Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Damian was waiting for him outside his room.

Tim pulled to an abrupt stop, all sleep suddenly cleared from his mind. He was painfully aware that he was wearing nothing but boxers and one of his Superboy t-shirts. Damian was just standing there in a sweater and cargo pants, holding a mug clasped in both hands which meant he wasn’t holding any weapons. Always a good sign. The kid hadn’t tried anything since cutting his line a couple weeks ago - which Tim was pretty sure had mostly just been a temper tantrum and not an actual attempt to kill him - but Tim wasn’t sure he trusted that to continue.

But he also wasn’t going to be the one to break whatever tentative truce there was. Not when Bruce had just gotten back, not when he and Dick were settling back into each other, not when Alfred looked so happy every time he walked into a room and Damian and Tim were somehow managing to exist in each other’s presence without destroying half the manor.

“Good morning,” he said, because that was probably unobjectionable, right?

The kid scowled at him like Tim had just insulted his mother. “Here,” he said, and he shoved the mug of coffee at Tim’s stomach.

Tim scrambled to take it before the hot liquid splashed all over him. “What?”

“It’s coffee,” Damian said, like that wasn’t obvious. “Pennyworth instructed me on the process of brewing a pot. He also told me how much milk and sugar you prefer.” The scowl deepened. “This is unhealthy.”

“Uh. Thanks?” Tim tried not to make it too obvious that he was watching Damian’s now unburdened hands, just in case this was all a distraction for something pointy. “What’s the occasion?”

“It has been brought to my attention that I have not abided by the rules of my father’s household,” Damian said, like that explained anything. The kid was glaring at Tim’s chest and not meeting his eyes. “A gesture of goodwill was suggested.”

Tim sighed and resisted the urge to rub his eyes. “Look. If Dick put you up to this, you don’t have to do it.”

“It was his suggestion. Though I believe he expected us to-” Damian lifted both hands and made exaggerated air quotes, “hug it out.”

“Let’s not,” Tim said.

“My thoughts precisely. The coffee was Pennyworth’s idea.” And the scowl faded for a moment, replaced with something that looked mostly confused. “He said my father used to prepare your coffee for you, on school days.”

Tim’s eyes burned at the reminder and he resolutely stared at the wall over Damian’s shoulder. Of the thousand griefs Bruce’s disappearance had wrought, their little morning coffee ritual was probably the least of them, but Tim still remembered walking into the kitchen the day after and realizing that he was going to have to make his own coffee from now on and just shattering into a thousand pieces. It was stupid, but it had been - Bruce didn’t tell them how he felt about them very often. He didn’t say the words much unless someone was hurt or he’d been scared he was losing them. But Bruce gave them things. Gifts, gear. He protected the people he loved. He took care of them in little ways. Trust funds that most of them never touched, but had if they needed it. New equipment and updated gear to keep them safe on patrol. He kept their favorite energy bars in one of his belt pouches, and if they were sick, he carried around an extra dose of whatever medication they were taking. He made Tim’s coffee just the way he liked it because he knew Tim wasn’t a morning person.

The first time Bruce had done that, handing him a mug as Tim stumbled into the kitchen, half asleep and exhausted down to his bones, had been right after his mother died, when Tim was living at the Manor as Bruce’s ward, and not just while his parents were traveling. It hadn’t made anything better, but in a way it had. Bruce was showing him he cared. And he’d done it every school day morning that Tim spent in the manor, barring injuries or intergalactic crises, right up until he went to fight Darkseid and never returned.

“Yeah,” Tim said finally. He took a deep breath and curled his fingers a little more tightly around the mug. Bruce hadn’t made him coffee since coming back, but he was still recovering, still weak. Tim hadn’t even thought about it, so relieved just to have him back, that he hadn’t realized he was still missing the little routine. He’s alive, he’s here, he’s back. “Yeah, I think he was afraid I’d hurt myself trying to operate the coffeemaker without caffeine. It’s a Catch-22.”

Damian eyed him with an expression Tim was going to graciously call doubtful. “Perhaps if you had been allowed to injure yourself, the lesson would have taught you to wake up properly.”

Tim eyed the little gremlin for a moment. The insult was barely there. In fact, by Damian standards, which Tim was slowly learning to parse, that was almost advice. “Bruce doesn’t want us getting hurt, though.”

“It’s unavoidable.” Damian’s face was getting that squished up constipated look that he got when he thought someone was being deliberately stupid. “My father’s mission all but demands that we place our bodies and lives in the line of fire to protect his domain.”

Tim decided he was going to assume that Damian constantly calling Bruce “my” father wasn’t a deliberate dig. Damian had considered himself an only child until he was ten, it was probably just habit. Sure. “But that doesn’t mean he wants it to happen. And he tries to avoid us getting hurt more than we have to when we’re training.” Honestly if every one of them decided to hang up the cape and tights and go to community college, Bruce would probably be pretty okay with that. Tim wasn’t dumb enough to say that to Damian though. “But look, thanks for the coffee. I appreciate the gesture.”

Damian narrowed his eyes and glared at Tim like he was waiting for the punchline. “I will not strike at you unless you strike at me first,” he said.

“Okay. That’s never going to happen, though.”

Damian blinked at him, then glowered. “As if anything you did could pose a threat to me,” he sniffed. “Pennyworth says breakfast is ready. Pants are required.” He spun on his heel and stalked off toward the stairs, uninterested in whether Tim followed him or not.

Tim watched him go for a minute, then stared at the coffee cup for a second. It might have been a nice gesture? Sure Dick had told him to do something, and Alfred would have had to tell Damian how to make it, but Damian still had to actually make the coffee and exert the energy and attention to make it the way Tim liked it. That wasn’t nothing.

Tim was aware that the bar was ridiculously low here. He was trying to give Damian credit. Dick had practically begged him to give Damian one more chance, and Tim had promised, more for his elder brother’s sake than out of any hope that he and Damian would ever have any kind of relationship.

Maybe he’d been wrong. Damian was just a kid, maybe all he needed was a clean slate and people who understood why he was so fucked in the head.

Tim held the mug up and inhaled the aroma for a moment.

There was something off about the scent. Something cloying behind the more bitter scent of the coffee itself. Something familiar.

Tim tightened his fingers on the mug of poisoned coffee, and went back into his room to get dressed for breakfast.

Chapter Text

The mug was empty when Tim made his way into the kitchen. He rinsed it out and added it to the dishwasher like he would any other day. He’d already thoroughly cleaned it out upstairs so there was no risk of any trace of the poison coming into contact with the rest of the family’s food or dishes, but he didn’t want Damian to know that.

He waited until Dick was there to say, “Thanks again for the coffee, Damian.”

Dick pretended not to react, but he was watching them from beneath his bangs, eyes darting from Damian to Tim and back with so much naked hope in his eyes that it almost hurt to look at him.

Tim was still angry about the Robin thing, though these days it was less that Dick had done it and more how. He was also less angry at his brother and more angry at the circumstances they’d all been forced into where Dick had felt he had to make that choice. He was still angry, but he didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to hurt Dick, who, one decision aside, had never been anything less than a true brother to him long before Bruce signed the adoption papers.

He was a little worried that Dick was going to be hurt.

“Don’t get used to it,” Damian snapped, putting his glass of juice down on the table with more force than necessary. He looked pissed, but Tim thought maybe it was more that he was irritated that he’d been caught taking Dick’s advice than at Tim for existing in his space.

Or both. It might have been both.

Tim rolled his eyes dramatically, said goodbye to Alfred and Dick, and left for Wayne Enterprises.

Damian was waiting outside his room again the next day. This time the coffee was in a black and red Superboy mug. Tim felt like this was probably a personal attack.

“I thought I shouldn’t get used to it,” he said, taking the mug from Damian with a quick smile. The cup was warm under his fingers, and the whole hallway smelled like his favorite Kona roast.

Damian glared at him. “I suppose you’d like it if I stopped,” he said. “You’d enjoy watching me fail in my mission.”

God this kid was exhausting. “Look, just because Dick suggested you make a gesture, that doesn’t mean you have to. Honestly, if you’re only doing this because someone told you to, it’s kind of pointless anyway.” Damian took a deep breath and Tim rushed to cut him off. “And no, actually, I wouldn’t enjoy watching you fail a mission. You don’t root against family. Or,” Tim gestured vaguely. “The family of family. Whatever works for you.”

“You consider us family,” Damian said flatly.

Irritation flared in his chest but Tim stomped down on it with both feet. “We have the same father,” Tim said. He kept his tone mild. Nonjudgmental. “The same brother.”

“We don’t,” Damian said shortly. “I am a Wayne. The only son of Bruce Wayne and Heir of the Bat.”

“Damian.”

Bruce’s voice took them both by surprise. Damian spun to face him, and Tim sulked a little at the coffee splashed over the front of his shirt. He was going to have to change.

“Father,” Damian said, and Tim was a little surprised by the tension in his voice.

“We’ve had this conversation before,” Bruce said. His voice was gentle, but hard as steel at the same time. He still looked… rough, was the nicest way to phrase it, pale with a greyness to his complexion that was finally fading, and a slump to his shoulders that hadn’t totally gone away the entire time he’d been back. But his eyes were sharp blue instead of fogged over, and his voice was steady and his hands had stopped shaking unless he was genuinely exhausted. It was so much better than he had been those first few days back. “Your relationships are your own, and I won’t try to force you to feel a certain way about anyone. But Tim and Jason and Dick are my children.” His gaze flickered to Tim for a moment, and Tim almost couldn’t breathe at the way the corner of Bruce’s mouth ticked upward in an easy smile. “That’s my call to make. And no one is allowed to take one of my sons from me. Including you. Do you understand?”

Damian looked like he had no idea what the hell was going on, which, considering Ra’s sick obsession with bloodlines, was probably true. He nodded anyway.

“I mean. Technically,” Tim said and he couldn’t help but grin back when Bruce’s gaze flickered to him, “I could take myself away from you. We could fight.”

“No,” Bruce said. “Not allowed. Your veto powers have been permanently revoked.”

“I’m emancipated.”

“Emancipation is just a piece of paper,” Bruce said airily. “Papers can be lost. Or burned.”

“Adoption is just a piece of paper,” Damian said warily.

The obvious confusion in his voice stopped Tim from snapping at him. He looked away for a moment and took a deep breath. Damian was just a little kid. He was doing what little kids do and parroting back what his parents told him. Tim was probably super annoying himself at that age.

And. Tim took a second deep breath before turning his gaze back to Bruce. Damian wasn’t going to convince Bruce and that was all that mattered.

“Technically, yes,” Bruce said. He was watching Damian with a wariness that Tim felt in his soul. “Legally, an adoption is paperwork. It’s protection. But if Tim went down to City Hall tomorrow and told them to un-adopt him, he would still be my son as far as I’m concerned.”

“There’d be no point,” Tim said. “You’d just adopt me again.”

“I would. You’re stuck with me.” Bruce gave Damian the same smile he’d given Tim. “You both are. Ask your older brothers how easy it is to get away from me. They’ve tried, but they’re still here.”

“Sounds super creepy when you say it like that,” Tim said.

Bruce stared him dead in the eye. “My love is more powerful than teenage angst,” he said.

“Gross,” Tim said.

“Is Bruce being gross already? It’s too early in the morning for that.” Dick walked down the hall toward them, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. He was wearing a t-shirt and sleep pants and looked like he’d woken up about five seconds ago. His hair was defying gravity particularly hard. “What’s everyone doing in the hall?”

Damian went tense again and his eyes darted back and forth between the three of them before his expression smoothed into something carefully blank.

Was he afraid of Dick? Tim plucked at his wet shirt and considered the possibility. Plenty of people were afraid of Dick - he had a vicious temper and would, and had, attack violently if he felt someone he cared about was in danger. But those were Rogues and criminals. None of his allies feared him, and sure as hell none of his family. Admittedly Damian’s upbringing was kind of insanely violent, and the idea that someone could be violent at one person but never at you was probably a concept he wasn’t familiar with. But Tim was pretty sure they wouldn’t have been able to work together effectively if Damian literally thought Dick was going to hurt him for a minor screw up.

Tim eyed Damian thoughtfully. Although being afraid of disappointing Dick… that was much more likely. And if Dick had secured the same promise from Damian that he had from Tim, then conversations about the validity of adoptions and who was or wasn’t Bruce’s son might be taken as breaking that promise.

Oh what the hell. “Bruce is being emotional at us.” Tim worked a hint of a whine into his voice. “It’s too early to deal with Bruce’s emotions, Dick, make him stop.”

Dick laughed and reached over to mess up Tim’s hair. He pressed a kiss to Tim’s cheek while Tim was smacking his hand, then slipped away to mess up Damian’s hair, too. “Bruce, I one hundred percent support you expressing yourself all over this hallway.”

“Gross,” Bruce said. “You’ve ruined it, Dick, see if I ever express a positive emotion in your presence ever again.”

“I can’t believe you’ve done it once, there’s a very real possibility I’m hallucinating this conversation.” Dick nudged Bruce’s side. For a second Bruce wavered, and Tim braced to steady him, but he just threw an arm around Dick’s shoulders and turned toward the stairs.

“Let’s not keep Alfred waiting,” Bruce said. “I think his breakfasts were in the top five things I missed while I was traveling.”

“Okay, but we were the other four, right?” Dick poked Bruce in the ribs as they made their way to the stairs. “Right?”

“Tim, Damian, are you coming?” Bruce glanced over his shoulder.

Tim shook his head. “I gotta change. I’ll meet you guys downstairs.”

He dumped the coffee down the sink in his bathroom and rinsed it out carefully, then hurriedly pulled on a clean shirt.

The kitchen felt crowded when he got there, even if it was just the four of them. Damian was sitting at the breakfast bar, kicking his heels against the legs of his chair, and picking at a plate of scrambled eggs. Dick was bothering Alfred, apparently deeply invested in how over easy his eggs were, and Bruce was-

Bruce was turning around from the counter, with a mug of coffee in his hands.

“Alfred agreed we can exceed the caffeine intake limits just for this morning,” Bruce said. The corner of his mouth was ticked up in a grin, which made Tim suspect Alfred had not, in fact, agreed to any such thing. The mug was one of Tim’s - most of the coffee mugs in the Manor were Tim’s these days - and it was still piping hot as Bruce pressed it into his hands.

Tim’s fingers gripped it so tight they ached.

Bruce pressed a kiss against his temple, there and gone in a heartbeat. “One of the top five,” Bruce said against his ear, and then he was gone.

Tim stood there for a minute like a moron, holding the mug and watching Bruce drag Dick away from the stove.

He took a sip. It was exactly the way he liked it.

“I do not wish to intrude upon a ritual of significant emotional importance,” Damian told him.

Tim scrubbed a hand over his face. He’d been awake for about ten seconds, and despite it being the third day in a row, finding Damian waiting for him outside his bedroom door was still doing bad things to his blood pressure. “What?”

“The coffee,” Damian snapped. “Richard and Pennyworth have explained that it signified an opportunity to bond between you and Father.” He made an expression of great distaste. “Richard called it a love language, which is such an asinine concept that he must have created it himself.”

It was actually kind of reassuring that Damian thought everyone was an idiot and not just Tim. “Um. Yeah, I guess it was kind of a ritual for us.”

“I do not wish to intrude,” Damian said. Tim thought that was kind of a sweet sentiment until the little gremlin added, “Richard seems to think that Father will be negatively impacted by the implication he has been usurped.”

Tim sighed and leaned against the door. Yes, of course Tim’s feelings on the matter didn’t count for anything, despite this being, ostensibly, a way for them to get to know each other better. “You can’t usurp Bruce,” he said finally. “He’s Bruce. Whatever you and I are, it’s not anything like that.”

Damian’s face screwed up in a scowl, though Tim couldn’t tell what he was thinking exactly. “I can find another method of “bonding” if you prefer.”

God, the emphatic finger quotes were actually kind of hilariously cute. Tim kept his face totally straight while he thought about it.

The thing of it was, he wasn’t sure what Damian was trying to accomplish with the poison. Was this another attempt to kill Tim? He really hoped not, mostly because he was tired of constantly having to watch his back around Damian, and also because if Damian killed him under the guise of bonding it would destroy Dick. But Tim didn’t know how much poison was in the coffee - and Damian didn’t seem surprised or upset that Tim was still alive, two cups later. And this way he knew where the poison was, and wouldn’t have to brace himself for some other delivery method. Also this was fairly specifically targeted at him with little risk for the rest of the family to get caught in the middle.

“No, it’s okay,” he said finally. “B still needs a lot of rest.” Bruce spent most of his days sleeping, and the parts where he was awake were mostly spent in bed or on a couch trying to get caught up on the events of the last six months. He’d crashed after breakfast yesterday and slept for hours to make up the energy he’d expended by joining them.

“Besides,” he added impulsively, “whatever you’re doing differently is pretty good.”

Damian froze, just for a split second, before smoothing out his expression. “Differently?”

Tim smiled. “Yeah. You must be using a different sweetener or something? It just tastes a little different than when Bruce makes it. It’s not bad.”

“Oh.” Damian blinked at him. “Well. I’m glad to hear that. Very well then, as long as you are certain it will not upset Father.” The kid spun on his heel and stalked off down the hall.

Probably he shouldn’t have teased him like that. Giving Damian any indication that Tim was onto him might kill what advantage he had.

No, Tim decided as he followed Damian downstairs. That had definitely been worth it.

Alfred had breakfast ready, and Damian presented him with a mug of fresh coffee. Tim took a deep sip, the sweetness of poison lingering on his tongue.

Damian looked pleased, but not as pleased as Dick.

Tim took another sip and considered his options.

Chapter Text

So the thing was, Tim survived months with Ra’s and the League of Assassins. He’s familiar with poison.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the poison Damian has taken to dosing his coffee with was one of his grandfather’s favorites. How Damian had gotten his hands on it was a bit of a mystery, unless he’d had it with him when he arrived in Gotham. It wasn’t really a secret that Damian had originally intended on replacing Dick and Tim as Bruce’s heir through whatever means necessary, so he’d probably come equipped. Where the hell had he gotten the grenade after all?

Anyway, this wasn’t the first time an Al Ghul had dosed his drinks with this particular poison. Tim had survived Ra’s, and Pru, Owens and Z had helped him build up a tolerance while they were still working together. Tim didn’t think Damian had the same motivations as his grandfather, but he wasn’t really sure what Damian’s motives were.

Tim drank half his cup of coffee, then managed to dump the rest out when Damian went upstairs to get dressed.

“Timothy Drake is throwing away coffee,” Dick said. He slapped a hand over Tim’s forehead. “You’re dying, aren’t you? Oh, God, Alfred, call 911-”

Tim squirmed out of his grip and ducked behind Alfred when Dick tried to check his lymph nodes. “Knock it off,” he said, slapping at Dick’s hand. “It’s just really sweet, I think Damian might not realize that artificial sweetener goes a lot further than regular sugar.”

Alfred quirked an eyebrow at him. “Considering your preference for Zestis, I confess to being shocked that the concept of too sweet has even occurred to you.”

Tim grinned at him sheepishly. “You’re wearing off on me, finally?”

Alfred managed to express a great deal of skepticism without his expression changing at all.

Tim shrugged and offered an olive branch of the truth. “When I was overseas - you know I was in Nanda Parbat for a while. And they mostly drink coffee plain, or spiced. Not a lot of sugar. I got used to it, I guess.”

Dick’s face went tight and unhappy, the way it always did when Tim’s time with the League came up. “That makes sense. I can tell Damian-”

“No,” Tim said quickly. “No, it’s okay. Look, it’s… Nice of him. That he tries to make it the way I like it. And I’m afraid if he thinks I don’t like it he’ll take it as criticism, or rejection. I don’t think our relationship is at a point where it can handle Damian feeling rejected without me getting stabbed again, so. Just let it go. I can drink some sweet coffee every now and then as a peace offering. It’s fine.”

He realized his mistake a second too late to dodge. Dick lunged at him, pulling Tim into a hug tight enough to make him wheeze a little. “Thank you,” Dick said, his face pressed against the side of Tim’s head. “If it means anything, I only asked Damian to be nice. He was the one who asked about making a gesture.”

Probably because he was afraid Bruce would be mad. Tim remembered Damian’s comment from the other day, about not obeying the rules of his father’s household. But still. It was an improvement, regardless of the kid’s motivations. And Tim wanted things to improve.

He didn’t think he and Damian were ever going to love each other, not the way they were now. But it would be nice not to be constantly on his guard, constantly braced for attack in what was supposed to be his own house. He wanted to come spend time with his family without being constantly under attack, to have dinner without having to switch plates with Dick, to patrol with the rest of the Bats without it turning into some nightmare temper tantrum, or worse, getting his line cut over and over until he didn’t get back up again.

He didn’t want to lose Dick, or Bruce, or Alfred and if he couldn’t figure out a way to live with Damian, he would.

Dick still hadn’t let go so Tim hesitantly slid his arms around Dick’s back and held on. If anything, it just made Dick hug harder.

It felt nice. Tim decided not to jab him in the ribs after all.

It became a little bit of a routine, after that. Damian presented him with a cup of coffee every morning for a week, usually accompanied by a scowl and possibly some commentary on Tim’s sugar intake and obviously inferior palate. Honestly, it was nothing Tim hadn’t said to Dick after watching the dude inhale half a box of Fruity Pebbles in one sitting, so he responded to most of it with a grin and rueful acceptance. That mostly seemed to confuse the little demon while simultaneously making Dick and Alfred happy, so Tim considered it a win.

