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1) The First (Bruce)
Tim had been working on this spinning leg kick for hours now. Sweat was dripping off of his face, soaking his skin and training gear, and messing up his hair. His usually well-put together style was damp, dripping, and curling at the ends.
He couldn’t get it right. Every time he tried, he would either miss the area he was supposed to be kicking, or he would lose his balance on the landing. Tim couldn’t help it, but his focus had started slipping. He had homework due tomorrow. With this training session going on so long, it meant he likely wouldn’t sleep tonight. That was okay. There was a Zesti with his name on it in his fridge at home.
Tim huffed as he wiped sweat off of his forehead. He needed to refocus. He nor Bruce would let him leave until he got this move right at least twice in a row. Tim was getting it almost every other time now, but never consecutively.
“Sorry,” Tim muttered between heavy breaths. He didn’t know if it was loud enough for Bruce to hear.
“You can do better, Jason.” Bruce bodily stopped the punching bag. He pointed at the area that was meant to be the target for this particular move. “You need to hit here. You know this.”
Bruce was staring at Tim as though he expected him to immediately retry the kick. Tim, however, was unable to force himself to even move. All his muscles had locked up the moment that Bruce had uttered that name.
There had been moments where Bruce paused too long before just saying ‘Robin’ in place of Tim’s name. Sometimes, though, the pause would last so long that Tim felt the need to remind Bruce what his name was. Bruce always continued on afterward, not acknowledging his slip.
Tim should have been all right with it. Bruce hadn’t yet gotten accustomed to having another Robin. Tim didn’t spend much time with the man besides training, anyway, so it wasn’t unheard of that he would forget Tim’s name. That, however much it hurt, Tim could let slide.
This though? This was the first time that Bruce had actually called Tim by Jason. There were a few near slip ups before: Bruce would get partially through the name Jason before he realized that he wasn’t talking to his son. And Tim wasn’t Bruce’s son, in no stretch of the word. He wasn’t Dick, and he sure as fuck wasn’t Jason.
Bruce now didn’t realize that Tim wasn’t his son. He was still staring expectantly at the dark haired, blue eyed boy in training gear in the cave. Tim had no idea if he was supposed to correct him or not. All he could think about was the discomfort crawling all over his skin.
“Jason,” Bruce said again, tone harsher this time. As Tim snapped to attention, his thoughts derailed. Bruce pointed at the spot on the bag again. “Hit here.”
“I’m not Jason,” Tim responded before he could deliberate more on if he should correct Bruce or not. He immediately regretted it, his heavy breathing catching in his chest.
The softness in Bruce’s face died. His shoulders tensed, hardening into something much more familiar. Tim didn’t even realize that they had relaxed, and Tim had just ruined it. Guiltily, he wondered what would have happened if he let Bruce believe that he was a dead boy. Would he have gotten more of that softness that Bruce never let escape when it was just him and Tim in the cave?
“We’re done for the night,” Bruce said after several moments of silence. His voice was flat—blank from any emotion. Even if he wasn’t soft before he confused Tim for Jason, he still held that determined glint in his eyes. That was gone now.
He wasn’t looking at Tim anymore.
It was Tim’s turn to stiffen once he processed what Bruce said. Wasn’t he just thinking how neither him nor Bruce would be content with Tim leaving until he got the move correct twice in a row? His mouth fell open as he scrambled for words to defend his right to be here.
Before he could even utter a word, Bruce clenched his jaw and spoke again, “Leave.” Bruce’s voice was cold, hard steel. Tim wasn’t even tired anymore in the wake of it, his heart racing with the guilt and anxiety of disappointing him. Tim’s hands shook as he tried to articulate his thoughts better, to plead to stay until he could see that glimmer of pride in Bruce’s eyes.
Tim opened his mouth again so could argue his case, but then Bruce was turning his back on him. Tim searched every minuscule part of Bruce’s posture, desperate. All he could see was that tension along the man’s back, so tight that he shook with it.
Bruce didn’t wait for Tim to move. Instead, he stalked out of the training area with purpose, almost as if he were running from Tim.
Tim watched him leave, cataloging the way he walked—stiff and perfunctorily. All Tim could hear was the ever-present droning of electricity, cut by intermittent drips of water somewhere deep in the cave. Once Bruce was out of sight, Tim’s eyes drifted to the punching bag.
Anger hit him all at once, a frustration that had built silently behind his confusion and devastation breaking free. Tim gritted his teeth and glared at the bag. He stepped backward. Tim called to mind the area that Bruce had pointed to, his face still twisted. As his upper lip twitched and quivered, Tim moved. He executed the move, perfectly hitting the place where Bruce’s fingers touched when he called him that name.
Tim grunted as he landed. He didn’t waste any time to forget how his body moved. He launched himself into the form again, hitting his mark as a cry erupted from his lips.
Satisfaction rose in Tim’s chest. It was hollow without Bruce here to see Tim get the move twice in a row. In fact, it died as soon as it surfaced, taking with it the anger. He was left carved out, panting, staring at a punching bag in a place he currently wasn’t welcome.
Tim should have known better. He wiped the sweat off his brow and moved away from the training area. He didn’t head to the showers, as he usually would. He didn’t even go up from the cave like usual either. Instead, he grabbed his belongings and started the long trek back up to his house from the cave proper, despite how much longer it would take.
