Chapter Text
Tim takes quite a while to recover from his disassociation after his visit to the Kents. Duke didn’t have the luxury of sitting beside and waiting for his brother to feel better. He has patrol. So he goes out, helping stop a few muggings and interrupting a stick up of a convenience store.
It is on patrol that Duke realizes that now might be the best time to get to know his Robin. Tim, as his adult self, is always so cagey, never letting anyone truly know him. Duke doesn’t want Tim to experiment on him, but he does want to hang out with the kid. He’s very sweet. Too smart for his own good.
Duke stops by his parent’s room in the hospital on his way home. Sitting beside their beds, telling them stories about his day while the nurses switch out their IV fluids and do their rotations. He misses them terribly. His mother’s strong sense of justice and insightful advice. His father’s excellent cooking and insurmountable optimism. They each made his life so full, so safe.
“One day,” Duke promises. “I’ll find a cure for you both.” He always promises, each time he visits. Some days he yells it. Others, he says it while fighting back sobs. Today he says it like a vow.
Heading back to Wayne Manor in civilian clothes is always an experience. Duke can tell which neighborhoods the bus is traveling through by the looks he gets. Whether or not they recognize him as a Wayne. He gets off in Bristol, and walks the three blocks from the stop to the manor.
Tim is running around in the front lawn, Damian’s pets chasing him playfully. Damian is standing guard under the shade of a tree, next to a blanket and several containers of food. Duke heads over to Damian, giving him a slight nod in greeting.
“Hello Thomas.” Damian greets awkwardly, not taking his eyes off Tim. It doesn’t even look like he is blinking. Duke sees how Tim stays in line of sight, and how Damian tenses every time the boy stumbles.
“You think he’ll disappear if you look anywhere else?” Duke asks jokingly. Damian tuts and frowns. “Him disappearing this morning really scared you, huh?”
Damian does not look at Duke. He stares at Tim, blinking back tears.
“I thought he had returned to his actual age and left us.” Damian admits quietly. Duke sighs, sitting down and leaning back against the tree. “He didn’t.” Duke points out.
“I know.” Damian replies, sitting down just out of reach. “But when he does, I know it will hurt just as much as it did this morning.”
“What makes you think he’s gonna leave?” Duke asks softly, watching Tim pick up a dandelion and feed it to Goliath. “Did he do that before?”
“No.” Damian answers, fiddling with his sleeves. “He did not leave. Not when I pushed him off the dinosaur. Not when I cut his grapple line. Not when Father died. He only moved out when everyone was okay again.”
“So why would he leave now?” Duke asks, genuinely curious. Tim seems like someone who stays, even when he shouldn’t. Or maybe he just doesn’t see attempts to harm him as a reason to leave? Duke knew a lot of kids like that in foster care. You accept the love you think you deserve and all that.
“Because we know things that he has kept hidden the entirety of the time we have known him.” Damian answers, staring as Ace licks Tim’s face. Tim’s delighted high pitched giggles are audible.
“And he doesn’t like being vulnerable?” Duke guesses. Damian hums in confirmation. It makes sense, Duke reasons. None of the bats like being vulnerable. It is part of the reason why Duke went to Luke Fox for mentorship after Bruce regained his memories.
“What does he like?” Duke asks softly. He doesn’t know much about Tim. He knows that Tim was Robin when he was growing up. He knows a lot about what Tim did as Robin and as Red Robin from reading mission reports. But not much else.
“What do you mean?” Damian asks, finally tearing his gaze away from Tim and turning to face Duke.
“Like, what is his favorite color?” Duke clarifies. “Does he have a favorite movie? What are his hobbies?”
Damian takes a deep breath and pushes it out evenly. “I do not know.” He admits. “But I know how to find out.” Duke grins, offering Damian a hand to shake. He takes it and shakes it soundly. A new case for the youngest (non-magicked) Wayne brothers.
