Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Now, sonny boy! Give good ol’ Daddy J a biiig laugh!”

The electricity hummed and buzzed all through JJ’s little body.

He laughed. Laughed ‘till he cried and even after the buzzing was turned off, he kept going.

Then he woke up. The boy’s body lurched with a cut off scream, mixed with a laugh. His skin felt familiarly itchy, and his head throbbed. Oh. Just a dream… a memory. 
His head felt fuzzy. Fuzzy is a weird way. In the back of his mind, he recognized it as one of his ‘loss of identity’ days. He hadn't had one in over two years. In the front of his throbbing mind, all the boy noticed was that he was behaving badly. And bad boys get hurt.

With a heavy body, the boy turned slowly to lay on his back. Legs straight, with the backs of his heels touching. The fingers on his hands intertwined and settled over his stomach. 
With a deep breath, he pulled his face into a wide smile. It didn’t take more than ten minutes before his face grew sore and tired, like suddenly overworking a muscle you hadn’t trained in years. The boy bore it, though, he didn’t want more buzzing.

And like that, stiff as a board, smile wide as his Daddy’s. He waited.

It was a couple of hours later when a knocking was heard from his door.

“Yo Tim, breakfast is ready in five.” Once again, in the far back of his subconscious mind, the voice registered it as Jason Todd. The more present part just heard the Dead Robin.

He is hungry. He’s always hungry. But he hadn't been instructed to stand yet. He hadn’t been told where to walk. So he kept his body where it is.

Another period of time passed. Maybe an hour. Maybe ten minutes. The boy didn’t have the courage or permission to look at the bedside clock. His face hurts. He keeps waiting.

There were footsteps approaching. His body tensed ever so slightly, the smile pulling a bit wider. Three little knocks, and the door flung open softly.

“Hey T?” Duke Thomas Sunny asked, from the door “didn’t know if you heard Jason come up earlier, but food is ready.” He hadn’t been given permission. He wasn't going to be caught behaving badly. Footsteps came ever closer. He slid his eyes to the side to meet Sunny’s gaze. 
He wore an expression of shock and mild fear, as his dark eyes roamed all over the boy’s face. Fear was good. Fear is good. Funny, even. The boy couldn’t help the little giggle that escaped his sore mouth. 
Sunny scrambled back for a second, before he ran out of the room.

The boy’s eyes went back to staring at the white ceiling.

He is still hungry.

New footsteps. Heavy. Heavier than Sunny’s.

Oh... Batman. That’s right, Batman owned him now.

The boy had shot Daddy J. Haha. So now he’s Batman’s again.

Had Batman seen him like this before. Of course he has, dummy! He was there when Daddy was spitting blood, ruining the joke! No, no, since back then. Has he since then. On one of his odd days? Think Dummy. Think Tim. Think JJ. Think boy. Think Sonny Boy.

“Tim,” Batman interrupted his thoughts, making the boy's eyes focus again as he had begun receding further into his own fuzzy head “what’s going on, hm?” The boy just blinked at him. What an odd question. A question with no answer. The Riddler would be disappointed in the Great Batman.   
Batman gave the boy a moment. A moment for what? Whatever. Then the adult spoke again. “Do you need us to take you to the medbay?” For what? Did he have a buzzing machine down there too?

In lieu of answering, the boy's stomach gave a hungry groan. Batman’s eyes widened, then softened. Daddy never looked at him like that, Mommy would at times though. He didn’t know how he felt about receiving that look from Batsy. 
“Are you hungry?” The boy nodded once, very softly. He couldn’t speak, he was never allowed to speak. Even if he was, he didn’t remember how.
“Will you stand up? I can lift you too, if you need me to.” Batman offered. And yes finally he was allowed to get up.

In a smooth motion, the boy stood. His spine was straight, hands down by his sides with his hands in tense fists. He looked expectantly at Batman with wide eyes and his ever-present wide smile.

“Ah…” Batman said softly, as if realizing something. The boy wished he would be allowed in on the joke. “Please follow me, Tim.” Tim . It sounded weird. Was that him? Maybe it was, he really wasn't sure to be honest. It seemed like Batman was sure, so he supposed he would follow his lead. The boy—no, Tim didn’t need to think anyways, he just needed to do.

