Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

To be the youngest, in a way, is to suffer. You will never be connected to them the way they are to one another. You will not understand how to communicate with them. You will be on the outside looking in as they reminisce in their old memories.

Tim Drake knows this well. He’s experienced it, and has every memory categorized away to pull out at any point; at any time. He’s watched. He knows how to laugh with them. He knows which jokes to make and which ones to keep to himself.

Tim Drake understands that you cannot change the nature of an only child. No matter if it has siblings or not. It is something ingrained. Something that does not come undone easily.

_______________________________

Tim does not understand what he has done to drive him away. Nothing can come to mind. Nothing that he did consciously, with hurtful intention, to provide such a reaction.

What no one seems to understand is how his adopted brothers have made Tim feel.

Due to them, he has felt what it is like to tug at your own hair in pure frustration. Not in the frustration one would think a brother would cause. He has felt how his day progressively gets worse because something had flipped a switch in his mind, letting the dam made of twigs and fabric and kevlar break loose, letting his memories flood over his brain. As the day goes on, his head is so full that the memories escape out his eyes and down his face in the quiet of night in his own room. Tim knows how to keep his sobs quiet so that any prying ears will not have an inkling into what he may be feeling. He had to learn it because of his older brothers.

In the quiet of the cave, Tim’s words sounded like an echo, “I don’t get it.”

Bruce sat facing the batcomputer, typing away on his report, “Don’t get what, Robin?”

That’s right, they were still in uniform. Batman would not call Tim by his civilian name until his mask was off. He would not be Bruce Wayne’s son until they made their ascent up the spiral staircase.

“He’s getting better, I’ll admit, but . . .” Maybe he shouldn’t admit it. Shouldn’t bring up his own son’s fault to a father, “Why would he just leave me behind?”

Tim remembers him asking, “Who?”, but the Batman had never spoken, he was still typing away on the keyboard, fitting pieces of a case together.

“Dick.” It was meant to be quiet, but the cave makes everything so loud. “I’m his brother, aren’t I?”

There’s a pause. “Dick is an adult, Robin,” This time he had truly spoken, but still never turned around. “He moved out to make his own way in the world. It’s the way things happen.”

Tim was sitting on the railing of the platform in which the batcomputer was on. The batmobile sat still; far below him. With the way Tim’s stomach was feeling, due to admitting something that had been plaguing him for so long, he felt as if he would teeter off and fall backwards right into the passenger seat. “It’s not that,” he says, “He never talks to me. Not daily, only when he remembers.”

Finally. Finally Batman stopped his incessant typing and slowly turned himself towards the fifteen year old boy, still clad in his black, red, yellow, and green. He looked at Tim for a solid second, and within that time Tim felt his heart slowly crawl into his throat as he sat under the Batman’s interrogating gaze.

“He has his own things to deal with, Robin,” he finally answered, turning back around and continuing his typing. “He will not come and visit at the drop of a hat just because you may want him to.”

Tim sat for a moment. In that moment, he knew he would not fall backwards into the passenger seat of the batmobile.

That was a place reserved for Dick’s younger brother.

As Batman continued his typing, his third Robin slipped away and ascended back up the stairs, letting himself become Tim Drake as he climbed up to his room. He did not take off his uniform as he stood in the dark. His light was not what he wanted right now, so he did not reach over to turn it on.

From where he stood, Tim could look out his tall bedroom windows to see the bright, distant lights of Gotham. He doesn’t know why, but those little twinkling stars are what did it for him. He pressed his lips together as they pulled into a frown. Trying to fight the growing warmth behind his eyes, he took a deep breath through his nose.

A sob broke loose. Just a quiet one. One of the sobs that are pure breath because you cannot trust your vocal cords enough to keep you hidden. Tim sat down beside his bed, his back against the edge. He criss crossed his legs as a few more breaths escaped him. He held his mask and his gloves in his lap and stared down at them as is fresh tears fell onto them.

Tim Drake was not a brother. It was the one thing he doubted he could ever be.

You cannot change the nature of an only child.

Neither, apparently, could you try to convince your older brother to stay your older brother. He would much prefer to leave and not have anything to do with a child. Especially when he was in another fight with Bruce.

If he comes back, Tim thinks through a mix of tears and silent sobs that wrack his whole body, If he comes back and wants to talk to me again once I’m an adult, I won’t.

But that wasn’t true. He knew deep in his heart it wasn’t true. He would take any morsel of attention that his older brother would throw his way. He knew it wasn’t true so he leaned over so far he bent himself in half, pressing his crossed legs to his chest as gasped for air. He ran his fingers through his hair and he cried. He mourned at his lost chance and how he didn’t even have the chance to try and hold on to it.

