Work Text:
There is a knock at the door of Tim’s bedroom.
“Come in,” he calls, saving the file he’s working on and closing his laptop. The door opens slowly.
There, standing in his doorway and looking like he wants to be anywhere else, is Damian Wayne. He waits a moment for Damian to enter the room. He doesn’t.
“You can come in,” he says, mentally running through the list of things he might’ve done to upset Damian lately. It isn’t nearly extensive enough to warrant a visit. Damian approaches him slowly, and when he sits on the edge of the bed, his posture is stiff and tight. He remains silent, gaze fixed firmly on the floor.
“Did you need something?”
Damian nods.
“Do you want to tell me what it is?”
Damian nods again, and Tim wonders if he will have to have this conversation–whatever ‘this conversation’ is–entirely through yes or no questions.
“I have…questions, if you are willing to answer them,” Damian says eventually, every word sounding as if it were dragged out of him.
“I’ll try my best,” he offers. Damian nods once, and Tim can see him taking a calming, timed breath.
“You are transgender, correct?”
Oh. That’s. Tim prides himself on being able to plan for any situation, on having contingencies for the farthest of possibilities. Five minutes ago, this was not even in his top 300 guesses on why his brother might be here.
“I am,” he confirms, though Damian wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t already know.
“I would like to ask a few things about your experiences in regards to that aspect of yourself. Is that–is that alright?” Damian is looking at him now, eyes wide and shoulders somehow even tenser than they were a moment ago.
“Yeah, of course,” Tim replies automatically, still trying to figure out why Damian’s suddenly taking an interest in Tim’s gender of all things.
Damian visibly relaxes.
“When did you realize that your experience wasn’t typical to that of a cisgender individual?”
Part of Tim is surprised that Damian, having gotten most of his education from the League, even knows the word ‘cisgender.’ The other part is beginning to realize that Damian definitely scripted this conversation in his head long before he knocked on the door.
He thinks on the question for a moment, turning it over in his head.
“That’s sort of complicated? I realized I wasn’t straight when I was like ten years old, and so for a while, that was the excuse for anything that might’ve otherwise tipped me off that I was trans. I didn’t actually consciously realize that I was a guy until I was like sixteen.”
Damian hums, tilting his head to the side.
“Can you provide examples of things that led to your realization?”
That, at least, is an easy one. “Oh, yeah. I hated wearing dresses to galas, being on my period made me really anxious and uncomfortable, I didn’t like it when clothes would emphasize more feminine things about my body, and being called Steph’s girlfriend when we were dating actually made me feel ill. A lot of it was kind of stereotypical.”
“And that was…enough? For you to be certain?” Damian looks sort of pale. Tim really hopes he isn’t sick, because he’ll definitely get Tim sick if that’s the case.
He shakes his head, laughing a little. “No,” he says immediately. “It definitely wasn’t. I thought I was just really insecure. And like, I was, but that ended up being gender related too. Anyway, I wasn’t really sure until I asked a friend of mine to act like I was a guy for a little while. And that felt really nice, which sort of solidified it for me.”
Damian’s eyebrows furrow. “Why would your friend’s treatment of you differ depending on whether you were a man or woman?
Tim bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks over his next words. “It didn’t, really, it was more about how he referred to me. Like, he’d use a masculine name when he was talking to me, and if he was talking about me, he would use he/him instead of she/her.”
“Oh.”
They lapse back into silence. Tim is content to remain that way, but it’s clear Damian isn’t. He’s about to prompt him to start talking again when he realizes that Damian looks to be on the verge of tears. His eyes are damp, his lashes sticking together. He takes a deep breath, and it is a bit less steady than it was a few minutes ago.
“Our family, we are very public. We are under the scrutiny of the press more often than not. Did that make things harder for you? If so, does it still?” he rubs at his eyes and takes another deep breath.
Normally, Damian’s touch aversion isn’t an issue for Tim. They’re both autistic, Tim has sensory issues of his own, he gets it. Right now, he wishes desperately that physical affection was comforting for Damian, because he has no idea what to do. And he can’t lie to the kid, either, because if this conversation is going where he thinks it’s going, that would just be cruel.
“It did. A lot, at first. I was very publicly mocked and criticized for a while. Things got a lot better, though. It stopped being some big new scandal, and just about everyone moved on. Bruce helped a lot, too.” He considers stopping there. He takes one look back at Damian’s reddened face and decides he absolutely cannot stop there.
“I don’t want to overstep, and I’m not going to assume, but if you were to transition now, I’m almost positive it would be a lot better. We’d keep you safe, I promise.”
Damian sucks in a breath sharply. “I…” he looks at Tim, eyes wide and shiny, shoulders drawn in. He pulls his knees up to his chest, and Tim doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look this small before. He reaches out on instinct, hand pausing in mid-air. To his surprise, though, Damian grabs his hand with the sleeve of his hoodie pulled over his own. He squeezes Tim’s hand through the fabric and Tim squeezes back, smiling in what he hopes is a reassuring way.
Damian exhales, face softening in a way Tim isn’t sure he’s ever seen directed toward anyone but Damian’s animals.
“What you asked your friend to do for you,” Damian begins, looking vaguely uncertain. Tim nods. “Would you be willing to do that with me?”
“Of course,” Tim says.
“Not forever,” Damian adds quickly. “Just…for a little while. Just until I come to a determination about–” Damian pauses. “All of this.”
Tim nods once more. “What pronouns do you want me to use?”
“She/they,” Damian replies, but the words are pitched more like a question than a statement. Tim squeezes their hand once more.
“Do you want me to use feminine or neutral terms to refer to you in other ways?” he asks, and Damian looks uncertain.
“What might that look like?”
“Like, I could call you my sister or my sibling, as opposed to my brother. I don’t have to, though.”
Damian’s head tilts, and she bites her cheek as she considers. She is, Tim observes, being much more expressive than usual. He wonders if it’s on purpose, as some sort of display of trust, or if maybe she’s not even aware it’s happening. “I would prefer to be referred to as your sibling,” she decides. “And similarly in other circumstances.”
“I can do that,” Tim agrees easily.
With that, Damian stands to leave, pausing in the doorway. “Thank you, Timothy,” she says.
The door is closed again before Tim can even register that they'd used his first name.