He followed Batman down the hall, just two steps behind like he had been trained to do. He didn’t let his eyes divert off of the broad back in front of him. ‘Curiosity killed the kid.’ His Daddy would say, and Tim wasn't quite ready to die yet. 
The trip down the stairs was interesting. His limbs didn’t quite follow his instructions, like they were too long. Batman noticed, and with a gentle hand he took Tim’s in his. His big callused hand was warm, it didn’t try to hurt. Weird. Why didn’t he just push Tim down the stairs? That would be much faster.

When they reached the bottom, Batman didn’t let go of his pale hand. He just held it gently. Tim didn’t know what to think of it. Did he like it? Did he hate it? It didn’t hurt. It didn’t matter, he didn’t need to think. Stop thinking.
They keep moving through the house, hand in hand. Now Tim’s eyes were fixed on the floor instead. He wouldn’t be caught being a curious kid, no way sir! One last door and suddenly he was in a room full of noise, but not the usual noise; screaming, people were talking, laughing, cutlery was clinked against plates.

Batman squeezed his hand, so gently that Tim didn't even consider that the big man could probably break all his finger bones if he applied more more more pressure. “You can look up, you’re allowed to look at whoever and whatever you want.” Batman leaned down to tell him. Oh, so curiosity was okay?

Sitting around the table were five people, and an old man was walking around with plates in his hands. Oh, he knows these people. It’s Batsy’s little family. 
Batman gently tugged on Tim’s hand, he followed like a dog on a leash. As they got closer, everyone seemed to grow quiet, staring, staring at Tim. He didn’t like being stared at, but that didn’t matter.

Batman placed himself at the head of the table, in a comfy looking chair. Immediately, Tim kneeled on the floor by his side, just like he’d been trained to do. He hoped his good behaviors would grant him some food, even if he’d have to eat it off the floor. 
Batman’s floors looked really clean, so Tim wouldn’t mind it at the least. 
There were a flurry of words and exclamations above him from the bat-people, they were too many and too much for his dumb head to process anything. So he just kept staring at the nice floor.

Batman’s chair moved back, and suddenly the man was kneeling on the floor with him. How odd. Maybe Batsy wanted to eat off the floors too. “Tim, I forgot that you think— come, please stand up.” He requested, gently. Damn, looks like he wouldn’t get anything to eat. 
Tim got up, he didn’t look at the others, he could only get himself to look at his owner. The bat-people were all so silent now.

“Please sit in a chair, here.” Batman instructed, pulling out the chair right by the left side of Batman’s own chair. Sitting in a chair? That’s new. Maybe he wanted Tim to see them all eat and fill their bellies, while Tim watched with his own empty one.

He sat in the chair.

He kept looking at Batman, even as he sat in his own chair again.

“Tim, you can look at the others, it’s okay.” He was reminded by Batman. Oh yeah.

He looked around the table.

Dick Grayson Old Robin was looking at him with a familiar sadness in his eyes.

Dead Robin looked like he wanted to bend and break the butterknife in hands, maybe he wanted to hurt Tim?

Damian Al Ghul Wayne New Robin has a look of pure confusion, as his green eyes flew back and forth between Tim and Batman.

Sunny didn’t want to meet Tim’s eye, a little bead of sweat on his brow. He was still scared. Haha.

Cassandra Cain Dancer is taking in every inch of him with a look of pure empathy and hurt.

“Bruce, you better fuckin explain right now.” Dead Robin growls. The sound makes Tim’s neck itch awfully.

Batman sighs. “Tim is having an… episode. It’s been a few years since this happened last, so no one but Alfred, Dick and myself have been present for one.” An episode? An episode of what? Maybe he’d been allowed to watch TV later. “When he was thirteen, Tim was kidnapped by—“ Batman takes a pause, looking at Tim. “The Joker.” Tim can’t help the burst of giggles that bubbled out of his throat at the mention of his Daddy. 
A pinched expression flashes over Batsy’s features. Dead Robin swears a lotta curse words. Sunny’s face grows distraught. Old Robin looks resigned.

“He was tortured,” haha “injected with you-know-who’s venom for weeks, and brainwashed into being like his child, a Junior.” Batman takes a shaky breath. No no, he needed to keep going, the story was just getting fun! “Barbara and myself saved him, but it had been weeks. Tim’s body and psyche were horribly damaged. I’m not sure what triggers the episodes, but it’s like his mind reverses.” Dead Robin slams his fist against the table, rattling the fine porcelain. Man , Tim was still hungry. “And why the hell isn’t that piece of shit dead yet?! He’s still running around, causing death and chaos!”