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Damian takes his newest mission very seriously. Drake is a difficult case to crack. His nest has numerous layers of security, including several systems that Damian has to promise Oracle favors to crack. It is humbling, to say the least. So is the ride with Pennyworth to the apartment. But at least the butler stays in the car, small mercies.
The nest is perfectly clean. Not even finger prints on the books on the shelf in the living room. Tim’s bedroom, however, is chaos incarnate. Piles of clothing, strings connecting random scribbled notes pinned to the walls, a go-bag stashed at the foot of the bed. Damian pokes around carefully, trying to disturb as little as possible.
There is an old skateboard, long fallen out of use, leaned up against a wall. Most of the touches seem impersonal. A faded and frayed knock off Nightwing sticker remains attached to the board, barely. Ghosts of other stickers remain, evidence of memories scraped away.
Almost everything around the room is impersonal as well. Few, if any, personal touches. A single framed photo of his friends sits beside the bed. Damian recognizes the behavior. The walls that Tim has built up. The sterilization and compartmentalizing of your personal space so nothing can be used against you.
Drake was never in the LOA for an extended period, to Damian’s knowledge. His layers of self-protection mirror Damian’s own uncomfortably well. Damian takes a step back, centering himself in the room. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. If he were to hide meaningful possessions, where would he put them?
Several options come to mind, but one stands out. Under the bed, Damian finds a tattered shoebox, duct tape strengthening the edges. Small doodles in glitter pen litter the box lid. Brown’s handiwork, surely.
The box is not taped closed. It is not trapped. Damian pulls it into the dim light, and opens it slowly. Dozens of handwritten letters are folded inside. Letters to his parents, stuffed inside envelopes marked ‘return to sender’. Letters, clearly never sent, addressed to his former teammates, tear stained and wrinkled. More letters, addressed to the other Wayne siblings, written with tight precise cursive.
Damian places the others back inside, only holding the letter addressed to him.
“To Damian-” A very formal start, but reasonable, Damian supposes. He reads on.
“I do not blame you for how you behaved when you first moved in. Adjustments can be difficult for anyone. The League certainly isn’t known for their emotional regulation skills.” Damian chuckles to himself. Tim’s dry humor is something that his child counterpart has not learned yet. Damian hadn’t realized just how much he missed it.
“I hope one day that we can be brothers. That you will understand how much I want you to succeed. To feel happy. That I am not here to take your place.” Damian pauses to blink back tears. “You have the potential to be the best of us. Not as Batman, necessarily. But as the one of us who might just turn out happy.”
Damian takes several steadying breaths, trying to get his hands to stop shaking. He continues reading.
“I love you. I would kill for you. I would destroy the world for you. I would save it for you. The idea of someone hurting you enrages me to DEAFCON Dick Grayson levels. I hope, one day, that I am able to tell you. Out loud and everything. Until then, I am rewriting this letter. If you are reading this, I assume our lifestyle has finally taken me. Or maybe I disappeared or got lost in time or something. You never really know with Gotham.”
The letter ends there. Damian sets it down numbly. Tears streak down his face, unbidden. A fierce protective feeling curls around his heart. Damian swears to himself that he will not let his relationship with Tim go back to the way it was. His brother, not just his child self, loves him. If Tim can address it, and say it in perhaps the most effective way that Damian could hear it, then Damian can return the favor.
He folds the letter and returns it to the box. Damian closes it, securing the lid in place. He places the box back in exactly the same location he found it, taking great care to retrace his steps back to the front door. Damian locks it, and leans a hand on the door softly for a moment. A profound loneliness drenches him as he makes his way back to Pennyworth’s car.
Pennyworth says nothing about the dried tears on his cheeks, for which Damian is grateful.
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Duke sits Tim on a couch in the family room, taking his part of what Damian insists on calling ‘a mission’ seriously. He lays out a few mats lined with columns of objects. Technically, these tools are for verbally challenged kids. But Duke has seen his Mother use these to get cagey kids to open up before. He isn’t a social worker, but he is pretty sure that he can figure out how to get Tim to talk with him.
