Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dick hadn't really gotten to patrol with Tim since he came back from what they'd nicknamed the Bruce Quest.

Tim had taken to partnering up with Jason more often instead. And staying at Jason's safehouses, having movie nights with him, hanging out as civilians–

It was fine. Great, even. His brothers were bonding, it was absolutely…fantastic. Dick couldn't be more thrilled.

Sure, Tim was hard pressed to say more than three words to Dick these days, glared at him like a cat would a human it hated and always said no to Dick's offers to hangout, it was no big deal. Completely understandable. Dick was fine with it.

Completely and utterly fine.

It was good that Tim and Jason liked one another so much now. That everyone had nicknamed them ‘The Red’s’ and that Tim gave Jason endless hugs and smiles that he used to give Dick–

Anyway, they were on a bust together. Dick, Tim, Jason and Bruce. A little family outing, one might say. Tim and Jason were fighting side by side which was just fucking fabulous, while Dick was stuck with Bruce on the other side of the warehouse.

Everything was going as well as it could, until Tim kicked someone out a window. On the second floor.

It wasn't an accident either. He just did it, casual as you like, before he knocked out one of the other goons trying to sneak up on him.

Dick almost couldn't believe it. If it weren't for Bruce's surprised shout, he would have thought he was hallucinating.

Tim and Jason moved up to the next floor after tying the last of the goons up. In a daze, Dick followed them, barely registering Bruce trailing behind him like a large, brooding duckling.

It was only when they began looking through the crates that Dick snapped out of it.

"Red!" Dick exclaimed. 

"What?" Tim asked, as if Dick was pestering him about his homework.

"You just kicked someone out a window." Dick vaguely gestured in the direction where the goon had been before Tim's moral compass took one of the violent swings it was sometimes prone to.

Even then, it had never been this bad.

"And you did great." Jason said with an approving nod.

Tim perked up, his cheeks going red as he smiled. "You think so?"

"The guy's probably meeting God as we speak." Jason clapped Tim's shoulder, before pulling him in for a side hug and ruffling his hair.

Tim hummed. "I was actually kicking him towards the other guy."

Jason laughed. Dick, on the other hand, was already feeling his head begin to pulse.

"Timothy Jackson Drake–" Bruce growled, finally stepping up to do some half-hearted parenting.

"Names, B." Tim cut him off.

"We don't kill." Bruce said.

Tim gave him a flat look. "I've killed seventeen point five people." 

"Point five?" Dick asked, feeling a little faint.

"Hood and I went halfsies on the Joker." Tim said proudly. Jason gave a thumbs up as if to confirm that statement.

"I should never have left you alone." Dick sniffled, scrubbing at his stinging eyes through the domino mask. "It's all my fault."

He felt Tim awkwardly pat him on the shoulder. "There, there."

"You're really bad at this." Jason remarked.

If Dick weren't so distraught, he would have spoken up to defend Tim, even if what Jason said was kind of true.

Tim sighed forlornly. "Because my parents never loved me enough to comfort–"

"You've used that three times this week." Jason said flatly.

"Bruce's emotional absence ruined my ability–" Tim began, with a hand on his heart.

"Eight times." Jason cut in, not a hint of sympathy in his voice.

Dick gaped at Jason, utterly appalled. What kind of brother was he? This was usually the point where Dick would snatch up his precious pie and cuddle the sadness right out of him.

"Uh…I was always going in this direction and at least I'm not an evil dictator here?" Tim said, peeking up at Jason hopefully.

Jason hummed. "That's new."

Dick's eyes went wide. "That's terrible!" 

"You're grounded." Bruce growled.

"I'm emancipated.” Tim said. “And Jason's my new dad now." 

Jason frowned. "I didn't agree to that." 

"Neither did any of my other paternal figures.” Tim said with a shrug. “Welcome to fatherhood, Dick can give you the pamphlets."

Dick looked over at Tim in confusion. Was he a dad? To who? Oh God, did he have a secret love child?

Wait, no. He'd been with Wally for two years and neither Kori or Barbara had come forward with any babies. As far as he knew.

“What?” Jason asked.

"He's basically Damian's dad." Tim said easily.

Oh, that made sense. Dick sighed in relief.

As if sensing his thoughts, Bruce looked over at him with a frown. Dick shifted awkwardly, trying to ignore both Bruce's gaze and the tense silence that had taken over the room.

"Oh, are we not ready to have that conversation yet?" Tim's eyes widened. “I just thought it was obvious because of the whole Robin thing,” Dick winced at that. “And the we were the best–”

Bruce coughed pointedly. "You kicked a man out a window."

For the first time in his life, Dick was grateful for Bruce's aversion to emotional honesty and open communication. 

