Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Nico came to camp half-blood with Percy and Bianca, he was not well received. The 8 year old son of Hades was a mystery to everyone. At first, an uncontrollable ball of energy and happiness, almost bouncing off the walls, later a silent and brooding kid who never fit in.

After Bianca’s death, Nico runs away to the underworld. But the land of the dead is no place for a young boy to live, even the son of a god. So Hades sends Nico to the surface, where he can eat and see the sun, where he stays in one of his father’s mansions.

Nico lived alone, for the most part, Alecto visiting monthly with food. Nobody questioned the young boy who lived alone in the large desolate house. It wasn't uncommon for the rich to ignore their kids, to spoil them rotten but never be around. But Nico didn’t want to be alone.

Despite everything, he still yearned for a family. He wanted to be a part of something. He wanted to prove that he was good enough to fill Bianca’s name. That’s when he became Timothy Drake, son of Jack and Jannet Drake. He silently watched as Batman took up Jason Todd, then as he lost him to the Joker.

Fearing the death of his son was destroying Batman, Tim approached Dick and Bruce in the hopes of comforting them, and maybe filling the gap in his life. The bleeding hole left by the death of his mother and sister and the absence of a father, and in return, maybe he could be Dick’s brother. Maybe.

To his surprise, they didn’t just accept him. When his parents ‘died’, they adopted him. Took him in and trained him to become the next robin.

Nico could fight with a sword- he was skilled and practised. But he had no training in hand to hand combat. He always held back his demigod powers, never used his full strength, and yet he made a difference. He could fight, and he could protect people. And when Bruce turned the other way, when Nightwing was busy, he could help the demigods too.

Both Dick and Bruce were used to his disappearances. When he left to bring Percy to the Styx or when he came back from the battle with Kronos injured and bleeding, at age 10, they didn’t ask questions. Agent A simply patched him up, and warned him to be more careful when fighting criminals.

During the Giant war, Nico disappeared for nearly 9 months. Both Bruce and Dick were extremely worried, but Tim had left a letter saying he was going on a mission. Batman hadn’t issued any long-standing undercover missions, but he knew better than to try and track Tim down. That boy was just too good at hiding.

During his absence, Damian was revealed by Talia, and Bruce adopted him. Feeling slightly guilty, he turned over Tim’s mask, dubbing him the new Robin. A couple months later, Jason was revealed to be alive. Talia had resuscitated him using the lazarus pit, and he had taken up the mantle of Red Hood.

He didn’t remember Tim, and Bruce never talked about him. It was like when Jason died; just another face on the wall, another covered up picture. Dick never said a word about him, and Jason did not press his sibling. Neither did Damian, who despite having trouble with emotion, detected the sadness the other boy caused Dick. But that didn’t mean the brothers wouldn’t search for him using other means.

Something about the picture bothered Jason. The angelic feel about it, the deep sense of recognition springing from his gut. He didn’t know from where, but he felt like he’d met this boy. But he hadn’t met anyone except the league, or the strange italian kid who had escorted him out of the underworld with that afro-american girl. Jason shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Timothy Drake held no resemblance to Angel, so why did he keep thinking about him?

After the Giant War, Nico came back to a changed family. Dick, age 16, had moved to Bludhaven, becoming a detective by day and Nightwing by night. Jason, age 14, was on uneasy terms with Bruce, the pair quarrelling over his high death toll. And Nico now had a new brother, Damian, the ten year old blood son of Bruce Wayne.

But Nico, too, had changed. His time in Tartarus had scared him, and his failures still haunted him. He didn’t think Bruce would want him back. After all, he was only Jason’s replacement. Not to mention he had Damian, his blood son.

Quietly, the shadow on the rooftops turned away, leaving his ever-squabbling compagnions behind. He took up a new name, one known throughout the demigod and mortal community alike- shadow. A crazed monster killer who occasionally abducted children, and almost never stepped into fights. But when he did, it was a massacre, the young half-blood knocking out his enemies with ease. But he always waited until the last second. He would not intervene if he could avoid it.

Chapter Text

Bruce almost dropped his computer when he got a message from Gordon thanking him for solving yet another case. It was one of the rare killings that had the older detective stumped, flipping through the list of suspects and relatives of the dead over and over again but to no avail. Scrolling through to the attached document, filled out in his handwriting, was the case, perfectly and clearly solved.

If he concentrated, Bruce could make out the small mistakes in the counterfeit document, differences he had trained for many years to notice. Only one person could forge his handwriting that precisely. Timothy.