Bruce didn’t want Tim here, not now. He probably didn’t want to see him again for a while. Tim understood, and would allow him that. He didn’t think about how long it would be until he heard his name again.
2) Prolonged (Bruce)
Tim fiddled anxiously with his bo staff. He knew it better than the back of his own hand by now. Running his palm down it calmed down the anxiety and frustration that threatened to choke him. He should be using the tool in his other hand to do maintenance on the weapon, but he was too keyed up to.
Usually, this kind of repetitive action was reserved for his camera. Now, though, after months of practicing with the weapon every day, it was the only thing that could sooth him.
Patrol had gone well enough. There were no major injuries, no breakouts, and only a few goons had gotten away. That didn’t stop the emotions bubbling up inside of him.
He heard the change in how Bruce called him Robin halfway through the night. It happened right after Tim used a move he had seen Jason employ liberally, so he wasn’t too surprised. It had become a commonality for Bruce to think that Tim was Jason whenever Tim did something particularly Jason-like. However, Bruce’s misremembering of who Tim was had never lasted this long; it had only been a moment or few. Then Bruce would go back to saying ‘Robin’ with that harsh edge.
Tim knew the man didn’t want another Robin, but Tim was persistent enough that that didn’t matter. It did matter, however, when Bruce didn’t remember that it wasn’t Jason who was in the suit.
Bruce was getting changed right now. Tim hadn’t even taken off his domino, and he didn’t know if he wanted to. Better that Bruce came back to still see Robin than anything else. This way, Tim might be able to see the man’s softer side. If Tim changed now, there was a high likelihood that Bruce would get angry again.
He had yet to correct Bruce again when he called Tim by the wrong name. After that first time, it happened more and more frequently. Tim didn’t count how many times it happened—he didn’t want to know—but he wouldn’t be surprised if it happened at least every other week.
The guilt over not correcting Bruce whenever it happened expounded on itself the more that Tim let Bruce get away with it. Wasn’t there something about going with the delusions of dementia patients? But Bruce didn’t have dementia; this was just grief. Or was it like when people had hallucinations, and the main priority was to help them understand reality? Tim didn’t know if Bruce was just confused, or if he actually saw Jason in Tim’s place. Would it help or hurt Bruce if he corrected the man? Tim didn’t want to send him down another spiral by reminding him that his youngest son was dead.
They had never acknowledged the slip ups since Tim corrected Bruce that first time. Bruce would pretend that those had never happened. He would move on from it easily, even continuing a conversation calling Tim the correct name, even if it started with Bruce calling him by the wrong one.
Bruce came out of the locker room. His hair was still damp. He looked toward Tim, and there was that soft smile. Tim didn’t get to see that look on Bruce’s face unless Tim was being called by a name not his own. With guilt burning behind his sternum, Tim focused back on his bo staff.
“You all right, Jason?” Bruce asked, affection laced into his voice. He stopped behind Tim, settling a hand onto his shoulder.
Tim swallowed heavily. “Yeah. Just gonna fix this and I’ll be off to bed.”
He knew it was a lie. It wasn’t that late into the night yet, not even 3 a.m. He still had to study for a test tomorrow. Then there was how that phrase sounded like Tim would be staying at the Manor. Tim only stayed the night in the guest room made up for him when it was a lost cause to get back to his own place. Tim would be leaving for his own house after this.
“All right, son,” Bruce patted Tim’s shoulder. Tim had a hard time ignoring the pit in his stomach. He should say something. Anything. Bruce had never thought he was Jason for this long. “Don’t take too long, okay?”
Tim looked up from his bo staff. He immediately wished that he didn’t. Bruce’s face was open with love, eyes soft and lips ever so slightly turned at the edges. Tim had never seen this look on Bruce’s face before, not even during the other times that he had called Tim by Jason.
This wasn’t just confusion. This was pure belief. Tim decided that once Bruce left, he would bring this up with Alfred and Dick. A few mistakes was one thing, but this was something completely different. It really did matter that Bruce hadn’t remembered that Tim wasn’t Jason yet. Maybe something happened on patrol that Tim had missed. He’d need a third pair of eyes on their patrol cams from the night.
Realizing that Bruce was waiting for a response, Tim dipped his head in acknowledgment. He even managed a small smile too.
It was enough for Bruce. He lifted his hand up from Tim’s shoulder, patted it, then moved to ruffle Tim’s hair. Usually Tim pressed into this rare show of affection, even if it was never for him. This time, he couldn’t make his neck move despite how much he craved it. The worry for Bruce’s mental state had frozen him still.
“Love you, Jaylad,” Bruce muttered once he pulled his hand away. Only, instead of moving away, he came closer. He leaned down and softly pressed his lips to Tim’s forehead.
Tim choked. He tried his hardest to keep it down, his grip on his bo staff so tight that his knuckles hurt. He had no idea how Bruce would react to pulling him out of this illusion. Didn’t know if it was dangerous. So Tim let the spot on his forehead burn with guilt, fear, and worry until Bruce moved away.
Bruce was waiting on a response. Tim needed him to leave. Without any other idea of how to pacify him, Tim licked his lips and said, “Love you too.”
Tim couldn’t remember the last time he said that.
