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Dick was already tired of this. If he knew that becoming an actual detective took so much work he would’ve become a…a fitness instructor or something. Maybe even a bartender if he was feeling fancy.
This was torture – and he’s been actually tortured before so exaggerating he is not.
He sat at the island in the kitchen, head exasperatedly resting on the arm that propped it up, while one of his baby brothers did the dishes. He loudly smushed his finger against the mousepad to change to the next slide.
Ethical Policing: What To Do And Not To Do
He’s been working with law enforcement for years! He doesn’t need this course. Dick let his head fall from his hand and onto his keyboard. He’s not gonna make it, is he?
He huffed and sat back up straight, rubbing his eyes as he did so. He needed a break ASAP.
Dick slid his laptop over and leaned both arms on the counter in front of him, watching Tim wash the dishes. Alfred typically did them, but he left for England two days ago to see his niece in London and was expected to be back in five days’ time so each of them had been assigned chores to do in the meantime.
Jaybird was given the task of cooking meals.
Dami was to tend to the gardens.
Dick was supposed to be doing the laundry – okay so he may be a little behind, but he has his schooling to do so it’s not his fault.
B did the dusting and sweeping type chores.
And Timmy was stuck with the dishes.
“Timboooooo,” Dick drawled, tilting his head to the side. “I’m bored.”
He ignored him. The audacity of his little brothers, he swears.
“Timina…Timbelina…Timbaroni?”
Tim’s shoulders started to shake, and he let go of whatever he was holding and let it fall into the sink water as he gripped the edge of the counter.
Dick smirked and rolled his eyes, “Are you lau-…” and then he heard Tim sniffle.
“…Babybird?”
He got up from his seat at the island counter and rounded it to come up behind his brother. He gently laid his hands on Tim’s shoulders and turned the boy around to face him; he was met with no resistance. Tim’s face was its usual pale except that now his sweet blue eyes were rimmed with red and his nose was stained pink.
Dick cupped his cheeks and thumbed away some of the tears that had escaped. “Hey, hey Timmy…what’s the matter, Babybird?”
“I can’t-” Tim’s voice broke on the last word, “I can’t do it.”
He tried not to let the confusion he felt leak out into his expression. Maybe Tim had a bad day today at WE? Maybe it was the team? Maybe he was just stressed out in general? Dick frowned slightly, he hated not knowing why his brothers were upset about something.
“Can’t what, Timbo?”
“The cloth it-“ Tim blinked back tears.
Dick now noticed that he was holding his pruned hands away from his body like they were infected with the plague.
He furrowed his brows. “The dishcloth…?” Tim nodded. “What’s wrong with it, Timbit?”
Tim huffed and rubbed the backs of his forearms into his eyes to dry away the tears forming there. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid if it’s making you upset.” Dick gently pulled his arms back down to their sides.
“’m sorry.”
“Hug?”
Tim nodded and let Dick pull him into an embrace, Tim held his hands out to his side to keep them away from touching anything.
“…Is something wrong with your hands? Do they hurt?” Dick pulled away just enough to look Tim in the eyes. Tim was nowhere near being the little boy he used to sneak away to play with during galas anymore, but he still looked so little to Dick – and not in a demeaning way. Just in a way that made Dick want to lock all his little brothers in the manors attic and never let them go. That would make life so much easier, he should really bring the idea up to Bruce.
Tim glanced away for a moment before turning his gaze back to Dick’s. “It just…they’re all pruny and I hate it.”
Dick nodded, he gets that. It wasn’t like Tim to cry over something like this though – or at least Dick thought so. Maybe this was just a side of Tim Dick wasn’t privy to, but he was sharing it with him now and he’ll be damned if he was gonna mess this up.
“What about the cloth?”
“When…when the fabric touches my pruned fingers it makes me want to scream and peel the skin from my bones.”
Dick’s eyebrows instinctively disappeared into his hairline. Those were some strong emotions.
Tim’s voice wobbled. “I hate it.”
He gently moved some of Tim’s overgrown hair away from his eyes with the swipe of his index finger. “The cloth?” Dick asked - just to make sure.
“Mhm..”
“What if we got you a cloth with different fabric?”
Tim shrugged and leaned closer to Dick again, his head resting on his collarbone. He knew Tim was…different. Not in a bad way or anything, just…different.
Like walking on the tips of his toes when outside of shoes, or the excessive blinking, or how he crosses all his fingers when he starts to get overwhelmed, or the constant spacing out, or rubbing his wrists against things, or touching things with both hands, or-
This.
With his arms still wrapped tightly around Tim he starts to rock them from side to side like his mother used to when he’d get upset as a little kid.
