–anyways, it’s just that there’s this therapist here and he’s smuggling in some nasty drugs for some of the patients, and then blackmailing and extorting them. This guy I got to know here–Aaron–got all mixed up with him, so I’m trying to catch him in action. It’s just that he never preys on anyone who seems to have a good support system, so I had to, you know, make it seem like we were in a rough spot.”
Tim is smiling at him guiltily now. Things start to click into place for Dick. It’s like that time–it’s like just after Tim’s 16th birthday, when Tim asked him to fake fight with him for whoever he thought was watching him. It–well, Dick would have done a better job if he had known he was supposed to improv. The least Tim could have done was give him a clue.
But looking at him and the guilty expression, Dick doesn’t have it in him to stay mad. After all, this is his little brother—and he’s finally found him.
Dick lets out a small sigh. “Fair enough, Tim. I just—what are you even doing here? How did you get here?”
“So…if you’re getting straight to the questions…I take it this means there’s no fast food, then?” Is all Tim says. Dick shoots him a look. Tim holds his hands up in mock defeat. “Kidding. Kidding. Anyways, I ended up here because Tommy Elliot somehow managed to send some goons that found me over in France. They pretended they were from Bruce—made a bit of a public show that Bruce was all worried about my erratic behavior, that you had told him I had gone crazy and run away and needed help-”
“They said I said that?” Dick asks sharply, worried a bit now. He has working with Tommy Elliot to hide Bruce being gone, and Tim knew that. “You didn’t believe them, did you Tim? I would never-”
“Course not,” Tim says. “That was classic Tommy Elliot being Tommy Elliot, trying to sow discord. Anyways, I wasn’t in a good position to have a big scene be made about it–it would’ve potentially screwed up some pretty big things, or exposed us all, and I had to make it seem like I was stuck in a place where I wasn’t able to interfere with their plan–so we had really no choice but to go with them.”
“We?”
“Oh, yea–we. Tam’s here, too. And let me tell you she was not happy about both of us getting thrown into a mental hospital. She’s still mad at me.”
“Tam–Tam Fox? Lucius’s daughter?” Tim nods. “What was she—you know what, never mind, you can tell me later. So what—you’ve just been here, then?”
“Yup,” Tim says, popping his ‘p’. “Jokes on them, though, because healthcare still uses faxes–and so does Babs, it’s the most secure form of communication after all"—Dick just gives him a incredulous look—"Well, okay, fine. It's not secure, but its security was enhanced by the fact that nobody was checking for a fax in this day and age, so it flew completely under the radar. Whatever. I was able to get her everything important about Ra’s’ plan in time and that's what matters.”
So that’s how Babs found out. Probably also how she found out Tim was here.
So she could have told him more of the situation he was walking in to. But she didn’t.
She’s probably…still kind of mad at him, then.
That’s not important right now, though. “So you’ve just been here, what? Pretending to be trapped?”
Tim nods. “Yea. I could probably have gotten out at any time, really, but there’s a lot going on here that I couldn’t just leave be, y'know. I got kind of busy.” Clearly, with the drug dealing therapist. Tim shrugs. “And it hasn’t been all bad. They do have a fun W&W group that meets on Wednesdays for game night. Danger Dan does a really good DM.”
Danger…Dan. Dick shakes his head. “I was worried about you, you know. And you were just here having fun playing with Danger Dan.”
“Sorry,” Tim does look a bit ashamed. “I did—I wanted to call, but I couldn’t let them catch on. It sucked for sure. I wasn’t—I didn’t-”
“It’s okay,” Dick says. Tim looks relieved. They sit in a companionable silence for a moment before Dick lets out a sigh. It feels weird bringing this up to talk about while Tim’s in a mental hospital off all places, but…he has to. Tim deserves to know. “I need to tell you. Tim—you were right. Bruce—Bruce is alive.”
Tim just tilts his head to the side. “Well, yea,” he says. “I mean, I knew that—know that. I’ve got a giant bag of artifacts buried in the Serenity Woods to prove it, too. Turns out places like this don’t really allow ancient batarangs, yea? They consider it contraband. How’d you figure it out?”
Dick…doesn’t really want to get into that. “I, uh,” he says. “We found some evidence. At the manor.” That’s vague enough. What Tim doesn’t know won’t hurt him.
“Oh, Mordecai? Let me tell you, that’s just the tip of the iceberg here, Dick,” Tim says. “I can draw you a map, make sure you grab the bag before you go.”
“I—of course,” Dick takes a look at the time. Visiting hours are almost up. It flew by. Dick’s disappointment matched by his relief that Tim’s okay. He wants nothing more than to take Tim out of this place, bring him home.
But. Tim clearly knows what he’s doing, has known what he’s doing this whole time. He’s all grown up now. It’s not for Dick to interfere. “Tim? You’re going to come home soon, right?” he asks.
Tim smiles. “Yea, soon,” he says. “Between you and me, I think Tam might actually smother me in my sleep if I don’t get us out of here after I’m done with this case.”