The chance to hold onto a chance now lost to the murky waters and the rusted bridge that separates Gotham and Blüdhaven.

Dick Grayson had already been a big brother, and now Tim believed that he would rather not be one again. Not to somebody different. Not to the one who he could still speak to and laugh with, but rather the one rotting in his untimely grave.

“I’m sorry,” Tim whispered through his sobs. To who, he wasn’t sure at first. The thick haze of his mind floated about as his thoughts danced a frenzy round his room with his emotions and memories. It created a dizzy tangle between them, all smashing into one another and flattening into the wetness that leaked down Tim’s face and neck and nose, down onto his lap and hands.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He was sorry for pretending to be the little brother that he is obviously not. There was already one that fit the role, the role of Dick Grayson’s little brother. Though, the shoes Tim had tried to fill were too little for him.

Little shoes for a little brother.

He shouldn’t consider Jason Todd a brother. Should he? Would he have even enjoyed his presence?

…Why did I choose to be Robin?

Tim doesn’t know how long he had cried for, because he can’t remember when he even stopped. As his mind’s gears started to move smoothly again now that the dam’s waters had been emptied, all Tim focused on was how he was sitting. He was still cross legged on the floor, both elbows pressed into his knees with his back hunched for his head to be held up my his hands. His fingers were still tangled in his greasy black hair that he needed to wash come morning time. His back hurt from his hunched position and he breathed slowly as he stared down at his gloves in his lap.

Tim just wanted a brother.

Chapter Text

Tim Drake found himself bored.

When he got bored, his mind started to wander and overwork itself into strong emotions that made him sit in his room for a while before coming back out to do whatever he had to do.

Tim was supposed to be studying for his exams and finishing the two overdue assignments that he had. Bruce had grounded him from any Robin work m, Young Justice included, to get it done. Or more so that Alfred has strongly suggested the idea to Bruce. But, Batman had been away with the Justice League for the past few days and would still be away for at least the rest of the week.

Alfred had left to go do the grocery shopping half an hour ago. Tim had wanted to go with him, since he was in that procrastinating mood rather than writing-that-overdue-essay mood, but Alfred didn’t let him. He said that Tim could help bring the groceries in once he got back, instead, after Tim had done some schoolwork.

I should just drop out, Tim thought to himself as he sat in his room, staring at the computer screen and the blank document that he had open.

Finally having enough, and feeling the need to have a walk, Tim closed his laptop and began his journey through the empty halls of Wayne Manor. It was almost eerie, knowing that Alfred wasn’t just a few halls over or just on a different floor, but rather out in the city of Gotham in the middle of winter. Tim felt a bit of anxiety settle into his stomach at the thought that any criminal out there could take the chance to do something while the Batman was away, and there wouldn’t be anyone to do anything since Tim was stupidly “grounded”.

I really should just drop out. Can’t ground me for not doing schoolwork when I don’t have any in the first place.

Tim continued wandering, stopping in the kitchen to grab the last apple before starting again. Eventually, after staring at all the paintings in the halls that he’s never truly studied before and moving a few vases slightly out of position out of boredom, Tim found himself in front the grandfather clock. The entrance to the Batcave.

He knows there’s cameras. He knows there’s motion sensors.

So what? Tim thought, opening it and moving down the staircase. It’s not like I’ll run off as Robin. I’m just… taking a break and wandering.

It’s easy to lie later if you come up with a story as you go along. That way, if you are questioned, it’s easier to talk about what you told yourself you were doing, rather than what you actually were.

Tim sat down in front of the Batcomputer, still munching away at his apple. He started looking through separate files. It was all random. First he went through recent case files, then older ones. Then he scrolled through individual files like Harley’s, Ivy’s, Penguin’s, and so on. It felt like one of those wikipedia holes where you just keep clicking on the underlined words and went on whatever path you were taken.

Tim ended up finding a list of folders within folders, within folders, which consisted of more folders; all under different names.

“Who’s Happy?” He found himself saying out loud.
Between a few folders labelled things like “Nightwing”, “Suit Designs”, and “document 432” (that was just a blank document that Batman had obviously started and then closed before starting a new one, which Tim knows he has done more than 432 times), was a folder titled “happy”, in all lowercase letters. You wouldn’t think of it if you were on the lookout for a specific file or piece of information, but you would find it if you were casually browsing, just like Tim was.

He opened it, and sighed dramatically when he found more folders. He tossed his apple core into the garbage, wiped his hand on his pants, and then propped his chin up on the desk with his hand as he scrolled through them.

Tim frowned as he found a folder titled “Robin”, which was, in fact, not filled with more folders, but video clips. They were ordered chronologically, starting with the most recent ones added into the file. Tim clicked on the first one and flinched back a bit at the sound of his own voice. His laughter.