After a few minutes of rocking back and forth in the near silent kitchen Tim started to lean against him more heavily. Dick placed a kiss on the top of his head and gently pulled back despite Tim’s small sound of protest.
“Better?”
“Yeah…sorry, Dick.”
Dick gave him a sad smile. He can’t wait for the day that Tim realizes that showing him affection and comforting him when he’s upset or injured isn’t something that Dick sees as an inconvenience. “You don’t have to apologize, Babybird.”
Dick turned to the sink and rolled up his sleeves. The water had since went cold but there were still a few dishes left that needed to be washed.
“Dick-“
He turned his head to look at Tim, his face all scrunched up in guilt. “You go relax or something-“ he held a hand up as Tim opened his mouth to protest “I’ve got it, Timmy.”
Tim stood there, shifting on his feet for a second before nodding.
He smiled at his baby brother. “Love you, Babybird.”
Tim gave him a small watery looking smile back as he walked towards the doorway. “…love you, Dick.”
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2 DAYS LATER…
After finally escaping Dick’s clutches Jason was finally able to sit down in the manors vast library with a good book in hand. ’The Sound of Music’ was still ringing in his ears and he desperately needed a palette cleanser. They could have at least watched ’West Side Story’.
If anyone - minus Alfred – interrupts his reading time his pit rage will make a comeback. He loved Dickie but did the guy have to be so loud and touchy?
When it’s too loud he can’t focus or hear or think and it hurts. Makes him want to run away with his fingers in his ears or cry. And hell if he was crying in front of Dick of all people.
So alone time it is.
He settled into one of the reading nooks and opened up his worn copy of ’Persuasion’.
This was perfect.
And that’s when he started to hear the what-even-the-fuck sounds. Whatever it was it was fucking annoying. It sounded like someone trying to quietly clear their throat over and over again or the start of a cough that never went anywhere.
He took a deep breath.
If he could tune out Dick’s incessant chatter in his ear during patrol then he could ignore this.
He could.
Jason took another deep breath and refocused on the words written on the page-
“Ahk ahk ahk ahk…ahk ahk ahk ahk..ahk-“
The grip he had on the cover of his book tightened like a blood pressure machine. His eyes felt hot in their sockets.
Whoever the fuck was making that annoying sound was going to get their head torn off. Sorry, Bruce! The no kill rule will just have to deal.
Jason mentally apologized to his book for squeezing it so hard and closed it. He set it down beside him and left the comfortable nook he had taken refuge in. The thought of the sound being Dick trying to lure him out to watch another musical loomed over him, so he decided to take a sneakier approach. If it was the asshole he’d jump his ass.
The sound was coming from behind some overly tall shelves where Jason knew a small table and chairs were situated.
Jason ducked behind a shelf full of new glossy animal biology books, probably courtesy of Damian’s newfound animal obsession. The demon brat had managed to convince Bruce and Alfred of getting a cat and last Jason heard the kid was asking for a damn cow now. If that little batbaby got a cow when Jason wasn’t even allowed a damn dog when he was Robin…
He peeked over the corner of the shelf to peer into the area that held the table and chairs. Sitting there he saw Replaceme- Tim hunched over what looked to be some nerdy ass textbook - on some math shit probably - like a little shrimp. So he was the one annoying the ever living fuck out of him while he was trying to read.
Of course it was Tim. Jason clenched his fists as he felt a familiar – and misplaced green rage threatento bubble up and burn everything it touched.
He shut his eyes for a moment. Deep breaths.
It’s just Tim. Just an inconvenience, nothing to crash out over.
He reopened them and decided to watch Tim for a moment.
His eyebrows knit together and his head tilted slightly to the side as he watched the kid continue to make those sounds in his throat in what he was now starting to realize was in a pattern of four repeating.
Then he saw the kid look up from his textbook – also in a repeating pattern of four - and then refocus on the words.
Tim huffed and put his head in his hands for a second before dragging his nails down the skin on his face. He looked like he had tears in his eyes. Great.
Maybe he should get Dick so he can deal with whatever the fuck is going on with the kid.
Jason felt a pull in his chest and immediately ignored it. He’d only make whatever was happening worse.
…What if he was sick or something though?
…
He watched Tim for a little longer before quietly leaving the library to willingly go find his older brother. This was above his damn pay grade.
----------------------
1/2 A DAY LATER…
Alfred had returned early from his trip. To say that the family was relieved would be a rather large understatement.
Damian had come downstairs when he had heard a yell – “Alfred I just can’t, okay?!” – from the kitchen. It reminded him of Grandfather reprimanding the servants.
