Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

- Place the patient on their back and kneel beside them.

- Place the heel of your hand on the lower half of the breastbone, in the center of the person’s chest. Place your other hand on top of the first hand and interlock your fingers.

- Position yourself above the patient’s chest.

- Using your body weight (not just your arms) and keeping your arms straight, press straight down on their chest by one third of the chest depth.

- Release the pressure. Pressing down and releasing is 1 compression.

Follow the 30:2 ratio. Two breaths for every thirty compressions.

- Open the person’s airway by placing one hand on the forehead or top of the head and your other hand under the chin to tilt the head back.

- Pinch the soft part of the nose closed with your index finger and thumb.

- Open the person’s mouth with your thumb and fingers.

- Take a breath and place your lips over the patient's mouth, ensuring a good seal.

- Blow steadily into their mouth for about 1 second, watching for the chest to rise.

Tim didn’t let himself think for a single second about pressing his lips against a strange man’s lips to give him a mouth-to-mouth. He had been trained enough to know that these queasy thoughts don’t help in life and death situations. And this was very much a life and death situation. He counted down from thirty again.

4… 3… 2… 1…

He pressed his lips against his mouth once more, breathing into his lungs and definitely not thinking about the many cigarettes the man must have gone through. He lifted his head, took another deep breath and then breathed into his lungs again.

30… 29… 28… 27…

Tim was getting tired. When doing CPR, if the resuscitator was getting exhausted and unable to continue, they are recommended to stop. But Tim couldn’t stop. If he stopped, then everything he knew about Batman—everything he believed—would be thrown into the garbage. So no, he couldn’t stop, even if he was feeling light-headed and shivering from the cold. Even if the wet clothes sticking to himself made him itch. Even if the ambulance was too many minutes away.

He kept pressing down on the unmoving chest, breathing and then gasping for air. He didn’t know how long it went on for. Time was simply a construct that Tim chose to ignore. So he kept doing CPR until finally, finally, the man coughed. Tim scrambled back, narrowly avoiding the mass of water coughed out of his throat.

He kept hacking and coughing, not seeming to notice the little 14-year-old boy in front of him. Tim didn’t blame him, he could barely see himself in his all-black night uniform.

The man collapsed again, breathing raggedly with his eyes closed. Tim counted till ten, but the man was still breathing. He let out a silent sigh of relief and shuffled into the shadows. He warily watched the man coughing and spluttering by the shore until he heard the ambulance. That was when he immediately grabbed his backpack and left, not even glancing back.

Tim shivered violently as he made his way to the nearest bus stop to take him home. It was Gotham, so the bus driver would probably not even glance at him and his wet night suit and armor.

Tim walked down the street leading away from the harbor, hyper-aware of every sound he could hear. The squelching of his wet footsteps, the light flicker of the streetlamp ahead, the low rumble of a car. Tim stopped in his tracks.

The soft rumble of the engine coming towards him filled his bones with dread. But he ignored it. He ignored it and kept walking. He ignored it even more when the car stopped in front of him, and chose to go around it as if it were a mere obstacle and not a sleek, black car with as many weapons as a navy ship.

The driver stepped out and blocked Tim’s path. He was about to put an arm on his shoulder, when Tim caught the arm and glared into the white lenses of the cowl. He then let go and continued walking, trying not to shiver too much.

“Please,” Batman whispered. His voice was different. Much different than when he growled at the mugger, Parry Curt, and threw him into Gotham Harbor. Tim had waited for him to drag Curt to the shore, but he didn’t. He had disappeared with a flurry from his cape. So Tim had to throw his bag away and swim towards Curt, dragging him out and resuscitating him. All dread that Tim was previously feeling vanished as anger filled its place in his bones.

The man who threw Curt into the harbor, nearly letting him die, was pleading to Tim. His voice was much softer and gentler, borderlining on Bruce. But Bruce wasn’t here. He hadn’t been here in a long time. And the voice he just used, was too much compared to what Tim just saw.

“Alfred wants—”

Tim put a hand up, cutting off Batman’s words. He turned around, his back facing the man, and tried to continue walking. He took a few steps. He tried to ignore it, he really did, but he couldn’t just ignore Alfred’s name. That must be why he started with that. Everyone listened to Alfred. Batman, Dick, Jason.

Jason…

Tim sighed but it sounded weird with his teeth chattering. He marched to the car, slipping into the backseat and pointedly avoiding Batman’s gaze. Tim shivered again when the warm air from the heaters at the front reached his glacial, juddering body. Batman detached his cape and put it over him. Tim wanted to remove it, shove it away, show his anger towards the man. But he couldn’t. It was so warm. So nice.

He wearily registered the soft rumble of the engine, arms holding him, carrying him, smooth sheets underneath him, a beeping sound of the thermometer, hushed voices, a hand stroking his hair.

A hand was stroking his hair… much like how Jason used to.

Fingers were combing through the wet tangles, a warm blow of wind drying it, soft tugs at the tips of his curls…

An annoying ray of light pierced through his shut eyelids and Tim woke up to his bedroom in Wayne manor.

Wayne manor.

The home devoid of Jason Todd.

--------------------------------------------

Tim trudged down the stairs to breakfast. He ignored Bruce’s eyes on him and made a beeline to the coffee machine. He smiled as he remembered Jason’s lectures on how coffee was bad for his health which always ended up with the both of them staring at each other over two steaming mugs of caffeine. He skipped over his usual Robin mug and snatched a plain black one. That mug contained memories, this one didn’t.

He took a long sip, ignoring the scalding of his tongue for the sake of soothing his throat. A little tingle was forming at the back and he knew that if he didn’t immediately fix it, it would snowball into a problem. Tim didn’t have time for petty problems such as those.

He staggered to the table and took a seat, neither far nor near to Bruce. It was neutral. Not because Tim’s anger had cooled down, but because it would seem like Bruce didn’t even exist, which would hurt more. He took another deep sip of coffee and smiled slightly at Alfred as he put down a plate of scrambled eggs.

“Tim,” the man on his right said.

Tim didn’t reply. He stabbed a piece of egg with a fork.

“How are you feeling?” he asked again. When Tim didn’t respond, he sighed.

“Master Tim?” Alfred asked. Tim turned his head to him, ignoring the other man sitting beside him with a newspaper folded neatly in front of him and a cup of coffee. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Tim replied, his voice only slightly hoarse. “Better.”

Alfred nodded. He cast a wistful glance between him and Bruce, then disappeared back into the kitchen.

“It’s funny,” Bruce stated. “After last night, I should be the one who’s mad.”