“You got it!” His video self called out.

On further inspection, Tim realized that it was footage from his own body cam from patrol. It was from around two weeks ago by the looks of it and the date. He felt a smile come onto his face at the memory. He had been near Crime Alley, earlier in the night, and a group of kids were playing with a soccer ball. Tim remembers them begging for him to join them for at least one round. He tried to resist, he hadn’t even taken down a criminal yet, but they dragged him in and he ended getting caught up in a few short rounds of soccer with them in the alleyway, where they had set up mock tents with cardboard boxes.

Tim exited the video and moved to another one, a little further down. There, he was fighting. This was a few months ago and he was with Batman in this one. Tim could see why this video had been saved, because even he was impressed with how well he was fighting.

Quickly, he fell into a rabbit hole of moving through video clips that Batman had saved from both of their body cam footage. One was from Batman’s perspective, where Tim had ran away from him to go help a lady with her grocery bags. Another of Tim laughing along with Cassie while they waited outside the Justice League meeting room for their mentors.

These are his happy memories, Tim realized.

He scrolled further, enjoying seeing what the Batman deemed worthy of filing away. He stopped looking at the dates and going through each video, but rather started choosing based off of the thumbnail.

“Oh my god,” Tim laughed, seeing a blur of the back of Nightwing walking on a rooftop. It was still when he had that old disco suit that he thought was alright for vigilante work. Tim clicked on it and grinned as it started to play. Tim’s body cam showed him trailing along behind Dick as he walked ahead of him, his back to him.

Tim started trying to think of what patrol or mission this could have been on. His grin fell the second he rolled the mouse over the bottom of the screen, the date of upload popping up. That pinch of anxiety returned to his stomach, though he wasn’t even sure if it was anxiety, exactly, that he was feeling.

Tim knew this wasn’t his body cam footage even before the voice spoke out.

It played through the speakers, “C’mon! Do it again!”

“No,” Nightwing said as he stalked away on the rooftop. He sounded annoyed, but not in an angry way.

I’m a fool, Tim thought. Just because it’s “Robin”’s folder, doesn’t mean it’s only me.

“You’re a dick,” Jason’s voice spoke through the speakers as he chased after Nightwing as he swung to another rooftop.

Once they landed, Nightwing finally looked over his shoulder at Jason, a completely unimpressed look across his face, “You’re not funny.”

“To you,” Jason retorted. “I’m absolutely hilarious to everybody else.”

“I doubt that,” Dick jumped over onto a fire escape. Where were they going? Tim recognized that part of Gotham as closer to Blüdhaven and it made him wonder if either Dick had crossed over on purpose or accidentally while pursuing somebody. Or, maybe, Jason had sought him out to purposefully annoy him.

“Kory thinks otherwise,” Jason teased, earning him another deadpan, disappointed look. “C’mon, ‘Wing! Do it again!”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Why? Can’t do it on command?” Onto another rooftop. They weren’t going in a particular direction, so Tim was convinced that Dick was purely just trying to get away from Jason’s pestering. “What? Are you performance shy?”

“Oh my god!” Dick halted, spinning around on his heel.

Tim felt a smile on his face, watching the encounter play out. It was nice, seeing the interaction.

“Just do it!” You could see Jason’s hands clasp in front of him in a pleading manner, “Please? I saw you do it!”

“Fine,” Dick grumbled. He turned sideways to Jason, before flipping backwards into a quadruple backflip, landing perfectly upright. “Happy?”

Jason ran up to Dick and grabbed and shook his arm, bouncing up and down. “Ohhhhh!!!” He yelled. “That was sick!”

Something prickled at the back of Tim’s mind, something sticky that made his throat close a bit. Something that made him wonder that if he asked Dick to do a trick for him, would he?

Doubt mixed into the stickiness. Dick and Tim weren’t close like this.

They weren’t brothers like this.

“Okay!” Jason chirped, backing away from Dick, “That’s all I wanted. See ya!”

He ran off the rooftop and used his grappling hook to swing far away. With that, the video ended.

Tim had never heard Jason Todd’s voice before. He had seen him, had been close enough to know that his nose was slightly tilted to the left of his face, but had never heard his voice.

He thought he would never hear the voice of the dead Robin that came before him.

Tim scrolled back up before he could properly think through his actions. He searched through the dates until he found the first one dated after he had become Robin. He hovered the mouse over it, before moving it to the right. Instead, he clicked on the last video dated before Bruce’s apparent first favourite memory of Tim’s Robin, this one taken in early April. That same April that Jason Todd had died.

If he was being entirely honest, Tim would tell you that he did laugh as the video started.