“So, Tim, we’re gonna play a game.” Duke explains. “You get to decide what we talk about. Point to anything on the mats, think of something related to that in your head, and we’ll do twenty questions, okay?”
Tim crawls off the couch, and leans against the coffee table to look at the mats. He nods, and points to a camera. Duke grins, already mentally congratulating himself.
“Photography.” Duke says, taking a moment to think. “Uhhh you like photography?” Tim nods yes, smiling shyly. “Taking the photos?” He guesses. Tim’s always preferred to be the one bringing everyone together, not in front of the lens. Again, Tim nods.
He grabs Duke by his wrist tightly. A wicked grip for a toddler.
“Do you want me to go somewhere?” Duke asks gently. Tim nods, and starts dragging Duke down the hallway. They approach a bedroom door, one Duke has never seen the other side of.
The room is dusted, but otherwise untouched. Tim pushes Duke to sit down on the bed. He does, hesitantly. Duke doesn’t really go into anyone else’s bedrooms unless they take something of his. His Mom raised him too well to do that.
Tim dives below the bed, his little legs sticking out and wriggling as he drags something from beneath it. An overstuffed box full of photos. Tim hands it over to Duke, gesturing for him to open it.
Carefully, Duke removes the lid, laying it on the bed. Several photos on top are from the early days of Duke’s vigilante career, before he took the name Signal. Duke holds them, looking at Tim in awe.
“Dude, you weren’t even there for most of these.” Duke exclaims, sorting through some of them. There is one of Duke and Batwing on a rooftop, both silhouetted by the light of the batsignal.
“Can I keep this one?” Duke asks, holding up the one with him and Luke. “I wanna frame it.”
Tim smiles, bigger this time. He nods. “I have copies.” He croaks out. It’s the first thing he’s said in hours. Since he recovered from his disassociation in the cave.
“Thank you.” Duke says, ruffling Tim’s hair. The boy squawks and clambers onto the bed, tackling Duke back into the covers. Duke fake wrestles with Tim, letting the boy think he’s actually sparring. Tim cheers when Duke lets him fake pin him.
“You’re glowin’!” Tim says, tone heavy with concern. “Oh, right, you can do that, right?”
Duke nods. “Yes, I can control light and shadows.” He explains patiently. Tim nods, playing with the strings of Duke’s hoodie.
“Can we play shadow puppets?” Tim asks softly, so quiet that Duke almost misses it.
“Sure.” Duke agrees, sitting them both up. He focuses, funneling the light in the room at the opposite wall like a spotlight.
Tim hums, raising his hands to make shapes in the light. He manages to get the classic bunny, able to move his fingers just enough to make the ears twitch slightly. Duke closes his eyes, pulling the shadows toward them to make a miniature version of Wayne Manor in the light.
“Wow!” Tim exclaims, turning toward Duke excitedly. “Can you do birds?”
Duke swirls the darkness, shifting from the manor to a robin flitting across the light. Tim beams.
“Do a bat!” He demands excitedly. Duke complies. Tim laughs, imitating taking a picture with his imaginary camera.
“Do Alfred’s cookies!” Tim requests, bouncing up and down on the bed on his knees. Duke tries, the shading takes more focus, and the result is some burnt ass looking cookies. But they are, recognizably, cookies.
Tim dissolves into giggles, flopping back on the bed, delighted. A sharp knock on the door interrupts their game, as Jason peers in from the hall.
“I thought I heard our resident trouble maker.” Jason teases, “You ready for dinner?”
Tim sits up, still out of breath from laughing. He holds up his arms and makes little grabby hands. Jason heaves a put upon sigh, but walks over and picks Tim up. Tim wraps his arms around Jason’s neck and gives Duke a little wave.
Duke waves back. Jason raises a brow at the photos on the bed.
“You want Duke to put those away so B doesn’t see them?” Jason asks Tim. Tim looks from Duke to the pictures then back to Duke. Duke sighs, and begins shuffling photos back into the box. He tucks his favorite away into his hoodie pocket, then stuffs the box back under the bed.