The downside, of course, was having to drink all that poison.

Tim wasn’t particularly worried about the poison itself - he’d drunk his weight in it back with the League and unless Damian gave up on subtlety and just shoved an entire vial of it down Tim’s throat, it wasn’t going to hurt him. The question was why Damian was poisoning his coffee and whether Tim needed to be worried about it.

The longer it went on, the more Tim thought maybe he didn’t. Damian was mostly… fine? Kind of an asshole but not a violent one, which Tim could live with. Half his friends were assholes, not to mention fully three out of four of his siblings.

“Your reliance on this addictive drug to function is a weakness that will be exploited against you,” Damian said, slamming Tim’s morning coffee down onto the table in front of him hard enough to set Tim’s burgeoning headache into a full blown pounding.

“Not unless Ivy decides to weaponize coffee beans,” Tim said, which actually was probably a thought he shouldn’t be putting out into the universe.

“Or someone decides to poison you,” Damian said shortly. Tim arched an eyebrow at him, but the kid ignored him, stomping back to his seat next to Dick, sitting ramrod straight in his chair as Alfred slid a plate of avocado toast and fried eggs in front of him. “Thank you, Pennyworth.”

Dick caught Tim’s eye across the table, clearly trying not to laugh. “Are you worried someone might poison Timmy?”

Damian sniffed as he meticulously cut his eggs into strips. Tim couldn’t help but watch - Ra’s had been weirdly fastidious about his food too. “Until Father has recovered and is prepared to return to the streets to keep the filth and lunacy under control, we shall require complete focus. If Drake gets himself injured or killed through a lack of vigilance you will be distracted and incapacitated and I refuse to work with Todd.”

Tim raised an eyebrow at Dick, but instead of laughing Dick just looked at him with hooded eyes. “Good point, Dami. Thank you.”

Tim rolled his eyes, ignoring the stab of pain that sent through his skull. God, he couldn’t afford a migraine today, he had too much to do. “The only people who have access to my morning coffee all live here, so this hypothetical assassin is coming from inside the house.”

He knew the second the words left his mouth that it was a stupid thing to say. He’d have said it to Dick, or Bruce, or Cass without hesitating - hell even Jason could mostly take some teasing these days, depending on what it was, and honestly would probably have been amused at the idea that he’d have to poison Tim to get rid of him.

But not Damian.

The knife Damian had been using to cut his eggs ended up stabbed a half inch deep into the table. The ice in Damian’s water glass clinked together as Dick flinched at the sudden movement. Tim sighed and pressed a hand to the side of his head. “Take it back!”

“Take what back?” Tim said, already exhausted. “It wasn’t an accusation, Damian, I was just-”

Damian’s eyes flashed green. “I know what you were trying to imply! You were insinuating that I’ve been acting against you!”

“I wasn’t, it was just a joke, all right?”

“Do you take me for a fool?” Damian sneered.

Tim smiled at him. It wasn’t a particularly friendly smile. “At the moment, yes, a little bit.”

“I will cut you down where you stand for that insult!” Damian reached for the knife embedded in the table and Tim was braced to meet the attack head on, but Dick intervened.

“No,” Dick said, voice loud enough that it probably carried halfway through the Manor. “Absolutely not. Do not touch that knife, Damian, do you understand me?”

Damian’s face twisted in outrage. “He-”

“Didn’t mean to insult you,” Dick cut in, voice patient and level. Tim wondered how many times he’d had to pry a knife out of an angry baby assassin’s hands over the last few months. Probably more than Tim wanted to know about. “It was just a comment, and he’s sorry he upset you, right Tim?”

“No, actually,” Tim bit off. The yelling and the adrenaline rush of preparing for an attack had only made his head ache more. That and Dick trying to force Tim to make nice with someone who had intended to hurt him… He curled his hands into fists and made himself take a deep breath. “No, I’m not sorry. It was a fucking joke, and no reasonable person would have thought it was anything else.”

“Tim.” Dick sounded exhausted, like he couldn’t believe they were doing this again. Well he wasn’t the only one.

“You know what,” he said, offering Dick the same smile he’d offered Damian a moment ago, and taking a vicious sort of satisfaction out of it when his brother actually flinched. “Fine. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I didn’t just let him stab me in the face since that’s apparently how we handle misunderstandings around here. I’m sorry that I had the audacity to actually be comfortable in what’s supposed to be my own home. I’m sorry I didn’t apologize to the person who threatened to pull a knife on me. Is that better?”

“Not really, no,” Dick said.

“This isn’t your home,” Damian sneered. “This is my father’s home and you have never been anything more than a stray begging for scraps at the door. Your presence is accepted out of pity and it’s time someone finally put you in your proper place.”

Dick sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose but otherwise didn’t react.

“Oh, well then,” Tim said. He picked up his phone and pushed his chair back. His heart was pounding, but he refused to give either of them the satisfaction of a reaction. “Is that how it is, then?”

“Tim, stop it.”

Tim waved him off. “Hey I don’t want to intrude on your family any more than I already have, Dick. Enjoy breakfast with your brother. I’ll show myself out.”

He would have left whether Dick said anything or not. The fact that he didn’t just made Tim move a little faster.

Alfred somehow caught him at the door to the garage anyway. Tim was seriously reconsidering his theories on the man’s ability to teleport.

Well, that or he’d heard the shouting and anticipated Tim taking off. Either way.

“Your breakfast, Master Tim.” Alfred had a neat little stack of tupperware in his hands, the real stuff, slightly faded with age, that he’d been using since Bruce was a kid. “I fear eggs won’t reheat very well so I included a few extra pieces of sausage and a scoop of hashbrowns.”

Tim took the container because you didn’t say no to Alfred, and also his hashbrowns were amazing. “Thanks, Alfred.”

“You will be home for dinner?”

The very idea made Tim’s stomach roil, and the pounding in his skull kick up another notch. Forget Damian, he could handle Damian. It was Dick’s silence that had always burned the worst. Tim knew it was petty, knew it was childish, but there had once been a time Dick would never have let anyone talk to his little brother like that.

Ah, Tim thought uncharitably, but then it hadn’t been his real little brother slinging the insults back then, had it.

“No, I don’t think so,” Tim said. “I think maybe it’s best if I’m not around for a while.”

Alfred’s mouth turned down a little at the corners, but it was a pretty glaring sign of upset for him. “Master Damian should not have spoken so.”

“Why not?” Tim said. He clutched the Tupperware until the tips of his fingers went white. His chest felt weirdly tight and he took a deep breath to ease it. “I should thank him for making sure I don’t overstay my welcome, right?”

“You are always welcome here.”

Tim nodded. “Right,” he said tiredly. “I’m welcome. Cause I’m a good dog that doesn’t bite.”

“Only a fool would think you have no teeth, Master Tim.” Alfred smiled, but it looked uncertain around the edges. “Come to dinner, please. After all these months away I miss the sound of your voice.”

There was a shout from inside, Damian’s voice calling out “Father!” and then Dick’s laughter. Tim’s heart pounded against his ribs with the need to go back. Bruce came out so rarely, was so tired still, they only saw him for minutes a day and Tim drank in every moment he could get.

I just got him back.

But he couldn’t. If he went back Damian would be offended, maybe start another fight, and then Bruce would be disappointed in Tim too. Tim couldn’t handle that, not now, not while he still woke up some mornings forgetting Bruce was back.

God, he should have just kept his mouth shut. Just sucked it up and dealt with Damian’s attitude and Dick’s…

His eyes burned and his head swum for a second. His skull was pounding in time with his heartbeat. Tim pressed a hand to his forehead for a second and closed his eyes, the darkness a brief relief.

“Master Tim?” Alfred caught him by the elbow. “Are you all right?”

“If you missed me so much you should have called,” Tim said. He gently pulled away from Alfred’s hold, and the older man didn’t try to stop him. “Thanks for breakfast, Alfred.”

Chapter Text

Wayne Enterprises was always good for a distraction or two, and Tam took one look at him and kept him running from meeting to interview to crisis all day. They paused for lunch, a ridiculous amount of shawarma which Tam sent one of the baby interns to pick up, and then she shoved him right back into the firing line. She only asked if he was all right once, and when he clearly lied and told her he was great she didn’t ask what was wrong which pretty much cemented her as his second favorite person in the whole world, right after the guy who invented Aleve.

He made his way back to his apartment a little after six. By then his skull was trying its best to pound his brain into mush. He was pretty sure he could feel it starting to leak out his ears.

The fridge was bare, since he hadn’t been staying there lately, and the idea of making something out of the bits and pieces in the pantry made him want to sit down on the floor and never get back up. He ordered sandwiches and two jumbo chocolate chip cookies from the sub place around the corner, then collapsed facedown on the couch and slept until his alarm went off for patrol.

His head was still pounding, but the sleep had helped dull it a little. By the time he got some food in his system and put back 26 ounces of luke-warm fountain soda that had come with his food a few hours ago, he was feeling marginally better. Caffeine headache, he realized, a little ruefully. He hadn’t had any coffee that morning, since he and Damian started fighting right after the kid had delivered it. If it was that bad he might want to consider cutting back. Tim appreciated a good caffeine boost as much as the next vigilante (unless it was Oracle) but he couldn’t afford to be incapacitated every time he had to rush out the door in the morning.

He dressed quickly in his spare suit and hit the rooftops. It would be a simple patrol tonight, since he wasn’t at a hundred percent. By the time he’d gone a block he realized the flaw in his plan.

He was dragging. His extremities felt heavy, and his reaction time was slowed. Still good, but not his usual, and nowhere near his best. He took extra time with his grapples, not jumping till after it was secured, which was probably making Nightwing twitch somewhere.

He parked it on the roof of a small apartment building a few blocks from his place and considered his options. He wasn’t incapacitated, but he was operating below peak. He could handle a mugger or a rapist, even a couple of them, but if he was outnumbered he’d be in a bad spot. And if they had weapons he might be in trouble. He could probably handle it, or just block as much as he could, but any civilian involved would be in danger too.

Going home felt like quitting.

He had some informants he could check in with, and some suspects that he could try to surveil. Low-intensity but still useful, and that way he wouldn’t feel like he’d wasted an entire night. He’d just decided to head down to Fairhurst and check in with one of his gang informants when a distorted, electronic voice called out, “You look like shit.”

Tim didn’t let himself so much as twitch to show that Jason had caught him completely unaware. “Fighting words.”

“You look like you couldn’t take a ten-year-old right now,” Red Hood said. He holstered his grapple and strode across the roof toward Tim, boots scuffing on the rooftop a little.

Tim maybe didn’t hide his flinch as well as he thought he did because Hood laughed and said, “Not that ten-year-old, Jesus. Like a normal one. I don’t think you could take a golden retriever right now.”

“I think the dog is a bigger threat than the average ten-year-old,” Tim said. “They have teeth.”

“Ten-year-olds have teeth,” Hood said. “You’ve never babysat a pack of brats have you? Trust me, the dog hurts less.”

“What do you want, Hood?”

“Maybe I just want to socialize. Check in on the fam. See how everyone’s doing.” Jason laughed at him when Tim rolled his eyes.

“So come to the house sometime,” Tim said, deliberately mild. “B misses you.”

“B misses you,” Jason mimicked. Tim had no idea how he was managing to do the Spongebob thing with a voice modulator. “Pass. If I wanted to be aggravated and smothered half to death I’d move in with Nightwing.”

Tim considered that as he scanned the street below. “You’d drown him in his cereal on the first day.”

“See, you get me,” Jason said.

“Why are you bothering me instead of shooting creeps in the kneecaps?”

Jason shrugged. “Nightwing said you didn’t show up for dinner or patrol and since I’m closest to your usual route he asked me to look in on you.”

“And you agreed out of brotherly love and the goodness of your own heart.”

“Fuck no. I told him to check on you himself, but he said you were mad at him and he didn’t want to make it worse by showing up uninvited if you were avoiding him.”

Tim nodded, trying to decide how he felt about Dick’s take on the situation. “So you decided to do your brother a favor.”

Jason leaned a hip against the edge of the roof. “The asshole got Oracle to start playing some fucking Baby Shark song on repeat over my comms until it was either come here or shoot myself.”

Tim managed to disguise his laugh as a cough, though not very well judging by the way Jason’s shoulders went back a little. “Well I’m here and I’m alive. Mission accomplished.”

“You still look like shit.”

“Stop,” Tim said. “I’m blushing.”

Jason snorted. “Good to see you’re still a snarky little shit. What did Dickhead do?”

Tim rubbed a hand over his forehead. It didn’t help the lingering headache, but it made him feel better anyway. The idea of explaining their fight seemed exhausting. Just thinking about it made Tim want to go home and lie facedown on his bed for a while. “Does it matter?”

Fortunately Jason seemed willing to let it go at that. “Not really. Nightwing’s good at shoving his foot in his mouth. Good at getting people to forgive him for it, too,” he added, almost casually. “A little groveling might be good for his soul.” He pointed at Tim, and somehow managed to give the impression he was grinning behind the helmet. “Character growth.”

Tim snorted, only regretting it a little when it aggravated his head. “You just want him to get yelled at.”

“Yes,” Jason said immediately. “Golden Boy doesn’t fuck up enough, I like to savor it when it happens.”

Maybe he fucks up more than you think, Tim said, but he bit the words back. They were ungracious at best, and the last thing he wanted to do was throw fuel on the fire that was Jason’s middle child syndrome.

Besides, just because Dick made choices Tim didn’t like, it didn’t mean he was wrong. Damian did need Robin more than Tim did. Maybe Dick couldn’t save them both and thought Tim was stronger and could pull himself through it alone. Maybe he just loved Damian more. None of it made him wrong.

God he was tired. Everything ached. “Well you can tell him I’m fine, or whatever you want.”

“Tell him to go fuck himself,” Jason said automatically. “What are you working on?”

Tim gave him a bit of a side-eye. He and Jason had worked cases a few times since he came back to Gotham, but it wasn’t a regular thing, and it was usually Jason bringing a case to Tim because he needed backup or a fresh pair of eyes. Tim hadn’t gotten around to testing the waters by asking Jason to return the favor, so Jason asking after Tim’s cases was not the norm. “I was going to check in with a few informants. My network changed while I was overseas, so I’m trying to build up a new one.”

Jason’s head tilted to the side and the line of his shoulders screamed ‘Danger’ in neon letters. “Think having the Red Hood standing over your shoulder would earn you some cred?”

“No,” Tim said immediately.

“Yeah it would.” Jason grabbed his grapple and propped his foot on the edge of the roof. “Where we going?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say no, to send Jason away - or, much more likely, to annoy Jason into leaving since god knew Jason didn’t do anything he didn’t want to - but his stomach gave an unhappy twist and he stilled for a moment. Jason couldn’t hurt anything. It was a slow night, and if he’d been in the middle of something important he very likely never would have left Crime Alley in the first place. And Tim did kind of feel like shit.

Plus, having the Red Hood at his back would impress a few of his potential informants. And possibly calm a few of the others.

If he felt a weird tug in his chest at the thought of someone in this family actually wanting to be around him, he tried not to think about it too hard.

“How do you feel about looming?” Tim asked.

It was barely one in the morning when he made his way back to his apartment.

Jason had loomed with a great deal of enthusiasm for a few hours before unceremoniously informing Tim he was up past his bedtime and threatening to drag him back to his apartment by his hair. Tim maybe overbalanced on a fire escape railing because his head was swimming, but it was only the second floor, so he was pretty sure Jason was overreacting.

“You don’t have to actually follow me home.” Tim let a thread of genuine annoyance slip into his voice. “If you’re just doing this because of what Dick said-”

“Yeah, because I make such a habit of listening to Nightdouche,” Jason said. He tossed his helmet onto the breakfast bar and gave Tim’s apartment a once-over. “Shit, you play the piano?”

“Not since I was little.” His mother had insisted on the lessons, citing appearances and something about how a young man of his breeding and background had to have a wide range of knowledge and interests. Tim would have agreed with her if she hadn’t said “breeding” like he was a purebred dog. He’d stopped going to lessons after she died and his father had either never cared, or the more likely option, never noticed. “The interior decorator I hired bought most of the furniture.”

Jason hummed. He was still wearing a domino, but with his face uncovered he looked a lot more… normal. Tim could see the way the corner of his mouth ticked up, the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes. “You got ripped off.”

“I didn’t give her much to work with,” Tim admitted. “I was distracted with other things. I’m pretty sure I just told her to make it habitable but nice enough for company.” He pulled open the fridge and leaned against the door while surveying the contents. “Why is there more food here than there was when I left?”

“Cause Alfred thinks you’re incapable of feeding yourself.” Jason held up a piece of paper that had been folded in half. Tim’s name was written across the front in Alfred’s familiar cursive. “Judging by the takeout wrappers on the floor by your couch, he’s right.”

“The guy who lives off chili dogs isn’t allowed to judge me.” Tim popped open one of the tupperware containers and found a mouth-watering stack of thinly sliced roast beef. A quick glance showed the others were full of mashed potatoes, roasted carrots, and brussel sprouts.

“Unlike the rest of you heathens, I know how to use an oven without causing property damage.” Jason leaned over Tim’s shoulder and snagged a slice of roast beef. “Oh god, that’s good. I miss exactly three things about the Manor and Alfred’s food is one of them.”

Alfred himself was likely another. Tim wondered idly if Bruce was the third. “You know he’d feed you if you went back.”

Jason grunted around his mouthful of stolen beef. “Maybe. Or maybe I can get a sweet delivery deal set up like you have.”

“Bruce would like to see you,” Tim said evenly. “If you wanted to see him.”

“You’re pushing,” Jason said without heat. “Bruce wants to see me, sure, but on his terms, on his home ground, at his whim. I’m real tired of it being about him. So if he wants me to come to the Manor to see him, he can suck it.”

Tim supposed that was fair. “When he’s feeling stronger I’m going to tell him you said that and you’ll wake up one morning to Bruce sitting on your couch.”

“Maybe. If I do maybe I’ll hear him out before I shoot him somewhere non-fatal.”

“I feel like that’s definite progress.” Tim put the food away, and grabbed a couple of bottles of water instead. He tossed one to Jason and snagged Alfred’s note with his free hand. You were missed at dinner, it read. I hope we will see you tomorrow. Be safe. Alfred’s handwriting was precise in a way that meant he’d been thinking about the words before he wrote them, and Tim felt another pang of regret for snapping at him. Jesus, Tim, no wonder no one wants you around.

“So what’d you do to rate Alfred delivery anyway?”

Tim sighed and folded the note over on itself. “I was an asshole at breakfast.”

Jason arched an eyebrow at him. “To Alfred?”

Tim shrugged. “Kind of to everyone.”

“That’s bullshit,” Jason said. Tim braced, prepared for Jason’s anger or disappointment over being shitty to Alfred, which he knew he’d deserve, but Jason just scowled and leaned against the bar. “I’m an asshole to everyone all the time and I don’t get Alfred delivery.”

“Well I didn’t try to stab anyone,” Tim said. “And I’m not constantly threatening to shoot people.”

“Non-fatally!” Jason protested. He tossed back the rest of the water, then tossed the bottle into the recycling bin on the far side of the kitchen. “It’s been real, Little Red-”

“Little Red?” Tim said.

“-if you have any more informants you want me to beat into shape for you, hit me up. I gotta go show my face in the Alley before anyone thinks I took the night off.”

“Little Red?”

Jason’s laughter lingered in the apartment long after he left. Tim thought he could almost still hear it as he finally dragged himself to bed.

Chapter Text

By morning the headache was just a dull throb, and while he was still dragging a little, he no longer felt like someone had tied twenty pound weights to each of his extremities. Tim debated licking his wounds for another day, but mostly that was just embarrassment talking at this point. He wanted to see Bruce, and he owed Alfred an apology, and the fact of the matter was, he could only summon so much anger for Dick. His brother was trying to help Damian adjust and settle into a more normal family dynamic, and Tim should be helping him with it, not getting upset because Dick didn’t take his side.

As for Damian, the words didn’t even hurt because he already knew that was how Damian felt. Damian had never pretended to love him, never thought of him as anything other than a problem. It hurt to hear, sure, but there was no surprise there, no disappointment, because he knew exactly where he stood with Damian.

He’d thought he knew where he stood with Dick, too, but. Well, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

Tim let himself into the Manor through the kitchen door, still trying to figure out what he was going to say when he saw Dick, and almost walked directly into Alfred.

“There you are.” Hands steadied his shoulder as he jerked back to avoid walking face-first into Alfred’s chest. “You look pale.”

Tim offered a tired smile. “Well, that’s a little more diplomatic than how Jason phrased it.”

Alfred’s return smile was decidedly brighter. “Oh, I can imagine,” he said, only a little ruefully. “Have you eaten? I made a plate of sandwiches for your father’s lunch, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing.”

“Stealing food from an invalid? Alfred, what do you take me for.”

Alfred huffed, because he was far too dignified to snort. “Don’t call him that where he can hear you, he’ll be insufferable.”

Tim found the implication that Bruce wasn’t already an insufferable patient kind of endearing. “Listen, about yesterday. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, I’m sorry.”

