Archive of Our Own

The letter came in a big, off-white envelope with crisp black typeface and a postage stamp that was bland at best. Tim didn’t even open the letter. The email had arrived several days ago.

Behind him, a floorboard creaked. Tim whirled, eyes scanning the entryway. The house was still, finished with its old aching and shifting foundation for the moment. Tim sighed, rolling his eyes at both the creaking mansion and his pounding heart.

Nobody was home. He’d made sure that nobody would be around when this letter came. Tim was smart enough to hold their mail for a few days until everyone was either busy with patrol or out of town. Even Alfred was gone.

So Tim was home, alone. With his fancy letter. His letter that no one knew about. That he would never open. His letter from Harvard.

Tim was a planner. He made sure nobody would ever know about this. That no one would see the shine at the corner of his eyes, or the slightest tremble of his lips as he pressed them together.

Tim Drake was smart. But at 17 and a half he learned he wasn’t smart enough.

A week ago, in sharp New Roman font with his name copy-pasted at the top, he was stiffly told how much they appreciated his interest, but had just gotten so many applicants this year. I think we all know where this is going, but for the people in the back, and those hard of reading, what I mean to say is that, a week ago, Tim got a rejection letter from Harvard.

He slammed the door shut before he would let any more insects into the house and stomped his way to the nearest fireplace. Tim crumpled the envelope in his hand. Everyone in this house was far too nosey for their own good, and Tim was suddenly determined to ensure they never learned of his failure.

“You know,” he told the letter as he set the fire with practiced ease. “I always thought I was smart, I mean I’ve been solving crimes since I was 7.” He snapped a few larger branches over his knee, channeling his frustration into his work.

“But GPA isn’t everything I guess. And I mean, my SAT scores were pretty good but I didn’t want to go under suspicion so that’s all they are. Good,” Tim’s voice cracked a little, but there was nobody there to hear.

“It’s all about clubs and leadership now-a-days. I can’t really put ‘vigilante’ as a club -I don’t have time for any real clubs anyway- or talk about being Robin for my application essays about how I’ve ‘grown as a person’.”

“And I absolutely refuse to pay off the admission staff to get myself into college. I’m going to get in somewhere on my own merit.” Tim was whispering now, speaking to himself alone. “I won’t use my family name or wealth to get me in.”

Once Tim finally got the lighter to work, he shoved the paper into the middle and lit the tent he’d built. He took a long deep breath before sinking to the ground, his back against the couch as he watched the Harvard letter burn, just like he’d done with the Yale one, and the MIT one. And the Ivy University waitlist. And waitlists from Princeton, Caltech, and even Hudson University.

When the fire burns out Tim will clean the ashes, and air out the room, and move on with his life. He has patrol, after all, and that’s more important than wallowing. But for now, for this very moment, Tim watched the flames consume his pain, and let himself in the solitude of an empty mansion, cry.

——

Alfred was the first to arrive back at the Wayne mansion, returning from his afternoon tea with the Clarks. Frankly, he was one Tim was the most worried about. The man most likely to discover Tim’s closet guarded secret.

“Set another fire, master Timothy?” Alfred asked, his eyes scanning the last bits of ash Tim hadn’t been able to remove from the fireplace.

“Yes, it was a little chilly in here earlier. Sorry I didn’t clean up all the ash,” Tim said calmly, pulling himself up a little straighter from where he sat on the other side of the living room.

“Nonsense. Thank you for cleaning, I very much appreciate it,” Alfred replied, giving him a small nod before turning to leave. “Ah, and Master Tim, please do let me know if you’re feeling unwell, or simply need warmer clothes. I don’t want you to be cold.”

“Don’t worry Alfred,” Tim said through a smile both of them knew was a little strained. “I think next time I’ll just turn up the thermostat.”

——

Two weeks later, when Tim made the grave mistake to leave his room, for anything other than school or patrol, Jason was sitting in the library. Tim, on his way to obtain some much needed sustenance, paused at Jason’s stormy expression.

“Struggling with a case?”

“No,” Jason said with a sigh. “Unlike some of us, I’m broke as hell, so I need to make some cash the old fashioned way, which means a job so I can actually afford my own apartment. Which is pain without a degree.”

