Archive of Our Own

…Gun Batman finishes saying, eyebrows raised in a question. Tim puts the gun to his head, staring his evil version down.

In the next second a few things happen:

A batarang flies near Tim's ear and rips the gun out of his hand.

Evil Tim falls to the floor as though struck.

And behind all of it stands a person in a costume similar to Nightwing, except it’s in red.

In an eternal minute before they speak up, Red Robin gets ready for whatever it is. 

Is it another unhinged Tim?
Is it someone close enough to want to save him?
Is it a cruel coincidence, and it's someone Tim never met, which might be even worse?

A stranger takes a step forward.

Red Robin takes a step back.

“Hey, babybird,” a figure croaks out.

And, look, Tim has a very rich imagination and an open mind to go with it. He's seen many things, so he never denies a theory, no matter how impossible it might seem. Come on, he was just talking to the future version of himself.

Even then, he can't quite believe it when he recognizes Dick's voice. It's rough, as if it's been in scarce use, laced with so much grief, and it’s frayed at the edges.

“I can see you thinking too much too fast. And I'll explain everything and let you do anything you need to confirm it's me, but—"

Dick's voice stumbles, and Tim stumbles forward right along with it.

“Can I get a hug first? Please?”

And it could be a trap. It could be any and every horrible thing Tim can ever imagine.

Maybe he's dying, and it's the last thing he'll ever see. Maybe Dark Raven finally got into his mind. Maybe someone else is manipulating his perceived reality.

Maybe it is Dick, but just as evil as the Tim lying on the floor.

But Tim was rarely able to deny whatever Dick wished for.

This Dick could hold a knife in his right hand and beckon him closer with his left one, and Tim would still willingly go into his arms.

So, that's exactly what he does.

Dick grabs him, pressing close and holding on so tightly as if at any second someone will try to steal Tim away. As if suddenly, with a snap of the fingers, Tim might disappear. As if Tim is a ticking bomb, and they have no time left. As if Tim is a fragile thing, and something is bound to happen to him if you let your eyes wander.

As if Dick tries to devour anything and everything Tim has to offer.

And Tim just… melts.

“I miss you.” Dick whispers into his hair.

“I'm right here.” Tim utters. 

“Yeah.” Dick chuckles wetly and secures his grip on Tim even more. “Yeah, you are. And I'm not letting go this time.”

The possessiveness dripping from those words makes Tim lightheaded. When Dick pulls back, Tim almost falls without the support.

Dick takes off his mask, and that's when Tim knows he means business.
It is Dick, and he won't be letting go this time.

But neither will be Tim.

There are new scars on Dick's face, and his hair is Discowing's length which doesn't bode well for the status of his mental health.

Tim slowly raises his hand and brushes it over the familiar texture of the costume, pinching the material between his fingers. He spreads his palm over Dick's chest and slides it lower, making a concentrated face as though he examines the suit.

When Dick's breath hitches, Tim looks up and finally makes eye contact.

Tim raises an eyebrow and continues gliding his fingers lower and lower while trying to keep Dick's attention on his eyes and nothing else.

Then, a metallic click.

Dick's lips stretch into a smirk when he glances down at the cuffs that just snapped his palms together, as if he's exactly where he wants to be.

“Kinky!” Dick wiggles his hands. “You always keep this beauty in your pockets?"

“Stole them from the asshole-me.” Tim mutters.

Dick looks over him appraisingly.

“Oh, you and your sneaky hands you always put to use.” Dick's voice goes deeper at this, and he looks right at Tim.

Now Tim's glad he is still in a mask. Even if Tim's widening eyes stay in their sockets, the blush spreading over his face wouldn't be as easy to hide.

Dick smirks again.

“So, I have specific instructions on dealing with him.” Dick turns over and lightly kicks Tim, passed out on the floor, with his boot.

“And who gave you those?”

In the blink of an eye, the ragged and weary Dick from 5 minutes ago returns. Maybe he never left in the first place.

“You did.” Dick murmurs.

Oh.

Tim didn't get any forewarning, but he can tell that Ra's ninjas were here even before he gets inside this safehouse.

Looks like the rats weren't impressed with his traps. Maybe they are smart. Ra's isn't keeping them for nothing, after all.

Dick goes tense, his mind coming to the identical conclusions.

Tim's body makes a fraction of a movement when Dick swiftly gets in front of him. Tim huffs but allows it.

He would've been offended at literally anyone else if they did the same thing. But Dick… Dick always trusted Tim to defend himself.

“Don't you want to confirm I am who I say I am?” Dick inquires nonchalantly.

“Already did.”

Turning around, Dick squints suspiciously and takes a deep calming breath when he encounters Tim's self-confident grin. 

“Of course you did. I don't know why I'm even surprised.” Nightwing (is he still?) mumbles and continues striding through the apartment, checking out all the dark corners.

He stops abruptly before the kitchen table.

Tim sighs and picks up the green envelope. His eyes glide over the contents of the letter, and he scoffs after the last line. “Honestly, it's kind of impressive that he didn't run out of speeches by now. I guess it really is you live and you learn.”