Batman rubs a hand over his face. “We thought he was, at least for a while.” A silence fills the room, only interrupted when the New Robin speaks “What do you mean, father?” 
“When Barbara and I got to him, there was a fight. Ending with me incapacitated and Tim with a gun in his hands.” Tim giggled a little louder at this, making most of the table’s occupants flinch or grimace. “So when he asked Tim to shoot me, Tim seemed to gather whatever little strength he had left to aim it at him instead. And yes, he did die.” That’s not funny. Yes it was, it was hilarious. “But he is seemingly impossible to kill. That’s why he is still around.” He finished his tale. Tim loves a trip down memory lane.

Everyone begins speaking on top of each other all over again. Tim tunes it out. He’s a dumb dummy with fuzzed out ears. 
It’s only when a hand places itself on his shoulder that he zones in a bit again.

“Master Tim,”(Master? What a weird thing to call him, but also oddly familiar) Alfred Pennyworth The Butler addresses him “could I interest you in some breakfast?” Yes, he could very much interest him in that! Tim didn’t nod, he didn’t have permission. Regardless, the Butler brought food.

In front of him a glass of orange juice is placed. With a plate of already cut out pancake pieces, fruit pieces and a cookie. As well as a plastic fork. Looks like they didn’t trust him with a real fork or knife; good thinking. 
Tim waited. He didn’t have permission to eat. Across from him, New Robin was staring, it made his skin crawl. “Please eat, Master Tim.” The Butler told him, a blanket of patience and gentleness over his every word. He and Batman spoke so differently from Daddy. Tim looked at Batman again, the man nodded and looked at Tim’s plate.

Tim gathered up his plastic fork and ate. Wow, it was so nice to eat from a plate while sitting in a chair.

“So um,” Sunny began, still a slightly nervous expression on his face “how long is he gonna be like this?” Batman looked at Tim, his eyes following as he took another bite. He kept smiling, even while chewing, just like he’d been trained to do. “Sometimes a few hours, sometimes a day or two. We usually try to include him in daily tasks, talk to him and as well as movies or music. There really is no forcing it. Tim hasn't been injected with Venom for years, there’s no antidote for these episodes. Just patience and understanding.” Batman shared, he reached out a hand and gently ran it through Tim’s hair. It felt nice. It was so odd feeling nice. Should he feel nice? Shouldn’t he feel pain? He’d been trained to handle pain, not niceness. His skin began to buzz all over.

Hm.

Tim took his unoccupied hand and lifted it up. He opened his mouth, and with a dribble of fruit-juice on his lips he bit down hard.  
Everyone around the table immediately reacted.

“What the fuck?!” Dead Robin swore. 
“Tim, no no. Don't do that.” Old Robin soothed, as he and Batman immediately grabbed Tim’s jaw and hand. 
New Robin grimaced from across him, looking unsure what to do. 
The Butler quickly left the room.
Dancer came around the table, kneeling down beside Tim’s chair. Her hands curled gently around his elbow. She didn’t tug like Batman and Old Robin. She just held him with understanding eyes.
Sunny was looking away, as if scared to watch what would happen next.

Their distress was funny. So funny he bit down even harder, only stopping when he felt a metallic tang on his tongue.

“Tim,” Batman said from beside him, his voice slightly hard in the way it would be when he squeezed into consume “let go, now .” And didn’t he need to? Batman was his new owner after all. 
Tim relaxed his jaw, but kept his ever present smile. He didn't understand what he’d done wrong. Batman looked ready to lecture him. Maybe he got mad that Tim hurt himself, that should be Batman’s job now after all.

“Scared.” Dancer piped up from beside him, making everyone look down at her. “Tim is scared, he’s confused. You shouldn’t be mad.”

Was he scared? He’s always kind of scared, so it didn’t matter anymore.

The Butler came in again, a first-aid box in hand. Dancer let go of him, so did the other two men. With quick efficiency, the bite-wound was thoroughly cleaned and dressed. Then a pill was laid by his plate. Ooo meds, what kind? The ones that make him sluggish? The ones that make him scream as his veins feel like fire? The ones that make him unable to sleep for days?

“Your antibiotic, young sir.” Tim looked at Batman. His owner seemed to take a deep breath. “It’s okay, just take it.” He was told, so Tim did. The pill could have been a cyanide pill, he could’ve been told that was what it was and he probably would’ve still taken it.

“Why did he…?” Dead Robin began, as he pushed away his plate, seeming to lose his appetite.