Bruce’s eyes crinkled with joy. He gave Tim—he gave Jason one last smile—before he turned and walked languish out of the cave. Tim watched his back as he disappeared, noting how his shoulders looked the least tense that Tim had ever seen them.
Once he was gone, Tim dropped his bo staff. He let it clank down to the floor as he pressed the back of his shaking hand to his lips. Tim folded in on himself, one arm wrapping around his stomach. He pressed his still hot forehead to the table as he hunched even further. The moisture that was welling in his mask escaped down his face and dripped onto the floor.
He would call Alfred and Dick. Tim would. Until he was put together enough to do so, Tim cried.
3) The First (Dick)
Working with Dick was surprisingly similar to working with Bruce. Standing by the Batcomputer next to Dick in the chair felt the same as it did when Tim stood next to Bruce.
Tim didn’t know why he thought it would be any different. Dick had patrolled with Bruce for years, and trained with him for even longer. Of course he could seamlessly navigate the computer—and Gotham’s streets. Tim almost didn’t even notice Bruce was gone, besides the fact he was almost always called his own name. Not Robin when out of uniform, not Jason, just Tim.
Almost.
“Did you hear me, Jason?” Dick said, using that name again. He didn’t stop looking at the computer.
Tim, however, turned his head away from the computer screen towards Dick. He had missed what Dick had said the first time, his mind too preoccupied with Dick’s voice saying ‘Jason.’ It repeated around his head like a drum, too loud to focus on anything else.
“Sorry,” Tim said. His voice slipped down a little deeper. He didn’t want it to. He felt like a faulty replacement. “Repeat?”
“You don’t have to patrol tonight,” Dick repeated. Dick’s previous phrasing of those words now started processing. Still, Tim blinked in confusion at that sentence. The criminals of Gotham knew that Batman was gone, which meant that Nightwing and Robin needed to have a more solid pretense than usual. “I know you have your second sit for the SAT tomorrow. Study and sleep, in that order.”
Tim forgot that he told Dick about that. He mentioned it offhandedly, including the fact that he was unsure if he would even go. Tim might not have gotten the score he wanted the first time he took the SAT, but it was good enough. Sure, his score was majorly affected by the fact that he hadn’t slept the night before, but that was fine. He’d probably get into a good college with the score he had.
Besides, Tim wasn’t even sure that he was going to go to college. He liked school, but the city needed him more. He really didn’t need to take the SAT again.
Tim wished he never brought it up. Not if it made Dick call him that.
“Are you sure?” Tim said instead of bringing up the fact that Dick said the wrong name.
It went badly when he brought up Bruce calling him that. There was a lot of yelling, sure, but mostly it was brushing Tim’s concerns under the rug. The man was grieving, they said. Nothing had happened on patrol, they said. It would run its course and Bruce would acclimate, they said.
Bruce didn’t. At least he didn’t have prolonged delusions that Tim was Jason anymore, so maybe someone had said something to him. Tim could live with Bruce calling him Jason every now and then when Tim did something particularly Jason-like. He would just move along with the conversation like he didn’t even hear the different name.
This was a similar thing, Tim told himself. Jason had loved school, so of course Dick’s brain made the connection. It wasn’t anything to worry about. Besides, Tim didn’t want a repeat experience of that conversation. He hated when his concerns weren’t taken seriously, like he was just a kid playing dress-up. He hadn’t been a kid for a long time.
Dick was usually good at actually listening to Tim’s concerns, so he didn’t want that to change now by bringing up being called ‘Jason.’ Not when he was staying in the Manor to be more readily available for patrol while Bruce was gone.
“I’m sure, Jay,” Dick responded. He reached to the side and ruffled Tim’s hair. He hated how much he liked it. “I’ll be fine on my own for one night.”
“Okay,” Tim acquiesced before dipping out from underneath Dick’s hand.
Dick laughed but allowed Tim to leave. He never looked away from the Batcomputer, too focused on the case they were currently tracking. Tim wondered if he looked back, he would have realized that he was talking to the wrong Robin that was in his head.
Tim made his way to the guest room he had all his things in. Instead of studying like Dick asked of him, he stared at the ceiling until his eyes drifted closed.
4) Commonality (Dick)
“Jason, I’m not- I’m not gonna let you go fight him alone!” Dick ground out, obviously still in pain. The ferocity of his voice was nothing like when he had been talking about Jason—all low tones and grief laced into every word.
Tim had to pause before he could respond. They had never been currently talking about Jason when Dick or Bruce called Tim by that name. It was weird; but it was also in line with the pattern. If Tim was doing something they deemed was reckless, then he would be called Jason.
He didn’t think that going to have a conversation with Jason was reckless. Sure, the guy might have killed tens of people in one night, but he left both Dick and Tim alive. Tim could bet that Jason wouldn’t react as violently if Tim showed up not wearing the Robin uniform.
“I’ll be fine,” Tim eventually said after his small pause. He knew better than to try to correct him. “I don’t need you protecting me on my mission. I know what to do.”
It stung when they didn’t trust him. He tried so hard, breaking himself into pieces in order to be as useful as possible. It wasn’t as bad now as when he first started—back when he was doing everything all the time and exhausting himself in the process. He was better at balancing now. Well, Tim didn’t have much to balance anymore. He didn’t end up going to college, and being Robin was his job.
Tim might have still have a problem with staying up into the early hours of the morning, but that was par for the course in being a vigilante.