“Yikes,” Tim said sympathetically.

“You wouldn’t get it.” Jason snapped. “You don’t have to worry about your future. When you graduate Bruce and Lucius will just set you up with some job at Wayne enterprises, and you’ll be living the easy life. No college needed, though I bet your daddy could bankroll some BS degree for you.”

Tim didn’t move. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even open his mouth. He just stared at the man in front of him, who glared from his seat at the library’s coffee table, sheets of paper scattered around him.

“Right,” Tim was finally able to choke out. “Yeah.”

And it hurt. Saying those words, admitting defeat. Admitting that he would either not go or would require his family’s name in order to go to college. This man, his childhood hero, his Robin, couldn’t possibly know that his words would hurt so much and yet-

“Yeah. My father could probably pay my way in.” Yes. His father. Because after all this time, after how hard he’d worked, Tim was still a Drake. He always would be.

Don’t show weakness Tim. You can’t let them find out. It sounded like his father’s voice, commanding, the words echoing in his ears. (Or maybe that was Bruce, trying to stop another Robin from becoming a martyr).

“If I wanted to go to college, that is,” Tim added quickly, trying to silently scream ‘I don’t care about college’ at Jason. A lie.

For a second Jason seemed to see something beneath the surface that was Timothy Drake. For a moment the world slowed and Tim thought someone had finally found him out. But then the young man simply rolled his eyes and went back to work. After all, Tim was very good at convincing people they knew him. He used to convince his parents with ease…. Although that wasn’t really saying much was it?

But he’d convinced Bruce and Alfred that he was strong, and brave. He’d convinced Steph and Dick that he was fine. So what was one more hero to convince? (And why had Tim been so hopeful at the look Jason shot him?)

“Kid,” Jason’s voice interrupted Tim’s thoughts, halting the teen in his tracks. Tim turned back to the vigilante, who seemed to soften, just a little.

“I’m sorry. That was a dick move. This stuff is a pain in my ass, but it’s not your fault. You’re smart enough to get into college on your own if you want to.”

I’m not. It took everything Tim had not to say that out loud.

“Yeah, well, uh good luck on the job search. Let me know if you want an extra pair of eyes on it.” Tim replied before excusing himself.

——

Someday they’ll find out that you’re not as smart as they all think you are. I don’t know how you have all those poor, naive people who you call family convinced. They haven’t figured out how worthless you are. But they will.

——

“-m! Yo, Tim!” Tim’s eyes snapped open, and he shoved himself upright, off his desk. He forced himself to stand, blinking sleep from his eyes.

“What?” He called back, pushing open his bedroom door, and following the sounds of most of the manor’s residents talking. Dick stood before the front door, a stack of letters in hand.

“You’ve got mail…. I think,” the young man told Tim, not even looking up as he leafed through them, passing some bill to Cass, who frowned. He felt color drain from his face.

The world slowed. The only thing Tim could hear was his heartbeat, pounding like a drum in his ears. He’s standing beside Jason in mere moments.

“Ah here it is, I thought I saw your name somewhere!” Dick exclaimed with a grin as he pulled it out of the stack. Dick knows. The words sent alarm bell screeches through his mind as Dick’s eyes scanned the letter. “Oh wow, a letter from Iv-“

“Cool, thanks Dick, good to see you, gotta go now, real busy, bye!” He interrupted, snatching the letter and shoving it deep into a pocket. How? Why? They’d already waitlisted him. It was some clerical screw-up probably, an extra letter that got lost in transit. Or worse. An official rejection.

They’re going to find out how worthless you are, Tim.

“Who’s it from?” Jason asked, teasingly. Dick opened his mouth but Tim, now halfway to the stairs, interrupted once more.

“Reading my mail’s illegal, Jason! And don’t invade my privacy Dick!” He called before resuming his valiant escape efforts. That didn’t last long as he almost ran face-first into Bruce.

Tim hadn’t even noticed him, his blood roaring too loud in his ears to hear the man’s unnervingly quiet footsteps. A hand fell onto Tim’s shoulder as he took a stumbling step back, and Bruce raised a questioning eyebrow.

“You alright Tim?”