Tim scowled. "Yeah, and I think I twisted my ankle too, stupid trafficker couldn't just stay in place. He better be dead." 

"Tim!" Dick scolded, not that it worked. What little authority Tim let him have fell away after Dick gave Damian Robin.

"I'll shoot him if he's not." Jason said, walking in the direction of the window that the soon-to-be-dead goon was kicked out of.

"Thanks, Jay." Tim smiled sweetly, it looked a little eerie when accompanied by the domino mask. And the murderous intent. 

Tim was never this bad before. Sure, his morals had always been loose – held together by shitty glitter glue and tearful prayers– but he had always at least pretended to care about the rule.

Now his tiny tot was a remorseless killer.

"Is this because I took Robin away? Did I push you down this path?" Dick asked, his eyes filling with tears.

"Yes." Bruce glared at him. Dick sniffled.

Tim whacked Bruce's arm with his staff. "B, stop making Dick cry, Dick stop making my anti-hero debut about you, it's rude, and Jay, is he dead?" 

Two gunshots sounded from the other side of the room. "Yup." Jason called back, looking away from the window.

"And that makes eighteen people." Tim said. "Speaking of which, my birthday’s coming up."

"You're not turning eighteen for another nine months." Dick pointed out.

"Did I say otherwise, dipshit?" Tim rolled his eyes.

Dick reared back in shock. "Jason's made you mean." 

"He was always mean." Bruce said, then grimaced. "But loved regardless."

Tim smiled wryly. "Alfred on your coms?"

Bruce grunted.

"Tim was a sweetheart." Dick said fiercely. 

Jason guffawed. “To who?”

"This isn't funny, you shouldn't be changing him like this. Killing is one thing, but this attitude is all you.” Dick spat. 

"He tried to crush Ra's with the giant penny back when he was twelve. That was before we started his training." Bruce said, matter of fact.

"I almost got him too." Tim muttered with a scowl.

“Damn.” Jason patted Tim's shoulder comfortingly. 

So on top of turning his babybird into a murderer, he had also stolen Dick's job. Dick was very good at brotherly shoulder pats, it was his whole thing.

"He was only ever sweet to you. And Alfred." Bruce said.

Tim shrugged. "It's just Alfred now." He gave Dick a cold look.

Dick pointed at Jason. “He was going to murder you.”

“He didn't even go through with that.” Tim waved him off. “Too busy being bitter about the fact he's a Heathcliff.”

“I am not.” Jason hissed.

“I'm not having this argument with you again.” Tim said. “Anyway, at least Heathcliff’s loyal.” Tim glared at Dick. “You're a Willoughby.” 

Dick gasped. He wasn't sure what a Willoughby was, but it sounded bad. Tim seemed satisfied that Dick had been injured by his words, staring at him a proud, vicious gleam in his eyes.

Jason lit up. “One, that is a fantastic literary reference, Timmers.” Tim preened in response to the praise. “Two, hell yes that is so accurate.”

“Wait–” Dick tried.

“He strung you along,” Jason said.

Tim nodded. “Uh-huh.”

Dick did not. He adored Tim. Sure, he wasn't great during the time Bruce was away, but no one was.

“Ditched you suddenly,” Jason continued.

Dick glared. “I didn't–”

“And replaced you with a ‘better’ model without uttering a word about it.” Jason concluded, clapping his hands together for dramatic effect.

“I'm even the same age as Marianne!” Tim exclaimed, then frowned. “I always felt more like an Eleanor.”

Dick had lost what little context he had managed to gain throughout this conversation. When did Tim become a lit nerd anyway? His tiny tot had always been more of a computer guy.

“Haven't we all?” Jason lamented.

“I don’t like this.” Dick said.

“No one cares.” Tim snapped. Dick gasped, still not used to having Tim's viciousness directed at him.

“Don't be mean to your brother.” Bruce scolded.

“Jason, am I being mean to you?” Tim asked, turning to look at him.

“Nope.” Jason said.

“Then I'm not being mean to any brother of mine.” Tim gave Dick a scathing look.

A weaker man would have curled up on the gross looking floor of the house and wailed in despair. Luckily, Dick had enough strength to save that for when he made it to his apartment later.

“Willoughby,” Jason laughed. “Fucking amazing.”

“Language.” Bruce chided.

Out of all the things they had witnessed just now, that was what he was focusing on? 

“And Bruce is like Lady Catherine.” Tim mused. “Old, rich and always disapproving of your life choices.”

Dick had no idea who Lady Catherine was, but that did sound pretty accurate. He could hardly remember the last time Bruce had seemed happy with any of his life choices, he always had that weird rich person frown on his face.