The word bounced around his skull reverberating through his body like a song. Tim. Timmy, his Timmy, was alive. He was alive, and well, and overworking himself as usual. Noticing the patterns where he could not, solving the crimes he could not. His son was alive.

But he didn't come home. Instead, he chose to work unanimously, not leaving so much as a clue for Bruce. The older man didn’t understand why he would do that. Couldn’t he see that they missed him? That they needed him to be home, to help calm Jason and Damian? To have a friend for Dick? So he could have all his sons back?

With a pang, Bruce realised that Tim couldn’t, in fact, see that he was wanted. To him, he left on a mission and when he came back, his dead brother was alive and Bruce had a new son. A replacement for the replacement.

Bruce felt his world crumble at the realization of how he made no move to welcome Tim back, how he did the same thing to him that he had Jason. He no longer had his ID, nor his education. Even his room had been given to Damian, even with all the other empty space in the manor.

Bruce immediately logged onto the bat computer. Quietly going through his files, confident Tim had hacked it once more, he started setting up a new area. The user he had shut down after Tim’s disappearance was reopened. One of the empty rooms at the manor, the one between Dick and Bruce’s, was labeled as Tim’s on the virtual floor floorplan. A new tube was set up to hold Tim’s costume. His zeta code was reinstated, asking for a new code name.

Finally, Bruce left a message, hidden deep on the computer. To hack into it, he’d see the message.

I lost a son, many months ago. And in the light of the blood moon, he came back, forever changed. I berated myself for years for my mistakes, vowing never again to let him go. But in my promise, I was blind, for as I watched, another slipped away. Farther and farther he went, until he never thought to return. But as I stand here, I will forever hold his place, praying he’ll see. Praying he’ll come home.

But he never did. Bruce waited, hoping Tim would show, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe that was Tim’s last helping action, a silent goodbye. Maybe he never logged back on. Maybe he never saw the message. Or maybe he did, and chose to stay away. And slowly yet surely, Bruce began to fall into despair once more.

The first time he lost a son, Tim was there, always trying to help him. He never tried to take Jason’s place, never called him dad as Jason and Dick had. He distanced himself, never sharing his thoughts and feelings and emotions. His story and childhood, other than he was neglected, was a mystery to all of them.

Bruce wished he would have tried harder. Showed his third son that he was not a replacement, that he was enough, that he was always welcome. That the manor's doors were always open for him. That he wasn’t a guest that needed permission to enter but the owner of the place.

Silently, Bruce always knew Tim was smarter than him. He could figure things out, he could adapt to any situation, he could keep a secret. In the end, he always knew that it would be Tim that outgrew him. And if he was honest, he planned for Tim to one day hold Batman's mantle. If he wanted it. If he accepted it.

Chapter Text

And one day, something went wrong. Robin made a mistake and was captured by the Joker. Bruce ran in headfirst to save him, never thinking anything through. His son was in danger. He had already lost two of his sons. A third had moved away. He would not let Damian be harmed.

It was a trap. As everything always was with the Joker, he was captured. But instead of playing with his food, or beating around the bush as he normally did, Joker drew a gun. Pointed it straight at Robin’s head. His finger tightened around the trigger, his crazed eyes wide with fury.

Bruce desperately lunged forward against his chains, desperately trying to reach his son. Damian’s eyes widened with terror, and he desperately tried to move aside. He was too slow.

Bang!

The gun hit it’s mark. Blood sprayed everywhere, a boy slowly falling to the ground. Joker pulled back the still smoking gun, which had been pointed directly at Damian’s left eye.

But it was not Damian who fell. Another shape lay sprawled on the ground, a pool of blood slowly forming around him.

Bruce couldn’t see his face as he lay face-first on the cold cement ground of the warehouse. The members of the room seemed to hold their breath, waiting for Jokers next move.

The crazy clown looked around, anger radiating off his face. He glanced up, noticing a support beam far above their heads. Whoever jumped in front of the bullet must have been hidden up there, entering through one of the adjacent windows.

Joker cackled, leveling his gun back onto Damian. He laughed.

“One birdie down… now you!”

But before he could pull the trigger, the shape on the ground reached out, grabbing his foot. With a sudden yank, the famed Joker was sent sprawling to the ground, his bullet piercing the roof.

The masked figure used the Joker’s distraction to his advantage, rolling to his feet. Then, he did the stupidest thing Bruce had ever seen.

He fought the Joker. In hand to hand combat. Unarmed. Injured.