This one is from Batman’s bodycam. He was standing and talking to Commissioner Gordon in front of Batsignal. Just over the Commissioner’s shoulder, stood Jason in his Robin uniform. Tim knew what it was like to have to stand by during those long Gordon and Batman talks, he knows just how boring it gets when they trail off from the topic of vigilante work and into the random events of Gotham. They could talk about anything and everything.

There was no music playing in the video, only the Commissioner and Batman talking about the local bank that was shutting down and reopening somewhere else, so whatever rhythm that Jason was following must’ve been in his head as he danced away. He slowly spun in circles, waving his arms around and bopping his head to his imaginary beat. How Bruce had not stopped his conversation with Gordon to focus completely on Jason, Tim has no idea, as the whole scene was hilarious.

What was even funnier, was how Dick stood right beside Jason in his old, tacky Nightwing outfit. Arms crossed and looking the other way, most likely zoned out without a clue as to the solo dance party that was happening beside him.

In stopping his rotation to go the other way, still moving his arms and bopping his head, Jason had accidentally nudged Dick’s arm. This got Dick’s attention, but instead of nudging him back or yelling at him, he grinned. Almost immediately, Dick joined in. Spinning in a stationary circle, dancing away to a completely different beat than what Jason was following with just as much enthusiasm. Maybe even more by the looks of it, but that could’ve been contributed to by Dick’s terrible, flashy “Discowing” suit.

This went on for awhile and with each rotation that the two boys did, Tim felt his heart break a little more.

Why couldn’t he have a dance party?

It was stupid. It was so, so stupid. It was even stupider how his eyes burned and he bit his lower lip as he closed the files and marched his way back up to his room.

In the majority of the thumbnails for those videos, it was Dick and Jason together. Tim hadn’t watched them, but from what he saw of the two that he did, the rest were probably just as brotherly. Tim was alone in most of his, aside from the odd clip of him with Kon, Cassie, and/or Bart.

Tim made it up to his bedroom and sat down in his desk chair. He felt angry. Why hadn’t Dick visited him as much as he had Jason? Why didn’t he come on as many patrols with them as he used to?

Why couldn’t they have a dance party?

Tim opened his laptop and stared at the blank document. He started to type, suddenly filled with the motivation to finish his essay, rather than deal with his thoughts.

Because he’s angry with Bruce. A voice in his head tried to reason. Dick has always been angry with Bruce.

Not then. Tim replied to it. Not when Jason was there.

Well then maybe Jason was a better brother and son. He could keep them together.

Tim took a deep breath. His chin wobbled and he tore his hands from the keyboard to quickly wipe away his tears before they fell. He went back to typing, tired of his own thoughts betraying him.

By the time he got to his second paragraph, consulting the notes on what his points were that he had written down earlier, Tim didn’t feel much like crying anymore. He was angry, but he wasn’t too much emotional.

Then, once Alfred came home and up to Tim’s room to ask if he still wanted to help put away the groceries, Tim had so carefully filed away his angry that the only evidence that was left of him looking through the Batman’s happiest memories of his Robins was the apple core left in the trashcan in the Batcave.

Needless to say, Tim Drake was no longer bored.

Chapter Text

Robin didn’t want to admit he may be a little lost.

He had separated from Batman at one point early into the night, and hadn’t met up with him since, preferring to be on his own for the time being. Maybe he could find him later, but he was having fun practicing lurking in the shadows as he watched Nightwing.

Tim didn’t know why the now Blüdhaven-centric vigilante was in Gotham. A flash of movement had caught his attention out if the corner of his eye while he had been running from rooftop to rooftop. He had backtracked slowly, and saw Nightwing standing there, in an alleyway.
Robin climbed up to the neighbouring building, and crouched down to study him.

What is he doing?

His arms were crossed, he was tapping his foot, his back to Robin.

Tim slowly found a way down, staying quiet, and keeping to the shadows. He stood on a fire escape, pressed into a corner, his cape shielding away his Robin colours so as not to catch Nightwing’s eye.

Dick sighed, throwing his head back to look at the sky and dropping his arms to his side. Quickly, he perked up again, holding a finger to his ear and talking quietly.
Tim moved closer to be able to hear better, slinking down the fire escape he was on.

Dick’s voice became clearer as Tim neared, “You must be losing your touch, if it took you this long to find him.”
Tim frowned a little, but continued to inch forward. He had made it onto the pavement, and was now ducking behind a dumpster.

“Another robbery? How many is that tonight? 3?”
Oh, Tim had already prevented a robbery tonight, but he doesn’t know if it was already counted by Dick, or it was actually 4.

“No, you’ve gotta be wrong.”
Another dumpster, then behind a corner, zigzagging back and forth across the alley.