Alfred laid the back of his hand against Tim’s forehead. “I accept your apology, though it is neither necessary nor desired.” His other hand tightened on Tim’s shoulder, just a little, before letting go. “There are a great many things I could have done differently or better during Master Bruce’s… absence. Ensuring you knew you were not alone was one of those things. For that, I too must apologize.”

Tim shook his head, dislodging Alfred’s hand and ignoring the sting of heat behind his eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Just because I didn’t, that doesn’t mean you weren’t hurt by my actions or lack thereof. I am sorry, Master Tim. God forbid we find ourselves in such a place again, I will do better.”

“God forbid,” Tim echoed. “You don’t owe me an apology. But… thank you. It means a lot to hear that.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll do better, too, next time. I was hurt, and angry, and scared, and I let that make me do dumb things.”

“It seems to me you handled yourself extremely well on the whole.” Alfred brushed his hair away from his forehead, fingers lingering at Tim’s temple. “No fever, but I don’t like the look of that complexion. Migraine?”

“Yeah. Couple of days now. I took something for it,” he added when Alfred gave him a sharp look. “And I had breakfast.” He gave Alfred a little smile, feeling strangely shy after their talk. “The roast beef was really good, by the way.”

Alfred smiled. “It’s better when it’s fresh from the oven. Will you be staying tonight?”

Tim nodded, a little surprised himself to realize there was no hesitation. “Yeah, I guess so. Unless something comes up.”

“Well then it seems an excellent time to have carbonara for dinner.”

Tim grinned. “With peas though, right?”

“Oh yes. Master Bruce shall just have to pick them out.”

“Cruel to a sick man,” Tim said. “Thanks, Alfie. You’re still the best.”

“I -” Alfred’s gaze flickered to something over Tim’s shoulder. “Ah, Master Damian. Are you hungry? I just offered your brother some lunch, I would be happy to make you something as well.”

Tim tried not to tense up, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Damian could be as nasty as he wanted to be, Tim wasn’t there for him. He turned around, offering a bored smile to his youngest and newest sibling.

Damian looked… uncomfortable. Or mad. It was honestly hard to tell, most of the kid’s default facial expressions seemed to be “vaguely furious.” Resting pissed face, Tim thought.

“That won’t be necessary,” Damian said. “Thank you,” he added, as if he had to remind himself. He probably did - Tim didn’t think either Ra’s or Talia had been super big on treating servants with respect. “I came to speak with Drake.”

Tim very deliberately didn’t grind his teeth together. “All right,” he said evenly. “What did you want to say?”

Damian drew himself up ramrod straight, his hands clasped behind his back. “I had no right to speak on Father’s behalf, and should not have done so. This is not my home and it is not my place to say who is and is not welcome here.”

That was… well it wasn’t an apology, but honestly Tim wasn’t expecting the brat to actually be sorry. “It is your home, actually.”

Alfred’s hand gripped his elbow and squeezed gently. “There will be no more threatening anyone with knives at the dining table, or anywhere else in the Manor, or else I shall be the one to decide an appropriate punishment.”

“Seems fair,” Tim said. Damian nodded once, a little jerkily, eyes wide. Tim wondered what Dick had told him about Alfred’s vengeance. Tim had mostly avoided it during his time in the Manor, but he had come home from school one day to find Dick perched in the chandelier scrubbing the light fixtures with a toothbrush. And he’d been twenty-two at the time.

“I would appreciate it if you could offer Master Tim an apology,” Alfred said firmly. “You knowingly said things that were both unkind and untrue, neither of which is acceptable amongst family.”

Damian’s eyes seemed to be screaming in fury, but he just nodded. “I apologize.”

Tim kept himself from reacting. It was clearly begrudging, but it almost seemed sincere. Tim didn’t think Damian actually felt bad for anything he’d done or said to Tim, but was probably reacting to a scolding. The rules of his father’s household apparently involved being polite to unwanted strays. “I accept,” he said. “Thank you. And I wasn’t trying to upset you yesterday, it really was just a joke. I do appreciate you being concerned about my safety. It was good advice.”

The kid blinked and slid a quick glance over Tim’s shoulder to Alfred. “Predictable routines are dangerous,” he said, almost warily. “The effectiveness of the team would be impacted by a sudden loss, especially while Father is recovering.”

“Also, we would be devastated if something happened to you.” Alfred squeezed Tim’s shoulder one last time before he headed toward the refrigerator, leaving Tim and Damian staring at each other in varying degrees of irritated discomfort.

“Yes,” Damian said finally. His mouth was pressed together in a tight line. “That too.”

“Damian.” Tim took a deep breath. “Remember what Bruce said. No one can make you have a relationship with someone. It’s fine. Let it go.”

Damian clearly didn’t want to, but he shot a furtive glance at Alfred, who was blatantly monitoring the conversation, and subsided. “I could prepare a cup of coffee if you like.”

“Why don’t we not?” Tim suggested. He kept his voice gentle because he was pretty sure Damian’s newfound commitment to the no-stabbing rule wasn’t fully integrated into his impulse control yet. “Look, I know you promised Dick you’d try to get along with me, and I appreciate the effort. But it doesn’t mean anything if you’re only doing it for Dick. I’d rather we were just honest with each other, even if that means I have to make my own coffee from now on.” He managed a smile that felt mostly sincere, if a little tired. “If he says anything you can tell him I asked you to stop, okay?”

Damian frowned at him but didn’t argue. Tim felt weirdly accomplished by that.

“Master Tim.” Alfred appeared at his side with a platter of sandwiches and a bottle of water. “Would you mind doing me a favor and taking this upstairs? Master Bruce is forbidden to get out of bed today, and I don’t trust him not to use lunch as an excuse.”

“Yeah, sure. What’d he do to get himself banished back to bedrest?”

“Let us just say that he overexerted himself,” Alfred said primly. “Thank you, dear boy. Now if you’ll both forgive my rudeness, I need to start preparing dinner.”

Tim and Damian both allowed themselves to be shooed out of the kitchen and ended up staring at each other in the hall by the staircase. “Okay,” Tim said after a long moment.

“He was upset that you left,” Damian said. He crossed his arms over his chest and didn’t look at Tim at all. “He heard us fight and came downstairs. When Alfred told him what had happened and that you were refusing to come home he was upset and wanted to go after you, then got in a shouting match with Richard when he and Alfred wouldn’t allow him to.”

“Oh.” Tim blinked at Damian. “Okay. I’ll apologize to Bruce for the commotion.”

Damian sighed heavily and stomped down the hall toward the family room.

“Good talk,” Tim said, and he actually kind of meant it. The good vibes lasted him about as long as it took to get up the stairs and ran into Dick coming out of Bruce’s room.

“Tim.” Dick sounded terse, and he paused in the doorway with his hand on the doorknob. “Alfred didn’t say you were back.”

Tim couldn’t stop himself from arching an eyebrow. Was he supposed to be announced like a guest at a gala? “I just got here.”

“Right. Yeah.” Dick fidgeted a little. “Uh. Jason said-”

“Don’t talk to me about Jason,” Tim cut him off. He had a feeling he already knew what Jason had said - something about Tim being pissed, probably. “Jason hummed the Baby Shark song at me for two hours last night. You wouldn’t happen to know who was responsible for that, would you?”

“Probably Babs,” Dick said with no hint of shame.

“Throwing your best friend under the bus,” Tim said. “Let’s all hope she never finds out.”

Dick smiled, but it was small. Tentative. It made Tim’s stomach churn. “Let’s be honest, she probably already knows. My days are numbered.”

Tim nodded, suddenly exhausted. “I was going to bring Bruce his lunch, actually, so…” He tilted his head toward the door Dick was still thoroughly blocking.

Dick blinked at him, then down at the doorknob still in his hand. “Oh,” he said, like he’d forgotten where he was. “Right, yeah. Sorry. Um.” He fidgeted, just a little, rocking up onto the balls of his feet the way he did whenever he felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t something he did around Tim, usually, and it felt like a knife between Tim’s ribs. “Are we-”

“Drake.”

Dick’s face went weird as he craned his neck to see around Tim. Tim just closed his eyes for a second. “Damian.”

The kid marched around until he was facing Tim. He had a mug of coffee in both hands which he thrust in Tim’s general direction.

Tim didn’t reach for it. “We talked about this.”

“You said it was meaningless if I only did it because Richard asked me to. He didn’t ask me to.” Damian’s scowl was as much a pout as anything else and his hands didn’t waver as he held the mug out. It was an older one, Star Trek themed, from when Tim was a kid and mostly just drank hot chocolate out of it.

Tim was tired. He wanted nothing more in the world than to toss the coffee cup in the nearest trash can, walk out of the Manor, and lay facedown in the first patch of grass he came across until either he died, or he stopped being tired. Whichever came first.

Possibly that was a little melodramatic.

“Okay,” he said finally, because what else was there to say. He wasn’t going to call the kid a liar if he wasn’t, and he still wasn’t ready to call Damian out on the poisoning situation, not until he’d decided for himself if there was any real danger. “Okay, thanks.” He tucked Bruce’s water bottle under one arm and used his free hand to take the mug from Damian’s hands. “Dick, my hands are full. Can you get the door?”

“Right.” Dick pushed the door open and skipped aside to get out of Tim’s way. “Do you need a hand?”

“I think I can manage,” Tim said dryly. He didn’t mean it to sound like a rejection, but the way Dick grimaced meant it probably came across as one. “Thanks,” he added. He hesitated for a second, trying to think of something else to say that would make this all less awkward, but everything sounded wrong in his head, so he just slipped past Dick into Bruce’s room.

The curtains were open, so it was bright. Bruce was propped up against the headboard with a newspaper spread out across his lap. He was wearing a pair of blue silk pajamas that he’d been wearing as long as Tim had known him, and his hair looked like he’d made a half-hearted attempt at finger-combing it into place before giving up. “Tim,” he said, and he sounded relieved.

“Hey, B.” Tim smiled and walked over to the bed. “Heard you’ve been banished back to bed rest.”

“Was I ever off it?” Bruce sighed. “I’m glad you’re back. Alfred said you needed some space?”

“Yeah.” Tim didn’t let anything carry through into his voice. Bruce had enough to focus on, he didn’t need to be distracted with Tim’s issues. “But he bribed me with my favorite dinner so I’m back.”

Bruce’s eyes flickered over his face. “There’s going to be peas in my carbonara, aren’t there?”

“Tons of them,” Tim said, and for the first time all day his smile felt real.

The door clicked shut behind him. He hadn’t realized Dick was still there, but when he turned around they were alone.

Bruce was eyeing Tim in a weird way until he realized it was the coffee cup getting the eyeball and not him. “No,” Tim said. “Alfred says no caffeine.” He angled his body so the mug was slightly hidden from Bruce’s view. “Besides, this is my coffee of brotherly bonding. It’s not for you.”

Also Tim had no idea if Bruce had built up a tolerance to this particular poison when he had trained with Ra’s. A conversation to be had in the future when everyone was a little more recovered. Tim didn’t think he was up to telling Bruce everything that had happened just yet.

He handed the plate of sandwiches to Bruce, who stopped eyeing his coffee so he could eye the sandwiches distrustfully. “PB&J,” he said, “and tuna. Either Alfred is mad at me about something, or some of these are for you.”

Tim put the bottle of water down on the bedside table and took a seat on the edge of the bed, coffee cup cradled between his palms. “Alfred works in mysterious ways.”

Bruce huffed a little laugh and took one of the tuna sandwiches. “I find he tends to be pretty straight forward actually.” He leaned back against the headboard a little and took a big bite of the sandwich.

It was a relief to see him eat. He hadn’t had much of an appetite at first after they’d gotten him back, so even a tuna fish sandwich felt a little bit like a victory. “You’ve known him longer. The mystique has worn off.”

Bruce grinned at him. “What about me, Tim, has my mystique worn off?”

Tim hid a grin behind a quick gulp of coffee. Damnit, why did Damian have to make it so well? “I’d say it was well and truly tarnished the first time you scratched your ass in front of me.”

“Could have been worse,” Bruce said. “You don’t want to know when Jason decided Batman wasn’t so cool.”

“Was it when he hit you with a tire iron?” Tim asked. “Because I feel like that might have been a defining moment.”

Bruce mock scowled and nudged Tim’s hip with his knee. “To be honest, I think with Jason the mystique was all on Robin’s side. That was the magic. I was just some asshole in a mask.”

“If it helps any, you’re my favorite asshole in a mask.” Tim took another sip of coffee and waited a beat, just till Bruce got that soft, startled look he got whenever he was reminded that his kids actually liked him. “You know, aside from Blue Beetle.”

“Traitor,” Bruce said. His mouth curled up in what looked like an involuntary grin. “You’re out of the will.”

“I already own your company, and I have the trust fund from my mom.” Tim shrugged. “There’s a point where a guy doesn’t really need more, B. But if you disown me I’ll act sad in Alfred’s general vicinity and he’ll yell at you.”

“No disowning,” Bruce said instantly. “No one gets disowned.” He leaned forward a little and gripped Tim’s knee. It was hesitant, like Bruce wasn’t sure what kind of touch was right in this situation, or if Tim even wanted to be touched at all, but firm once he committed. “I know things are hard with Damian right now.”

Tim took a deep breath. “Look, we don’t have to-”

“Do you remember what I told you when he first came here?”

Tim blinked at him. “No? I - there was kind of a lot.”

“I told you that you had nothing to prove to me. Part of that is because you’re the most capable, dedicated, intelligent young man I’ve ever met. But most of it is because you’re my son. You’ve been my son since long before either of us signed those adoption papers, and you’ll be my son no matter how old you get, or how emancipated you are, or-” his gaze flickered over Tim’s face for a second, “or how many times you and Damian fight.”

“I’m trying,” Tim said helplessly. He could feel heat prick at the back of his eyes, tightness at the back of his throat. He took another gulp of coffee to ease it. “I know he’s just a little kid, I know he’s messed up from the League. I promise I’m trying.”

“I know you are. And-” Bruce blew out a heavy breath. “Look, Damian has been taking his insecurity out on you since he got here. I know it, Dick knows it, and most of all Damian himself knows it. We’re working on it, I promise.”

Tim nodded because what else was there to do.

“Damian doesn’t speak for me,” Bruce said. “I heard a little bit of your argument yesterday and you have to know I never felt that way.”

His grip was tight on Tim’s knee, like he was afraid of the answer. Tim got it. Like Bruce, Tim wasn’t always good at getting his feelings across - he thought, probably, that’s part of how things got so bad between him and Dick and, to a lesser extent, Alfred. “Maybe a little bit that first week.”

Bruce snorted, then looked abashed. “Of all the things I thought about the kid who showed up and saved my life, stray was never the word that came to mind.”

Tim gave him a bit of a hairy eyeball, just on the principle of the thing.

“Stalker, maybe,” Bruce said. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes were. “Strange. Brilliant.” He squeezed Tim’s knee again. “A miracle I never expected or deserved.”

“B,” Tim protested.

“I know it must hurt, hearing him say those things-”

“B, no.” Tim grabbed Bruce’s forearm with one hand and squeezed. “It’s not - I don’t think he’s right. It’s not like that.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that.” Bruce’s forehead furrowed just a little bit. “But if you know Damian’s full of shit, then why does it upset you so much?”

Tim was halfway through another gulp of coffee and ended up inhaling half of it by mistake. He sputtered, more out of amusement than anything else, while B laughed at him and patted him on the back like he was a choking victim. “Language,” he gasped when he finally managed to stop coughing. “What would Alfred say?”

“He’d make me put a fifty in the swear jar,” Bruce said. “But Alfred’s not here. Tell me why you were so upset.”

Tim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Just because I know it’s not true doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck to hear it all the time,” he said slowly. “And. Just because I know it’s not true doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice if someone besides me told him he was wrong. Or told him to stop attacking me all the time.”

Bruce drew in a sharp breath. “I was under the impression that the physical attacks had stopped.”

Tim grimaced. “He hasn’t done anything since you came back.”

Bruce pressed his lips into a thin line. “But he has done something since you came back.”

The billboard could have been a coincidence. It wasn’t, but it could have been. Cutting Tim’s line though, that had been undeniable.

“He wasn’t trying to kill me,” Tim said finally. Because he’s almost certain that’s true. “I handled it.”

“No more handling it,” Bruce said. “I don’t care if he’s not trying to kill you, there are to be no more physical attacks.”

“I broke his nose while you were gone,” Tim admitted.

Bruce sighed. “Have children, they said. Greatest joy in your life, they said. Never have a second of doubt, they said.”

“Hey,” Tim said. “I’m a goddamn delight.”

Bruce let go of his knee and tapped two fingers against Tim’s cheek. “You’re a hellion. I have a list of all the child-induced anxiety attacks I’ve had and you’re in the running for first place.”

“Bet that’s Dick,” Tim said.

“In his defense, he’s been here a lot longer. You put some serious energy into giving me a heart attack.”

“My original job description was to literally stop you from dying,” Tim said.

Bruce took Tim’s chin with his thumb and held him still so Bruce could look him in the eye. “That was never your job. You saved me just by being there, but it wasn’t your job to do it.”

Tim took a deep breath past the rush of pride in his chest, and the remembered fear of a twelve-year-old watching his heroes fall apart. “Well I’m gonna keep doing it anyway.” He grinned at Bruce. “Gotta keep my second-favorite asshole in a mask alive, after all.”

“You’re such a liar,” Bruce said easily. “First of all, everyone knows Ted Kord was no asshole. Second of all, you weren’t following him around the city with a camera.”

“You’re right,” Tim said solemnly. “So you’re in third place then, after Ted and Dick.”

Bruce glowered. “I’m going to eat all your sandwiches for that.”

“You hate PB&J,” Tim said.

“I’ll choke them down out of spite.”

“That does sound like something you’d do.”

Bruce sat back and let go of Tim’s face. “You have a migraine.”

“It’s creepy when you do that,” Tim said. He took a deep breath. “It’s fine. I took something. And yes, I ate.”

“Jason said something about you being sick last night. How long?”

Tim sighed. “A couple days.”

Bruce frowned at him. “Stay in tonight.”

Tim narrowed his eyes at Bruce. “Is Jason just snitching me out to everyone?”

“No.” Bruce made a face and said, “He snitched you out to Dick. Dick ratted you out to me.”

“Speaking of traitors,” Tim grumbled.

“You know it’s not a good idea to patrol while impaired,” Bruce said. He didn’t even blink when Tim pinned him with a disbelieving glare. “It’s true.”

“You literally tried to go on patrol with a broken arm once.”

“That’s different.” Bruce took a big bite of tuna sandwich. “I’m Batman.”

“And what am I?”

“Batman’s son,” Bruce said. “It’s different. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

Tim contemplated throwing something at him, but he wasn’t actually mad about it. It was kind of nice, actually, knowing Bruce was worried. There had been a long while without anyone to worry about him, and Tim was kind of surprised to realize how much he’d missed that. And if he was in the manor while Dick and Damian were patrolling he could be a little selfish and get Bruce to himself for a bit. “I’ll stay in and work on some cold cases, how’s that?”

“Eat a sandwich and I’ll consider it.”

Tim eyed the two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches left on the plate. Normally he loved PB&J, especially as a post-patrol snack, but at the moment the sight just made his stomach roll over a little. “If I don’t, how much trouble am I in?”

“None.”

But he’d rat Tim out to Alfred as soon as he could. Tim knew how this family worked. It was one big circle of secrets and tattling.

Tim sighed and held out his hand. “Give me the damn sandwich.”

Chapter Text

Hushed voices tugged Tim out of sleep.

They were familiar; he knew they were safe even before he recognized them as Bruce and Dick, his subconscious eliminating them as a threat before he was even awake. Nothing sounded bad, or urgent, so Tim drifted for a moment. The pounding in his head was a distant ache at the moment, and he knew the instant he woke up it would get a lot more uncomfortable. For now he was warm, and comfortable, and with the two people in the world he knew could handle whatever might come up, so he could afford to just drift for a bit.

Although why were Bruce and Dick in his room?

A hand combed through his hair and Tim frowned, shifting his head a little to follow the touch. “What?” he managed to say, voice a little scratchy to his own ears.

“He lives.” Dick’s voice was low, teasing. “I thought you were going to sleep through dinner.”

Tim tried to say something but all that came out was a vaguely confused humming sound. He forced his eyes open, and blinked until his brain caught up with him. “Dick?”

“Alfred corrupted the hell out of a perfectly good dinner for you, Timbo. You think you’ll be able to come downstairs and have some?”

“Peas are good, you goddamn heathen.” Tim licked his lips and forced his eyes back open when they drifted shut.

Dick was leaning over him, a hint of a grin on his lips. “Not in pasta they aren’t, you lunatic.”

Tim made a rude sound and burrowed a little deeper into the pillow and blankets. “I don’t take culinary criticism from a guy who puts Lucky Charms on his toast.”

“Dick, that sounds disgusting.” Bruce’s voice came from somewhere above Tim, and a hand combed through his hair again, tugging just a little at the ends. “And nutritionally lacking.”

“I once saw Tim put back an entire case of Zesti without getting up from the computer,” Dick said. “My toast with butter, jam and deliciousness is not his to judge.”

“I want you to know that I’m deeply ashamed of you both.”

Tim blew a raspberry into the pillow, and Dick laughed.