“Yup, I’m fine!” Tim said with a little too much enthusiasm and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Tim, just show us the letter!” Jason called. Tim inwardly winced.

“What’s this about?”

“Tim got mail and won’t tell us who it’s from,” Steph explained.

“What, do you have a pen pal or something Drake?” Damian asked, wandering his way through the room.

“It’s nothing. It really doesn’t matter,” he choked out.

“I don’t know why you’re being so secretive Tim, a letter from Ivy U is something to be celebrated!”

The room went silent for a moment. Tim was going to puke. He was going to puke on the brand new wooden flooring. It was better than Bruce’s fancy shoes at least.

Tim wanted to run. To run as fast as he could, far, far away. To run all the way to Drake manor were could lock himself up inside the huge, empty house. But his legs wouldn’t move.

“Why didn’t you mention this sooner?” Bruce asked quietly.

“I- uh-“ Tim felt every eye in the room on him. Tim swallowed thickly. “It’s not a big deal, guys, seriously.”

“This is a big deal Tim,” Dick told him gently, a slight frown on his face. It was the same voice the man used on random kids on patrol or when he helped old ladies cross streets. Tim hated that tone (he loved it, loved the kindness in Dick, loved how Dick softened around the edges around Tim).

You’re not going to weasel your way out of this one, boy. Those words, echoing in his father’s voice, snapped something in Tim.

“It’s not, Dick. It’s not good news so it’s not a big deal! Just leave me alone, okay!?!”

His throat was tight. His chest was hollow, and his mind was numb. He heard words follow him, but they didn’t register. His eyes burned as he turned. Tim couldn’t even feel his legs as they moved automatically, rushing up the stairs, down the hall, and into his room.

Tim didn’t know why he locked the door and shoved the lounge chair he never sits in up against it. The thought process was something along the lines of ‘if they can’t get in, and can’t get close, they can’t find out’. But honestly, Tim can’t remember. He’s trying too hard to breathe.

His fingers are numb and unfeeling as he pries up the floorboard, a hiding place he is absolutely certain nobody had found yet. He shoved the letter inside the gap before pounding the board back into place. It doesn’t completely return to normal, but he can’t bring himself to care. His hands are weak, and shaking, and he doesn’t know why. He fights to inhale but it’s like there’s no oxygen in the world. He didn’t get hurt on patrol. There’s no blood in his lungs making it hard, so why can’t he breathe?

“Tim?” Dick’s voice came drifting through the door, barely audible above Tim’s heartbeat. He didn’t move. There were three little taps before Dick continued. “You still in there?”

Tim couldn’t form words, his breathing was too quick, his chest too tight. Tim’s breathing hitched, before an involuntary sob escaped him. At least he was breathing now, Tim thought dryly as he clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to fight the sobs and tears.

But after a moment he took a tiny, shaky breath, and sat in the chair now blocking the door. Dick heard. They both knew. Tim pulled his legs into his chest and let his head rest on the sturdy wooden door. (Sturdier than his door in Drake manor, that was flimsy wood, he’d learned). He heard Dick let out a long breath before he continued.

“I’m so sorry, Tim,” Dick said softly. A sound of clothing brushing against wood followed as Dick sat down, his back likely to the door. “I’m so sorry for blurting it out like that, I- I’d realized you didn’t want us to know, and I did it anyway. I’m so sorry that I hurt you like that.”

“And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me things. I know I’m not around as much but I’m always one phone call or text away. If you just wanna talk, or need help with something, both in and out of costume, you can let me know.” The hurt in Dick’s voice only made Tim feel worse. Yet, at the same time, the tightness in Tim’s chest loosened somewhat, even as the tears continued to flow.

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispered. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. I’m sorry I’m a disappointment, I’m sorry I’m not perfect.

“Don’t be, Tim. You don’t need to apologize to me for anything, you got that? Never. Okay?”

“Okay,” Tim mumbled, wiping tears away and trying not to sound like a sniveling child.

“Text me?” Tim smiled, just a teeny, tiny bit at the familiar question.

“Eventually,” he replied, like he always did.

——

The moment Dick’s footsteps faded onto nothing Tim stood, shoved the window open, and crawled out onto the roof.