“No he is not. Nobody is with me right now!”

Tim pressed further back behind the corner as Dick did a spin, arms spread wide, falsely proving his own point, “Robin ain’t here, Oracle, so unless his tracker is busted—“

Oh.

This is gonna be so funny.

Robin smiled to himself and glanced around the corner. Nightwing was facing towards the exit again, arms crossed, foot tapping lightly as he listened to Barbara in his ear piece.

Tim took the chance and tiptoed closer. Avoiding stray cardboard and plastic, he got right behind Nightwing, slightly to his left and more-so behind him than anything.

Dick begun another spin of approval, “No. I’m telling you he’s not-“, but at the sight of Robin standing there, he didn’t jump. He didn’t even scream.

Batman would have been proud if it weren’t for the utterly terrified and confused look Dick had on his face that was half-hidden by his domino mask.

“Yeah. I don’t wanna talk about it.” Was all Dick said before he cut the line with Barbara.

Tim stared at him.

Tim thought he was smiling, but he’s more sure that he was just staring, his mouth a thin line, as he said, “So this means I’m better than you, right?”

“Shut up!” Dick spat out, but there was no heart behind it, no nasty punch.

Tim wanted to smile, but instead of forming one, his lips decided to form words instead, “Why were you asking Oracle for my location?”

Dick recovered from his initial shock and offense, shaking out his shoulders and standing upright.

Part of Tim has noticed how he only recently started standing to his fullest height now that Tim was catching up to him, even though he still had two inches before it happened.

“I wanted to go on patrol with you!”

…

What?

“I was in the area and I wanted to see how Robin’s coming along.”

Tim looked at him. Just looked. Dick had a big classic grin on his face, his arms spread and his hands held out wide. “Why?” He asked.

Dick said something about not seeing him in a while. It was true. Dick’s visits were few and sparse. It was common that him and Tim went months without seeing one another. He hated it. There was no chance of letting Dick be able to get to know him when Tim was still a changing and growing teenager. He had a different interest every week. He was a different person every time Dick came over.

Once Tim pulled himself out of his thoughts, Robin and Nightwing were running across rooftops together. They stopped a mugging, returned a lost daughter to her father, and even spent some time picking up garbage from an overturned can along 6th and Eastern.

There was only two hours left of patrol, and Dick and Tim were sitting on the edge of an apartment building. It was the perfect spot to get a full view of Wayne Enterprises tower, lit up in all its glory.

Dick was the first to break the silence that had settled as they looked towards Bruce Wayne’s fortune incarnated, “You’ve been quieter.”

What do you know? Tim thought a little too harshly for his own liking. He took a second to reply, which just proved Dick’s comment even more.

Tim decided to change the subject immediately, “Have you been through his files?”

There was no question about who the files belonged to. One thing that Tim knew the two vigilantes understood was that, even though indirect, they were referencing the Batman. It was like how you would use Him with a capital “H” when you are speaking of God.

“Are you kidding? His sorting system is like some variant of torture done by that vertigo guy,” Dick paused, a small frown on his face, “What’s his name?”

“Count Vertigo.”

“Right,” Dick nodded, “Why?”

Tim breathed in. Not a deep breath, but he still spoke quickly, “He keeps a file full of his happiest memories of us.”

It was Dick’s turn to be the quiet one. “Really?”
Tim nodded, “I only looked in the Robin file, but it’s full of video clips of us from patrols and missions. Even just simple things outside of those.” Tim paused, side-eyeing Nightwing for his reaction, “That file is from every Robin.”
Nightwing nodded slowly. He looked away from Robin and out towards Wayne Enterprises. He was silent for a moment, but swung his gaze back to Tim so quickly and with a bright grin that he jumped a little, “What was on there? Did you see anything from my Robin days?”
Tim blinked, “I didn’t get back that far.”

“How far?”

Tim felt his mouth go very dry. “I wasn’t watching every video. I made it to about two years before. . .”
Dick was listening very closely, a small on his face, before it slipped a little at the realization of Tim’s wording. He fell into a silence again, before quietly saying “What kinda stuff does he save about us?”
“Fights he’s proud of,” Tim was happy to change the direction of this conversation. “Interactions.” He was digging himself a deeper hole as his mind buzzed like a leaf blower, scattering all his thoughts around in a whirlwind.

Just tell him. Was the thought that whirled the most prominently. Just tell him. Just tell him. Just tell him. “I saw a video of you and Jason dancing by the bat signal.”

Tim doesn’t know why he told him.

Nightwing stared at Tim for a moment, before Dick burst out into laughter, “Oh that must have been a rare sight.”

The leaf blower stalled and turned off. All the thoughts had settled but were nowhere to be seen.
Excuse me? Was all that was left.