Dick makes an aborted move to grab the parchment from Tim but keeps himself in check.

“What's this?” He asks with fake casualness. 

Tim huffs and goes to hide the letter in the drawer full of all the previous ones.
“Just Ra's and his monthly attempts to invite me to dinner.”

Dick goes deadly quiet. Not because of the revelation, but to ruminate on all the future knowledge he possesses (and Tim doesn't) so that he can add in a new variable.

What Tim does have, however, is his mind. Sure, he could continue playing dumb and try to wheedle some more information out of Dick, who might continue playing up the denial for a little while.
They can keep up the charade, but they don't actually believe in it.

Today, though, Tim isn't in the mood. So, he strikes.

“You know, for a moment it was the one thing I was looking forward to. Each month, on a certain date, there would be a letter waiting for me, no matter what. It's an addicting thing for someone who craves a little stability. Also didn’t hurt to make a person feel somewhat valued.”

Tim risks a glimpse at Dick, who's gone so tense Tim thinks he would explode if pricked with a needle.

What Tim doesn’t say is that even if Ras knows where the Nest is, his minions never go there. The Demon Head probably tries to trick Tim into a false feeling of security, but the fact remains.

Which means what?

That once a month, right on the clock, Tim goes to the same safehouse to get his letter. How low he has fallen.

“I think it's a good thing I died before I caved in and accepted all those invitations. Maybe it would've been even worse than whatever future you came from.” 

Dick stares at him resolutely, knowing he's been made (does he?) and not daring to look away.

“So, what went wrong? Did my death change nothing? Was it too soon? Should I have stayed longer and dealt with Gun Batman myself? Am I more useful alive than dead? What is it?” Tim probes, terribly curious yet quite afraid to hear the answer.

Dick chuckles sourly, and the bitterness in it makes Tim's jaw clench.

“You died. That's what went wrong.” Dick delivers it so blankly, as if he couldn't care less.

Tim knows him, though. Just a few more nips at Dick's mind, and he'll paint a whole picture, even if it hurts to hold the brush. He will do anything to assuage Tim's worries.

He feels guilty for puppeteering Dick like that, but when the truth finally slips from Dick's lips it's always worth it in the end. He sometimes gets scared that he might sink his teeth into Dick's soul and take a chunk out of it if it allows him to taste all the things Dick keeps to himself.

“Oh please.” Tim scowls. “People die every day, and vigilantes die just as often, even if they come back most of the time somehow. I died to eliminate a threat of a horrible future, yet still fucked it up. How?”

Dick shakes his head and bites his lip, as though it could stop him from bubbling over.

“The Titans got mad. Mad at themselves, mad at the Bats, mad at all the shit they tried and failed to stop once and for all. And when they got ahold of your hit list…”

Tim imagines what that would look like and shudders.

“And they took the once and for all a little too literally, huh?”

Dick snorts despite trying not to.
“Yep. And without you there, it got too dark too fast.”

And isn’t that ironic?

The Titans fell out after their first encounter with Titans Tomorrow. They saw what the future looked like and tried to prevent it by going solo. Except, as it turns out, it didn’t avert a crisis. And now, when Tim tried to nip it in the bud, he made things even more dreadful than they could have been.

“I can't tell if it's supposed to make me feel better or worse.”

Dick breathes in sharply. “You know I would never—”

Tim slaps the hand over Dick's mouth mid-sentence.
“I know, I'm sorry. I just… I considered and calculated a lot of options, and this was it. This was the most foolproof action I could take. And I failed.”

Tim isn’t above admitting his mistakes, whether the plan was spontaneous or well thought out. But when you weigh in all pros and cons, acknowledge all the implications, choose yourself as an acceptable collateral damage and then…

Well, it's not a nice feeling to say the least.

Dick rips Tim's hand away from his lips so hard Tim almost expects to hear a crunch of bones. But even overwhelmed, Dick would never hurt him. Not intentionally.

“You calculated it? You knew you were going to die?”

Dick doesn't stop clutching Tim's wrist. It stopped being slightly uncomfortable, bordering on quite painful now. Tim doesn’t protest.

“I knew that if we met the Evil Titans again… If it looked, even for a second, like they were winning… I would put an end to it immediately.”

Dick tries to take in some air but fails. “Then why the fuck didn't you come to us? Why the fuck didn't you even leave a note?”

And Tim could decide to be cruelly truthful.

He could say that going out as a self-sacrificial hero sounds better than dying in the field because he deliberately pulled his punches against a dangerous foe. He could say that dying for something noble was always a grim dream of his. He could say how it hurt when the Bats stopped reaching out pretty soon after Bruce got back and everyone took up their designated role. Everyone but Tim, that is.

Yet he doesn’t.

“Because I knew you would try to change the plan. Batman might not like me anymore, but he likes making sacrifices even less. And if I tried writing some farewell letters I—”

Tim cuts himself off, suddenly unsure. But, well, Dick did ask. He deserves at least some parts of the truth.

