Chapter Text
The sounds of suitcases rolling on marble floors were familiar to Tim. As was the distant thump of a car door being slammed shut before it zoomed off toward the airport.
Sometimes Tim would be graced with a goodbye from his parents. They would always make their departure seem like some grand reward, as if he should be grateful for the all-encompassing silence he'd be left in.
His mother would ensure that he knew he was being trusted with something big. Her lips would quirk upwards as Tim straightened his shoulders like a soldier receiving a medal of honor. Make me proud, she'd say.
Tim's still not sure if he's achieved that yet.
His father was more cavalier about the situation. He'd grin down at Tim and tell him he was 'the man of the house.' Tim would nod with all the dignity a five year old could possess, Jack would laugh, clap his shoulder, and on the way out the door he'd say you're on your own, kid.
Tim tried not to think about how Jack's eyes seemed lighter when he was walking out the door.
Over time, those words came to mean something. They were a reminder. An invisible brand seared into his very bones. He was on his own.
And, as he did with everything else in his life, Tim made it work.
He cooked for himself on Mrs. Mac's days off. He went shopping on those days too. When he woke up with cold sweat and tears on his cheeks, he'd soothe himself until he could pretend he wasn't afraid anymore. He put bandaids on scraped up knees and made appointments for his vaccinations.
All in all, Tim had essentially raised himself.
You're on your own, kid.
He was. And that was alright.
That was fine.
Then he became Robin. He flew across rooftops, took down people three times his size with a few well-placed strikes and became the light to Batman's darkness.
And by consequence, he wasn't alone anymore.
It was nice. Amazing, spectacular, everything he ever wanted.
So nice that despite his better judgment - his inner Janet as he liked to call it- Tim grew used to not being alone.
Calloused hands and strong arms would hold him after nightmares. Alfred would smile fondly as Tim cut up vegetables for him in the kitchen. Falling asleep during movie nights and waking up snuggled against Dick's chest or with his head on Bruce's shoulder. And God forbid Tim misses a medical check-up.
He was still responsible for a myriad of things, but he wasn't alone in it anymore.
Then Jason happened.
Steph died.
Damian happened.
Kon and Bart died.
Jack died.
Bruce disappeared.
Tim was drowning. Robin was his one light in a place where all his stars had died.
Robin was all he had.
Robin was snatched out of his white knuckle grip and given to undeserving, unworthy, self-serving Damian.
Dick's voice was white noise in his ears as he left.
For the first time in his life, Tim chose to be alone.
Better that than being surrounded by traitors.
Eventually, after a lot of time had passed, Tim understood where they were coming from. That was his thing, he always understood. It made the pill less bitter to take as he choked it down.
He understood and that made everything fine. No apologies needed.
In doing that, Tim had turned himself into a constant. A guarantee.
Maybe that's why it was so easy for them all to leave him behind again.
-
Tim knew it wasn't logical, but even after all that had happened between him and Dick, he expected his brother to notice
"No Robin left behind." He'd told Tim once. It was after Tim had joked about Bruce and Dick eventually forgetting him.
The phrase was cheesy, sweet and weirdly reassuring. Like Dick himself was.
So Tim, as he did with everything Dick said back then, took those words as gospel. They were a sacred promise slowly searing themselves over the condemnation of you're on your own, kid.
His past self was a naive, foolish idiot. Tim mused as he waited on the rooftop for Nightwing. They were meant to patrol together tonight. Get back into the swing of things, Dick had joked. Tim had shoved his shoulder, barely hiding his reluctant elation at getting to catch up with his brother.
Nightwing tended to inspire conflicting feelings like that.
Too bad that Nightwing was twenty minutes late.
Tim had tried to get him on coms to no avail. He'd asked Oracle if Nightwing needed any backup, and she said he was good. Tim didn't push the subject as she was overseeing a bust with the Birds of Prey. So long as Nightwing was safe, that was okay.
So Tim waited.
And waited.
Then Dick's voice came through the line.
"Hey Timmy, you there?" He asked.