Tim slammed his cup of coffee down on the table, narrowly avoiding the liquid to spill. “You nearly killed a man,” he snarled coldly. He didn’t even have to force the venom into his words, it dripped through naturally.

“He would have survived,” Bruce replied.

Tim barked a dry laugh. “He would have?” he asked incredulously. “Yeah, okay. Sure. Let’s just pretend that I didn’t have to dive in the cold water and save his damn life!” he yelled the last part.

Bruce looked down at his cup. "He knew how to swim."

Tim looked at him suspiciously. "Did you know he was high?"

The tight hold Bruce had on his cup told him that he didn't. Tim groaned and rubbed his eyes.

"Please stay," Bruce asked quietly, even if he knew the answer.

Tim didn't reply. He took another sip of his coffee.

-----------------------------------

Alfred stopped the car in front of Drake manor rather reluctantly. Tim muttered a thanks and grabbed the bag with his washed night costume and equipment before stepping out of the car. As he walked up the path that led to his door, Alfred called his name. Tim turned around, dreading the conversation already.

"It would be such a pleasure to have you stay over with us," Alfred began carefully.

"I'm sorry, Alfred," Tim said. "But I really can't. Not without—" he stopped and drew a deep breath. "And with Bruce in grief too. I can't."

Alfred looked at him sadly. "We're right next door. With Master Bruce throwing himself into work and Master Dick in Blüdhaven, It's been getting lonely without a light to brighten up the dull walls."

Tim's throat constricted as he said, "The real light is buried six feet under the ground." Then he turned back on his heel and walked away, trying to think of anything except the tear tracks lining the old butler's face.

----------------------------------

Tim scrolled through the case files of Two Face's recent reappearance on his bed while simultaneously texting Barbara. He snorted when Barbara sent the newly released paparazzi photo of Bruce squinting at wine bottle dates in the last gala. The people wanted pictures of the Wayne family more than ever after Jason's…

Tim shook his head. He couldn't break down. He couldn't break down now. He had cases to review. Another text from Barbara gladly caught his attention.

Barbara <12:37>: Hey… i just wanted 2 ask… how r u?
Tim <12:37>: Im good? Why?
Barbara <12:37>: Well…
Barbara <12:37>: I heard that this time a few months ago was when… y'know
Barbara <12:38>: I just wanted 2 see how u were going
Tim <12:38>: I'm fine, wbu?
Barbara <12:38>: Oh drop the niceties Tim. U know we're all messed up over here
Tim <12:38>: Idk what u want me 2 say
Barbara <12:38>: Just… just take care of urself, squirt

Tim logged off. He knew that it was "the day" today. He knew that Batman would be especially violent tonight. He knew that he might not be able to stop him if he interfered with Batman's pummeling. He knew it, but if he actually pondered on it, he would break down too. And that couldn't happen. He managed himself for 3 months, he could manage more.

So Tim turned back to Two Face's files. He clicked on his profile information and a name caught his eye.

Other connections: Murderer of Jason Todd's father, Willis Todd.

Tim knew that Willis wasn't the best father, that he wasn't a father at all. He hurt Jason so much during his street days that Jason had spared no sympathy for the man. Catherine Todd was a different person though. Turned out that she was more different than anyone knew. She wasn't Jason's biological mom. It was some other woman named Sheila Haywood. Jason had run away to go find her alone, but got caught in Ethiopia and beaten and exploded to death by the Jo—

Tim sucked in a sharp inhale. He had vowed himself not to think of that. He had promised not to think of him. Yet here he was, brooding about his parents like he didn't have trash parents himself.

His eyes wandered to his phone with his father's three day-old unopened message displayed at the top saying that they would be arriving in a few days' time. The time for their arrival was marching closer and closer, and Tim was dreading their return. They kept extending their trip and had been away for months. It was the longest they left him alone.

Their arrival would not only mean that Tim had to put up his guard of dutiful son, but that he wouldn't have the comfort of knowing that Jason would be there for him.

Tim always promised himself that he would stand up the next time. That he would put his foot down and defend himself. That he would block the next time the belt came his way just as Jason taught him. That he would make Jason proud. That he would tell Dick and Bruce. He promised himself.

But… when the time came… he just… couldn't. He— even if— he just— couldn't.

Fear.

Fear grappled his heart and threatened to squeeze. Even now, as he was thinking about it, imagining a situation, fear still consumed him and he flinched. His parents were miles away. But even as he tried to recall a time where he was being punished, and tried to imagine himself stepping up, fear shot through his chest like a bullet and extended its spindles to every part of his body. All sense of logic was abandoned as a dull ache made itself known on his back.

Even as he tried to reassure himself that they weren't here, they were miles away, far away, you don't have to be scared, his brain didn't listen. His body didn't listen as it tensed up. His lungs didn't listen as they seized up and couldn't hold a breath for more than five seconds.

They're not here, he thought through gritted teeth. They can't hurt you, you absolute fucking idiot. They're not here.

No, said a voice in his head. They're not here. Because they don't want to be here. They don't like you. They hate you. You were never meant to be born.

How? How was it possible for him to miss and hate his parents at the same time? If only—

His breath got caught in his throat, and he suddenly couldn't breathe.

If only Jason was here. If only he were here to help him understand. If only he were here to loosen the tightening of his chest and let out the breath his throat was clogging. If only he were here to press Tim's ear to his chest so he could listen to the calmness of his heartbeat. If only, if only, if only.

If only he wasn't dead.

The breath of air that was stuck in his throat came out with a horrible, grieving sound. It disgusted Tim. It— it was grotesque. He wished that it wasn't associated with the thought of Jason. Jason, the bright boy with the cocky smile and bold actions. The playful boy with protective skills so fierce that it scared Tim and made him look in awe at the same time. The smart boy who brought an aura of safety with him everywhere. He— he was—

Tim made another horrid noise, this time, it rose from the depths of his heart and throat.

He was dead. Gone. Forever. Never to be seen again. Never— never to be heard again. Never to be laughed with. Never to be hugged. Never—

No, he clutched his hair, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his breath to stop the sob from erupting. Don't think about that. Don't. You won't be able to stop. Don't don't don't don't—

His eyes were shut with Jason's soothing voice narrating the story of Little Women.

Don't think about that.

Jason tapped his hand as a new song played through the airpods they were sharing. Tim briefly looked up from his Geography homework and nodded, signaling that this song was okay. Jason gave a thumbs up and went back to his own homework.

Stop.

Jason handed him another strip of tape and Tim picked up another one of the many pictures sprawled all over his bedroom at Wayne manor to stick into the scrapbook opened in front of them.

Please, just stop.

