Archive of Our Own ^beta

The Nightwing costume felt like coming home again.

He couldn’t put away the Batman suit entirely, he still had to make appearances in it, but with the news that Bruce was alive, that he was coming back, that the League was making preparations to retrieve him, Dick could finally let that particular burden slide off his back.

He didn’t have to be Batman.  He didn’t have to be the Wayne heir.  He didn’t have to tie himself to his father’s city.  He just had to hold it together until Bruce came back.

The relief nearly made him giddy.  Dangerously so, but there was no active threats—Ra’s had been neutered, Tim was in control of Wayne Enterprises, Hood was more ally than enemy, Cass was coming home, and the city was safe.  Dick didn’t need to be Batman tonight.  He could fly.

It felt like Gotham was sharing his good mood.  The only major case on their radar was rumors of an alliance between Ivy and the Riddler—neither a real threat on their own—and while Dick would’ve ordinarily just checked up on it by himself, smoothed down whatever had ruffled Ivy’s leaves this week, he wasn’t letting Damian patrol on his own, and he didn’t want to leave Tim out.

That, Dick discovered with the benefit of hindsight, dangling off the ground and wrapped up in vines, was not the best idea.

It was partially his fault.  He’d been so happy that Tim was back home, and getting along with Damian—well, their jibes seemed more brotherly than murderous at least—that he’d chosen to forget just how their relationship had started.  And also possibly ignored the sniping until it had led to a very minor spot of destruction in Ivy’s corner of Robinson Park, thus infuriating the meta and leading to them all being tied up to be ‘taught a lesson’.

“I am really, really sorry, Ivy,” Dick tried his best charming smile, “They’re up past their bedtime, and they’re cranky.”  Damian, vines wrapped over his mouth, hissed like a rattlesnake.  Tim just glowered.  “I promise I’ll plant two trees to make up for it!”

Ivy crossed her arms, mouth pressed to a thin line.

“Three trees?”

“The first thing Red Robin does in Gotham is destroy my plants,” Ivy said coolly, petting one of her vines, “You know I can’t let that go.”

“Come on, Ivy, you know he used to be Robin,” Dick entreated, “Didn’t he give you that tomato plant?  Ivy?”

“He’s not Robin anymore,” Ivy studied Tim, who, judging by the motions, was trying to saw his way out of the vines, “And besides, I needed a test subject anyway.”  Tim gasped as the vines around him tightened, and Dick struggled harder.  If he could just get to a wingding—

One of the vines slithering forward had bright blue bulbs, and the petals opened right in Tim’s face.  Tim started coughing and wheezing as the vine withdrew.

“Red?” Dick cursed as Tim choked.  “Red, are you okay?  Ivy, what was that?”

“A little concoction the Riddler’s looking for,” Ivy gave him a wicked smile, “The truth deserves to be set free.”

Dick was reminded just how much he despised it when the Rogues worked together.  “Are you serious, Ivy?  Is Riddler going to show up on Earth Day now?  What did you do to Red Robin?”

“Can it, Nightwing, or I’ll gag you too,” Ivy said, unconcerned, already walking away, “Let me know if there are any side effects.”

“Side effects of what?!”  But Ivy had vanished into her greenery.  Dick cursed again, and twisted back to Tim, as much as the vines would allow.  Ivy unfortunately didn’t give him much space to move, well-practiced at capturing Bats, and the Nightwing suit wasn’t designed with half the gadgets that the Batman suit was.

“Red?  Are you okay?” Dick asked softly, trying to figure out if he could get a glove off to reach his watch and the hidden wire inside.  He’d already sent an alert to Oracle, but Steph was at home with a twisted ankle, and she couldn’t reach anyone else.

Tim groaned softly, head lying limp.

“Red Robin?” Dick repeated, his heart pounding in his ears.  Something inside of him was twisting, frantic and desperate.  Even Damian had stopped snarling behind his gag.  “Red!”

“I feel sick,” Tim murmured, drawing his head up with apparent effort.  His skin had gone gray.  “I—something isn’t right, I feel…weird.”

“Weird how?” Dick forced his voice to remain level, “Cold?  Hot?  You want a hug?”  Tim weakly twisted his head, like he was trying to say no.  “Come on, baby bird, talk to me.”

The glove gave, the barest fraction of an inch, and Dick redoubled his efforts.