“Yes.” Jason whispered, his eyes alight with an unholy glee.

“You are grounded.” Bruce growled, pointing at Tim. Apparently the Lady Catherine thing was a step too far.

Dick regretted not reading the classics when Jason told him to. This whole conversation was giving him a headache. And he still didn't know what a Willoughby actually was other than a guy with clear commitment issues – which Dick did not have in any capacity, thank you very much.

“B, you didn't even have any real authority over me when I was your son, who are you trying to fool here?” Tim crossed his arms.

“Alfred says you're grounded.” Bruce proclaimed, as if he were a messenger for a mysterious higher power.

Dick grimaced. He had seen Alfred ground Bruce, Tim had no chance. He made a note to bring Tim coffee throughout his makeshift imprisonment. Maybe it would help him get back into his babybird's good graces.

“Alfred owes me.” Tim muttered darkly.

Dick froze. Alfred had once sent him to China to pick up a special tea that could only be found in a shop in one of the rural areas. It took three weeks of travel. And even after doing that, Alfred hadn't owed him shit.

“And what exactly did you do to earn that?” Bruce asked, not bothering to hide his skepticism. 

“Put up with you.” Tim said flatly.

Ah, that seemed fair– but wait, Dick had been putting up with Bruce for a lot longer than Tim. And he hadn't gotten so much as a medal for his service or a sainthood for his patience, never mind having Alfred in his debt.

There was a moment of silence as Bruce put a hand on his com.

“...you're not grounded.” Bruce said slowly. He avoided eye contact with Tim as he spoke.

Tim hummed. “Thought so.”

“Holy shit.” Jason breathed, staring at Tim as if he just revealed his god-like status. Which, to be fair, wasn't inaccurate. “Wait,” Jason frowned. “B's an asshole, don't get me wrong–”

Bruce made an offended noise at that. In a rare and beautiful moment of synchronicity, Dick, Jason and Tim all collectively made the silent agreement to ignore him.

“But he's not blackmail Alfred levels of bad–” Jason cut himself off at Tim’s blank, eerie stare. Dick couldn't help but wince, recalling Bruce's, well, everything. Jason's eyes darkened. “What did he do?”

Tim's face was grave. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Of course, babybird–” Dick cut himself off at Tim's scowl. Clearly, he wasn't permitted to talk in his little brother's presence yet.

“Tell me.” Jason hissed.

Tim sighed, lowering his head as if he was praying to an absent god for guidance.

Bruce chose that moment to speak up. “You're being dramatic–” 

“Quiet.” Tim snapped, the word cracked through the air like a whip.

Dick put a hand on Bruce's arm to stop him from saying anything else. The last thing they needed was Tim, in all his morally compromised glory, getting angry.

Tim visibly steeled himself, standing up straight and taking in a slow breath. He stared ahead into the distance as he began to speak. “He was like early days Mr Darcy with Heathcliff level of unhinged vibes, Victor Frankenstin levels of woe is me and Caroline Bingley's shady energy.”

Jason gasped in a way Dick hadn't heard since that time he accidentally dropped one of his special edition, leather bound books. 

Jason reared back, staring at Bruce in horror. He even went so far as to grab the back of Tim's harness and yank him further away from Bruce.

“What does that even mean?” Dick barely kept the whine out of his voice. 

“It means, Dickwad, that Bruce was a mean old bastard.” Jason said.

“But he always has been?” Dick said, confused.

Bruce glared at him. “Richard,” 

Like hell was he going to let himself get scolded by a guy who behaved badly enough that Alfred was ashamed of him.

“Names, B.” Dick said, perhaps a little coldly.

Tim gave him an impressed look. “Huh, maybe you do have a redemption arc in the cards.” He scowled when Dick perked up. “Don't get your hopes up, I still don't like you.”

Before Dick could be the mature and responsible adult he was and begin crying until the glue on his domino mask dissolved, Jason spoke up.

“Think, Bruce at his most sanctimonious, condescending and uncommunicative. You know, full on asshole mode.” Jason seemed to see Dick's pained wince as a signal to go on. “Then dial it up by about a thousand.”

Dick’s heart sank. He could feel the blood drain from his face as he stumbled back, trembling. “No.”

“Yes.” Jason said, a grave look on his face. Tim nodded solemnly from beside him.

“Bruce,” Dick wasn't sure if he was more horrified at the image Jason had painted or more pissed off that his precious baby brother had been made to endure such an unfathomable horror.

Bruce cleared his throat. “I believe we were talking about Tim's moral–”

“Do not try throwing my precious pie under the bus.” Dick hissed. 

“Not to mention he had the Lady Catherine thing going on top of all that.” Tim said.

