Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim had spent years thinking that, maybe if he was the perfect daughter, his parents would start coming home more.

Then Janet had died. And suddenly, being the perfect daughter so they’d come home more became being the perfect daughter so that Jack had a reason to wake up.

Tim became Robin, and Robin was a boy, so Tim reasoned it should stay that way. Besides, it gave him an even better secret identity. Nobody would think the young Drake girl was Robin.

They built a binder into the Robin suit and designed it to be safe to breathe in, less dangerous for his ribs than normal ones. Tim was Robin in the cave and he got used to the he’s and the him’s and the chum’s. He pretended they didn’t make fireworks of pure joy explode in his chest.

Then, Jack woke up. He stayed home more, he found Dana, who Tim honestly found himself liking, and they even started doing things like family movie nights. Sure, wearing dresses made Tim’s skin itch and his chest feel heavy, and being called his birth name felt like being body slammed by Bane, but Tim could deal with it for his dad. Losing Robin felt like the end of the world for a while. Getting it back felt like flying.

And Jack died.

And Tim still couldn’t change.

Because after that, it felt too much like a betrayal. Like he’d been waiting for his parents to both be gone so that he could do whatever he wanted, like move in with the Waynes and chop off all his hair. And besides, he still had Dana to worry about. She was in Bludhaven, but he visited a few times, and that was enough to make him not change anything too drastically. Dana had already lost enough.

She was gone shortly after, but before Tim could even get a moment to breathe, so were Steph, Bart, Kon, and Bruce.

Then it was about how many people he’d lost, and how if he changed too much, he’d be a completely different person. Someone with no real connection to them. One who’d never heard Kon shout his name excitedly, or had Steph paint his nails, or gotten a piggy-back ride from Bart even though they were roughly the same size, or-

Tim didn’t want to think about how many things there would be with Bruce. Every piece of praise, every moment of comfort in grief, all of it, would belong to someone that Tim wasn’t anymore.

He was terrified.

And Bruce was alive.

Damian getting the Robin mantle was the last push Tim needed to leave, and he found himself heading out of Gotham in the middle of the night with an unfamiliar cape snapping in the wind behind him.

After that, it was a little easier. He was already changing plenty by going from Robin to Red Robin, going to lengths that the Bats would never approve of and that Robin could never be tainted with. What was a little name change in that?

So when he met Pru and the guys, Tim corrected them on his name. When Tam came to find him, he told her. And that was four people—not counting Ra’s—that knew him as Tim, as a guy, and none of them were his family. It felt a little too fitting.

Pru cut his hair in a crappy bathroom in Europe. She laughed the whole time, beer in one hand and kiddie craft scissors in the other. Owens video taped it. Z said he’d lend Tim a gun if Pru messed it up too badly, and before-well, before, Tim would’ve been offended by a joke like that. The idea that he’d shoot someone, even an assassin, over a haircut?

But at the time, he’d just laughed along with Pru and crouched a little so she could get to the front of his head.

They were assassins, killers, who’d not only tried to murder him, but murdered for him.

They were also making him laugh more than he had in a long time.

They died.

Pru lived, because of course she did. Tim was pretty sure anything short of a zombie apocalypse wouldn’t be able to do her in. She’d toed a billion buckets but never actually kicked any. She was too lucky for that.

But Z and Owens were both dead, and Pru had surgery, and Tim lost his spleen. Tam was in danger and Ra’s had Tim in the palm of his hand. Or, at least, he thought he did.

Unfortunately for Ra’s, Tim was better than he’d thought. He took down League bases across the world and in no time, he was back in Gotham, and Pru was at his back, and Tim was pretty sure he was running out of time.

He met up with Kon again. Logically, Tim had known Kon was alive. But a lot of things that had happened in the last few months had felt like dreams and Kon felt a little too good to be true.

Then Kon referred to him with a name that Tim hadn’t heard since he first met Pru, Z, and Owens, and Tim didn’t even mind, because it was proof that it was real. The Kon in his head always called him Tim or Rob, but never that.

Tim almost said something, but why rock the boat? He was too glad to have Kon back to care about the way that his skin was crawling at every feminine term or pronoun or name.

He’d dragged himself and Pru all the way back to their hotel while bleeding out from a wound that cost him his spleen. Tim could handle a little dysphoria.

And would it really matter in a few hours?

When Tim called his friends and they all answered with his old names, whether his civilian one or Robin, he did what Bats did best, and compartmentalized to save lives. He went to find Ra’s, confident that he’d be the only casualty of the night.

Except Dick caught him, and he woke up in the medbay, and Stephanie was shoving a newspaper in his face and Damian was congratulating him and everything was happening all at once, and Tim lied, and said, “you’re my brother, Dick. You’ll always be there for me.”

The newspaper was about his and Tam’s supposed engagement. He didn’t mind the cover story too much, it was good for someone who hadn’t been taught how to think of stuff like that on the spot, but he did mind the fact that the emphasis was on Tim being a girl when he’d finally begun to leave that behind. His hair, the binder he’d started to wear outside of the suit as well as in, everything.

He shoved it aside, because Dick and Alfred had their own proof of Bruce being alive, and they were willing to listen to what Tim had to say. Bruce was the priority and everything else could be sorted out later, now that W.E. and Bruce’s friends and family were out of danger.

Pru called him Tim in front of Dick a few times. Dick didn’t notice. Dick called Tim by his old name and referred to him as Dick’s sister, as she.

Then Bruce was back, recovering, and Dick went back to Nightwing after a while, and Tim decided that the last thing he’d do as his parents’ daughter was avenge Jack. It was his goodbye to them and to his old self.

Tim saved Boomerang. Bruce reprimanded him.

The next gala, Tim Drake showed up in a dress and heels and laughed on some dude’s arm, telling himself he’d tell everyone the truth later.

Later, because they were bringing Duke into the family, and Tim wanted Duke to get his moment to shine.

Later, because Jason and the Bats reached a truce, and Jason was the focus, and Tim didn’t want to do anything that could possibly ruin the opportunity for the family to get Jason back.

Later, because Cass and Steph started dating and Tim was worried that Steph would think he was a bitter friend trying to steal the limelight or something—she’d never think that, but for the sake of caution, he kept quiet.

Later, because something always came up and Tim kept telling himself he’d do it later, he’d tell everyone the next time he saw them.

He was waiting for a quiet moment, but they were vigilantes and a family of eight or more depending on the day, so quiet moments didn’t really exist, especially if he didn’t look too closely for one.

There were times where he almost slipped up and said it.

Sitting with Bruce in the cave, working on suit upgrades. Bruce asked Tim if he was sure he wanted to keep going by Red Robin. A quick, musing comment about the Batgirl mantle being open had Tim’s throat closing up and his fingers slowing on the keyboard.

“Nah.” He’d managed. “I like Red Robin.”

“And you want to keep it masculine? We can always change the suit if you’d feel more comfortable-”

“Bruce, I like my suit.”

It hadn’t come out of nowhere. Just a few days prior, Steph had been complaining about her Spoiler outfit being too bulky and awkward, like Bruce didn’t know how to design a suit for a girl. Bruce must have thought about that and wondered if he’d somehow messed up with Tim’s, too. But Tim liked his.

And there was Dick while visiting Bludhaven for a sibling-bonding drug bust, where they’d grappled up to a rooftop with a couple of pride flags hung in a window, and Dick had pointed it out with a grin.

It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t even know Tim was bi, much less anything else, and it was just one of those things where Dick was proud because it was a bright, supportive spot in his otherwise sorta bleak city.

But the words almost slipped off Tim’s tongue, and he had to bite them back, because he still wasn’t entirely too sure how to act around Dick. His big brother, who’d taken Robin, but who’d always had his back. Who hadn’t believed him about Bruce being alive, but had every reason to think Tim had gone off the deep end. It was a confusing war of emotions in Tim’s head and he really didn’t want to add to it.

They’d talked about it. Dick had apologized for springing Damian as Robin on him and not asking for input, and Tim apologized for keeping so distant since Bruce’s return. But even with that conversation, Tim found himself walking on eggshells around Dick, who he used to be so comfortable with.

He was pretty sure Dick was doing the same thing, the both of them dancing around whatever leftover resentment or sadness there was.

In the end, Tim told Alfred and, of all people, Damian.

They were driving into downtown Gotham. An upcoming gala was being held in Bruce’s honor, so they were all going, and Tim needed something to wear. His dresses were either too small or had been stained with blood that not even Alfred could get out. Damian was in a similar dilemma due to his being in his growth spurt stage. He was nearly as tall as Tim. His suit pants looked like they were meant to be worn in a flood.

Tim was silently dreading the fitting, knowing full well that he’d wind up in something that cradled his chest instead of pushing it flat, that flared at the waist, that went with heels instead of sneakers or business shoes, when Alfred made brief eye contact with Tim in the rearview mirror and asked, “is everything alright?”

Instead of registering how weird it was that Alfred hadn’t added a ms. to the beginning of that, Tim burst into tears.

He dimly registered Damian’s seatbelt clicking and a hand dragging his chin up. He definitely clocked the flashlight as it blinded him.

“No concussion.” Damian reported.

“God, why do you have that?” Tim asked, swatting at Damian’s hand and using his own to wipe his face.

“It’s been in the first aid kit under the seats for years. Are you injured?”

“No.”

“Then stop blubbering. You’re worrying Pennyworth.”

Tim ducked his head and took a deep breath, willing the tears away. They stung persistently at his eyes. He scrubbed his hoodie sleeve over his cheeks.

By the time the car had parked, Tim had managed to at least sort of regain some control over his face. Damian was casting him strange, almost concerned looks, and Tim was pretty sure he’d palmed a knife from the first aid kit.

Great. Tim freaked out and Damian thought he was a clone or Clayface or something.

Alfred opened the door. Damian hopped out, quickly replaced by Alfred himself, who’s bones creaked as he eased into the backseat.

“I’m sorry,” Tim said quietly.

“Is this about this afternoon’s appointment?” Alfred asked.

He pulled the handkerchief from his pocket and flicked it open before passing it to Tim. A subtle reminder to not wipe his tears and snot on his clothes.

“Yeah,” Tim said. “But I’m good now. Just tired I think.”

The door shut, and Tim watched through the tinted windows as Damian moved a good twenty feet away to lean against the shop and begin playing on his phone. A purposeful gesture, Tim was sure. Telling Tim that Damian wouldn’t eavesdrop.

It was surprisingly thoughtful.

Maybe not entirely, because Tim knew that Dick had made a lot of progress with Damian, and Damian was growing up, but still.

“If I may.” Alfred began.

Tim nodded. His brain felt like soggy toast.

“If you were, for any reason, uncomfortable with wearing a dress for the upcoming gala, I’d hope you would know that it’s not required. You’d need to wear something appropriate, but alterations to the norm are allowed.” A pause. “For instance, if you’d rather wear something more like what your brothers are.”

For the millionth time, Tim wondered how he thought he could get something past Alfred.

“I’m-Alfred, I-”

Tim clenched his hands in the seatbelt he had yet to take off. He wasn’t wearing a binder, didn’t want to deal with the questions if someone at the shop saw it, and had just stored it in his bag to put on when he redressed to leave, but his chest felt similarly tight. Like when he’d first bought one and it’d been too small and he wore it anyway.

“It’s quite alright, child. If I can accept that master Bruce wanted to leap off rooftops and theme everything after rodents, I can accept whatever it is that you have to say,” Alfred said.

With a huffed laugh, Tim tightened his grip.

“My name’s Tim.” He admitted. “I-my name’s Tim.”

Alfred patted his hand. “Very well, my boy. Should we join master Damian and go find you both suits, or would you prefer we postpone until another day?”

A shaky breath, and Tim said, “I’m good. I’m okay.”

He wasn’t even lying. A good chunk of the anxiety in his stomach had melted during their conversation, though a little bit lingered at the thought of Damian. But Alfred would be right there. He would probably say something if Damian did have a problem with Tim.

They climbed out of the car, Alfred graceful as always despite the way his bones popped, and Tim stumbling a little. His left leg had fallen asleep.

“Well? Have you fixed Drake?” Damian asked Alfred.

Tim bristled at that, and Alfred said, “everything’s been remedied, master Damian.”

Seven minutes later they were ushered into two separate changing booths, each with a garment bag. Alfred had spoken to someone at the counter and a young man had hurried to the one Tim was entering, removed a different bag, and replaced it with the one currently waiting.

It still felt a little shocking to unzip the bag and pull out a suit. A proper gala suit.

Tim would need Alfred to teach him how to tie a tie.

Carefully, Tim grabbed his binder from his bag and pulled it on, putting the stupid bra he’d been wearing in its place. He silently praised his past self for bringing his most comfortable binder, the one he liked to wear if he was going to be wearing it for hours at a time. It’d work the best for the gala, which meant he ought to wear it for the fitting. Then he began putting on the suit.

The sleeves were too long, the waist too baggy, but it felt right. He grinned at his reflection and his choppy hair that he’d never gotten straightened up after the last time he’d cut it in his own bathroom.

He oughta call Pru and buy some kiddie craft scissors. Maybe she’d fix it for him.

But Tim’s excitement was cut short by Damian’s voice floating in, saying, “are you finished, Drake?”

It was funny, but Tim had always sort of resented Damian calling him Drake because it felt like he was purposefully not saying Wayne. But at the same time, he’d also appreciated having one less person calling him by his old name. It might not have been Damian’s intention, but whatever.

Tim slid the curtain aside and stepped out, rolling his shoulders back in the way he did when he was Red Robin, with only a little less force. He wanted masculine, but not vigilante.

There were two platforms in the center of the floor by the changing rooms. Damian was already waiting on one, a woman with pins and a fabric ruler by his side. Another woman waited for Tim by the second platform.

“You look quite dashing, master Tim,” Alfred said quietly when Tim passed him.

Tim beamed.

He stepped onto the platform and snuck a glance sideways at Damian, who raised an eyebrow and said, “charcoal gray? I knew you had no taste.”

Instead of biting back, Tim shrugged.

“I like it,” he said.

“As I said, no taste. Navy blue would look better with your hair.”

Tim looked at the mirror opposite him, taking in the gray suit and the white shirt. The woman was beginning to pin the suit.

Honestly, Damian probably wasn’t wrong. But Tim was happy with just wearing a suit at all.

It took almost forty-five minutes for both Damian and Tim to be done. Tim took a bit longer, thanks to him subtly mentioning that he’d like it a bit baggy around the waist, and Alfred stepping in to indicate exactly how to keep the more box-like shape without losing too much of the class. It helped that Tim’s muscles made him a little more masculine, shape-wise.

Once they were done, the woman at checkout asked if they only needed one suit each, or if they’d like duplicates or different colors. Damian pointedly said, “one more of the charcoal gray suit, but in navy blue.”

Alfred didn’t protest, so neither did Tim. It wasn’t like Bruce would even notice, much less mind, and Tim couldn’t control Damian.

“Drake,” Damian said once they were back in the car. “Do you have anything you’d like me to know?”

The corners of Tim’s mouth went up by themselves, and he buckled himself in, dropping his bag at his feet before saying, “yeah. I don’t want everyone to know yet, but I’m okay with you.”

“I’m hardly a gossip.”

“I don’t know what you know about, like, gender and stuff,” Tim started. “I’m gonna guess the League didn’t really talk about sexuality or anything.”

“Hardly. They didn’t speak of it, sure, but it wasn’t judged. Any questions I had were answered. Grandfather didn’t care who was with who, or if their genders matched their sex. Their training came before anything else.”

“Really?”

“Grandfather has lived for several hundred years, Drake. He’s seen the rise and fall of civilizations. Why would he care about such trivial things?”

Tim blinked. “Wow. Okay, points for murder-grandpa.”

“The bar is in Hell,” Damian said dryly.

“I guess I don’t have to explain that much after all. I’m trans, Damian. I’m a dude, my name’s Tim.”

After a second of thought, Damian said, “it’s a very short name.”

“Guess so. Didn’t really think about that.”

“I shall—er—with your permission, I shall call you Timothy. Much more fitting for someone in father's family.”

Tim grinned, glancing forwards at Alfred. He could see Alfred’s hint of a smile in the rearview mirror.

“Sounds good, Dami,” Tim said. “Timothy. I like it.”

Chapter Text

It took two weeks for their suits to arrive. Tim asked Alfred and Damian not to mention anything about what he was wearing, which he didn’t necessarily regret, but…it did make for a stressful couple of weeks.

Everytime Tim thought about getting dressed and walking downstairs to meet the others wearing one of his new suits, he imagined all the ways it could go wrong. It wasn’t that he thought the others wouldn’t be supportive. He knew they were. It was just that his own parents certainly wouldn’t have been, and that Tim was the first Wayne to be anything other than cis, as far as he knew. The closest was Kate or Cass, but that was their sexualities.

Then, Damian would walk into a room and nod at him and, if they were alone, would say, “Timothy,” or Alfred would wake him up in the morning by saying, “master Tim,” or purposefully avoid addressing him by title around anyone but Damian, and Tim would remember that he had two people in his corner already.

Five days out from the gala, Bruce called everyone to a meeting after patrol. Babs and Dick were both video-calling in from the Clocktower and Bludhaven respectively.

