Chapter Text
The manor was alive. Loud in a way that Tim didn’t know what to do with. Life was evident there in every corner. The kitchen was usually in a state of use. The garden had trodden paths where Alfred liked to walk. Every worn bit of carpet and every reverberating footstep was a testament of life.
And it made Tim bite his lip and twist his fingers together while he sat alone in his room.
It was so different than what he was used to. Drake Manor had been quiet. Except for when his parents were home. And those times he had done his best not to do anything to cause raised voices and slammed doors.
It didn’t always work out.
Obviously.
Abuse, neglect, caretaker absence and foster care.
He was tired of those words.
The floorboards in the hallway creaked in protest as Jason bounded his way to Tim’s room. They’d only had about a month of living under the same roof, but school would be out soon and, according to Jason, this summer was going to be the greatest ever.
“Tim!” the boy shouted from the hall. “Let’s go!”
Tim forced his hands to settle. He unclenched his jaw and freed his lip from his teeth.
“I’ll be right there.”
Sometimes, Tim missed the quiet.
He had defended his parents. He had insisted that he was fine and able to take care of himself.
But now, with so many people around, he couldn’t deny that there was something not quite right with him, with everything he knew. He saw it in the way the inhabitants of the house looked at him sometimes. When he jumped at a loud noise or went quiet for hours at a time.
The realization that there was something wrong with him came to him slowly, in broken pieces.
Broken like the bowl shattered across the dining room floor.
He had been trying to get used to Saturday breakfasts. The fact that the whole household ate together at the table? It was so odd. Even when his parents were home, they didn’t eat together at their oversized dining table.
“Your hair is getting long,” Bruce remarked as Dick joined them, his hair still mussed from sleep. Dick brushed strands from his eyes with a short laugh. He was visiting for the weekend, something he had been doing a lot more after Tim officially moved in. It meant more people sitting around the table, eating all at once.
Tim was never going to get used to it.
He stirred his oatmeal with strawberries and a pinch of cinnamon on top, watching Jason spoon way too many chocolate chips into his own bowl.
“At least put some fruit,” Bruce tried to reason with him. Jason smirked.
“If there are this many toppings, I’m going for the chocolate first. We all know this.” Jason pushed the bowl towards Tim. “Trade me the strawberries, Timmy.”
Tim moved the bowl of strawberries toward Jason and shifted the bowl of dwindling chocolate chips out of the way, but he didn’t take any for himself.
Bruce had encouraged fruit after all.
Jason took his strawberries and shoved the bowl back towards Tim.
“You can have more.” And it was said in that tone that Jason sometimes gained when he was talking about food. A suppressed frustration and desperation always came with the topic for the older boy.
Eat more. Don’t waste. Eat now. Don’t you know there might not be another chance?
Tim had the smallest amount of understanding. His housekeeper had become ill once or twice and there were a few weeks when nobody checked on him. A few weeks when the cupboards in Drake Manor were nearly bare and Tim had gone searching for easy recipes that he could make with dried pasta, soy sauce and a potato.
The final product had not been particularly appetizing.
He finished his oatmeal quickly before Jason had time to think a lot about how much Tim was or wasn’t eating.
It was his eagerness to escape and the beginning of a growth spurt that caused him to trip over his own feet on his way to the kitchen.
The bowl flew from his hands.
It landed beyond any carpeted surface and smashed into the hardwood floor.
On his knees, he watched the pieces scatter. Past the point of being repaired easily. The pieces were too small and there was no hiding what had happened and god, he had never broken anything here. It had happened so fast. He began to scramble forward, but he heard Bruce’s chair legs scraping against the floor.
Tim’s hand came up on reflex, settling between his face and Bruce’s stare.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The apologies slipped out desperately. “I’ll clean it up. I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.”
Alfred was there then, coming into his periphery.
“It is alright, Master Tim. It’s not the first time I’ve cleaned up a wayward bowl.”
“I can replace it,” Tim blurted. Bruce paid for everything, but Tim had some money in a stash under the bed. “There is no need.” Alfred said calmly. Tim could feel his eyes stinging and his face heating up. Why wouldn’t they let him fix it? Why?
“Tim,” Bruce’s voice rumbled, “are you hurt?”
And Tim hadn’t meant to flinch at being addressed by the man, but he didn’t seem to be able to control anything in that moment.
“No, sir,” Tim answered automatically.
He heard Bruce sigh and he knew he must be annoying the man greatly. Disrupting his breakfast. Making a scene.
“Jay,” Bruce’s tone was softer now.
“Got it.”
Tim’s view was filled by his foster brother. The bowl was put of sight, there was only Jason, ducking his head with a careful expression. A Robin kind of expression.