“Come on, kiddo, time to wake up.” Bruce’s hand moved to grip Tim’s shoulder. Tim absolutely did not whine like a sleepy child. “Do you want to get up and go join your brothers for dinner or should I ask Alfred to bring you a plate when he brings mine?”

Making extra work for Alfred would just make Tim feel guilty, but he really didn’t want to move. Rolling over and going back to sleep sounded like the best plan except that Alfred had made Tim’s favorite just for him after Tim had been a total shit to him the day before and skipping dinner would make him an ungrateful monster.

Tim groaned into the pillow. “I’m up.”

“You kind of aren’t,” Dick said.

Tim found the strength to stick his arm out from under the covers and flip him off. He ignored Dick’s faux-outraged squawk and levered himself upright.

He was in Bruce’s bed.

“Um,” he said. He could feel a flush start to spread across his face, and resisted the urge to clutch the blankets to his chest like a scandalized sorority girl faced with a panty raid. “Um, why am I here?”

Dick was grinning at him with that stupid look he got sometimes when he thought Tim was being a dumbass (adorable, Dick called it, but it largely coincided with Tim doing something dumb so, Dick was clearly just enjoying his pain). He didn’t say anything though because Bruce just coughed a little and said, “You weren’t feeling well after lunch. I think the sandwich disagreed with you.”

Right. Tim vaguely remembered closing his eyes against the nausea for a moment. “Sorry, Bruce. I didn’t think I was that out of it.”

Bruce was sitting up on the side of the bed. At some point he’d changed into a t-shirt and sweats, and Tim could see his laptop open on the writing desk in the corner. “It’s fine, you looked like you needed the rest anyway.”

Tim kind of hated to admit that was true. Even now he felt like he was just dragging. He thought if he laid back down he could probably sleep till morning.

“You do look kind of wasted, Timbo.” Dick’s grin had faded to something a little more sympathetic. “Maybe you should stay in tonight, huh?”

It wasn’t anything Bruce hadn’t already said, or anything Tim hadn’t already admitted to, but he could feel his back going up anyway. “I don’t take orders from you anymore, remember? Since we’re equals and all.”

And you’re not really Batman anymore, he thought with a vicious sort of satisfaction he wasn’t at all proud of but felt nonetheless. The real Batman is back and you can stop trying to be something you weren’t supposed to be.

Dick pulled back about a half a step from the side of the bed before he caught himself. “All right,” he said. He sounded a little startled, which just managed to make Tim more annoyed. “Just checking.”

It wasn’t fair. Tim knew it wasn’t fair. But part of him wanted Dick to know he was still upset with him.

“I’m going to change for dinner,” he said, though the idea of food was even less appealing now than it had been at lunch. “Sorry again,” he said, avoiding Bruce’s eyes so he didn’t have to deal with whatever he would see there, “about stealing your bed.”

He changed quickly, determinedly not thinking about whatever Bruce and Dick might be talking about after that little scene. He splashed some cold water on his face and ran his fingers through his hair until it looked slightly less like a bird’s nest, then took a deep breath and went downstairs.

Damian liked the peas. Tim felt absurdly vindicated when Dick stared at the younger boy in betrayal.

He managed to keep dinner down, his earlier nausea having mostly been replaced by an exhaustion that seemed to go down to his bones and a deepening of his already obnoxious migraine. He did turn down dessert, but when Alfred brought him a cup of hot chocolate, he couldn’t resist and lingered at the table, taking small sips while Damian argued with Dick about whether adding harpoons to the Batmobile would help deter crime or just end up in someone getting accidentally speared through the torso. Damian was of the opinion that the second would lead to the first and had apparently gone so far as to draw up some rudimentary sketches.

The kid was a psycho, but if they weren’t talking about literal murder it would be kind of cute.

“Tim,” Dick said, a little exasperated.

Tim glanced at him out of the corner of his eye without moving his head even a centimeter, mentally willing Dick not to drag him into this. “Yeah.”

“Tell Damian that eleven-year-olds aren’t supposed to be designing ballistic weapons in their spare time.”

Tim took another sip of his hot chocolate and tried to remember what he’d been passionate about at ten. Batman and Robin, obviously. Sherlock Holmes. Star Trek. “When I was ten I designed a series of near-fatal boobytraps Kevin-McCallister style all around the house in case someone wanted to steal my parents’ artifact collection to fund a criminal empire.” He took another slow sip. “Oh and I caught the Bowery Bludgeoner.” He tipped his head to the side. “No ballistic weapons though.”

“The Bludgeoner killed eleven people.”

“That they could prove.”

Dick was watching him with hooded eyes. “How. Why - You were ten.”

“I figured out who Batman was when I was nine,” Tim pointed out. Across the table Damian startled and turned to stare at him, brow creased and eyes narrowed. “The Bludgeoner wasn’t trying nearly as hard.”

Dick opened his mouth, then appeared to think twice about whatever he was going to say. “Did you end up braining your father with a paint can?”

“No,” Tim said. He finished off his hot chocolate and pushed back from the table. “But I did trap Catwoman in a net.”

“Your childhood confuses and upsets me,” Dick said.

“You think you’re upset,” Tim said. “Do you know how long it took to clean all that up before my parents found out?”

It had taken the better part of a week to undo everything he’d set up, even with Selina’s amused assistance. But it hadn’t mattered, his parents had pushed the arrival back by nearly a month after they got called out to some museum opening in… Prague? Brussels maybe. Tim hadn’t bothered retaining the details.

Tim’s stomach churned uneasily and he set the cocoa down carefully, breathing in slowly.

“What’s wrong with you?” Damian demanded.

“He has a headache,” Dick said. “Be a little quieter until he feels better, all right?”

Damian huffed a little but didn’t deliberately slam his plate or anything so it felt like a win. “If Drake is not going to eat his portion of dessert, we should not allow it to go to waste.”

Dick scrubbed a hand over his mouth, and even Tim had to purse his lips a little to hide a grin. “Wasting food is irresponsible,” Tim agreed. “There are starving kids in Crime Alley.”

Damian straightened up in his chair and tilted his head at Tim. He looked like a confused bird. “I think a single slice of raspberry lemon cake would not make a significant impact-”

“It’s a figure of speech,” Tim said. “Something dumb parents tell their kids to remind them they should be grateful for what they have. But you’re right, it’s a shame to let Alfred’s baking go to waste. If you and Dick want to split my slice you can.”

“That seems best,” Damian said, which was probably the closest the kid had ever come to agreeing with Tim.

Alfred brought out two more plates with Tim’s slice perfectly portioned out between them. Dick caught Tim’s eye across the table and smiled.

Tim couldn’t have stopped himself from returning that smile if he’d wanted to.

When Dick got back from patrol he would apologize for snapping, he told himself. Yeah, he had a legitimate right to be annoyed about yesterday, but biting everyone’s head off like a cranky teenager wasn’t the way to handle it, or to get Dick to take him seriously.

He trailed after the two of them as they headed down to the Cave. He wasn’t about to admit it, but if he hadn’t already decided to stay in, he probably would have been changing his mind. Dinner sat heavily in his stomach, which was threatening a rebellion with every movement, and his legs felt both heavy and weak. He took the stairs down slower than he normally would have, and by the time he reached the bottom he felt shaky and tired.

He caught Dick watching him, expression pinched, though it smoothed out when Dick caught his eye. Tim arched an eyebrow but his brother didn’t bring it up again. “Want to warm up with me?”

“Not tonight,” Tim said. “I’m pulling some of B’s cold cases from before he left. I’m going to see if I can make any headway.”

“You think you can solve a case Father didn’t?” Damian asked. The kid was half stripped over by the lockers, tugging a thin black tank top over his head while he spoke, muffling his words. His hair, when his head popped out the other end, was sticking up from static electricity.

“Yes,” Tim said, refusing to rise to the bait. “Sometimes we go into a case with our own preconceived ideas, so a second set of eyes can bring a fresh perspective and notice things we’ve missed or dismissed. It’s why we rotate cases. Dick’s helped me a bunch of times, and Jason and I have been working each other’s cases on and off since I got back. Also,” he added when Damian opened his mouth, an aggressive glint in his eyes, “some of these cases were active when B disappeared. So it’s not that he couldn’t solve them, but that he didn’t get the chance to and they’ve gone cold while he was gone. So it’s important to get to them before even more time passes. The longer we go without answers, the less likely it is that we can catch whoever did it and keep them from doing it again. You’ll do the same with your cases if you ever hit a wall.”

Damian closed his mouth and seemed to be actually chewing on that a little. “I do not have any cases,” he said finally. It sounded begrudging, like admitting to that was a failing that he was prepared to accept judgment for.

Good, Tim thought but didn’t say. He didn’t care what sort of horrors the League had exposed Damian to, he was too young to have to see some of the things those casefiles held without supervision and support. Also, unless Dick had worked an absolute miracle in the last few months, Damian was way too inexperienced to be responsible for an active, time-sensitive case on his own. He knew better than to put it that way though. “That’s just because Dick’s almost as bad a control freak as Bruce is-”

Dick’s face did something convoluted and vaguely offended. “Coming from you-”

“Bruce and I are going to review these tonight and reassign them,” Tim said. “Since Jason’s got a full load at the moment I’ll give you his share. Don’t tell him, though, he’ll just be offended we had to do his work for him.”

Dick snorted, but he didn’t object to Tim cheerfully tossing Jason under the bus like that. And Damian’s chin went up, eyes glittering with satisfaction.

“All right, hit the mats,” Dick said. “Timmy, you got a second?”

“Yeah.” Tim took the comfy chair at the computer - Bruce’s chair, he thought with a rush of relief. Bruce’s chair, still, again. “What’s up?”

Dick watched him drop into the seat with a sigh of relief but again chose to keep his mouth shut which was possibly a miracle. “A lot of those cases have been cold the entire time,” Dick said. There was a crease between his eyebrows, and his mouth was a thin line. “I haven’t touched most of them, if any.”

“Yeah,” Tim said. “I figured.” Dick grimaced a little, and Tim realized his brother was taking it as a criticism. Or a reprimand. “Dick. When the hell would you have had the time?”

“It was kind of my job to make time.”

“There are only so many hours. You had to prioritize.”

Dick folded his arms over his chest and stared at the screen, where Tim hadn’t gotten any further than the main file. “It was my job to prioritize.”

“You did.” Tim shrugged, looked at the keyboard. His chest hurt a little, and his head throbbed angrily and it wasn’t all from the migraine.

“Bruce would’ve-”

“Bruce had more help than you did.”

Dick closed his eyes. “Tim.”

“He did. Bruce had us, Dick. And Babs and the girls, but you only had Oracle while we were gone.”

Dick started to shake his head but he stopped himself before he could do more than jerk his chin a little. “He managed just fine before us.”

It hurt to see his brother doubting himself like that. Also, objectively, he was just wrong. “Are you sure about that? Cause the last time I checked he was a hot mess all over the city without us.”

Dick sputtered with surprised laughter, turning to look at Tim finally. “Timmy.”

Tim just arched a single eyebrow at him. “Do you even remember how I got that job?” He let himself grin a little, then leaned forward and caught one of Dick’s wrists, tugging a little until Dick let his arms fall away from his chest. “Seriously, though. You thought B was dead. Cass and I were gone. Jason was… Jason had his own stuff to handle. You had Steph and Barbara, but they mostly worked their own patrols. Alfred’s a miracle worker, but he doesn’t work cases. On top of all of that the city was on fire, you had to deal with Wayne Enterprises which I know is literally your worst nightmare, and you were grieving. Also you’d just become a single parent to a tiny, angry, rabid mountain lion pretending to be a kid. When the hell were you supposed to be working cold cases?”

“I still feel like I should have held it together better. I can see a hundred different ways I could have been more efficient, more proactive, just-” Dick sighed.

“The problem with hindsight is that it only shows us our mistakes when it’s too late to do anything about them,” Tim said, and the weight of a thousand mistakes colored his words and hung in the air between them. “Trust me, Dick. You’re not the only one who could have been better.”

Dick twisted his hand in Tim’s grip until he could clasp Tim’s wrist back. “You came back alive. That was literally the only thing we wanted for you that entire time. I didn’t need you to do anything better. I just needed you back.” He squeezed Tim’s hand and exhaled. It was shaky, and Tim squeezed his wrist harder. “Although I’m not complaining about bringing Bruce with you, that was a nice bonus.”

Tim grinned and rolled his eyes, wincing a little as it sent a spike through his brain. “Well, I figured as long as I was at it,” he said dryly.

Dick laughed and tousled Tim’s hair with his free hand, gentler than he normally would have, in deference to Tim’s brain trying to murder him. “Smart ass,” he said. “Thank you. For working with Dami. He’s, ah…” Dick shot a quick look toward the mats to make sure Damian was well out of hearing range. “We’re still working on detective skills. But he’s smart and he knows how to put stuff together.”

“What’s his general forensic knowledge like?”

“Hit or miss. Not a priority with the League, but if it involves a stabbing victim or any kind of poison he’ll probably surprise you.”

Tim nodded. Not as much as you think, he thought ruefully. “I’ll take a look and see what’s in there. Do you want to review them before I reassign them to Robin?”

Dick looked surprised. “Why would I need to?” He squeezed Tim’s wrist one last time then let go. “Okay, I need to start getting ready.” He visibly hesitated, then asked, in a casual voice, “Are you joining us at all tonight?”

God Tim loved this dork. He felt even worse for snapping at him. “Not tonight,” Tim said. “I’m going to overdose on Aleve and convince Alfred to make me six more cups of cocoa while I try to knock some of these cases out. But call me if you guys run into anything or need backup and I’ll come.”

“I will. Save some cocoa for me.”

“No,” Tim said ruthlessly.

“You’re a monster, Timmy.”

Tim bared his teeth in a mock growl, and turned back to the computer as Dick walked away, laughing.

Chapter Text

“Drake.”

Tim dragged his head out of a stack of photos from a murder in Chinatown and had to blink for a moment before things stopped superimposing themselves over his surroundings. “Al Ghul,” he said.

Damian scowled at him but visibly restrained himself from snapping. “I prefer to be addressed as Wayne, if you desire a more formal structure to our interactions.”

“Sure,” Tim said. “Me too.”

The little demon child scowled furiously. “That would only create confusion.”

“Okay, but then what do we call Bruce? It was his name first.”

It was a little mean, Tim admitted, but watching Damian visibly seething, but also so confused by Tim’s lighthearted tone, was kind of hilarious. “What did you need, anyway?”

“I don’t need anything from you,” Damian snapped. “Pennyworth requested that I bring you this.” He had a travel mug in his right hand, which he slammed down on the console so hard that it might have insulted his mother at some point.

“Hot chocolate nectar of the gods,” Tim said, snatching the mug up almost before Damian could let go. “Sweet chocolatey heaven. Oh god there are marshmallows and whipped cream.”

“You’re an idiot and insane,” Damian said. The scorn in his voice was heavy but Tim was too tired to really care.

He knew what Damian thought of him, anyway. It wasn’t like it was news.

“You guys heading out?”

“Momentarily,” Damian said. “But first, Pennyworth wants to know if you need a snack.”

“No, I’m good. Don’t worry about it, I’m running upstairs to talk to Bruce about something in a minute anyway. I’ll let Alfred know.”

Damian glared at him. “Why do they coddle you?”

The funny thing was, that was a question Tim had had himself when he first started considering the Manor home. “Because we care about each other and we don’t like seeing each other unhappy or unwell. They’ll do the same thing when you get sick,” Tim added gently. “Probably worse since you’re the youngest. Bruce used to freak out every time I got a cough. Dick’s a fucking disaster to be around when people are sick.”

Dick’s voice echoed from the other side of the Cave, where he was currently planking on the calisthenic rings. “I am a fucking bastion of nurturing love and support, you little shit!”

Tim caught Damian’s eye and kept his expression completely solemn. “You’ll pray for death after day two of Dick trying to emotionally smother the sickness out of you.”

Damian’s eyes widened only a little, turning to eye Dick warily.

“All I want,” Dick said mournfully, still planking. “Is one sibling who appreciates normal human affection.”

“Gross,” Tim said.

“Damian, take the cocoa back, he doesn’t deserve it.”

Damian eyed the travel mug like he was actually going to do it. Tim clutched it against his chest and hissed like an angry cat. “I will fight you to the death.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “Your death, perhaps,” he said haughtily. “Your physical health puts you at an even greater disadvantage than you normally are. I could cut you down easily like this.”

“No cutting!” Dick yelled.

Tim grinned and leaned forward on his chair. “I may have a headache,” he said in a voice low enough Dick couldn’t hear, “but when I destroyed your grandfather’s base and defeated his personal guard, I had been run through with a spear and had surgery done on me in a cave less than 24 hours earlier.” He leaned back, smiling brightly at the look on Damian’s face. “Don’t let Dick bully you into doing his dirty work.”

“Okay, stop slandering me, get back to work.” Dick lowered himself to an upright position. Tim’s abs ached just looking at him. “Dami, get suited up, we’re rolling out.”

Damian shot Tim another narrow-eyed glare but took off running. Tim clutched his hot chocolate to his chest and bared his teeth at Dick when his brother looked like he might try to reach for it.

It took a couple of hours to sort through the cold case files and by the time Tim had everything sorted out and organized into workable categories his eyes hurt so badly he could barely resist closing them, and the pounding in his head was bad enough that it was making him nauseous. Or possibly that was just his stomach rebelling, Tim wasn’t sure.

Definitely not a caffeine headache though. He sat back and closed his eyes, covering them with his hands for a long moment while he breathed through a surge of nausea. He hoped he wasn’t getting sick. He didn’t have time to get sick.

He breathed for a long moment until his stomach felt a little quieter, then levered himself to his feet. He felt wasted, even more tired than he had to begin with. His limbs felt heavy, deadweight attached to him at the hip and shoulder, and the very idea of climbing the stairs to the Manor made him seriously consider spending the night on the mats in the Cave.

He took a deep breath and adjusted that thought. Alfred would be horrified if he fell asleep on the mats, even the super cushy ones beneath the gymnastics rig. He’d have to drag himself to the Medbay and sleep there. Alfred would still be dismayed, but less likely to outright despair. Tim was used to Alfred being dismayed - over Tim’s caffeine consumption, sleeping habits, lack of sleeping habits.

He was babbling inside his own head just so he didn’t have to move.

It took whatever willpower he had left to drag himself up the stairs to the Manor. It was after midnight, and the kitchen was silent, and most of the lights were off, Alfred having gone to bed since Tim and Oracle were both around to listen in on comms.

The Manor felt different these days. Tim lingered at the bottom of the stairs, listening to the almost inaudible sound of the air coming through the hidden vents, fingers curled around the smooth polished wood of the railing. Not bad, not better, just different. It was still home, but it wasn’t the same home it had been before Bruce’s “death.” Or maybe Tim just wasn’t the same person he’d been back then and that was why nothing seemed quite the same as it had before.

Tim skimmed his fingers over the railing and wondered if this was what normal people his age felt like after coming back from college for the first time. Or after moving out and getting their own place. Maybe this weird feeling, half nostalgia and half familiarity, was one of the few normal things about him.

Or maybe it was midnight and he was being moody instead of getting work done.

Bruce was still awake because of course he was, though he’d abandoned the bed for his desk. He was reviewing some kind of financials when Tim came in, though he ignored them quick enough to go through the cases Tim had reviewed. “I’m separating a few out for Damian,” Tim said, passing Bruce his tablet. “He’s expressed an interest in working cases of his own.”

Bruce nodded, flipping through Tim’s notes. There were four altogether, a light load comparatively. It was enough to get Damian’s feet wet, but not so many that Dick or Bruce couldn’t monitor his progress or coach him through the investigative work without losing track of their own work. Mostly forensic focused, a couple of robberies, and an embezzling case since the kid needed to learn financials if he was going to keep doing this. Tim had thrown in a murder just so Damian wouldn’t think he was being coddled, but not a particularly horrific one.

His stomach gave an unpleasant twist and Tim breathed deeply for a minute, trying to settle it. Instead another swell of nausea hit and Tim ground his teeth together, dragging in a deep breath of air through his nose.

“Tim?” Bruce was looking up from the tablet, forehead creased as he pinned Tim in his gaze. “Are you all right?”

Shaking his head sent a spike of pain through his brain, and Tim took a half step back, suddenly aware he’d screwed up.

This wasn’t a caffeine headache, and he’d been ignoring pretty obvious signs that he was coming down with something. The flu maybe, or some kind of bug, something he’d picked up from patrol, or at the office.

Something he’d picked up and brought back to the Manor. Brought back to Bruce, who was still (weak) recovering.

God he’d been so selfish, wanting one on one time, falling asleep in Bruce’s bed, when he was currently the biggest threat to Bruce’s health. He’d put Batman in danger and by extension the entire city.

Put his father in danger. Again.

“Tim?”

“Gotta-” Tim barely managed that far before his stomach heaved again and he bolted from the room.

He made it to the hall bathroom just in time, knees hitting the tile with a painful thud that jarred his bones.

He hadn’t actually eaten much that day, which meant it was over pretty quick, leaving him gasping for breath and trying to spit the taste out of his mouth. His stomach was still upset, but it was background noise now, more easily ignored.

A hand was laid on his back, between his shoulder blades, but Tim was too exhausted to startle. “You should keep back,” he said. He braced his elbows on the toilet seat and let his head hang down a little while he waited to see if he could risk moving. “Don’t want you to get what I have.”