Damian nimbly skipped the last two steps on the staircase and hastily made his way to the kitchen. The thought of Pennyworth being mistreated in such a way made him feel an empty sort of nausea in the pit of his stomach. Upon his arrival at the manor Damian had not understood Pennyworth’s place in the manors hierarchy. He had insisted that the man was simply a lowly servant – that he had no place within their family. Even if that were to be true he still did not deserve to be screamed at.
However, he now sees the error of his ways.
When walking into the kitchen he was greeted with the sight of Drake running past him - tears streaming down his too pale cheeks - and the way from which Damian had come. Most likely running off to his bedroom. He has observed Drake do the same before when upset about whatever it is that is seemingly bothering him that week. The boy was neurotic to say the least.
He does not understand how no one else has seen how truly unstable the older boy is.
He turns his gaze to Pennyworth. The older man is looking past him with an apologetic look of surprise and confusion. Interesting.
Damian fully enters the kitchen and sits himself upon a stool as to be at a more eye level with the man. His legs dangled off these seats as they were much taller than he currently was. One day his feet will be able to touch the floor, and he will not feel so small.
“Tt. Pennyworth, what has Drake done now?” He scowled as he briefly nodded his head back towards the exit the older boy had left through.
Alfred’s eyes finally looked to Damian. “Nothing that concerns you, Master Damian.”
Damian had to fight off the instinct to scoff.
“Was he cross with you? I will show him how to appropriately treat you in future interactions if so.” He straightened his already impeccable posture.
Alfred gave him a small fond looking smile and waved him off. “Although not needed - and the gesture appreciated - Master Damian, I am able to fight my own battles.”
“Tt. Perhaps. However you should not have to deal with the likes of Drake. Tell me, Pennyworth, what did he do?”
Alfred sighed as he gathered materials and dishware to prepare something. Damian smirked inwardly, he has already worn the man down enough to tell him of Drake’s misstep.
“He refused to grab something from the pantry is all, Master Damian.”
Oh.
Damian narrowed his eyes. “That is all? I heard a yell.”
“Yes, well, he did seem rather upset. I believe he is just having a bad day, sir.”
Damian studied Alfred’s expression. Fruitless. He could not possibly tell a thing from the man’s facial expressions or from his posture. “Did he raise his voice at you?”
“Hm. I do believe it was not intentionally directed at me.” Alfred placed a metal mixing bowl on the counter in front of Damian and started to pour flour into it.
“Tt. I will speak with him.”
Alfred raised a single brow. “Do you believe that to be wise?”
“I will not harm him if that is what you are thinking, Pennyworth.” Damian grumbled as he crossed his arms.
“Very well.” He sighed, “Please, do not be unkind to your brother, Master Damian.”
“Of course.”
Damian hopped off the too-tall stool he was sitting on and made his back up the stairs, however this time he passed his room and continued on to Timothys bedroom.
He straightens his shirt before knocking on the door.
Knock-knock
…
Knock-knock
…
Knock-
“Go away!” Timothys yell was slightly muffled by the thick wooden door of his bedroom.
“Tt. How rude. It is I, Drake.” Damian responded, “We need to speak-”
Timothy flung the door open, “I said go, Damian!”
His eyes narrowed at his – supposed – older brother. Grayson told him he was being a much better brother to Drake! He hasn’t even attempted to take the other boy’s life in at least three months. He’s currently rethinking that, however.
“No.”
“Yes!” Timothys voice broke.
“N-“
Timothy raggedly screamed, “STOP!” at him and proceeded to…burst into tears.
His heart dropped into his stomach as he watched Timothy bury his face into his hands – nails digging into the soft skin there - while he audibly sobbed. Uh-oh.
He stood unmoving for several seconds watching his brother sink to the ground, back sliding down his doorframe with his hands now pressed against his ears and his eyes shut tight.
Damian sighed. What would Grayson do?
He sat on the ground beside Timothy in silence. He kept a gap of space between them as he did so.
After a few minutes he spoke, using the same voice he would use on a cornered animal.
“Timothy?”
A hum of acknowledgement.
“I…apologize for…making you upset. That was not my intention.”
Another hum.
He glanced over at Timothy again. His hands were less forcefully pushed against his ears, and his eyes were only half shut. There were scratches all down his face from where he had dug his fingernails in and pulled.
He moved closer to him. “Let me see your face.”
“No.” He groaned half-heartedly.
Damian held in a huff. “May I please see your face?”
He watched as his brother’s upper lower lip began to wobble again. Abort mission.
“Perhaps later, yes?”
A hum.
Ugh he wishes Grayson were here. He’d know what to do.
Damian picked at the carpeted hallway floor beneath them. After a few moments Timothy stood up and walked back into his room, Damian following.
He felt a twinge at the back of his throat. H e felt…bad.