"No names on coms." Tim growled in his best Batman voice. If he was doing so to hide the frustrated bite he knew his voice would hold, that was nobody's business.
All the same, something in him warmed when he heard Dick's surprised laughter filter through the coms.
"Everything okay?" Tim asked when Dick's laughter calmed.
"Yeah, yeah, it's just," Dick hesitated. Tim felt the warmth slowly leech back out again like it was never there. "Dami–Robin wants to patrol with me tonight and–"
Tim inhaled sharply. Of course. He bit his tongue to stop the instinctive response to that. He gently, but firmly reminded himself that Damian was only eleven.
Was he still a murderous asshole? Yes, but a baby one.
"Tim, Red, I–" Dick must have heard Tim's sigh.
Tim pursed his lips. He knew that Dick had missed Damian since he'd handed the reigns back to Bruce. And the feeling was mutual, despite how the little monster might try to hide it.
He had just thought Dick missed him too.
"It's fine, N." Tim mustered up a light tone, ignoring the bitter voice in his head saying. It's always fine, isn't it? "There's always next time." The words felt empty, reverberating throughout his hollow chest.
"Definitely! How about we catch up over coffee next Wednesday?" Dick suggested.
"Sure," Tim replied on autopilot. "I'll text you."
They said their goodbyes and Tim patrolled alone.
Wednesday didn't pan out. Neither did the next Saturday or the Thursday afterward.
It was fine.
-
Back in the beginning, after Bruce's anger at the world had waned and he and Tim had settled into a more healthy dynamic, Bruce would text Tim randomly throughout the day.
Sometimes it would be overly formal inquiries about how Tim was doing. Bruce would always sign his full name at the end as if he were writing a telegram. Tim was pretty sure that Bruce only did it to irritate him.
Other times he'd send Tim outdated memes with no context. At first, Tim thought they were clues for a test Bruce was setting up. Turns out, it was just Bruce's weird way of attempting to bond.
It worked.
Tim loved hearing the little buzz his phone would make when Bruce sent him a message. He'd laugh at the way Bruce signed off his texts and would send him back obscure memes just to mess with him.
It was a thing.
It was their thing.
Until it wasn't.
These days, since Bruce got back from the timestream, Tim only received messages requesting updates on WE or reports about patrol.
One day, out of desperation curiosity, Tim tried sending him a meme for old times' sake. He didn't get a reply.
It was a pretty lame meme anyway.
Bruce texted him a week later asking for a summary of the meeting Tim had attended a few days ago.
Tim sent it, of course. He asked how things were going outside of work.
Again, Bruce didn't reply.
-
The cloying, humid air and glimpses of summer sun faded into cold, dampness and rust-colored leaves covering the pavements.
Tim waited. Things would get better. Bruce would text, Dick would call, Steph would laugh like she used to and things would get better.
Tim still had to meet Dick for that coffee they'd been throwing back and forth for the last three months. And that patrol they'd been pushing back for the last six. Once they were back on track, everything else would fall into place.
It was just a matter of making that happen.
But things have been hectic for the last seven months. Eight, if they count from the time Bruce had been back.
It would pass.
They just needed time.
-
Tim and Steph had tried getting burgers and hanging out on their old rooftop. Like they used to back in the early days.
This wasn't like the early days. Where they used to tease, laugh and talk freely, they now spoke with caution, trying to avoid the endless triggers and landmines that now defined their relationship.
During another loaded silence Tim let out a near inaudible sigh. Steph smiled in that sad, empty way she did when things started going wrong with them. Tim's stomach dropped.
"This isn't working, is it?" Her voice was fragile in a way Tim had rarely heard it.
It felt like the question they should have posed over a year ago. Maybe if they had, there'd be something to salvage now.
Still, Tim wanted to deny it. His throat tightened with the need to list out all the reasons she was wrong. Something in him craved the idea of doing so just to see her eyes flash with rage as they fell back into the toxic pattern they'd once been so comfortable in.
At least then they'd still have something.
Instead, Tim sighed again, louder and more resigned than before. "No, it's not." His voice trembled slightly.
Steph blinked rapidly, letting out a shaky breath then nodded decisively.
