Archive of Our Own ^beta

1.

The first time Dick gives Tim a skateboard is right after his Redboard gets blown up. Okay “ blown up ” is an exaggeration but somehow Dick thinks that being shot at whilst chasing after a car that has your kidnapped friend (in civvies no less) on a skateboard isn’t any better.

It’s just an average skateboard– nothing that goes over 70mph because Dick actually wants his brother to stay alive regardless of the kid’s natural ability to have disaster finding him everywhere.

It’s not that Tim doesn’t have other skateboards (of course he does) but when Dick saw it in a shop window across the road from where he was working on a case, he couldn’t help but think of him– sue him for missing the kid. 

But he shakes his head and returns to his case– there are more pressing matters at hand.

Surprisingly, the board stays lingering in his head, not enough to distract him but enough for him to look back at the store every so often. It stares back at him, beckoning him towards the store. He’s never been that strong-willed when it came to his brothers anyway.

So around an hour later, and after much deliberation, he steps into the shop, grabs the board and gets to the till. The cashier– Hiro his name tag says– is a smiley teen with messy hair who surprisingly holds up a nice conversation with Dick. 

“You getting this for yourself?” He asks whilst ringing Dick up. Dick shakes his head. 

“It’s a gift for someone.” 

“Oh? Someone special?” Hiro grabs a recyclable bag, giving Dick a curious look.

Dick smiles, “Yeah, my little brother.”

It's a few hours later with a skateboard in hand and a few dollars out of his bank account when Dick returns back to his apartment. 

It’s late and he deliberates waiting until the next day to get started but something compels him to start that very moment so he sets down the board and rummages through his apartment to collect everything needed. He knows relatively what to do– Tim’s shown and explained it to him on many occasions so if he doesn’t then he’s a pretty lousy brother.

Tim’s fixations can switch almost overnight so he’d rather get this done before he moves on to some obscure movie with no merchandise or content for him to use (trust him, it makes birthdays hard .)

He has stickers and posters, stuff he’d been accumulating on Tim’s behalf– it’s not the first time Tim’s come to mind– and now’s the perfect time to use them, he decides. 

It’s when he has everything laid out in front of him, the deck facing upwards when he realises that he doesn’t know how to decorate a skateboard. Were there rules to it? Would Tim rather have one design on it rather than a bunch? If so, what kind of stuff would Tim even put on his skateboard?

He sits there, deliberating for a while, suggesting ideas to himself just to knock them down until he has a brilliant idea. Instead of trying to cater to one of Tim’s many, many fixations, Dick should just do something about Tim himself. That way the design would last at least a while before Tim gets bored of it. Hopefully. 

So with that idea in mind, he pulled out a blank sticker packet from his pile and searched up pictures of multiple, multiple, multiple warning signs and got to work.

A few agonising hours later and not often enough reminders that he was not cut out for art, Dick finally set down his paintbrush, noting down to search up how to remove paint from his carpet later. For now, he looks at the finished result of his hours of work and it’s safe to say he’s pretty pleased.

Along the board, he’s painted hazard tape crisscrossing diagonally downwards whilst behind it, there’s a large warning sign saying “WARNING: DOES NOT GO PAST 70MPH”. Then, beside it in a smaller font, he’s written “Don’t be so stupid again”. Alongside that, where normally there would be a sticker tag with the price, Dick has written instructions to Tim.

Not genuine instructions– more like a play on his brother's hot-headedness. They went as follows.

1. Do Not Under Any Circumstances Follow The Batman Home. He is Mean. 
2. I Don’t Care If Your Mother Is An Archaeologist, Do Not Eat Dirt.
3. If Your Skateboard Goes Faster Than Bruce Wayne Talking To Press It Will Explode.
4. Visit Your Brother More Often. He misses you.

Dick nods, feeling accomplished. Then he tilts his head slightly. He picks up a yellow pen and in the very corner, hidden away amongst the mess that is Tim’s board, he draws on the Robin logo. It’s displeasing to the eye and messy and something so wholeheartedly Tim that Dick considers patting his back for the good job he’s done.

Now just to add on the wheels and figure out how to give it to Tim.

At first, he just planned on handing it to his brother. It’s a skateboard– what else is he meant to do? There’s also no point in gift-wrapping it (and no it’s not because he’s bad at it) god knows Tim would figure it out instantly so there goes his surprise.

Then he draws up five other plans ranging from leaving it in his room to having the board being sent to an alternate dimension for Tim to go on a mission to retrieve. But unlike someone (Bruce) he’s not interested in traumatising teenagers so he opts for the first option. 

It’s late or early (depends on who you are) by the time he’s finishing up, the sun already rising again and Dick finds he doesn’t mind. It wasn’t like he was going to sleep anyway.