“I would have changed my mind. I would have imagined that all of us could come up with a brilliant plan and save the future yet again. And I would get greedy and selfish and hope that maybe I won't have to die for my family to start loving me again.”

Dick drops Tim's hand as though it just burnt him. He stares in disbelief.

And the longer Tim stays silent, the more heartbroken Dick looks.

Tim rubs his wrist, knowing it will bruise at least a little bit.

“Is that how you felt?” Dick whispers faintly. And then it hits him, and he inhales sharply. “Is that how you feel?”

And for the first time today, Red Robin looks elsewhere. 

And he can feel Dick's gaze on him, dissecting and analyzing and starting a painting of Tim Drake all over again, as though the current picture ended up all wrong.

“Tim.”

“Tim, can you look at me?”

“Tim, please.”

Tim is glad he still didn't take his mask off, because he is one word away from breaking down in tears.

"Tim.”

“What?” He snaps, reverting his glance to Dick.

Dick raises his hands, palms up, as though to show he won't hurt him. As though Tim is a wounded animal he found lying in a pool of its own blood. Tim might as well be.

Dick had some time to come to terms with this…situation.

Tim almost died mere hours ago.

So even though the surrounding blood didn't dry up yet, he's not so sure whether it’s worth getting up. Maybe Dick should finish him off out of mercy. 

“I'm sorry we left you alone for so long. I—We thought you needed space after everything. So, we kept you at a distance we imagined you wanted. And then...”

It's a tale as old as time, isn't it? The road to hell is paved with good intentions. Tim just wasn't expecting to raise hell upon his family, too.

“I thought I was giving you a shot at a better future. I thought I was leaving you with a better future.”

Dick sighs heavily. “Tim. I watched my future burn from the ruins of my present.”

And that's it, the moment Tim crumbles. He can't keep his tears in, quietly choking on them.

“I'm sorry I fucked up.”

Dick crumbles right along with him.

“No! Tim, no. I'm sorry we fucked up. I'm sorry I fucked up.”

In the end, the conversation ends up being pretty anticlimactic. They speak too much about specific things and not enough about the others. Yet, at the same time, it's like there was never any distance. Tim still would trust Dick with his life, and he thinks the feeling is mutual.

Its like any bridges weren’t burnt at all. Just the two of them, looking at the bridge and not being willing to cross it.

“You know, Tim, it's quite painful when your soulmate dies.”

Dick says it so out of the blue Tim almost drops his coffee. He quietly puts the cup down onto the counter so as not to ruin the thin rope of tension crawling in between them.

Tim loves when he doesn't have to beg for Dick's scraps of the truth he deemed Tim worthy of. But it's always such a fine line of keeping the silence while clutching at the precarious moment with necessary hold. So, Tim stops what he's doing but doesn't turn around. Just like with stray animals that might run if they realize you’ve noticed their presence.

“It's also painful when you didn't know they were your soulmates. And it's even more fucking painful when it's the one person you were hoping was your soulmate.”

Tim would choke on air if he didn’t stop breathing at all.

His heart freezes. His brain glitches and promptly goes into an overload. His mind races at supersonic speed, clicking through all the facts Tim gathered over the years. All the times he stopped himself from saying something. All the nights he wanted to blurt out the questions that were eating at him.

“I thought you knew.” Tim whispers miserably while his soul wails in quiet horror. So many years of operating on false intel. Was all of it for nothing? Did they torture themselves just for the sake of it?

In a haste, Dick ends up mere inches from Tim's face.

“And why is that, Tim?” He questions blandly, but they both feel the incoming storm. It may not come now, but when it does, no one will be safe.

Tim inhales and exhales, then faces Dick, letting him to see through. He knows Dick isn't looking for a lie or a deceit. No, he searches for a culprit who had a hand in Tim's decision to keep all the aces to himself. And oh, when he finds it, Dick is furious.

Tim is aware it could be the beginning of a potential disaster, but oh well. Some people just don't learn, do they?

“Bruce.” Dick greets through his teeth, jaw so tense Tim's surprised it doesn't crack.

“Maybe I misread things, but—”

“He implied that I knew.”

Dick bobs his head up and down, and Tim braces himself for the inevitable flood coming over and suffocating him before he even started drowning.

“So, what, I didn’t even deserve a chance?”

“Yeah, well, I don't have a great record of people staying in my life.”

Dick scowls, leaning on the counter and gripping it with both hands. His eyes don't leave Tim.

“I'm not one of the people though, am I? Come on, Tim, it's me.” Dick coaxes and pleads all at once.

That's the problem though, isn’t it? Tim made decisions based on a particular piece of information. Now, it turns out, it wasn’t accurate. And it changes everything and nothing at all.

“Exactly. It's you.” Tim physically takes himself out of the equation, grabbing his coffee and walking towards the window. Gotham is gloomy as usual, but it's a familiar sight, and Tim will take any comfort he can get.

“Even without all the soulmates bullshit, I—” He grips the cup, enjoying the burn on his palms. “I waited years for you. So excuse me if I didn't want you to love me out of pity. Or, God forbid, duty.” Tim spits out, angrily taking a sip of his coffee.