Tim doesn’t think he’s had an ounce of expression of his face this whole time. He still doesn’t. “What?”
Dick laughed some more, shaking his head. “Us getting along like that. Oh, God, we were always fighting. But I bet you knew that.”

No the fuck I did not. Tim wanted to say it blankly. He didn’t think screaming that would have as much effect. I have scoured for every ounce of information about you people. You were brothers. You did not fight.

“I thought you two were close,” Tim decided to say.
Dick shrugged, standing up again and stretching. They hadn’t even been sitting that long.
“Eventually, we were closer, I guess. But, for years all we did was argue. Drove B right up the wall. Alfred, too.”
Tim looked back to Wayne Enterprises, “Huh.”

Dick went off into a story, back when Jason had first become Robin, or near the start of it. Telling something of coming around the Manor once and him and Jason fighting, rolling around in the dining hall, pulling at each other’s hair. Tim was listening, and he smiled a little when Dick admitted that it was due to his own teasing of the small boy, but Tim’s mind was down another track.

He had had it all wrong. He had been jealous of his predecessors time together, but the good time spent together probably equaled the same amount Tim had with Dick by this point.

Needless to say, when the Batman grappled onto the rooftop behind them, Dick shut up right away. Tim already felt the tension as Dick refused to look back at the man, his mouth falling into a line.

Robin looked back to find the Batman marching towards him before stopping a few feet away. He had a scowl on, Robin could tell by the line of his mouth, “How many times have I told you not to wonder off, Robin?”

“I was with him the whole time,” Dick spoke up without turning around, “Which you knew, judging by the fact you’ve only shown up now.”

Robin sighed and stood up. This wasn’t going to be pretty. “Come on, B,” he started walking over to the Batman, “Patrol’s out, let’s get back.”

Batman didn’t say anything, neither did Dick. As Robin walked up, Batman turned and walked off the rooftop, using his grappling hook to lower himself down. He noticed the Batmobile sitting below in the alleyway.
Tim turned back around. “He’s away on League business trip next week, if you want to stop by the Manor,” he says, “Alfred’s been asking about you.

Dick nods, “I’ll see if I’m free.”

Tim nods back, before Robin jumps down into the alleyway to get his ride home.

Maybe he still had a chance to have a brother.

____________________________________

Tim didn’t go on walks. Alfred gave him such a scrutinizing look when he said he was going on one, that Tim almost backed out and went back to his room.
Bruce was working at Wayne Enterprises. Perfect, by Tim’s standards, because it was on the opposite side of Gotham that he was planning on heading. It took him 3 hours to get to the right graveyard, the summer sun beating down on him the whole walk there. The buses didn’t come out this way.
He had handed it to Bruce for keeping this place so well hidden. Here Tim had been, staring out the fourth floor library window, counting the headstones in the Wayne cemetery, when the headstone he dreaded making eye contact with the most wasn’t even the real one.
When Tim walked through the entryway of the cemetery, hidden by tall trees off of some side road at the edge of Gotham city, the first thing he noticed were the city workers, trimming around headstones with weed wackers, the loud sound drowning out the expected silence.
He had scoured the physical files Bruce kept in his small, neat little filing cabinets for this address. He pulled the sticky note he had shoved in his pocket. Row G, Lot 6.
It didn’t take long for Tim to find it. It looked expensive. An angel carved from stone, her wings folded, her eyes closed, slightly leaning forward over the grave itself, her hands together in prayer. The square slab of stone she stood on had already been trimmed around, but the grass the clung to the front didn’t have a chance at hiding the engraved name: Jason Peter Todd.
Tim didn’t know why he was here. He guessed he just wanted to see the real thing for himself. The real real thing. He admired the gravestone itself for a moment, chiding himself silently for not bringing any flowers, before he noticed the ground in front of it.
Jason Todd had been buried a long time ago. So why was the dirt covering the grave itself fresh?
He got the attention of one of the city workers and asked her.
“We don’t do the actual burials,” she explained, “But that? That’s usually done by the cemetery guys when the ground has sunken in. Keeps everything level for when the mowers come along.”
Tim nodded and thanked her, before leaving the cemetery entirely. Something about the whole situation just creeped him out.

Chapter Text

Tim is a fool. A damn fool. 

He had wanted a brother. So the universe answered in it’s own cruel, narcissistic way. Had brought Jason Todd all the way back from the dead with a raging hatred that he decided to direct right at Tim. 

In his time as Robin, Tim had learned how the universe liked a good laugh. 

Tim sat in the cave in one of the old office chairs. He sat completely still, staring at the back of Bruce’s head as he typed at the Batcomputer. They both had their cowls off, having come back from patrol not too long ago. 