The point was that whenever Tim thought he was living up to their expectations—to the other Robin’s legacy—they would pull back and demand Tim not operate on his own. He was half convinced it was a product of how they felt about his work as Robin as a whole instead of a hold over from the last ‘mission’ Jason took on for himself.
“Oh yeah?” Dick asked, clearly tired. The grief, pain, and worry compounded on themselves to the nth degree. “What happened to you last time?”
He wondered if Dick was thinking about what happened to Jason, or what Jason did to Tim.
Tim’s mind flashed back to that fight. How he thought he had the upper hand, how he was confident in his own abilities in order to take the masked man down. How Jason had played with him until Tim’s stamina had gotten to the end of its life, how his bo staff was broken, how Jason man-handled him.
How Jason told Tim to stay down, then walked away. Tim confronted Jason at the end of a long line of bodies. He thought he was going to die if he didn’t get back up, but Jason just left. He let Tim stay alive, just like he let Dick stay alive.
Sure, he might have stuck Dick with a sword. But Jason left the sword in—let Dick get medical attention and let them run the sword through recognition software. He didn’t even stab Dick through anything important. After putting down as many people as Jason did that night, putting down two more should have been no consequence to him. But Jason didn’t. Even if he hadn’t come to Dick for help yet, he still held some sort of love for him.
Still. Jason had hurt Dick worse than he hurt Tim. Jason had full opportunity to stab him, but he reserved that for Dick.
“Why don’t we ask the sword sticking out of your gut?” Tim fired back with.
He needed to be the one to go have a conversation with Jason. Tim figured he was at least a little bit like the man, if his brother and father always mistook Tim for Jason. And Tim wasn’t a part of the whole situation that led to Jason’s death, so hopefully there wasn’t as much trauma or revulsion held there.
It was of Tim’s opinion that if he showed up without the Robin uniform, he might actually get somewhere.
“Fine,” Dick sighed. He looked down to his wound, then at the comm still laying on the desk. He picked it up slowly—so slowly that Tim was sure his wound was the only reason he was agreeing. Dick was tired, and emotionally drained. He couldn’t fight Tim on this, not now. “But I’ll be here.” Dick led the comm up for Tim to take. Tim did without argument. “Listening.”
He knew it was supposed to be a warning of some sort. Or maybe it was for Dick’s own piece of mind. The last Robin went to confront a murderer alone and never made it back. Dick wanted to keep tabs on this Robin to make sure he didn’t share the same fate.
“Yeah, okay,” Tim replied easily as he picked up his sweatshirt.
“You’re not going to suit up?” Dick asked as Tim was putting on the sweater. Tim didn’t want to explain his thought process; it would be too much to get into now.
“No,” Tim settled on. “I don’t need to.”
Tim walked out of the cave before Dick could respond. He put the comm in his pocket, right next to the other one he snatched off the desk when he grabbed his sweater. Tim wouldn’t be putting the comm in his ear, not when he was convincing Jason to let Tim help him. Tim didn’t need the lecture that would come from Dick by doing so.
As he left for the Narrows, he tried not to think how the only name that Dick had called him since they got back wasn’t Tim’s own.
5) Mistaken (Tim)
The first thought that crossed Tim’s mind after Deathstroke broke his bo staff was that he really needed to invest time into creating a collapsible one that also wasn’t as breakable. Two bo staffs in as many days was a bad record, even for him. He made the mistake of watching the bo staff fall to the ground, both in disbelief and outrage.
His next thought was more of ‘oh shit’ as Deathstroke rained Nightwing’s escrima down onto him. The first hit slashed across his face, making him stumble. Tim tried to regain his footing—to desperately block—only for the force of the hit to his torso to send him to his knees.
Tim didn’t like to be on his knees. He didn’t like remembering what had happened the last time someone forced him down to kneel. Deathstroke didn’t care about the objective fear on Tim’s face. He reared the escrima back again and hit him square on the jaw, sending him careening down to the floor.
Afterward, the stars swam in his vision. He tried to get himself back up—get back into the fight. His support was needed. Tim desperately groped at the ground as everything around him wobbled. He blinked heavily, then the next thing he knew was that Dick was screaming.
The adrenaline pushed Tim back up to standing. He blinked off the lingering wooziness in his vision, desperate to pick himself up and help. He was Robin; that was what he was supposed to do.
Tim got himself up to standing. Without letting himself get reacquainted with standing up straight, Tim charged at Deathstroke. He knew logically it wouldn’t do much good. Deathstroke was the one who put Tim down on the floor in the first place. He still had to try, though, if only to give Dick a reprieve from the pain.
He went down spectacularly easily. Deathstroke didn’t seem content with Tim sprawled out on the ground, though, so he lifted Tim until he was upright again.
Tim couldn’t help but be glad to be standing for this.
Deathstroke laid hit after hit on Tim’s chest plate, making it creak and crack. After he got bored of that, he back handed Tim so hard that the stars in his eyes were the only thing he could see for a moment.
Tim couldn’t tell up from down anymore. He was vaguely aware of Dick on the floor somewhere, and someone talking in a low growl that reminded him of Bruce.
Deathstroke didn’t stop. He kept wailing on Tim as if he were a punching bag.