“I have an announcement,” Bruce said. “Jason?”

Hood stepped forwards, carefully removing his helmet. If Tim didn’t know any better, he’d say Jason almost looked a little, tiny bit nervous.

He sucked in a subtle breath, then said, “Babs finished the paper trail this morning. I’m officially legally alive. Again.”

The cave exploded.

Dick was shouting, saying he would’ve come back to Gotham if he’d known what the announcement was gonna be. Duke was slapping Jason on the back, grinning, and Steph and Cass were both clapping. Damian had attached himself to Jason’s side, hand on Jason’s arm in a subtle show of support that Tim suspected dated back to Jason and Damian’s days with the League, and Bruce was letting a small smile show. Even Alfred stepped into the fray to give Jason a small hug and pressed an uncharacteristic kiss to Jason’s forehead.

Trying not to let the churning in his stomach show on his face, Tim caught Jason’s eye and grinned. “Congrats,” he said. “I had no idea you guys were aiming for this.”

“We kept it on the down-low. Just in case I changed my mind,” Jason said.

“I’ve been meeting Jason in public periodically now for several months. One meeting at Wayne Enterprises, where we tested his DNA just to say we proved it was really him,” Bruce said. “Another was at our favorite burger spot from back in the day. I know for a fact that Vicki Vale’s photographers have spotted us several times.”

“What’s the cover story? It’s gotta be something good,” Dick said.

The celebration quickly turned into a briefing about the cover story after that. Bruce explained it in detail and quizzed everyone. Jason sat silently away from the crowd.

When Jason died, Bruce essentially told the public the truth. He omitted the fact that Jason was Robin, that his mother was working with the Joker, and anything else that could jeopardize their identities, but other than that, it stayed the same. So now, Bruce was able to say that the body he’d identified as Jason’s was so brutally broken that it was impossible to say for sure that it was him. Not even his teeth remained intact enough.

The reason they’d said it was? His mother’s body had been found with him, and there was a ring on the body’s finger that Bruce identified as belonging to Jason.

The ring part was a lie.

From there, Bruce would say, Jason escaped his captors and worked his way across Europe, suffering from amnesia. He’d seen Gotham on the news and it had triggered some of his memories, leading him to go back home. Jason found himself at Leslie Thompson’s clinic, where he’d been treated many times as a child, and Leslie had recognized him. She’d called Bruce, who’d taken Jason to W.E. to get a DNA test, fingerprint scan, everything he possibly could.

Jason’s old headstone would have to be replaced by one that reflected their story. An unknown body, unrecognizable. Moved away from Jason’s mother, Catherine.

Barbara had laid all the proper pieces to make sure their story would look good if someone dug into it. Bruce reached out to Lucius, who agreed to vouch for them if someone came asking about the DNA test. Jason was prepared for all sorts of awful questions about his life and death.

The next day, Bruce had a press conference scheduled, where he would announce Jason’s return. His public re-debut would be the gala.

It was Duke who finally asked, “but why? No offense, man, but I kinda figured you’d wanna stay a mysterious dead guy forever.”

“Tempting,” Jason said, flashing a sharp smile. “But I’ve spent years living as a ghost. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

And that was that.

Everyone trickled out of the cave, still chattering about it. Cass and Steph headed upstairs, probably to play minecraft until one or both of them fell asleep sitting up. Damian looked like he was going to linger, but Titus started barking, so he had to run off to see what that was about. Bruce and Alfred went to the kitchen. Babs logged off, Dick following suit. Duke left to go back to his cousin’s apartment.

Tim and Jason were alone in the cave, and for once, Tim didn’t feel a prickle of anxiety on the back of his neck about it.

He did feel a little sick to his stomach, though.

It wasn’t fair. Tim had finally worked up the courage—albeit by accident and outside interference—to tell everyone who he was, and something popped up, yet again.

And Jason being legally alive was great. Tim was glad. He knew Bruce had struggled with publicly being asked questions about Jason in the past tense, each one dragging him back to a dark time, and maybe in a few months, those questions would settle down as people got used to Jason being back. Dick would be happy to have his little brother back in a more permanent way. The whole thing signified Jason’s progress and how he seemed to actually sort of trust them now.

But Tim had been so close, and his suit was upstairs hanging in his closet, and it would stay there, because it was so obviously cut for a man. If he wore it, the press—he couldn’t. This gala was gonna be Jason’s moment to shine. Tim wearing a man’s suit would hardly overshadow a man coming back from the dead, but there was too big of a risk of it coming across wrong. He’d rather wear a dress and heels and have Steph do his makeup for every event he went to for a year than make the press think he was trying to steal the spotlight from Jason. Or, heaven forbid, make Bruce think that.

Tim would just have to steal a dress from Cass. They were almost the same size. She wouldn’t mind.

Hot tears bubbled up in his eyes, and he blinked hard to get them to just stop. He-

Why was he being such a baby?

Jason was finally legally rejoining the family, and Tim was crying over a dress. A freaking dress.

With a jolt, Tim realized that Jason was still in the cave, and was staring openly at him. His helmet was clutched in white-knuckled hands.

“Jason-” Tim started.

“Jesus,” Jason said. “What’s your problem? Don’t tell me you’re blubbering over me rejoining the family.”

“No.”

“You sure? Cause that’s what it looks like to me.”

“Jason.”

“God, I was really beginning to believe you about that whole ‘not a replacement, just trying to save Bruce’ sob story.”

Jason slammed his helmet down on the nearest work table before striding across the room. When he stopped in front of Tim, his hands were clenched and trembling.

“If you have something to say, princess,” Jason said, “come out and say it. C’mon. Whine all about how daddy’s precious baby girl isn’t gonna be the talk of the town anymore. News flash, this is gonna die down in a few months, and you’ll go right back to being everybody’s favorite.”

Clenching his jaw, Tim refused to breathe. Jason was taking up his vision so completely that Tim couldn’t see anything but leather and the blood red bat across Jason’s chest.

“You’ve taken enough, you really don’t have any room to try and take this from me too,” Jason said.

“I’m not-” Tim cut himself off, a sob bubbling in his throat.

“What? Use your words like a big girl, c’mon.”

“I’m-”

“Master Jason.”

Alfred’s voice was thunder in the mostly silent cave, and immediately, Jason was gone.

Tim slumped right where he was, hitting the ground with a thump. He buried his face in his knees and sucked in a shaky breath.

“Crap.” Jason’s voice was far away. “Shit, I’m sorry. I lost my temper, Alf, she’s-”

“I’m well aware of what you did.”

They said something else, but Tim moved his fingers to his ears to block them out.

His binder felt like it was burning him with the way he was curled in on himself, and it was really hard to breathe, but he refused to move. If he did, then he was gonna see that helmet.

The scar on Tim’s neck was on fire. The one under his binder, smack in the middle of his chest, was worse.

It wasn’t until someone else’s hands were on his that he realized he was clawing at his own skin, fingers trying to rip through his Red Robin undersuit and his binder to access the scar and rip it apart. Weathered fingers gently pulled Tim’s hands up and away from himself.

“Master Jason,” Alfred said. “Go turn off the medbay cameras. Immediately.”

There was a moment of silence, and then heavy footsteps heading towards the Batcomputer. Alfred pulled Tim to his feet.

“Up we come, my boy,” Alfred said quietly.

Tim allowed himself to be guided towards the medbay, still slumped forwards like he was covering a fresh wound, and in a blink, found himself settled upright on a medbay bed. His legs dangled over the side.

“I’m afraid we have to remove your suit. It’s inhibiting your breathing,” Alfred said. “Would you prefer to remove it yourself, or assistance?”

For probably the first time in his life, Tim desperately said, “Damian. He’s-he can help me, you too, but nobody else. Keep Jason-I want Jason out. Away from me.”

Damian and Alfred already knew. They’d be able to help him without judging.

Between one heartbeat and the next, Alfred was gone. Tim shut his eyes and buried his palms against his eyes.

He’d been disappointed about the suit, sure. There was a decent chance he might’ve even had a little bit of a moment, cried, had to take off his binder to breathe properly, whatever. But Jason just had to go and pull his Big Bad Red Hood intimidation move and make everything so much worse.

And Tim couldn’t even blame him for jumping to conclusions. It wasn’t like Jason knew anything going on in Tim’s brain.

A hand on Tim’s knee dragged his head upright, and after a second of his vision swimming, he found Damian standing in front of him. Damian with a murderous expression that would’ve made Tim immediately launch into a defensive pose only a few years—months, maybe—earlier.

Instead, he sobbed.

And how messed up was that? His little brother had to deal with all of Tim’s crap.

“Timothy,” Damian said. “I’ve ensured the medbay is secure and I’ve brought you your thickest hoodie and some pants.”

He held up a worn, black hoodie that was easily twice Tim’s size and designed to be worn in the middle of winter, and Tim took it to press it against his face with a shudder.

It wasn’t especially surprising that Damian had figured out that Tim felt more comfortable in hoodies when he couldn’t wear a binder for whatever reason. It happened often enough and Damian was an observant kid.

“I’ll get out of the suit. Just-can you stay?” Tim asked, voice a little hoarse.

Damian nodded and turned away.

Five minutes later, which was two minutes longer than normal, Tim was fully dressed in civilian clothes. He tossed the Red Robin suit on the end of the bed.

Then, he trudged out of the medbay with Damian on his heels.

Alfred was by the Batcomputer. His stern, ‘lecturing a pseudo-grandson’ voice echoed around the cave. Tim only caught a few words before Alfred stopped and turned to see them, but it was clear that Alfred was laying into Jason about what had happened.

And for his part, Jason looked properly chastised.

He was in the Batcomputer chair, elbows on his knees and domino mask off. His hair was messy like he’d been running his hand through it like he tended to do when he was upset about something.

The worst part was his face, a deeply unsettled expression with faraway eyes that flicked to Tim and booted up like a computer.

“Hey,” Jason started.

Damian stepped in front of Tim and practically growled. Alfred held up a hand. “I don’t believe it’s our decision whether master Jason is allowed to speak, master Damian.”

Reluctantly, Damian glanced to Tim. Alfred did as well. Even Jason did, though it wasn’t quite as curious, more resigned. Tim nodded.

“Sure. I’m-yeah, I’m good now. Whatever you wanna say, Jason.”

There was a pause, like Jason was thinking about what to say. Considering Tim was pretty sure he was just gonna get a quick sorry and a ‘catch you later’ to appease Alfred, that was surprising.

“Does there have to be an audience?” Jason eventually said.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, while Damian narrowed his eyes and said, “Drake’s under my protection-”

“Seriously? Kid, you hate her.”

“I do not.”

“You did until like two weeks ago. What the hell changed?”

Damian shook his head. “Nothing that I’ll tell you.”

“Master Jason.” Alfred interjected. “Master Damian’s newfound tolerance for his siblings isn’t the focus at the moment. I believe you said you had something you wanted to say.”

The floor was very interesting, Tim decided. He stared at it.

“Alright. Fine.” The batcomputer chair creaked.

A moment later, Damian stepped aside, and Tim glanced up to find Jason watching him from a couple yards away.

“I didn’t mean to lose my temper with you,” Jason said quietly. “I-God, Alfred, do I really have to explain this?”

“Yes, master Jason. Or I can, if you prefer.”

Jason looked at Tim again, and with a groan, shook his head. “Kid, I’m sorry. I was worried that you guys were gonna try and tell me that I shouldn’t legally rejoin the family, and according to Alfred, I took it out on you. I lashed out because you were the easiest target. It’s not-I know you didn’t steal my place in the family and that you’re not looking for attention or whatever.”

Tim nodded.

A flicker of irritation on Jason’s face made Tim flinch, and it quickly vanished, replaced by wide eyes and a little hint of guilt.

“Jesus, I’m not gonna, like, stab you. I promise,” Jason said.

“Because that’s incredibly obvious from the murder attempts,” Damian said.

“You’ve tried to kill her more times than I have.”

“Stop that,” Tim said.

Both of them snapped around to look at him. Tim clenched his fists in the big front pocket of his hoodie, fully aware that it was a bad idea to have his hands tucked away in front of threats, and only slightly less aware that neither Damian nor Jason would actually hurt him.

Anymore.

“Stop what, Drake?” Damian asked.

Tim took a deep breath and met Jason’s eyes. They weren’t judgemental. Not yet, at least. “I’m glad you’re legally rejoining the family, Jason. I just had my own announcement that I was gonna make at the gala this week, and I was upset that it would have to be postponed. It’s my own fault for not saying anything before.”

Expression moving towards blank horror, Jason’s eyes flicked to Tim’s stomach.

Tim choked on air.

“No,” he said quickly. “Not even close. Crap, no, I’d rather skydive off the Watchtower with a t-shirt as a parachute, sweet Jesus.”

That at least made Jason’s shoulders untense a little. “So, what? Got a hot date or something? I don’t care if you bring a boyfriend, it might get Bruce to not go full mother-hen on me.”

Nibbling on his upper lip, Tim glanced to Alfred for help. He got a firm nod in return.

“I was gonna tell everyone-” Tim paused, swallowing hard. There were so many ways that this could go wrong. Jason had attacked Tim for less before, and Tim was in civies, unarmed, his only immediate backup was Damian and Alfred, and Jason could easily take Tim down before either could effectively intervene. “My name’s Tim, Jay. I’m a dude, and I have a suit and everything.”

“Oh,” Jason said.

“Oh?” Damian echoed.

“Yeah, oh. I thought it was gonna be something bad. Why’s everyone in this family so dramatic?”

Tim’s voice cracked. “Maybe you don’t get it. I’m trans.”

“And I’m aromantic. Who cares? Nobody died, nobody’s gonna be the new star of sixteen and pregnant-”

“I’m eighteen.”

“-and I stand by what I said. You’d be doing me a favor if you told Bruce right before the gala. Take some of his attention so I’m not smothered by a Bat with the worst paternal instincts since Kronos.”

“What’s aromantic?” Damian asked bluntly.

“I don’t like anybody. Romance is totally fictional to me.”

With a slight hum, Damian nodded, and turned away.

“That seems much more practical.”

“Quite,” Alfred agreed with an amused eyebrow.

“Anyway. Tim, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have freaked out on you because I was waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Jason said. “You alright?”

Tim slumped a little in his hoodie. “I’m fine. Not like you made it physical this time.”

“That was years ago. I’m over that.”

“I’m not.”

It felt like admitting something bad, and for a second, Jason looked guilty again. Like he actually felt bad for Titans Tower or for the batarang thing. Then it was gone.

“Whatever, I can’t change it now,” Jason said. “Tell me if you need me to shoot anybody for being transphobic.”

And with that show of brotherly love, Jason headed for his bike and roared out of the cave.

Chapter Text

Surprisingly, after that night in the cave, Jason started to show up around the manor more.

It was probably because he was officially going to be not-dead, but Jason also kept seeking out Tim specifically. So maybe it was more than just that.

And then there were the little things, like a little trans flag themed plush otter left hidden in one of Tim’s favorite apartments, or a weak spot covered during a fire fight on patrol. Bruce cornered Tim for a lecture after Tim slipped up in the field, and Jason got his attention with an injury that Tim absolutely knew he’d been planning on hiding until he was far, far away from the cave and Bruce. It was like Jason was trying to apologize for what had happened without actually saying the words again.

Like Tim wasn’t already over it. He was pretty used to dealing with Jason’s abrupt anger when it came to sensitive moments, and Tim knew he was the easiest target. He wasn’t sure why Jason was making such an effort.

The morning of the gala, Tim found himself in his room with Jason and Damian, Jason lounging in Tim’s desk chair and Damian sitting in the window seat, sketching something outside. Jason was tossing one of Titus’ tennis balls up in the air and catching it when it fell.

If someone had told Tim a few months prior that he’d be comfortable with Damian and Jason in his bedroom, he’d have called them liars. He’d have been wrong.

“Is that why the kid’s been so fond of you recently?” Jason asked. “Cause you bought the suit he suggested?”

Setting the navy blue suit down on the bed, Tim shrugged. He’d just finished explaining to Jason why he had two suits instead of just the one—namely, Damian didn’t ask, he just did it.

“Timothy trusted me with a weakness. I don’t take that lightly, Todd,” Damian said.

Tim raised an eyebrow. “A weakness?”

“An emotional one. You had no way of knowing that I wasn’t going to blackmail you, or use your gender against you in some other way. It wouldn’t be particularly hard.”

“Wow. Thanks for not doing that, I guess,” Tim said.

Shrugging, Damian turned the page in his sketchbook. “Like I said, I don’t care. You just didn’t know that before you confided in me.”

“Fair enough.”

“So which suit are you gonna wear?” Jason asked.

“I told you, I’m borrowing a dress from Cass,” Tim said.

Jason made a loud, wrong-answer buzzer sound, and Damian scowled.

“Clothing isn’t gendered,” Tim said.

“Yeah, but you literally already said you’re uncomfortable in dresses,” Jason said. “Tell your brain to shut the hell up and that you’re gonna wear what you’re comfortable in. These stupid galas are bad enough, no need to make it worse.”

“And, I’ll remind you, Timothy, the less attention that’s on Todd, the less chance of a fault being found in his cover. You’d be doing father a favor.” Damian didn’t even look up from his sketch.