“Tim forgets he’s free, that he is in a safe place,” Old Robin began “he is used to pain and cruelty, it’s like he is thirteen again. So sometimes, when in these episodes, he self-harms.” Safe? What a weird thing to say. Nowhere is safe.

“Does he know who we are?” Sunny asks, a sympathetic look in his eyes. He seems less uncomfortable looking at Tim now, even as the older boy smiles widely at them all.

“Tim,” Batman says, taking all of Tim’s attention once again “do you know these people?” He prods, a calculation look in his eyes. Tim nods with a giggle, of course he did! What a stupid question. Maybe Tim wasn't the only dummy around here. “You know their names?” This gave him pause. He knew, didn’t he? Hmm what was it. 
He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a thrill laugh. Damn, maybe he didn’t know. He shook his head. He tensed, was punishment coming from being dumb?

Dancer reached up again, rubbing a gentle hand on his back. “Dont be scared, it’s okay Tim.” Easy for her to say.

“Do you know my name?” Batman asked next. Of course he did! It was Batman, just Batman. No one else. No one else would know nothing else! He wouldn’t say!

“I am Batman, yes. But that’s not my name.” Batman said, a slight chuckle on his lips. What? Batman looked at Tim’s hand. Oh. Tim was tapping out the word ‘Batman’ in Morse code against the table. That’s odd. He’s sure Daddy didn’t train him to do Morse code. Tim averted his eyes away.

“My name is Bruce.” Batman—Bruce said, smiling patiently.

After that they all went in a circle and introduced themselves by name.

“Are you still hungry?” Dick asked, looking at Tim’s half eaten plate. He wasn’t, not really. The taste of blood had ruined his appetite, it always did.

He shook his head.

“Well in that case, so you want to take a walk with me outside? The weather is pretty nice." Once again he looked to Bruce for permission. Bruce took his injured hand, mindful of the bite-mark. “You can decide for yourself if you want to say yes and no, no more blind obedience, okay?” What a weird rule. Tim didn’t like it. But if Bruce commanded it, he had to. But that meant he had to think for himself. He didn’t know how. 
Tim grabbed his hair and tugged on it, only letting go when once again a gentle hand was there and a gentle voice was asking him to stop. He did. He didn’t even know if it had been Bruce, and it was okay? He hadn’t been hit yet. What a weird weird weird day.

“Tell me,” Dick said again to catch Tim’s attention “do you like sunshine?” Tim nodded “fresh air?” Nod “grass between your toes?” Nod. 
Dick smiled, his eyes honest “in that case, I think you’ll enjoy a trip outside. Don’t you think so too?” The outside did have those things. Things he liked that weren't painful. With a slight hesitation, Tim nodded again.

Dick smiled a bit wider, taking Tim’s uninjured hand tugging him along like Bruce had done earlier. “In that case, let’s go for a walk. The others can talk while we breathe in all the (only slightly polluted in Bristol) air.”

And so, Dick and Tim went on a walk.

Everyone around the table took a full ten seconds before they all exploded in a roar of questions, making Bruce sigh in a type of exhaustion that was too early in the day to exist yet.  

“Why the hell haven’t you told us about this before?!” 

“Are you sure it’s safe for a Dick and Tim to be alone?” 

“Won’t he try and run away?” 

“I’m going to KILL Joker.” 

“Are you sure this can’t happen again? You said you don’t know the triggers, but we should try and figure it out, yeah?”

 
“Please,” Bruce began, rubbing his nose bridge with two fingers “I’ll explain what I can.” Everyone settled somewhat.

“What I told you before is all true. What we know so far is that generally Tim doesn't try to hurt other people in his episodes, more so himself if it makes sense for him to do so. He’s very confused, but at the same time very aware, he’s in a way like a young child again, but adult themes and memories are still in some capacity available to him; that’s what he’s explained to us later, at least. In addition he seems to go somewhat mute, we’ve never heard him speak, not back when he was first found by us, and not in any of his episodes, he only seems to be able to laugh. Tim has told us that’s the only way he’d been trained to communicate.”

“What do you mean ‘make sense to him’ ?” Damian pushed, a slightly pinched expression on his young face. Bruce’s face fell a bit more “When he was in captivity by the Joker, he was hurt in almost every possible way; physically; mentally; chemically. Nothing was off the table for that bastard.” His voice was gruff and full of anger. “When Tim has his episodes, he’s in a mindset used to pain, he seeks it out because it’s familiar, and he thinks (for whatever reason) it's deserved at that moment. It’s one of the few things he’ll do without ‘permission’ from myself.”