Jason cheered as Tim managed to flip down from the high beam without stumbling. Tim grinned and took a bow.

Shut up.

Jason was explaining the benefits of his character jumping onto the table during his monologue for their school play. Tim shook his head, but Jason pressed on, a light in his eyes.

I said shut up.

Tim screamed and smashed the lamp on his study desk.

Tim was whimpering in pain as Jason wrapped the gauze around his back to protect the belt wounds, his face set in a tight grimace.

Please, just stop.

Tim ripped the curtain rod off his bedroom window.

Jason stage-whispered a happy cheer as he won the hangman game they were playing in class after Tim had won the previous round.

I said STOP.

Tim punched his bookshelf and kicked the books as the shelf broke.

"Tim! Are you okay?" Jason frantically asked as Tim gaped at the bullet that narrowly missed him. Jason grabbed his shoulders and was staring at him in concern.

I'm not.

Tim sobbed.

I'm not okay.

He ripped something open. Feathers flew all around, but he couldn’t see anything clearly. His vision was too blurred.

Jason whooped as he whizzed past Nightwing who gave him a middle finger. He laughed and made sure that Tim was holding onto him tight before zooming forward on his bike.

Why is this happening?

Tim cried out and smashed the first thing he could get his hands on. It was too soft. He smashed something else instead. It broke under his fists, sending a shot of pain through his hands.

Tim landed on the ground, managing to evade Jason’s hands grasping out to tag him. “TIM! Give my Robin mask back!” Jason yelled. Tim stuck his tongue out in reply and continued to evade him, adjusting the domino on his face and sliding down the dinosaur’s tail in the batcave.

He punched something hard, repeatedly. It shattered under his gripped fingers, small pieces of glass lodging itself into his skin.

"It's okay Tim," Jason whispered, running his fingers through his hair. "They're gone now. They can't hurt you now."

"I know," Tim sobbed, clutching the arm that Jack twisted to his chest. "They're gone again. And they won't stop. I don't— I don't even know whether I want them to stay or not!"

He felt Jason's posture tighten a little before he replied, "They might be gone, but I'm here, okay? I'll never leave you, alright?"

Tim sniffed and held out his arm again, letting Jason put it in a sling.

"He promised," Tim whispered to himself, staring at his bloody hands. "He said he won't leave, he promised. I trusted him because he's my brother." He squeezed his eyes, trying to clear his vision. "Was my brother."

He looked around at the mess of the room. Books, clothes, feathers, ripped things, smashed things, broken things, shattered windows. His parents were coming back in a few days. He couldn't fix all this by then. They would belt him for this.

…But he couldn't care. He couldn't care, because Jason wasn't here to help wrap up his wounds. He wasn't here. He was lying in a coffin. Even though his parents were further away from him than Jason, it still felt like Jason was more than just a few kilometers away. To Tim, he felt like light years away. Unreachable. Gone. Forever.

Forever.

The word was so small, yet it was so long.

Tim finally heaved himself off the bed with the upturned mattress and sheets, and made his way to the bathroom. Clenching his fists every time even a sliver of thought about Jason came to mind. The pain enough to divert his attention away.

He picked the glass and splinters off from his hands first, depositing them into the bin beside his sink. Then he disinfected his hands, wincing slightly, before grabbing bandages from the shelf he had stocked up. He wrapped the bandages around his fists, thinking up excuses to tell people. In the end, he simply gave up and resigned to tell the truth about his breakdown if Bruce or Alfred asked. Jason liked it when he—

He stopped himself, taking a deep breath and trying to clear his thoughts. He was too exhausted to deal with another breakdown now.

Forever, the word echoed in his head. You will have to do this forever.

"Forever," Tim whispered as he put the supplies away.

"Keep evading forever," Tim hissed as he abandoned his room and shuffled to his parents' room.

"Repressing memories forever," Tim choked as he sniffed in his mother's faint scent in the bedsheets, trying to recall the few times he actually had good memories with his parents. There were few, but they were there.

"Forever trying not to think about— about him," Tim whimpered as he wrapped himself in the blankets. He felt strange. A mix of emotions that he received from smelling his parents' scents and lying in their bed.

Forever.

Jason Todd. The second Robin. The former street kid. The brash, cocky Robin. His hero. His friend. His brother. Forever. He will still forever be those things to Tim. Forever.

But what about Bruce? He was grieving too. And Dick, and Alfred. They were all mourning Jason. And Babs, and Gordon. They had close ties with him too. What about them? Jason was close to all of them, not just as Robin, but as—

Wait. Robin! Jason was Robin. But he was no longer Robin now. Gotham needed Robin. The world needed Robin. Bruce needed Robin. No— scratch that. Batman needed Robin. Bruce needed his son. He needed Jason.

But Batman… he was spiraling off a darker path. If Tim wasn't careful, the man would go to the place Batman should never go. He needed someone to keep him in check. Especially when Joker would inevitably appear again. But… but what?

Tim loved Robin. He loved Jason more, but he loved the idea of Robin too. Dick's Robin was cheerful and a pure ray of sunshine to Batman's enveloping darkness. Jason's Robin was strong and a brave magic bean to Batman's rotting darkness. Robin wasn't just a person. It was an idea. And Tim… Tim was great with ideas. Maybe… maybe he could…

Maybe Tim could be Robin.

Tim gasped out loud and clamped his mouth shut with his hand at that thought. But Robin was Jason's! It was—

It was Dick's first, said the voice in his head. Tim scrunched his brows. He wasn't sure if the voice was positive or negative. It was Dick's first, Jason's second, but maybe… maybe it could be yours third.

That… that sort of made sense. No. It made a lot of sense actually. If Tim… if Tim could become Robin—or at least, a Robin—he could help Batman. He could help Gotham. He could help the world. He could keep the Robin legacy—Jason's legacy—alive. Forever. He was no ray of sunshine, nor was he strong, but he had brains. Jason always said that he was smart. He always complimented him even at the littlest—

Tim swallowed. He had to stop thinking about that now. He couldn't deal with more as of now.

Tim didn't have many fighting skills though. He wasn't a slippery acrobat like Dick or a tough fighter like Jason. But… but he could learn! He had brains. He could learn. Immediately, he began thinking of a list of teachers he could learn from. Bruce being the top one.

Bruce… Would Bruce mind? Would it be rude if he approached him and asked to be Robin even though the previous one died?

A sudden yawn interrupted his thoughts. His eyelids were droopy and heavy. He could think about that later. Right now… right now he was exhausted.