Quietly, carefully, as if on tiptoes, Dick walks up to him, breathing down his neck. Tim hates that, usually. But Dick Grayson is an exception to many things.

“I can't even begin to tell you what I feel for you, but I need you to—”

“Why, afraid you’ll get stuck in time travel traffic?”

Tim can imagine the narrowing of Dick's eyes. The way Dick, too, reconstructs and reshapes the knowledge he thought he had. All the times Tim suddenly became pensive and broody after what seemed like an innocent quip. All the times he took some things more personally than usual. All the times he gave Dick an olive branch until one day he didn't.

Dick weasels his way around Tim, softly landing on a windowsill, as if this spot was left specifically for him.

“Didn't I say I'm not letting you go this time?”

Tim sips his drink, steadily avoiding Dick's gaze.

Dick sighs and decides to wait him out.

But even now, at the crossroads, it's a comfortable silence.

And they know each other. Over the years, they've learned all sorts of things. When to push in, or out, or over. How to know if one is hungry for touch or would kill for its absence.

They know perfectly well when the other is on a low start to run away without looking back.

Tim considers himself quite stealthy, especially after living with ninjas for a while and treating it like an endless game of hide-and-seek.

But Dick knows what Tim will do before he even makes a decision.
So, at the first change in the air, Dick grabs his cup, vanishing it to somewhere and forcing Tim to restore the eye contact.

Then he stands up and slowly raises his hand to Tim's neck, squeezing it. Dick begins with slight pressure, his thumb sliding to Tim's jaw, up and down. Tim tries leaning back, suddenly scared that he'll sell his soul to the devil just to be stranded in this moment forever.

Dick steps even closer, bursting the last inches of his personal bubble.
“I'm not sure if I deserve another chance. I'm asking for one anyway.”

“Doesn’t seem like a spur-of-the-moment decision.” Tim mutters.

Dick's hand moves to his nape, caressing gently. It's all Tim can do to not sag like a puppet without strings.

“Come on, your contingencies have contingencies. If you didn't—” Dick stutters.

…if Tim didn't almost die today, then Dick would still find out, sooner or later. Of course he considered all the options.

Tim hums contemplatively. Dick grumbles.

“Timothy Drake-Wayne—”

“Not a Wayne.” Tim rebukes.

“Not yet.” Dick waves off.

Tim just stares. He knows that Dick is studying him, searching for the least protected point in the façade. Something he can tap and, upon hearing the crack, keep trying to break through.

“I’m begging you to—”

Tim slithers out of Dick’s hands, taking a few steps back.

“Begging, huh? Doesn't look like begging to me.” 

Tim lures. Dick bites.

There is no hesitation when Dick steps forward and drops to his knees, graceful as ever. It's prohibited to touch the displays of art, but this one is all for Tim. So he slides his fingers into Dick's hair and tugs lightly.

Dick's breath catches for the second time today.

“You were saying?” Tim taunts.

There’s a sharp exhale.

“I'm begging you to spare me a chance. If you do, this is it.”

And Dick might smile like a cat that almost got his cream, but Tim knows he means every word. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Tim huffs. “I'm not sure if it works in this context. But it's poetic, I'll give you that.”

“Tim.” Dick whines, adding his puppy eyes into the game.

“Spare you a chance?” Tim muses. “I tried sparing your future. Look how that worked out. Maybe I am cursed.”

Dick frowns, wanting to demand a story behind that. Not now, though. Not here.

He leaps to his feet, getting back to the same level with Tim.

“I'd rather have you, cursed or not.” Dick whispers, putting all his being into it to make sure Tim comprehends every layer of his intentions. “We are all cursed. I seem like good luck to you?”

Tim freezes for a moment. He stares into Dick's eyes, trying to find even a hint of pretense or a trace of white lies. There is none.

“You do, actually. I would've been much luckier if I had you.” Tim admits.

Dicks smile dims to something gentle. “You have me now.”

Tim breathes out.

Both of them understand that the list of things they need to talk about is tediously long. And there is a lot to make up for, from both sides.

But as Tim said, the bridge wasn’t on fire. Dick takes a first step. And Tim? 

Tim follows. 

“I'm not letting you go either.”

Just like that, Dick stops holding back. He presses unbearably close, nuzzling into Tim's hair and circling his arms around Tim's back.

“Do I look like I'm going somewhere?”

Tim tentatively hugs back, still unused to the privilege of touching Dick Grayson without thinking too much about it. His arms wind up around Dick’s waist, clutching his shirt. Tim tucks his face into Dick’s neck so he can feel the rapid beating of pulse.

To make sure they're really both here.

It's a subtle transition between sleeping and waking up.

He blinks slowly, squinting at Dick and reveling in how mesmerizing he looks under the TV's light. Yet again, Tim bemoans that he can't take pictures with his eyes only. But maybe...

“Can you pass me the phone?”

Dick is so engrossed in whatever it is he's watching he doesn't even look at Tim, just scrambling with his hand for the phone and handing it to Tim.