“No,” Tim muttered, “No, I’m not—it doesn’t—I don’t—I don’t need a hug.”  He shook his head, stronger, “No—why—stop—”

“Red!” Dick said sharply, “Red, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I feel like I’m going to be sick,” Tim gasped, before pressing his mouth shut and making a pained sound.

“It’s okay,” Dick soothed, and cast a desperate look at the direction Ivy had gone.  Surely she wouldn’t let Tim choke on his own vomit.  “Take a deep breath, Red.”

Tim shook his head harder, “No, stop—”

“It’s okay, Red, just breathe—”

“Shut up,” Tim hissed, and Dick fell silent.  “Just fucking shut up.”  Dick winced—Tim’s flashes of temper were jagged and unpredictable, and every time Dick had attempted to broach the subject of the elephant in the room, Tim had walked away.  The other boy made a low, choked groan, “My fucking luck.”

“Red?” Dick ventured tentatively.

“The truth deserves to be set free,” Tim quoted, his voice ragged as he let his head tilt back.  “Fuck.  It’s truth serum.”

Dick’s mind went blank for a second before rebooting.  “Okay,” Dick said slowly.  He was going to give Ivy the benefit of the doubt and assume that this wasn’t the inhibition-loosening chemicals that were usually referred to as truth serum.  “I’ll—stop talking then.”  Dick pressed his lips together, and thanked whoever was listening that Damian was gagged.  One less variable to worry about.

Dick kept an eye on Tim as he worked at his bonds, trying to wriggle a hand free of the vines.  Tim was breathing heavily, face twisted up, jaw clenched so tightly that Dick could see the visible strain, and the silence stretched like clay.  Dick prayed that Ivy wouldn’t come back.

Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on the point of view, it snapped long before it came to that.  Dick had just managed to get a single finger free when Tim exhaled in a rush.

“I can’t,” he said through gritted teeth, “I can’t—it won’t—I need to talk.  I need to—I can’t stay silent.”  Tim was straining with the effort it took to keep the words suppressed, and Dick hastily cast his mind around for a topic.

“Okay, um…how about the weather?”

Even with the mask on, Dick could feel Tim’s withering glare.

“Dull.  Dreary.  As depressing as always, is that what you want to hear, Nightwing?  Of all the things, you want to talk about the weather?”

Okay, that was on him.  Dick tried to come up with something and wriggle out of the vines at the same time, “How about—” your friends, no, abort, bad idea, your trip, even worse, what’ve you been up to, no, gods, when had Dick become unable to talk to his little brother?

Probably when he ran away, a voice whispered snidely inside his head, and Dick clamped down on the twisting in his gut.

“How are things going?” he ended weakly.  Damian’s expression, what little of it was visible, was disparaging.

“Not good,” was Tim’s immediate answer, “Undoing what Ra’s did to W.E. is taking forever, I’m not sleeping, I keep jumping at shadows, I feel like I’m pretending to be—”

“How is Tam doing?” Dick said desperately over him, giving up on getting free to fully devote his attention to keep Tim away from sensitive subjects.

“Tam is fine.  Happy she’s not engaged to me.  Definitely happy she’s away from the League of Assassins.  She’s a good personal assistant,” Tim smiled faintly, “She’s absolutely ruthless in sniffing out League traps.  I think she really hates Ra’s.”

“A woman after my own heart,” Dick joked weakly.

“She’s a good friend,” Tim agreed, “I think she even managed to get Ra’s to not put me in a Lazarus Pit.”

Dick did not hear that correctly.

“What?” came out slightly strangled.

“You weren’t supposed to know that,” Tim swallowed, and pressed his lips shut.  It didn’t last for very long.  “Ra’s almost threw me in a Lazarus Pit but he didn’t and it’s all good now,” Tim said, very fast, his skin going even paler, “Except for my spleen, I think he kept that, but aside from that the rest of me is in Gotham—oh, and the blood I spilled everywhere in Iraq when the Widower gutted me—”

“What.”

“—but you aren’t supposed to know that either, I didn’t update the files because I didn’t want to tell you and I’d really like to shut up now and I’m going to destroy every vial of this thing that Ivy has and why can’t I stop talking.”

Tim was struggling violently against the vines, yanking at them in heaving bursts of near panic.

“Wait,” Dick said.  He felt breathless and slightly unmoored.  “You don’t have a spleen?”

“It’s really not a big deal,” Tim said flatly.

“Explain to me how losing your spleen is not a big deal!”