They sat in silence.
-
After last year, Tim thought it was in his best interest to ignore Jason while patrolling. And in general. He didn't feel the need to play happy families with his former hero would-be murderer.
Even if everyone else did.
Fortunately, Jason was on a similar wavelength. He didn't reach out, didn't apologize–
And that was fine.
They passed like two ships in the night and Tim was happy with that.
After all, he saw enough of Jason in his nightmares.
Tim never woke up screaming from those dreams, no. He coughed himself awake, choking on phantom blood and saltwater tears.
He'd coax himself into breathing again, closing his eyes so that he wouldn't jump at the shadows in his room.
There was a time when someone would be there to help him through it.
Tim called Dick after a nightmare one day. It barely rang before he was sent straight to voicemail.
Hands shaking, he tried Bruce. Voicemail.
Breath hitching, he called Cass. Voicemail.
With blurry eyes and his chest tightening, he tried Dick again. Voicemail.
You're on your own, kid.
Tim threw the phone across the room.
He did breathing exercises to slowly calm himself down.
He stumbled out of his sweat soaked sheets and made himself hot chocolate.
Later that day, he received a text from Dick.
Sorry about missing your call, I was introducing Dami to the wonders of Disney. It wasn't anything important, right?
The backs of his eyes burned as he gently placed the phone back down on his desk.
Tim didn't reply.
He didn't call again.
-
Tim was halfway through his usual patrol route when he picked up on the familiar crackle of the coms. He swung onto a nearby rooftop and waited in case someone needed backup.
"Check in." Batman's voice sounded through the coms.
"All good!" Dick chirped, cheery as ever. He must be with Damian tonight.
"I am unharmed." Damian said, his voice warmer than usual.
"The girls are good." Barbara added.
"I'm fine, stay off my line." Jason grumbled, he sounded more like a disgruntled kid than a murderous asshole. That was progress.
"I–" Tim went to give his affirmative.
"Good. Tell me when you're signing off for the night." Bruce ordered, then the line went silent again.
Tim froze and crouched on the rooftop overlooking a narrow alley. He waited for someone to comment on his lack of response. For Bruce to realize he had forgotten someone.
The quiet hum of the coms deafened him.
His chest was tight, so much that it hurt. His throat was clogged up with words there was no point in saying. Because no one cared.
Tim went on with patrol as usual.
He didn't check in at the end of the night.
No one followed up.
-
Tim only looked in the mirror as much as was necessary when getting ready in the morning. He didn't like seeing his empty eyes staring back at him. It was like looking at a soulless husk while his soul floated around helplessly.
Tim knew that hadn't always been the case. There was a time before Red Robin, before Robin, when he was just a boy who ran across rooftops with a camera around his neck and the neon lights of Gotham guiding his steps.
He still ran across rooftops, flew in fact. But now his cape felt more like a noose fastened around his neck. Every breath he took in this mantle was suffocating.
Where Robin was a light he wielded, despite how it burned his hands, Red Robin was a cloying darkness that choked him. A bastardization of what he once was.
Where the Bats had been his reason for fighting, his first true family. They were now the people who ignored him as he faded into obscurity.
-
Tim had come to the realization that there wasn't anything in Gotham for him anymore.
It wasn't a particularly big revelation, just a casual observation made on a normal Wednesday during his second cup of coffee.
A coffee Tam had gotten him from his favorite shop. Happy 17th! Was scribbled on the side in bold, pink letters.
Tim had laughed when she handed it to him. It was the third coffee he'd gotten that day. Kon had flown over with a big cup filled to the brim with espresso shots. Bart had gotten him five bags of his favorite brand from Paris and Cassie had brought him chamomile tea to 'stave off a heart attack for another year.'
They had made plans to hang out at the Tower tonight. It had been a while since they had done that. Tim had yet to stop smiling about it, earning him a few suspicious glances from Lucius throughout the day.
It was only at three in the afternoon his smile faded.
He was scrolling through the latest online articles while he took a late lunch when he saw it.