“Dinner time!” Tim crows when Duke is done putting them away. He reaches a little arm over for Duke. His little hand latches onto Duke’s hoodie. “Okay, we good to go now Jason.” Tim commands. Jason snorts.
“We cannot walk down the hallway like this, Tim.” Jason points out. “You want me or Duke to carry you to dinner?”
“Both.” Tim replies petulantly. He pouts, jutting out his bottom lip and wobbling it. Jason remains straight faced, but Duke can see him about to give in.
“No.” Jason forces out. “I am not risking dropping you by walking three wide down the hall. Pick.”
Tim whips his head over to face Duke, pitiful expression still fixed in place.
“I guess I can walk in front.” Duke offers. “You can hold my hood and Jason can follow me.”
Tim looks up at Jason with huge watery eyes. “Pwease?” He pleads. Jason’s resolve crumbles.
“Fine.” Jason agrees. “Walk, Thomas. Food is getting cold.”
Duke walks, Tim fisting a little hand into the fabric of his hood. Jason follows behind, keeping close enough for Tim to be able to hold onto Duke, but not too close as to run into Duke.
They enter the kitchen to find a perplexed Bruce and Alfred, along with a very solemn Damian.
“How was your mission?” Duke asks casually. “Successful.” Damian nods, picking at his food with his fork. “I will read you in after dinner.” Damian responds after a moment. Duke nods, prompting Tim to let go of his hood. Duke takes the opportunity to fix himself a plate while Jason gets Tim sorted.
Cass and Steph arrive not long after. The only one missing is Dick. Tim eats small bites, urged on by Jason. He chats happily with Bruce, who gives several nonverbal responses before asking a detailed question about whatever story Tim is sharing. When he does, Tim lights up. His mannerisms become more animated, the light behind his eyes full.
“Where is Dickie?” Tim asks, stopping his story. Bruce lowers his utensils and carefully schools his expression. Uh oh, Duke thinks.
“He had to go back to Bludhaven.” Bruce answers evenly. “That’s where he lives.”
“He left?” Tim asks softly, his expression falling. The hurt on his face is inescapable for a moment, before Tim seems to swallow it and stare at his plate.
“I wanted Dickie to read me to sleep. I missed him today.” Tim explains, wiping away tears with his sleeve.
“Dick will be back tomorrow.” Jason adds gently. “He just needed to get more stuff from his apartment. He is coming back.”
Tim huffs derisively. He sets his fork down on his half-eaten plate.
“I am done. Thank you.” He says robotically. “May I be excused?”
Alfred looks to Bruce with a worried expression. Bruce opens his mouth to say something when Tim launches himself out of his chair, running full tilt down the hall. Duke tries to use his powers to see where Tim will end up, but there are too many options. Too many places Tim has hid in before.
“Tim!” Bruce calls, standing to take off after him. Damian holds a hand up to stop him.
“He does not wish to have emotions in front of us, Father.” Damian explains, “Perhaps we should allow him a moment?”
Bruce hesitantly sits back down in his seat. “He has had a very eventful day.” Bruce concedes.
“If he has not returned in ten minutes, we shall all search for him.” Damian orders, giving everyone present a level look. Murmurs of agreement from the stunned adults echo in the now quiet room.
Duke stares at his plate, appetite gone. Tim obviously wants space. Duke wants to respect that. He wishes his Mom was here, she would know what to do. How best to support Tim. Duke racks his brain for things he can do, with both kid Tim and his adult self. He might not be able to fix things now, but he can change how things go in the future.
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Cass searches for her little brother like a lioness hunts down her prey. Slow, steady, and even approaches so that Tim will see her coming. Tim has never liked surprises.
Baby Tim has been a fascinating experience. One that Cass has felt particularly uncomfortable with. Barbara has assured her that one does not need to have had a happy childhood in order to provide one for a child.
Tim is her little brother. He always has been. Just now, he is littler.
He seems to enjoy her dancing, patiently sitting and watching her rehearse for her recital before his impromptu adventure to the Kents. Since, Tim has been a bit more distant, less open.