“Or I’d be embarrassing him in front of all of Gotham,” Tim said.

“Embarrassing? Tim, he’s Brucie Wayne. You’re not gonna beat that,” Jason said.

Damian scoffed. “I despise that act. He’s running around like a blithering fool all the time, when he’s more capable than anyone in Gotham.”

While they began discussing Bruce’s cover, Tim grabbed both suits and shoved them back into his closet. Jason and Damian’s voices mixed together as they protested.

“I’m just not ready,” Tim said.

He knocked his forehead against the closet door with a sigh.

Behind him, Jason slowly said, “you’re not ready? Or you’re telling yourself it’s a bad idea?”

“I’m not, Jay. I thought I was, but the gala’s tonight and I’ve changed my mind.”

Thinking about putting on one of the suits made Tim feel warm all over, happy like he didn’t remember ever feeling, but it flitted away the second Tim thought about the after. Going downstairs to see Bruce and Duke and Cass. Heading to the actual gala and seeing Dick and Babs. Reintroducing himself to his family.

It all made Tim nauseous.

“Fine. We’ll go see Cassandra.” Damian huffed.

“We?” Jason asked.

“Charcoal gray, Todd. Someone has to control him before his fashion sense ruins the family name.”

Tim snorted and shoved away from the wall. “Yeah. Alright, c’mon, let’s go see what she’s got.”

Unfortunately, when they arrived, Cass wasn’t alone.

“Hey,” Tim said.

Cass was lounging on her bed, absentmindedly painting her nails as she watched Steph, who was twirling in front of Cass’ full length mirror with a purple dress. Tim nearly backed up, but Jason’s hand on his lower shoulder stopped him.

“Hey,” Steph said, grinning. “You here to get some makeup tips? I have new eyeliner I think you’ll like.”

“Nah. I was actually-Cass, do you have a spare dress? Mine’s too small,” Tim lied. He knew Cass would probably be able to tell, and silently hoped she’d just let it go.

Rolling easily to her feet, Cass stuffed the nail polish brush back into its container and headed for her closet. She looked in for a moment before grabbing two hangers.

One was a gorgeous floor-length red dress with thin straps and a low, sweetheart neckline. The other was ombre, black at the top and fading into dark blue, with a turtleneck top and long sleeves. The second flared out at the waist and would look killer with a pair of black heels.

Tim hated them both.

He reached for the blue one, because at least he could wear a binder with it without it showing, and smiled. It might’ve looked more like a grimace. “Thanks, Cass. You rock.”

Just before Tim’s fingers closed around the hanger, Cass pulled it back.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

Steph was watching now, and Jason and Damian were exchanging looks, and Tim very much didn’t want to have a discussion about it, so he quietly said, “Cass.”

Reluctantly, Cass let Tim take the hanger.

That was the good thing about Cass. She saw things that he didn’t want her to, but she didn’t push him.

He high-tailed it back to his room and practically threw the dress into his desk chair, not caring if it got wrinkled. His throat was closing up.

“Tim,” Jason said.

“Don’t,” Tim snapped, the name burning his ears because he knew he’d go the whole night hearing something else. “Get out.”

“Hey, I’m trying to help you.”

“Go help somebody who needs it, and get out.”

“Timothy,” Damian said. “Don’t take your anger out on us.”

Tim whirled on his heel, planning on slamming his door shut, but ran directly into the wall of muscle that was Jason. Arms locked around him and held him still.

For a second, Tim let them.

Then he kicked out and yelled, “let me go, the hell?”

“No.” Jason said.

“Get off.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a law or something, angry little brothers get hugs until they shut up and stop throwing temper tantrums.”

“I’m not-”

Tim stopped, sucking in a breath. His eyes were wet.

“Yeah, yeah. Let it out, or something,” Jason said.

Another second of hesitation.

Then, Tim slumped into Jason’s chest, head slotting under Jason’s chin, and shuddered. “I don’t wanna go to this stupid gala. Not even if I wear a suit. I just-I don’t wanna go, Jay. It’s making me feel sick.”

From beyond Jason, Damian piped up. “Then tell father that. You’re the only one forcing yourself to go, Timothy.”

Tim shook his head.

“No, it’s being held in Bruce’s honor, and it’s Jason’s first gala back with us, and Vicki Vale is covering it. If I don’t go-”

“If you don’t go,” Jason drawled, “the world will keep on spinning. Keep a lid on that ego, Timber.”

Despite himself, Tim let out a wet snort.

He never stood a chance against the combined power of Damian and Jason, and once they got Alfred involved, it was all over.

After a few minutes, Damian grabbed Cass’ dress and returned it. Alfred arrived, heard the problem, and went to tell Bruce—not ask, but tell—that Tim was not going to be attending the gala. Tim was practically dead weight in Jason’s arms, so Jason just lifted him and chucked him onto the bed before tossing a blanket over him and drawing the curtains closed.

“Take a nap, Timmy. It’ll help sell your patheticness, so Bruce won’t have any choice but to let you stay home,” Jason said. “And if he says anything, I’ll threaten to bail.”

“Don’t,” Tim said.

Jason, very purposefully, didn’t say anything. The door shut a moment later, and Tim’s room was quiet.

His room was typically quiet.

He preferred it that way. Sometimes, he’d put on music, but even when he did, he kept it low. After so many years of quiet as a child, it felt wrong to have anything up loud. Just listening to his siblings shout playfully or Dick blare bad 80’s hits from his room down the hall when he stayed the night made his chest twist painfully, waiting for someone to get angry.

But right at the moment, the silence felt like ice creeping across Tim’s skin. He shivered, grabbed his blanket, and tucked it closer around himself.

Rolling over onto his front was a calculated risk, because sometimes it made him feel better, and other times it was just a reminder that he had something on his chest that he was trying to squish. It paid off. He felt sufficiently flat, while still being able to breathe.

Maybe twenty minutes after Tim laid down—was thrown down—the door creaked open quietly.

Cass slid into the bed, under the blanket, and put icy feet against Tim’s ankle. Her eyes had always been dark, but at the moment they were like black holes, staring at him and picking apart his every thought.

Instead of asking what was wrong or anything like that, Cass just laid beside him. He squeezed his eyes shut and reached blindly for her hand.

“Cass?” He whispered.

“Mhm?”

“If I said I wanted you to call me Tim, would that be alright?”

There was a brief moment of silence, and Tim’s eyes flitted behind closed lids.

“Little brother,” Cass said.

He nodded, feeling a little lightheaded. Muscled arms slid around him, pulling him close, and Cass said, “I’m even more outnumbered now. Seven on three.”

Alfred, Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Duke, Damian. The boys of the family.

Steph, Cass, Babs. Sometimes Selina. The girls.

“Yeah,” Tim said. “Guess you are.”

“We’d still win, boys vs. girls.”

“I know.”

Their voices never lifted over a whisper, and Tim appreciated it. He knew how much Cass valued and respected quiet, but that she also reveled in loud spaces and enjoyed the noise of her own voice, so she was keeping her voice low purely for his benefit.

Cass’ hand ghosted over Tim’s hair, and he relaxed infinitesimally.

“Stephanie,” Cass said.

“I know. I’m gonna tell her,” Tim said. “Just…not right now.”

“Okay.”

“You’re-only Alfred, Jason, Damian, and you know. Nobody else.”

Cass pulled back. Tim peered through his eyelashes to watch her mime locking her lips and throwing away the key.

Coming from Cass, that gesture meant the world. Nobody would ever learn from her unless Tim said so.

He captured Cass and buried his face in her shoulder, glad at least that becoming her brother hadn’t meant losing their relationship, because he loved his sister.

Tim would’ve been happy to lay there all day if he thought he could get away with it. But Cass had to get up and get ready for the gala eventually, and even with Damian, Jason, and Alfred’s assurances that Bruce would let him stay home, he knew it couldn’t be that easy. It was never that easy.

Bruce would come looking for him, to check and see if he was alright. Once he learned that Tim was just being dramatic about emotions, he’d be disappointed. He wouldn’t make Tim go, sure, but his disappointment was always like a heavy weight around Tim’s neck. It dragged him down no matter what he did or how quickly Bruce got over it.

The later it got, the more Tim’s stomach rolled, threatening to unleash his breakfast all over the floor.

Cass slipped out of bed about an hour before everyone was supposed to leave, kissed his forehead, and said, “I’ll steal sweets for you, Tim.”

It managed to drag a smile out of him, though it probably looked wobbly and wrong. Then she was gone, and Tim was alone, his mind racing.

Maybe he could just hide.

Thirty seconds later, Tim was climbing out of bed and carefully creeping down the hallway.

He was wearing one of his thick hoodies, a pair of sweatpants, and some socks that muffled his footsteps. The hoodie was black, which would help him hide in the manor’s abundance of shadows.

It wasn’t like Tim thought he could actually get away with hiding from Bruce. He was Batman. If he wanted to find Tim, he’d be found.

But when Tim was younger, his parents would come home in bad moods, and he’d hide in closets or the attic, or anywhere, really. They always gave up looking for him after a while. Then, as long as he stayed out of their way until they left, he wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout.

He’d never felt the need to do anything like that with Bruce, even during those times when he was still harsh and Tim was still new to being Robin.

Maybe Bruce would work similarly, though. He could just hide until everyone left for the gala, and by the time Bruce got back, he’d be too tired to remember that Tim was being a problem. Or Tim would just slip into Cass’ room and sleep there. Even if Bruce decided it was worth it to wake him, Cass would give him a piece of her mind for it.

But first, Tim would pick a less obvious place. Like the old study on the top floor of the manor, where Alfred had said Martha Wayne used to work when she needed peace and quiet from everything.

A couple sets of stairs and ten minutes of walking—and sneaking, which slowed him down more than he’d like to admit—he got to the right door and nudged it open. He would’ve expected dust if it were any house other than Alfred’s.

Hardwood floors changed to plush carpet. There was a large desk in the center of the room, covered with a white sheet, and bookcases lined every dark wall. The only window in the room was a circular one on the right hand wall, with no curtains or anything. It lit up the room with an orange tint.

Tim pulled aside the tarp on the desk and ducked under, between two sturdy sides with three drawers each. It was cold where he put his hands on it.

He had plenty of room to lay down. His hood acted like a pillow, even if it bunched his hair a little uncomfortably. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he tapped in a few keys and chose the playlist that Kon had made for him a few years back. Green Day wasn’t especially relaxing, but it was comforting for him personally.

The phone went by his head on the lowest volume setting to make sure it wasn’t audible from the hallway. No one ought to be in this part of the manor anytime soon, but it didn’t hurt to be careful.

Besides, it didn’t hurt that having his phone right beside him let him check the time as often as he wanted without having to move too much. He figured he’d give it about a half an hour after everyone was scheduled to leave before he emerged from his hiding spot.

Only about an hour and fifteen minutes left.

Tim stifled a yawn and flicked over to the Gotham news pages he had bookmarked. He hadn’t gotten the chance to read about how people had reacted to Jason’s return since the press conference.

It looked like a whole lot of speculation, from the headlines. Stuff like “Wayne heir; the long con?” and “Clones galore! Bruce Wayne’s second son returned from the grave or replaced by a fake?” were the most read articles.

He read the first one and rolled his eyes at most of it. Vicki Vale was apparently convinced that Jason had been kidnapped, brainwashed, and then forced to come back to steal Bruce’s money. She wasn’t entirely off base—Talia’s influence was more manipulation than brainwashing, though—but her saying that Bruce should “watch out” or Dick as Bruce’s first heir might be harmed?

That was so, like, last year.

And who used heir anymore? Bruce wasn’t royalty, no matter how many people called him the prince of Gotham.

The second one wasn’t much better, with plenty of leaps to bad conclusions and a solid lack of research. They’d said that Jason had died at thirteen, but he’d been fifteen, and claimed that he’d died in Gotham, while Bruce had specifically said at the press conference that it’d been overseas.

Tim glanced at the clock again and groaned inwardly at there still being fifty-eight minutes until he would feel comfortable going downstairs.

He flicked to a new article, rubbed at his bleary eyes, and started to read.

The words began to blur at fifty-four minutes.

Yawning so hard that his jaw popped, he reluctantly turned off his phone and set it aside. It wouldn’t be too comfortable to sleep on the floor under a desk, but it would be a good way to kill time.

He shouldn’t have let himself get so upset earlier. It always made him feel like he was made of lead. Exhausted.

With a little sigh, Tim rolled over and curled into himself.

Chapter Text

Waking up in weird places was almost as normal to Tim as actually waking up in his bed. Under a desk, with his face padded by carpet and a hood, wasn’t bad at all compared to the times he’d woken up on concrete or in literal chains after being grabbed by various rogues.

He grabbed his phone and paused the music, then glanced at his notifications. A couple of texts, some social media, but no calls or urgent. He tossed it back down.

It felt like he’d just closed his eyes, but the clock had said it was nearly midnight. Everyone would have left ages ago. They might even be back already. The gala wouldn’t end for another few hours, but the Wayne’s had been using Damian as an excuse to go home early for ages. They’d have to find a new excuse soon; Damian was getting too old for it to make sense.

Tim wanted to weigh the pros and cons of just staying in his little under-the-desk hidey hole for the rest of the night, but his back was aching, and his chest was really protesting the fact that he was still wearing his binder.

The longest he was supposed to wear it was eight hours. It’d been about eleven.

Hardly the end of the world, but he didn’t want to risk messing up his ribs and people asking questions about what happened. All it would take would be Babs checking his last few days of patrol, finding nothing that would cause rib pain, and sending everyone into a flurry of panic and anger at him for getting hurt off the job and not saying anything.

So, reluctantly, he slithered out from under the sheet that covered the desk. His phone went into his pocket.

He dropped the sheet back where it was, made sure it looked undisturbed, and then, he glanced up and found himself looking right at Duke, who was sitting cross-legged with his back to the door.

“Sup?” Duke asked, looking up from his phone.

Tim looked at the window. Asked himself if it was worth it to try and climb to the roof or jump into the pool. It wasn’t that far of a leap, he could do it.

The only reason his feet stayed firmly on the floor was that it was Duke, and not Bruce or Dick or Steph. Duke was cool. Duke was chill. If Tim told him to drop something, he’d listen.

Unless he thought Tim was hurt. Then he was as much of a tattle-tale as the others, and he typically told Tim he was being a stupid little…the cuss word varied.

“What are you doing?” Tim asked.

“Hangin’.”

“Why?”

“You were sleeping. Didn’t wanna wake you up.”

“Giant manor, plenty of rooms with comfortable furniture, and you decided to hang out here, on the floor,” Tim said.

Duke looked pointedly at the desk, and said, “all the cool kids are doing it.”

With a sigh, Tim crossed the room and flopped down beside him. Duke scooted over to give him room, then went back to playing what looked like Candy Crush with Justice League members. Tim watched as he matched three Green Arrows and five Aquamen.

Neither of them said a word for a while. With Duke, it was easy to just sit around in silence. He was good at making people feel comfortable.

Unfortunately, Tim’s binder was still making his chest twinge painfully, and sitting hunched over on the floor wasn’t gonna help. He just really didn’t wanna get up.

And how often did Tim really get the chance to hang out with Duke? They might’ve only been a few years apart, but Duke was still in school, he only lived in the manor part-time, and when he was around, he liked to hang out with Cass or Jason. Duke was Tim’s brother, and Tim loved him, but Tim saw Dick more often. Dick, who lived in a whole other city.

And there was the fact that Duke was dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt and looked like he’d been sitting there for a while, which meant that pretty much everyone would be in their rooms downstairs. Jason and Dick were both staying at the manor for the sake of the media, whose eyes would be on them because of Jason’s miraculous return. Tim would have to sneak past a full hallway to get to either his room or Cass’ and just hope that nobody would ambush him to talk about how he was feeling.

Like he’d read Tim’s mind, Duke glanced over and said, “Bruce is on the warpath. Thinks you snuck out while sick.”

Tim cringed.

“He’s not mad at you,” Duke said. “But he spent all night worrying about Jason and you and how everyone was dealing with everything, and then he gets back and Dick comes sprinting into the kitchen saying you’ve disappeared from your room. You know how B is.”

“When Bruce gets worried, he goes full Bat.” Tim sighed.

“Yep. You’ll be getting the full lecture.”

“Surprised he’s not up here already.”

“Jason got to Babs before he did, asked her to block your phone tracker. Bruce is probably at your apartment right now trying to find you manually.”

Stomach twisting, Tim pulled out his phone and checked his texts. One from Jason, saying to stay wherever he’s hiding unless he wants a full on mother-hen interrogation from B, one from Dick—hours before Jason’s. They must’ve still been at the gala—asking how he was feeling, and two from Babs, telling him that Jason was asking her to shut off his tracker and then saying that Cass had ok’d it, so she was doing it.

None from Bruce.

“I should tell him I’m okay,” Tim said. “I wasn’t trying to freak him out.”

“Already handled,” Duke said.

Tim frowned, and Duke grinned. “Told him you were with me and you’re okay, but I made sure Babs had my phone tracker off, too. He’ll either stop panicking or get even worse.”

With a snort, Tim shook his head.