A candid picture of Bruce, Dick, Cass, and Damian in front of the Otters Exhibit at Gotham Zoo. Dick had his arm around Damian's shoulders, smiling softly as the kid gestured to one of the otters closest to them. Cass was leaning against Bruce, both of them watching on with warm eyes and relaxed stances.
Tim spotted a security guard in the background with broad shoulders and a white stripe in his hair standing a few steps away.
Wayne Family Outing!
The title read.
Picture taken at one thirty-five.
The picture blurred. Tim felt his throat close as he dropped his phone back onto the desk with a clatter.
Why does this keep happening?
You're on your own, kid.
Yeah, and Tim was tired of it.
-
Tim found himself pondering San Francisco more and more as a permanent base of operations. He hadn’t chosen Gotham after all. He chose Robin, out of necessity. And it became clearer each day that Gotham hadn't chosen him either.
He'd start to draw up plans to leave in his head and then a sprinkler would go off and he'd remember the time Dick shoved him into the line of one that went off.
He'd hear the ghost of Dick's laughter over Tim's indignant yell. The phantom of water soaking him through while he lunged at Dick and pulled him in, laughing maniacally as he did.
And he'd put the plans aside.
He couldn't give up on that. He just had to be patient.
But when had his patience ever paid off?
-
They had finally settled on a day to get that coffee. Tim had checked the night before to make sure they were still on and Dick had texted him back a thumbs up.
Tim had grinned at the screen like he was thirteen again and Dick had called him his little brother for the first time.
The cafe was just down the street from his Nest, so Tim arrived a few minutes early and ordered Dick's favorite sugar monstrosity topped with whipped cream and sprinkles.
"It's for my brother." Tim said when the barista stared at him in horror.
After he got his usual black with four espresso shots- which earned him another horrified look- he grabbed a booth near the window and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The whipped cream had melted into the coffee and over the edges of the mug.
Tim tried texting a few times, he called when they went unanswered. He was sent to voicemail.
The sprinkles had turned into rainbow-colored splotches.
Tim fiddled with the edge of his cup, stomach twisting. He steadfastly ignored the pitying eyes of the barista from behind the counter, he preferred it when she was horrified.
The back of his neck heat up when a group of teenagers his age started giving him side glances. One of them snorted before their friends shushed them.
His face felt hot and humiliatingly, his eyes prickled. He took a sip of his now cold coffee in a vain attempt to calm down.
No need to make a scene, Timothy. Janet's ghost scolded him. Weirdly enough, it helped.
Tim let out a slow breath, nerves feeling slightly less frazzled.
Then his phone buzzed.
Sorry Timmy! Can we do this another day? Damian needs my help with his science project, it's due by Friday.
Tims's knuckles were white around his phone. Anger and humiliation warred out within him as he stared at the message like it would magically change into something less insulting.
The eyes on the back of his neck, the barista staring, the kids whispering he kind of looks like that kid CEO, the chatter of the cafe getting too damn loud–
Tim stood, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket, leaving a tip for the barista on the table–people did that, right?–and avoiding eye contact with everyone as he walked out of the cafe with the dignity he obviously didn't have.
He didn't bother texting back.
-
Tim was hosting a gala. Which was hilarious in theory because he hated hosting and he despised galas. But as the CEO, it was his job to host company events, and apparently, a night at the skate park wasn't what the board members had in mind. But the looks on their faces were pretty funny when Tim suggested it.
He was mostly hosting this gala to placate the board members and soothe the public. A teenage CEO wasn't exactly the done thing and surprise, surprise, people had issues with it. This gala was to project an image of responsibility, poise and most importantly harmony within the Wayne family.
When Tim had brought this up with Bruce, he promised that he and the family would be there to put forth a united front. He suggested that Tim be the host of the annual Wayne Gala for the best result.
Which would be perfect, ideal, great, if any of them were here.
They were over an hour into the Wayne Gala and so far Tim was the only 'Wayne' in attendance.
He kept his head up and his posture straight as the hours ticked by and the side eyes became full on stares.
They promised. He chanted to himself whenever his hands began to shake.