Tomorrow, he could wake up early, compile a list of things that would be needed to convince Bruce and practice a speech. He could point out the brutal attacks Batman was doing and maybe guilt-trip him? Hm, that may or may not work. Maybe he could show the charts of how efficient Batman was alone vs how efficient he was with two people fighting crime. Maybe he could even…

Tim yawned again.

Maybe he could even list out his strengths. Show how much…

His eyelids closed.

Show how much he was eager to fix his weaknesses and…

And the world dissolved into fog.

~

“They’ve never said it,” Tim said quietly, covering his eyes with his hands. “But I’m pretty sure I wasn’t meant to be born anyway.”

Jason firmly grasped his shoulders. “Tim, shut the fuck up and listen to me, okay?” Tim looked at him with teary eyes. “Maybe you really were never meant to be born, but I’m fucking glad that you are. Practically euphoric. You hear that, Tim? I’m over-shitting-joyed that you’re here.”

The way he said it… with such confidence… Tim could almost believe him.

No, he did believe him. He was Jason Todd—Robin. He was his friend. He would never lie to him like that.

~

“Please come back,” A silent wish whispered into the void.

Chapter Text

Before Tim confronted Bruce about becoming Robin, he went to Dick. It made more sense to ask a former Robin to come back first, since the position of Robin didn't belong to Tim as of now. So, he caught a bus to Blüdhaven first thing after he woke up in the afternoon. He texted Dick, saying that he would be there in a couple hours. Dick hadn't replied.

Ever since Jason's death, Dick had… changed. He was no longer the boundless ray of sunshine. His glow had gotten dimmer. His demeanor, sadder. His posture, more slumped. His quips and puns had lessened just like the memes he used to send in their group chat (they still hadn't removed Jason from their chat, nor did they create a new one). Every time Dick looked at Tim, he searched the area around him, as if searching for Jason who rarely left Tim's side. But when the absence of Jason was clear, his eyes got more dismal, and his lips turned slightly downward. Every time Tim looked at Dick, he was reminded of his and Jason's banter, which just made him sad in turn. So, the two avoided seeing each other, only talking online and using face calls.

This was the first time Tim was going to see Dick in person in months. It was safe to say that he was very nervous to meet his big brother.

Tim scrunched his eyes closed and bit his lip to keep from making a noise and appearing like a weirdo on the bus.

Big brother. Jason always called him his little brother. Tim had never once called Jason or Dick his brothers out loud. It felt strange to him. It felt awkward saying it out loud. But it still felt like the truest thing in the world. Just as the ocean was wide and Gotham was dark, Jason and Dick were his brothers. If only he had voiced it out loud. If only he told Jason that. If only he got over his damn nerves and firmly said "You are my brother". If only he could do that now.

It was evening by the time Tim got off the bus and made his way to Dick's apartment. He pulled up his hoodie further and put his hands in his pockets. It was mutually agreed among everyone that Gotham was worse than Blüdhaven, but it still didn't rule out the fact that the Blüd was so bad that it was being compared to Gotham in the first place. Keeping his version of the Batglare ready, he stalked through the streets, only looking up occasionally to check whether he was going in the right direction.

"Hey!" a voice yelled.

Tim ignored it and kept walking.

"I'm talking to you." The voice sounded familiar somehow, but Tim couldn't place it, so he kept walking.

He heard footsteps getting closer and Tim prepared the taser in his pocket. A hand on his shoulder caused him to spin around and Tim jutted the taser forward, but the hand caught it. Tim gasped and dropped the taser. There were only a few people who had reflexes that fast.

"Why do you have a beard?" Tim shrieked.

Dick laughed and let go of his wrist. “It was for an undercover mission. It’s a stick-on.” The beard was covering his whole mouth, making his voice come out a little muffled. He ruffled his hair and Tim fixed it back again.

He reached out to touch the fake beard.

“Hey.” He caught his wrist again. “No touching. What are you doing here anyway? And why, when you turned around, I got hit full force with your mini Janet Drake cold glare.”

Tim smiled as he picked up the taser from the ground. Dick had met his parents quite a few galas ago and had then raved about them for a week straight with Jason agreeing and joining him. He already hated them for leaving him alone for long periods of time, Tim could only imagine how he would behave if he knew that they hit him too. So far, he had managed to keep his secret with Jason being the only person to know. Tim made him promise not to tell anyone and he had taken his secret quite literally to the grave.

“I just wanted to see you, Dickie,” Tim said.

“Mhm, why are your hands bandaged?”

Tim looked down and flexed his fingers. He fingered the bandages around his knuckles. “Breakdown,” he whispered. Dick put a hand on his shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. “I… I didn’t just come here to see you,” Tim looked up.

Dick raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I… I came here to talk about Bruce.”

Hearing his name, Dick’s face went dark. Their relationship had been rocky ever since he quit being Robin. When Jason appeared and Dick once saved him from getting himself killed, he started putting in the effort to come to terms with Bruce. After Jason’s death… their relationship wasn’t even shaky. It was vigorously vibrating so hard that it buried itself deep into the ground, never to be seen again. Tim wished he could fix that. Maybe bringing up Robin would help. Or maybe if he himself became Robin, Dick might put in the effort to get close to Bruce again.

But first, he had to get him to take Robin back.

“Tim…” Dick started hesitantly. Tim kept his face open, free for Dick to search. He eyed his hopeful expression and sighed. “Let’s get to my apartment first, yeah? My shift’s nearly over anyway.”

After signing off from the station (and returning the fake beard), Dick drove Tim on his bike to his apartment. As he clutched the older boy’s waist, zooming through streets, he reminisced on the old times when Dick regularly used to take him on bike rides as Nightwing and sometimes raced against Jason.

“Here we are,” Dick declared, opening the door. “My humble abode.”

Tim wrinkled his nose at the mess in the apartment.

“Yeah, yeah. I know how messy it is,” Dick said. Tim caught a hint of bitterness in his voice.

He turned back to the mess, stepping over clothes and objects, and upon careful inspection, he realized that this was no ordinary mess. Dick’s messes were usually haphazard in a circus type of way, so that he could feel a little bit closer to home. This mess was more… he couldn’t find the word. Or more, he dreaded saying the word.

He opened the fridge and immediately closed it, coughing at the putrid smell.

“I forgot to clear out the fridge,” Dick shrugged. Tim was sure he was lying.

“Dick…?” Tim began hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

Dick gave a dry laugh. “As okay as I’ll ever be, baby bird. As okay as I’ll ever be.” Again, Tim caught the bitterness in his voice. “Why are you here?”

Tim took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. “Bruce nearly killed a man last night.” Dick froze. “I had to pull him out of the harbor and resuscitate him.”