“I thought I was going to die.”

That stole Dick’s ability to speak.

“The Widower killed Owens and Z and almost killed Pru and I was bleeding out and nearly died right when I found proof that B was alive,” Tim’s voice was clipped, but his face was twisted, each word clearly tearing at him.  “And then I was a prisoner with Ra’s, and I nearly died taking out the Council of Spiders.  And then I blew up his base, and came back to Gotham and I provoked him into losing his temper and he kicked me out the window and I thought I was done.  No consequences after death.”  Tim shrugged, his face fighting to be still.

“You said,” Dick’s lips felt numb, “That you believed I’d catch you.”

Tim made a harsh sound that wasn’t quite laughter.  “I didn’t think you’d come for me.”

Dick couldn’t breathe.  The—the vines were too tight, his chest was squeezing painfully, he couldn’t breathe—

“You weren’t there when I needed you,” Tim said hollowly, “Why would that time be any different?”

“Robin,” Dick replied automatically, but no, that wasn’t right—

“Not anymore,” Tim gave a sardonic laugh, “Not after you took it away.”

“Red,” Dick corrected, “I’m—sorry.  I know I—I’m sorry, Red, I’m so sorry, we can talk about this later, why don’t we talk about—”

“How could you take it away?” Tim interrupted, face pale.  Dick didn’t need to turn to know that Damian was watching, silent but wide-eyed.  “Like it was a toy.  Like it wasn’t mine.”

“Red,” Dick started slowly, “You don’t want to have this conversation right now, you’re under truth serum—”

“Stop telling me how I feel!”

Dick snapped his mouth shut.

“You didn’t even have the decency to tell me, N, I had to stumble upon the brat wearing it and gloating,” Tim’s voice was cracking now, “You—you could’ve said something at any point, but you just didn’t care.”

“No—no, Red, no, of course I cared,” Dick said desperately.  He had just been afraid that Tim wouldn’t take it well, and had…delayed telling him, and it had slipped out in an effort to get Damian to listen to him, and Dick had been too tired to stop him from trying on a suit.

And then Tim had walked down.

At the worst possible time.

“Not as much as you cared about him,” Tim nodded at a trussed-up Damian, “I get it, Dick, he’s the real son, I’m not—I know he needed your attention, but you could’ve told me.”

“Red.”  Dick’s mouth was dry.  “Baby bird.  No.  I care about you just as much as I care about Robin—”

“Because you know what it feels like,” Tim said, hollow and aching, not paying attention to him.  He’d stopped trying to get free at some point.  “You know exactly what it feels like to come home and see someone else in your colors.  Hood knows what it feels like.  And after all that, how could you do it to someone else?”

Dick…couldn’t speak.  Everything was blurry.  All he could do was watch his little brother as his voice cracked into sobs.

“I wanted it to be better,” Tim whispered between hitched breaths, “I knew he would be Robin, but I wanted it to be better.  I wanted to give it to him.”

Damian made a muffled sound.  “I’m sorry,” Dick managed to force out, “Red, I am so, so sorry—”

“Don’t—”

“I’m sorry,” Dick’s throat was choking him, but he pushed the words through, “I’m so sorry for not asking you first, I’m sorry for not listening to you, I’m sorry for not believing you—”

“No one believed me,” Tim was staring at the ground, “But somehow your distrust hurt the worst.”

Dick—hadn’t been able to believe Tim, not with a company and a legacy and a child to manage, not when he’d been forced into Batman’s shoes, into a job he had never wanted, because what Tim had been promising was too good to be true.  And Dick would’ve lost himself in it, would’ve hunted the idea to the ends of the earth to avoid the responsibilities Bruce had left him.

He couldn’t do that.

But in the process, he’d broken his little brother’s trust and practically handed him giftwrapped to Ra’s al Ghul.

“I’m sorry,” Dick repeated uselessly, tugging on his glove again, desperate to wipe that shattered look off of Tim’s face.  Tear tracks glinted on pale cheeks.  “I’m so sorry, baby bird, I should’ve listened to you and I didn’t.”

“You thought I was crazy.  Everyone thought I was crazy.  I thought I was crazy,” Tim huffed a mirthless laugh, “Maybe I am crazy.”

“You’re not,” Dick said as sternly as he could manage, “You’re hurt and grieving and upset—”

“Batman isn’t dead!”