Something must have happened, I should check in. He thought after hour two passed without so much as a whisper from them.
There were plenty of whispers about them.
If something had happened they'd send him a message.
Wouldn't they?
Hour three passed with Tim's rushed text messages going unanswered. Hour four arrived with no news of any big rouge attacks.
They aren’t coming. Tim realized somewhere between the second glass of pilfered champagne and the fourth pointed comment about the lack of Wayne's at the Wayne Gala.
Tim laughed quietly to himself. Here he was, in a black and crimson suit, that stuck to him like freshly spilled blood because of how much he'd been sweating and an empty smile pasted onto his face as he tried to salvage a party that he shouldn't even be hosting in the first place.
Because he's not a fucking Wayne.
Tam shot him a worried look from across the room. Tim knew he must look crazed, but he couldn’t breathe here because they had promised. Bruce had promised.
This whole thing was for them. A way to show the family united so that the board would feel less disgruntled about having a seventeen year old running W.E.
So that they could get the money that funded their nightlives.
You're on your own, kid.
He always had been.
Tim put his empty glass on a nearby tray and walked right out of the Gala not giving a fuck who saw.
-
It was something small in the end.
No coffee shop, gala or mission gone wrong. Just a passing moment at the end of patrol.
Tim was stitching up a knife wound on his arm that a lucky dealer had got in.
They were all together–bar Cass, who was back in Hong Kong- Jason was at the bench opposite Tim pretending to ignore everyone, and the others were standing off by the computer laughing at an inside joke Tim wasn't a part of.
Well, Dick was laughing. Bruce was doing that not smile of his and Damian's eyes were gleaming happily.
They look like a real family. Tim's stomach clenched at the thought.
Then Bruce looked over at Tim who automatically sat up straighter. "I'll need that report by tomorrow." He said absently before looking back at his sons.
Tim's fingers twitched, and pain shot up his arm as he pulled the thread tighter than intended.
He clenched his jaw against the pain.
When should he get the report in? He wanted to ask.
Before or after the board meeting?
Before or after he repaired his suit?
Before or after he updated the computer?
Before or after he stitched the wound on his arm?
I'll die alone here. Tim thought, a numb horror washing over him. He watched his blood sluggishly drip down his arm and onto the Cave floor.
How many times had his blood been spilled for these people, by these people?
He gave everything to them. Tim hadn’t had much to begin with, but what he did he gave away like it was extra change in his pocket.
He loves them, they don't love him.
But, God, Tim loves them and isn't that always how it goes?
"I quit." He said quietly.
He felt Jason's eyes on him but the group Tim was looking at went on as they were.
They didn't hear him, as usual, they weren't paying attention.
"Kid," Jason's voice was quiet and gruff.
Kid.
You're on your own–
Tim looked at Jason. Whatever he saw in Tim's eyes had his green eyes shining in concern.
Too little, too late.
Tim left his suit crumpled on the ground, the mess on the workbench, he didn't update the computer, he didn't go to the board meeting and he didn't file that fucking report.
He did stitch the wound. He had a missing spleen to worry about after all.
-
Tim spent the next week ignoring emails, calls and summons alike.
With Kon and Bart's help, he packed away all of his belongings and had them sent ahead to San Francisco, to the penthouse he'd finally bought there.
"Wanna be roommates?" He asked Kon after they had sent the last of his things away.
Kon grinned. "You'll be busting out the kryptonite in a week, tops."
"So that's a yes then?" Tim said dryly.
Kon laughed. "Hell yes."
With Cassie's ruthless efficiency, Tim sold off his safehouses and dismantled his Nest.
"How long have I been telling you to leave here?" She prodded, smiling playfully.
"Too long." Tim rolled his eyes.
Cass snorted, leaning against him. "You should call Tam."
Tim's brow creased. "Why?"
Tam helped him move his CEO money out of the family account and into his one. Her eyes held an unholy gleam throughout the process.
She hugged him tightly when they were done.
She didn't say anything, she didn't have to. She had seen it all.
Tim forwarded all of his open cases to Barbara. All except one.
-
"What're you doing here, Red?" Jason's voice sounded from behind him.