He held one of his hands to his stomach, attempting to quench the flow of blood gushing from within him. Bruce expected the unknown person to be killed. But to his surprise, the figure held his own.

The fight was amazing. Even injured, the figure used his free arm to disarm the Joker, again and again, deftly dodging his attacks and sending brutal kicks that sent the clown flying back into the wall. And eventually, Joker did not get back up.

The figure limped towards Damian, quickly untying him, then Bruce. He then headed towards the exit, bats in toe.

The door was clearly illuminated in the light of the full moon, a contrast to the shadowed warehouse. But when he stepped into the light, Bruce gasped.

The figure wore a red shirt, two straps crossing over his chest to form an x. He wore plain black pants and a matching cloak, complete with a cowl not unlike Batman’s. But nothing, not even the highest illusion tech Wayne industries selled, could stop Batman from recognizing his son.

Tim shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to greet his former mentor. He settled on a weak “Hey, Bats.”

He promptly collapsed.

Bruce caught him before his head hit the ground, picking him bridal style. At the sight of his son’s wound, the old man's eyes widened with worry.

“I’m taking him to the cave. Robin, tie up Joker and bring him to the police.”

Damian’s eyes widened. Bruce always took care of the main villains himself. And he never brought someone to the batcave.

“Understood.”

Chapter Text

Tim woke with a start, freezing at the unfamiliar contact of skin on skin. He silently felt around him, instantly relaxing when he noticed Alfred’s familiar presence.

Alfred. Tim hadn’t realised how much he had missed the older man until now, his comforting presence and steady hands. He was the closest thing Timothy had to a father figure; he did not allow himself to get close to Bruce. He couldn’t afford it. In the end, Bruce would always choose his real kids over Tim. He was just the replacement.

Tim’s eyes fluttered open, and the sight of Alfred leaning over him almost brought tears to his eyes. Ignoring the pain in his chest, he reached around Alfred, grasping him in what would be a bone crushing hug had he not been so injured.

How he missed Alfred. The kind, patient butler who always watched from the shadows but when the world needed him he stepped in. He was always there with his kind words and warm cups of tea. (Alfred disapproved of coffee)

The older man froze, probably unaware that Tim was awake, before hesitantly wrapping his arms around Tim. The younger boy held back a sob, burying his head in Alfred’s chest. After a minute he came to his senses and released Alfred, looking down at the bandages Alfred had just finished applying.

“Master Tim! You’ve given us all quite the scare!”

“Sorry, Alfred.”

Alfred clicked his tongue. “No need to apologise. I’ll call master Bruce and the others to inform them that you are awake.” He paused, looking back at Tim sadly. “Or would you rather I didn’t? I doubt anyone will return to the cave for quite a few hours. You could get some much needed rest.”

Or you could leave, he seemed to add. Undetected, without having to face them.

Tim stared down at the ground. Did they want him back? Alfred seemed to think so… And someone had brought him back to the cave…

He sighed heavily. “Let’s get this over with…”

Tim wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw the ghost of a smile form on the old butler’s face as he climbed up the stairs.

To his surprise, only Bruce came down. He walked over to Tim’s bed, sitting beside the younger boy.

“That was some good detective work.” Both boys sat in silence. “I haven't told the others your back yet. I didn’t want to give them false hope, if you weren't going to stay…”

Tim looked up sharply, meeting his mentor's gaze. “Do you want me to stay?”

Bruce froze, the question caught him off guard. He searched Tim’s gaze for any sign of what he was feeling, but his emotionless mask was perfect.

“Tim,” he began uncomfortably. “You came into the family during a hard time. I don’t know how you must have felt, joining so soon after Jason’s death. But what I can tell you is that I never viewed you as Jason or Dick. You are your own person. I can’t compare you to them, just as I can’t compare them to Damian. You are all my sons. If you are willing to come home… I just-- I don’t know where you've been these past years. I don’t know who you’ve become. The ten year old boy I knew is gone. I can’t-- I don’t know who you are anymore. But I’d like to find out. If you’re willing. Please, Tim. Come home.”

Tim stared at him, unblinking, for so long that Bruce thought he’d say no. That he’d get up and leave, and that Bruce would never see him again. Bruce looked at the ground, sadness flowing through him.

When he first felt a pair of arms encircle him he nearly jumped out of his skin. But he immediately wrapped his arms around his son, firmly holding onto him.