Tim still had some bandages on his face from his meeting with Jason. His black eye had gone down significantly, his split lip fairly healed, only a bandage across his still-broken nose and another across a cut in his eyebrow. 
He had finally been able to take the splint off of his right ring finger, the internal bruising mostly healed, and all of the visible bruises had gone down to a sickly yellow. 
The ache could still be felt through every muscle he had.

Tim’s eyes were unmoving from the back of Bruce’s head, “Why do you keeping trying with him?” He speaks into the silence, “With Todd?” 

Bruce doesn’t pause in his movements, but it took him a second to answer, “What do you mean?” 

“After everything he’s done—“

Never-ending typing, “He’s my son.”

Tim’s jaw twitched slightly. “So am I,” he states calmly, with an edge of impatience to his tone, “Look at what he did to me.”

“He’s hurt,” Bruce reasons, “He doesn’t understand the severity of his actions

Tim’s eyes narrow as he stresses every word, “Look at what he did to me.” He still couldn’t sleep comfortably, both from the pain and from the worry that the Red Hood would show up in his room, ready to attack him yet again.

Bruce didn’t look, but he did stop typing. He held his head down and Tim just knew he was taking a deep breath without even hearing it. Trying to calm himself, maybe. Tim didn’t stick around to bother with whatever answer Bruce cooked up. He stood up, the office chair squeaking as he did. He didn’t necessarily storm off, but it still made him feel overly dramatic. He tore off his suit, took a shower, the hot water stinging his healing wounds, before changing into his sweatpants and a t shirt. He moved up to his room, where he stayed for the rest of the night. Even when Alfred came up to offer him some dinner, he refused. Cass tried knocking on his door, standing silently when he opened the door as an implied “Come eat?”, but he turned her down, too. He’d rather be alone, now.

Too many things had happened in his life at once. Kon was dead. Kind of. He had broken up with Steph, who then died. Cassie had discovered she was a daughter of Zeus, Bruce had found Cassandra Cain (which now made things very confusing, being close to two different Cassandras), Donna Troy was back from the dead, and now apparently Tim’s predecessor was, too. 

The skin under his bandaged cheek itched, but there was nothing to do about it. Duela Dent was dead, too. Which, in trying to reveal her murderer, Tim had had the unfortunate run-in with the Red Hood. Despite not having wanted to seen the asshole, Tim smiled at the memory. At least he had gotten a good kick to the crotch in, with no retaliation, really. 

His smile fell.

Just another reason for him to come after me. Just more revenge for him to dish out.

He couldn’t sleep after that thought. The knowledge of the extensive security system Bruce had in place was the only thing that kept him from going full paranoid mode, double checking windows, keeping curtains closed, checking locks, putting a chair in front of the door. The full works.

 It was close to dawn, all the others in the house would be asleep. Tim moved down to the kitchen, grabbed himself some dinner (Breakfast, rather.), and moved back up to his room. He kept copies of all files from whatever case he was currently working on in there. No need to work down in the dingy, wet, and cold cave. He sat down at his desk and began to work.

He worked throughout the day, didn’t see another soul. That was until Bruce came in. Tim didn’t really bother looking away from his work as Bruce awkwardly stood in the doorway, saying how he had to leave for JL shenanigans, or… something like that. The case Tim was trying to solve was more important.

Night came and so did Tim’s hunger. He made his way down to the kitchen, planning on pulling some leftovers from the fridge. He padded through the dark halls in his socks. Alfred was probably down in the cave, or asleep. Cass would be out for patrol, working extra hard to fill in for the absence of Batman.

Rubbing at his eyes, he flicks on the switch, hearing a grunt come from the direction of the fridge.

“Shit. Give a guy a warning, would ya?”

Tim whipped his head around, eyes wide, at the sound of the familiar deep voice with its distinctly thick Gotham accent. Standing in front of the open refrigerator, crouched down, blinking as his eyes adjust to the sudden light, was the bastard himself, Jason Todd. He wasn’t in his Red Hood attire, but rather dressed in civilian clothes.

I let my guard down for one fucking second—

Tim looks down at what’s in Jason’s hands. Tupperware containers filled with leftovers. “The fuck?”

Jason’s eyes finally adjust. He ignores Tim, starting to look over food containers, throwing some back in the fridge, others into a duffle bag set on the floor beside him. 

“How the fuck did you get in?” Tim stands in place, his hand still hung in the air from when he had been rubbing his eyes. 

Jason points back over his shoulder with his thumb towards the dining room door, inspecting half a lasagna Tim knew to be at least a week old. He tossed it in the duffle bag, “Patio.”