Tim snaps the photo. No sound, no flash, yet Dick knows when he's being perceived.

“Going back to your stalker roots?” Dick mumbles distractedly.

“It isn't stalking if you can see me.”

"Debatable.”

Tim is hit with paranoia, for a second, that, perhaps, he only imagined Dick's love for putting on the show. What if the Golden Boy doesn't like being in the spotlight any more than any of them?

“Should I stop?” Tim questions hesitantly.

And Dick must hear something in his voice, because he turns away from his pastime and runs his eyes over Tim. His face loses all concentration, fully relaxing, and he smiles softly. His left hand hasn’t stopped combing through Tim's hair since he woke up. Probably even before that. Now he raises it, thumb trying to smooth out the wrinkle in between Tim's eyebrows.

“Nah, I like it.” Dick whispers. “I like when you do it.”

Tim writes down another note in his mental journal labeled "Dick Grayson". His eyes probably spark with anticipation for all the things he could do with this permission, because Dick shakes his head at him, grumbling something under his nose.

It's then that Tim notices what's going on on the TV screen.

“America's Most Wanted” is something Dick might binge for many reasons. From Tim's observations, though, most often he peruses it when he's anxious or needs to burn off some energy. Or both, which is never a good combination.

“It's the uncle. The redhead one.”

Dick's pen abruptly stops flying over the notebook.

“You just woke up.” He complains.

“I heard it in my sleep.” Tim mutters forlornly.

Dick's hand tugs at his hair, tentatively at first, and then more determined when Tim goes pliant. It looks like Dick takes notes, too.
“Your brain just never stops running, does it?”

And before Tim can remember what it is he wanted to ask about just a minute ago, Dick picks up a phone and speaks to Mildred about the suspect they need to find and where to look for him.

Tim fights not to close his eyes, rewinding his mind like a cassette, searching for something he had at the front of it recently.

…Oh! Right.

As soon as Dick finishes the conversation, nodding to himself and beaming, Tim blurts out:

“How long are you gonna stay with me?”

Absolutely not what he planned on asking, but, it seems, Dick isn't alone in being the ball of nervous energy. There should probably be a joke here about them being two peas in a pod.

“Forever?” Dick frames it like a question, peeking at Tim over his shoulder, unsure if it's an appropriate answer. And it probably wouldn't be if they were literally anyone else.

But Tim and Dick were always going to end up here.

Come on, Tim died, yet here they are.

“Forever sounds nice.” Tim sighs, contentedly, and nuzzles into Dick’s hand, demanding a little more movement. Dick huffs but obliges.

He doesn't remember falling asleep. 

Tim isn't sure what's happening, but he keeps pressing the gun to his head. His dreams do feel so tangible sometimes it's scary, but never to this extent.

But that would mean—

“Where is Dick, I wonder? Shouldn't he be knocking me out right this second?” Gun Batman drawls out, demonstratively looking around.

“This is a dream.” Tim grits out, stubbornly, assuming, hoping, fearing.

“Is it, Tim?” He asks, prolonging a pause and letting it sink in. “You didn't let me erase your memories the first time, but I've done something better with it now, haven't I?”

Tim is pretty sure the only reason he's staying calm is that all his strength is going into squeezing the trigger. He should shoot the evil Tim first and then shoot himself right after just to be sure. If this is real, then no help is coming.

“Wasn't it nice?” Batman coaxes.

“Fuck you.”

Future Tim goes on and on, giving endless justifications as to why events of the day before couldn't possibly be truthful depictions of reality. Tim drowns it all out at some point.

He holds his breath, mourns a little, but ends up doing the same he was planning on last time.

Tim squeezes the gun, and out of the barrel comes out the little red flag, screaming “BANG”.
Gun Batman starts cackling, and suddenly it's Joker in his place. Tim is contemplating simply sticking a fake gun into his eye.

That's when Nightwing appears, smashing his escrima stick at Joker's skull with so much rage behind it Tim almost wants to step back.
Joker explodes like a piñata, settling on the ground as a confetti of candies.
Dick crouches down, picking up one of the sweets.

“Oh, I love this one.” He throws away the wrapper and pops the toffee into his mouth, grinning when it tastes just as good as he expected. He picks up a few more, hiding them in the pockets of his suit.

That's when Tim looks at himself and realizes he wears the same thing. It resembles a Nightwing suit but in red colors. In Tim's colors.
This is exactly what Red Robin's tribute to Nightwing would look like.

Something falls into place, nagging at Tim, but as soon as he tries to follow the thought, it disappears, leaving behind a sharp pain behind his temples.

“Tim?” Dick glances over at him, concerned and taut all over, ready to snap if necessary.

“This isn't real. What about yesterday?”

Dick steps forward and inhales sharply when Tim's bo staff strikes at his chest. Not at full force, but enough to feel it. He stares down, brows furrowed and mind definitely working overtime to find an explanation.

Tim patiently waits, not letting him off the hook.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Nightwing demands. It's said harshly, in a way Dick rarely is.