“I’ll be all right,” Bruce said. The touch vanished for a moment, and Tim heard the tap come on. Then Bruce was back, a hand on Tim’s shoulder and another holding out a cup of water.

Tim rinsed his mouth out gratefully and spat into the toilet. Bruce urged him back and he went down on his ass, leaning against the wall while Bruce hit flush to get rid of the worst of the stink. He concentrated on his breathing and trying to steady the tremors in his arms and hands. God he felt like garbage all of a sudden.

Bruce crouched down next to him. “Do you need to stay here for a bit?”

Tim tipped his head back against the wall and breathed heavily in a way that was intended to indicate yes, I am miserable, please leave me here to die. Bruce seemed to get the gist of it because he just stayed there for a few moments, fingers combing through Tim’s bangs occasionally.

Sometimes another hero would comment about how they couldn’t believe Batman had so many kids, or act surprised when he pulled a total dad move. Tim never understood that. Bruce had been so protective of Dick and Jason, had gone so far out of his way to watch over them, to encourage them. Even Tim, who hadn’t been his kid, had seen that side of him. Not just as Bruce, either, but Batman himself. More than his actual father had been, to be honest. Tim loved Jack, Tim still missed Jack with a grief that felt like broken ribs, but he’d missed Bruce like someone had cut off his leg.

“I’m really glad you’re back,” he said, tears stinging at the back of his eyes. It might have been the illness, but it probably wasn’t.

Bruce cupped the side of his face. “Me too,” he said. “Come on, let’s get you off the floor. Alfred will have my head if I let you stay here.”

Tim thought moving sounded like the second worst idea he’d heard all day, right after arming the Batmobile with a harpoon, but Bruce took him by the arms and tugged and Tim had never really been good at resisting the pull of Batman, had he? He got to his feet with a graceless stagger that would have made Dick ashamed, and leaned against the wall for a minute while his head swam.

“Dizzy?” Bruce asked.

Tim hummed, because the second dumbest thing he’d done today would be to nod. “Came on fast,” he said, once he was sure he could talk without heaving again. “Had a headache before but. Not this bad.”

He let Bruce lead him out of the bathroom and down the hall, painfully aware that Bruce was still weak and shouldn’t be playing nursemaid. “I can get it,” he said. “Seriously, you shouldn’t risk catching whatever this is.”

“I’ll be fine,” Bruce said. “I just want to get you settled in.”

Tim wanted to argue but also he was a little concerned that if Bruce did leave, Tim might have to just lay down on the hall carpet and stay there till Dick came home because he wasn’t going to make it to his room by himself.

As it was he didn’t climb into his bed so much as crawl, and he’d still be lying there with his feet hanging off the edge if Bruce didn’t physically lift them up. Tim pressed his face into the pillow and tried to breathe deep and evenly while his stomach heaved futilely. He was aware of Bruce tugging off his shoes, and pulling the duvet up over his shoulders.

Bruce pressed his palm to Tim’s forehead. “I’m going to get Alfred.”

Tim licked his lips. “Don’t,” he said. “He deserves a night off once in a while.” He breathed deep and let himself go boneless, relaxing into the mattress. “I’ll live, I promise.”

He might throw up all over the floor, which would suck since that was where most of his laundry was. But he’d live.

“Where’s your phone?” Bruce didn’t wait for an answer, patting down Tim’s pockets until he found it and plugged it in on Tim’s bedside table. “I’ll have my phone. You call or text me if you get sick again, understand? Dick or I will come check on you later.”

Tim risked opening his eyes enough to see Bruce peering down at him, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Kay,” he said. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize for being sick,” Bruce said. He moved his hand to rest on top of Tim’s hair for a moment. “I’m glad you came home tonight.”

“Me too,” Tim said. He pulled in a deep breath and let his eyes drift closed again. “I missed you.”

He didn’t hear what Bruce might have said.

Chapter Text

Batman was upset.

Tim couldn’t piece together anything else, but he knew that much. He could hear it in his voice, the rough edge of fear that Batman didn’t usually show in the field - unless someone was injured.

Dick, Tim thought with a pang. Jason. Did something happen to Damian or Steph?

He couldn’t make out what Batman was saying, could only hear his voice as if from another room. Tim tried to focus in on it, but nothing seemed to quite make sense. Not gibberish, but as if Tim had literally forgotten what words meant. He tried to look around for him, but it was dark, and everything hurt, and he couldn’t quite make his eyes open.

Oh. He was injured.

That… was a problem.

Okay, step one. Open his eyes.

He tried, but the first attempt failed. Attempts two through four weren’t much better. Tim was exhausted, in a way he hadn’t felt since… since bleeding out into the dessert with Pru. Since he’d laid awake in his new place staring at the ceiling and wondering how things had gone so wrong with Dick. Since they brought Bruce’s body back. Since Connor died. Since Bart died. Since Steph died. Since his dad… Okay, so maybe he’d felt like this a lot lately.

“It wasn’t this bad before,” Batman said, terse and short.

Nightwing’s voice answered, but it was distant, far away and Tim couldn’t make it out. He wanted to open his eyes and call out to his brother, ask Dick to come back.

“Please,” he said. It sounded like a groan to his own ears. Just that one word took all the air in his lungs. He could feel panic thrumming in the back of his chest, but it was muted, distant. “Please.”

“Tim,” Bruce said. “Can you open your eyes for me?”

What do you think I’ve been trying to do, Tim thought irritably, but he pushed it back. Don’t snap, don’t be a jerk, for fuck’s sake, this is why Dick is leaving.

That thought pushed the panic higher up into Tim’s throat, and he forced his eyes open. “Dick.”

Bruce was kneeling beside Tim’s bed, leaning over him and frowning intently. One of his hands was pressed to Tim’s forehead, which Tim hadn’t even felt before. Checking for a fever. Right. Tim was sick.

“Hey, Timmy. You look like you aren’t feeling so hot right now.”

His older brother’s voice washed over him like a cold wave and Tim almost closed his eyes again. Dick was still there. He hadn’t left. “I’m sorry,” he said. His throat felt tight, and he had to choke the words out, raw and tearing a little on the way out, but he couldn’t let Dick leave. Not yet.

Dick’s face appeared hovering over Bruce’s shoulder, brows furrowed and mouth turned down at the corners. He never looked happy to see Tim lately, and the realization sent a spike of pain through Tim’s gut. “Sorry for what? You can’t help getting sick.”

Tim tried to shake his head, but his body was officially not listening to him anymore. “Sorry,” he said again. The spike of pain in his stomach twisted like a knife and Tim lost what little air he’d managed to get when he groaned.

“I don’t like how fast this came on,” Bruce said. Tim’s eyes flickered to him, latching onto Bruce’s steady presence. “Was he sick last night?”

“He had a headache,” Dick said. “He was dragging but not like this. I would have sent him upstairs if I’d known it was this bad.”

“M’okay,” Tim said. He took a deep breath, risked closing his eyes for a second. “Just sick. I’ll be okay.”

Someone knocked on the door, a short, imperious little rap that Tim’s exhausted brain recognized as Damian. Dick stood and disappeared from Tim’s line of sight.

“Have you been able to drink anything since last night?” Bruce asked. He combed a hand through Tim’s hair, his fingers pressing ever so gently against Tim’s scalp. It hurt, but it also felt amazing, and he couldn’t hold back the tired groan that escaped him. “I’m sorry bud, I know it hurts.”

Tim just closed his eyes and sort of shifted his head a little to the side. That was as close to a shake as he thought he could get without negative consequences. He could hear Damian say something, and Dick’s voice, lower and softer, then the door closed and Dick was back at Bruce’s side.

“Dami brought you your coffee,” Dick said. He was cradling a bright green coffee mug between his hands. “I think you should skip the caffeine boost this morning.”

Tim couldn’t even be bothered to argue about that one. He wanted to ask Dick to stay, wanted to tell Bruce to leave, wanted to roll over and hide his face in the pillow until everything stopped hurting. He had the energy to exhale in a way that hopefully sounded like acquiescence.

“I’m going to get Alfred,” Bruce said. He pushed himself up from the side of the bed with a grunt Tim could feel in his soul. “We’ll do some bloodwork, see if it’s a virus. I want to set up an IV too, get some fluids in him. Maybe bring the heart monitor up here too, his pulse is faster than I’d like it to be.”

“I’ll stay,” Dick said. “Tell Alfred to make me a list of what he needs from the Cave and I’ll haul it up once he’s here to keep an eye on Timbo.”

None of that required Tim’s input or cooperation so he concentrated on taking deep breaths, trying to control the pain in his stomach that was alternating between sharp stabbing spikes and the more twisty roil of nausea. This sucked so much. He hated getting sick.

Dick brushed a hand over Tim’s forehead. His fingers felt blissfully cool compared to Tim’s skin and he couldn’t help but whine a little as his brother stroked a thumb over Tim’s temple. “I know,” Dick said. His voice was low and soft, soothing, and Tim had to swallow against a rush of tears. That was the same voice Dick had used when Tim’s mom died, after Steph was killed. It was the same voice that had promised him everything would be okay when Tim finally gave up on his attempts to get to the Lazarus Pit after Conner and his dad died.

It was the voice Dick hadn’t had the time, or the strength, for after Bruce was gone, and Tim hadn’t realized until now how much he’d needed to hear it.

“Hey, none of that.” Dick moved his hand, brushed his fingers over Tim’s cheek instead. “I know, baby bro, I know. You’re gonna be all right, though.”

“I’m tired,” Tim whispered.

“You can rest as much as you need to,” Dick promised. “Alfred’s gonna come take a look at you, and once you feel a little better maybe we can have a few lazy days, what do you think? Homemade soup and fresh buttered popcorn and the absolute shittiest movies Netflix has to offer.”

“No popcorn in my bed,” Tim said, but he managed a smile that he actually felt. His limbs were getting heavy, and his head was starting to feel fuzzy again, staticky.

“I won’t tell Alfred if you don’t,” Dick said. He stroked his thumb over Tim’s cheekbone again, and raised the coffee cup to his lips.

Tim jerked. “Don’t,” he said. It came out as more of a gasp, but apparently it was strong enough for Dick to startle, spilling coffee over the edge of the mug with a curse.

“Tim,” Dick said, and the soft tone was gone. He sounded a little exasperated, a little amused, but it stung as badly as anger would have. “You absolutely cannot have coffee while you’re sick like this, come on.”

It took more strength than he thought he had left, but Tim managed to raise a hand to grab Dick’s wrist with shaking fingers. “Don’t drink it,” he said, but he could hear the words slurring as he tried to make his body obey him. “Don’t. Poison.”

Dick snorted. “Just because you like to inject the stuff directly into your veins, doesn’t mean it’s actually a drug. Am I gonna have to swap you out for decaf while you’re sick?”

“No.” Tim tried to grip Dick’s wrist harder but his hands were starting to shake so badly he wasn’t even sure if he could hold on much longer. “Poisoned.” His heart was pounding a mile a minute, but the rest of him felt numb, like the circulation was cutting off. “Damian’s been poisoning the coffee.”

“What?”

“Don’t drink it,” Tim said, again. Panic was beating dully in his chest, but he could barely feel it. He knew he needed to get up, to knock the mug away so Dick wasn’t hurt, but he couldn’t even keep his own eyes open. He tried one last time, lips numb and throat clenching around the words. “Dick-”

The room went dark. Tim could hear Dick yelling his name from far away but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t answer.

Chapter Text

Tim woke up without ever realizing he was asleep.

He remained still, kept his breathing even. He wasn’t in his apartment, or his room, or the medical bay at the Cave, he could tell that much. The pillowcase beneath his cheek was soft, but odorless, as if it had been sitting in a closet for months before being put on the bed, and there were none of the usual ambient sounds - no footsteps or distant sounds of the family moving around, none of the electronics or fans from down in the cave, no sound of clicking keys. But he could hear the sound of air being forced through a vent, smell something a little dusty, as if the vents hadn’t been cleaned in a while, hear the sound of birdsong through glass. Wherever he was, he was above ground.

He kept his eyes closed, stayed motionless. He didn’t hear anyone else in the room but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anyone watching him. He hurt everywhere, bone-deep and exhausting, with a pounding headache that made him dread opening his eyes. Beneath that, or on top of it, maybe, there was a different sort of ache, in his muscles and joints, that came from spending too much time in one position. He’d been in that bed for a while, then.

Still no sound in the room, so he risked opening his eyes, just a sliver at first, then, when nothing happened, all the way. The room was dim, but the light was still enough to send a spike of pain through his skull. He flinched, biting back a groan of pain. He blinked past a rush of tears, staring up at a slowly spinning ceiling fan.

He turned his head just enough to take in the rest of the room. It was empty, which was reassuring, and a bedroom, a fairly nice one, though everything was a little out of date, especially the wallpaper. The furniture was older, antiques for sure, and expensive looking. The mirror on the wall, the fixtures, and the light fixtures all looked like they wouldn’t be out of place in the Manor.

Being held prisoner in a fancy bedroom was a change from the usual. Tim felt a brief flare of concern that Ra’s was involved somehow, but this place didn’t look like his usual style.

There was medical equipment next to the bed, and Tim traced wires from the heart monitor to his chest. There was an IV in his right arm, with what looked like normal saline set up, but none of the other equipment was in use.

Tim eyed the IV a little warily, and took a bit of a mental inventory of himself to make sure he wasn’t missing any more internal organs, but as shit as he felt, none of it seemed to involve stabbing so that was a win.

He sat up a bit, and felt the tug on the inside of his arm from the IV needle.

If he’d had his head screwed on straight he might have hesitated, but he was tired and confused, and the IV set off something visceral in him. Had they been drugging him? Is that why he felt so foggy and tired?

The last time he woke up like that, an immortal madman ended up with his spleen in a mason jar.

Okay, yeah, time to get the hell out of Dodge. Tim rolled onto his side and started to sit up just as the door swung open.

He tried to play it off cool, like hey, no, not attempting to escape at all! Just stretching my legs after a long day of being incapacitated! He thought he’d have pulled it off if it wasn’t for the damn heart monitor giving him away.

His captor froze in the door. “Holy shit,” Jason said, “it lives.”

“What the fuck, Jason.” Tim slumped against the pillows and began re-evaluating his impression of the situation. “Where am I? What’s going on?”

“You’re in the East Wing,” Jason said, which explained the musty smell, and why Tim hadn’t recognized the room. The East Wing was for long term guests, which they never had, and Tim didn’t know if he’d ever been up there except for the occasional spring cleaning.

Tim wasn’t sure why he was there now. “Why?”

“Uh, cause you were being poisoned, dumbass.” Jason’s phone rang and he waved a hand in Tim’s direction before he could point out that wasn’t what he asked. “Hey, Alfie. Kid’s fine. Yeah, he’s kinda restless, that’s probably why the heart monitor kicked up.” He aimed a finger gun at Tim and grinned. It probably wasn’t meant to be vaguely threatening, and yet. “No, no, finish what you’re doing. If the kid needs you I’ll just start screaming.” He hung up and tossed his phone onto the bedside table before dropping into a chair positioned near the foot of Tim’s bed. It was set so Jason could see the door, the bed, and the windows all at once, like he’d been on watch. “I don’t lie to Alfred unless it’s a very good cause, so you’ve only got a couple minutes before I spill the beans that you’re awake.”

Tim frowned. “Why wouldn’t you tell him? Why would he care?”

“What part of poisoned are you having a hard time handling here?” Jason hooked his ankle over his opposite knee and leaned back. “You dropped that bomb on Dickie and then passed out. Nicely done, by the way. If complete pandemonium was what you were shooting for, you really nailed it.”

“I wasn’t,” Tim said. He looked at the equipment lined up next to the bed. “If I’m sick then why am I here instead of my room?”

“So the demon child can’t find you.” Jason pinned Tim with a rather intense look. “And that’s why I lied to Alfred about you being awake.”

“Because of Damian?”

“Because Damian has been trying to kill you. A lot, apparently,” Jason added in a frustrated voice. “You know, when I tried to kill you, everyone got pissed, but no, apparently if you’re a toddler, homicide is cute.”

“I know why I’m annoyed, but why are you pissed?”

“It’s blatant favoritism, isn’t it? God, little siblings get away with everything.” Jason scowled at Tim.

“Don’t look at me,” Tim said. “I don’t get away with much.”

“Right, cause if I had run away to join the League of Assassins I would have been grounded for a decade.”

“You did join the League of Assassins!”

Jason wrinkled his nose. “Eh. I fell in with the League. It’s not the same.”

“Sounds like semantics.” Tim caught his eyes slowly drifting shut and forced himself back awake. “Which still doesn’t explain why I’m in the East Wing instead of my own room.”

“I told you. So Damian can’t find you.” Jason shrugged. “Well, not easily anyway. He’d have to look door-to-door since Bruce cut him out of the security system. That’s why I’m here.”

“You’re here to… stop Damian from looking for me?”

“No, I’m here to make sure you don’t die in your sleep. Stephanie’s here to stop Damian from looking for you. She’s on demon-guarding duty this morning.” Jason laughed. “Little shit took one look at her face and just closed his bedroom door and hasn’t tried to come out since. Good to know your ex still gives a shit.”

Tim blinked at the ceiling. “I’m confused.”

“Probably brain damage from all the fucking poison.” Jason swung his foot back down to the floor and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped between them. “So. About that.”

“About the poison,” Tim said.

“Yeah. I heard quite an interesting story from the old man. Apparently Baby Dami’s been trying to kill you for a while now.”

Tim slumped back into the pillows. “Kill, not so much. I think he stopped actually trying to kill me a while ago.”

“Right, because I always poison the people I don’t want dead,” Jason said. “The part I found interesting was that apparently everyone else in your life knew about the murder attempts and the squirt’s still running around free.”

“I didn’t tell Dick about most of them.”

“Because you’re stupid.”

Tim frowned. “Hey.”

“Do you want to leave?” Jason asked. “Cause the second Bruce and the squad find out you’re awake they’re going to be in here. Right now everyone thinks you’re out for the count, and aside from Alfred and the changing of the guard, you’re mostly alone in here.”

“Changing of the guard?”

“I’ve got Tiny Tim guard duty from eight at night to eight in the morning. Alfred takes over so I can crash, and he stays till two in the afternoon, when Dickie comes in here and weeps over your scrawny ass until it’s time for me to take over again. Bruce comes by a couple times a day, and I’m pretty sure there’s at least one camera in here I haven’t found yet, so he probably checks in. Which might mean we have even less time than I thought. None of that is the point.”

Tim stared at him. “Guard me from what?”

“From the goblin child who’s been trying to kill you who the fuck do you think?” Jason pinned him with a glare that clearly indicated he didn’t think much of Tim’s problem solving skills. “The kid who’s apparently been trying to hurt you for a while now, and has clearly succeeded. Apparently now that it’s right in front of them, the gang’s all worked up.”

“Look, I told you, I think he’s mostly given up on the murdering me thing.”

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose, giving Tim the disconcertingly weird impression of a frustrated librarian who was built like a MMA champ. “Do we need to go over the concept of poison for you, Timbo?”

Tim frowned. “I don’t think he was trying to kill me, just-”

“Just poison you,” Jason said.

Tim was aware that antagonizing Jason did not traditionally end well for him, yet found himself unable to resist the urge. “Yeah, basically.”

“So we do need to revisit the concept of poison. You see, Timmy, when a tiny angry demon baby hates his brother very, very much-”

“Oh shut up.” Tim slumped back into the pillows and reconsidered putting effort into staying awake. If Jason was all he had to look forward to he might as well go back to sleep.

“Tim. We know about the grenade. And the time he cut your line.”

Tim couldn’t have hidden the flinch if he wanted to. “Shit. I didn’t want Dick to see that.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty.” Jason pushed himself to his feet and paced a few steps before he stopped and put his hands on his hips. “Alfred says there was other stuff, when he first got here, that maybe got brushed aside in all the chaos of Bruce…” Jason seemed to choke on the word for a second. “Disappearing. Or whatever. So the question is, do you feel safe being here while you’re recovering?”

“What are you going to do if I say no?” Tim asked. He blinked up at Jason, torn between confusion at where this was coming from and being kind of touched by the consideration. Confusion was mostly winning. “You going to take me home and nurse me back to health?”

The look Jason gave him could wither crops in the field. “The point of this is to keep you alive, dipshit. I’d drop you off in Kansas. Or San Francisco, if you want. Or somewhere Bruce doesn’t know about, if that’s better.”

Tim’s heart kicked against his ribs for a second. “Jason. Bruce isn’t a threat to me.”

“Okay.” Jason tilted his head to the side. “But is he going to keep you safe?”

Silence stretched between them for a second, thin but not stretched to breaking, and they both were thinking of a different son and a different threat. “I think he will,” Tim said slowly. He licked his lips, trying to figure out if this was going to trigger something in Jason’s unresolved baggage with Bruce and his only mostly resolved baggage with Tim. “And I think if he can’t, I know who to ask for help.”

Jason didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look pissed, either. “Superboy, right? Cause as soon as I’m out of here I’m losing your number.”

Tim laughed, or as much as he could when he felt like just sitting upright was leaving him out of breath. “You say that like Barbara wouldn’t patch me through the first time I asked just to listen to you complain.”