Dick took off his cop shirt and threw it on the couch. “I thought you weren’t allowed to be out nowadays.”

“That’s not the point here, Dick.”

“Then what is?”

Tim searched the older boy’s face. There were dark circles under his eyes so black that it looked like he applied kohl. His face was lined with exhaustion and depression, his hair looked like it hadn’t been combed for a week, and there were some sloppy shaving cuts. “I think you should take back Robin.”

Dick stopped. He still had to put the other hand through his tank top’s sleeve and his socks were half on. Tim decided to push on before he stopped listening. “Batman’s getting more and more reckless. The man he threw in the water, he was just a lowlife mugger who got a little too high. Without a Robin, Batman’s going to do something he’ll regret. He’ll—”

“Tim, stop,” Dick said in a low voice.

Tim didn’t stop. “Dick, he might kill someone. That’s not what Batman’s for. Batman never kills. If he does, he’ll become just like Gotham’s villains. Or maybe even wor—”

“TIM!” Dick yelled. Tim flinched and took a step back, closing his mouth shut. Dick sighed and rubbed his face. Tears were brimming in his eyes and he rubbed it again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m—” his voice grew thick and cracked and tears kept showering down. “I’m so sorry.”

“Dick,” Tim said gently, walking up to him and putting a hand on his arm. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Dick sobbed. Tim helped him fully put on his shirt first. “It’s— it’s not okay, Tim. It's not okay. I yelled at you for no reason. And if everything was okay, then Jas—” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Jason would still be here. Alive, warm, breathing, laughing, quoting literature and making movie references. He would be here, but— but he’s not.” The last part came out as another sob. “He— my little brother— he’s—”

“Sit down, Dick.” Tim led him gently onto the couch.

“I wasn’t even there!” Dick bleated. “I was in fucking space. I wasn’t even there when that bastard took him and beat the shit out of him. Out of my little brother. I wasn’t even there.”

“Dick, drink some water.”

He pushed the glass away. “And Bruce…” His voice changed to a low growl. “Bruce didn’t even tell me. He didn’t even fucking tell me that Jace died. I had to find out from the damn paper.”

Tim looked down. He forgot about that.

“I’m sorry, Tim Tam. But I can’t go back. I can’t go back to him. I can’t go back to— to that empty manor. Not without— without—” Dick broke down into sobs.

Tim positioned himself onto the couch and put Dick’s head on his shoulder, stroking his hair in a soothing motion. Dick soaked his shirt with tears and Tim let him.

“I’m so sorry, Tim.”

“It’s— it’s fine Dick.”

“It’s not. I should be the one comforting you. I should be the big brother.”

Big brother…

Jason might not be here, but Dick was. And Tim should say it before it was too late for him too.

“Dick…” Tim started cautiously. “I… Even you have to break down sometimes. And… and you’ll always be my big brother.”

Dick stopped sobbing and straightened up, looking at Tim.

Tim looked down. “I just wish I had said it before. When Jason was still here.”

Dick offered him a hug, and Tim smiled wetly and pulled him close. He wrapped his arms around him and started rocking the both of them gently. Dick hiccuped and clutched him tight.

----------------------------------------

Tim woke up just before nine at night. He blearily glanced at Dick who was all but on top of him with his upper body cradling him and his legs sprawled out on the couch. Tim sighed, this was going to be painful. He carefully unwrapped his arms and slowly uncrossed his legs. Then he shifted, centimeter by centimeter, until he was completely sitting on the couch's armrest, holding Dick in the air by his arms. He pulled a cushion towards the armrest with his feet and gently laid his head on it. Quickly, he grabbed another cushion and slid it beneath Dick's arms before he woke up. Dick hugged the cushion close, burying his face in it, and readjusted himself until he was in a more comfortable position. He didn't wake up.

Tim breathed a sigh of relief and checked the time again. Nine twelve? He spent twelve minutes on readjusting Dick? What the heck?

Shaking his head, he navigated his way through the mess and stopped at the middle of the living room. Well, wasn't he the perfect Snow White. He had the pale, white skin, dark hair and everything.

Sighing again, he set to work on clearing Dick's apartment. He started easy, picking up dirty clothes from the whole apartment and shoving them in the corner. Next, he brought out a broom and, as silently as he could, swept up the place. He froze when Dick moaned softly and twisted on his side, but when he didn't wake up, he continued sweeping.

Tim looked all around for a bin. Why did he not have a bin? What type of idiot doesn't keep a single bin in the house? Not even one in the bathroom. He found a roll of garbage bags though. The trash combined from the whole of Dick's apartment filled two and a half bags. Tim wrinkled his nose.

He went to the room he was dreading the most and opened the bathroom. Surprisingly, it wasn't that messy. But there was no way he was going to scrub that place. Dick could deal with it on his own. So, he shifted over to his closet instead. There were only a few clothes, but most of them were on the ground and not folded or hung on a hanger. He quickly set it up. He quite liked arranging things like closet spaces. It didn't take too much skill, but it still felt good organizing and deciding where things went.

Dick's bed was slightly disheveled, and Tim's face fell at the realization that he really wasn't sleeping. He cleared the few bed sheet wrinkles and fluffed up the pillows. Finally, he tackled the kitchen. Finding an adequate pair of ear plugs, he stuffed them up his nose and put on a mask for extra protection. He readied the garbage bag and put on his gloves. As soon as he opened the fridge door, he swept his arm across the space, throwing everything into the garbage bag, not even pausing to check if a single thing was expired or not. Dick could restock it later. He did the same for the freezer and put the garbage bag beside the others and removed the mask and plugs. He looked at the dishes in the sink and sagged. There was only a lone plate and fork in there. Dick wasn't eating at all.

He stared at the plate and fork for a while. He had a mental picture in his mind of another lonely dish in the sink at Drake manor. That was around two years ago (he mostly relied on takeout and Mrs. Mac nowadays), when he hadn’t met Jason at school and hadn’t moved into Wayne manor.

Jason wasn’t just saving people as Robin; he was saving people as himself too. He saved Tim from the crushing loneliness he didn’t even know he was absorbed in. He saved Bruce from becoming the urban scare just by appearing beside the batmobile and stealing tires. He saved Dick by bringing him closer to Bruce, enough to ask for help. And he saved Alfred from dealing with Bruce alone. It wasn’t just Robin that was magic, as Jason told him once, it was Jason himself. He was the brightest, flashiest, most dramatic, and kindest magic Tim had ever known. And he had seen Zatanna firsthand.