Tim didn’t give hugs. He just didn’t. When Jason and Dick were young, they’d hug him whenever he came back from work. Damian would occasionally allow himself to be hugged after a nightmare, or would hug him on father’s day. But Tim never held him. Even the one time Bruce caught him having a nightmare, he ignored Bruce, opening his computer and starting to work.

After a moment,Tim’s shoulders began to shake and Bruce realised he was crying. His son, his Timmy, was crying. He held him tighter, wishing he could protect the precious bundle beside him from everything, wishing he could punch his way through all of the pain Tim had endured. Wishing he knew what had happened to his son, what caused him to become like this.

But he couldn’t, he didn’t, so he sat there beside Tim, showing all the support he should have before. He should have reached over and closed the computer that day, and scooped him into his arms. He should have signed the cards he wrote Tim as ‘dad’ not Bruce. He should have marked his birthday gifts with ‘for my son’ not ‘for Timothy Drake’. He should have offered Tim to take on the name Wayne, like when Damian took up half of Dick’s name.

After a couple of minutes Tim released him, looking down shamefully. His eyes weren't red or puffy, and when he wiped away his tears, he left no mark of their passage. No sign that he had just cried, no hint of the sadness he so deftly concealed. Bruce felt his heart shatter.

“Do you think… Do you think Dick will want to see me?”

“Of course,” Bruce instantly assured him. “He’s missed you so much. Even Damian and Jason want to meet you. None of them have stopped looking for you. They think I don’t notice their hidden folders and erased google searches, but I do. If you are willing to meet them, they’d love nothing more.”

Bruce reached over Tim, sliding his finger over the button for the intercom that connected to the main manor.

“Dick… you might want to come downstairs. There’s something you have to see.”

The pair waited patiently as they heard a commotion upstairs, followed by the sound of running feet. The door opened and Dick came down, looking slightly confused, until he saw Tim. He froze, the pair staring at each other in shock.

And then they ran. Or at least tried to. Tim stumbled as he got to his feet, his new injury burning in pain. His brother caught him, carefully placing him back on the medbed, never releasing him. Tim wrapped his arms around his brother, careful not to disturb his injury again.

He felt Dick begin to shake, and he rubbed soothing circles on his back, just as Bruce had done to him meer minutes earlier.

“Is it you? Is it really you?” Dick asked as he finally pulled away.

“It’s me,” Tim assured him. “It’s really me. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Dick hugged him again, before turning to his brother. Wiping his tears, he let out a soft chuckle.

“Jason, Damian, meet your brother Tim.”

Jason saluted him. “‘Sup, replacement. Heard you saved Demon Spawn here from the Joker. Takes nerves; standing up to that freak.”

Damian chose a more formal approach.

“Damian Grayson-Wayne. I thank you for your actions.”

Jason snorted. “Yea, without him, you’d be meat-grinder material.”

“I don’t recall you surviving an encounter with Joker, Todd.”

“Guys!” Dick quickly intervened, “We don’t want to scare him off again!’

Tim flinched, He was very aware that he had left for nearly 3 years, then came back as if nothing happened. Although he had been busy fighting a war for two of those years, he still chose to hide from his problems instead of facing them head-on. Hades was right. He was a failure.

Chapter Text

Slowly, Tim reintegrated himself within the family. He still sat silently on the sidelines, working and staying up well past 3 a.m, coffee always on hand.

He worked hard. He worked to hide his sadness in fear. He worked so he could distance himself from the others, so he wouldn’t notice the pang in his chest as he watched them wrestle together on the floor. He buried himself in his work so he wouldn’t remember tartarus, or the giants, or camp. He worked so he didn’t have to sleep, so he didn’t have to face the monsters from his past.

He took up the mantle of red robin, never mentioning the other part of his life. The others hinted that they were curious, but didn’t push him. He buried his other half deep down, so far he hoped his past would never resurface.

Nico Di Angelo, Ambassador to the Pantheons and Shadow was gone. He would run from his other half as long as he could. It was the name given to him by his mother and Hades, the name the traitors at camp knew. A name he would never forget, no matter how he tried to hide.

He was Timothy Drake, detective, and Red Robin. He was Jason’s replacement. He was Bruce’s ward. Or so he kept telling himself over and over again, trying to convince himself that if they knew it wasn’t his name, if they knew he had powers, if they knew what he’d done, who he’d killed, that they wouldn’t leave him. But he never believed it.
---
It was one year later, when Tim was 14, that Bruce noticed something odd. It was during a battle with Prism.