Reading the body language of children is different from adults. Cass has some practice, but not nearly as much. Still, she can see something is shifting. His time as a child is coming to an end soon.
Cass pauses, standing stock still in the family wing. The others are searching for Tim, calling his name. She isn’t. Cass thinks back to everything she remembers of when Tim was hurting. He likes to climb, she realizes. Getting physically away from the emotions, from reality on the ground, from whatever or whoever is distressing him.
Cass climbs the stairs, heading to the top floor of the manor. A small line of dust on the rug, under the trap door that leads to the attic. She pulls the string, letting the ladder fall down. Slowly, she climbs the steps, popping her head into the attic.
The room is dark. Sheets draped over discarded furniture. Cedar chests and cardboard boxes are scattered about. Cass hauls herself into the room, pulling the stairs up behind herself.
She strains her eyes, listening carefully. Small whimpers come from behind one of the old couches. A sliver of space exists between the couch and the wall. There, in the dark, is Tim. He is squeezed into a tiny ball. Cass cannot see his face, but she knows that there must be tears there.
“Tim.” Cass whispers, sitting down beside the couch. She leaves enough space for him to leave, if he wants. “Would you like a hug?” She offers.
Tim’s little head pops up, his large eyes staring at Cass, unblinking. “Wha?” He asks.
“I would like to hug you. If touch would help.” Cass responds. “If not, I can stay here.”
She hardly gets her words out before Tim is climbing onto her lap, latching his arms around her torso. Cass slowly brings her arms around him, holding him gently.
“Are they mad at me?” Tim asks, face buried in her shoulder. Cass frowns. She noticed concern at the table. Sadness, too. Maybe some regret. But no anger. Nothing even close.
“No.” Cass replies honestly. “Sad, concerned, regretful. But not mad.”
Tim lifts his head up to look Cass in the eyes.
“You’re uncom-fort-able.” Tim says sharply, furrowing his brow. Cass looks down at the tiny boy perched on her lap, how trusting and open his expression remains. How had she feared this child? How had she not spent more time with him?
“I was.” She admits. “I have not spent much time with children. I did not know how to…”
“Be one?” Tim guesses. Cass nods, swallowing the lump forming in her throat.
“What did you like when you were little?” Tim asks. Cass knows that he is latching onto something that would help her, instead of confronting what is hurting him. She goes back through what few memories she has of her childhood.
“I remember liking dinosaurs.” She says softly. She hasn’t thought about this memory in years. Her mother sitting with her while she is sick with the flu, watching a movie. Something with dinosaurs. Before her training.
“I like dinosaurs!” Tim says excitedly. Tear tracks on his cheeks catch the dim light from the window, and Cass wishes she could shield him. Like someone should have shielded her. But Tim is already grown up, really. It is too late for them both.
“We shall watch something with dinosaurs.” Cass suggests, as she hears Bruce’s calls for Tim getting closer and louder.
“Land Before Time.” Tim supplies. Cass does not recognize the name. But if Tim says it is about dinosaurs, she believes him.
“Okay.” She agrees. She scoots toward the door, pausing before opening it and dropping the steps. “You ready?” Cass asks. Tim nods, gripping her tighter.
Cass drops it open, nearly conking Bruce on the head. She holds Tim close as they clamber down together. When both feet meet the ground, she turns to Bruce, and grins.
“We will watch…” Cass says, prompting Tim to repeat the name.
“Land Before Time.” Tim says resolutely. Bruce opens his mouth to argue but Cass shoots him her best intimidating glare.
“I will inform the others and assist in setting up the family room.” Bruce replies, turning swiftly on his heel. “Dick should meet us there.”
“Dick is coming?” Tim asks excitedly. Cass nods, running a hand through his soft hair.
“No one can stay far from you, little brother.” Cass says confidently. “You are too easy to love.”
Tim blushes, hiding his face in her shoulder. She feels her chest warm fondly. Kids aren’t so scary after all.