Something tickled his nose and Tim swiped the saltwater dripping down his face. He hadn’t even realized that he was crying. Sniffing and wiping his face, he quickly washed the plate and fork and let it air-dry.

Decluttering Dick’s apartment also somehow decluttered the mess in Tim’s brain. He sat down on the ground before the couch where Dick was sleeping on and criss-cross applesauced his legs, putting his elbows on his lap and resting his head on his hands. It was time to create a proper plan.

Step 1. Get back to Gotham.
Step 2. Compile a list of things he would need to convince Bruce that he shouldn’t be alone.
Step 3. March to Wayne manor.

Wait no. That should be step 4.

Step 3. Prepare a solid argument and practice it.
Step 4. March to Wayne manor like God sent you there.
Step 5. Present your findings to Bruce and try to convince him.
Step 6.

Tim drew up at a blank. Step 6 would just depend on Bruce’s response. If he said no, then he’ll have to just force his way through somehow. If he said yes, then he’ll have to create another plan on how to train to become Robin. He had basic self-defense skills, but to be Robin he needed more. Maybe… maybe he could find Batman’s old mentors? He would have to find other mentors too if he wanted to be at least close to Jason’s level.

Tim jumped up, his limbs stiff. Huh. He had dozed off. He checked the time on his watch and saw that it was around six in the morning. He knew for a fact that Dick’s shifts on Thursdays started late, around eight. So, he had around an hour and a half or so to kill before Dick’s alarm would wake him up.

A sudden rumbling of his stomach alerted him of what to do next. He grabbed his bag and slipped outside using the window. He didn’t have keys to the apartment, so he would be trapped outside if the front door closed. He walked through the streets, keeping his head down, and stopped in front of a diner. Tim’s stomach grumbled, but another sign caught his eye. Taking one last glance at the open diner, he made his way to the grocery shop next to it instead. Dick had probably eaten enough of take-outs and junk food. Alfred would be eyeing him dirtily if he ordered more outside food. He would just have to make a homemade breakfast instead.

Once inside, he roamed around aimlessly through the aisles. What should he even cook? He didn’t really feel like eggs since he had them yesterday at Wayne manor. Making eggs himself would just make him miss Alfred’s cooking. He scanned the rows of ingredients and his eyes landed on a pack of halloumi cheese.

He was flashed back to a morning when Alfred was on a vacation and Jason and Tim were alone in the manor with Bruce. Since Bruce couldn’t cook to save his life, it was up to Jason and Tim to make breakfast. Alfred had said that he trusted Jason with his kitchen before he left. Tim hadn’t known what that meant, but he soon found out when Jason set out ingredients and started ordering Tim around on what to do. Within a short while, three halloumi cheese, salad, avocado, salami, and rye bread sandwiches with cream cheese and scrambled eggs were sitting on the table. It was Jason’s own recipe. And it was delicious.

So, Tim grabbed the ingredients from what he could remember and brought them back to Dick’s apartment. Setting them out, he got to work. He cooked the halloumi on the pan, chopped the tomatoes, parsley, and onions, mashed the avocado, cracked the eggs and mixed them with salt and a bit of chili. After the cheese was a light brown color, he set them aside on a plate and warmed the bread on the pan with the heat off. With all the mis en place done, he started assembling the sandwiches.

Dick, somehow, slept through the whole thing. Either he was knocked out, or he was really tired. Tim was slightly relieved that he wasn’t awake though. It meant that he had some more time to ponder things alone with no distractions.

He ate his sandwich and chewed in contempt, recalling the memory of when he made this with Jason.

~

“BABY BIRD, DROP THE FUCKING KNIFE!”

The blade clattered to the ground.

“Tim, when I said drop the knife, I didn’t mean it literally. You nearly stabbed your toe.”

Tim folded his arms and glared, “Maybe don’t yell it next time?”

“Sorry, but you were fucking about to cut the salami. You don’t need to cut the salami.” Jason picked up the knife from the floor and washed it in the sink.

“If you told me your intentions with the recipe, I wouldn’t have.”

“I would tell you the intentions if I knew myself.”

Tim uncrossed his arms in shock. “You’re not following a recipe?”

Jason grinned. “Nah, this is an original one. Fresh from the depths of my mind.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Okay… Well, what do I do now?”

Jason turned to him, considering his next command. “Hmm… why don’t you crack a couple eggs? Mix a pinch of salt and chili too. I’m not in the mood to try white ass unseasoned food.”

“You’re white,” Tim pointed out while reaching into the fridge. “How much was a pinch again?”

“Ah, Tim Tam,” Jason shook his head ruefully. “The thing about original recipes is that you measure things with your heart. You have a meeting with your soul then take it to your brain and let your hands do the work.”

Tim snorted.

“Okay, fine. Just, like, pinch the salt and chili with your fingers and drop it into the bowl.”

“So it’s a literal pinch?” Tim opened a jar. He felt a tiny nip on his arm. “Ow! Jason, what?”

“Yes, it’s a literal pinch. And that’s the sugar jar, not the salt one, dipshit.”

“Your communication skills are as bad as Bruce.”

Jason gave an exaggerated gasp and clutched his heart with a hand while the other hand held a metal spatula. “Timmy! How could you?” Then he turned around and poked the halloumi sizzling on the pan. “Trust me, Timmers. You’re gonna love this sandwich.”

Tim smiled. “I’m not doubting it yet, Jason.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “Yet?”

~

He rinsed the plate and quickly washed the other dishes, not wanting to see even a bit of dirt after he worked so hard the whole night. He washed his hands and crept up on Dick as he slept. He tilted his head sadly and pressed a kiss to his head.

“Please take care of yourself, Dickie,” he whispered glumly. “I don’t like seeing you this way. At least— at least try. For me?”

He walked to his bedroom and ripped out a sticky note from his desk. Grabbing a working pen, he scribbled, “Thanks for that Dick, I really needed it. But I think you need a bin, because I can’t find one. And try to keep the place neat. I worked hard on it, and I will kill you if you mess up my hard work.”

With that being said, he left.

Chapter Text

Tim pressed the doorbell to Wayne manor, feeling extremely on edge. Alfred opened the door and he saw the old man’s eyes light up immediately. Something horribly akin to guilt roiled in his stomach.

“Hey, Alfred.”

“Master Tim. What a pleasure.”

Tim smiled and entered. “I was… hoping to see Bruce?”

“Of course,” Alfred nodded, leading him upstairs. “Are you going to stay?”

Tim hesitated. “Maybe. It really depends on Bruce’s response.”

The old butler’s posture tightened slightly and Tim looked down. “May I ask what’s in the bag, lad?”