“That’s terrible, but—thanks, Duke.”

“Don’t worry about it, man.”

Tim let his head drop back against the door.

He knew that was just how Duke talked to people, that he called everyone dude or guy or whatever, including an amused Wonder Woman. But it still made Tim’s breath catch to hear someone call him that so naturally.

As well-trained as the rest of them, Duke noticed. “Hey, what’s wrong? B’s not really gonna be that worried. He’s probably just glad you’re alright.”

Tim shook his head.

For a second, they were both completely still, and then Tim sighed. He shifted so he was leaning on Duke’s shoulder.

“Can I tell you something?” Tim asked quietly.

“Course.”

“I’ve got something to tell you guys—everyone—and I’m scared. I don’t know how you’re gonna react.”

Duke glanced thoughtfully at the ground. “Except Damian and Jason. That’s why you’ve been friendly with them the last few weeks.”

“Yeah. I told Damian and Alfred first, and Jason the other night in the cave, and Cass this morning.”

“So you’re scared to tell me, Bruce, and Dick.”

“And Steph and Babs.”

“Not just a strictly-family thing, then?”

Shaking his head, Tim said, “nah. It’s an everybody thing. Anybody who knows my civilian I.D. anyway.”

With a low whistle, pulling away to better look at Tim, Duke raised his eyebrows.

“That sounds kinda heavy.”

“I guess.”

”You don’t have to tell me right now, unless it’s, like, gonna get me killed if you don’t.” Duke paused. “It’s not gonna get me killed, is it? Or you?”

Tim snorted and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. Duke squeezed his arm.

“No. No, this is all me,” Tim said.

He took a deep breath. “And I want you to know, because you’re my little brother and you’re important to me, but I never want to—I don’t wanna lose you guys.” Tim’s voice broke at the end.

“Okay, woah, what did you do? I swear, I’m not just gonna ditch you unless you went full supervillain, but if you need to hide a body, I don’t wanna know about it. That is definitely a Jason sorta problem,” Duke said. “Or maybe Alfred, depending on who it is you’re burying.”

“What, like he’d be willing if it was Lex Luthor?” Tim asked, chuckling wetly.

“Probably. I was talking about, like, the Joker, though. I’m pretty sure he’d take a shotgun to that clown in a heartbeat.”

Tim ducked his head and wiped his eyes, the mirth fading.

“It’s not—I didn’t kill anybody, not even the Joker.”

“Then we’re cool. You can tell me,” Duke said.

Voice coming out much quieter than he’d meant it to, and feeling entirely pathetic for it, Tim asked, “promise?”

“Promise.”

Tim buried his face in Duke’s shoulder, not wanting to look and see what changed when he said it outloud.

With the others, it hadn’t been so hard to just say it. To blurt it out. Maybe it was because Tim wanted Duke to look up to him as a big sibling, the way Tim knew Damian never would, or maybe it was because he’d already had so many successes that it felt like a failure was imminent.

“I’m—” Tim paused, trying not to choke on his own tongue. “I’m trans, Duke.”

A moment’s pause.

Duke’s arm tightened around him, and the other one joined it, and Duke was gently rocking back and forth, but not saying anything.

Clenching his fists to stop them from shaking, Tim pressed closer to Duke. He hadn’t been shoved away yet, which was a good sign, but maybe Duke was just looking for a way to ask if Tim was sure or to gently tell him that he was just confused, that he was a girl who’d played pretend as Robin for too long.

But Duke was better than that by a long shot, and when he finally spoke, it was to say, “I’m so proud of you.”

Tim’s heart lurched, and he moved to pull away. Duke only held him tighter.

“So? New info? Name, pronouns, all that?”

With a quick, deep breath, Tim mumbled, “Tim. Timothy. I’m—trans guy, he and him.”

“I guess I’m gonna have to get used to having three older brothers,” Duke said. “As if those two weren’t bad enough. Y’know Jason hid my peanut butter on the top shelf the other day? I had to climb the counters to get it.”

Tim chuckled wetly.

He was sure he was getting tears all over Duke’s shirt, but Duke didn’t seem to mind, and Tim was too tired to pull away from Duke’s hug. He didn’t even want to try.

They let a few minutes pass in comfortable silence before Duke asked, “are you gonna tell Bruce and the others?”

Shrugging, Tim chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“Probably,” he said. “I just don’t know how. Like I said, I don’t—I don’t wanna lose you guys. And yeah, you, Damian, Jason, and Cass and Alfred are cool with it, but Dick and Steph? Dick’s my big brother. Steph’s one of my best friends, has been for years. What if they think it’s—what if they think it’s weird? That I’m confused or wrong or attention seeking?”

“Then I’ll call Kate and tell her they’re being assholes about you coming out, and she’ll put their heads through walls,” Duke said.

“But—”

“And you know that Bruce won’t care. He just wants us all to be safe and happy and all that sappy stuff.” Duke shrugged. “He didn’t care that I’m a meta, he’s not gonna mind your gender. He’ll just feel bad for not figuring out that you were uncomfortable for so long.”

Tim fidgeted with his binder through his hoodie, nodding.

“C’mon. Let’s get Cass and watch some Wendy the Werewolf Stalker. She’s not gonna fall asleep for hours anyway, freaking night owl,” Duke said.

He pulled away from Tim and stood, then offered Tim his hands with a smile. Tim took them, let Duke haul him up, and together, they headed downstairs.

It was Duke’s idea to avoid the family bedrooms and head for the movie theater, instead. He offered to go grab Cass and the DVDs and meet him back there, if Tim would get the projector booted up. It was too late to actually have any sort of movie night, but it wasn’t the first time Tim and his siblings had wound up there because of bad dreams, a long night of patrol, or otherwise unfortunate circumstances where they didn’t want to close their eyes, so Tim wasn’t too surprised when Alfred appeared in the doorway without a word of reprimand.

He just helped Tim get out three blankets from the storage at the front of the room, near the movie screen, and left to make popcorn and grab hot chocolate.

And when Duke came back, Cass in tow, Damian was right behind them.

Cass was wearing one of Steph’s sweaters and pajama pants that Babs had bought her for Christmas, with little Halloween bats all over them. A little on the nose, but they almost always earned a little smile from most of the family. And Damian was in a t-shirt and basketball shorts. He almost looked like an actual child instead of the mini-grandpa he typically masqueraded as.

The chairs in the theater all had armrests, but Cass shoved the one right beside Tim up and leaned into his side, yawning widely. Duke popped in the DVD and took the seat beside Tim, while Damian sat on Duke’s other side.

Alfred came back with the snacks just as Wendy found a werewolf with a mysterious illness—Tim had seen this episode a billion times and knew that it was because the werewolf’s grandfather was a vampire, so the werewolf had a genetic predisposition for a garlic allergy, but that didn’t make it any less interesting to watch—and handed out the popcorn without blocking the projector even once.

Hot chocolate was a little harder to deal with in the theater, so Alfred had poured it into the thermoses they used for camping trips and long Batstakeouts.

“Thanks, Alf,” Tim said distractedly.

A hand landed on his head. He tilted it back to look up at Alfred, who was smiling softly down at him. “Anytime, dear boy.”

Tim grinned, big and genuine.

Then he was back to watching the screen, distracted by Cass gasping at the reveal of the werewolf’s last name being the same as an old vampire colony.

He only let himself be pulled away again at the end of the first episode they’d been watching. He decided he ought to go change out of his binder before he forgot, and the pain in his chest agreed with him. Tim excused himself, gave a quick, “keep watching, I remember this episode,’ and ducked out.

The trip to his room was completely uninterrupted. He successfully got the binder off and tucked it under the socks and underwear in his drawer, then pulled his hoodie back on and started back downstairs.

Only to stop in the hallway, automatically going quiet at the sounds of a conversation.

It was Dick’s room. The light was on inside, unusual for Dick, and the voice Tim had just heard sounded an awful lot like Jason’s.

Now, it was Dick’s.

“I need to know what’s been going on, Jason. I’m in another city most of the time, but I come back, and the first thing I learn is that my little siblings have stopped trying to actively kill each other and instead, you’re all buddy buddy now. Then, you go have a public appearance for the first time since you came back from the freaking dead, and she’s “too sick to go.” Dick was practically hissing, like a bike tire that had sprung a leak.

“Like I said, talk to the kid. Damian and I aren’t gonna tell you anything.”

“See? See? A couple weeks ago, you would’ve been ecstatic at the opportunity to throw her under the bus and tell everybody all about how she’s sick and weak and pathetic or whatever crap you wanted to spew, but now you’re covering for her?” Dick paused. “It feels like you’re covering up something serious, Jay, and if I find out something really was wrong and you didn’t tell me?”

“It’s none of your business unless the kid says it is, alright? Just butt out.”

“And all this ‘the kid’ stuff? You’re good enough to hang out with her all the time, but won’t just use her freaking name?”

There were footsteps, aggressive ones, towards the door. Jason harshly whispered, “you don’t know anything, so either talk to the kid or wait and let her—”

—He wasn’t misgendering Tim, he wasn’t, he was covering for him in front of Dick, Tim reminded himself. Dick didn’t know, Jason was protecting his privacy, that was what that entire conversation Tim had just heard had been about—

“—come to you. She will, okay? Just give her time.”

“Jason,” Dick said, and man, he sounded wrecked all of a sudden. Tim clenched his fists until the nails bit into his own skin. “Just tell me it’s nothing dangerous. If she’s in trouble…”

“Scout’s honor, everyone’s alright.”

“You were never a boy scout.”

“It’s the thought that counts. Take it, big bird.”

The door opened, and Tim blinked up at the bright light. He didn’t even try to move before Jason and Dick spotted him.

“Of course you did.” Jason sighed. “Can’t have a single private conversation in this damn house.”

He shoved past Tim, pausing very, very briefly to sneak a glance down at him. Tim nodded towards Jason’s room. Then, Jason was gone.

Dick was in his room by his bed, watching Tim warily. Defensively. Like he was waiting on bad news.

Alright.

Remembering what Duke had said about Kate and heads through walls, the fact that there was a whole mini-support group waiting for him downstairs if this went badly, and that Jason was probably going to be listening for anybody to start shouting, Tim inched towards Dick.

He wanted to tell Dick. That was his big brother, his oldest and first sibling, the one who caught Tim everytime he fell.

But Dick was the one who dropped him when he needed a brother and a support system the most.

Dick was also the one who apologized for it, made Tim feel heard and seen about how much Dick had hurt him.

Tim wanted him to know.

So, he joined Dick at the bed and flopped down onto it. Dick sat beside him. Both were silent for a moment.

“Dick,” Tim said.

“Hey, baby bird.”

The nickname sent a pang through Tim’s chest, worse than the binder had been a few minutes before. He drew his knees up to his chest.

“I’m sorry I missed Jason’s first gala back with the family,” Tim said.

“That’s not your fault,” Dick said. “Alf said you were sick.”

Carefully, Tim shook his head.

Dick’s hand lifted and landed gently on his hair, smoothing it down, and he said, “pal…if there’s anything you want to tell me, I’m here. But you don’t have to. Whatever this is…I want you to tell me because you’re comfortable.”

For what felt like the millionth time since that appointment to get his outfit for the gala, Tim’s eyes welled up with tears.

He wasn’t sure why he’d turned into such a baby about this.

Warm arms enveloped him, and Dick pulled Tim so he was flush against Dick’s side. “Oh, sweetheart.” He whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Tim said. “I’m not—it’s not this big of a deal.”

“If you’re upset about it, then it’s a big deal. Doesn’t matter if it’s a civilian problem or a RR problem. You get me?”

Tim nodded, sinking further into Dick.

“Alright. Good,” Dick said.

He ran gentle fingers through Tim’s hair, smoothing it down more with little shushing noises. Tim blinked harshly.

“Does this have something to do with Bernard?” Dick asked after a quiet minute.

Another shake of Tim’s head.

“Really? Pal, I know you, and I know you’d wanna protect someone if they…say, if they cheated on you, or—”

“What the hell, Dick?”

Tim wrenched himself backwards, surprise overpowering his urge to latch on to his brother and never let go.

Just the idea of Bernard, possibly the best significant other Tim had ever had, the guy who helped Tim research binders and made cupcakes with him to celebrate buying the first one, who got him flowers made of fruit roll ups for his birthday because he’d mentioned liking them once, the one who cuddled Tim on the couch and gave him a heating pad and painkillers when he didn’t feel well, cheating on him? It made Tim’s stomach churn.

A few weeks ago, they’d made plans to go to their first pride together.

The other night, they’d danced in Tim’s apartment to Hozier and laughed about how the cookies they’d made turned out lopsided and the chocolate chips were all messy.

Tim had sent him photos of himself in a suit and Bernard had called him, sounding almost as excited as Tim himself was.

How could Dick ever think—?

Dick raised an eyebrow, and Tim let out a frustrated noise, tears finally bubbling over.

He wished he were wearing his domino. That they were having this conversation up on a rooftop, where he could grapple away and get into a fight, force Dick to stop talking or risk exposing their secret identities. It was a great way to shut Dick up.

“Can you stop jumping to conclusions for, like, five seconds?” Tim snapped.

Dick’s eyebrow didn’t lower, but he nodded, and Tim groaned. “I wasn’t sick. It was all in my head, just mental stuff, and Jason, Damian, and Alfred were covering for me.”

That, at least, got Dick to change his expression. Instead of suspicion, it was plain worry. “What kind of mental stuff?”

Immediately, Tim knew he’d messed up. Started off on the wrong foot right out of the gate.

“Not—It’s not like that, Dick. I promise,” Tim said. “I would’ve called if my—if I started feeling bad like that, you would’ve been the first person I called. I promise.”

A pause.

“Okay,” Dick said.

“Okay?”

“I believe you. You’ve called me before, and even with all the problems we’ve had these last few years, I still trust you to do the right thing and talk to someone. Even if it’s not me. Even if it was Jason and Damian, though that’s the weirdest thing I’ve thought about in a while.”

Tim let out a half-hearted snort.

It honestly had been a long time since Tim last felt depressed like that. It never really went away, but it was at the back of his mind instead of the front, and had been for a while.

“Nah,” Tim said. “Nah, I’d call you.”

Dick squeezed Tim’s arm and said, “I’m glad.”

More silence. More comfortable than the last.

But Tim hadn’t come in to give half an explanation, he’d come to tell Dick, his oldest brother and original idol, the truth.

And he was gonna do it.

His chest tightened, and he took a deep breath before saying, “I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“A while ago, we were in Blud, and you pointed out some pride flags in a window. Did you mean that? That you were happy to see that sort of thing?”

Dick’s shoulders untensed, just slightly, and a little smile ghosted over his lips.

“Course I did. It’d be a little hypocritical of me, otherwise, huh?”

“Huh?”

“I’m bisexual. Remember that time Wally came for Thanksgiving dinner and Bruce nearly popped a blood vessel?”

Tim nodded blankly, completely unsure how to navigate the new territory their conversation had turned into.

He’d expected either a yes or a roundabout way of saying no. Not…not for Dick to come out.

“We were dating,” Dick said.

Well, that was good news, sorta. It meant that Dick was cool with lgbt stuff in general, even if it didn’t confirm anything about other genders. Though Tim had already known that; Dick was constantly teasing Cass for how much she liked Steph, and it was all lighthearted and brotherly, not homophobic.

But more worries sprouted in the back of Tim’s brain instead as he digested what Dick had said.

“And Bruce…” Tim’s throat felt dry. “Bruce didn’t like that?”

He’d supported Cass and Steph, too. What could’ve changed? Or maybe it was just because Cass wasn’t the eldest? She didn’t represent the family name?

Dick grabbed Tim by the hand, squeezing until Tim forced himself to meet Dick’s eyes. “He had no problem with me dating Wally. He had a problem with having a speedster’s stomach at Thanksgiving.”

Another squeeze.

“So he doesn’t mind that you’re not straight?” Tim asked.

“Kid, either you have the worst gaydar in existence or you were actively ignoring it. Bruce isn’t straight either.”

Eyes widening, Tim stared at Dick. He nodded sagely.

“He dated Oliver Queen in college. Pretty sure he’s gone on polyam dates with Oliver and Dinah since then,” Dick said, “and he definitely had something with Clark—”

“Superman?” Tim shrieked.

“—before Clark and Lois got married. Yeah.”

Tim sank into Dick’s side, brain spinning. “Am I supposed to know about that?”

“It’s not like it’s a secret. Bruce has always said he doesn’t care who knows. It’s all over the newspapers from back in the day, but I guess you must’ve been too young to see it the last time he was with a man.”

“Mother probably just hid the newspaper from me. She would’ve been…” Tim trailed off.

“Oh,” Dick said. His hand gently smoothed Tim’s hair.

“Yeah.”

For a minute, they just sat there, Dick holding him and Tim trying not to think of his parents, until Dick asked, “what made you bring up the flags? Something you wanna tell me?”

Tim shrugged.

His stomach was churning again, and he wanted to say no and leave, but Dick had just been vulnerable with him by admitting something. Tim could do the same.

If Dick knew what was going on in Tim’s head, he’d probably be saying that Tim’s not required to do that, that it’s not an equal exchange sorta thing, but as it was, Dick just looked at the Flying Graysons poster on his wall. Purposefully not pressuring Tim.