Bruce noticed a lot of odd things about his son- like that most poisons were ineffective, or that it was impossible to get a DNA test. His blood type was unregistered, and Ivy downright refused to fight him. He once pulled up his sleeve, revealing something written on his left wrist, which caused Ra to leave without a fight, abandoning all attempts of kidnapping Damian.

But when Prism attempted to read Tim’s mind, he couldn’t get through his mental barriers. Which was strange, he could even read Batman and Martian Mannhunter, despite their training. But after concentrating, and dropping his hold on everyone else, he managed to push through.

But what happened was not what Bruce was expecting. Instead of controlling Nico, he let out an ear-piercing scream, crumbling to the floor. His eyes were wide and unblinking, his heart beating so fast it almost sounded like it was humming.

Tim simply glared at him.

“Stay out of my head.”

A strange green mist swirled around the villain, coming out of his mouth, nose, eyes and ears. He let out a gut wrenching scream, as the mist rushed towards Tim, disappearing when it made contact with his skin. The younger boy shook his head, and moved away, offering no explanation.
---
A couple days later, Tim was patrolling, as per usual. He walked calmly, surveilling the area around him with care. Suddenly, several armed gang members converged around him, all pointing guns at him.

With a flick of the wrist Red Robin’s collapsible bo-staff unfurled and he sprang into a fighting stance. Without missing a beat he attacked, easily taking down the first goon.

Jason, who had been patrolling beside him, started to turn away, intent on finding something more interesting. But suddenly, Tim collapsed to the ground, curling into a ball. Jason hadn’t seen him get hit, but immediately engaged the thugs.

Worried for his brother, he didn’t hold back, firing at heads and chest, kicking groins and necks. He didn’t care. Tim was hurt, he needed to help.

He gently touched Tim’s shoulder, and his brother flinched away so hard that Jason almost let go. But he held on, rolling his brother onto his back so he could inspect the bullet wound he was certain he would find.

Tim had been shot before, several times, but normally he just kept fighting. He was just as bad as Bruce when it came to underreporting injuries. Once, he had three bullets in his stomach, and he tried to go to his room without Alfred treating them. Who knew how many injuries he didn’t tell them about. Probably a lot, judging by his permanent long sleeve shirts and hoods.

But when he rolled him over, he found nothing. His uniform was intact, no sign of a physical blow whatsoever. And yet, as Jason reached around to pick him up, he started to cry.

Silent tears fell down his cheeks, his shoulders barely shaking as he released sob after sob. Jason was very worried, especially when Tim reached out and hugged him. What had happened?

“Tim?” he said after a moment of rocking him back and forth. Bruce said no names on the field. Well, screw him. “What happened? Was it a dart? Some kind of gas?”

He needed to know if Tim was in danger. Maybe it was some kind of fear toxin? But then why wasn’t he feeling it’s effects too?

“No.” Tim pulled away, whipping his tears and getting to his feet. “I’m fine. They didn’t do anything. Let's just finish patrolling.”

Jason shook his head. “Tim, something happened. You have to tell me. You might be in more danger.”

Again, Tim shook his head. “They didn’t do anything.”

“Then why did you collapse?” pressed Jason.

“It doesn't matter. I’m fine. Let's go.”

“But-”

Tim cut him off. “No. We either finish patrol together, or I’ll go alone. Take your pick.”

He sprang away, flipping onto a nearby roof before Jason had the time to reply. Worriedly. He followed Tim, ready for the other boy to collapse again at any second. But he didn’t. When they got back to the cave, Jason tried to express his worry to Tim and Bruce once more, but Tim just shrugged him off.

Chapter Text

The next morning, they found a wooden box at the door. It was elegantly made, a lightning bolt emblesoning the seal. Taped to the top was a simple message.

Hermes express mail,
Nico Di Angelo,
C13- Ambassador

The bat boys stared in confusion, wondering who sent it. There was nobody by the name of Nico that lived in the area, nor did they know anyone by that name. That was, until Tim came down the stairs, heavy bags under his eyes.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, and he wore an old bomber jacket on top of his regular black shirt. When he saw the box, his eyes widened. He quickly pulled it over to him, the lock opening as it made contact with his palm.

A flurry of emotions crossed his face, from fear, to apprehension, to a deep sadness that seemed to radiate from him in waves. He stared at the face of the box, absently brushing the lightning bolt engraved on the lock. He stared at it, taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, and quickly unhooked it.

He reached over, preparing to open the box, when Dick stopped him.

“Wait. Do you even know the person it’s for?”

Nico turned to him, slowly nodding his head. “Yes, I do.”