“You can put your arm down. Nobody’s coming near you. Promise.”
He hadn’t realized he still had it up. Slowly, Tim lowered his hand. He wiped quickly at his eyes instead, embarrassed by the moisture there.
“Sorry,” Tim mumbled. Jason’s nose wrinkled at the apology, but he didn’t remark on it.
“Let’s go sit on the couch, okay?”
Tim let Jason haul him off the floor. He didn’t dare look up at anyone else. He couldn’t stand to see the disappointment on their faces. He had behaved badly. Breaking a bowl and then crying over it. His parents would have been furious and embarrassed by him.
Tim realized Jason had him by the wrist and he shut his eyes tight, letting the other boy lead him away.
When Tim opened his eyes, he was sitting on the softest couch, warm fingers pressing against his pulse. His heart was jumping in his chest. Could Jason feel it?
“Breathe with me, okay?” Jason’s voice was pitched low, and he took a deep, exaggerated breath.
Tim sucked in air like someone who was suffocating. Had he not been breathing?
“Good, yeah,” Jason encouraged.
An exhale, another inhale.
“Here,” Jason pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around Tim’s shoulders.
“Feel that?” He asked as he turned Tim’s hand and rested it atop the fabric. “Bruce always buys the softest blankets he can find.”
One moment, Tim was feeling the fabric and the next, clarity was dawning on him.
“Jason,” he whispered, “your food. Your breakfast. You left it.” Food was important to the other boy. Tim knew that at least. “You need to eat. It’s going to get cold and-”
“It’s not going anywhere, Tim.” Jason’s mouth twitched. “It’s not going anywhere,” he repeated more quietly.
“I’m okay,” Tim whispered. “You can go.” He pulled his hand away from Jason and sat up straighter.
Jason sighed. “No, it’s fine- Dick!” he turned and shouted over his shoulder. “You’re not doing anything. Bring me my oatmeal!”
There were plenty of times when the older boys teased each other and purposefully annoyed one another, but there were other times when they absolutely listened, and all the joking was put aside. Tim couldn’t always tell the difference between teasing and fighting.
Dick briskly walked into the room carrying the bowl in one hand and offering it to Jason ike he was a waiter.
“Your food, good sir.”
As soon as Jason grabbed the bowl, Dick flipped himself onto the couch, landing neatly on Tim’s other side. “You okay, Timmy?” He asked, one arm already wrapping around Tim’s shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” Tim responded. “I can clean it up. I didn’t mean to-” freak out? “-get upset.”
He didn’t understand why he had gotten so upset in the first place. It seemed ridiculous now; wedged between his two new brothers, wrapped in a soft, warm blanket.
Dick was giving him a strange look. He opened his mouth and then shut it with a shake of his head. “It’s okay, the adults are taking care of it.” He grabbed the nearby TV remote. “Let’s watch something.”
“You’re an adult.” Jason muttered. “Hey, not the British Bake Off, I don’t want to hear you complaining about the food.”
“Home renovations shows it is,” Dick flipped to the appropriate channel and tossed the remote into Tim’s lap. Tim made no move to pick it up, but he balanced it on his knee long after the first set of credits began to roll.
He heard Bruce walk up behind them and he tensed, waiting for the lecture. Instead, he caught sight of Bruce’s hand moving so slowly in his peripheral vision. It rested atop Dick’s hair and his fingers combed through the errant strands there.
A little more quickly now, Bruce moved to Jason and ruffled his hair. Jason grinned at the action and Tim blinked at the movement, but he did not flinch. Bruce took in a deep breath before very lightly stroking the top of Tim’s head. The touch was gone in an instant and when Bruce spoke, his voice was softer than usual.
“You’re okay,” he muttered before moving off again. Once Bruce was out of the room, Dick made a soft humming sound. Tim turned and saw a small smile on his face.
“He’s going to go brood for a bit.”
“Brood?” Tim frowned. That was bad, right?
“Yeah, he wants to talk to you. He’s going to go figure out what to say.”
“Oh,” Tim’s stomach sank. So the lecture would be later. Jason elbowed him.
“It’s not going to be bad, Timmers. He’s not mad or anything. I promise.”
Tim’s brow furrowed. If Bruce wasn’t angry, then why did he want to talk later? It didn’t make any sense, but he didn’t want to disagree with anyone. Frowning, he sunk down into the couch and let Dick pat his head.
“You’re okay,” Dick whispered, almost too quiet to hear.
Tim took a deep breath and let it go.
“Is it alright if I come in?”
Tim was sitting on his bed, trying to be calm and quiet. He blinked at Bruce standing in his open doorway. It was his house, why would he ask?