“So you’re bi,” Tim said. Dick nodded. “Which I guess means you’re probably okay with different sexualities.”

“Yes.”

“And…other genders?”

“Sure. I’m not gonna say who, cause privacy, but some of my closest friends are trans or nonbinary. Wally’s pretty openly trans, actually.”

Tim bit his upper lip, gnawing thoughtfully on it. Bart had said something about Wally getting surgery and the pains of trying to do surgery with speed healing, but the benefits of it during the recovery stages. Tim had assumed it was something like his own splenectomy, but if Dick was saying—?

“And you’re okay with it?” Tim asked.

“If it makes someone happy and doesn’t hurt anyone else, what’s it matter? I can’t say I can relate, because I’m comfortable with who I was born as, but that doesn’t mean I don’t approve. Support them. However you wanna say it.”

“So if I said—if I said I’m not a girl, you wouldn’t, like, be mad at me?”

“I’d ask if there’s anything I can do to support you,’ Dick said calmly. “And ask who else knows, and what you want me to call you, and when.”

Tim took a shuddering breath, letting it out in one quick huff. He pulled away from Dick.

“I’m Tim. I’m a guy, and at this point, pretty much everyone in the immediate family knows except Bruce. I’m still working on Steph and Babs,” Tim said.

“Thank you for telling me, Tim. I’m sorry if I ever made you think you couldn’t.”

Shaking his head, Tim said, “you didn’t. It’s not your fault. I was just scared to tell anyone, because I thought—I thought you might think I was confused or looking for attention or that I was just—” he paused, fat tears rolling down his face to join the sticky mess of water and snot from a few minutes before. “—that I was just a freak or something.”

“Tim. Tim, listen to me,” Dick said. He slid off the bed and crouched in front of Tim. “We work with magic and aliens and superpowers all the time. Our dad dresses up in a bat costume and fights an evil clown and a guy with mustard as his main weapon. Even if there was something weird with being something other than your birth sex—and there isn’t—we deal with weird all the time. I love weird. I love you, Tim, you’re my little brother.”

He stood up and drew Tim into a hug, ruffling Tim’s hair carefully.

Tim shuddered. He clenched his jaw to stop a sob before it could escape.

“Is that why you didn’t come to the gala tonight? Because you would’ve had to dress in a way that made you uncomfortable?” Dick asked.

Another shudder, and then Dick was sitting beside him again, pulling Tim so he was practically in Dick’s lap, cradled like a small child. “You don’t have to tell me, Tim. Just…nobody’s gonna be upset with you if you want to wear a suit to galas, or keep your hair short, or anything. Bruce would throw money at a surgery for you if he thought for a second it’d make you more comfortable or if it’s what you want. If you tell him, he’s gonna go overboard and research it to death, and figure out everything he can about binders and testosterone and how to best support you.”

Tim ducked his face further into Dick’s shoulder.

“I don’t know about any of that yet,” he said quietly. Dick leaned in to hear him. “But…yeah. The suit would be cool. I have two in my closet, Alfred and Damian helped me choose them, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t do it, Dick. I couldn’t.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to do anything on anybody’s timetable but your own.”

“I worried Bruce. And you.”

“Bruce’ll get over it, and I already am. The important thing is that you’re safe and happy, that’s all we want.”

“I wasted Alfred’s time, and I probably gave Vicki Vale a headline all about how I don’t support Jason and he’s a fake because I wasn’t there and—”

“And we’ll handle Vicki if it comes to that,” Dick said soothingly. “But I think Jason is probably glad you chose to stay home if it made you more comfortable. You know he doesn’t really care about stuff like galas.”

“Fancy rich BS,” Tim said.

“Exactly. But he cares about you, in his own, stubborn way.”

Tim fiddled with Dick’s shirt, throat thick and face gross. Dick seemed to realize it after a moment of silence.

“Hang on. I’m gonna grab a washcloth and we’ll get you cleaned up,” he said.

He deposited Tim easily on the bed, vanished into the bathroom, and Tim heard the faucet running. It shut off a second later and Dick was back with one of the gray washcloths the bathrooms were stocked with. The water wasn’t cold, but it was heaven on Tim’s burning, tear-streaked face. Dick was careful not to scrub too hard.

“That does explain something, though,” Dick said once the washcloth was in the laundry hamper. “Back when you brought that assassin girl to Gotham, Pru, she kept calling you Tim. I figured it was some sort of cover, but that didn’t make any sense since she was working for Ra’s and he definitely knows who you are.”

“Oh.” Tim’s face flickered. “Yeah, Pru was one of the first people to know. I told her, Z, and Owens back when we started working together. Pru asked me if she should keep it on the downlow, but I told her it didn’t matter. I kinda thought you’d just be too preoccupied to realize what she was calling me.”

Dick paused, face scrunched, and said, “it seems to matter to you now.”

With a shrug, Tim looked away.

“A lot of things didn’t matter back then that do now. That’s the lowest I’ve ever been, Dick. You can’t use it as a basis for anything current.”

And Tim could practically see the gears running in Dick’s head. His team leader, older brother instincts telling him to push forwards even though Dick surely knew asking could only hurt.

Tim felt himself closing off, the relief of all of Dick’s words about accepting him washing away like water off a duck’s back, replaced by a bitter, hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. His head felt a little floaty.

“Did you matter?” Dick asked quietly.

Tim picked at a piece of lint on the bedspread.

“Tim.”

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Tim said. “We’ve already talked it through enough times, and I’m okay, Dick, I swear. Don’t rehash it.”

Dick crouched in front of Tim, like he used to when Tim was Robin and small enough that Dick had to bend to look him in the eyes, to put his hands on Tim’s knees. His expression had shuttered. He was in full Nightwing mode, and it turned Tim’s stomach.

“Tim, when you fought Ra’s Al Ghul—”

“Dick.”

“When you fought Ra’s—” Dick spoke louder. Then it abruptly fell back to a near-whisper. “—when you told me you knew I’d always be there for you.”

Tim closed his eyes.

“You didn’t,” and this time Dick was nearly inaudible.

He folded backwards so that he was sitting, and the spots on Tim’s knees where he’d been holding felt cold. Abandoned.

“I’m not an idiot, Tim. I knew you didn’t trust me or like me very much back then. But you—you thought I wouldn’t be there? That I wouldn’t catch you?”

“Like I said, I was at my lowest. I’d done what I’d set out to do. There was no reason for you to even try.”

And then Dick was on his feet, and his hands were clamping down on Tim’s shoulders, and he was spitting harshly in Tim’s face as he said, “you’re my brother, Tim, God, that’s the reason. You’re my brother and I love you. There is no other reason in this Godforsaken universe that’s more important than that.”

“Okay,” Tim said quietly.

Dick made an angry, wounded noise.

“Don’t just say okay, don’t start that again. It’s not fine, it’s not okay, and I need you to tell me that you understand that. Tell me you know I don’t need a reason to risk it all for you.”

“I know that now. It’s been a long time since all of that went down, Dick. I’m in a better place now.”

There was a brief, tense moment where Dick searched Tim’s face, eyes scrunched and serious and watery, before he let Tim go.

“Yeah. You are.” Dick scrubbed his hands over his face. “I’m sorry. You just scare me by talking like that, like you don’t get how important you are.”

“Sorry.” Tim whispered.

“Don’t apologize for telling me the truth about this sort of thing. I’m the one who’s sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up right after you told me something so important and personal, we should be focusing on that, I just—God, Tim.”

He turned away, towards the bathroom, and sighed.

“It’s late,” he said. “You ought to get some sleep, Timbo.”

“Dick—”

“Go on.”

And that was Dick, self-sacrificer extraordinaire, shutting himself down. Closing himself off from anyone and anything to avoid lashing out.

As if Tim was actually gonna walk away.

Instead, Tim put a hand on his shoulder and asked, “wanna go watch Wendy the Werewolf stalker?”

Dick’s head snapped around.

“Excuse me?” He asked.

“Everyone’s downstairs already. C’mon.”

“Tim.”

“Look at yourself, Dick. If I leave you up here alone, you’re gonna spiral and wind up making yourself furious at the world.”

“I’m not—”

“Just come watch TV,” Tim said, shifting his hand so that he was holding Dick by the wrist, and dragging him towards the door.

If Dick hadn’t wanted to move, Tim wouldn’t have been able to even budge him.

But they made it to the door, and then they were in the hallway and starting for the stairs. Dick put on the brakes in front of Jason’s door.

Tim caught on immediately and knocked.

The door swung open, Jason taking one look at the way Tim and Dick were standing close to each other, tense and watery-eyed, but close, and ducked back into his room to put on a shirt—“some of us were planning on sleeping tonight, but y’know, Wendy the Werewolf stalker can’t wait until morning, of course not.”—before following them downstairs.

Tim crawled back into his seat in the middle, Dick taking the spot at the very end where he could see everyone without coming into contact with them, something he seemed to do whenever he got angry. Jason took a seat on the other side of Cass. They’d gotten a bit more friendly with each other once Jason stopped using real bullets, though Tim sometimes still caught her looking mistrustfully at him on patrol. Mostly at his guns.

“So?” Duke asked, glancing meaningfully towards the end of the couch where Dick was sitting.

“He knows,” Tim said. “Took it well.”

Tim could mention everything else, explain why Dick was paying more attention to the people in the room than the TV, or why it had taken so long, but Tim had never even wanted Dick to clue in on the truth about that fight with Ra’s, much less Duke. Tim’s younger siblings had been through so much on their own, they didn’t need all of Tim’s crap piled on top.

“Told you so. Proud of you, Tim.”

Tim threw some popcorn at Duke, and Duke threw it back, and then Jason dumped a blanket over their heads and told them to stop wasting food, effectively ending their mini-food fight.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, when Tim was on patrol, he’d swing by the clock tower.

His route went right by it, and it was cool to run into Black Canary or one of the others if they were in town. But more than that, he just liked hanging out with Babs.

Before Cass had showed up, Babs had been the closest thing Tim had ever had to a big sister. She was the one who helped teach Tim more about tech and introduced him to Ted Kord, the old Blue Beetle, which was still one of the coolest things Tim had ever done. Dick and Babs had been distant from each other at the time, but Babs hadn’t let that get in the way of teaching and guiding Tim.

All in all, Babs was the coolest.

And Tim was terrified to ruin that.

He knew Babs was better than to judge him or ice him out for being trans, but he couldn’t shake the heavy anxiety in his stomach, or convince himself to actually stop by the clock tower after he started telling people.

It got to the point where he was seriously considering asking Damian or Cass to swap patrol routes with him, but before he could, he found himself clambering into Babs’ apartment.

It wasn’t a conscious decision. At no point had his body checked with his brain to make sure it was okay with what he was doing. One second he was riding his motorcycle towards the manor, and the next he’d been on the top of a fire escape in civilian clothes and knocking on the window. There was no chance he’d be able to crack the security like he could’ve with Dick’s or Jason’s places.

“Stopped avoiding me, did we?” Babs asked dryly.

She was waiting for him, coffee mug in one hand and hand-held tablet in the other, like she’d known he was gonna show up. Maybe she had, somehow. With Babs, who knew?

“I wasn’t,” Tim said.

“You were.”

Tim flopped down on the couch, and Babs wheeled over to join him, clicking pause on what looked like Gray’s Anatomy.

Catching Tim’s questioning look, Babs shrugged. “Steph got me hooked. And I like judging all the medical inaccuracies and poor decision making skills.”

Then she was setting down her stuff and folding her hands in her lap. A single eyebrow raise had Tim shriveling back into the couch cushions. She was as good at getting him to talk as Alfred was, which was saying something.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I wasn’t purposefully avoiding you.”

“Just accidentally,” Babs said.

“I’m thinking some stuff over. Knew you’d figure me out in five seconds flat if I showed up.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Personal.”

Babs hummed, tapping her green-painted fingernails on the wheels of her chair. “And you don’t want to tell me? You don’t have to, but maybe it would help to get it off your chest. You know I can keep a secret.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Tim said, biting back a smile.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing.”

Another eyebrow raise, and Tim shrugged, saying, “just…what you said. It’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Secret keeping?”

“Getting something off your chest.”

Babs leaned back in her chair, frowning.

“I’m—um—” He paused, chuckling nervously to himself. “I’m trans.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, as in this is an interesting turn. I was expecting this to be about Jason and Cass asking me to hide your tracker from Bruce the other night. Did you pick a name yet? Told anybody else?”

“Tim. And yeah, it’s just Steph and Bruce left to tell, now.”

“Me before Steph? I’m flattered,” Babs said.

She wheeled herself around the couch and carefully lifted herself up, using pure upper body strength to settle down on the cushion beside Tim with her legs tucked under her.

“You were actually the easiest to tell. Once I got over myself and came to see you, anyway.”

“I would’ve thought you’d tell Steph first, you two have been practically inseparable for years.”

Tim rolled his upper lip between his teeth. “That’s kinda what’s making it so hard, y’know? She’s awesome, and she’s my best friend, and I love her so much. I don’t wanna lose that. I don’t wanna lose any of you.”

“You won’t.”

“Yeah. I’m getting that impression.”

Focusing on the paused TV, Tim sighed. Babs motioned towards her coffee.

He passed it to her and asked, “do you think Bruce will believe me?”

“What’s there to believe?”

“That I’m not just lying to myself. Or confused from being Robin for so long.”

Babs took a thoughtful sip of her coffee. “I didn’t think of that. Robin, I mean. I wondered why you didn’t take up the Batgirl mantle. Guess this answers that.”

He’d thought about it a few times. Taking up Babs’ old mantle. After Stephanie died, especially. Sort of as an homage to her, like he’d ended up doing with Kon’s colors on his Robin suit, black and red.

But he just couldn’t do it.

“Robin’s my escape. As much as I respect Batgirl—and the costume, yours was always so cool—it just didn’t fit.” Tim lowered his voice. “I spent a lot of time wondering if that was wrong.”

“Being a vigilante is an escape for a lot of people, Tim. Even Bruce. Yours is just a little different.”

They both went quiet for a beat, Babs sipping her drink, and Tim shifting his gaze to the nearest window. He could just barely see the streetlamps below and the clouds peeking over the next roof over. Gloomy as ever.

It made Babs’ apartment even cozier, though.

“Do you ever ask yourself if you made the right decision, doing all this? Batgirl, Oracle,” Tim asked.

Babs set her coffee on her leg, one hand holding it from above like a claw machine, and glanced at the TV. “All the time. I always come to the same decision, though.”

“What?”

“I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m happy with what I did as Batgirl and I’m happy with where I am as Oracle. Even though there’s stuff I miss, like running the rooftops or being able to be there to drag you boys out of the fire when you’re all being stupid, I’m happy.”

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Tim nodded. “Yeah. Same here, I think. I’m proud of everything I’ve done.”

“You should be. I know I’m proud of you, though I’m biased.”

Tim let out a small chuckle, and Babs grinned.

He fidgeted with a thread poking out of the couch cushion before saying anything else.

“I think, if I’d never been Robin,” Tim admitted, “I wouldn’t have been able to do this. Be myself.”

“I’ve been told that being Robin gives you magic.”

“It does. Jason was right on the money. Robin—it let me explore who I was. Everyone calling me a boy made me feel so alive, in a way I wasn’t really able to replicate as a girl, y’know? I’ve never felt that happy.”

“I get it, at least somewhat. I can’t say I understand exactly what you mean, I think yours is a pretty unique experience, but I can say that being Batgirl let me have a freedom I’d never felt before. And Oracle even moreso.”

Babs carefully stretched out to put her hand on Tim’s arm. “I’m glad you told me, Tim, and I’m glad you’re not trying to pretend like this doesn’t exist. That’d only hurt you. And, yes, I think Bruce will believe you. He can actually be a good dad sometimes, y’know.”

Nodding, Tim said, “I know.”

He leaned back into the couch cushion and sighed.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “Everybody always makes it sound like coming out is something you do once. But I’ve come out so many times, and at this point, I don’t think it’s ever gonna stop.”

“Maybe it won’t.”

“Thanks, Babs.”

“But you don’t have to come out to anyone you don’t want to, you hear me? Not even Bruce. He’s your dad, but you have no obligation to anyone when it comes to this sort of thing.”

Tim nodded. “Yeah. I want him to know, though.”

“As long as it’s what you want.”

Before Tim could say anything more, his phone dinged, and he snuck a quick glance at it.

His face softened.

“Oh, Bernard,” Babs said knowingly. “I don’t suppose I’m ever going to get to meet this mysterious boyfriend of yours?”

Tim shrugged. “You, maybe. I think the others would scare him off.”

“Only if you let him meet Bruce or Jason first. Bruce would glare the poor kid to death.”

With a snort, Tim tapped out a quick reply to Bernard—“Wanna go see the new Top Gun movie this weekend?” “On purpose?”—before saying, “besides, you already know all about him, don’t you?”

“Just the basics. Family, school records, previous significant others and whether they’ve made any digital complaints about him, criminal record,” Barbara said, grinning.

“You’re terrifying.”

“I know.”

Another text message. “Tom Cruise is in it,” Bernard had said, like that explained everything.