Dick chuckles. “Well, we can’t have that, can we. You’ll be okay? Call if you need anything. Especially if you need to get into a big blowout of a fight, really sell the whole 'family thinks you’re crazy’ thing. I can mock fight with the best of them, as you well know.”
“You’re at the top of my list to call, Dick,” Tim says with a smile. “Just—next time? Bring O'Shaughnessy’s, or I’m not gonna pull my punches.”
One Month Later
Dick breathes heavily as he tries to calm his rapidly beating heart. If he had been five minutes—no, a second—late then Tim—Tim-
He can't even bear to think of it. Tim falling like that—it's like something out of Dick's worst nightmares. Dick didn't even realize that Tim was finally coming back into town today—last he spoke with Tim on the phone Tim had made no mention of the possibility. Dick was in the middle of busting a jewelry store robbery when Babs' had sent him coordinates halfway across town with nothing but a cryptic "it's Tim, hurry"-
And when he arrived as soon as he could, anxious and out of breath, only to see a figure in the Red Robin suit falling, falling, falling from a nearby building-
It's as if his heart stopped. He must've flown faster than he ever did for a quadruple to barrel into Tim just in the nick of time, snaking an arm around him, Tim making gagging-gasping sound as the breath got knocked out of him, Dick somehow managing to clumsily land them on the roof of a nearby store.
Tim is hunched over next to him, massaging his diaphragm and coughing as he tries to catch his breath. They just stand there for a few minutes, trying to compose themselves.
Dick manages to say something first. "Tim," he croaks out. So many questions swirl in his head—what happened, why didn't Tim say he was coming back tonight, why didn't he call Dick immediately, why was he falling?- "What the actual hell was that?" It's crude, but at least it manages to encompass everything in one.
Tim inhales and exhales deeply. "I, uh-" he says, voice hoarse from his coughing fit. "You see, turns out there was this mob that was doing a Medicare fraud thing through Tranquil River and they were getting suspicious that their activities were on Batman's radar—which not exactly, because it was me that was onto them, but I don't think they had heard of Red Robin—uh, sorry. Anyways, I found out they were planning to meet here in Gotham tonight, like super last minute, so I had to get to them fast, I didn't have time to call in backup. They, uh. Turns out they hired someone who has a bit of a grudge against me to protect them—one of those total, awful coincidences y'know—and he was not happy to see me, let me tell you. I called in Oracle immediately, but, y'know. Then I got thrown out a window. And I forgot my grapple in the Serenity Forest so..." Tim trails off.
Dick presses his lips together as he tamps down his frustration—how stupid, how reckless of Tim. To go against them alone, not call for help—and to be underprepared on top of that. Tim knows better—he could have gotten hurt, he could have died. He should have said something, even if he didn't have time, clued Dick into his case at some point-
"Tim," he says sharply. He can see Tim frown at his tone—too bad. "That was reckless. You said you would call if you needed help-"
"I did," Tim says, somewhat sullenly. "Once I realized I needed help I called Barbara to get you, didn't I? I handled it my way, and it worked out, didn't it-"
"I was halfway across town," Dick snaps, but even he can hear the worry bleeding into his voice. "How could you know I'd get there on time-"
"Dick," Tim cuts him off—something in his tone makes Dick pause. Tim interlocks his fingers in front of him and bites his lip. "You're my brother. You'll always be there for me." He doesn't say anything more, just looks at Dick with a steady stare.
That's—Dick swallows hard past the lump in his throat and blinks a couple of times. He doesn't know what to say to that.
So he says nothing. Just wordlessly opens his arms. Tim's lower lip quivers ever so slightly and he barrels forward into the hug waiting for him. Dick lets out a broken laugh. "You-" he says finally, "You're home now?"
"Yea," Tim replies.
"Good. Don't—don't do anything like that ever again."
Tim just hums noncommittally. Who is Dick kidding, anyways? He knows this life better than anyone. It's an unreasonable ask at its core. But, well—it was worth a shot.
Tim steps back after a few minutes, offering Dick a small smile. Dick smiles back, feeling his heart lighten a bit. Finally—finally things can get back to normal again, can't they?
"Um, Dick?" Tim asks hesitantly, and he really sounds like his old self now. Dick missed this.
"What's up Tim?"
"Well, the thing is—" Tim starts, then pauses. Dick waits patiently—whatever it is, he's here to listen. "I'm just kind of hungry, and y'know, you never did end up bringing me any good food in the hospital. And, I was thinking while I was stuck in there—I mean, in the end, weren't you kind of responsible for putting me in there by letting Hush playact as Bruce to begin with? So, really, the way I see it I think you owe me dinner—several of them. You can start tonight, with some cheesesteaks I think, that sounds fair-"
Dick sputters and Tim's face splits into a wicked grin. Back to normal, indeed. Maybe Dick should learn to be careful what he wishes for. There's a cowl over Tim's head, but it doesn't protect him from the headlock. "Watch yourself," Dick threatens jokingly, "Keep this sass up and you'll find out what it's like when I actually do decide to send you to Tranquil River Mental Hospital."