Tim barely opens his mouth before he's interrupted. “It doesn't matter if you assume it's real or not.”

“You said you would stay forever.” Tim bites out, accusingly.

Dick softens. “And I meant it.”

He raises his right hand, ever so slowly, knowing they're still on a knife edge. There's a click, and Tim can look right into the blue eyes. Whether he wants to or not, it instantly lets down his guard, which is probably what Dick was counting on.

The bo staff is thrown to the floor. Tim's surprised he doesn't collapse alongside with it.

Without the obstacle, Dick quickly descends on him, cupping his face and checking him over. Being held in Dick’s hands feels like being put back together. Tim tries not to but he melts as an ice cream under the sun.

“What did that asshole say?” Dick growls, all quiet fury, yet his hands remain gentle as they touch Tim, trying to tether him.

“Just because my merry band of misfits fucks with time every other day doesn't mean Nightwing would.” Tim parrots blankly.

Dick tugs at his hair to draw his attention while staring right into his soul.

“There's nothing I wouldn't do for you. No compromises, no limits. Crossing through time is a piece of cake, okay?”

Tim remembers Dick catching him after Ra’s threw him out the window. He wasn’t aware of it then, but Dick followed him as soon as they dealt with the ninjas. Tim later lying to his face about knowing Dick would always be there probably felt like a slap.

Now, though, Tim believes what Dick is saying.

“I could say I would die for you, but I don't think that counts anymore.”

Dick doesn't seem to appreciate the sentiment. He looks over his shoulder, cataloging every thing that adds up to an evidence for a case he's building in his head right this second.

Tim isn't a fan of being the only suspect.

“Were you going to—” Dick chokes up like a dog on a howl.

But Tim can’t give him an answer.

What would he say, exactly? That if yesterday wasn't true, then there's nothing keeping him here? That if yesterday wasn't true, but Gun Batman was, then Tim still needs to give Dick a shot at a brighter future? That Tim is always so ready to go out in the battle it's almost an instinct by now?

Dick holds a deep breath, measuring out what to ask next. “Did you know it wasn't real?”

Tim looks away.

They stay like this for a while. Tim is trying to avoid acknowledging hard truths, and Dick is, yet again, updating the portrait of Tim Drake. Seems like an ungrateful work, to be honest.

“To have and to hold, for better, for worse, until death do us part, right?”

Under his mask, Tim is probably the embodiment of the deer in highlights.

“I can't hold you to forever, but I… I want you to stay.” Dick whispers, the hope in his voice so fragile it creaks.

And Tim knows this isn't the happy ending to the fairytale. A boy might finally get a boy, but the monsters will take some time to slay. For both of them, Tim thinks.

But he wants to stay, too.

Tim turns back, keeping eye contact between them when he vows:

“No compromises.”

Dick is solemn when he nods, but the smile blooming on his face is full of promises.

“Let's get out of here then, shall we?”

When Dick tries to catch him up on the events, Tim feels the pulse of pain so scorching he keens. He tries massaging his temples to at least somewhat relieve the pain, but it does nothing.

Nightwing puts two and two together pretty quickly.

When Tim failed to either rein in or totally destroy the Unternet a few years back, it went underground again. Except this time Red Robin and Anarky had absolutely no idea who owned it and what they were planning on doing with it. Tim kept an eye on things, but after a while it faded into the background. It stopped being an imminent threat, so it wasn’t a priority.

Meanwhile, the Unternet continued perverting its participants and poisoning itself from the inside out. And with the whispers from its new master, it was holding a grudge. Tim is disappointed with himself for falling right into the trap so unprepared and vulnerable. If Dick wasn’t there… 

Unternet came very close to fully warping Tim’s perception of what was real or not into a twisted thing where he wouldn’t be able to tell his left from right. If Dick had come in even 5 minutes late, it could’ve ended very badly.

But they got lucky. Now they have a second chance to finally destroy this horrific place.

Unanomiously, Tim and Dick agree on not mentioning everything they witnessed here. Unternet evolved from last time, now forcing them to relieve fears and events from the physical world.

The list of things to talk about expanded. 

But what happens in Unternet stays in Unternet, right?

Tim almost steps out of this black hole of corrupted minds and souls when Dick grabs his wrist, spinning him around and right into Dick's arms.

“I’m keeping my hands to myself for now, just like you asked.” Dick whispers into his ear, while absolutely not keeping his hands to himself. “But don’t hold me responsible if you ever wear this suit in the real world.”

Tim hums, as if remembering something. “Going to ask me to be your Robin like Jason did?”

And yeah, it was a few years ago, so it’s ancient history by now. He's also pretty sure Jason was just saying shit that night. But while Tim did ask to take it slow and not rush into things, he's only human, okay?

How can he not play with fire when it lights up so beautifully?

And the way Dick grips him possessively, making Tim feel a lot more tangible, is just what he needs after surviving the Unternet again.

Tim knows that he won’t fall asleep tonight, not even with Dick here. While he rummages through his drawers, checking out all the places where he could’ve stashed his pills, Dick comes out of the shower and, upon receiving no acknowledgment, just starts talking.