Tim shot back, “yeah, ok. Saturday works.”

“You seem a lot happier these days,” Barbara said, dragging his attention back to her. “He’s good for you.”

“I am. Happier, I mean.”

He fiddled with his phone case before stowing it in his pocket and adding, “I should get going, I’m supposed to be meeting Cass at the cave to practice this new move she’s been teaching me.”

Babs waved him towards the window.

“Go, tell Cass I said to bring me back some leftovers from Alfred. I’m working on a case with the Birds of Prey and don’t have time to cook tonight.”

Part of him wanted to ask Babs about his conversation with Dick from the other night. Ask how to make Dick forgive him, or if Dick was even upset with Tim or just with the situation, or what. But that wouldn’t be fair on Babs; she and Dick were ex’s and best friends, and Tim couldn’t rock that boat.

Instead, he headed for the window and stuck one leg out to begin climbing onto the fire escape before glancing back.

He grinned at Babs holding up the remote, ready to click play on Gray’s Anatomy again.

“Shut up,” Babs said.

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You sure you’re not biologically related to Dick? You’re as annoying as he was at your age.”

Tim cackled, sliding out onto the fire escape.

The window’s security engaged behind him, ready to go the second the window closed, but he paused.

“Yes?” Babs asked.

“Thanks,” Tim said. “For being cool.”

Her face softened. “Anytime.”

Chapter Text

A few weeks after Jason’s gala, another one popped up. It was a charity fundraiser for the museum which had been majority funded by Wayne Enterprises for years.

Meaning that they were all expected to be there.

Meaning that it was gonna be a bunch of the oldest, most traditional upper-class Gothamites around.

Jason came storming into the cave, right past Steph and Tim, and slammed his helmet down on the work station beside Bruce’s hands.

“My second gala back and you want it to be around all those old fogeys?” He demanded.

“Yes, Jason.”

“You didn’t think to warn me before I agreed to come back that this was right around the corner?”

“Would you have agreed?”

“No!”

“Then I’m sorry, but it is what it is. It’ll be too suspicious if you’re not in attendance at this point,” Bruce said.

“Who’s fault is that? And it’s not like I went to many of them when I was a kid, either!”

Bruce ignored him.

Knowing full well that the direct, angry approach was getting Jason nowhere, Tim wasn’t surprised when Jason’s face softened and he dropped his shoulders.

“Please, dad,” Jason said.

“No.”

With that, Bruce walked away, leaving Jason, Tim, and Steph by the Batcomputer. Jason deflated.

“Damn. The dad card normally works.” He huffed.

“He hesitated, if it helps,” Steph said.

“Thanks, blondie.”

For Tim, it felt like everytime he was in his bedroom, the suits burned a hole in his head, even through the closet door. Every mention of the gala left him feeling a little uneasy and a lot anxious.

Bruce hadn’t yet said anything about Tim’s little disappearing act the night of Jason’s debut, but he was putting a lot of emphasis on Tim attending the museum gala, which felt like it was having the opposite effect that Bruce wanted it to. Instead of feeling like being responsible and going, Tim wanted to just hide out at the Kent’s farm for a few weeks and ignore everyone who wasn’t Kon, Ma or Pa Kent, or Jon. Tim wouldn’t have even included Jon, except he was a good kid, and had been a good influence on Damian. It felt too rude to ignore him.

Instead of bolting for Kansas whenever he got upset about it, Tim found one of his siblings.

“I’ll be right there with you,” Cass said. “Won’t leave you alone.”

Jason and Damian both went with variations of “if anyone gives you crap, they’ll wish they hadn’t been born.”

Duke was more casual, but he did say he’d be happy to subtly blind transphobes so that they tripped into the fountain in the middle of the museum gardens if Tim pointed them out to him.

And Dick was in Bludhaven most of the time, but Tim called him once or twice, and even though he still seemed a little upset about the conversation he and Tim had the other night, Dick promised to be there at the gala. He even offered to bring Wally as a guest. Tim had tried to say no, but Dick insisted, saying that Wally loved galas because they had a ton of food and he got to mock Dick for how he had to act.

Tim also went to Babs and Steph, though Babs was more helpful. She wasn’t going to the gala—and Tim was only partly jealous—but she had gone to enough with her dad and with Dick to tell Tim that it was gonna suck, that she was sorry, and that if he ultimately decided to bail, he could go to her apartment and she’d let him hide out, no questions asked. Steph just told him to say the word, and she’d cartwheel into the food table. Nobody would be talking about him after that.

Tim even found himself in the kitchen with Alfred a couple times. Alfred would give him a cookie or some neatly sliced fruit and listen to Tim as he explained how scared he was. The few times Tim cried, Alfred just silently handed him a handkerchief and patted his hand. Somehow, it was more reassuring than all of his siblings' attempts combined, no matter how grateful he was for them.

And then, only a couple days before the gala, there was a knock on Tim’s bedroom door while he was doing some casework on his laptop. His laptop was propped up on the pillow at the head of his bed, while he laid sprawled across the comforter and blankets.

Another, more insistent knock. He rolled over onto his back and shouted, “what do you want?”

“Polite as ever, boy wonder,” Steph said. She slipped into the room and kicked the door shut behind her.

“Only with you. What?”

“Can’t a girl visit her very best friend without a reason?”

“Sure. But you don’t.”

“Funny, coming from you. You haven’t texted me in three days and on patrol last night, you totally blew me off to patrol with Hood.” She paused dramatically. “Jason!”

“Maybe I think he’s funnier than you are.”

Steph laughed snarkily, then plopped down on Tim’s legs and tossed a plastic Walgreens bag at him. “Makeup for the gala. Figured we ought to figure it out in advance or it’ll end up like last time where I panic and use lipstick for eyeshadow.”

“That was a nightmare.” Tim agreed.

“So, you up for it? I got your flavor—flavor—uhh shade of foundation,” Steph said.

“I don’t think so, Steph. Sorry.”

“Huh?” Steph gave a faux-pout. “Whyyy, you were gonna be my guinea pig since Cass said no.”

“Ask Dick, he’s only a few shades darker than you, and he’s patient enough to deal with it when you mess up. I think he’s back from Blud for the afternoon.”

“Fine. I guess,” Steph said. She reluctantly took the bag back.“But when are you gonna practice yours?”

Tim’s stomach was rolling uncomfortably, and he forced himself to not fiddle with the straps of his binder.

“I’m not gonna be wearing any makeup, Steph,” Tim said.

A split-second of hesitation, and then Steph nodded appreciatively and said, “bold, I like it.”

“Then you’re gonna love my suit.”

Steph gasped.

“Show me, show me right now.”

He grabbed the navy blue suit from the closet and held it up to his body, letting her see it in its full glory.

The heartbeat between him showing it and her responding felt like an eternity, but then she was grinning and clapping.

“That looks amazing. Almost like you actually have taste.”

“Damian chose it for me.” Tim admitted.

He hung the suit back up, only to turn around and find Steph directly behind him. She corralled him back against the closet door, pressing her wrist to his forehead.

“It doesn’t feel like you have a fever. Have you been exposed to any weird pollens or anything recently?” She asked. “Anything that would make you hallucinate?”

“I’m serious,” Tim said.

“So am I.”

With a sigh, Tim grabbed Steph’s wrist and gently tugged her back to the bed.

He sat down criss-cross near the pillows. Steph sat by the footboard, kicking her worn, purple converse up against the bedpost.

“Y’know how Alfred had to take me to get an outfit for Jason’s gala a few weeks back?” Tim asked.

Steph nodded.

“Well, Damian went with since he needed a new suit. I decided to go for a suit instead of a dress, too, and I chose a gray one, but he told me the navy was better. I think the only reason he didn’t call me all kinds of names over the gray was because I scared him in the car.”

“You? Scaring Damian?”

“I cried.”

With a blink, Steph said, “yep, that’d do it. Why were you crying? If he did something—”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Tim said, scrubbing his hand over his face.

Steph was his best friend. He could tell her anything. He could admit something this big.

“I was freaking out because I thought I was gonna have to wear a dress, Steph.”

A moment of silence.

“And that…was worth freaking out over? I don’t get it.”

Tim took a shaky breath. “It was, but only because I’d been freaking out for a long time. Like, most of my life, long time.”

“Over dresses.”

A bolt of annoyance went through Tim’s chest, but he shoved it aside and carefully picked at a thread on his shirt.

“Over being a girl,” Tim said.

Steph’s eyes went wide.

Then she cocked her head to the side, studying him, and said, “I thought you’d been flattening your chest. Didn’t get why, but I figured you’d tell me eventually.”

She’d noticed?

Tim crossed his arms over his chest, fighting the urge to smile.

If it was noticeable, then he actually looked flat.

“Does that mean I get to steal all your clothes?” Steph asked. “And help you shop for new gender clothes? Do I get to throw you a gender reveal party? No fire, duh, the manor’s got too many trees for that, but I can get some confetti poppers and—”

“No,” Tim said, and there it was, he was grinning like an idiot.

“No to which? Because you can’t stop me from stealing that dress you wore to the winter gala last year, it was pretty, and you’ve gotten too muscley for it to zip, remember? Someone ought to.”

“How do you know I’m not just gonna give everything to Cass?”

“I don’t, but even if you do, she’ll let me borrow all of it because I’m her super awesome girlfriend, you loser.”

Tim reached for Steph, who reached back at the same moment, and they collided into a tight hug.

“I’m so proud of you,” Steph said. “Do you need help finding a name?”

Before Tim could say anything, Steph was pulling away and scowling. “Nevermind, forgot who I was dealing with. It’s you; I’d be surprised if you didn’t have forty-seven options and a computer program to call you each and every one to test them out.”

“Tim,” he said. “Timothy, if you wanna be fancy like Damian.”

The scowl turned back to a grin.

“Timothy?” Steph crowed.

“Timothy.”

She guffawed, falling sideways and burying her face in the bedspread. Tim kicked her in the side.

“Laugh it up, Fuzzball,” he said.

“I love it.”

“I can tell.”

“No, seriously! It’s fitting. Tim’s like, chill, but still respectable, and Timothy’s perfect. Sounds like something your parents would’ve named you.”

Tim grimaced tightly.“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not.”

Immediately, Steph was latched onto his shoulders.

“Have I mentioned I love you?” Steph asked. “Because I do. And I’m proud of you, and I’m so glad you trusted me with this.”

“I love you too, Steph.”

Then she was flopping back, shoes in the air and hair in her face, and asking, “what’d the boss man say?”

Tim stiffened, and Steph raised an eyebrow.

“You haven’t told him?”

“No. Not…not yet.”

“Are you going to?”

After a second of Tim hesitating, Steph changed the question. “Okay, do you want to?”

“Yeah. I want him to know, and I want the family to know, but I don’t know how to do it. I suck at this sorta thing.”

“How many others have you come out to?”

“Pretty much everyone else in the family. I cried at most of them.”

“It’s a very emotionally stressful thing to do, Timmy. Y’know, I came out in front of everyone at once, when Cass introduced me as her girlfriend, and it was terrifying.” Steph paused. “I didn’t have the comfort of knowing I was family, that they couldn’t just shun me so easily. I knew Cass would be okay, but…me?”

Tim’s shoulders dropped. He hadn’t even thought about that.

What did it say about him that he didn’t feel like he had that comfort, either?

They sat there for a second, Steph staring at the ceiling and Tim at the bedspread.

“Alright. Game plan time, Tim,” Steph said, clapping her hands together sharply. “No moping, just thinking.”

“Oh, boy,” Tim said.

“We’re gonna need backup.”

By the time Steph managed to successfully drag Tim to the movie room, she’d already made sure that everybody else would be there, waiting.

Everybody but Bruce, anyway.

“Tim’s looking to figure out how best to tell Bruce.” Steph announced. “Ideas?”

“Paintball,” Duke said immediately.

“What?” Tim asked.

“Paintball. Pink, white, and blue, all over his shirt. Artistic and funny.”

Steph pointed thoughtfully at Duke, but Tim grabbed her hand and said, “absolutely not.”

Dick raised his hand.

Once called upon, he suggested, “slip off a high enough surface, let him catch you, then tell him while he’s still jittery. Worked for me when I had to tell him I crashed the car a couple summers back; he was so glad I was okay, he mostly ignored the whole car thing.”

“That could work,” Steph said. “But Tim doesn’t climb stuff as often as you. It’d be too suspicious.”

From the furthest corner of the room, sprawled across two chairs with his eyes closed like he was mid-nap, Jason said, “fake a kidnapping.”

“What?” Tim asked.

“Todd has a point. If we were to kidnap Timothy and Father had to go find him, it would have the same effect as Grayson’s idea, but would be more natural looking,” Damian said thoughtfully.

“No.”

Steph grinned.

Duke said, “I’ll grab the duct tape. Someone else is getting the van, though, I don’t have my license yet.”

Desperately, Tim looked to Cass, but she just shrugged and motioned for him to go along with it.

“Easier that way,” she said.

Tim darted for the door.

“Alfred!” He screamed, just as he was tackled by Steph, followed immediately by Dick and Damian.

Tim was upside down and hanging over Jason’s shoulder by his knees when Alfred appeared in the doorway, eyebrows raised and shotgun in hand.

“Master Jason,” Alfred said slowly. “Would you care to explain?”

“We’re faking a kidnapping, Pennyworth. Please say nothing to Father,” Damian said.

“It’s family bonding time,” Steph said. “Plus me.”

“It’s a real kidnapping because fake by definition implies that I agreed to it, and I didn’t. Not even remotely,” Tim said.

“Children,” Alfred said.

“Alfred,” Dick said.

“Put down your brother, master Jason. If anyone is kidnapped today, it will go unnoticed, I’m afraid. Master Bruce has just left for an emergency League mission and won’t be back until late.”

A collective groan, and Tim was dropped unceremoniously onto a chair.

He righted himself just before Steph could flop across him, and found himself squashed between her and Duke, instead.

“If I may ask—though I fear I’ll regret it—why were you all intent on kidnapping master Tim?” Alfred asked.

Jason flopped down into the chair at the end of the row. “Because it’d be funny.”

“Because he doesn’t know how to tell Bruce he’s trans and he’s gonna chicken out of the gala again if he doesn’t,” Duke said.

“I’m not gonna chicken out!” Tim snapped.

“Sorry, man, but you are.”

Alfred cleared his throat.

“Master Tim, have you considered simply talking to master Bruce? I’d have thought you were all well over being intimidated by him,” he said.

“I’m not intimidated, and I’m not gonna chicken out. I just…I mean, c’mon, it’s not like I really set out to tell any of you guys, either. It just happened,” Tim said. “Maybe it’s better if I just wait for that with Bruce, too.”

“So you can get out of going to the gala.” Steph huffed.

“Hey, why are you even upset?” Duke asked. “You’re choosing to go.”

“I’m being a good girlfriend.”

Cass nodded, hooking a leg under Steph’s knee and grinning.

“Timothy,” Damian said. “If you weren’t to tell Father before the gala, would you attend anyway and wear a dress or your navy suit?”

Tim twisted his shirt between his fingers.

“No clue. I guess whatever I felt like wearing,” he said.

“But you’ve already said you’re more comfortable in the suit,” Steph said, “and we all know Bruce is gonna be chill, so you should have fun with it. It’s like you said, you cried at everybody else, wouldn’t it be better to have one where it’s all happy? And who better than Bruce? That man would move the literal Earth if it meant making you guys happy.”

Grip tightening, Tim shrugged.

“She’s got a point, don’t you have anything you’d wanna do? A cake, maybe?” Duke asked.

“This is Father we’re talking about, it should be serious, respectful,” Damian said.

“Just make sure it’s obvious, however you do it. The old man’s painfully oblivious to anything like this,” Jason said.

“I’m just saying, get some washable paint and brighten up the cave a little, or buy a few giant trans flags.” Steph suggested.

“Tim.” Cass said, staring at him with raised eyebrows.

“Pennyworth’s right,” Damian said, “just talk to Father directly.”

Tim’s stomach rolled, and he forced himself to take a breath.

“Alright, enough,” Dick said.

He flopped down between Tim and Steph, who groaned, elbowing Dick in the stomach.

“Tim, you don’t have to tell Bruce before the gala.” Putting an arm around Tim’s shoulder, Dick continued, “you don’t have to tell Bruce at all, if you don’t want to. This is all you. Your choice. We’re not trying to pressure you. We want what’s best for you, and for you to be able to be yourself around everyone, but it is your choice and we’ll respect that.”

“Yeah, nobody’s gonna out you, kid.” Jason said.

“Better not.” Cass agreed.

Tim ducked his head and pressed it into Dick’s chest. Dick hugged him tight. A second later, Duke’s hand was on Tim’s back, Cass’ arm was around both Tim and Dick, and Tim could just barely feel Damian’s presence beside him.

“I’m not joining the group hug, though. Losers,” Jason said.

Tim flipped him off.

They all pretended like Alfred didn’t see it, and in return, Alfred didn’t say a word.

“C’mon. Tim, you think about what you wanna do for a little while. We’ll let you decide without any more unasked for input,” Dick said.

With a nod, Tim pulled away.

