Work Text:
The hardwood floor is old and rigid. It stands at odds with the otherwise usual trappings of a young teens’ bedroom.
Posters of obscure strategy games and shows Dick could not tell you the names of litter the wall. TTRPG rulebooks are neatly tucked in between schoolbooks. Young Timmy had always been so excited to tell him about the systems once he’d coaxed the kid out of his self-imposed silence.
In the end, Dick never did manage to play in a session of his.
The books are dusty now.
A year ago, Dick had made an offhand dig at the teen’s time management: “That’s your third coffee in two hours” and then “You know, if you’d spend less time planning tabletop games, you’d might actually get some sleep.” Tim had looked at him, eyebags darker than any sixteen-year-olds should be and said: “I don’t do those anymore.”
The extent of Tims comment hits Dick now, standing in his abandoned bedroom, trying to piece together who his little brother has become from context clues. The dusty rule books, magic decks and skateboards, all abandoned when he moved out, paint a heartbreaking picture. For the first time Dick wonders if Tim only took the camera equipment because it’s needed for the cases.
It’s too late to ask now. It’s too late for a lot of things.
Dick takes a long, shallow breath and finally slides to the floor of Timmy’s old room. He will be here for a long time. The wood creaks. Dick takes another breath.
When he saw Tim’s apartment the first time two days ago, another thing to regret, something deep within him had winced. His little brothers home felt so cold and empty. Not the way the Wayn Manor feels empty: vast and imposing, overshadowing any human touch, but just… hollow. Like there is barely any human touch to be overshadowed. The kitchen was mostly empty, the fridge filled with microwave meals, the walls blank, no couch, no tv, the only chair his office chair, any necessities neatly put away, every file on his computer organized and labeled, every line of code explained. Barbs said any non WE, JL, Teen Titans or Bat related files haven’t been opened in years.
The two things in the apartment which spoke of his owner were the empty coffee mugs strewn across every horizontal surface and the broken locks hanging from the kicked in door: cutesy of Jason. Their presence and current state, probably.
He should have noticed.
The realization sinks deeper with every new detail they uncover: It’s so obvious, had anyone just bothered to look.
If he wanted to be kinder to himself, he could tell himself that Tim is good at not being perceived. That, over his short life, the teen has perfected the art of staying in the background: stable, dependable and exactly who everyone needs him to be, always ready to assure the occasional onlooker that no, he does not warrant a second glance.
Dick’s not good at being kind to himself.
Jay and Dami are loud with their feelings. They fight, scream and make snide comments. They disregard orders if they don’t agree. He has spent most of his adulthood learning how to navigate their emotions with them whilst dragging Bruce, kicking and screaming, into becoming at least a mediocre parent.
He had been glad, a bit jalouses even, how well Tim and Bruce worked together. No fights, barely any arguments, just a quiet understanding that the mission has priority.
Now Dick wonders how much of their perfect team work as just Tim letting Bruce quietly wear him down to nothingness.
He hugs the white plush bunny in his arms tighter.
The bunny is the one thing he’d taken from Tim’s apartment. It was his welcoming gift after Bruce adopted Tim. “I had a similar one. It helps me when I miss my parents”, he said. Timmy had thanked him and said he won’t. Which must have been another lie, because he never slept without it, be it in the manor, his new apartment or the titans tower, though hidden in a bag so the others won’t see. He’s sleeping without it now.
The selfish part of Dick wishes Tim had not left it behind, wishes his little brother had chosen sentimentally over logic. It wouldn’t have been smart: the tracker B planted was so well hidden even knowing of its presence, it had taken Dick an hour to find and remove it. And Tim’s smart. So smart they’ll never see him again.
Alfred found the letter whilst cleaning, one and a half weeks too late. B read the first two paragraphs, shot up as if possessed and silently rushed to locate the tracker. Trackers.
I’m sorry for any inconvenience my sudden disappearance will cause. I have done all I can to make the transition as smooth as possible.
Thank you for letting me stay as long as I have. I will never forget it.
Please don’t come looking for me.
Tim
B was gone to locate the trackers before reaching that part. Not that it would have stopped him: Noone can. Since reading the letter, he has only left the Batcomputer to turn Tim’s apartment upside down. Each time Dick checks in on him, his sunken in eyes are more manic and the pile of coffee mugs has grown. Dick will have to talk to him soon.
Alfred
I’ll forever be grateful for all the kindness you have shown me. Truly. I’m sorry I couldn’t thank you in person.
Batman
Thank you for giving all you have– and more– to this city. The shadows must be a heavy burden, but Gotham and the world are brighter for it. I have the photographs to prove it.
You will hate me for abandoning the mission. I don’t blame you. I hope, in time, you will see that me staying would have made Batman worse. Your family deserves you undivided loyalty.
Thank you for letting me be part of something bigger.
B, Jay and Dick had found the other two trackers, the one Tim knew of and the one he shouldn’t have, in the teen’s bathroom sink. The blood was brown and dry by then.
Dick wonders for how long Tim has known. When Dick found out, it had ended in an hour-long screaming match, a week of unanswered calls from Alfred and two removed trackers under threat of never coming back.
Tim didn’t yell or threaten, hell, he didn’t even remove them until the day of. They dated the blood.
Tim had accepted the trackers the same way he had every other horrible thing they did. Like when they forgot to add his new number to the family group chat for half a year, or Jay calling him ‘replacement’ despite his eyes going hollow each time he does. Or his brothers murder attempts. Plural. Or how he somehow still went on patrol and Dicks prescribed family bonding events with cete brothers yet never stuck around to sleep in his old room afterwards. He had accepted it the way he accepted Dick taking away Robin.
Jason
I won’t apologize for taking on the Robin mantel. It was necessary and Dick refused.
I was a temporary solution, never your replacement. I’m sorry I made you feel otherwise. I’m sorry my presence hurt your and Bruce’s relationship. From all the robins, you were my favorite.
Damian
You already know this, but you’re an extraordinary kid and amazing Robin. I’m sorry I didn’t do this sooner.
Dick
Thank you for making me feel welcome and listening to my rambles. Thank you for the bunny. Thank you saying we’re brothers, I know you prefer not to lie. And because I know you: Whatever misplaced guilt you have, I hereby relief you of it. Take care of B for me and tell Barbara I’m sorry for all the extra work.
Dick buries his face in the plush bunny’s soft fur and finally allows himself to mourn.
He mourns the kid whose eyes filled with wonder when looking at Batman and Robin. He mourns the teen he took train surfing, and who in turn, taught him what a D20 is. And he mourns, most of all, that he does not know Tim well enough to miss who he is now.