“I know,” Dick soothed, trying to keep his voice level, “I know, Red, but he’s still lost and you missed him and—and I ignored you instead of listening.  I’m so, so sorry.”

Tim raised his head, and Dick stared into the white lenses that hid his little brother’s eyes.  “I don’t think I can trust you again,” Tim said quietly, and Dick’s heart fractured.

Something was screaming in his head and Dick only knew it wasn’t out loud because when he moved his mouth, words didn’t come out.  It felt like—it felt like the devastation on Tim’s face when he saw Damian in the Robin costume for the very first time, shock and despair and no, please no, make it stop.

“I needed you,” Tim whispered, “I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

Dick could still see Tim falling in his nightmares.  He missed the catch every time.  He was clinging to the railing, watching a twisted, mangled body on the ground, and this time, no one covered his face and told him to look away.

I’m sorry, echoed in his head, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry.

But Dick wasn’t nine years old anymore.

And an apology couldn’t bring back the dead.

“It hurts to look at you,” Tim was gasping now, “It hurts to look at you with him.  I finally understand what Hood feels because it hurts so much and I want it to stop and I hate him and I hate you and I hate myself most of all.”

Dick opened his mouth but the only thing that came out was a choked sob.

“Sometimes I wish you hadn’t caught me.”

Dick couldn’t stop the high, keening sound that tore out of his chest, tears slipping down his cheeks.  Tim was stuttering through sobs, too thick to speak, and Dick tried to remember how to breathe, but he kept failing.  He took a side glance at Damian, and found the boy eerily still, barely even struggling against the vines.

“I never do,” Dick said thickly, “I will never regret saving my little brother.  Every day I wake up and thank the gods that I was fast enough to catch you.  That, by some grace of luck, I was there.  That you’re here, in front of me, still alive.”  Dick was going to break all of Ra’s’ bones the next time he saw him.  “You will always be my little brother.”

Dick would repeat it every day if he had to—

“But that doesn’t mean anything,” Tim said hollowly, and Dick felt that dagger slide between his ribs.  “Not where it counts.”

Dick would’ve preferred it if Ivy had stabbed him and left him to bleed out in a pool of acid.  Surely that would’ve hurt less than this.

“And it never counted,” Tim continued, soft, “I was just the replacement.”

“No,” Dick found his voice again, “No, Red, you managed to give Batman light in the darkest period of his career, you gave him hope.  You’re brilliant and determined and—”

“I wasn’t good enough to be your Robin.”

It sat like a heavy stone.  “No,” Dick said softly, “No, Red, that wasn’t it at all.  It was—there were several reasons, but none of them were that I didn’t want you by my side.  I swear to you, baby bird, that I would’ve been honored to have you as my partner.”

Tim was shaking his head.  “I don’t want to hear—I—stop talking,” he said finally, low and hoarse, “Just stop with all of it, I don’t—I just want Batman back.”

Dick had to close his eyes and breathe.  In and out.  In and out.  In and—he could already see Bruce’s expression when he saw how terrible a job Dick had done in keeping everything together when he was gone.

Wayne Enterprises nearly destroyed.

Tim nearly killed, and now missing a spleen.

The family fractured when it was his job to keep the peace.

In and out.

Focus.

Right now, they had bigger problems.

He was supposed to get them out of here and—were those footsteps he could hear?  Dick struggled harder against the vines, truly desperate now, and managed to extract his wrist before the visitor stomped into view.

“Well,” the mechanized voice drawled, “Looks like I found where everyone’s hanging out.”

Ordinarily, Dick would’ve groaned at the pun, but right now his heart was beating too fast and his mouth was dry and he had a pounding headache.  “Hood,” he said, unsticking his tongue, “Let us out, Red’s been hit with some kind of truth serum—”

“Truth serum?”  Jason sounded delighted as he walked over to Tim.  “You’re joking.  Hey, Red, how do you really feel about me?”

“I hate you,” Tim said shakily, “I hate that I still want you to be my brother, you were my Robin, and you—”

“Hood!”

“Not joking,” Jason corrected, slightly unsteadily, one gloved hand effectively muffling Tim.

“Cut us loose,” Dick said, trying to not make it sound like an order and failing by a mile.  Luckily, Jason was apparently still discomfited enough to let it pass, and a handful of batarangs made the vines recede enough for Dick to fight his way free.