“Yes.” Tim was careful not to say it like a question.
Bruce gave him a strange look.
“You sure, bud?” His gaze flicked to Tim’s hands anxiously twisting the blanket between his fingers. Tim pointedly dropped the fabric.
“Yes,” he repeated. Bruce approached, each step slower than the next, until he was only a few feet from the bed.
“How are you feeling?”
Tim blinked. “Fine.”
Bruce hummed. “Alright if I sit?” He motioned to the edge of the mattress.
Again. This was Bruce’s house. The man paid the bills. Why was he asking? Tim nodded anyway. Bruce moved to sit slowly, keeping his hands at his side and his eyes on Tim.
“I wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier-”
“I can pay for it,” The words were out of Tim's mouth before he could stop them.
“You don’t need to.” Bruce’s response was quick, as though he had been prepared for it. “We break dishes all the time. Dick accidentally knocked over an entire cabinet of them when he was younger. I’m not worried about the bowl.” Bruce leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I was worried about you.”
Tim frowned. He was fine, he-
“You seemed upset downstairs.” Bruce swallowed. “So I wanted to tell you first that you’re not in trouble with anyone. You’re never going to be in trouble for an accident, like dropping a bowl. Second, you called me ‘sir’ earlier, you never need to call me that. I prefer you wouldn’t, actually. And third,” Bruce lay his hands open on the bed, “I’m never going to hit you.”
Tim grimaced at the words. He knew he had behaved irrationally earlier. Overreacting again, his parents would say. It’s not like his parents spent all their time beating him.
Something like that only happened if he broke any of the rules and he was usually really good at following the rules. The bruises he got when they were home, the bruises Jason noticed at school and wouldn’t leave him alone about… those were out of the ordinary. It just happened because his parents were gone a lot and when they finally made it home, they were tired and Tim was just in the way.
“I’m sorry,” because it was all he could think to say. Bruce smiled. It was small, with a hint of sadness in his eyes.
“We’re going to keep working on things, alright?” Bruce inched forward but didn’t make any move to actually touch him.
Tim nodded. It was going to be alright. This was Bruce’s house and he would do his best to follow every rule and do anything the man asked of him.
He was going to do better.
The sound of a door slamming resounded through Tim’s room. Abruptly, as if he was having some kind of spasm, Tim stood from his chair and faced the open door.
He listened intently to the house.
There was no yelling, no raised, angry voices. So the door had been slammed by accident, not due to a fight.
He had heard stories from Dick and Jason about arguments they’d had with Bruce. About prolonged silent treatments and a few choice words said from all involved.
With halting steps, Tim approached his door.
Not a fight. Not a fight.
But he had been wrong in the past.
A harshly shut door was usually the sign he should leave his house. He knew, if he remained, it was only a matter of time before one of his irate parents found him and saw some incompetence in him. He had always wanted to shut his door, hide away from them. But if his mother was the one upset, she always had an issue with him closing the door to his room.
On good days, she would snap it open and leave it ajar, claiming his room was stuffy and he was being antisocial. On the bad days, she would yell, telling him he couldn’t hide away in his room, being unproductive. His mother once presented a doorstopper to him as part of a birthday gift since he had a “hard time” keeping his door open. He never understood what she thought he was doing. He just liked it when his surroundings were quieter sometimes.
Still, it was against the rules to close the door.
Neither Bruce nor Alfred had said anything about doors being open or shut, but he tried to follow the rules he brought with him.
His fingers twitched around the knob, he took a deep breath and pushed the door closed most of the way, stopping it right before it tapped the door jam. A compromise, Tim thought. Sighing, he turned to his desk and went back to work.
The rest of the afternoon was passing by relatively peacefully, when the sound of music cut through the silence and drifted down the hallway. Jason? No, it was bright and fast paced. Dick must have been playing something. Tim thought he heard a distant thumping sound and then he definitely heard Jason yelling.
“Turn that off, asshole!”
“Language!” Dick proclaimed.
Fighting? Not Fighting?
Tim frowned. Dick’s music became noticeably louder.
“Oh for- Close your door, dickhead!”
“Boys,” A deeper voice suddenly intoned.
Oh. Oh shit. That was Bruce. And he sounded irritated. Tim placed one hand on his desk, bracing himself for something.
He heard the deeper timbre carry on like rolling gravel and he couldn’t discern the words, but it was definitely not a happy tone.
Tim rose from his chair, took two steps to his door and then froze. Close the door or open it wider to avoid being seen as impudent (as his mother had said once)?