Dick yelled out a name. It wasn’t Tim’s, but Tim knew he was supposed to respond to it. He had been responding to it for years now. So, he flinched in a futile attempt to get out of Deathstroke’s hold. Dick needed Tim. He needed to go over there to help, but Tim was caught. He couldn’t respond to Dick’s call for him.
Before he knew it, Tim was being held closely to a chest. He almost leaned into it, his concussed brain not immediately registering whose chest it belonged to. There was armor, and Tim was hurt, so maybe Batman had cast away his usual rule of keeping Tim at arms length.
Then there was the cool press of a gun at his forehead, and Tim remembered. It wasn’t Bruce—this wasn’t a rare show of care. He opened his eyes, forced his brain to comprehend, and saw Jason standing opposite him. He had his own gun pressed against the Joker’s head.
Ah. A stalemate. Dick hadn’t been calling for Tim, this time. Dick was calling for his real brother to come and save him. A shame that the last time that Dick would communicate to Tim was only through whistles in the heat of a fight.
At least that meant Tim would be going out as a Robin. It was okay. It would all be okay.
+1 Veracious (Jason)
It had taken a lot of convincing to bring Jason back to the cave again. Surprisingly, it was Dick who was doing the convincing. Tim guessed it had something to do with fighting on the same side as Jason again, and realizing that no matter what, they were brothers. No matter what he had done or had done to him, Jason was still the same old Jason.
Tim stayed out of it. He knew better now. He wouldn’t be forgetting the reaming out that Dick gave him anytime soon, or the amount of stuff Jason stole. Tim was still slowly paying back the money using the returns he would get on his own investments. It was painstaking, but they never asked for the money back.
If Dick wanted to forgive Jason, that was his own prerogative.
The point was that it took over a month until Jason was back in the cave. Tim didn’t know if that was an incredibly short or long period of time. Getting Jason to the cave last time was easy, but that might have been because he was already planning to manipulate Tim. The only reason he even consented to it now was the fact that he had gotten shot.
Tim planted himself at the Batcomputer when they arrived and hadn’t moved since. He made himself useful with cataloging the patrol from the night, then started going over their open cases.
He didn’t want to be in the same room as Dick and Jason. Not that he really had anything against either of them, but Tim knew himself well. Dick would be talking to Jason throughout the process of patching him up—saying his name. Tim had trained himself to respond to Jason. Tim didn’t want to make it awkward with him flinching to attention whenever Dick said his brother’s name.
“All right,” Dick’s voice filtered in from the medbay. “You’re all done.”
“Fucking finally,” Jason responded. There was shuffling around until footsteps sounded.
A hand landed on the back of Tim’s chair. He resolutely kept his eyes on the screen, continuing to click through the case.
“What are you working on?” Dick asked.
Tim tried not to feel any kind of way about how he didn’t say Tim’s name, despite the fact it felt like ‘Jason’ came out of his mouth after every sentence he said to Jason. It was fine. Jason was his brother back from the dead. Of course Dick would want to use it for the person that it was actually meant to be used for.
“Just seeing if I can find any new connections in the information we already have,” Tim responded. He hadn’t, not yet, but that was because of how long he had been looking at the information already. Tim really was just doing this to keep himself busy, while also not leaving the cave.
Tim assumed it would be that. Either Dick would now attempt to convince Jason to go up to the manor, or Jason would leave. The whole reason why Jason came in here in the first place was over now.
He hated that he felt glad at the prospect of Jason leaving. Tim had nothing against him, not after Jason saved his life. But being around him while Dick was there always left the opportunity open for Tim to accidentally respond to the wrong name. Tim didn’t want Jason to get mad over that, and set his healing relationship with Dick back several paces.
Tim could have left, though. He didn’t want to. Like he said, he didn’t have anything against either man. Sue Tim for wanting to spend some time around them instead of the still quiet of being alone.
“Did you input our domino footage from the night?” Dick continued as he glanced at the masks to the side of the desk.
Tim didn’t bother verbally responding this time. He nodded, punctuating it with a confirming whistle, and assumed that would be enough. Dick and—surprisingly—Jason shot out the quick acknowledgment whistle in response.
He focused back on the case, cutting himself off from any other distractions. They had been letting this case rot for a while with no new leads.
Tim needed to actually process the information instead of just looking it over. That would be how he could find a connection he hadn’t seen before; only looking wouldn’t do much. He started clicking through the connections already there, trying to see if that would help him build a base to add the unconnected information in to. Sure, he’d done this in the past already, but another try couldn’t hurt. He flicked to the unconnected information, then back again several times.
Disjointed crimes like this were frustrating, but Tim’s favorite once he solved them. There was something about completing a case that vexed him that brought an unparalleled feeling of accomplishment. Maybe this read through would be the one he needed to see something he hadn’t yet. Maybe he could even go back to the crime scene. Not to find new information—it had been too long for that—but to get into the head space of the criminal. It always seemed like Tim found interesting connections when he traced the criminals' footsteps like that.
Tim started to mouth the words he was reading, a sure sign that he was focused in again.
“I’ll put the dominos away then. Could you pass me that one, Jason?” Dick asked.
Tim’s hand moved of its own accord. He kept his eyes locked on the screen as the hand not on the computer mouse drifted to pick up the still plugged in domino mask.
His hand bumped against another’s once it reached the mask. Tim jolted, confused for a split moment that Dick had grabbed it even after asking for Tim to do it. He finally looked away from the screen, eyes widening and body freezing.