Normally, on nights when Tim was struggling on a case or felt less than worthy, he would throw on his costume and slip out under the cover of darkness to patrol the streets, or find some solitude. But unfortunately it was not one of the nights.

First, it wasn’t even night. It was late afternoon at best, (Tim had no actual idea, days without sleep and his most recent nap had messed up his internal clock). Second, someone would spot Tim on patrol. And thirdly?

Tim wasn’t smart enough to be Red Robin. Tim wasn’t strong, and he wasn’t brave and god damn him because Timothy Drake wasn’t fine, and Red Robin needed to be all those things, all at once, all the time.

Tim wasn’t smart, but he also wasn’t stupid. He knew there was no coming back from this. They knew, now, that he hadn’t been smart enough to get into Ivy University. That he was a useless failure.

They wouldn’t want him being Red Robin anymore. Tim was sure of it.

Worthless good for nothing brat. His father snarled in his mind.

Tim’s shoes scraped on the tiles as hauled himself up from the window ledge and onto the roof proper. He hadn’t even realized he was still wearing them. Tim made his shuffling way further around the house, staying out of sight from the window of the top story until he made it.

There was only one small section of roof that was out of sight from every window in the house. It was an indented corner of the mostly rectangular roof, with no prying eyes, and a good view too.

Look at you, hiding like a coward.

“Fuck you,” Tim whispered, his eyes stinging again. He pulled his knees to his chest and stared out at the gardens. The first of the roses were barely starting to open. Tim probably won’t get to-

Footsteps cut off his train of thought. Tim froze, gaze snapping to the source of the sound.

The footsteps were more heavy, almost angry, for Bruce. Plus, the spot was a long kept secret among the man’s wards. It wasn’t Dick either, he’d broken his wrist, the reason why he was still at the manor rather than returning to Bludhaven after his mission with Bruce.

Steph and Damian were out of the question too. Out of everyone, they had the best coping mechanisms. Steph had her own people she’d go to when she was sad, people she would actually actively seek out for support. Damian had his animals, as well as an odd distrust of the roof tiling.

That left Cass, but it wasn’t her either. First, her footsteps were far lighter, and second, because.. well Tim’d never seen her up there when she was sad, and had a sneaking suspicion she had her own secret spot.

So Tim wasn’t surprised when Jason rounded the corner. He simply ducked his head and curled himself a little tighter.

Jason sighed loudly as plopped down beside Tim. Out of the corner of his eye Tim watched as the man leaned back, his arms behind his head as he stared at the sky.

“What do you want, Jason?” Tim mumbled finally, fingernails biting into the skin on his arm. Jason turned, sitting upright.

“I don’t want anything from you, Tiny Tim.”

“Oh, great, you’ve finally graduated from calling me Replacement to degrading me,” Tim snapped, glaring over at the man. Tears inexplicably stung his eyes. He kept glaring. “Leave me alone. I already know what you’re gonna say.”

“I didn’t- fuck,” Jason breathed, letting his head fall back on the tiles. “I know I’ve been kind of an asshole to you since- well just in general, I guess. But I’m not here to be a jerk, okay?”

Tim searched Jason’s face for a long moment before simply responding, “you’re mad.”

“Of course I’m mad,” Jason said with a scoff. “I didn’t even realize you wanted to go to college, much less that you applied anywhere. Not only that I missed the fact that not only you were hiding something, but also that you lied to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim said, his chest tightening along with his grip on his own arm. Guilt ate away at him as he shrunk in on himself.

“What? I’m not mad at you, Tim. I’m -I don’t know- mad at myself for not realizing sooner. That I don’t know you well enough to have realized something was wrong. That I didn’t call your bluff when you said ‘if I wanna go’ even though it felt weird.”

Jason squinted out across the gardens, lost in thought for a moment. Tim watched as the man fished in his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He caught Tim’s gaze, hesitated, and put it away with a cough.

“I’d offer you one, but I at least know you well enough to know coffee’s your vice.”

“And it’s illegal for minors to smoke,” Tim added dryly. Jason let out a long sigh and leaned back on the roof.