Dick still had no idea what that meant, but he knew it was bad and that was reason enough for him to scowl at Bruce.

Jason shook his head. “I'm dead for two minutes and you suddenly become a mix of the literary characters I hate most? That's how you chose to grieve?”

Bruce avoided Jason's eyes. “That's not the point. Timothy, you can't just murder people because you're not Robin anymore.”

Tim scoffed. “There he goes, avoiding the consequences of his actions. Such a Willoughby move.”

“Like father, like son.” Jason said, Tim gave an empathetic hum.

Well, that just wasn't fair. Dick's father was John Grayson, not the emotionally constipated furry who embodied every terrible book character to ever exist.

“Hey! I was only ever his ward, don't try to link me to him.” Dick said, ignoring Bruce's betrayed look. It was every man for himself now and Dick wanted his little brother back.

And if he had to throw Bruce under the bus, so be it.

Tim had a considering look on his face so Dick assumed he'd made a good point.

“You're still a Willoughby.” Jason said snidely.

Dick glared. “Well you turned our baby brother into a murderer.”

“I'm supporting him, unlike you.” Jason snapped, absently patting Tim's head the way an old lady would her purse dog. Tim didn't seem to mind it.

“Supporting him?” Dick let out a sharp laugh. “He kicked a man out a window, and almost twisted his ankle doing so!”

Bruce cleared his throat. “But the killing is our focus–”

“What next? If he strangles someone to death, he'll sprain his wrist? Do you even care about his well being?” Dick stepped right up to Jason who bristled like a particularly angry hedgehog.

“Nightwing, you may be getting sidetracked–” Bruce started.

“You are a terrible murder mentor!” Dick yelled, pointing at Jason for effect.

Jason's eyes flashed and he batted Dick's hand away. “Bite your tongue!”

Oh, Dick was beyond done with the pretentious literary references. It wasn't even cute when Jason was twelve, never mind now.

“Don't quote Shakespeare at me.” Dick spat.

“That's a common phrase you fucking numbnut.” Jason gritted out.

Bruce sighed. “Boys–”

“I thought you were worried about my moral compass?” Tim cut in, looking over at Dick curiously.

“Well, that too,” Dick gestured vaguely, unsure of how to say that he always knew that Tim's morality was a lost cause. “But really, you shouldn't be murdering people if you're going to get hurt so often.”

“You don't get to lecture me, traitor.” Tim hissed.

Dick winced. “I know I messed up, but I love you and I don't want you twisting your ankle every time you kick someone out a window.”

“What the fuck?” Jason whispered.

Tim crossed his arms and looked away, muttering. “I thought you didn't care about what I did anymore.”

“Of course I care,” Dick stepped over, automatically going to put a hand on Tim's shoulder before thinking better of it. He sighed. “I haven't shown it well lately, like that willow tree guy you keep comparing me to–”

“Willoughby.” Jason corrected.

“Yeah, that.” Dick waved Jason off. “I care, Red. And I want you to be okay, even when you're killing people–”

Bruce cleared his throat. “I–”

“Shut up, B.” They all snapped in another gorgeous moment of synchronicity.

Dick wondered if that counted as bonding.

“Would I like you not to do that? Yes, but honestly you were always going to one day, I just want you to be safe during your murder sprees, okay?” Dick decided to take the risk and give Tim's shoulder a gentle squeeze, surprisingly, he didn't get a nerve strike for it.

Tim sniffed. “... I'm still mad at you.”

“I know.” Dick said. 

“You sucked as Batman.” Tim scowled up at him.

Dick hummed empathetically. “Batman sucks in general, but agreed.”

“And you're an asshole.” Tim said, sounding much too similar to Jason for Dick's comfort. What had Jay done to his tiny tot?

“Yes.” Dick said. It was probably better to agree, not to mention, he hadn't exactly been brother of the year during that time.

Tim was quiet for a long moment, absently fiddling with his bo staff. “I'll try to be more careful next time I kill someone.”

Dick's chest warmed and he smiled. He wanted to pull Tim into a bone crushing hug then and there, but he knew better than to push his luck.

Bruce sighed. “Or you could not–”

“We get it, you hate murder, get a new thing already.” Jason rolled his eyes.

Bruce deflated, not unlike a sad racoon that had come out of its dumpster dive empty handed.

“So, how is your ankle?” Dick asked.

Tim grimaced. “Just a little sore.”

“...I can teach you how to do a better kick for next time?” Dick offered, smiling as Tim perked up.

“Dick!” Bruce thundered.

“Fuck off, B!” They all snapped in a stunning harmony of rage and exasperation.

Dick had never felt closer to his brothers.