His feet carried him to the door, but he couldn’t convince his arm to reach for the handle. Dick’s music had ended, and all the voices had gone quiet. He thought he might be ready to reach for the doorknob when he heard heavy footsteps treading on the hallway carpet. Thudding right towards his door at the end of the hall. In a panic, Tim spun around, forgetting to do anything at all with the door, he rushed back to his desk, planning on acting like he had just been studying and not about to break any of the house rules.
His plan went awry when he tripped over his own two stupid, dumb feet. Rushing like he was, his body didn’t get the memo to attempt to right himself and he faceplanted into the plush carpet.
Beneath the dull pain, all he could think was that he had now stupidly tripped twice in this house.
There was a knock against his doorframe.
“Tim?” Bruce’s tone wasn’t the same as a few moments ago, but that didn’t mean anything. Adults could use a soft voice and still be angry. He knew the moment Bruce saw him on the floor, because he heard the door swing open the rest of the way and the quick inhalation of breath before heavy footsteps rushed forward. “Tim? What happened? Are you hurt?”
Tim managed to unfreeze enough to prop himself up on his elbows and shake his head.
“Easy, go slow. Are you dizzy?”
Bruce was crouched down, nearly lying on the floor, trying to be at Tim’s eye level.
“Just tripped,” Tim admitted, face burning.
“Oh,” Bruce sounded relieved. There was a moment of quiet as Tim sat back and Bruce shifted away, giving him space. He rubbed at his chin, chasing away the stinging pain from hitting the floor. Knowing Bruce was studying him, unable to meet the man’s eye, he felt stuck there on the soft carpet.
“When Jason and Dick had growth spurts,” Bruce whispered, like he was sharing a secret. “They both went through a phase where they tripped or ran into things on accident all the time. Dick was so upset with himself. I don’t think he’d ever been anything but graceful in all his life.” Bruce smiled. “It took a little getting used to, but they adjusted.”
Tim frowned and didn’t respond. Bruce crossed his legs and leaned forward.
“Do you want to talk about why you’re upset?”
“I’m not,” Tim whispered, matching Bruce’s tone.
“Alright,” Bruce set his hands, palm up on his knees, “is it okay if I sit here with you for a little while?”
Tim crossed his own legs and nodded.
They sat together and they breathed for several long moments. Tim was just beginning to feel a little less like his feet would betray him if he tried to stand when a new voice shouted from the doorway.
“Bruce! What did you do? Is he crying? Are you making him cry?”
“I’m not crying!” Tim argued, mortified, while Bruce lifted up his hands in a display of his innocence.
“Honestly, B, if you’re just going to upset him…”
“He didn’t do anything, I- I tripped.”
“Oh.” Jason smiled and sidled into the room, plopping down on the floor and throwing an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “You okay now, Timmers?”
Tim wrinkled his nose at the nickname, but he nodded. Bruce stood, groaning when his knees made a popping sound.
“Dinner in a few hours. Jason, remember what we talked about.”
The older boy waved him off. “Yeah, I know.”
Bruce left the room, leaving the door ajar behind him.
“What did you talk about?” Tim couldn’t help his curiosity. Jason scratched the back of his head and gave a nervous laugh.
“Ah, that. Well, Dick and I argue a lot over stupid things and sometimes we kind of forget other people are around. We kind of sound like assholes if you’re not used to it. And, y’know, we wouldn’t want you to think we’re assholes.” Jason tilted his head in thought. “It was kind of shitty of us to start yelling when you were in here studying. The walls are pretty good at canceling out sound, but they’re not that good.” Jason glanced around the room. “And if your door is open, sound carries down the hall. You should close it. Do you have headphones? I have some extra.”
It was said so casually. Jason was going on about using earbuds versus different headphones, but Tim felt his heart and brain stutter.
“I can close it? It’s okay?” Tim leaned forward, eyes wide. Jason’s eyes darted left and right, backtracking through what he had said.
“You mean the door? Yeah, you can close it. Nobody is going to stop you.”
Tim felt a lump rise in his throat.
“It’s not a rule to keep them open?”
Jason went from looking bemused to something darker really fast.
“No. We don’t have to keep them open. That would be a shitty rule. I wouldn’t have stayed if anyone had told me that was a rule.”
Tim was caught between relief and worry over Jason’s tone and expression.
“I’m sorry,” Tim whispered. Jason’s face immediately softened, but he didn’t smile again.
“No worries, man.” He ruffled Tim’s hair as he stood up from the floor. He then offered his hand and pulled Tim up in one swift motion. “You good? I need to go ask Bruce something.”
“I’m good.” Tim smoothed down his shirt.
“Great,” he muttered, “I’ll see you later.” The older boy then left without looking back.
But with a soft click, Jason shut the door behind him.