Dick cut down Damian as Jason awkwardly attempted to slice Tim free without letting go of his mouth, and Dick stared uncertainly at them when they were all out.  Jason had crossed his arms, Damian was surprisingly silent, and Tim had both his hands clapped over his mouth as he took heavy breaths.

Everyone was looking at Dick.  Dick just wanted to crawl under a rock and make it all stop.

“Okay,” he said, because he was still supposed to be in charge, “We’ll need to track down Ivy for an antidote—”

“No.”  The hoarse whisper stopped all of them.  “No, you can’t leave,” Tim rasped, gaze fixed on Dick, “Please don’t leave, please, I can’t—everyone keeps leaving—”

“I’m not going to leave,” Dick got closer, and hesitated—after everything Tim said, did Dick even really have a right to—

Tim solved that dilemma by practically throwing himself at Dick.  Dick caught him and wrapped an arm around him as Tim nearly strangled him, the other hand drifting up to gently cover Tim’s mouth and cut off his pleas.

“Find Ivy,” Dick instructed, glancing at Jason and Damian, “Get an antidote, or find out how long it takes to wear off.”  There were tears dripping down the side of his neck, to match the ones sliding down his face.  He waited until Jason and Damian had left before resting his head against Tim’s.  “I’m so sorry, baby bird,” he whispered, and Tim shuddered harder.

Tim pushed away from Dick’s hand long enough to speak.  “Don’t go,” his voice wavered, “Please, Nightwing, don’t leave—”

“I’m not leaving you,” Dick murmured, “I promise.”

Tim buried himself back against Dick, and shook through silent sobs.  Dick held onto him, and breathed through the pain of each one.

They needed to have a conversation.  A real one, without truth serum or restraints.  He—Tim needed to talk to someone, and the last time Dick had broached the idea of a therapist, Tim had nearly bitten his head off, but he would do better this time.  He had to do better.

It hurt so much, holding him close, and knowing that he’d broken something perhaps beyond repair.  That he hurt his little brother this much, that he destroyed the lifeline Tim so desperately needed and didn’t even know when Tim made a deal with a devil and lost a spleen.

A thousand apologies wouldn’t fix this, but Dick would give them, one after another until his voice went hoarse, if that was what Tim wanted.

“An antidote,” Jason’s voice rose as they stepped into the little grove.  He flicked the vial at Dick, who caught it one-handed.  “It’s amazing what the threat of a flamethrower will get you.”  Dick probably should be worried about that, but he focused on getting the antidote down Tim’s throat.

The younger boy winced at the taste, coughing again, and Dick supported him as he swayed on his knees through hacking breaths.  Finally, they died down, Tim half hunched over and his head looking down.

“Red?” Dick asked softly, “How are you feeling?”

“Shitty,” was the hoarse answer.

“Can you lie?” Jason asked, tone brusque but Dick could see the way he was shifting from foot to foot.

“I’m a purple platypus bear,” Tim rasped, and Jason was startled into an amused bark of laughter.  Dick just squeezed Tim’s shoulder, and let the relief spread through him.

It wasn’t enough.

Dick watched Damian march across the floor of the Cave and inwardly groaned.  He’d known that Damian was too quiet, and now was not the time—Tim hadn’t asked him to stay, but one of his hands was curled in Dick’s shirt as Dick finished up the last of the bloodwork to make sure that the toxin was gone, and Dick needed Damian to not start something right now.

Please, he tried to convey telepathically, not now, Dami, please, I will buy you a fucking pony if you just go to bed—

Damian didn’t stop.  Goddammit.  He had to use words after all.

“Hey, Dames,” Dick said lightly, shifting so that he was more solidly in between Tim and Damian, “Can it wait till morning?  I’m a little busy right now—”

“It’s better to update all the records at once,” Damian said, clipped, and—climbed up on the bed.

Tim blinked at him, and raised an eyebrow in clear surprise.  The second eyebrow joined it when Damian proffered the tablet in his hand.

“What?” Dick said after a delay, trying to reboot.  Just because Damian had stopped trying to actively murder Tim didn’t mean they were friendly, and Dick had been dreading the conversation he had to have with Damian about what Tim said under truth serum, and Damian was—what was he doing?

“Your spleen,” Damian said, snappish, “As no one else has yet brought up this egregious hole in our records.  Lack of a spleen will impact medication and side effects and diagnosis.”  Damian visibly restrained himself from saying something else.  “Fill it out.”