Tim tensed on instinct. There was a time when he associated Jason's voice with safety. He missed that time.
Jason was a good man at his core. But he wasn't good to Tim and he remembers that every time he sees himself in the mirror.
Every time he hears footsteps down a quiet hallway.
They were on a rooftop on the edges of Crime Alley. Tim was dressed in black, generic armour with a matching domino mask. He hadn’t finished sketching out his new suit yet.
Tim hadn’t been alone with Jason since they were all fighting over that stupid cowel. They were alone together now. Hopefully for the last time, but knowing their lives, probably not.
He just wanted to face Jason alone and prove to himself that he had nothing to fear. He didn't forgive Jason. He couldn’t.
But he could move on. He deserved that much from himself.
Tim gripped the memory stick tighter as he turned around. He flinched at the sight of the helmet being so close. So much for facing his fear. This was a stupid idea.
Jason faltered for a moment. Then he slowly unlatched the helmet from the sides, pulled it off and tucked it under his arm.
No snarl or glowing green eyes so far.
Tim let out a quiet breath.
"You weren't kidding about quitting, huh?" Jason gestured to Tim's outfit with his free hand.
Tim shrugged. "I'm not needed here." He held the memory stick out. "This is all the info I have on the White Cart case." Tim waited until Jason took it.
His heart jumped at Jason's hand reaching towards him. But he didn't flinch. He felt weirdly proud of himself for that.
"Didn't know you were on it." Jason commented.
"I hate traffickers as much as you do." Tim rolled his eyes at Jason's huff. "Sure, I don't get all Stabby McShoot about it. But that doesn't mean I care any less."
Last time Tim had made a quip at Jason, he got beat with his own staff.
Jason barked out a surprised laugh. "Alright," he said. "Thanks, Red."
Tim nodded, turning to go.
He had faced his fear and he was content with that.
"Good luck." Jason added.
Tim swung away.
-
Tim walked out of his apartment with a duffle bag on his shoulder and a new phone. The old one had taken a nice trip down the garbage disposal as punishment for ringing with Bruce's number again.
His uber was three minutes out. As it was Tim Drake leaving, he had to be seen getting a plane instead of hopping in the zeta.
He walked down the stairs with light feet and a heavy heart. He honestly never believed he'd get to the point where he'd leave Gotham.
There was something about the city that seared itself into his bones. Everything about him, good and bad, was made in this city. It almost felt like a betrayal to leave it behind.
But Tim was ready.
He checked his phone when he made it to the sidewalk. The uber had been pushed back to five minutes. Of course.
"Tim!"
Tim's shoulders tensed as the last person he wanted to see running up to him.
Dick's hair was windswept and his clothes were more rumpled than usual. He honed in on Tim like a cat on a mouse as he stopped beside him.
"Tim," he said again. "We've been trying to contact you for days. What's going on?" He gestured to the duffle bag.
Tim squashed down the initial anger, then the disappointment afterward. It wasn't fair, but he had hoped Dick would be the one to see. That little four year old that never had stopped seeing Dick as the first glimpse of sun in his gray life, hoped he'd play hero for Tim one last time.
He knew Dick wouldn't. Tim was practical like that. So he decided to save himself. It was the most logical course of action. And Tim was nothing if not logical.
He had ignored logic in favor of emotions for too long. Janet would have gone gray with disappointment.
"Tim?" Dick's voice was gentle. It was the way he used to speak to him after nightmares and missions gone wrong.
It was all Tim had wanted for months.
"Hey," Dick moved in front of him. Looking like warmth, comfort and home. "Whatever it is, we can fix it." He squeezed Tim's shoulder and Tim's mind started screaming.
I can't lose this, I can't lose this, I can't–
The fear of losing something that was never really his greeted him like an old friend. Or a scar tightening when it rains.
God, a few words from Dick and Tim's ready to throw it all away. He was pathetic. Weak.
What was it Janet said in moments of weakness?
"Everything you lose is one less thing weighing you down." Janet stated, matter of fact.