He watched as Timothy climbed into his bed and started to run the edge of a small blanket between and over his fingers in a practiced motion.
“…Is there anything you need…?”
“Lights off.”
Damian turned out the lights and turned back to face Timothy.
“Would you like me to leave?”
“…no…close the door?”
Damians eyebrows shot up into his hairline. He gently shut the door.
“Come here?”
He hesitated a moment. “In the bed with you…?”
Timothy nodded.
Damian had only ever cuddled with Richard before, and that was after hours of the man begging him to do so. He found it to be…satisfactory. He hoped this would not be as awkward as it currently felt once he got into the bed.
He slid under the many blankets. It was heavy but not unpleasantly so. Damian watched his brother for a moment. He seemed much calmer now, the soft light slipping from between the drapes illuminated the red scratches on his face.
He stared at the ceiling. “May I ask why you wanted me to stay? I could have fetched Father from the basement.”
“It’s better when I’m not alone.” He said in a soft voice.
His eyebrows drew together as he turned his head to look at Timothy. “What is?”
“My brain.” His fingers were still running along the edge of the blanket in his hands.
“Would you…like to talk about it?”
“With you? Pass.”
“Tt.” Well at least he got his snarky attitude back. Damian would rather a snarky Drake over an emotional one any day. Grayson would tell him not to think like that, he thinks. That it is mean – or cruel, rather.
His brother seemed to decide to speak anyways, eyes focused on the blanket, “It-…it’s too much.”
“What is?”
“My brain. Me.” Timothy’s voice broke with a huff of wet laughter. “It makes me do things a-and think things I don’t want to think – bad things.”
“…Such as?”
His brother turned his tear-filled eyes towards him and Damian swallowed. “The reason I yelled at Alfred…every time I go into the pantry I have to hit my finger against the light switch in a pattern and close the door in the same pattern. And if I get it wrong I have to keep doing it again and again and again.
I had just finally closed that fucking door when Alfred asked me to get something from the pantry.” Timothy started to cry again, “I couldn’t do it again – I couldn’t. I was gonna tear my skin off.”
Damian looked away for a moment, taking in what Drake told him. This was…concerning. His gaze drifted back to his brother. “Does Father know?”
Drake shook his head before wiping at his eyes, “No. No one does.”
“Why not?”
“Because they’d think I’m crazy.”
Although Damian was entirely convinced that every member of his family had some sort of mental illness or disorder he deemed it unlikely that any of them – except his Grandfather – were actually insane. “Tt. Your brain just…operates differently.”
“That’s a nice way of putting it.” He chuckled.
Damian rolled his eyes.
“Yes, well…thank you for confiding in me.”
Timothy shrugged.
“…Would you like to talk more about it?”
Drake eyed him for a second, “Dick is really rubbing off on you, huh?”
“Yes,” Damian preened under the praise, “I suppose he is.”
He ran the blankets edge over his cheeks and lips. “I just want it to be quiet for now.”
---------------------------------
Tim woke up alone in his bed, which is pretty standard except for the fact that he distinctly remembers falling asleep next to Damian.
From outside his bedroom door he can hear voices. Three of them to be exact.
His brothers are outside his room talking about…him? He thinks that was just his name he heard.
Oh god.
Damian probably told them about his little tantrum. And then there was the other day when he freaked out over a damn cloth in front of Dick. They’re probably arranging to send him to Arkham this very moment.
He could make a good supervillain.
’Ah! No! Not my weakness! Dish cloths and pantry doors! Wait! …Is that a loud sound? AGGHHH NO!’
On the other hand maybe not.
The door creaked open and Dick’s head popped in like a whack-a-mole. “Babybird, you up? I wanna talk to you.”
Tim can’t believe Damian called Dick over to Gotham. At least he thinks that’s what happened. Whatever, he blames Damian either way.
He sat up as Dick sat on the bed beside him, “Yeah.”
He brushed some of Tim’s hair out of his face. “Dami told me what happened.”
Snitch. “Yeah?”
“Hm.” He paused, “I’m going to ask you something, okay? I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.”
’What size cell would be preferable? And how big of an issue is having it be close in proximity to the Joker?’
“Have you ever spoken to a doctor about this stuff before?”
“Like a therapist?”
Dick spoke softly, “Yeah, Babybird.”
Tim shook his head no.
“Would you like to?”
It sure would be nice to know what’s wrong with him. But…
“I’m not crazy.”
Dick swiped his hair out of his face again. He really needs to cut it. “I don’t think you’re crazy, Tim. No one does.”
“Okay, Dick.”
“Okay?”
Tim nodded.
His older brother smiled at him, “Okay.”