Cass has sat down in what was Tim’s seat, right by Bruce’s side. “Why does he need your go ahead?” She asks. “Tim sees me as his new owner, the last one in his mind being the Joker, he called him ‘Daddy’ at the time, but try not to use either word around him, it can set off laugh-attacks, he has passed out from them over lack of oxygen before.” Everyone felt their spirits fall even further at the idea of Tim being owned like an animal, that Joker probably had seen Tim as a sort of abused dog to kick while it’s down.

“Please just treat him kindly.” Bruce breathes tiredly, running a hand through his dark hair. “I know he’s nineteen, he’s not a little kid, but right now you might have to think of him like one; to an extent. Patience, kindness, understanding, the same way you might do with a traumatized civilian child. Tim will undoubtedly be embarrassed about being ‘babied’ later, but rather be too soft than to set him off with a too sharp insult, even if it’s meant jokingly.”

Everyone around the table shared a look of understanding.

“We promise.”

Tim entered the house again with Dick. It felt like a million years ago since he saw the sun last, but it was probably last week, the pollution hadn’t been too bad that day. 
Dick was still holding Tim’s hand. It was warm and only slightly bigger than Tim’s own. His skin was more tan than Tim’s. So differently from Daddy’s pale pale face and white white gloves. 

“You up for hanging out a bit more?” Dick asked, squeezing his hand lightly. 
Hang out and do what? Hang someone? No no, probably not. To have fun? Have fun how? Painful fun? Pain was fun after all. Maybe Dick would give him painful fun, the trip outside had just been a way for him to lift Tim’s mood before he hurt him. That’s okay. At least he saw the sun, a fat grey bird in the grass and heard a few other birds chirp.

Tim nodded. 

Dick smiled again. He didn’t smile like Daddy. Weirdly enough, he liked that. “Cool! I was thinking we could see a movie? Studio Ghibli?” It sounded vaguely familiar. 
Everyone was so weird today. He didn’t want to argue. Just hurt, if needed. So he nodded again.

Maybe he had an odd look on his smiling face, because Dick’s own fell for a second. “Is it okay if I hug you?” Hugs? Only Mommy gave him hugs. Hugs after particularly long electroshocks sessions or after Tim’s body was split open and bleeding everywhere. Dick was doing everything in the wrong order, hugging him before he hurt him. 
Tim giggled and nodded again. With that permission, Dick’s strong arms wound around Tim. Just for a second, Tim felt himself relax, the sore smile fell a bit and his wide eyes closed shut. His head was empty.

Then the buzzing began.

Tim jolted away, ripping himself from the comfy confines of Dick’s arms. His smile was big and wide and painful again. He looked warily up at Dick. “That’s okay, Tim. You’re fine. Everything is fine. We are both okay.” He assured again and again, until Tim’s quick breathing settled. 
“We can go watch the movie now, no need to worry about anything.” Tim followed two steps behind Dick into the TV room.

At first Tim kneeled on the floor again by the sofa. “It would be much nicer if you sat on the couch, don’t you think? Easier to see the TV too.” Dick offered from the couch, holding a fluffy blanket. He liked that blanket, it was his favorite. Why did he have a favorite? He’d never had a favorite with Daddy. Just a cold, hard table. More weird memories. 
Tim crawled up on the couch, sitting ramrod straight and tense. Dick slowly wrapped the blanket around Tim’s shoulders. Then he picked up the remote, then with a couple of clicks a colorful animated movie began to play.

Tim didn’t really understand, he was too stupid to understand anything. But the colors were nice and so was the occasional music. Without realizing, he slowly relaxed back against the soft couch bit by bit. He didn’t see the smile on Dick’s face as he watched Tim go even more against his ‘programming’.

Person by person, the TV room filled with every member that had been in the dining room earlier. When Bruce came in, Tim snapped out of his relaxed state. He flung forward again, back straight and eyes wide on Bruce. Bruce, whose eyes were filled with hurt.

He hurt Bruce. For some reason he didn’t think it was so funny. Why not? Pain is funny. Hurt is funny. He didn’t understand. 
Tim began fidgeting. Twisting his slender fingers painfully again and again to feel something normal.  