No. Dick had said ‘Jason.’ Jason was here. Dick did not mean Tim.
Jason was looking at Tim like Tim had grown a second head. Warmth flooded Tim’s face. He should have realized that Dick wasn’t actually talking to Tim. He should have remembered that Jason was still in the cave. Wasn’t Tim just thinking about how he needed to make sure he didn’t respond to Jason’s name while the man was here?
He got too deep in the case. It had only been a few moments of inattentiveness, but that was enough.
“Sorry,” Tim muttered. He pulled his hand away slowly, allowing Jason to fully grab it. “Wasn’t listening properly.”
But the problem was that Tim was listening, he just wasn’t remembering. Dick must have realized this as well because he went a shade paler. Jason was too busy squinting at Tim to see it.
“That’s okay,” Dick said eventually. “We disrupted your research anyway. We’ll leave you be.”
“We?” Jason asked with emphasis. He shoved the domino into Dick’s hand. “I don’ know about ‘we.’”
This made Dick finally look toward Jason. He regained a little of the color in his face, probably due to the fact that Jason hadn’t said anything about Tim’s slip up. “Of course, ‘we!’” Dick smiled and put on a pleading face. “WE have sandwiches in the fridge upstairs waiting for us. Please? You should eat something after all that blood loss.”
“I didn’t lose that much blood,” Jason tried. Dick obviously wasn’t letting him get away with that. He crossed over from Tim’s right side to join Jason on the left. Then, he started to pull on the guy’s arm.
“You did too. Come on! It's not like anyone is up there to stop you. Let’s just have a post-patrol meal. You can even raid the library after.”
That seemed to catch Jason’s attention. He cast one last look in Tim’s direction, then begrudgingly let Dick pull him out of the cave. Once they were gone, Tim slumped in his seat. Embarrassment flooded him too much to continue working quite yet. He would let it pass, then work on.
Thankfully Jason didn’t seem to think anything by it.
Hours later, Tim broke the case wide open. He was frantically logging his findings in the Batcomputer, linking the security cam footage he uncovered. The perp had gone in the opposite direction that they thought he did. They didn’t think he had gone that way because of where the second crime that night was. By reevaluating the areas in which the crimes were committed, Tim realized the perp was avoiding a specific area. That made Tim research the area more closely, which made him catch the perp on camera.
He was just finishing up with this footage, mentally preparing to search other cameras, when a cough sounded from the entrance to the cave.
Tim turned his head to look, only to find Jason standing there. Tim scrunched his brows, confused. He would have thought Dick wouldn’t have let the man out of his sight.
“What are you doing here?” Tim asked without inflection.
Jason sauntered his way into the cave. “Dick fell asleep,” he said as he got closer.
It really wasn’t the entire explanation that Tim was looking for. Sure, the guy might have saved Tim’s life, but that didn’t mean that he would want to seek him out. Tim thought the only reason why he came back to the cave—why he went up to the manor—was to spend more time with his brother.
“And?” Tim made a gesturing movement with his hand. “That doesn’t explain what you’re doing down here again. Unless you plan to steal something else?”
Jason chuckled, looking about the cave. The mannequin that once held the armor Jason stole still stood empty. “Nah, I got everything I need. I do have a question, though.”
Tim gestured back to the computer and held up a finger. He finished saving what he was doing, then made a small note to future him so he would remember what it was that he was looking at. After all that was done, he turned back to Jason. “Shoot.”
“Why did you respond to my name?” Jason did in fact shoot. The question hit Tim with the speed of one of Jason’s bullets.
Ever since Jason came back, the one thing Tim didn’t want him to know was that his family had been calling Tim by his name. Tim meant it when he told Jason that he wasn’t so easily replaced—both because of Jason’s time as Robin and because of his family’s love for him.
It was hard to step into the shoes that Jason left vacant in the wake of his death. Tim disliked that they lapsed in remembering just who they were talking to, but he hated himself more that he liked it sometimes. Especially near the beginning, the times that they thought Tim was Jason were the only moments he got any warmth from them.
Tim replaced Jason. He felt guilty and disgusting every time he thought about it. Of course he didn’t want Jason to find out just to what extent.
With the man’s history, Tim would have assumed that Jason would get violent about it. That, and Jason and Dick had been repairing their relationship smoothly so far. Tim couldn’t imagine that this would do anything other than set them back.
“I didn’t hear it,” Tim tried. He was desperately searching for another excuse. “I only heard Dick ask for the domino. I was really focused.”
“I don’t believe you,” Jason sing-songed as he got closer to Tim. The threat of violence rolled off of him like waves. “Were you really that desperate to replace me?”
“I never wanted to replace you,” Tim gritted through clenched teeth. He averted his eyes. He couldn’t even rely on Dick coming down to diffuse the situation since the guy was asleep. He wracked his brain to come up with a different explanation, but he was tired. Tim’s mind wasn't firing properly anymore. What ended up coming out of his mouth was exactly what he didn’t want—the truth: “It’s not my fault that they would forget who they were talking to.”
All the resentful energy blew out of Jason in a rush. In its place, Jason was filled with blank faced disbelief. “What the fuck?” His brows furrowed. “I was fucking with you.”