“Um…” Tim fumbled around for an excuse. In the end, he decided just to tell the truth. “Alfred… What do you think about me becoming Robin?”

Alfred stopped and froze. Tim waited patiently for an answer. “My boy…” Alfred slowly turned around and crouched in front of him. “Whatever happened that put this idea in your head?”

“Batman needs a Robin,” Tim simply stated. “He’s going off the rails and into the ocean. Gotham can’t take this anymore.”

Alfred sighed. “Jason… the last Robin didn’t make it, Master Tim.”

Tim looked away queasily. “I’m not the last Robin, Alfred. I’m… I’m different. I know I’ll never live up to him, but this isn’t about that. It’s about Batman and what he stands for. If he abandons his morals, he’ll be just as bad as the villains. And… and Gotham needs a ray of hope, no matter how bat-shaped it is.”

Alfred looked at him sadly. Then he straightened up and turned away. “Master Bruce is in his study.”

Tim grimaced in guilt, but he whispered a thank you and made his way to Bruce alone. He knew how much Jason’s death impacted Bruce and Dick. He even knew how much it impacted Babs and Gordon as well. He knew how much it impacted his teachers at school, and he knew that it impacted the students too. But what he didn’t know was how much hurt Alfred was going through, knowing that one of his sons was dead, another one was depressed in his own apartment, and his other was brutally beating up people at night. He wished he could do something about it, but as always, he just didn’t have the magic Jason had.

Tim knocked on Bruce’s door and then opened it without waiting for an affirmation.

“Tim,” Bruce looked up from his laptop and said with a tinge of hope lacing his voice. “What brings you here?”

Tim considered his options as he walked up to him. He could cut straight to the point, or he could beat around a bush a little by recalling some fond memories. Maybe he could start with small talk or threaten him?

“Tim?”

Tim snapped his head up. He pressed his lips tightly and took off his bag. He pushed away the papers on Bruce’s desk and roughly tossed the laptop on the nearest plush chair. Then he promptly dumped his bag’s contents onto the table.

“Evidence,” he stated.

Bruce ruffled through the pictures he had taken of Gotham’s vigilantes over the years. He skimmed through the charts and reports Tim had taken a whole day to type up and flipped through case reports.

“Batman needs a Robin,” Tim began. “You’ve been beating up the common mugger to half-death, leaving me to call the ambulance. You’ve been behaving more reckless when taking down criminals. Your plans are having more faults. Your head is never in the game. You're essentially bordering on the thin line between vigilantism and murder.”

He waited for Bruce to say something, but the man kept his head on the files and pictures on the table.

“Before, you used to spare the common crook and give them a chance. You used to create plans so elaborate and clever that there was barely any room for failure. You used to always have the real reason for why you took up the cowl in the front of your brain everytime you donned the mask. You used to be celebrated by many, feared, but celebrated.”

Bruce shuffled over some papers and revealed a picture of Batman smiling down at a ranting Robin. It was the day before the auditions for the winter play at Gotham Academy. Tim had taken the role of stage manager and Jason desperately wanted to be one of the side characters. He was complaining about how uptight Tim could be sometimes because he hadn’t revealed even a couple lines for the character he wanted to audition for.

“I know you are in grief,” Tim said, trying to keep his voice steady, but his eyes were glued to the picture. “But this needs to stop.”

Bruce brushed his fingers over Jason.

“Jason’s gone,” Tim stated, his voice nearly cracking. “You’re going to have to accept that, Bruce. Everyone needs to accept that. Forget the five stages of grief, Gotham doesn’t have time for that. What they need right now is a proper Batman. The Batman who had transformed the city from a bunch of prancing neanderthals to humans living in a city. Not the Batman who nearly killed a man and gives the hospitals stressful field days every night. Alfred can only help so much with forcing you to eat and sleep, what you need… is a Robin.”

Tim gulped. This was it. He practiced this many times and he knew what he was going to say. He took a deep breath and looked up at Bruce. Immediately, all the words he had practiced crumbled when he saw the tear tracks on the man’s face.

“Bruce?” Tim asked gingerly.

Bruce didn’t reply. He was staring at Jason in the picture, one leg up in mid step and hands above his head in dramatic outrage.

For the first time since Jason’s funeral, Tim looked at the man. Really looked at him. He paused, then looked again. Because the man in front of him, the one with rough, but gentle arms, and eyes that had always twinkled at the sight of his sons, didn’t look anything like the man Tim had seen before. He didn’t look like Batman. He didn’t even look like Bruce. All he looked like… was hurt.

He looked like hurt.

He looked like the pressure comparable to that of a black hole had gripped his world into its hand and crumbled the pieces on top of him. He looked pained. He looked wounded. He looked sad. He looked hurt.

Tim opened his arms. Bruce hesitated. The two stared at each other, trying to communicate without really understanding. Then Bruce stepped in and Tim wrapped his arms around him, trying to put as much comfort as he could into a single hug.

--------------------------------------

Tim watched from the cave as Batman leapt through the night. He was watching the live cowl footage and handling the comms with Oracle—Babs. He decided that he didn’t really want to go for his usual night photography tonight, so he opted to stay inside.

It was a generally quiet night. The streets were clear, as they repeatedly had been ever since Batman’s rage patrolling the city. It really was somewhat peaceful, with the occasional star peeking from the polluted fog and streetlamps making up most of the light.

Suddenly, an arm came out of nowhere.

The cowl footage went hazy and shaky. Batman looked up to see a humongous figure in front of him. Bane. Tim stayed silent, waiting for Batman to start beating him up too and coming up with things he could stay to get him to stop. But Bane landed punch after punch on him. Bruce… wasn’t… doing anything? Why wasn’t he—

A sharp cry caused Tim to leap up from his chair. Bane had broken Batman’s arm. What the hell? Why wasn’t he fighting back? Why—

Another yell of pain and a snap of another bone breaking caused Tim to step back in surprise.

What was Bruce—

Tim glanced around at the computer keyboard frantically. He had to call someone. Dick— Dick was too far away. Babs was paralyzed, she wouldn’t be able to do anything. The GCPD won’t be able to do much either. Everyone was too far away. Superman and most of the JLA was off planet and Tim—

Tim was here. Tim was watching. Tim… Tim was watching Bruce getting himself killed.

He couldn’t let that happen, no. Bruce, the man who adopted Dick and Jason, saving them from the horrible trauma they would have witnessed alone. Bruce, the solid, unmovable rock who held Tim tight whenever he got overwhelmed with emotions. Bruce, the person who Jason encouraged to go to after a nightmare. Bruce, who had asked him if he wanted to be adopted. Bruce, the man Tim realized that he cared for.