“Didja know I was actually a pretty good student? Not at first, definitely not when I was a kid. I did okay in English and history, but was almost failing everything else. But after a while Bruce sat me down and asked if I wanted -or really, needed- help with homework. I was kind of offended, y’know. But he told me that he didn’t want me to struggle in school, that he didn’t mind that my grades were bad but… he noticed. Bruce got me a really good algebra tutor and made it feel like it wasn’t a punishment, like there was somehow no pressure to be perfect just a hope I’d struggle less.”

The knowledge that Bruce had helped Jason stung. Bruce had almost never asked about Tim’s school life. (The man was grieving, he hadn’t had time or consideration to help Tim with homework).

“I actually was enjoying school, by… by the end. I was doing well, or at least I wasn’t doing bad enough that I hated every second of it. I’d just started thinking about maybe going to college. Getting a degree like Dick was. I didn’t know what or anything I just- I’d just barely started to think about a life other than Robin. And then, well.”

Jason played with his white hair with a grimace. His eyes were distant for a moment, his mind somewhere just as far. Tim didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say, or what to feel. Then Jason blinked and looked over at Tim.

“What I’m trying to say is that I was kind of jealous, when I thought about you going to college. Because I never got the chance, and not that I’m dead, I can’t.”

“Oh,” Tim said. It made sense, a little. Jason hummed.

“But Bruce has never made me feel like I had to. He never made me feel less qualified than Dick simply because of my education, be it my shit grades or my lack of a degree. This,” Jason waved over Tim. “Doesn’t make you less smart, and it doesn’t make you a failure.”

Jason was wrong. Tim had tried so hard to be so much, to be enough. But he wasn’t. Tim barely noticed the tears tracking down his face. He turned and wiped them away. He heard Jason stand, and suddenly a hand gently landed in his hair.

“Alfred’s hand making pasta, so don’t take too long out here, kid- er- Tim.”

“Kid’s okay,” Tim whispered in response, something aching inside Tim warmed at the gesture. Jason hummed again before his footsteps faded away.

——

After Dick’s apology and Jason’s reminder that Bruce hadn’t pressured Jason, Tim felt.. better. Maybe. He still felt like shit as he slipped through his window.

Knowing Jason didn’t hate him had helped. Tim was no longer on the verge of a panic attack, and his tears had dried. Tim was simply resigned as he pushed his chair back to its rightful place and unlocked the door.

Tim sat at his desk, working on his case (his last case, probably), when Bruce finally came. Tim took a deep, steadying breath at the knock before responding.

“It’s open,” he called, resignation in his voice. Because Jason was wrong. Bruce loved Jason, Jason was his son. Tim was only his ward, taken in when he became Robin, and later Red Robin.

But neither of his predecessors shook his certainty that he was not worthy. After Jason’s death Robin needed to be the best. To be perfect, in order to even glimpse Batman’s approval. Tim needed to be perfect. And he wasn’t. He had proof of that now. So did Bruce.

“Tim, I think it’s long past time we talk,” the man said, his tone serious. Tim gathered the last of his papers before turning to the man who stood in his doorway.

Look at him, his father commanded. He knows you’re a failure. You’ve shown him what you really are.

“Okay. I’m ready to talk.”

“Tim, have I done something wrong?” Bruce asked gently, crouching down. It felt wrong, looking down at his mentor. His brain stalled at the sad look in the man’s eyes.

“What?” Tim asked before his mind could stop it.

“If I ever made you feel like you couldn’t ask for advice, I’m so sorry. Am I the reason you felt like you couldn’t talk to me about going to college?”

“No,” Tim said, looking away, “no, it’s not your fault it’s-“ Tim hesitated for a moment, but figured it didn’t matter at this point.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. The words came out raw. “I don’t know why I was scared, I just was. At first I just didn’t want to bother you. And I want- wanted” Tim corrected, “to get into college on my own.”

You’ll never be anything other than my useless brat, boy. You can’t be anything without your family. You’ll always be a Drake. His father’s voice whispered. You aren’t one of them.

“Is that why you turned me down when I mentioned I would help you with tuition at the start of the year?”

“Uh,” Tim scratched the back of his neck, “sort of? It’s definitely part of it, but I don’t want to make you give me any more than you already have. You’ve already done so much for me and I don’t want to, I won’t take any more.”

“Tim, you haven’t made me do anything.”