“I can’t believe it’s been only a few days. Feels like a lifetime.”

Tim stops what he’s doing, turning around and freezing at the sight of Dick Grayson. Dressed in comfortable clothes, with damp curls framing his face, he looks so soft it makes Tim's brain blank out for a second.

Dick is right; it does feel like a lifetime. So much happened in such a short period that Tim's mind can't comprehend it, struggling to take it all in at once. And seeing Dick inside his Nest for the first time, looking so domestic, as if right at home, overwhelms Tim so much he gets dizzy.

But even with his head spinning, Tim knows exactly what Dick is leading up to, so he rushes to say:

“We won’t be telling them anything. Not now, at least.”

“But—”

And Tim knows they will have to tell the Bats someday. About the Titans Tomorrow and the time travel and the whole thing about Unternet and its countless implications. They would need to mention Tim and Dick being soulmates, and, for once, to have a healthy conversation about too many secrets and too many assumptions.

But…

“Not now, okay? Not now.” Tim pleads and then curses quietly when another hiding place turns up empty. He will lose it if he doesn’t find it in the next 5 minutes.

Dick walks up to him, staying near and not saying anything, while he observes the way Tim gets more and more anxious and impatient.
“Tim?”

“I’m looking for my pills.” Tim admits, resigned and ready for interrogation.
Dick just stares, giving Tim options for what he wants to do next.

“You’ll know it when you see it. Please?”

And Dick looks so concerned and wary it's surprising it doesn’t bleed out from his eyes and drip onto the floor. But, as usual, there is little he won’t give to Tim when he asks.

Tim rarely asks for anything, after all.

So, Dick nods and joins the searching party.

For 15 minutes, it's complete silence with only the sounds of opening and closing of drawers and closets. And look, Tim loves his enormous kitchen, really, he does. He already imagines all the future scenarios where he shares one of his favorite spaces with his favorite person, and the giddiness from it extends him some calmness. 

But the more they look, the more Tim hates how big it is. He gets ready for a night of unbearable restlessness when Dick finally breaks the quiet.

“Found it.” He says, except there’s no cheerfulness or relief in his voice.

Nightwing might have prevented something horrible from happening to Tim, but all the warning signs are still catching up to him. It will be haunting them for a while, Tim thinks.

Dick puts the bright red box with cereals on the counter.

“These are my favorites.” He mutters.

“That’s why I hid it there.” Tim whispers, fishing out the bottle of pills from the box.

And if one follows the trail, too many insinuations can be found in that little simple action. In one minute, any good detective will know there is nothing little or simple about it.

Dick doesn’t share his findings aloud. Tim goes to grab his cutting board.

“I did follow your advice and saw someone, even if it was a little too late. It was short-lived, but I got something useful out of it.” Tim shakes the bottle, as if it’s a prized possession from a treasure hunt.

Dick looks at it again.

“It’s an antidepressant.” Dick remarks, and there are so many underlying questions Tim doesn’t even know where to start.

Every night they go out as vigilantes, knowing the risks yet still doing it. Even if, rationally, each of them knows it’s not exactly a paragon of healthy behavior… It won’t become real if you don’t speak about it.

You can stare into your reflection all day long, but until you say her name three times, Bloody Mary won’t appear. So you keep standing before it, letting the mere threat of her keep poisoning your mind.

Nothing will change unless you call it what it is.

“That's why I'm taking only 1/3 of it. Apparently, I'm not that depressed. It’s just to make me sleep better when things get bad again.”

Dick is silent. Tim lets him be while he carefully slices the needed portion of the pill. He grabs a glass, fills it up with water, swallows the medicine, and puts the cutting board back in place. He then goes around the kitchen, fixing up everything into how it was before they turned it upside down.

All the while Dick doesn’t utter a word, until:
“Why was it short-lived?”

Tim hums, keeping his hands busy. “I couldn’t exactly tell her everything about being both Tim Drake and Red Robin all in one. It was also a commitment, and I wasn’t sure if I—“ He stops in his tracks, looking up sharply and trying to gauge all the emotions on Dick’s face.

Well, that cat is out of the bag fully and proudly. Tim grimaces but keeps his gaze on Dick.

“I have that suit, you know. I recreated it.”

Dick’s demeanor transforms swiftly, and he opens his mouth, the admonishment for changing the subject just on the tip of his tongue. Tim quickly raises his hand, halting the righteous interruption.

“No compromises, right?”

Nodding cautiously, Dick slowly walks towards him. Tim takes his hand and starts leading them to the intended room. They glide through the corridors so quickly Dick doesn’t have any time to stop and take in all the details. If anything, he keeps all his attention on Tim and on where his mind is at.

Tim stops right in front of a replica of The Scream, sitting inside a dark silver frame. Dick huffs, knowing full well Alfred once didn’t allow him to hang up even the smallest option of it in his room at the Manor. Tim pushes the button hidden on the nearby shelf, letting the reinforced door of the panic room appear. They walk in, with Dick being able to observe each and every detail now.