Dick blinked owlishly as Tim took the tablet with a sigh.  Damian’s scowl only grew deeper, though, and Dick’s trepidation grew higher when Damian opened his mouth again.

“Ra’s al Ghul is not defeated.”

Tim raised his head from the tablet.

“It would be the heights of foolishness to believe otherwise,” Damian said sharply, “Grandfather never forgets an opponent, and moreover you’ve piqued his attention.”

“Damian,” Dick said slowly, disliking the direction this was heading.

“You will give us a full account of your battle with him, and all the contingencies you have in place,” Damian said bitingly, “So that the welfare of our operations is not your sole jurisdiction.”

“Damian!” Dick snapped immediately, and was about to tell him to go to his room when Tim…chuckled?

“Sure thing, brat,” Tim looked amused, “I’ll train you on how to beat your grandfather at his own game.”

Damian made an imperious huff before clambering off the bed and stalking away.  Dick watched him go, wondering if he’d accidentally stepped into a strange mirror dimension.  The lines on Tim’s face were softer as he finished filling out his updated records, and the silence that hung over them was a heavy thing.

“I’m sorry,” Tim said finally, and Dick jolted from his stupor.

“What?  Why?”

“For the things I said,” Tim half-shrugged, looking down and away from Dick, “I didn’t mean—I didn’t mean to say them.”

“Tim,” Dick said quietly, “You were hit by a truth serum.  It’s not your fault.”  The fault was Dick’s, for not realizing how much Tim was hurting until it had all spilled out.  “Don’t apologize for being honest.”

Tim looked up sharply.  “Just because it was the truth didn’t mean you had to hear it,” Tim narrowed his eyes, “Didn’t mean it wasn’t cruel.”

“Tim,” Dick had to take a moment to swallow past the lump in his throat, and held his arms open.  Tim hesitated, which fractured his heart further, but he leaned into Dick’s grip, and let him hug him.  “It’s not your fault.”

Tim burrowed his head further against Dick’s shoulder, not agreeing but not arguing.  Dick held him as tightly as he dared, and wished he never had to let go.

“Can we talk?” Dick asked quietly, “Sometime tomorrow maybe?  Just the two of us.”

Tim made a half-snort, “How’re you planning to get rid of the demon limpet?”

“Actually,” Dick hummed, mind whirring, “Selina mentioned she rescued a pregnant stray.  That should be enough to keep Damian’s attention.”

Tim raised his head at that, giving Dick an incredulous look.  “Are you seriously just distracting the demon brat with a new pet every time he gets snotty?”  Tim’s expression twisted to consternation.  “Is that why we have a cow now?”

“I prefer to think of it as positive reinforcement for not stabbing people.”  Which had been a big, big problem at the start, and Dick didn’t care what Bruce thought of his methods, people that lived in glass houses full of the children they’d stolen shouldn’t cast stones.

Tim snickered and shook his head in muted disbelief—the smile just made him looked more exhausted, dark circles in sharp contrast to the sallowness of his face.  “Okay,” Tim said finally, flopping back on the bed, “We can talk tomorrow.”

Dick exhaled, one knot inside him dissolving.  They had a chance.  Maybe he couldn’t fix this, but he had a chance.

He began mentally compiling a list of all the things he wanted to address, what he needed to say, how delicately he would have to bring some things up—

“You want me to talk to someone, don’t you,” Tim said blankly, as though he’d read Dick’s mind.

Dick hesitated.  The last time they’d talked about this, Tim had run away.  But Tim was sprawled on the bed now, staring up at the Cave ceiling, showing no inclination to move.  “Tim,” Dick said cautiously, trying to keep his tone level and gentle, “You said you wished you were dead.”

Tim made a sharp sound, but only turned enough to bury his head in the pillow, curling closer to Dick.  “I’m fine,” he said, muffled, “Bruce will be back soon, and I’ll be fine.”

Dick lightly stroked across Tim’s shoulders, carefully composing his next words.  “We don’t know when Bruce will be back, baby bird,” Dick said softly, and felt Tim tense underneath his fingers, “And in the meantime, you’re hurting.”

Another sharp, aggrieved, choked sound.  “I’m fine,” Tim said hoarsely, voice tight and no conviction in it, and Dick gave into the urge to slide down next to his brother and wrap him in a hug.

There were tears soaking his shirt, and Tim was twisting the fabric between his fingers, but he was here, he was alive, he was home, and Dick let himself breathe.  Everything else could be rebuilt, one step at a time.