“Look Bruce, use that money for your own kids, put Jason and Damian through college, not me. I won’t impose anymore.”

“Son,” Bruce said in a voice so soft it hurt Tim’s heart.

“I’m not your kid!” Tim said, standing. “I’m not- I’m not part of the family, not like Dick or Jason,” he took a breath before continuing, sitting back down. “But that’s okay. I’ve- I’ve come to terms with it. I was your ward because you needed a Robin and I was there, but I’m not a Wayne. I’m not Robin either. That’s okay.”

“Tim, it’s not like that-“ Bruce started, gently placing a hand on the teen’s knee.

“It’s okay. It really is. I’m okay with it,” Tim said hurriedly. “It’s been nice but I won’t overstay, when I turn 18 I’ll go, I know I’m not good enough, and you’ve got proof so-“

“Proof? And what’s this about leaving? Tim, I’m not here to kick you out.”

“I- But- you have proof!” Tim blurted out. The words came flooding for no rhyme nor reason. “I mean, you have proof that I’m not as smart as you thought I was, since I can’t even get into college. And I’ve got a big enough ego to think that I was going to get in, and,” one of the tears pricking Tim’s eyes finally fell. “And on top of it all I’m a crybaby. I’m not good enough to be Robin. I’m sorry. I failed. I tried to be good enough, I really did, but-“

“Timothy, stop. Just for a second,” Bruce said, using his Batman voice. Tim’s mouth snapped shut on instinct at the command. After a long moment Tim ducked his head, hiding like a coward from the man’s piercing gaze. Bruce let out a soft breath before slowly, gently, placing a hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“You are a Wayne, whether or not you officially share my name. Robin or not, you are my son, Tim. And nothing, nothing, will change that. You are never and have never been a pain, an inconvenience, or a hassle, and you have not made me do anything. I took you on as my ward because I wanted to, the same reason I agreed to let you become Robin. I don’t know why you think this has changed anything, but it hasn’t. This place is your home and you will always be welcome here.”

Bruce’s voice wavered and Tim looked up. Tim’s expression morphed to one of shock as he registered the man’s misty eyes. (Tim’s only ever seen the man cry once, holding a dying boy in his arms. Those tears had been anguished. Tim couldn’t bare to look for long)

You don’t deserve his love! His- no- Jack Drake shouted in Tim’s mind. For once, Tim refused to listen. He was too busy listening to his father. His real one. The one who loved and cared and raised him. The one who was sitting in front of him trying not to cry.

“On top of that you have proven yourself over and over again,” Bruce continued. “Both in your duties as Robin, and the plethora of cases you’ve taken as Red Robin. You have never failed me. You are the smartest and most observant vigilante I have ever had the pleasure of working with, whether or not your civilian persona is recognized for that genius. And above all else, you Timothy, are good enough. Good enough by far to be a vigilante. Good enough to be my son. You always will be.”

Tim broke.

“Can I hug you?” Bruce asked quietly. Tim nodded, trying to fight back the sobs that ripped through his chest. Bruce was warm, and sturdy and Tim had forgotten what it felt like to be hugged. (There was that time, with Damian, but it wasn’t really a hug. Damian certainly insisted it wasn’t)

Tim melted into Bruce’s arms and let himself cry. Bruce, for his part, let him, rubbing slow circles on the young man’s back until Alfred came to check on the pair.

——

After a wholesome dinner of fettuccine Alfredo, Tim excused himself to his room once again. The room and thankfully filled with chatter that only paused when he said so. Nobody had pried, during dinner about his outburst, something Tim was eternally grateful for as he stood.

“Tim, you sure you don’t want a cuddle pile?” Dick asked. Tim shook his head.

“I’m too tired, sorry. I just think I need a little time alone,” he said. “I’m okay now, really,” he added when Dick gave him those sad worried puppy eyes he does sometimes. (Tim is only about 80% sure that’s just a natural Dick expression)

“Okay,” Dick said with a slow nod, scanning Tim’s expression. “You seem a lot better,” he said softly. “Get some rest, Tim.”

Dick was right, Tim realized as he quietly made his way upstairs. He was better. He felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest. He felt like he could breathe. He’d barely noticed that it used to be hard.