“But if you do want advice or anything, we’re all here,” Steph said.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Duke said.

Chapter Text

The night of the gala, Tim stood in his room, surrounded by all of his siblings and Steph.

He fiddled with the suit jacket. It hung off his frame in a distinctly masculine way, without making it clear that it was the wrong size, and Damian was right; the navy really was the better choice.

Tim’s bow tie options were either a classic red, though he thought that made him look a little too much like a politician when paired with the navy suit, or a nice yellow that reminded him of Bernard’s hair. Deciding wasn’t much of a problem. Though tying it was, so he figured he’d leave that for last.

In the meantime, he held out two pairs of shoes that Alfred had picked out for him.

“Which ones?” Tim asked.

Jason pointed at the dark brown loafers at the same time Steph said, “black!”

“Wow. So helpful, both of you.” Tim tossed the shoes onto the bed and sighed.

At least the socks were easy. Plain black, ankle high, basic socks. Nothing to decide, nothing to worry about. Though, if there was a way for someone to wear socks wrong, he was pretty sure he’d manage to find it.

“Relax, dude. You’ve been going to these galas for years, you know what you’re doing, and Dick’s here to tell you all the man-stuff you gotta do,” Duke said.

“He’s right. And so is Jason, go with the brown,” Dick said.

Steph stuck out her tongue, but tossed Tim the brown shoes anyway.

While Tim slid those on, Cass came around the bed to peer carefully at Tim’s hair, then used her fingers to ruffle it a little bit.

“Cass!” Tim shrieked, dropping a shoe to grab at his hair.

“Bad boy vibes,” she said with a teasing grin.

“Ooh, she’s right, that does look better,” Steph said.

“Preposterous. He looks like he just got out of a fight with a gelatinous blob.” Damian reached out and fixed it.

Cass messed it up again.

“We’ll ask Alfred,” Dick announced pointedly.

It was too late, though. Cass, Damian, and Steph were half-bantering, half-arguing about Tim’s hair, ignoring him standing in the middle of it all with a little smile on his face.

Dick finally managed to pry them all apart, just as Jason came back. Tim hadn’t even noticed him leaving.

“Hey, Timbo,” Jason said.

He scooted around Cass to stand directly in front of Tim, and cleared his throat. Like he was nervous. “Alfred and I talked about this part, figured you wouldn’t have any, but decided we’d let you decide on your own first pair yourself. In the meantime, I want to lend you mine. If you want them.”

Jason pulled a small box out of his pocket. For a second, Tim thought they were earrings, until Jason clicked the lid open and tilted it towards him.

The box held a pair of carefully polished silver cuff links. W’s, swirling and gorgeous.

“Here,” Jason said awkwardly. “B gave these to me for my first gala. They’re supposed to be given to each boy in the family first time they’re old enough to wear ‘em, but since B doesn’t know about you yet, well—”

Tim sucked in a breath.

“If you don’t want ‘em, they can go back in my dresser to collect dust. Been there since I died, anyway, it’s not a big deal.” Jason said.

He started to pull away and stick them into his pocket, but Tim tackled him around the middle before he could. Jason let out a small grunt, not even stumbling.

“Oh my God,” Tim said.

“Hey, no, c’mon, don’t cry on me. Stop it.”

“Jay—”

“It’s just some stupid cuff links, Jesus, kid.”

“They’re not stupid.” Tim clutched at him. “You have no idea.”

Jason swallowed hard, enough that Tim could feel it where he was pressed against Jason’s chest, and slowly, Jason wrapped him up in a tight hug. “Yeah. I get it.”

And he probably did. He might not have ever had to question if he was a boy, but back when he would have been going to his first gala, Tim guessed he would’ve been questioning if he was really a Wayne. Bruce handing him those cuff links probably didn’t feel too different. Affirming, comforting, safe.

“Help me put ‘em on? I’ve only ever helped my dad, never on myself,” Tim said.

Jason stepped back and clicked the box open again. He carefully lifted Tim’s left wrist, put the cuff link in, then swapped to the other. Tim stared in awe at the way they glinted in the light. Just like the crest on the front gates, on the plaque on the wall in Bruce’s study, literally everywhere across the manor, and now, on his jacket.

“Man, Bruce is gonna go bonkers when he learns he wasn’t able to get you your own pair for this. Make it really special,” Dick said.

“Too bad. He should’ve had more of that fatherly intuition, or something,” Jason said.

Tim turned to glance at himself in the mirror, carefully fiddling with the cuffs of his jacket, and grinned.

The only other pieces of clothing he ever felt so comfortable in were his Robin and Red Robin costumes. Something about this suit just felt right, even his binder, which still felt a little tight from having just put it on. He’d gone without the whole day so he wouldn’t have to worry about keeping it on too long during the gala.

Wrapping his arms around his stomach and squeezing, Tim tried to hold back a giggle, and spotted both Jason and Dick smiling at him in the mirror.

Then, Dick froze.

“Oh, crap.” He said. “Tim, does Bernard know?”

Jason gave a low whistle, face twisting. “It’d be pretty messed up to hear something this personal about your partner from Vicki Vale.”

Giving them both an offended look, Tim said, “of course he knows. He’s known for months.”

“And he’s cool with it? Cause if not…” Duke trailed off meaningfully, miming punching someone.

“Yes. Yes, my boyfriend, who I love and am still dating and absolutely doesn’t deserve my overprotective siblings’ wrath, is cool with me being trans. He helped me buy a binder without anybody seeing it or finding it in my credit card history.”

Cass flopped over the bed and smiled, and it shouldn’t have looked so intimidating coming from a short person in a pretty dress laying playfully on a fuzzy blanket, but it did. “Good. Seems nice, wouldn’t wanna have to hurt him.”

“Speak for yourself,” Damian said. “I still say he ought to be tested. In the League—”

“Damian, we’ve talked about basing your ideas of romance off the League.” Dick sighed.

“Yes, it’s unhealthy and toxic and blah, blah, but consider; this Bernard ought to at least be able to handle himself against the likes of…say, Drake himself. He’s regularly dosed with substances like fear gas that alter his brain and he might lash out if Dowd is in range. If the worst were to happen, what would Dowd do?”

Tim blinked.

“No,” Duke said.

“But—”

“No!” Steph shouted.

“He’s got a point. Oh, God.”

“Now look what you did, brat, you broke the man of the hour,” Jason said. “Timmy-boy, there’s almost no way that you’re gonna go berserk on your boyfriend. And didn’t you say he beat up a cult, anyway?”

“Yeah, Bern can hold his own, but he shouldn’t have to. And I’ve got gadgets and stuff, what’s he gonna do against a grapple hook to the neck?” Tim said.

“This wasn’t a concern before and it’s not gonna be one now. Nobody is grappling anybody in the neck, so calm the hell down.”

“But—”

“Stop,’ Dick said. “Tonight’s not about you and Bernard, it’s about you, and only you. We haven’t even managed to get your tie on yet.”

Tim clenched his fists, and Duke motioned for him to breathe. It took a split second for Tim to remember how.

In. Hold. Out.

Okay.

Bernard was safe. He was staying over at a friend’s house for the night, they were having a sleepover and binge-watching the Lord of the Rings movies. Extended editions, because Bernard was a nerd.

A soft smile flickered across Tim’s face.

He forced his fists to unclench. Smoothed his jacket.

Tim was in no way at risk of getting high on fear gas, finding a grapple gun, tracking his boyfriend clear across Gotham, and shooting him. Even if one of those things happened, the odds of it being all of them? So incredibly low. Wasn’t even really a possibility.

He tuned back into the room, catching the latter part of something Cass had said, and Steph laughed. Dick lifted his phone to get a photo of everyone

Damian had Tim’s bowtie and was inspecting it next to the color of Tim’s suit. Jason tried to steal Dick’s phone, only to catch an elbow to the gut.

Duke jumped onto Tim’s bed and began bouncing, grinning as he watched everyone, and Tim laughed when Jason finally managed to grab Dick’s phone and hold it overhead where Dick couldn’t reach.

It was easier to breathe when he forgot he was trying to, so he let Steph and Cass grab him and pull him up onto the bed with Duke, where all four of them flopped down into a tangle of limbs.

Damian tossed Tim’s bowtie at him and said, “it’s amazing you ever arrive anywhere on time, Timothy.”

Dick laughed, and Tim groaned.

“You have no idea,” Dick said.

“Don’t start this,” Tim said.

“Now that he’s older, he’s gotten better, but he used to sleep through alarms or forget his wallet and keys and phone, and he’d have to double back every time he left the house. Whenever I drove him to school, I made him go through a checklist,” Dick shook his head. “He still managed to wait till we got there to say he forgot whatever science project or math homework he’d been doing.”

Snorting, Steph said, “I thought that was just you being bad at making excuses.”

“Nope. He was genuinely that bad at being on time.”

Tim smushed his face into his pillow and groaned.

A voice in the back of his head that sounded a lot like his mother reminded him that he was wrinkling his outfit, but he ignored it in favor of admitting, “I was late to training by thirty minutes, once. B broke into Drake Manor and woke me up in a panic thinking I’d just keeled over, dead at my desk.”

Laughter echoed around the room.

“That’s not even that bad, I heard he fell asleep on a rollercoaster while on a date.” Steph said.

“Dude!” Duke cried.

“Extenuating circumstances,” Tim said.

“And the rooftop, literally three months ago, when the only thing you were working on was a cold case from fifty years ago?” Jason asked.

“I’d been up all night skateboarding with Bernard.”

“I found you curled up like a stray cat in a random fire escape.”

“Yeah, I remember. Being dragged to the Batmobile and literally thrown at Batman by a zombie isn’t something you forget.”

“And the attic? Babs had to track your phone,” Dick said.

Tim shrugged. “It was Winter, I was cold, the attic is always warm.”

“You live in a mansion. Just turn on the heater, pal.”

“Too much work.”

Groaning, Steph pushed Tim’s face into the pillow and said, “you’re too much work, Boy Wonder.”

Tim chuckled, blindly reaching back to smack at her, and just as his fingertips brushed against hair, there was a knock at the door.

The room froze.

“Hello? I seem to be missing all of my children, I don’t suppose you’ve seen them,” Bruce called.

Over Cass’ head, Tim met Dick’s eyes. They flickered down, towards Tim’s clothes, then back up to look at him again, and Tim’s heart fell into his shoes.

Another knock. “We’re leaving shortly. Everything alright?”

Tim was off the bed in one move.

Jason reached for him, like he was gonna grab Tim and hold him, either to comfort him or prevent him from doing something impulsive, but Tim dodged.

He slid into the bathroom and slammed the door. The lock clicked.

Outside, he heard the door fly open. “Sweetheart?” Bruce called, voice bridging on Batman’s growl, which would’ve been a funny combination at literally any other time.

Voices blended together as everyone started making excuses and explanations and who knew what else, but Bruce cut them off with a loud, “stop. One at a time.”

“Everything’s fine,” Dick said immediately. “You just…startled us.”

Tim plugged his ears with his fingers as Bruce began talking again. He knew how the conversation was gonna go. Bruce would listen to everyone talk until he got too impatient and worried, then he’d come to the bathroom door and try to talk to Tim, who would try his hardest to force himself to answer, only to fail, because he messed up literally everything. Why would talking to his own father be different?

And he’d already worried Bruce with that disappearing act at Jason’s first gala back, so Bruce was gonna be double-worried this time, and Tim was just gonna make it worse by messing up.

Biting the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from making any noise, Tim took a shaking breath.

The back of his knees bumped against the side of his tub, and he sank gratefully down to lean his forehead on the cool ceramic, his heartbeat pounding in his own ears.

He shouldn’t have listened to the others. He should’ve just sucked it up and worn a stupid dress, or told Bruce he didn’t want to go to the gala and dealt with the punishment for bailing without a good reason. What was a week or two of being benched from patrol in exchange for his most personal secret, safe and sound with only Tim and his siblings and the friends he trusted the most in the world?

It wasn’t like he was doing anyone a favor by going to the gala anyway, even if Bruce liked to act like he was. He was good at them, sure, but Dick was too.

Tim wasn’t like Steph, who could make everyone laugh in the car on the way there even though they were all irritated at having to go.

He wasn’t Damian or Duke or Cass, who hadn’t grown up dealing with galas but took to them like a fish to water with only a little teaching.

He wasn’t like Jason, who was brave enough to announce that he was alive and attend a gala the next day.

Tim was barely even useful at getting gossip from everyone like his parents used to have him do. If not for the fact that he was able to hold a conversation and his presence meant fewer questions from reporters, then everyone would be better off with him not going.

Tim could distantly feel his eyes spilling over, but couldn’t move his hands away from his ears to wipe the tears.

Maybe everything could’ve been avoided if Tim had just been different. Normal. Pretended, like he had for his entire childhood. Why stop now?

He slumped further against the tub.

The aching in his chest was dull, getting worse with every breath he took, and his throat prickled. A slow sob bubbled out.

There was a clicking sound. A metallic rattle and a pop.

Right. Batman. A bathroom lock wasn’t gonna do anything against freaking Batman. Especially not a worried Batman.

“Sweetheart,” Bruce said, faraway, muffled by Tim’s fingers.

Tim’s entire body was trembling. His breath caught, and he found himself pushing his chest out, sucking in air like he was drowning.

Warm, too warm, hands landed on his shoulder and arm.

He jolted away so hard that his elbow banged against the tub, and the hands were gone immediately.

They’d felt like a burn, but he almost missed them. The weight. He reached out with grasping hands, found Bruce’s suit jacket, and toppled forwards. Bruce caught him before he could hit the tile, and Tim shuddered.

“It’s alright,” Bruce said. “It’s alright, I’m here. Just breathe.”

Tim sucked in a lungful of air. Bruce rubbed a gentle circle on his back and corrected, “breathe carefully. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Four, seven, eight.”

God, Tim felt like a kid dealing with Fear Toxin for the first time.

He was trying. Like, really, honestly trying. Bruce’s hand on his back was helping, a grounding weight, but Tim kept slipping up anyway. He made it to five out of seven before sobbing and letting all the air out. Bruce kept comforting him with little mumbles of praise.

“You’re doing fine,” “Try again,” “Four, seven, eight, there you go, chum.”

Tim struggled through every breath, his body like a lead weight.

“One more time, four, seven, eight,” Bruce said.

His eyes and lungs were burning. Tim forced himself to blink instead of just keeping his eyes shut.

“There we go.”

By the time Bruce was satisfied with Tim’s breathing, Tim was slumped over with heavy eyelids, and his face felt like a wrung out rag. He grasped Bruce’s jacket in weak fingers.

“It’s alright,” Bruce said. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

Tim didn’t answer.

“I like your suit.”

As much as he wanted to keep on ignoring Bruce, a little bolt of fear ran up Tim’s spine at the thought. He managed to say, “Damian picked it.”

“He’s always had good taste.”

Carefully, Tim leaned his head on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce patted his arm comfortingly. “Sweetheart, are you okay with moving?”

“Why?”

“You’re on the floor.”

“I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” Bruce said, not unkindly.

Tim shrugged.

Then, he was being picked up and carried. He managed to keep his eyes open as they left the bathroom and his bedroom, which had been vacated by everyone but Cass. She didn’t bother to follow them.

Bruce deposited Tim on a couch in a spare bedroom-turned-lounge at the end of the family hall. He was handed a heavy blanket a second later.

Distantly, Tim was grateful that Bruce hadn’t just draped it around Tim himself. He might’ve been out of it and tired and deeply, deeply upset, but he wasn’t a baby. He could handle wrapping his shoulders in a blanket.

“Why here?” Tim managed, once he was situated.

“Judging from what the others said and how you reacted to me, I’d say we’re about to have a somewhat difficult conversation,” Bruce said. “Like this, if it gets too much, you can retreat to your room and Cassandra.”

He had a point. Tim probably would’ve struggled in his room. He knew, logically, that Bruce would leave if Tim asked him to, but Tim hated kicking people out of his room at the manor. He would’ve been trapped in the conversation until Bruce took pity on him and just left.

It was Bruce’s house; Tim didn’t have the authority to go ordering people around. If he’d told his parents to get out of his room, they would’ve taken the lock off and told him it was their house, their rules.

Plus, Tim hated having serious conversations in places like his room or the dining room or Bruce’s study. Anywhere where he’d be expected to spend time afterwards. It made the entire place feel weird and wrong for a while, like a ghost of the conversation was clinging to him.

Bruce could be surprisingly thoughtful about that sort of stuff when it had to do with his kids.

“Sweetheart,” Bruce said.

Tim forced himself to look up and meet Bruce’s eyes, chest tightening.

He really didn’t want to be looking at Bruce when he admitted the truth. He didn’t want to see his dad’s face morph into disgust or doubt or whatever in real time.

“I’m listening.”

Tim opened his mouth.

He closed it again.

Fingers curling around his own suit jacket, Tim took a deep breath.

He was Red Robin. He’d faced off against Poison Ivy, Scarecrow, the Joker, all of Batman’s worst rogues. He’d fought Ra’s Al Ghul. He’d come out on top eventually in every fight, even if that just meant surviving. He could handle Bruce being disappointed in him.