Tim’s eyes widened in panic. Had he really read this situation that poorly? Jason’s previous terrifyingly violent presence seemed so real. He literally said he didn’t believe Tim’s first explanation. But with the way he said it… he really was just joking, wasn’t he? “Wait—”
“You’re really saying that they called you by my name?” Jason asked. Tim couldn’t decide what emotion was powering his words, only that it was something electric.
“No!” Tim lied. His voice was too high, too frantic. “Definitely not. No. That’s—”
“You’re fucking lying to me,” Jason leaned in closer. Tim pressed himself to the back of his chair. He wanted to stand up, to defend both himself and the Waynes. Tim couldn’t. “Actually lying to me. I said I didn’t believe you before to fuck with you, but you’re literally lying through your teeth. You literally just said that they forget who they’re talking to.”’
Tim shut his eyes tightly. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want his tower of cards to fall down like this. “Stop.”
“No, I’m not going to stop,” Jason finally moved out of Tim’s space. The change was so sudden that Tim surged forward. He thought that he was about to get his ass beat, not Jason leaving his personal space entirely. “I thought it really was you just not listening properly. This is a whole other thing entirely.”
“Just forget about it,” Tim tried weakly. He didn’t open his eyes. “It hasn’t happened much since you’ve been back. It's okay. I’ve made my peace with it.”
“Oh fuck that,” Jason spit so hard that Tim flinched. “I hate that phrase from you.”
“Sorry.”
“Fuck!” Jason exclaimed again, much too close. Tim opened his eyes in a rush to find Jason right in front of him again. With his eyes closed, he didn’t realize Jason was so close. Tim didn’t have time to move away before Jason was grabbing Tim and hauling him upwards.
“Wait, no, I really am sorry,” Tim tried as Jason started manhandling him. “I wouldn’t have stayed if it wasn’t what Gotham needed. Batman needs a Robin.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jason said dismissively. He was moving Tim toward the entrance into the Manor with purpose. Tim attempted to wretch his arm out of Jason’s grip, but Jason was strong. The fingers wrapped around Tim’s upper arm were like a manacle.
“Please—”
“Shut up.” Jason cut Tim off. He started up the stairs.
Tim wisely shut his mouth. He didn’t know where Jason was dragging him to, but Tim had an idea. He just hoped that Jason would allow Tim to gather up his things before tossing him out. He already had them packed; it would only need to be a simple stop at Tim’s guest room.
It wasn’t like Tim never thought this day was coming. Especially since Jason was back. Tim wasn’t needed as heavily anymore. Sure, having Robin in Gotham was useful, but Tim no longer was useful in the lives of the Waynes. What use was a crutch when you no longer needed it to walk?
He didn’t blame Jason for wanting to get rid of the kid leeching off of his family’s affection for him. Tim just selfishly wished he had more time.
“Dick!” Jason yelled as he pulled Tim along.
Tim focused himself back into their surroundings. To his surprise, they were headed for the library instead of the front door or Tim’s guest room. He guessed it made sense that Jason would want to let the person who actually lived here know what was going on.
They burst into the library with another shout of Dick’s name from Jason. Dick startled awake from where he had fallen asleep on one of the library’s many chairs. So much so that he fell to the floor.
Normally, that would be a funny sight to see. This was not a normal time.
“Dick,” Jason said instead of yelling this time. He pushed Tim forward. “Is it or is it not true that you’ve been calling Tim by my name?”
Just like when Tim had accidentally responded to ‘Jason’ down in the cave, all the color drained out of Dick’s face. Unlike the blank look that followed it previously, Dick’s face grew into an expression of grief.
Tim stood stalk still. They had never acknowledged the slip ups, not since Tim brought it up the once. Tim’s heart beat frantically against his chest. He didn’t want a repeat of that conversation ever, especially not with Jason alive and well right beside him.
“Sorry,” Tim shot out before Dick could say a word out of his slightly open mouth. “I tried to tell Jason that it wasn’t a big deal. I know I just remind you of him sometimes. It’s okay.”
“Stop fucking saying that ‘it’s okay’!” Jason yelled as he threw up his arms. It took everything in Tim not to flinch. “It wasn’t okay when Deathstroke was about to fucking shoot you, and it’s not okay that you don’t have a fucking identity in these shitbags minds!”
“Tim does have an identity,” Dick started. His voice was so much softer than Jason’s anger. Jason scoffed. “No, he does. I fucked up sometimes, yeah, in moments when Tim was… acting similarly to how you used to act, Jason. That doesn’t make it okay. I should have apologized a long—”
“Of fucking course you’ve never apologized!” Jason started pacing. “Or else Tim wouldn’t have this skewed sense of martyrdom.”
“Martyrdom?!” Tim might have accepted the fact that the Waynes didn’t like him enough to always remember who they were talking to, but how did that equate to martyrdom?
“Yes! You never would have been ‘okay’ with Deathstroke fucking killing you if you thought you were equal to us!” Jason wiped his face and took a deep breath. When he spoke next, his voice was so much softer. “Dick calling you ‘Jason’ all the time just hammered into your head that you aren’t as important as me. So of course it's martyrdom. Better you than me, right?”
“Dick… calls me Jason the least,” Tim offered instead of actually responding to Jason’s criticism. Tim knew that he would always choose Jason’s life over his own. He had seen what happened when Bruce and Dick lost Jason the first time. He tried to smile, but he could tell it came off sad—guilty even. “Bruce is the worst. Was. Whatever. Dick tries.”