He cared for Bruce as much as Jason, as much as Dick. He… he couldn’t watch him die. But what could he… Tim’s eyes landed on the costume in the glass case. Jason’s costume.

The Robin costume.

-----------------------------------

Tim wasn’t going to touch Jason’s suit. That was his. No, he took one of the spares and snagged a pair of black pants. And at the last minute, he grabbed a utility belt full of bat-gadgets too. And now… Now Bruce was going to die. Unless Tim helped him.

Tim didn’t have as many fighting skills as the other vigilantes. He only knew the basic self-defense moves. Even if those moves were taught to him by the bats, it would prove futile against someone like Bane.

Tim hopped off from the batmobile (Dick taught him and Jason how to drive it one night) and reached the location, crouching in an alley just in time to see Bane smash Bruce’s back against his knee. He clenched his fists at Bruce’s yell of agony.

Tim didn’t have any fighting skills, but he had brains.

He quickly whipped out three smoke bombs and threw them at a fair distance away from Bane. With the large man distracted by the confusion, Tim jumped up at a couple bins and pulled the nearest fire escape ladder down (just like he did on the first night when Jason invited himself to Tim’s nightly activities). He scampered up it to the roof and, without sparing a second, he threw two batarangs as best he could in Bane’s direction.

Bruce, Dick, and Jason had taught him how to throw it, but after Jason’s death, they abandoned the training.

One of the batarangs landed by Bane’s feet while the other hit his head. Before Bane could look up in Tim’s direction, he flung himself away from view and silently leaped to the next rooftop, keeping low.

“I know you’re there, Nightwing!” Bane shouted. “Come out and play, will you?”

Jason had greatly criticized Tim’s self-preservation instincts, but he had enough to know not to fight Bane in combat. No matter how tempting it was to let him see another kid with a Robin costume on just yet.

Tim dug out tear gas pellets and aimed as best he could at Bane. Then, the large man turned around and saw him. Tim threw the pellets in his direction and fell back again. Breaths were heaving, but he couldn’t pause. Not now. He had a grapple gun, but with his bandaged hands from the earlier breakdown, he didn’t know how he could use it to swing from rooftop to rooftop, he could only use it to glide down at best.

Bane was coughing and moving back from the gas. Tim had missed by a long shot, but the good thing about gas was that it spread, so Bane was temporarily distracted. Tim leaped to the nearest rooftop and aimed another batarang. Taking a deep breath, he threw it, but it halted in midair, caught by a large fist. Bane laughed as he crushed the projectile.

“So,” he sneered. “Batman got another Robin.”

Tim didn’t reply, letting the glare on his domino mask do all the talking. Bane laughed at the glare which had always seemed to work on everyone, and Tim had a sudden flashback to Chalk—his past abusive teacher. He shook the thought away and disappeared from view again.

“Oh, so we’re playing a game of hide and seek now?” Bane chuckled. “Come out, come out wherever you are, little bird.”

Tim heard the heavy footsteps of him approaching the rooftop he was on. He hugged his knees and buried his face in them. He heard Bane’s heavy breathing as he climbed up the fire escape. Tim stayed rigid and tense, keeping his face in his knees. He heard Bane’s heavy breathing and looked up with a tear-struck face.

“Ha!” the man laughed. “Scared? Have I finally found myself a cowardly Robin?”

Tim whimpered out loud.

Come on, he thought. Take the bait, you big buffoon.

He did. Bane pushed himself onto the roof and slowly and mockingly approached Tim. That’s when Tim smirked and leapt up, pushing the last tear gas pellet right up his nose.

Bane’s pupils constricted as Tim leapt back again and shot the grapple gun. He heard a horrendous noise which sounded like something in between a sneeze, a cough, and a curse, but he didn’t turn to look back. He held on tight to the grapple gun, despite his bandaged fists protesting in effort, as he swung down to the ground.

He looked up back at the roof and saw a cloud of tear gas surrounding the large figure. He put up a batarang, aiming at Bane, and taking a deep breath, but a sudden groan snapped his head towards the source.

Bruce.

Tim abandoned his aim and ran to him. “B?” he whispered softly.

“Jay— Jaylad?” Bruce whispered back hopefully and weak.

Tim’s heart sank. “Let’s get you home, B.''

He put Bruce’s unbroken arm around his shoulders and tried to lift him up. Bruce groaned loudly, but not loud enough to alert Bane, who was still coughing from the gas wedged deep into his system. Tim shushed him quietly and started dragging him towards the batmobile and depositing him in the backseat carefully.

“LITTLE SHIT!” Bane yelled just as Tim started the car. “JUST WAIT TILL I GET MY HANDS ON YOUR FEATHERED LITTLE NECK.”

Tim smirked as he drove the car to the manor. He probably hadn’t handled the situation as well as Dick and Jason would have, but… but he had done his best. He managed to keep his head in the game and think quickly on his feet. He hoped Jason would be proud.

Of course, if he was here, he would yell at him for being so reckless first. Now that he thought about it, he was probably going to get an earful from Dick and Alfred too. Babs had probably watched the whole thing from the security cameras and Bruce’s cowl footage, so he knew that she was going to have some choice words ready for him. And Bruce was probably going to be the most obnoxious of all, after he woke up. But, Tim had tried his best.

He managed to keep Bruce from killing himself, insane from grief, and… and he had taken up the Robin mantle. Robin. Whose idea was to be the light to Batman’s darkness. Well, Tim had certainly done that part by saving the man from killing himself. To him, this was a win. For the first time in ages, he let himself feel a pinprick of happiness.

“Hey, Alfred,” Tim said into the Batmobile’s comms. “I’m bringing B home. Could you please open the door to the cave and call Dr. Leslie?”

An annoyed grunt sounded in the affirmative and Tim grinned. Oh he was so going to get an earful. Maybe even a ban on any desert until further notice. But right now? He couldn’t care less. He was on a high, and he loved it.

He glanced in the mirror attached above the dashboard and caught his disheveled hair, wide grin and eager eyes which couldn’t quite be hidden by the dark domino mask.

~

“You look adorable with messy hair,” Jason cooed.

Tim rolled his eyes and smiled a little while taming his mane with a hairbrush. It was another day and another chance to spend time with his hero. With his friend. With Jason.

~

Tim grinned even wider at himself in the mirror, and put his hand up and shook his hair vigorously. He brought his hand back down to the steering wheel and nodded at the messy tousle, with strands sticking everywhere and some falling into his eyes and covering his forehead.

“Forever is an incorrect concept” - John Green (The Fault In Our Stars)