Everyone had said it’d be okay and Bruce wouldn’t mind, and Tim had let that delusion play in his head for a while for the sake of not panicking, but deep down, Tim knew better. His parents always cared if it was something abnormal or damaging to their reputation. Bruce wasn’t gonna be the exception to the rule. He wasn’t Jack and Janet, and Tim knew that down to his very core, but he was an old-money family with connections and a reputation to uphold. Something like this would damage that.

Bruce rubbed his hand up and down Tim’s arm.

For a moment, Tim just let him, soaking up the fatherly warmth, before shrugging it off. Better to remove it himself than have it yanked away.

“Bruce, I lied to you,” Tim said. He drew his Red Robin voice and strength around himself like a cloak, tucking it in beside the blanket, and continued. “I should’ve told you the truth a long time ago. I’m not your daughter, and I’m not—” No, no faltering. No weakness. “I’m not a girl at all. I understand if you’re angry.”

And just as Tim expected, Bruce went still. His shoulders tensed a little like they did when he’s confused and feels like he’s missing something, and Tim wasn’t sure which part was confusing, so he just said, “my name is Tim. I’m trans. Sorry.”

Bruce sucked in a breath, face shattering.

Right.

Carefully, Tim shed the blanket and stood. He ought to leave. Let Bruce mourn his daughter.

Maybe Dick would be willing to let him stay in Bludhaven. Or Kon or Bart or Cassie. It wasn’t like he didn’t have places to go, even Pru would probably even be willing to tell him where she was staying. She always made him feel a bit better.

A hand latched onto Tim’s wrist. He froze.

“Tim,” Bruce said, voice hoarse.

A moment of silence, and then Bruce was standing, leaning over to avoid looming, purposefully making himself look less threatening like he did whenever Tim woke up screaming from a nightmare. “Tim. Son—” and Bruce sounded angry, livid, and Tim backed away like he could ever hope to break free. “—don’t you dare apologize for that. Never again.”

Son.

Tim’s brain did a record-scratch, freeze-frame, Emperor’s New Groove moment before he caught up and blurted, “huh.”

“Is this what’s been bothering you? I made you think that I wouldn’t accept you?” Bruce’s face softened. “Wouldn’t love you anymore?”

And there went the last bit of strength in Tim’s limbs.

He crumpled back into the couch and let out a choked, confused sound, and Bruce reached for him before drawing back.

Then, he was gone.

Staring blankly at his own knees, Tim wondered how he’d ever thought he’d get a different reaction.

Son, Tim’s brain reminded him.

But Tim wasn’t even worth the energy of a lecture. He certainly wasn’t worth comforting. Bruce was Batman, he had better things to be doing than dealing with his delusional son—child. Delusional child.

Footsteps.

Bruce was back?

Bruce was back, and he had Tim’s yellow bowtie in hand.

Tim had the hysterical thought that Bruce was gonna choke him with it and get rid of the problem permanently.

But then, Bruce was crouched in front of him, gently settling the tie around his neck. A few tense moments later, he stepped back and smoothed the shoulders of Tim’s suit jacket, just like Tim always saw Alfred do for Bruce.

The tie was heavy around Tim’s neck for a piece of fabric, and it was a welcome weight. He lifted a hand to fiddle with it.

“Son,” Bruce said again. “Thank you for telling me.”

Tim stared.

“Stop it,” he said.

“Stop what?”

“Stop—you’re confusing me, you keep going—it’s the back and forth, one second I think you’re about to throw me out and the next you’re calling me son and giving me a tie and—”

Cutting himself off, Tim rubbed at his eyes. “Just tell me what you want. Stop messing with me.”

Bruce crouched again.

His hand was on Tim’s knee, his other hovering halfway to Tim’s face, and he looked absolutely devastated in a way Tim wasn’t sure he’d ever seen.

“Tim, I want you to be happy, healthy, and safe,” Bruce said, voice a little strangled. “You’re my child, my son, and I love you. I’m sorry I don’t say it enough.”

Nails biting into the skin of his palms, Tim shook his head.

“Tim,” Bruce said again.

“No—”

“I love you. You’re my son.”

“But I’m messed up,” Tim said.

“It’s my job as your father to pick up your messes, Tim. Even if the mess is you.” A brief pause. “And there’s nothing messed up about being yourself.”

Tim shook his head again, but Bruce caught him with one hand and stood to press a kiss to his hair.

“I know there’s a lot to work out, Tim. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

“The family, the news.” Tim managed.

“I’ll deal with the press. If it comes down to it, I’ll call Clark and Lois and ask them how to navigate it. If this is who you are and you want it to be public knowledge, I will personally stand between you and them. We’re Batman and Robin, remember? No matter what mantle you hold, you’re my partner, I won’t leave you to handle things alone,” Bruce said, and for a second, he sounded like the Batman that Tim always heard about from Dick, occasionally from Jason. The early days Batman. Hopeful and proud and open.

It all sounded too good to be true.

“You know what,” Bruce said, “I saw the weather earlier; it’s a nice night for skateboarding.”

Tim’s head jolted upwards.

Bruce had a broad grin on his face, one that made him look about twenty years younger, and the laugh lines around his eyes and his mouth were scrunched. He held out a hand to Tim.

“But we’re supposed to be attending the gala. It’s a charity fundraiser,” Tim said.

“And the museum will be thrilled to receive a significant check in the mail.”

“You said it would be suspicious if we didn’t go.”

“Tim.” Bruce’s face was soft, and his outstretched hand landed on Tim’s shoulder instead. “Let me worry about all of that. You just go get your board and meet everyone in the garage.”

Slowly, Tim slid upright. Bruce adjusted Tim’s tie and added, “you can change if you want, but I’ve never seen someone skateboard in a formal suit before. It might be interesting.”

Tim cracked a hesitant smile.

With a clap on the back, Bruce sent Tim towards the hallway.

Fifteen minutes later, he’d slipped on a pair of converse and was crammed into the back of the limo, skateboard between his knees. Steph sat to his right in her long, purple dress with roller skates at her feet and a big grin on her face.

“This is so awesome,” she said.

To his left, Dick drummed his fingernails on his own skates and said, “I haven’t used these in ages.”

“Bets on how many times Dickie is gonna fall on his face?” Jason called from the passenger seat, beside Alfred.

Tim had been more than a little confused when Jason sat up there, but a quick, questioning look at Dick had gotten him an answer. Claustrophobia, Dick had said. Claustrophobia and favoritism. On Jason’s part or Alfred’s, Tim wasn’t sure.

“At least five,” Duke said. “Man, I love you and all, and you’re all sorts of graceful, but I saw you on the ice last year against mr. Freeze.”

“Ten,” Steph said.

Cass made a musing face before saying, “seven.”

“Five,” Tim said quietly.

“I agree with Cass. Seven,” Bruce said.

“Wow,” Dick said. “Betrayed by my whole family.”

“Nah, you still have Damian.” Steph pointed out.

“Hardly. I agree with Timothy.”

A round of gasps, and Dick put a hand to his chest, hissing. “Ouch.”

They turned onto the busy highway leading into downtown Gotham, and Tim glanced outside at the lit up buildings and bustling pedestrians. He wondered if any of them were even batting an eye at a limo coming down from Bristol, or if they were just used to it.

Shortly after that, the conversation turned as Duke and Steph got into a lighthearted argument about whether roller skates or rollerblades were better. The sunroof stretching overhead, tinted and bulletproof, let in the quick flashes of streetlights, and Damian rolled down one of the windows to let in cold air and the sounds of Gotham traffic.

Jason turned on the bluetooth and put on Green Day. Tim had no doubts on whose benefit it was actually for, considering Jason threatened to put a knife through Tim’s bluetooth speaker the last time he’d played Good Riddance.

As it was, Holiday drifted back towards Tim’s seat, and he spun one of the wheels on his skateboard. Green, like his Robin suit used to be.

He caught Bruce’s eye at one point and forced a smile.

Then they were at the skatepark—empty, other than them, with flickering lights and graffiti—and Tim was piling out along with his siblings.

Jason was the first one into the bowl, barely even pausing to rip off his suit jacket and drop it on the passenger seat. He’d apparently learned how to skateboard at some point, because he rocketed up the other side with ease. And no helmet, unsurprisingly.

Not that Tim had any room to talk. His safety gear typically included bulky hoodies that mostly protected his elbows from cement burn, and little else.

While Cass, Duke, Steph, and Dick were on skates, Damian joined Jason and Tim on the skateboards. Then, surprising everyone, Bruce pulled a skateboard from the limo’s trunk. “I suppose it wouldn’t be very surprising if I said I haven’t ridden one of these in twenty years?” He asked dryly.

“Careful, old man, or you’ll break a hip,” Jason said.

Bruce set the board down, carefully put one foot on, and—

—and did an airwalk right off the bat.

Was there a weirder sight then Bruce Wayne in a suit, bow-tie and all, riding a skateboard?

“I should’ve known,” Dick said.

Tim was pretty sure his eyebrows had permanently joined his hairline, but he managed to wrangle his surprise and head for the bowl. He used to skate at this same park all the time, back when he was still with Young Justice. It was a good excuse for some of his vigilante injuries, and it was fun, so he’d invited Cassie, Bart, and Kon a few times.

It was the first time he was there as Tim, though.

He joined Jason in the bowl, and if it were anyone else, he would’ve waited for his turn. But why skate with vigilantes if not to break the rules, right?

Jason lifted his hand for a high-five on the way past. Tim returned it automatically.

They went past each other a few more times before Cass joined them. She was wearing a black dress with red accents, and with the extra height of her skates, she had plenty of room to move. The dress swirled around her as she spun gracefully, showing a sensible pair of leggings underneath.

Up the side Tim went, into a handstand, letting his board fly back into the bowl. He flopped down after it just in time to see Dick do a double-flip and land perfectly upright on his skates.

“I hope you guys didn’t bet money on me falling,” Dick said with a grin.

Damian and Steph joined them at the same time. Tim was grateful for just how long the bowl was, plenty of room for most of them, assuming nobody did anything totally off the walls.

By the time Alfred was the only one not skating—and that would be something Tim would pay to see, Alfred would rock it—Tim had almost forgotten why they were there.

Then he’d see Bruce again, and his stomach would churn, and he’d have to distract himself by doing increasingly dumb tricks. At one point, he wound up in a handstand on his board and Jason yelled at him to quit being reckless, which just wound up with everyone laughing loudly at Jason being a mother hen.

“The big bad R.H!” Steph crowed. “Guess we found his weakness; little brothers.”

“You know I’ve been skating for years, right? I used to do stuff like this to get away from thugs,” Tim said.

Jason looked over at Bruce and said, “I’m gonna kill you, old man.”

“To be fair, that was mostly Tim’s idea.”

A little thrill went up Tim’s back at being casually referred to by his name, but he tamped it down. He was still wary about Bruce’s reaction; what if he changed his mind? What if he decided Tim was too much work? Tim was emancipated and old enough to leave home without Bruce facing any repercussions for it.

He turned away and went back to skating.

Cass was doing big loops in the opposite end of the bowl. Duke and Dick were skating past each other in arcs. Damian had apparently gotten bored and sat down on the lip of the bowl to play on his phone.

Tim did a kickflip and headed Cass’ way, shooting her a half-forced grin as he started looping with her.

“Tired?” Cass asked.

With a nod, Tim said, “long day.”

“Bruce was cool?”

He nodded again.

“Good.”

Tim went wide into the next curve, wider than he should’ve, and nearly wound up losing his footing. He recovered with only a heartbeat of panic.

“Careful,” Cass called.

“Always,” Tim said.

He used the momentum of the curve to throw himself up the side of the bowl, into a 360 turn, and landed with a God awful screech of his wheels that always used to make him wince before he’d learned how to do it.

Maybe his and Bernard’s next date ought to be skateboarding. That’d be fun.

Or maybe he should take Bernard to meet Babs, after all. It'd be a good trial run for meeting the rest of the family, and Tim would feel better having them all meet now that everyone knew Tim was a guy, if only because Bernard wouldn’t have to do that thing where he went all tense everytime he had to misgender Tim to keep from outing him.

It was something Tim loved, because it showed him that Bernard did honestly respect Tim’s identity, but it couldn’t be very fun for Bernard.

Thoughts occupied with his boyfriend, Tim sped up a little and did an airwalk up the side of the bowl.

He’d done that same move a trillion and a half times. He could do it in his sleep.

His foot slipped anyway.

Tim went weightless, stomach and brain waiting a beat to fall with the rest of him, and then he was on the ground.

Cement hurt, he found.

“Sweetheart,” Bruce was saying. “Son, are you alright?”

Tim choked out a groan.

“He just got the wind knocked out of him, right? He falls from higher than that all the time,” Duke said.

“In kevlar and padded armor.” Steph murmured.

Carefully, Tim lifted his arm and gave a thumbs-up. He heard at least three sighs of relief.

It still took a minute for his heart to stop pounding and his chest to quit aching. By the time he pushed himself upright, chuckling sheepishly, Bruce had his phone out and Leslie’s clinic’s number pulled up. Everyone else had formed a lopsided circle around him, far enough back that they didn’t crowd.

“I’m okay,” Tim said. “I’m okay. Just rattled, that’s all. Go back to skating. I’m gonna—I’m gonna sit out for a minute.”

He managed to grab his board and limp his way over to the side, where he pulled himself out and flopped down right on the lip. Bruce joined him.

“Today’s really not your day, huh, chum?” Bruce asked quietly.

Tim snorted. “Yeah. Understatement.”

“I’m sorry. I wish I knew how to handle this better. Make you feel supported. You know that I’m hardly the pinnacle of emotional intelligence.”

A pang of guilt zipped through Tim’s chest, and he tried to remind himself that there was still time for Bruce to change his mind and kick Tim out of the house or forbid him from wearing anything but dresses, or whatever ridiculous thing he could cook up to make Tim regret everything.

“Son,” Bruce had said.

Multiple times. Like it was natural. Just like he said it to Dick and Jason and Duke and Damian.

He’d brought Tim to the skatepark instead of dragging him to the gala.

Bruce had given Tim reasons to distrust him so many times over the years—from having Steph hire a mercenary to attack him to blaming Tim for trying to put an end to Boomerang, even though he’d stopped it in the end—but he’d given Tim so many more reasons to put faith in him.

Hell, Tim had left Gotham, his home, to chase a half-formed idea around the globe on the itsy-bitsy chance that Bruce was still alive.

So why was this so scary? Why was trusting Bruce just this one time the scariest thing in the world?

Bruce wasn’t going to change his mind, Tim told himself. Bruce loved him. Supported him. Bruce was the pillar that kept him upright after his mother’s death. Bruce was the one who held him as he cried over his father’s body. Bruce had been there after Kon and Bart and Steph. Bruce had put his trust in Tim time and time again.

Carefully, as if he were removing his Red Robin suit in front of an enemy who’d gladly use that weakness against him, Tim said, “you’re doing fine, B.”

“Thank you, Tim,” Bruce said quietly. “But it’s okay if I’m not. I want you to tell me if I’m not. If and when I mess up, I want you to tell me.”

See? Trust.

Tim let out a shaky breath.

He slowly leaned towards Bruce, lowering his head to rest on Bruce’s shoulder, and relaxed infinitesimally when he wasn’t immediately shrugged off.

After a moment of silence, Bruce said, “I think you’re gonna need a new suit after this. This one’s all scuffed up.”

Tim twisted to look.

“Ah, dammit. Damian’s gonna kill me,” he said.

He’d totally forgotten about the suit in the rush of the moment, and then in thinking about Bruce and everything. Damian had been so pleased with himself for picking out such a nice suit, and Tim had ruined it.

“Tim.”

A hand gently, firmly grabbed Tim’s forearm.

He glanced over, expecting Bruce to be trying to look at the damage to his suit. Instead, he was staring at Tim’s wrist.

At the cuff links.

“Oh,” Tim said.

“Are those—?” Bruce cut himself off, voice strange.

Tim’s stomach churned.

“Yeah.” He pushed the wrist closer to Bruce. “Sorry. I know you probably would’ve preferred giving permission before I wore something like this.”

“Tim,” Bruce said.

“You can take them now. Not like I need cuff links at a skatepark, right?” Tim asked awkwardly.

“Are these Jason’s?”

And there went Tim’s breathing, hitching slightly as he tried to judge what was about to happen.

Either the cuffs would get ripped off or Bruce would stomp away, off to rip Jason a new one for sharing something so important to the family without permission. Probably both, he guessed. One after the other.

He guessed wrong.

Bruce grabbed Tim and yanked him into a hug.

“I’m so proud of you boys.” Bruce’s voice was little more than a whisper, harsh and determined in Tim’s ear. To anybody else, he’d sound mad. To one of his kids, he sounded half-a-second from tears.

Tim’s own eyes welled up.

He gripped Bruce tightly, and Bruce returned the favor, practically cradling Tim. His hands were gentle on Tim’s back where he’d landed on the cement, but the feeling of safety and comfort was there nevertheless.

Honestly, Tim was pretty sure he was never really going to get rid of that feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. But he could pretend it wasn’t there for a minute and let Bruce take some of the weight.

“Love you, dad.” Tim mumbled.

And Bruce’s voice actually broke when he said, “love you, son.”