Tim was for once, a good kind of tired when he made it to his bedroom. He was tired like someone who had run a marathon and gotten first. He was exhausted, but mostly physically. Which, well that made sense. His sleep schedule had been really fucked lately. Plus a minor panic attack and an embarrassing amount of crying drains a person’s energy.

But before Tim could finally allow himself to rest there was one final thing he needed to do. Carefully, he pried open the floor board and reached inside. His fingers brushed paper and he pulled it out.

Tim frowned down at the unmarked envelope for a long moment. It was not his letter from Ivy U. It wasn’t even sealed shut. Tim didn’t recognize it.

“Huh,” he mumbled to himself. Now Tim has near-perfect memory, and he was pretty sure he would’ve remembered whatever was in the envelope. But, sometimes things slip through the cracks.

“Maybe those studies tying sleep to memory loss are legit,” he tried to rationalize to himself. “Unless…”

He opened the envelope and pulls out the half-sheet of paper. On it is one of Damian’s drawings. It’s all light, quick pencil strokes and stiff lines, and the second Tim sees it he knows it’s Dami’s.

The second after he realized it’s him. He’s turned, glancing over his shoulder, his bo staff is propped up against the other shoulder. Despite the drawing being relatively lacking in detail Tim somehow knows this is his newest Red Robin suit.

Tim takes it in. The soft eyes Damian somehow captured behind the domino, the slightly raised brow, the way Tim looks just about to say something. And suddenly Tim knew the exact moment the boy had captured.

——

Red Robin let out a breath as he stared down at the city. He let his staff rest gently on his bruised shoulder. His body ached from the long patrol, which had been a near constant onslaught. Patrol had been rough on Tim, but despite everything (and everyone) he’d gone through, Damian had gone through worse.

“Red?”

He hummed in question and turned to Robin. He looked the boy up and down. Robin was covered in blood, some his own, some not. He stood unmoving in the middle of the roof, hand balled into fists at his sides, almost hiding the slight tremble in them. His lip wobbled just a teeny tiny amount, but Red Robin caught it, his expression softening as he took the kid in.

“What’s up?” He asked gently, making his way to the preteen. Robin wobbled and Red placed his hands on the kid’s shoulders, steadying him. Then suddenly, the boy had his arms wrapped around Tim.

“Woah,” Tim mumbled, pulling the youth a bit closer, one arm wrapping around his back, the other placed awkwardly on his head.

“I must have been given a small dose of fear toxin,” Robin said, his voice flat.

“That’s okay, we’ll get you an antidote.”

“I’m only doing this to keep myself upright.”

“I understand,” Robin shifted and looked up at him, glowering.

“This is not a hug,” the boy said sternly. It was only undercut a little by the way he was clinging to Red and shaking like a leaf.

“Not a hug,” he had agreed before picking the kid up. “You’re just too hurt to walk.”

——

In summary, the drawing was from that time he definitely didn’t hug Damian. But that was recent. Which meant the drawing Tim was now holding was too.

Damian usually dated his piece, so, hesitantly, Tim flipped it over.

Drake- You’re smarter and stronger than you think, but occasionally predictable. I won’t let you do anything foolish. Come find me, I might return it.

“Oh boy,” Tim groaned. “Damian stole my letter didn’t he?” He asked the room at large. He didn’t need to look, he already knew the answer. He pushed himself up and threw open the door.

Damian stood across the hall, leaning across the hall arms crossed, letter in hand. For a moment he and Tim just glared at each other.

“I will give it to you if you swear to read it,” Damian said eventually. “I won’t allow you to throw it away or destroy it.”

“Why would I destroy it?”

“Why would you be looking for it? I thought everything was settled,” Damian shot back with faux innocence. “Just read the letter.”

“Fine,” Tim relented after a moment. He didn’t have the energy to argue. He went to snatch the letter from his younger brother but the kid shoved it behind his back.

“You will read it right now,” he said. Tim rolled his eyes and took the letter. Damian stared expectantly.

“What, like, in front of you?”

“Yes. Or I will set Titus loose in your room, and let Pennyworth the cat shred your files.”