The door behind Jason swung open, and Dick was standing there, staring at Tim with a wide smile. “You’re awake! Jason, why didn’t you tell any-”

Jason took two big steps forward and slapped his hand over Dick’s mouth, muffling the rest of his sentence, and shoving Dick backwards into the hall. He shut the door after him with a slam, and twisted the lock.

“Um?” Tim said.

“I’m calling Alfred!” Dick threatened from the other side of the door. The doorknob rattled violently.

“If you can’t pick that lock on your own you don’t deserve to be in here,” Jason hollered back before turning to look at Tim again. “Kid. You’re good to stay?”

“I am. I think I know what Damian’s goal was.”

“Not as reassuring as you think it is,” Jason said. “Do you feel comfortable if I stay until we know for sure?”

“Yes?” Tim blinked at him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Tim,” Jason said. “He’s not the only one who’s hurt you.”

That was possibly the last thing Tim had been expecting Jason to say, so he could possibly be forgiven for staring at him in confused astonishment for a long couple of seconds. “We,” Tim licked his lips, mouth suddenly dry. “We talked about that. We’re good now?”

“Me implying I might have been a jerk to you and you inviting me to breakfast isn’t really talking about it, dumbass.”

Tim found himself kind of squinting in Jason's direction. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hard pass,” Jason said.

Tim nodded, resisting the urge to grin. “Good talk. Nice bonding moment.”

“God, Dickface really has ruined you, hasn’t he?” Jason sighed in a particularly put-upon manner, which Tim thought was kind of rich considering he was the one calling literally all the shots since Tim woke up. Which was all of ten minutes ago, but still. “Look, if you ever aren’t okay with me being around, just say so. I forfeited the right to be offended about it around five broken bones ago.”

“And a stab wound,” Tim said, because that one had felt kind of personal whereas they both knew Titans Tower had never been about Tim. “Uh. Thank you.” The words were weirdly thick in his throat and he coughed a little. “Jason. It means a lot to me that you asked.”

Jason scrunched up his nose like Bruce faced with peas in his carbonara. “Ugh, emotions. I’m letting Dick in to deal with you.”

Jason yanked the door back open and Alfred was standing there, one eyebrow raised in a way that conveyed vague disappointment. Dick stood behind him and was definitely smirking.

“Sorry, Alfred,” Jason said, completely sincerely. “I needed an uninterrupted moment.”

Alfred gave him a considering look as he stepped into the room and made straight for Tim’s bed. “Very well. I assume it was time-sensitive.”

“It kind of was,” Jason said.

“He was gonna steal me,” Tim said, unable to hide the grin even if he wanted to, which he didn’t. “Said if I was scared of Damian he’d nurse me back to health himself in a secret location.”

“I don’t do nursing,” Jason said automatically.

“I bet you’d be a great nurse.” Tim deliberately didn’t look at Jason so he couldn’t see the murder in his eyes. “Alfred, Jason would be a good nurse, don’t you think?”

The butler didn’t blink, though the corner of his mouth quirked up just a little. “An excellent one, in my estimation. One time, a year or so before you arrived, your father was quite ill with the stomach flu and Master Jason-”

“Never happened,” Jason said loudly. “One more word out of anyone about it and I start shooting.”

The hint of a smile vanished from Alfred’s face. “I believe I am quite done with listening to members of this family threaten violence upon each other.”

Tim dropped his eyes to the bedspread, feeling chastised even though he hadn’t been the one to say it. “Sorry.”

“Relax, Alfie, I wasn’t going to shoot the kid.” Jason waited half a beat and added, “I was gonna shoot Dickface-”

“That’s quite enough,” Alfred said, voice carrying over Dick’s indignant yelling and Jason’s laughter. “If you can’t behave yourselves, then I will ask you to leave. Master Tim does not need the stress or the commotion.”

“Shit, sorry,” Dick said, and he slid past Jason to perch carefully on the side of the bed. “Is your head still hurting? I can make Jason leave if he’s bothering you.”

“If I’m bothering-”

“Children,” Alfred said, and all three of them shut up.

“My head’s fine,” Tim said quietly. “The headache’s mostly gone.”

Alfred nodded, and took Tim’s hand, fingers resting over Tim’s pulse as he kept his eyes on his phone. “Your heart rate is steady, if a little faster than I’d like, and your color is much improved. Master Richard, please hand me the infrared thermometer, please.”

Tim held himself still while Alfred checked his temperature - he knew moving wasn’t going to mess anything up but he always felt like if he so much as breathed too heavily he’d mess up the reading. Dick settled back on the bed and combed his fingers through Tim’s hair.

“I’m gross,” Tim said.

“Please, this is nothing,” Dick said. His brother brushed Tim’s bangs back and smiled. “I saw you when you had the Clench. That was disgusting.”

“Way to make a guy feel even grosser,” Tim said. He didn’t pull away though, and Dick didn’t stop smoothing his hair.

“Your temperature is still a little high,” Alfred said, “but significantly improved over a few days ago. I am going to have to insist on at least another day of bed rest, and we can re-evaluate tomorrow.”

Tim thought about objecting for half a second, but there was a look on Alfred’s face that suggested he knew what Tim was considering, and that he was perfectly willing to call Tim’s bluff and let him fall flat on his face. Then he’d have Jason and Dick sit on him to keep him in bed.

Honestly, Dick would probably do it, the mother hen. Jason too, but maliciously.

“Can I have my phone?” Tim asked instead. “I need to check in with Tam and Lucius before they think I’ve skipped the country again.”

“Phone, yes. I will also allow books, board games, video games, movies, and even whatever YouTube atrocity you are calling entertainment this week. However no laptop and no work of either variety.” Alfred skewered him with a pointed glare before he could even think of objecting. “And let’s limit screentime to no more than an hour at a time until we’re certain your headache is completely gone.”

Tim nodded and smothered a yawn. He’d barely been keeping his eyes open to begin with and Dick petting his hair was lulling him back to sleep. He had a feeling even if he wanted to disobey Alfred, he wouldn’t stay awake long enough for it.

“Master Jason, would you please let your father know Master Tim is awake? I know he’ll want to speak with him.”

Jason slipped out the door while Alfred busied himself putting away the thermometer and checking the IV. Dick stroked the back of his fingers over Tim’s forehead, as if checking his temperature for himself. It felt nice. Tim didn’t realize how little human contact he got without Kon and Dick in his life. “Do you want to go somewhere else?” Dick asked quietly.

Tim forced his eyes back open. “Go?” he echoed, a little fuzzily. “Go where?”

“Anywhere you want,” Dick said. His brother’s voice was hushed, but serious, and Dick was watching him carefully, eyes serious and dark. “If you don’t feel safe here, we can take you back to your apartment until you feel better.”

“Dick.” Tim leaned into his brother’s touch just a little. “If you let Alfred see my apartment looking the way it is right now, I will kill you.”

Dick nodded, the corner of his mouth ticked up in just the slightest hint of a grin. “So call the maid service for a rush job?”

Alfred didn’t sigh, but he did exhale in a way that suggested he was questioning his life choices if they’d brought him to this point.

Tim shook his head, just a little, just enough that maybe Dick wouldn’t stop. “I don’t want to go,” he said. He looked up at Alfred, still leaning over the bed. “It’s okay, right?”

“Of course,” Alfred said. He said it instantly, without even stopping to think about the options, which took some of the weight off Tim’s chest. “This is your home.”

“I don’t want to cause trouble.”

Alfred frowned and shot a look at Dick that Tim couldn’t quite interpret. “Master Tim, I can assure you that having you here is no trouble, nor would it matter even if it were. It would still be your home.”

Maybe. Tim was too tired to second guess things. But if Alfred said he could stay then Dick wouldn’t make him try to leave. “Then I want to stay.”

Dick’s voice sounded troubled. “No one wants you to leave, Tim, we just want you to feel safe.”

Tim snorted. “Damian wants me to leave. It would probably make everyone a lot more comfortable if I wasn’t here.”

“It would not,” Alfred said.

Tim sighed. “It’s all right, Alfred. I know things can’t go on like this forever. Something’s going to have to change, and it’d be easiest if I wasn’t provoking him.”

“Your existence isn’t a reasonable provocation,” Dick said. His nails scraped gently against Tim’s scalp before stopping, his hand pressed to the side of Tim’s head and encouraging Tim to look at him. “You leaving isn’t going to make anything better.”

“Isn’t it?” Tim asked. “Don’t pretend you aren’t already sick of us fighting.”

“Well I don’t love it,” Dick said.

Tim nodded, because of course he didn’t. “I want to talk to Damian.”

Dick made a face that did nothing to ease the tension in the room. “I don’t know if that’s a great idea.”

“Who are you worried about?” Tim asked. “Afraid I’m going to be mean to your real brother? Or are you just trying to avoid having to deal with us?”

“Stop it,” Dick said, and there was steel in his voice that time. “I’ve never once said anything about Damian being my real brother and you know it.”

“Haven’t you?” Tim said. “Your silence on the matter speaks pretty loudly. I want to talk to Damian,” he said, letting some of his own steel slide into his voice. Dick wasn’t the only stubborn one. Tim had been out-stubborning Batman since he was thirteen years old. “I’m not doing this until I talk to Damian and get his side.”

“Am I hallucinating?” Dick asked Alfred who only gave him one vaguely disapproving raised eyebrow in return. “What possible side could there be for poisoning you?”

“You seemed to think he had a side when he pushed me off the dinosaur and sent me a live grenade, I don’t know why you’re all worked up now.”

“I didn’t know about that.” Dick actually looked a little sick about it, which made Tim feel a pang of remorse. “Tim. You have to know I didn’t know about him cutting your line, or the grenade, or any of that. You have to know I would have done something.”

“But you didn’t know,” Tim said. “Because you didn’t want to know-“

“Because you didn’t tell me!”

“Maybe I didn’t think you’d do anything.” Tim felt bile crawl up the back of his throat as soon as he said it, as soon as he saw the absolute horror that crawled across Dick’s face. “Maybe I thought you’d think it a fair trade to keep the blood son happy and under control.” He forced himself to look away before he could apologize and turned to Alfred, who was also looking vaguely horrified. “I want to talk to Damian. This is about him and me, and I’m not going to condemn his actions until I hear his motivation from him directly.”

Alfred’s fingers curled around Tim’s, longer than his, and a little thinner, a little bonier in the knuckles. He had calluses on his index and middle fingers and the center of his palm from target practice. He didn’t squeeze or pull on Tim’s hand, just held it, almost carefully. “Master Tim. What possible motivation could there have been for this aside from wanting to cause you harm?”

“I can think of a couple, actually.”

Dick scrubbed both hands over his face. “I think one of us is confused.”

“If he was trying to hurt me then I deserve to see him anyway. Either way, it doesn’t matter. I want to talk to Damian. And if you can’t bring him here, then as soon as one of you turns your back I’m going to unplug this monitor and wheel my IV stand over to the family wing and talk to him without you.”

Dick frowned. “Jason-“

“Jason would let me do it.”

“Damn straight.” Jason said from the doorway. “What are you doing?”

Tim couldn’t swallow for a moment. Standing behind Jason was Bruce, still leaning on his cane, but otherwise upright and looking healthy. Tim hadn’t gotten him sick, hadn’t endangered him.

“Can you bring Damian here?” he asked, and all the steel and stubbornness slid out of him as soon as Jason nodded, and Bruce stepped aside to let him leave.

Chapter Text

Bruce came to stand at the side of the bed, Dick stepping back to make room for him. “You gave us a bit of a scare,” he said. “Let’s try to keep that from happening again for a bit, deal?”

“At least till you’re back on your feet,” Tim said. “No promises after that.”

Bruce smiled at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. “How are you the most stressful kid I ever had?”

“Excuse me, we talked about this, and we agreed Dick is the kid most likely to give you a heart attack.”

Dick sighed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Tim resolutely ignored him.

Bruce took Tim’s hand, fingers pressed over the pulse point on his wrist, counting himself because why trust the heart monitor when he could trust The Batman’s own senses. “How are you feeling? Any pain?”

“Headache,” Tim admitted because he had a feeling he wasn’t doing much of a job of hiding it. “Better than it was though.”

“Nausea? Cramps? Vision blurring?” Bruce rattled off a dozen other symptoms while Tim dutifully responded in the negative and Alfred took notes on his tablet.

He was still kind of figuring out how to go about this when there was a quick knock on the door, and then it swung open to reveal Damian, with Jason and Stephanie behind him at either shoulder.

“Your girlfriend’s a fascist,” Jason said cheerfully.

Tim was still rolling that around in his head for context when Stephanie elbowed Jason in the ribs hard enough to make him wheeze. “I am requesting verbal confirmation that you actually want these two in a room with you,” she said. She crossed her arms over her chest and arched a single eyebrow at Tim.

“Want is a strong word,” Tim said. “But yeah, we need to talk.”

Jason looked slightly rueful, but mostly amused. “I told you, blondie. We’re solid now.”

“Are you,” Stephanie said flatly.

“The foundation is still being poured,” Tim said. He made himself sit up a little straighter, mostly because he was afraid that if Alfred or Dick thought he was tired they’d cut this short and Tim didn’t want to have to deal with all this shit again tomorrow or next week, or the next time he and Damian had a conflict (which would probably be in about five minutes but whatever.) “But it’s curing nicely.”

“God you’re a nerd,” Steph said. She hip-checked Jason out of the doorway and came over to the bed long enough to grab the hand Bruce wasn’t holding onto. “I’m glad you’re okay. It would have been real embarrassing if I had to tell people my ex went out like a little bitch getting killed by a ten-year-old. Imagine the second-hand embarrassment.”

Dick sighed so heavily Tim was pretty sure he could feel it, but he ignored him like a champ. “I wouldn’t do that to you. If I didn’t get killed by a zombie serial killer or a zombie assassin lord, what makes you think I’d go down for a little poison?”

“Excuse you,” Jason said in a tone of great offense. “I’m really more of a multiple murderer than a serial killer.”

All of the adults sighed at that one. Tim conceded the point. “Valid. I apologize for miscategorizing you.”

“I am noticing a weird theme with you and zombies, though.” Jason had shut the door behind him and was leaning against it, hands in his pockets, faux-casual like he wasn’t prepared to stop Damian from trying to mail a jailbreak. Which seemed overkill since the kid hadn’t moved an inch since arriving.

“It’s better than the time travelers,” Tim said, and then, when he saw several people about to ask questions, added, “Damian, can we talk for a moment?”

That shut most everyone up. Steph squeezed his hand and offered him a reassuring grin before stepping away to stand by the wall with Dick. Tim wasn’t sure what she was reassuring him of, exactly, since he was pretty sure this conversation wasn’t going to go the way anyone thought, but he appreciated the sentiment.

Damian took a step closer to the bed, then paused when Jason very clearly straightened. He stayed where he was near the foot of the bed and clasped his hands behind his back, only then raising his eyes to meet Tim’s. “What do you wish to say?”

There was a haughtiness to his voice, as if he was granting a petitioner the right to speak, that was belied by the way his lower lip quivered, just slightly. Tim didn’t especially like Damian, and didn’t think anyone could blame him for that, but sometimes he wondered how the fuck Ra’s and Talia could have looked at a little fucking kid and tried to turn him into a mini-Demon’s Head.

Bruce still had hold of Tim’s other hand and made no move to let go. Dick was watching them both with a pained expression that Tim didn’t trust himself to interpret. Alfred, Jason, and Steph all mostly just looked expectant.

“Did you tell Bruce and the others that you were poisoning me?”

Damian nodded once, sharp and short. “I am not a coward. I will not lie.”

“No, you aren’t a liar.” Tim remembered saying the same thing to him just the other day, and saw something flicker in Damian’s expression that said he remembered it too. “But you didn’t tell them the truth, did you?”

“What-“ Dick cut himself off at a glance from Bruce, who was watching Damian with a gaze much sharper than it had been a minute ago. He knew where Tim was going with this already, or suspected he did. Good, that would make it easier to convince anyone else if Tim’s word wasn’t enough for them.

“I did not lie,” Damian insisted.

“They asked you if you’d put poison in my coffee and you said yes. But you didn’t tell them why.”

Dick was looking baffled but slightly hopeful, probably seeing some light at the end of the tunnel for Damian’s fratricide track record.

Damian tilted his chin up, just a bit. “They did not ask.”

“You know Dick isn’t familiar with how the League works.” Tim took a stab in the dark, assuming Bruce hadn’t been the one to question him, took the chance that he would have been with Alfred, trying to stabilize Tim. From the way Damian grimaced, Tim was right. “You know Dick would have heard you out. Why didn’t you tell him?”

“I thought I had killed you,” Damian said, which didn’t make any sense.

“But you confessed to poisoning me,” Tim said, “even though you weren’t. Why not tell him the whole truth? If you were afraid of punishment you wouldn’t have confessed at all.”

Damian’s eyes flashed and he leaned forward. “I am not afraid of any punishment! If my actions demand consequences I will take them with honor as the true son of the bat!”

“A,” Tim said. “A true son of the bat.”

Bruce squeezed his hand. Damian blinked at him, clearly not expecting that response.

Tim nodded. “So why not tell him the whole story?”

“Because I thought I had killed you,” Damian said again, a heaviness in his voice that was too much for someone that small to be carrying around. “The reason why would not matter. I would not debase myself by squabbling over the details.”

Yeah, okay, Tim could see that. Ra’s wasn’t much for extenuating circumstances when you disappointed him, and Damian hadn’t known Bruce long enough to really grasp the differences between his father and grandfather’s way of leading their families. “Okay, so first of all, you didn’t kill me. Again. That’s 5-0 for me.”

Jason snorted and Stephanie outright cackled. Dick looked pained but Tim still wasn’t sure if it was at the reminder of Damian’s actions or just in general at Tim making a joke out of it.

“Second, it would have mattered.” Tim held up a hand when he saw Bruce about to interject, relieved when the man backed down and let Tim continue. “If you had caused my death, the reason would have mattered. They would have heard you out. Bruce knows what the difference is between a deliberate action and a mistake. You murdering me, and you accidentally causing my death wouldn’t be treated the same way. Do you understand?”

“Even the law recognizes a difference between murder and manslaughter,” Bruce said gently. “I can’t say how I would have reacted if you had killed one of my children, Damian, but if it was an accident I wouldn’t have treated you like a murderer.”

Damian nodded slowly, but from the look in his eyes he didn’t really believe it. That was fine. They had time to work on it now that Bruce was back.

“In the League of Assassins,” Tim said, raising his voice just a hair to make it clear he was addressing the whole room now, “initiates train with many different poisons as part of their assassin training. And as a measure of preventing them from accidentally poisoning themselves, or deliberately poisoning each other, each initiate begins a regiment of Mithridatism.”

He can almost see the weight lifting off Bruce and Alfred’s shoulders, and something like relief flicker through Dick’s eyes. Jason nodded to himself thoughtfully like he’d been thinking something similar.

Stephanie raised her hand.

“They poison themselves in small quantities over a long period of time to raise their tolerance to the poison,” Tim said.

Stephanie lowered her hand.

“So the brat was trying to help you?” Jason sounded deeply skeptical, and if the way Damian’s chin went up even further was any indication it meant he heard it too.

“I think so,” Tim said. “I recognized the poison in my coffee on the first day – I’d trained with it when I was working with the League during Bruce’s absence.”

“You said it was too sweet,” Dick said. He sounded tight, like he didn’t have quite enough breath for it, and it was staring at Tim with something like resignation. “I caught you pouring it out in the sink and you said Damian made it too sweet.”

“The poison I chose to begin with has a sickly sweet aftertaste,” Damian said stiffly. “It is often considered difficult to use because the recipient will notice it quickly unless steps are taken to obscure it.”

“Master Tim has a sweet tooth,” Alfred said quietly. “I told Master Damian how to brew your coffee.”

“He yelled at me for consuming too much sugar,” Tim told him, unable to completely hide a grin.

“Well he isn’t wrong,” Alfred said. “Master Tim, I had no idea. I am deeply sorry for my part in this.”

Tim shook his head. “Why would you have known? You thought you were helping us reconcile, or whatever.”

Alfred looked pained. “I should have considered Master Damian’s past history. I was just so willing to hope he was coming around. That you both could feel you had a home here.”

“But he did,” Tim said. “He wasn’t trying to hurt me, Alfie. You were right about him.” He flashed Damian a quick glance. “You said you weren’t just doing it for Dick. I told you to knock it off and I’d take the heat with Dick, but you kept coming.”

“It has been made abundantly clear to me that my initial attempts to eliminate you were unacceptable.” Damian hesitated. “And… I want to stay here. If I hurt you again, they would have made me leave.”

“Probably not,” Tim said. “Bruce isn’t good at letting people leave. One of these days you should ask Dick how many times he’s moved out.” He ignored Bruce’s huffed laugh, didn’t look at Dick at all. “So you stopped trying to hurt me because you want to stay?”

Damian hesitated for a long moment, then nodded, slowly, like he wasn’t sure it was the correct answer. “I – understand that I was misinformed about your place here. And that Father does not condone violence as a means of securing our rank.”

“There is no rank,” Bruce said firmly, but he was still keeping his voice soft. “Every one of you is equal in this family. There may be some level of rank out in the field, but that’s dependent on training, and experience, and an act of violence against another one of the team would do nothing to improve your positioning.”

Damian nodded again, more firmly this time. “When Richard suggested that I make a gesture of reconciliation, it seemed in my best interests.”