But that’s not what they are here for.

Tim continues on the way to his destination and then waits for Dick to catch up to him. Another reinforced door might fool him into believing it’s a room inside the room. But they both know it's not.

Tim exhales, measuredly, and begins laying out his cards on the table without turning back. 

“One more thing the woman I was seeing told me?” Tim states, rhetorically, directing Dick’s attention to the heart of the problem. Dick takes a few final steps, plastering himself to Tim's back so gently as if he might crumble if one applies the wrong pressure. Tim probably might.

“I think she knew I won’t be coming back. So the last thing she told me was to collect and keep in one place important mementos. The memories of things I'm proud of. All the things to remind myself why I should keep going.”

At this, Tim opens the door and clicks on the switch, lighting up the room.

After every patrol where Tim almost let himself slip away and let go, he would come here. It wasn’t a lot, at first, when he kept denying all the milestones he accomplished with or without help. But, one by one, this room turned into a living monument to Tim Drake’s life and all the reasons he should continue choosing it.

The walls are filled with newspaper clippings, printed Batman’s reports, and, specifically, a few Lois Lane’s articles. There is even one from Vickie Vale, too. All the things he’s done as Robin and as part of a dynamic duo. All the things the Neon Knights have accomplished since the start. All the things he managed to achieve as Red Robin.

The display of his last Robin’s suit. His second Red Robin’s one, too.

And in the center of the room, calling all the attention to it…

Dick walks up to the glass and looks at the costume from the Unternet as if it appeared from thin air, leaving him entirely speechless.

“Seeing myself in it and surviving the Unternet while wearing it, I thought it was a sign to move on or something. I guess it wasn’t.” Tim laughs bitterly.

It unnerves him, a little, how Dick hasn’t said anything since they left the kitchen, but maybe it's deliberate. Maybe he's well aware that Tim needs to finish talking before he chickens out.

“This is it, I guess. All the reasons Tim Drake should stay.”

Dick turns around, shaking his head vigorously. “Not all of them, Tim. Not even nearly enough. I don’t think you realize how lucky everyone is to have you.” He comes closer, for the first time truly not knowing if Tim wants his touch or not.

Tim wants to reach out so badly, but he will probably fall apart as soon as his fingers graze the sun, so he clenches his fists and doesn’t move.

“I want to stay, Dick.” He whispers, frantically looking over the room. So many good deeds he did. So much more he could still do. All the time in the world, if he is ready to take it. “I really do.” Tim’s voice cracks on a sob, tears falling down without his permission. When he looks at him, Dick’s eyes are glassy, too.

Tim closes the distance between them, pressing his forehead to Dick’s collarbones and squeezing his waist so tightly he hopes there will be bruises after.

Dick whispers in a hushed tone so many things that Tim gets lost in it. They fall over him, like a weighted blanket, grounding him to the earth and making him more solid with each praise Dick adds onto it. Tim is pretty sure Dick is letting out everything he was keeping to himself while playing it safe. Just as Tim suspected, he chokes while tasting it, so starved it doesn’t feel like enough until Dick runs out of words.

When Tim’s body stops trembling and his mind becomes blissfully quiet, he abruptly notices how Dick wants to vibrate out of his skin. Not literally, of course, but the sentiment remains true.

…right, the thing they keep tiptoeing around.

“You know exactly who I am, don’t you?” Dick whispers, gleeful and giddy and relieved.

“I told you I do.”

Dick pulls his hair, yanking his head back so he could reinforce the eye contact. Tim is so pliant he doesn’t even have to stop himself from instinctively fighting the gesture. “What a smart bird you are.” Dick croons.

And Tim can read between the lines. He knows exactly what it is Dick left unsaid, scared of saying it too soon and destroying the relative peace they had time to rebuild already.

“Come on, I know you want to. Say it.” Tim goads, waving the bait right before Dick’s nose.

Dick doesn’t have to be asked twice, always willingly falling into the trap.

“I am not a fan of sharing, you know that,” he murmurs. Not as a fact, but as a reminder. “I have wanted you to be by my side for a long time now.”

There are too many layers, confessions, and threats in that one sentence. Tim fails not to shiver. Dick smiles, satisfied with the reaction.

It’s a promise to let go of things they don't need but to heal the wounds they caused each other. It’s a threat to stop anything and anyone that gets in their way, even themselves (or, perhaps, especially themselves). It’s a vow to never let go again. 

But, like Tim said, they have a lot to discuss even with all the healthy communication they squeezed into the last few days. Things that happened many years ago or just recently.

Say, how did Dick like his 6-month vacation in the future? What was future Dick doing here, for the same amount of time, in his place? Tim tried to keep an eye on him, but the bastard was too sneaky even for his tastes.

And what should he tell Dick when he inevitably asks the most damning question?
“What did Gun Batman say to Tim minutes before he almost shot himself?”

And Dick will ask, seeing as both of his versions were there when Tim did die.

But all of this can wait. They've got all the time in the world now, don’t they?

“Will you be my Flamebird?”

“I will.”

No compromises. No limits.