“Timothy,” the voice of a Damian said beside him, making Tim look at the other kid “would you like to draw?” He asked, holding two sketchbooks and a Tupperware box filled with a lot of colorful crayons. Was this a test? Something in the far back of his mind said so. But the part of him that had come a bit more to the forefront of his mind told him that Damian was safe. 
Safe? He still didn’t quite understand safe. Still, to his own surprise, he nodded.

Damian extended one sketchbook, flipping it open for Tim and peeling the top off the box. Damian was so nice. But niceness always came with a price. Tim began to scratching painfully at his arm.

“Tell me Timothy, what’s your favorite animal? I would be happy to see you draw it.” Damian interrupted his incoming mental spiral. Tim’s eyes flung up to Damian again,  but he wasn't looking at Tim, he wasn't staring, his eyes were on his own page as he drew a couple of lines in brown crayon.

His favorite animal? Chimpanzee, that was his favorite. Why? Why did he have one? He hadn’t thought about it before, had he? He liked them because they were smart, their IQ matching that of a human toddler. They could even learn sign language. Why did he know that? He read it on his laptop. Oh , more memories.

Slowly, Tim began to draw a chimpanzee, it was bad. He knew that. He held the orange crayon in a closed fist, he was scared it would slip out of his clumsy fingers if he held it in another way. 
Around the room, everyone sneaked occasional little peeks at him, followed by almost-there smiles.

As he finished his drawing, he wrote ‘Chimpanzee’ at the top. He knew how to spell that? Oh wow. He thought he was too dumb for a word like that. Daddy had always told him he was too stupid to spell his own name. Tim had agreed. Daddy was always right.

Right?

He flipped the notebook to show Damian. If the other thought the art to be bad, he didn’t show it on his face. Damian’s face remained neutral, as his green eyes looked over the page. “Very well done.” Damian praised. For some reason it made that warm feeling he had felt around Dick earlier bubble up again. But this time there was a bit less fear. What was this feeling? Joy? He wasn’t sure he knew what that felt like exactly, but the word seemed right in his mind. Yeah. He felt joy.

“Thank you.” He felt himself say, his voice was soft and quiet; barely there. But everyone’s eyes widened around him, oh, bat-hearing. Hearing himself speak surprised even Tim himself. Was he going to get beat? He spoke! Especially without permission.

Damian was expertly quick to school his features. "You're very welcome, Timothy. Now, would you like to see my illustration?” He interrupted Tim’s thoughts again. Tim couldn’t speak. He nodded. 
With a flip, Damian’s sketch was shown. It’s a cow. ‘Bat-cow’ his mind supplied, unknown information tricking in a bit more. Was it unknown? He had to know for a reason. Right? He flashed Damian a thumbs up. The gesture seemed to please Damian as a very self-satisfied smile took over his face.

“Did you see any birds up close on your walk with Richard?” ‘Richard is Dick’ , his mind supplied again. Tim nodded. “Could you draw one for me?” Damian prompted again. So Tim did. He relaxed back against the couch again, this time the spike of anxiety was not there, even with Bruce in the room. 
Tim had no idea what the bird he was drawing was called, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t need to be perfect either. No he did need to be perfect. But did he? Bruce didn’t seem to think so, nor did Damian. Neither did anyone else in the room.

Tim felt the sore smile relax bit by bit as his back had done. He shaped out the beak. 
Tim yawned. His body ached. His eyes drooped.

It was okay.

The movie was over. A new one was playing. Tim kept drawing. He fixed the way he held the crayon. He drew an octopus in blue, with no prompting from Damian’s side. 
It was like he was slowly coming up from underwater.

He took his first big breath.

“I think I’m okay.” He said into the almost-silence. Everyone turned to look at him, relieved expressions on all their faces.

Duke spoke up first. “Dude, I’m really sorry about how I reacted earlier in your room.” Tim felt a bubble of sympathy come up at the memory. He’s not surprised at all at the anxiety Duke must have felt seeing Tim like that, especially with his family history.
“It’s alright, I get it. Really.” He said softly. He was pretty tired. Tim yawned again.

Damian stood up, moving one step to the side and squeezed in between Tim and Dick. “Your yawning is obnoxious. Take my seat by the armrest and nap.” Tim felt himself chuckle at that.

“Thanks Dami.”

“Tt.”

Tim laid his sketchbook on the coffee-table and scooted over, laying down with his head on the armrest and his legs over Damians’ lap. The kid just laid his own sketchbook on top of Tim’s legs like a table, but otherwise didn’t address him.

Tim fell asleep. Surrounded by family.

He was safe .