“I was the wronged party,” Tim said. “In the League, if Ra’s had agreed you were in the wrong, I would have been allowed to choose your punishment.”

Damian nodded again. “I would accept it,” he said. ”But you returned and did not demand it, even though Richard and Pennyworth and Father made it clear that I was in the wrong.”

“So when Dick suggested you make a gesture, you seized the initiative?”

Damian lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

“But why poison?” Dick burst out, having apparently reached the limits of his self-restraint. “Making Tim’s coffee so he didn’t sleepwalk down the stairs is one thing, but why did you leap straight to poison?”

“Grandfather is a dangerous enemy,” Damian said. “Timothy has more than antagonized him. He will come back,” he added, almost petulantly. “You barely managed to best him this time, and he won’t underestimate you again.”

“So you were trying to protect me in case Ra’s sent someone to poison me?” Somehow that specific threat hadn’t occurred to Tim.

“The poison I chose is one of Grandfather’s favorites, and your proclivities would have made you vulnerable to it. It seemed the smartest place to begin.”

Jason mouthed proclivities at him over Damian’s head, eyebrow pointedly raised. Tim ignored him like a pro.

“That’s true,” Tim said. “That’s why it was the first poison I trained with, when I was working with the League.”

That seemed to get a reaction out of almost everyone except Bruce.

“Wait, so you’ve been Mithrandiring yourself all along?” Stephanie asked.

“Leave Gandalf out of this,” Jason said. “But yeah, squirt, what she said. How’d you get so sick if you were already immune?”

Tim shrugged. “I think I just got sick. I completed the Mithridatism training with that particular poison my first couple of months over there. My bodyguards insisted on it. Something about Ra’s liking to test people with it.”

“No, it was absolutely the poison,” Alfred said. “It was building up in your system and had started to affect your liver and heart. You’ll be on bed rest until I say otherwise.”

Tim frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does, actually,” Alfred said. “I think it all makes a bit of sense now. You see, Master Tim, while we were testing your blood and keeping your heart beating, I noticed signs of a recent surgery.”

“What,” Dick said.

“Oh shit,” Tim said, realization rushing through him like a fever. He slumped back against the pillow with a groan. “Of course. Oh man, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

“Explain now, please,” Stephanie said. “What surgery? Please tell me this moron didn’t get open-heart surgery from the League of Assassins.”

Tim waved a hand in her direction. “No nothing like that.”

Steph heaved a sigh and slumped against the wall. “Oh, thank god because I would not have put that past your dumb ass-“

“It was a splenectomy.”

Jason barked out a laugh, not-so-carefully disguised as a cough. Stephanie buried her face in her hands. “Every time I try to give you some kind of credit for common sense,” she said.

Tim scrunched up his nose at her. “It’s not like I asked to get stabbed in the spleen.”

“Who the fuck stabbed you?” Dick demanded.

“Probably Ra’s,” Jason said. He sighed and leaned back against the door. “Kid, please tell me you didn’t deliberately antagonize the guy who tried to stab you in the face.”

“Do you even know where the spleen is?” Tim demanded.

“Under the left side ribcage,” Jason shot back. “Near the heart, for those of us who failed middle school biology-“

“Thanks, but ouch,” Stephanie said.

“-so I’m guessing your spleen wasn’t the intended victim.”

“Well, if he’d gotten his way, the spleen would have been just as much a goner,” Tim said. “But no, it wasn’t Ra’s. He was pretty invested in keeping me alive for the most part.”

“He threw you off a skyscraper,” Dick said.

“Until recently,” Tim allowed.

“All right,” Stephanie said. “I can see steam coming out of Dick’s ears so let’s regroup before I lose my place. Why does Tim’s spleen being gone mean that Damian almost poisoned him?”

“Spleen’s part of the lymphatic system,” Tim said. “It removes toxins. Not to the extent the liver does, but it’s part of the process. I’m guessing without it, the filtering process took longer, or wasn’t as thorough. Damian would have been dosing me based on my physical size and presumed health. He had no way of knowing my system was compromised.”

“Presumably,” Jason said, and Damian practically hissed at him.

“Master Tim needed longer to recover between doses than he would have before becoming disabled,” Alfred said.

Tim wrinkled his nose, a little discomforted at being called disabled, and then made a mental note to examine that about himself. “Okay, so what I thought was caffeine withdrawal, or the flu, was just regular poison. Well, that’s good I guess.”

“Please,” Dick said. He had his head tipped back against the wall. “Please explain how that could possibly be good.”

“I was afraid I had norovirus or something and was going to hinder Bruce’s recovery.” Tim let himself flop back against the pillows now that it was all hashed out.

“No, instead you just had your spleen stabbed and removed by –“ Dick dropped his chin and pinned Tim with a narrowed glare. “Who actually did the removing?”

Tim shrugged. “I dunno. Some assassin probably. I assume the league has surgeons on staff.” He clapped his hands together. “Okay! So Damian wasn’t trying to kill me this time, and as a bonus I’m not actually contagious. Win/win. We all square?”

“No,” Dick said pointedly. Tim ignored him like a pro too.

“Damian and I are going to have a talk,” Bruce said. He clasped Tim’s hand between both of his before setting it down on the bed. “I’m going to walk him back to his room and we’re going to have a very frank discussion about the ethics of contaminating our family member’s food and beverage without their knowledge or permission and the unintended consequences of that – which will include a loss of privileges and the need to regain a certain level of trust.”

Damian’s lips pressed together in a tight line, but he nodded.

“They don’t do punishments here,” Tim told him. “Not like you’re thinking. He’s gonna lecture you to death and probably make you write a report or something. And then if you’re really unlucky, Dick’s gonna give you the “I’m not mad, just disappointed” speech which is honestly worse than anything your grandfather ever came up with.”

“And you’re grounded,” Bruce said. He pushed back from the bed and leaned on the cane as he walked toward the door. “Also once I’m confident you understand why this was the wrong way to go about things, I’m going to expect you to apologize to Tim.”

Tim half-expected an explosion from that alone, but Damian only nodded again. Bruce clasped him on one shoulder. “Come on, help your old man back to his room.”

Steph pushed off the wall. “I’m gonna go with. Come on, ass hat, let’s give these two some privacy.”

Tim sat back upright with the realization she intended to leave him alone with Dick. “Steph!”

“You did this to yourself, Loverboy.” She shoved Jason in the ribs, then again harder, trying to shove him out the door after Bruce and Damian. “Holy shit, you’re a literal brick wall, aren’t you? Move your ass.”

Jason gave Tim a single raised eyebrow. “Technically I’m still on guard duty.”

Tim absolutely did not whine as he waved Jason off. “Just go. The last thing I want to deal with is you and Dick bitching over my sickbed.”

“It is a sickbed, and don’t forget it,” Alfred said sternly. He smoothed back Tim’s hair, checking his temperature one last time before stepping away. “You are to stay in bed until further notice unless it is for the purposes of hygiene, or if the house is on fire, in which case I expect you to ask for assistance. We can evaluate your recovery path tomorrow when your father is less occupied.”

“I’m emancipated,” Tim reminded him, just in case it did any good.

“See how far that gets you,” Alfred said dryly. “I’ll leave you two some privacy, but I will be back with something to eat in an hour or so.” It sounded like a warning, but Tim wasn’t sure which of them it was for.

Then he was gone, the door shut behind him with a quiet click, and Tim was alone with his older brother for the first time in a while.

Chapter Text

“So this is where we are now?” Dick asked quietly. “Fucking Jason is trying to protect you from me?”

“Pretty sure Jason would as soon throw me off a roof as look at me,” Tim said. “He only showed up in the first place because you sent him to annoy the shit out of me on patrol.”

“I think you might need to re-evaluate Jason’s opinion of you,” Dick said. He pushed back off the wall in a slouchy sort of way, somehow managing to still be leaning even as he started to walk toward the bed. “He came the minute Bruce told him you needed help. And I sent him because I was worried.”

“You sent him because you thought I was mad at you.”

“Weren’t you?” Dick asked. He paused next to the bed, eyes lingering on the heart monitor, not meeting Tim’s eyes. “Aren’t you? I think you’ve been mad at me for a long time.”

That… hurt. Maybe it was meant to. Maybe it hurt Dick, too. “I’m not trying to be.”

Dick huffed something that wasn’t a laugh, but wasn’t quite a sigh. “That’s something, I guess. For what it’s worth, I’m not trying to make you mad.”

For some reason that struck a nerve. Tim sighed. “Yeah, I guess I know that.” For a moment he wished that Alfred had stayed, or that he’d taken Jason up on his offer. Some kind of buffer. Or a witness, so Tim could try and figure out if things were going as badly as he was afraid they would.

There had been a time in his life when Tim would have never hesitated to tell Dick something he was thinking.

“I miss,” he said, before heat pressed against the back of his throat and he just took a deep breath instead. Dick didn’t say anything, just waited while Tim breathed in through his nose and tried not to let his voice shake. “I miss how things used to be. With us.”

Dick took one of Tim’s hands, lifting it off his lap so he could hold it in firm fingers, his thumb rubbing circles over Tim’s pulse. “I miss that too. But things don’t always stay the same. We’ve both been through… a lot. The last couple of years have been hard and we’ve both changed. It makes sense that our relationship changed a little too. Doesn’t mean I don’t still love you.”

Dick loving him hadn’t ever really been the problem. Even at his worst Tim never doubted that. Tim didn’t know what to say to that.

Well. No. Tim knew what to say to that. He was supposed to say he loved Dick too, and they’d always be brothers and it was all going to be okay; but he’d said that, not even all that long ago, sitting on a cot in the medbay while letting Dick assure him that Ra’s was gone. He didn’t have the energy to say it again, not when he wasn’t sure it was true anymore.

The “being okay” part. He was pretty sure he was going to love Dick Grayson despite everything. He wasn’t even mad about it.

“I’m just tired,” he said instead of all the things he was supposed to. “I should probably get some rest before Alfred comes back.”

Dick’s thumb didn’t stop rubbing soft circles over Tim’s pulse, but his grip did tighten, just a little. “Why do I feel like if I leave right now we’re not going to be okay?”

Tim wriggled his fingers, but didn’t pull away. Dick didn’t let go. “You said yourself our relationship wouldn’t be the same. It’s just the way it is.”

“Change isn’t the same thing as not being okay,” Dick said. “I’ve lost a lot of things over the last few years and I don’t want you to be one of them.”

“You’re not losing me,” Tim said, because honestly he kind of thought it was more the reverse that seemed likely. “Are you kidding me? Name one person in my life who ever successfully got rid of me once I decided to stick around.”

Dick snorted and he squeezed Tim’s hand briefly. “I get why you’re mad,” he said. He wasn’t looking at Tim anymore, eyes lowered to the bedspread. “I really do understand. I just don’t know how to make it up to you.”

Tim bit back his initial response and made himself take a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “That’s fair, I guess. I can admit that we didn’t really hash it out that much. Maybe…” He swallowed, because he knew his voice was going to crack if he didn’t. “Maybe I had some unfair expectations of you.” It didn’t feel unfair, to expect Dick to not let someone treat him like trash in his own home, but maybe Dick didn’t see it that way. Maybe Dick thought his loyalty had to lie with his Robin, with Bruce’s son, and not the stray dog that kept begging for scraps.

Dick lifted his gaze, a flicker of a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s not fair to say you forgive me and then nurse a grudge. Keeping it all bottled up until you bite my head off when I thought we were good isn’t fair. You can’t hide all your hurts and then get mad when I bump into a bruise I didn’t know was there.”

“I did forgive you!” Indignation warred briefly with hurt before flaring bright enough that Tim pulled his hand out of Dick’s grip so he could push himself up into a sitting position. “I thought we were good too, at first. But nothing changes and I’m tired of forgiving you when-“ Tim dragged in a breath, felt his lungs expand despite the feeling that there was a weight pressing down on them. “When I’m starting to think you aren’t sorry at all.”

“That’s not fair.” Dick’s voice was quiet, but not at all soft. “That’s not fair, Tim.”

“Show me where any of this was fair.”

“We talked about this. You said you were okay with it. That you understood why I made the choice I made about Robin.”

Tim wanted to laugh, but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t go over well with anyone. Anyway, he was so tired he might just not stop and that could be triggering if Jason came back. Tim would like to avoid triggering Jason, for multiple reasons. “It’s not about Robin, Dick.”

It was extremely rare to see Dick Grayson off-balance, and while Tim would normally enjoy seeing his mostly unflappable brother blink at him like he’d been slapped in the face with a dead fish, he couldn’t quite seem to get any satisfaction out of it. “Is that what you’ve been thinking?” he asked. “You think – what? I’m jealous? Holding a fucking grudge?”

“I thought you were hurt! I know what it’s like to lose Robin, how hard that is-“

“Don’t compare our situations,” Tim said. “They aren’t the same. And this isn’t about Robin.”

Dick sighed. “Then what is it about? Because I have no fucking idea what we’re talking about if it isn’t Robin.”

“Yeah.” Tim looked away from the expression on his brother’s face. “I’m getting that.”

Somehow the idea that Dick wouldn’t have any idea why Tim was upset hadn’t occurred to him. He’d been prepared to be told he was being over-sensitive, or for Dick’s favorite standby of being told to be the bigger person, but the idea that Dick had no idea where Tim was coming from at all threw a wrench right in the gears of Tim’s anger and he felt everything just sort of grind to a halt.

“All right,” he said. “Okay, so clearly we aren’t on the same page here.” He blinked hard and forced a smile on his face because if he didn’t he was afraid his lips would tremble. “It’s fine.”

“Tim.” Dick had that same exasperated look on his face that he almost always had these days. “It’s clearly not fine.”

“Oh, is it clear to you?” Tim snapped. He drew one knee back so he could lean forward, and the sight of Dick putting both hands out like he thought Tim was going to leap out of the bed only made him angrier. “It’s so clear you had no idea what wasn’t fine five fucking seconds ago but now you think you can tell me I’m not fine? Fuck off, Dick, I’m fine. You’re the problem.”

Tim had about a half a second to be slightly mortified at losing his temper like that before he was bracing for whatever Dick came back with.

His brother just dragged in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll meet you halfway here. You aren’t fine. But it does sound like I’m the reason why - me or something I did. You know a partnership can’t function with resentment and hurt feelings lingering, so tell me what’s wrong, we can hash it out, and then we can deal with the next disaster that comes along.”

“We aren’t partners,” Tim said, mentally wincing at the obvious petulance in his voice. God, he sounded like a whiny teenager even to himself. “Red Robin works solo. Always has.”

“Tim, for fuck’s sake!” Dick dragged a hand through his hair and half-turned away from the bed. His voice was sharp, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. It wasn’t the famous Grayson temper but it was something like it, and part of Tim - a petty, immature part who’s feelings were hurt - gloated a little at getting under Dick’s skin. “I am trying to make this right, but you’re acting like you don’t even want me to fix it-”

“I don’t want you to fix it just because I said something!” Tim was aware, distantly, that he was shouting and anyone out in the hall would probably hear. Or, more likely, anyone on the other end of the bug Jason had thought Bruce had in the room. “You didn’t give a shit the entire time it was happening even though you knew I was upset, so why should I believe you now? You didn’t care then and you don’t care now you just want me to shut up about it-”

He didn’t realize he was crying until Dick had already dragged him into a hug, breath coming in heaving gasps against the side of Dick’s throat, hands balled into fists in his lap while Dick’s arms squeezed him uncomfortably tight.

“I care about you.” Dick spit the words out like they pissed him off. “I have cared about you since you showed up at my door and stuck your whole entire face into my life and my business, and there hasn’t been a single day since then when I haven’t cared about you. I will die caring about you. I care that you’re mad at me. I care that I’ve been hurting you. I don’t know how to fix it without your help. I can’t read your mind. And I know you know that I’m not as perfect as my reputation would have others believe-”

Tim almost choked on a laugh.

“You have watched me screw up with people I love so many times. Barbara and Kori, Bruce, Jason, Cass, you. Was it ever because I didn’t care about you guys?”

Tim squeezed his eyes shut but didn’t pull away. “No.”

“I put my foot in my mouth sometimes. Or I get too caught up in my own problems to remember everyone else’s. Sometimes I don’t realize I’ve hurt someone until they tell me. It doesn’t mean I didn’t care or that I won’t willingly do anything to fix it. But it does mean that sometimes I need you to tell me when I’ve messed up.” Dick pushed him back and shook him a little. “Tell me where I screwed up with us if it wasn’t the Robin thing.”

Tim scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “You’re going to think it’s stupid.”

“Timothy Jackson, you once watched me get into a screaming rage fight with Bruce because he commented on my haircut.”

Tim swallowed another laugh because that hadn’t even been the worst one. “You were right then, though. He was being a passive aggressive bitch about it.”

Dick clasped his hands together behind Tim’s neck so he couldn’t pull any further away. “Okay, well then far be it from me to imply anyone’s as bad as Bruce-”

“Hey,” Tim said, because ouch.

“-so let’s can the passive and go straight for the aggressive. What did I do that upset you?”

Tim looked up into the painfully earnest face of the first person who’d ever really chosen Tim, and regretted ever bringing it up in the first place. “It’s not something you did,” he said. Dick’s eyebrows came together and he opened his mouth to say something but Tim cut him off because he wasn’t sure he’d go through with it if Dick said literally anything. “It’s what you aren’t doing. You don’t tell him he’s wrong,” Tim said. His throat felt tight, like his own body was trying to stop him before he made things worse. “When he says I’m worthless. Or a stray dog. Or that no one wants me here.”

Dick was frowning, eyebrows fully pinched together in something that might have been confusion, or annoyance, Tim wasn’t sure which and didn’t know if he wanted to find out. “Tim-”

“And you kind of have to wonder, don’t you, after a while.” Tim leaned back as far as he could considering Dick still hadn’t let go. “If maybe it’s because you guys agree with him.”

“Tim-”

“Or maybe it’s just not worth it, right? Upsetting Damian would make your life harder and - and it doesn’t matter if I get hurt because I’m not your problem-”

“Shut. Up.”

Tim snapped his mouth shut, resisting the urge to pull out of Dick’s grip since it wouldn’t do any good anyway. His chest hurt a little at the anger in Dick’s voice, but it was hardly the first time Dick had been pissed off at him over the years.

(And if he’d prefer this to the exhausted resignation Dick had radiated after Bruce died, or the awkwardness that seemed to color most of their interactions lately, well, he was taking that one to his grave.)

Dick had his eyes closed, his head hanging. He took a deep breath and let it out, then shook his head and raised his eyes to meet Tim’s. “You are so my problem.”

Tim didn’t really know what he’d expected Dick to say, but that definitely wasn’t first on the list. “I’m a lot of people’s problems, to be fair.”

Dick gripped the back of his neck and shook him a little. “Knock it off. It matters if you get hurt. It matters to me. And don’t think I didn’t notice how you said “you guys” back there. I will be reporting this to Bruce and Alfred.”

Tim scowled at him. “Not really encouraging me to confide in you.”

It was clearly Dick’s turn to ignore him like a pro because he didn’t even wait for Tim to finish talking before he continued. “No one agrees with him when he says that shit. No one thinks that about you. Of course we want you here. Of course you matter. What the fuck-” Dick let go of him and leaned back, one hand going to his hair again before he abruptly spun on his heel and stalked a few feet away to the window. “What the hell, Tim? When the hell did this happen?”

“Things change,” Tim said. His fingers curled into fists, gripping his blanket so tight his nails scraped against the cloth. “Right? Things change, and we change, and- I don’t know.”

“Bullshit. Tell me.”

Tim shook his head. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to say that you know you’re my fucking brother and I’d fucking die for you-”

“Then why can’t you tell him to shut up!” Tim caught himself before his voice rose over a shout. “Then why can’t you say literally anything when he talks shit about me to anyone who’ll listen? When he goes in my room without permission or steals my stuff? When he does everything he can to make me leave and not one of you can be bothered to act like you want me to stay? Newsflash, Dick, I don’t need you to die for me, I need you to get my back when-” He grit his teeth and practically spit the words out, “when your real brother tells me I’m not family.”

He was braced for an explosion. Ready for Dick to tear into him, or deny it, or get defensive. He wasn’t ready for Dick to go completely still, eyes fixed on Tim, his skin strangely gray. “Is that why you didn’t tell me?” Dick asked, all the fight gone from his voice. “Is that why you didn’t tell me he cut your line? You thought I couldn’t be bothered?”

It was probably the most hollow victory he’d ever earned. “No,” Tim said quietly. “I didn’t tell you because I thought you had enough on your plate. And - I thought seeing a member of your family fall like that would bring up some bad memories.”

Dick laughed, exhausted and soft. “Bad memories. Like watching Ra’s kick you off a skyscraper bad? Like knowing the chances of catching you were one in a thousand? Like the way finding out you almost fell again just days later and I didn’t even know isn’t going to keep me awake at night?”

Tim lifted one shoulder in a tired shrug. “Yeah. Like that.”

“You said you trusted me to catch you,” Dick said, barely above a whisper. “But you didn’t even give me the chance to try.”

“It was over with,” Tim said. “It wasn’t even a real murder attempt, he just had his shorts up his butt because he was mad about the contingency list. I knew it would upset you, so I just kept the details to myself.” He resists the urge to point out that Dick had just told him to suck it up when he’d mentioned that they’d been fighting. It would be petty to bring it up now, when he knows damned well that Dick would have reacted differently if he’d known the whole story and Tim had still chosen not to tell him. He’s self-aware enough to know he wished Dick would have taken his side anyway, but he’s not actually trying to hurt his brother.