“Ugh, fine. I’m reading it,” Tim said, shooting Dami another glare before tearing open the letter and unfolding the piece of paper inside. “Dear Timothy Drake, the admissions board has reviewed your application and most recent transcripts- am I done?”

“No. Read it all, Timothy.”

“Recent transcripts,” Tim read to himself. “and after review we would like to say con-“ Tim stammered his eyes growing wide. “Congratulations,” he breathed, eyes scanning the rest of the letter, no longer wasting time reading it aloud to Damian.

“Holy-” was all Tim could say, his eyes wide, jaw dropping open as he read. He pushed a hand into his hair and wandered farther down the hall to the top of the stairs, as if, in better light the words would change.

“I thought you went to bed!” Jason called from downstairs, hands on his hips.

“Yeah…” Tim mumbled, distracted and a little in shock.

“What’s going on?” Dick asked, appearing out of nowhere.

“Tim, you okay?” Steph called up the stairs. Tim simply looked between them and the letter.

“If you’re too stunned to speak may I at least tell them?” Damian asked.

“Uh,” Tim said, in a response to all of them.

“Tim got accepted into Ivy University.”

Well, seems like Dami took that as a yes, but Tim’s too busy to be mad. Because as Damian takes a not-so-subtle step from Tim, the whole family comes racing up the stairs.

Cass is the first one there, appearing from her room to ruffle his hair. “Congrats,” she whispers.

“Oh my god congratulations Tim!!!” Steph almost knocks him over as she comes to tackle-hug him, followed a moment later by Jason, who simply punches his arm and grins at him. Then Dick is there too, wrapping his arms around Tim and practically squeezing the life out of him.

“I’m so proud of you! Look at my little brother, all grown up and going to college!” Tim tries to mouth ‘help’ at Jason but the other teen just slowly shakes his head with a shit-eating grin. Tim is too.

“I can’t wait to see how you celebrate when Jason finally gets a degree,” he croaked out.

“Oh trust me, the party Dick is going to throw will be legendary,” Steph adds

“Absolutely, I’ve been planning for years,” Dick added. Jason winced.

“Damian,” Tim called as the boy tried to escape. “What don’t wanna join in on all this?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Aww you sure you don’t want another hug?” Tim teased as Dick finally let go, already discussing decor for Tim’s high school grad party.

“You and I have never and will never hug!” The boy shouted before running off.

“You know,” Jason said conspiratorially. “Babs has a picture of you two hugging.”

“Yeah?” Tim asked with a cheeky grin. “You keeping it as blackmail for Damian?”

“Oh yeah. That kid will never live it down.”

“Master Timothy, a moment?”

“Ooo, somebody’s in trouble,” Jason stage whispered.

“It is nothing of the sort,” Alfred told the young man sternly before turning to Tim, who slipped a few steps away from his siblings.

“I simply wanted to say I’m glad master Damian stopped you from burning this letter.”

“You, uh-?” Tim asked with a cough.

“Knew you were burning whatever disappointed you? Yes, although I merely suspected they were related to your college search. You take after Bruce more than you seem to realize. He used to frequently destroy offending grades or mail he received.”

“Did you tell Damian?”

“No. He came to ask me about mail you’ve received and I told him I never saw anything addressed to you. The boy figured it out on his own. He will make a very fine detective one day. I believe he takes after you.”

“Tim,” he looked over to see Bruce finally climbing the stairs. Tim gave a little nod in thanks to Alfred before meeting Bruce at the top of the stairs. “Congratulations son. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” Tim replied, trying to stop his voice from cracking. “You don’t seem surprised.”

“I’m not,” the man said with a shrug. “I knew you would get in to Ivy.”

“Ivy? Did you..?” Tim eyed the man suspiciously. Bruce gave a chuckle in response.

“I got an email from them about financial aid just before you woke up.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bruce clapped him on the shoulder.

“Because it was something you needed to find out on your own. Although I heard you had a little help from Damian. It’s good to see you’re getting along.”

“Uh, yeah,” Tim said hesitatingly. Bruce chuckled and smiled down at him.

“Don’t blackmail the kid too hard, okay?”

“We’ll see,” Tim said with a grin before turning away. After all, he had to try to stop Dick and Steph from making a shrine of him for his absolutely required grad party.