“Not hard enough.”
“Jason is right,” Dick said. He finally got up off of the floor. “I should have tried harder. I know you aren’t Jason. I’ve always known that. You acting similarly to him doesn’t excuse me getting your name wrong.”
“It—” Tim cut himself off. He shouldn’t say it was okay again. That was what set Jason off to pacing in the first place, wasn’t it? “I get it. You missed Jason, and I reminded you of him. It was easier to pretend like I was your brother than remember that he was dead.”
“I’m gonna fucking kill someone,” Jason grumbled. He stopped pacing, only to stare Tim down. “You are our brother. Not a pretend brother, not a replacement. I wouldn’t have fucked up my chance to kill the clown if I didn’t think that.”
Dick made a choked sound. He too was staring at Tim. Tim felt incredibly exposed. “You know you’re our brother, right?”
And Tim… didn’t know that. Sure, Dick made off-hand comments about it before. He had that heart to heart with the guy before they contacted Barbara to help them find Jason. But Tim always assumed that was mostly a hold-over from forgetting that Tim wasn’t Jason.
“Oh my fucking—” Jason crossed the few paces to reach Tim.
Tim couldn’t suppress his flinch this time, despite the fact that Jason had saved his life. It was still too easy to remember how hard those fists hit. Tim had the same problem with Bruce sometimes.
Instead of punching Tim, or choking him out again, Jason wrapped Tim with both his arms and pulled him close.
Tim’s brain crashed. Blue screen or page 404 site not found, take your pick, Tim’s mind was down. Jason was hugging Tim. Jason Todd. Jason who refused to help carry Dick after they all made it out alive from the confirmation with Deathstroke and the Joker. Jason’s arms were around Tim’s shoulders, clasping against the back of Tim’s shirt, holding on like Tim actually mattered.
And Tim was a stone statue.
The last time he was hugged was Amusement Mile, and he was the one who impulsively initiated that. Before that, Tim didn’t know. Dick was touchy, but hugs weren’t something that were common. He could vaguely remember shoulder pats and bumps, but nothing concrete. It was all a haze of sleep deprivation, fighting, and that hollow feeling in his chest he could never quite fill.
Before Tim could correct his incorrect hugging etiquette, another source of warmth wrapped around him. He came from behind instead of from the front like Jason was, meaning that Tim was encased securely.
Dick’s hug was more familiar—familiar since that very first hug at Haly’s Circus. It felt a bit different in conjunction with Jason here. One arm snaked underneath one of Jason’s arms, the other most likely sliding around Jason himself. Tim still stood still, unsure of what to do when in the center of a group hug. This had never happened before.
“Hug back.” Jason’s voice was rough, right next to Tim’s ear, as if he were reading Tim’s mind. “An arm around each of us, you little shit.”
Tim shakily wrapped one arm around Jason, the other around Dick. His fingers clasped tightly around both of their shirts—Jason’s sleeve and the back of Dick’s. He found that his shoulders started shaking. Tim felt like his skin was on fire, but also if they let go now he’d never be warm again.
He felt like his body was one swift breeze away from falling over. The brothers’ arms around him would support him, though, wouldn’t they?
“Tim.” Dick’s voice was wet, wavering, the kind that he had only heard when Dick had been talking about the Jason who died. Tim hummed, ignoring how it wavered. “My brother Tim.”
“You really meant it,” A hitched breath left Tim’s mouth, caught by Jason’s collar bone. “Back then, before I hugged you. You were scared because I’m your brother.”
“Of course,” Dick cleared his throat, just like he did back at Amusement Mile. Tim frantically tried to contextualize that conversation to center it more around him being in danger than Jason being alive and dangerous. “Of course I meant it. I don’t want to lose you. Either of you.”
“My little shit of a brother, Tim,” Jason added. He squeezed his arm around Tim a little harder. “You’ve been my younger brother since you barged into my apartment. I tried to deny it, but we both know where my line is now.”
Flooded with an influx of information and emotion, Tim sagged into the arms holding him up. Hearing them say those things—with his name attached—was doing something to his heart. He ignored how Jason’s shirt started to get wet where Tim’s face was pressed against it. He focused on his breathing instead.
“I’m so sorry, Tim,” Dick whispered. Tim felt Jason hold onto him tighter.
“I forgive you,” Tim breathed out, choppy, instead of ‘it's okay’ again. These words felt more weighted, anyway.
“Take a breath, birdie.” Jason started brushing his thumb over Tim’s back. Tim shuddered underneath it. “Don’t forgive him just yet. Let both of you live with how he hurt you first. Then mean it.”
Tim nodded. He didn’t know how he would navigate the idea that them calling him by ‘Jason’ was wrong. Not yet. He had spent too long making excuses for them, for brushing off his own feelings about it all. Tim didn’t like being called ‘Jason.’ He only liked the affection that came with it.
And now? Now Tim was realizing that not all of the affection he ever got from them—from at least Dick—was tied to Tim being like Jason. Dick said he was his brother because he was Tim. Jason refused to let Tim die because he cared about the kid who barged into his life. They were hugging him, holding him close, because Tim was Tim.
He wouldn’t know what to do with that for a while. For now, he enjoyed being in their embrace.