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He didn’t watch what was on Cassandra’s flash-drive right away. Let it stew on the kitchen counter for a few days. Sit there and be intimidating for a while, while he dealt with other things.
It was after a particularly bad night, where he felt like he didn’t win a single fight, where all he wished was to come home to family, to his children, and know that they were all safe and alive and with him, and remembered that they weren’t – that he finally hooked it up to a machine.
The computer folder appeared on the large screen in the cave, and only one file was contained in it. The file name was just a jumble of numbers. A date, he realized quickly. A date not long after…everything.
He clicked the file.
It opened into a video player, the screen filling with a black and white scene. It was the manor, one of the rooms in the more private part of the estate. A place where Bruce himself didn’t go often, but knew his children – Damian especially – found solace there on occasion.
Damian was the only one there, a small blip in the corner of the screen. Sitting on the window seat, staring dreamily out the window behind him. Even in the pixilated video, he looked tired, like he hadn’t slept in ages. He blinked a few times, just watching the yard, before turning back towards the room, towards the easel placed next to his seat.
And even in black and white, it didn’t take a genius to know what he was painting. A mostly black uniform, with a splash across the chest.
Dick.
Damian only did a few strokes before putting the brush back down and staring back out the window. He sighed, suddenly, and wiped at his eyes, then leaned his cheek against the glass.
He sat there for another few minutes, in silence and unmoving, before perking, and spinning his head towards the opposite corner of the room.
Bruce watched the door opening in the corner, but couldn’t see who opened it, not as they stood in the doorway. Not an enemy, obviously, as Damian slumped again, and said something in greeting. A short, quick word. Probably a name.
Another moment and Damian’s visitor stepped into the room. He was faced mostly away from the camera, but Bruce would know that shaggy hair anywhere.
Tim.
From his profile, Bruce knew Tim was smiling, talking gently. Damian seemed unbothered, or maybe a little uncaring, glancing nonchalantly at his painting when Tim gestured towards it, no doubt complimenting it.
Damian shrugged, looking back at his older brother, and despite no audio, Bruce knew what he asked.
“What do you want?”
Tim’s face seemed to fall, then, and now it was his turn to sigh.
He must have asked a question back, after a brief pause, because Damian nodded. Tim said something else, and Damian did nothing.
Tim took another step forward, and said something else. A simple sentence. His face was emotionless as he did, but Damian’s wasn’t. Damian’s eyes were widening, and the child began to minutely shake his head.
His mouth moved, and again, Bruce could read it.
“You’re lying.”
Tim shook his head, and this time Damian screamed at him, jumping to his feet, knocking his painting of Nightwing to the ground.
“You’re lying! You have to be!”
Tim shook his head again, and said something else. Probably an apology of some sort. Damian looked down, but Bruce could see something suddenly sliding down his cheek, a second before Damian slammed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
“Father can’t be-!”
Bruce blinked.
Oh.
Damian’s mouth morphed into one of anguish, and he looked like the little boy he never got to be. Without warning, Damian collapsed, falling to his knees, keeping his hands over his eyes, as he let out a scream.
Instantly, Tim was at his side, gathering the little boy up into his arms, rocking him gently. Damian’s face was hidden now, and Bruce didn’t know what he was saying. Knew that he was speaking, judging by how Tim was seemingly responding, but didn’t know what. He could guess, though, with how Tim suddenly looked over towards the fallen painting, before closing his eyes and burying his face in Damian’s hair.
They sat like that for a while. Damian visibly, violently sobbing, and Tim just holding him. Holding him and trying to keep his own emotions in check. After a minute, Bruce tried to fast forward, move on to see what his sons did after their pain, but the tape wouldn’t let him. It wouldn’t let him stop the footage either.
His daughter was smart.
So he watched. As the shadows moved across the room, as Damian sunk lower and lower into Tim’s embrace.
There was suddenly a noise from the other side of the cave, and Bruce glanced back to see Dick standing at the bottom of the stairs, his own face pale and weary.
“Cass gave you one too, huh?” Dick croaked, eyes glued to the screen. “Give it a minute, it gets even better.”
Bruce frowned, but turned back to the video, just in time for a sudden buzz as the audio kicked in. As it settled, Bruce picked up on heavy breathing, coming from the youngest.
“What am I going to do?” Damian whispered, his voice tinny and broken. “I don’t…Drake, I don’t have anyone else. I don’t have anywhere else. This isn’t my house; I can’t stay here. Grayson and Father were all I had, without them, I…I…!”
“You have me.” Tim answered without hesitation. He seemed to almost surprise himself with the statement. “We have each other, and Cass and Steph. Even Jason. He’ll help you, okay? We’ll all help each other. It’s what family does.”
Damian seemed to gulp, and shook his head. “If my grandfather finds out, he’ll try to force me back into the League. He’d already taken my body when I was dead, but Father fought him off. If he finds out Father’s gone, then…then…”
“Then he’ll do nothing. I won’t let him. I promise.” Tim soothed, tilting Damian’s head back to look at him. “And you don’t have to stay here alone if you don’t want. Frankly I’d rather you didn’t.”
Damian sniffed. “Why not? I’ve done it before.”
“Because you’re ten, and yeah – I didn’t like it when you did all those times either.” Tim smiled grimly. “So…how about you come stay with me? Just for a few days, until we can get everything figured out, and everyone calmed down.”
Damian just stared up at him.
“…Bruce wouldn’t want you to be alone right now.” Tim whispered, ruffling gently at Damian’s hair. “Dick either. He’d want you safe and taken care of.”
“…You don’t know that.”
“I do.” Tim laughed. “And you know what? Even if I didn’t. Even if that was untrue.” A pause. “I don’t want you to be alone.”
Damian looked warily up at him. Like he didn’t believe him, or like he was relieved.
“So come on.” Tim slowly moved to stand. “Let’s go pack you a bag.”
Damian stared up at him for a moment, before taking Tim’s offered hand. “How long am I staying with you?”
“Don’t know yet.” Tim shrugged. “We’ll tentatively say…two weeks, for now. How does that sound?”
“Two weeks too long.” Damian muttered. Tim laughed again, wrapping a protective arm around Damian’s shoulder.
“Oh, I don’t know. I still have hope for us, yet.” Tim winked. But then his smile faded ever so slightly, as he squeezed Damian’s arm. “…We’ll get through this, Damian. Together. I promise.”
Damian didn’t answer, just kept his eyes low as Tim led him gently out of the room. The tape immediately cut off.
“…Mine also had when Damian found out I was dead. ” Dick droned, coming up beside the chair. “Jason said this happened two days after everyone else figured out you were probably dead. Said Tim asked out of the blue one day, if anyone knew where Damian was, or if he’d been told. Everyone said they assumed someone else did it. Even Barbara.”
Bruce just grunted.
“…What did we do.” Dick whispered. “Bruce, what did we fucking do?”
Bruce mulled his answer. “…We saved the world.”
“And destroyed our family in the process.” Dick shot back.
“…Sacrifices have to be made. Sometimes.” Bruce mumbled, halfheartedly.
“Not them. I don’t want to sacrifice them. Not my brothers. We have to fix this.” Dick demanded, but then quieter. “Bruce, how do we fix this?”
“…I don’t know.” Bruce responded, shutting down the computer and standing, turning towards the stairs. “Maybe we don’t.”
Dick stood there, miserable, watching Bruce retreat back up to the house.
“Maybe this time, we can’t.”