Dick froze, confusion crossing his features.

“Who is he? Why are you opening his mail? Won’t he be mad you went through his stuff?”

Tim shook his head.

“Why not?”

Tim sighed.

“I already know what’s inside of it. The continents of the box are mine, because it’s addressed to me. I am Nico Di Angelo”

“What do you mean, you are Nico Di Angelo?”

Tim sighed.

“Nico Di Angelo was my birth name. The one given to me by my mother and father. Hades and Maria Di Angelo, not Jack and Janet Drake.”

The batboys, Bruce and Alfred all stared at him.

“So… you were adopted?” asked Dick, uncertainty.

“No. I guess it was only a matter of time until you found out. This just speeds it up.” He gestured at the box. “Jack and Janet Drake never existed. They were fake names Hades used to run his company. When I needed somewhere to stay, he decided the cover would be a good one. He sent Alecto monthly to bring me food and other items, but other than that, I was alone. When you started digging into their backstory, trying to uncover something that you could use to get me out of their ‘neglecting care’ Hades faked their death.”

They all stared at him.

“What the ****?”

For once, Alfred didn’t berate him.

“It’s a long and complicated story. My life's a mess. You guys ought to stay out of it.”

Surprisingly, it was Damian who answered.

“You are our brother. You may not be blood, but you are family. There is no part of your life that we do not wish to be a part of. You may push us away, but we will find out, one way or another.”

Tim shook his head. Or was he Nico?

“Knowledge can be dangerous.”

“So can running around at night dressed up like a bat. You aren't getting out of this one, Replacement.”

And so he told them everything. Of his lost childhood, the death of his mother, the hotel. Of meeting Percy and going to camp, only for Bianca to leave. Of the quests that followed and of the second Titan war. Of Percy and Jason’s disappearances, and their retrieval. Of the armies of giants and of mother earth rising. He told of his time in tartarus, in the jar, with the giants. He told how he became shadow, the superhero of the demigod community. He told how he was scared to come back to the manor, how he didn’t belong.

All through his explanation, they listened. They held him as he cried for his sister, they shook when he told them of tartarus. They gasped when he removed his illusion, revealing his true appearance. They waited as he told them of his fears, of why he wouldn’t come back, of why he thought he didn’t belong.

And they told him he was wrong. He did belong. No matter what name he wore before joining them, no matter what mask he wore, he was still the same person. He was still their brother, he was still Bruce’s son.

It didn’t matter what was written on his birth certificate, or that he couldn't save Octavian. All that mattered was that he had knocked on their door that fateful night, asking if they would take him in. He was the same person, whether fighting crime or monsters, saving demigods or humans. His parentage didn’t matter. His appearance didn’t matter. He was the same person. He was a hero.

After several minutes, Nico opened the box. Inside, folded neatly, was Jason’s favorite shirt. Beside it was his CHB necklace, only bearing one bead, and several metals he had earned at Camp Jupiter and as Pontifex. Tucked into the side of the box was a simple golden coin, emblazoned with an image of rome. Jason’s sword, which he had left for Nico.

Nico had collapsed when he felt Jason die. The pain of his death had been so intense that Nico had felt it as if it was his own. He instantly knew that his best friend and cousin was gone. He cried in Jason’s arms, and now he cried again. Only this time, he did not shy away, or try to hide. And they were there for him.

That night, all the batboys slept in one bed. They all wanted to be there for their brother, who they now saw in a new light. He had just lost his best friend, and told his life story. Even the parts he wanted to forget, he forced himself to tell. They saw the pain he felt as he recounted everything, from tartarus to the camp’s betrayals. They would be there for him.

Nico woke with a gasp, sweat dripping down his back, He was shaking and on the edge of tears, scared in the dark room.

He had a nightmare about tartarus. Except this time, Percy was there, telling him how much he hated him. Then came Hazel, and Frank, and Piper and Leo and Anabeth. Then came Jason, hissing that it was Nico’s fault he died.

But when he woke, he wasn’t alone. He felt the comforting presence of his brothers, and relaxed as silently held him, comforting him. Dick and Damian immediately woke up, embracing their brother too. They held him as he cried, finally allowing them to see this part of him.

When the young boy started drifting off, the others gently tucked him in, whispering to him softly.

Timothy Jackson Drake, thought the young boy. The name my brothers know.
The names Alfred and Dick and Jason and Damian remember.
The name my father calls me.
The name I chose.
Tim.

“We love you, Timmy.” murmured Dick.

“I love you too.”