Tim stands there, completely flabbergasted. All this time he had spent paranoid over whether Jason Todd was going to show up at the manor to take another stab at fighting him, only for him to show up and not give a damn over the new Robin standing right behind him, “Okay, but how? The whole manor is under lock and key—“

Jason stood up, duffle bag slung over his shoulder, and slammed the fridge close. Tim took a small step back, accidentally bumping into the handle of the oven door. No matter how many times he had seen Jason, he doubted he would ever get used to just how big he was. He was quite literally almost bigger than the fridge itself. 

Jason turned slightly, looking back over his shoulder at Tim, “Now why the hell would I tell you that?”

His glare made Tim feel… small. He wasn’t used to that feeling much anymore, not after he had outgrown Dick.

Jason turned more, letting Tim get a good look at the counter beside the fridge. There was a pile of empty containers, stacked neatly in the drying rack beside the sink, still wet from having been hand washed, “What? Can’t cook for yourself?” 

…He doesn’t know why he said that. He just really hates this guy.

“I can cook,” Jason said defensively, “I just got no time.”

“Too busy killing?” Shut up before this guy decides to kill you again! Tim glanced down and caught the sight of a gun sitting in its holster just underneath Jason’s open leather jacket.

Jason looked a little amused at that comment, “What? Are you upset ‘cause I’m taking the leftovers you were going to eat ‘cause you can’t cook?”

Tim hesitates, remembering the hunger in his stomach, “Did you take the chicken stir fry?”

Jason pauses, thinking back to the contents of his duffle bag, before nodding.

“Then, yeah.” He had really been looking forward to that stir fry. 

He can’t read Jason’s expression. The larger man takes two steps towards Jason, closer than Tim liked, so he struck. 

It wasn’t until Jason had stumbled back, catching his balance by gripping the edge of the sink behind him, that Tim registered the frying pan in his hands. He had reached behind him, pulling it off of where it had been sitting on the stove. It was cool to the touch, to Tim’s dismay, but its contents had been scattered across the kitchen tiles.

Jason clutched the side of his head. He looked up, fixing Tim with a murderous glare. He pushed off of the counter, stepping forward again. Tim watched him reach into his leather jacket, “You fucking little pretender—“

“Enough.” 

Both boys stopped in their tracks, their heads swivelling to the kitchen door that Tim had come through not too long ago. Alfred stood there, a look of designation on his face as his eyes looked over the mess of roasted vegetables along the floor. His gaze snapped back up, his expression now one of disappointment, “There will be no fighting in my kitchen.”

Tim dropped his hands, frying pan still in hand, “But he—“

“No. Fighting.” Alfred repeated and Tim’s shoulders dropped. Alfred eyes moved away from Tim’s, looking past him. Tim turned and found he was looking at a first. Jason was stood there, completely frozen in the same position, only more alert.. His back was pin straight, like he had just been yelled at for slouching. He stared right back at Alfred, eyes wide in what looked like fear, his mouth hanging slightly open. It was then that Tim realized that this was probably the first time Jason had seen the old butler since he had been back.

Tim looked back at Alfred, who was now looking at the dish rack behind Jason. He let out a sigh. “At least you were kind enough to clean them.”

Jason let out a sound, something that was supposed to be a word, but wasn’t quite. 

“Do use the front door for your next pillaging visit, will you?” Alfred looked pointedly at Jason, “And possibly give a hello.”

Jason lowered his head, staring down at the floor. He didn’t say anything else. 

“Master Tim, clean up your mess,” Alfred turned still speaking, but Tim realized the words weren’t directed at him, “Come along. I’ll show you to the front door in case the reason you don’t use it is because you’ve forgotten.”

Jason was quick to move, stepping over the scattered mess of roasted vegetables. He brushed past Tim, almost knocking shoulders with him as he left the kitchen. 

The skin under the bandage on his cheek itched yet again as a reminder, “Are you kidding me?” He muttered, not loud enough for anyone to hear. He felt betrayed. Showing him to the front door? He had just been about to shoot me!

He couldn’t seen Alfred past the corner, but he could hear him speak, “Give him back the chicken stir fry.”

Jason paused in the doorway. He looked back at Tim, glaring as he dug into his duffle bag. He pulled out the container filled with the stir fry. When he handed it back to Tim, he leaned in, whispering, “Hope it tastes like shit.”

“Fuck you,” Tim whispered back before Jason pulled away, following Alfred. 

Tim was left with the mess in the kitchen, holding a Tupperware container that was still cold to the touch in one hand, clutching the handle of the frying pan in the other. He glared down at the vegetables.

His healed ribs began to ache as if they had been punched all over again. The empty gum socket where his molar had been knocked out throbbed. His half-healed broken nose stung as he scrunched it up.

They had seen what Jason Todd had done to him. None of them seemed to care.