Dick’s mouth was pressed into a thin line. “You didn’t tell me about the poison either. You lied to my face about artificial sweetener.”

“Because he wasn’t trying to kill me that time either. And if he was, it wouldn’t work.” Tim made a face. “Well, I didn’t think it would work. And-” He sighed and slumped back against the pillow. “You were so happy when you thought we were getting along. You never seem happy to see me anymore. I just didn’t want you to get annoyed again.”

Dick gave him an offended glare. “I’m always happy to see you,” Dick said. “Except when you break into my apartment while I’m on patrol and booby-trap my fucking refrigerator so I end up covered in expired dairy products when all I want is a snack. Or when you made it your life mission to cock-block me and Helena. Or that time you made me think you’d gotten Stephanie pregnant.”

“It’s not my fault you jumped to conclusions.” He ignored the Helena thing because in his defense, he’d honest-to-god just been completely oblivious about it at the time. “And it feels like every time you see me lately you’re just… tired. Annoyed. And then I say something and it gets awkward, or worse, Damian starts something and I defend myself and you just get pissed off at me.”

“Okay. Okay.” Dick let out a deep exhale. “Okay. Listen to me. You are my real brother. So is Jason. Cass is my real sister. Damian being my brother as well doesn’t change any of that as far as I’m concerned. Okay?”

Tim sighed and nodded.

“Out loud, Timbo. I’m not letting you off on a technicality so you can hang it over my head later.”

Tim scowled, but gave in almost immediately. “I am your real brother. You are my real pain in the neck.”

“You started this,” Dick said. “Shut up and take your emotional heart-to-heart like a man.” He stepped back toward the bed and sat on the edge of it, body positioned mostly toward Tim, elbows braced on his knees. “I’m going to say something, and you may quote me on it, okay?”

Tim nodded, warily.

Dick gave him a quick smile. “Damian is full of shit.”

Tim snorted. “Well, yeah-”

“No. You don’t believe it, because if you did you wouldn’t be entertaining the idea that the rest of us have bought in on his bullshit. Damian is a literal child, with no idea how families work, and no concept of what love, or brotherhood, actually is. He’s angry and jealous and insecure and he says hateful shit because it makes him feel better about himself. It’s not okay, but that’s what’s going on and it’s going to take time to teach him how to feel safe here. You know he used to say the same shit about Alfred, right? About not being part of the family, about not being useful?”

Tim nodded. That had actually pissed him off more, in the beginning, than anything Damian had actually done to him. “They seem to have come to some kind of understanding.”

“It took time, but Damian saw Alfred in action, saw him take care of us, the team, Bruce’s legacy, and realized he was wrong, that how he understood Alfred’s relationship to this family was wrong.” Dick sighed. “He’s going to figure out he was wrong about you, too, now that you’re back. He’s most of the way there already, I think. At the very least he understands that we care about you, and he isn’t going to upset us by continuing to lash out at you.”

Tim gave Dick the most unimpressed stare he could manage. “He called me a stray dog and said I was only here because Bruce pitied me.”

“And we’re back to Damian saying mean shit to make himself feel better.”

Tim wrinkled his nose, but Dick kept talking. “It’s - look, Tim, I swear to god, if I had known what was going through your head I would have handled things differently. I just - it never, even once, occurred to me that you could be hurt by what he was saying.”

Tim stared at him. “That someone calling me worthless-”

“Tim, he’s the world’s most disagreeable ten-year-old. And you were my brother for three years before Damian came along and started talking shit. Three years of late night phone calls, and post-patrol milkshakes, and trainsurfing, and girl talk, and running rings around Bruce. I thought we were solid, I thought you knew you could count on me.” Dick caught his gaze when Tim would have looked away. “The stuff he says, it’s just bluster and grandstanding. I ignore him because it’s easier than arguing with him and he usually winds himself down if we don’t reward him with attention. Not because I secretly agree with him. Not because I don’t actually love the shit out of you.”

“Yeah, I love the shit out of you, too,” Tim said. The back of his throat burned, and he could feel heat spreading over his cheeks as he re-evaluated a dozen conversations over the last few weeks. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” Dick laid a hand on Tim’s shoulder and squeezed. “Look. We have two different problems here, right? Damian’s being awful to you, and that’s not okay. We’ve been working on his behavior, I swear, but I agree that the area that’s probably had the least obvious progress is you. Well. You and Catwoman, but that’s a problem for another time.”

“What’s his problem with Selina?”

Dick looked pained. “God, don’t ask. I’ll talk to Bruce and Alfred, we’ll come up with a way to shut him down when he starts in on you that makes you feel supported. But I need you to exercise some of that trust you say you have in me, okay? You trust me to catch you when a psychopath throws you off a building, so try to trust me when your little brother is mean to you, too.”

When he phrased it that way it kind of made Tim want to hide under the blankets. “I do trust you,” Tim said.

“I know.” Dick ruffled his hair, caught the side of Tim’s face in his hand. “I get it. This wasn’t really about Damian. It hurt when you thought I wasn’t sticking up for you, huh?”

Tim shrugged, let his gaze flicker off to the side for a second, before meeting Dick’s gaze. “I did kind of think maybe it meant you liked him better.”

“Timmy.”

“You were the only brother I ever had,” Tim said, “and you never let anyone talk like that about me before. I guess I kind of figured it meant you were on his side.”

“First of all, I don’t know of anyone who ever talked about you the way Damian did and actually meant it-”

“Guy Gardner, that time he called me a turd.”

Dick blinked at him and let his hand drop to rest on his leg. “Tim, he didn’t just call you names, he took a swing at you. He was twice your age and has superpowers, of course I broke his nose. Damian’s ten and - as previously stated - full of shit.”

“Damian also tried to hurt me,” Tim said, mostly because he felt like he was losing this argument and refused to go down without a fight.

“Yes, but because someone wasn’t being truthful and honest with me, I had no way of knowing that was an ongoing problem. We’re going to talk about that,” Dick added in a low voice. “Not tonight. When you’re feeling better and we’ve hashed all this out. That can’t happen again. Part of trusting me is trusting me to handle the hard and upsetting stuff, too. We’re going to work on it. It’s going to be okay.”

Tim nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right, I should have trusted you.”

“I’m sorry, too. I should have realized how all of this was affecting you.”

“It’s been kind of a shit year,” Tim said. “You had a lot on your plate.”

Dick leaned in and bumped his forehead against Tim’s. “I did, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t have time for you. Maybe I can’t drop everything every time you need me, but I can ask someone to take some of the weight for me. Okay?”

Tim nodded. “But you have to do the same. I’m not thirteen anymore. You have to let me have your back, too.”

Dick grinned at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I can do that. I meant it, when I said we were partners. I’d trust you over the Justice League every time. You turned out to be a hell of a hero. My little brother’s all grown up.” Dick’s smile turned sharp. “And spleen-less.”

Tim groaned. “I knew you weren’t going to let that go.”

“Oh, Timmy, no one is letting this go. Be prepared to hear about this for the rest of your life. I’m going to work it into my best man speech at your wedding.”

“Note to self: ask literally anyone else to be my best man.”

“We both know you won’t. Anyway, it’s nothing compared to Alfred, he’s the one you’ve really got to worry about.”

Tim shoved his knee into Dick’s hip, trying to knock him off the bed. “I take it back, I don’t want to be part of the family after all. Just let Damian dump me out by the trash bins and forget I was ever here.”

Dick snorted and flopped backwards until he was sprawled across the bed, pinning Tim’s legs in place. “Like Bruce and I wouldn’t just fish you out and bring you back inside.”

Tim experimentally tried to move his legs but Dick didn’t even budge. “To be fair, we have pulled each other out of a few dumpsters over the years.”

Dick laughed. “To be fair, we’ve thrown each other in a few dumpsters, too.” He rolled over, planting an elbow in Tim’s gut. “Still your favorite brother?”

“You’re my only brother,” Tim felt obliged to point out. “And it’s mean to ask when we both know you won’t admit to having a favorite.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got Jason locked down for second best older brother,” Dick said. “But I’ll let you guys hash that out on your own time. And I do so have a favorite. Each of my brothers is my favorite, in your own special way.”

“Okay, Jason’s my favorite now,” Tim said.

“Damn straight. I knew you were the one with taste in this family.”

Tim and Dick blinked at each other for a second, then turned and stared at the closed bedroom door. It remained closed.

“Jason?” Tim said.

“Are you listening at the door?” Dick yelled.

The doorknob turned and the door swung open to reveal Jason. He had his helmet hooked to his belt, and he was holding a beat up paperback in one hand, his index finger stuck between the pages to mark his place. “Where else was I gonna go?”

“Literally anywhere,” Dick said. He rolled onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow, still crushing Tim from the knees down. “There are sixteen bedrooms alone.”

Jason made a rude sound. “And risk running into the old man? It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Dick held his hand up and started ticking things off on his fingers. “There are also five sitting rooms, three family rooms, a den-”

“Anyway, now that dipshit over here isn’t about to get murdered in his sleep, my job is done.” Jason raised an eyebrow at Dick. “Right?”

“He’s safe here,” Dick said, hand still raised. “He’s safe with me. Also there are three kitchens, two libraries, and five offices-”

Jason nodded, apparently satisfied. “Awesome, then I’m outta here. Time to go see how much damage my operation took while I was off the grid for two days.”

“Two days?” Tim said. “Wait - how long was I asleep?”

Jason arched an eyebrow at him. “I just said it’s been two days.”

Tim groaned. “Tam is going to kill me.”

“I got the homicidal ankle-biter. Whoever Tam is, that’s on Dickhead’s watch.”

“Wait.” Tim caught himself and flushed a little when Jason stopped, halfway turned to leave. “I - sorry. But. The other day, when we were talking. You said you wouldn’t come back to the manor. So why…”

Jason rolled his eyes. “I said I wouldn’t come back for Bruce.”

Tim frowned. “But - Dick said Bruce called you?”

“He did.” Jason’s tone of voice seemed to indicate that Tim was being particularly dense.

Dick sighed and rolled over onto his back, hand still held above his head. “I swear he’s smart about everything else. You just have to hold his hand through this stuff.”

Tim leaned over and smacked his shoulder. “Hey.”

“I’m just going to assume the poison killed a few of his braincells and give him a pass on this one. I’m outta here, don’t call, I won’t miss you.”

“Jason,” Dick said suddenly. “You’re safe here too, you know. With me.”

Jason scrubbed a hand over his face. “Eugh, god, I cannot with you people.” He unhooked his helmet and pulled it on over his head even as he walked right past the door to the window.

“Jason,” Dick said, this time a little more alarmed. “Jason, there are also at least six doors-”

Jason unlatched the window, pushed it open and swung his right leg out before Dick could get another word out.

“We’re on the third floor,” Tim said, but mostly just to have the warning on record in case Jason did something stupid like break his ankles.

They could hear the impact from three stories up, but then silence, followed by the sound of the garage security alarm going off.

“He could have bypassed that if he wanted to,” Dick said.

“It’s his way of saying goodbye,” Tim said, biting back a grin. “He couldn’t leave without letting Bruce and Alfred know.”

A half-dozen car alarms went off next, followed by the sound of a high-powered engine and squealing tires.

“He took the Lamborghini,” Tim said. “I really would have pegged the Kawasaki if I’d had to guess.”

“I wouldn’t have pegged him to show up at all,” Dick said. “All my brothers are surprising me today. Damian made an effort to be a team player, in his own way. Jason came when we needed him. You’re a spleenless wonder.”

“Oh my god, it’s been six months, deal with it-”

“It’s been less than an hour, because someone lies like a lying liar-”

“I never lied, you never asked-”

“You’re gonna be lying for days now, because someone is on bed rest-”

“Don’t try to be funny, we’ve agreed your puns are terrible.”

Dick beamed at him, all teeth, very little humor. “You know what I think?”

Tim eyed him warily. “That I’m going to regret that Damian wasn’t trying to kill me?”

“I think now is the perfect time for us to hang out and have some brotherly bonding time. You owe me six months of hang-outs, and a movie night is a good start.”

“Oh.” Tim felt some of the tension go out of his shoulders. He’d really figured Dick was going to make him pay for all the drama of the last few days, but maybe he was taking it easy on him till he was recovered. “A movie night sounds good, yeah. We haven’t done that in a long time. I missed it.”

For a second Dick’s expression softened, and he caught Tim’s eye for a long second, a smile curving the corners of his mouth, making his eyes crinkle. Then it was gone, replaced by that same wolfish grin. “Good. Cause I took the rest of the week off work, and I have all fourteen movies in the Land Before Time series.” He army crawled his way up the bed, shoving Tim over so he could steal half the pillow pile, leaving the entire rest of the king-sized bed empty. “Alfred’s bringing snacks and Bruce is going to come join us after Littlefoot’s mom dies.”

“What a wimp,” Tim said, allowing himself to be jostled.

“Says the kid who sobbed for an hour the first time I made him watch All Dogs Go to Heaven.” Dick squirmed until he was under the blankets as well. “Shit. I forgot the remote.”

“I’m not getting it,” Tim said. “I’m on bedrest.”

“Guess you’re just gonna have to sit here and enjoy my company.”

“It’s not too late for me to call Jason,” Tim threatened, not making a move for his phone. “He hasn’t gotten too far by now.”

“At the speed he was going, he’s already on I-95 with a dozen cops in pursuit.” Dick wrapped an arm around Tim’s shoulders. “Alfred said he was bringing you something to eat. He’ll grab the remote for us. Until then, maybe we can catch up a little? Maybe you can tell me what happened with Ra’s?”

“Sure,” Tim let his head tip to the side and rest on Dick’s shoulder. “But only if you tell me what the deal is with Damian and Selina.”

Dick laughed. “We’re going to be here all night.”

Tim grinned, knowing Dick couldn’t see it. “Ugh, I should have let Jason steal me when he had the chance.”

Dick squeezed his shoulders. “I’d have just gone with you,” he said. “All right, so Damian’s whole problem with Selina is really my fault, because I’m the dumbass who mentioned that Bruce was in love with her and not pining desperately for Talia-”

Chapter Text

It took a solid week for Alfred to clear Tim to light duty, and Tim’s pretty sure the last few days were more of a penalty for not updating his medical files than because of the poison. Tim doesn’t object out loud though. He kind of feels like he needed it, so complaining would be counterproductive. Also, he’s pretty sure that once they moved Tim back into his own room to finish his recovery, Bruce planted at least one bug and he doesn’t want to get caught complaining.

So he slept ten hours a day, answered emails from bed, tolerated five direct-to-video animated sequels about baby dinosaurs before he put his foot down and revoked Dick’s movie picking rights, and actually kind of felt better than he had in a long time. Apparently rest and a good diet were great for your health and overall mood. Wild. He would take it to his grave.

So when he woke on day seven to the sound of the garage alarms going off for the seventh day in a row, and an engine roaring off into the distance once again (the Phantom? Maybe? Tim was still kind of asleep, but Jason had taken the Kawasaki on day two, to Tim’s satisfaction) he crawled out of bed and absolutely did not stagger like a fawn into the kitchen no matter what Dick claimed later.

He heard Dick call out his name, and grunted a reply, heard Alfred’s soft laugh, probably at his expense. He could smell bacon and something cinnamon-y and his stomach growled, interested in food for the first time in more than a week.

A hand caught his and tugged gently. Tim frowned, and blinked, only half awake at best and looked down just in time to see Bruce press a cup of coffee into his hand. The cup was warm against his palm, and the coffee smelled like hazelnut and vanilla. Bruce gave his hand a squeeze and waited for Tim to get his grip secured before he let go. “Good morning, champ.”

Champ was better than chum, so Tim let that one pass without comment. “Bruce,” he said. “Do you have any cars left?”

Bruce rested one hand on top of Tim’s head for a moment, then tousled his hair aggressively. “This is the healthiest my relationship with Jason has been in a while,” he said. “I can always buy more cars.”

“Buy another Porsche,” Dick said. “Jason took mine.”

“Really?” Tim said. “He hasn’t touched any of mine.”

“Your cars are boring,” Dick said. “A Toyota Corolla, A BMW Series 7, and a Nissan Leaf. You don’t even have a motorcycle.”

“My cars are fuel-efficient and practical for everyday use, and they fit the persona I’ve cultivated in public,” Tim said. He took a deep breath of the coffee, savoring the aroma for a moment. “I’m sure when I hit my mid-life crisis like you I’ll expand my collection.”

Dick made a sound like a pterodactyl screeching. “Mid-life-“

Bruce chuckled. “I missed you boys so much while I was gone.”

Dick was shocked into silence, blinking at Bruce like maybe he’d been replaced by a doppleganger.

Tim breathed through the ache in his chest. “We missed you, too,” he said. “So much.”

Bruce dropped his hand to the back of Tim’s neck and squeezed gently. “Also Alfred says your sweet tooth is unhealthy and he made me put Splenda in your coffee.”

“Alfred!” Tim frowned down at his coffee. “It’s not the same.”

“No, it merely tastes the same,” Alfred said in a dry voice. He didn’t even look up from where he was refilling Dick’s orange juice.

“Spoken like a man who has never used Splenda,” Bruce said. He let Tim go and made his way to the kitchen table. The cane was leaning against the table in case he needed it, but he was getting around easier without it lately.

Tim took a deep breath, let the ache in his chest ease as he watched Bruce sit at the table with the rest of the family.

“Drake.” Damian’s voice was still imperious, but there was an edge of hesitance to his tone that Tim wasn’t used to hearing. Damian was sitting near the head of the table, his plate empty and hands folded on the table in front of him. There was a steaming mug sitting by his elbow, a tea bag sitting on the edge of his plate.

Tim glanced at the youngest Wayne, noticing with a sort of amused resignation that everyone else in the room was watching their interaction like a hawk.

Tim caught Dick’s eye but his brother looked even more surprised than Tim. Well, nothing to do but go for it and see what he wanted. “Yes?”

“Due to the change in your physical health, it is clear that your previous poison training is no longer as effective as it should have been. If you would like, I am happy to begin a training regimen with you to reacclimate your system to the League’s most common poisons-“

“No!” Dick, Alfred and Bruce all spoke at once. Damian blinked at them. Tim sipped his coffee and tried not to pout at the artificial taste.

“That’s very generous of you,” Tim said, “and I think getting reacclimated is a good idea. But the doctor says it could take up to two years before my system totally adjusts to the change, so I think it would be more effective to wait until that hurdle has been cleared. Can we discuss this again in the future?”

Damian nodded solemnly. It was clear he was trying to be calm and mature about it. “That’s very logical. You did not mention if Grandfather had trained you on how to develop the antidotes.”

Ra’s had, technically, but… “Not all of them, no. And he didn’t let me test any of them, so I’m not sure how effective they actually are.”

“Yes, Grandfather likes to keep a few of them secret even from his most trusted advisors.” Damian took a sip of his tea and did not look at Dick who was looking back and forth between them with narrowed eyes. “My mother acquired the knowledge years ago and trained me without Grandfather’s knowledge. She said we would surprise him with it one day and prove I was a worthy student.” Damian’s expression flickered slightly, as if he was only just then realizing that story was probably bullshit and that his mother was trying to save his life. “I would be willing to show you, if you wish to learn.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Tim said. He took another sip of coffee and waggled his eyebrows at Bruce, who raised an eyebrow back at him. “I don’t know if the rest of the family has done any Mithradatism training at all.”

Damian gave Dick and Bruce a scandalized gasp. “That is a deadly oversight in your training,” he said sternly. “We will begin immediately-“

“No putting anything in anyone’s food!” Dick said. “We talked about this.”

“But I’m telling you,” Damian said. “You said I must not do it without consent.”

“Well, I’m not consenting. Neither is Bruce or Alfred. No dosing anyone’s food for a while, all right? I haven’t recovered from the last one yet.”

“You should ask Jason and Steph,” Tim said. He ignored the murder glare Dick was aiming at the side of his head. “I bet Cassie’s already done it, though. Alfred, have you?”

“I can tell you’re feeling better, Master Tim,” Alfred said. “Sit and eat something besides coffee, please.”

“Speaking of which,” Damian said, and everyone else in the room snapped their attention back to him. “When last we dined together, you mentioned that you had uncovered Father’s secret identity when you were young. I would like to hear the story of how you did that.”

The words were slightly unnatural, and clearly rehearsed. Tim sensed that at least one member of the family had walked Damian through the invitation, but the request itself seemed genuine. Damian seemed cautious but not reluctant, which made up Tim’s mind for him.

“Yeah, okay.” He took the seat across from Damian’s, and reached for the platter of cinnamon rolls, plopping two onto his plate and reaching for a third before Alfred wrestled the platter away from him and slapped a bowl of fruit into his hand instead. “It’s not a very long story.” He shot a sideways glance at Dick, currently in the act of shoving half a pancake in his face. “It starts a long time ago, though.”

Dick licked pancake syrup off his mouth and gestured toward Damian with his fork. “Go on,” he said. “Tell Dames how we met.”

Tim took a deep drink of his coffee while Alfred set a plate of perfectly cooked sunny-side up eggs and bacon in front of him. “All right,” he said. “So, thirteen years ago, the circus was in town.”