Tim's face was wet and blotchy as he continued to cry over losing Zippo - his elephant plush, inspired by Zitka. He had loved it. It reminded him of the boy who showed him what warmth was. What love could feel like.
Janet sighed, brushing Tim's hair back from his face. She took her hand back before he could lean into it. "It's a step you take whether you like it or not." She said, staring at him intently. "Now stop crying, it's unbecoming."
Tim blinked back the tears in his eyes. He stepped back when Dick leaned in to hug him, barely hiding a wince at the hurt sound Dick made.
Zippo was a crutch, a fantasy of a lonely kid wanting to feel loved.
That's what Dick was to the older counterpart.
It wasn't fair to either of them.
"I'm moving forward." Tim said, a ghost of a smile on his face. He thinks Janet would have liked that reply.
A car pulled up on the sidewalk.
"That's my ride." Tim said. He went to move around Dick before he wavered again.
Dick took his arm. "Talk to me." He said, but it sounded more like an order.
Something in Tim burned. For the first time in his life, he's trying to do something good for himself and Dick chooses this moment to demand more of him.
Like he has the right.
As if Tim hasn't given enough.
"I have nothing to say to you." Tim's voice was cold.
Dick paused, then his eyes went wide with a realization that was months too late.
Tim sighed, anger dimming in the face of exhaustion. He just wanted to go.
Dick's priorities had changed over the last year, as had Bruce's and now so have Tim's.
Dick had Damian, a new brother, partner and - if Tim's observations were to be believed - a son. Even if neither of them would admit it. Dick was Batman when Bruce was gone and a father when Bruce couldn't be.
He wasn't the man that pushed Tim into a sprinkler, took him train surfing and held him when he was afraid. He wasn’t someone who made Tim feel loved anymore.
Bruce's death had changed them both. Tim got that. He understood.
But he also understood when his parents left as well. When Bruce pushed him away, Steph left him behind and Cass left.
He understood. That was his thing. But he couldn’t live on their waiting lists anymore. Tim wasn't a priority, why should they be?
Tim accepted it. But he didn't like it and he wasn't going to live with it anymore.
There's a difference between growing from your past and tossing those who occupy it aside. And Tim knows what they did to him.
Tim had looked at Dick and listened to his excuses time and time again over the last year. And he got it. He saw him that night in the Cave and he accepted it. Now, he was moving on.
"No." Dick's voice was tight. "You do have something to say. So say it. And we can fix this."
"Dick–"
"No, Tim. I'm not just gonna let you walk away without a fight." Dick's eyes flashed in challenge and damn it if Tim wasn't going to stand up to him.
"Now you want to fight for me?" Tim asked lightly, baring his teeth in the form of an empty smile. "After everything?"
"Yes. Always." Dick's voice was steady and sure, like Nightwing, like Bruce and Tim hated it.
"If that were the case, I wouldn't be leaving in the fucking first place!" Tim's voice carried down the street, startling both of them.
And the uber driver baring witness to this shitshow.
Dick faltered. "I–"
"I'm not staying here!" Tim looked away, he breathed in and shook his head, trying to get himself back under control. "Let go, Dick."
"Give me one reason we can't work through this." Dick said quietly, stubborn as ever.
Tim's eyes blurred. Why can't anything just be easy?
He let out a shaky breath.
"I'm tired of loving you."
Dick's face lost all color. His grip on Tim's arm loosened enough for him to slip away.
"What can I do?" Dick's voice was small and lost. In that moment he was nothing like the strong, unshakeable force Tim always saw him as.
Tim walked towards the car.
"Give me another chance." Dick pleaded, the tears in his voice filling Tim's eyes.
His chest was caving on him.
He can’t do this, fuck he can't do this–
"Please, Tim." Dick's voice was closer. He sounded desperate, like he finally realized that he had something to lose.
You're on your own, kid.
He had to do this.
"I have nothing left to give." Tim snarled, his voice was tired and hoarse.
Dick's shocked silence gave him the moment he needed to gather his strength. He started moving before either of them could question it.
Tim got in the car.
And he didn't look back.
He was on his own. He always had been.