He misses Tim, of course, he does. Living in Bludhaven gives them that distance but strangely Dick feels like Tim isn't too affected by it. 

But Dick is. He misses just hanging around Tim, putting on a movie or a show or just taking him out to Batburger. Of course, he'd never say that to him but he also doesn't hide his joy when Tim comes to visit either.

Dick groans, stretching out his arms and back from his cramped position. If Tim was here he'd probably laugh at Dick's misfortune. It's with that thought that he marks down on his calendar to go home that weekend. 

The weekend arrives fast and before he knows it, Dick is in his car on his way back to the manor. 

According to Bruce, "Crime doesn't rest," which means unfortunately for Tim, he's never actually off the clock which fortunately for Dick means he'll be at the Manor. It hasn’t been long since Tim’s been pulled out of Brentwood either so chances are he’s gonna be there.

The drive isn't a long one but it isn’t short either. Long enough for him to have an excuse not to visit often and short enough for him to still come back.

Still, he's surprised at how quickly time flies by the time he pulls into the Manor. 

Alfred's already at the door waiting for him as always– Dick's learnt not to question it by now. No point in figuring out the impossible. 

"Good evening, sir." Alfred greets. 

Dick grins, "Hi, Alfie. You doing good?"

Alfred smiles back, "As ever, Master Dick." Alfred's eyes travel to Dicks hands where he's carrying his gift for Tim and then turns away like he never saw it. Dick stifled a giggle.

It's like some non-existent stress was lifted off his shoulders. He hadn't realised how much he was worrying over the gift until now, but if Alfred approves then there's nothing to worry about. Alfred knows Tim like the back of his hand, almost as well as Dick knows him. 

"Alfie? Who's at the door– Dick?" A small mop of hair peeps out from behind Alfred and Dick rushes to hide the board out of sight. Tim doesn’t notice, too busy batting away the long strands of hair falling in front of his face. Dick resists the urge to snort.

"Hey, kiddo," Dick says, ruffling Tim's hair causing the strands Tim just pushed back to fall back in front of his eyes. 

"Dick," Tim scowled, pushing Dick's hand away, "What are you doing here?"

"To hang out with you," Dick replies easily. Tim looks taken aback for a moment before his scowl dissipates. Before Tim can reply, Dick pulls out the board from behind his back, because there's only so long he could hide it anyway and Tim's eyes go wide .

"For you." Dick thrusts the board towards Tim and Tim grabs onto it weakly.

"Oh my god."

"Please tell me you like it because I spent forever getting the paint out of my nails."

Tim doesn't say anything for a moment and just takes the board into his hands, studying it intently. The silence stretches on and Dick is vaguely aware of Alfred stepping back into the Manor.

"Tim," Dick tries again, because if his brother did actually hate the board he was going to kill him, "Do you like it?" 

"Like it?" Tim's voice is coated in disbelief and Dick winces. 

"It's perfect! Did you draw this yourself? Because if you did that's so cool." Tim looks up at Dick and Dick swears he sees stars in his brother's eyes.

"Come see me test it out?" He asks, and Dick nudges him.

"Like I'd miss you falling on your face for the world."

2.

The second time Dick buys Tim a skateboard is a few years later. He's wandering aimlessly around Bludhaven trying desperately to get through to Tim's phone.

"Tim, it's Dick," he tries again for the fifth time because he needs to get through to Tim, he needs to know that he's okay. 

The phone keeps going.

"I know you're there… c'mon Tim, pick up." He's not surprised Tim's shutting down--it's what Tim does. It's not like Dick can say much on that anyway, he's been in the same place.

But Tim shouldn't be shouldering his dad's death alone (I couldn't , he thinks) so Dick keeps trying.

"Tim pick up… please kiddo–" Dick's voice cracks ( is Tim okay ?), "--pick up." Still nothing. The silence is deafening, the static making his ears bleed. He doesn't want any noise that wasn't Tim's voice.

Tim's voice to tell him that he needed someone there, someone to cry on or with or his voice to tell him to go fuck himself or to leave him alone, just anything. Something to tell him that Tim was still alive and breathing and okay as okay gets.

"I know you can hear me, Tim," he whispers into the phone. The silence stretches on and Dick eventually hangs up. He wants to be in Gotham, strangely for the first time in a while. 

And this time it isn't about Bruce, he wants to be there for Tim because god knows Bruce is doing everything but comforting that boy. Bruce has a weird way of comforting people but it’s not the one Tim probably needs. Bruce is probably chasing down Jack Drake’s killer whilst Tim is drifting from them further and further.

He mopes around, walking from place to place absentmindedly because, on one hand, he should be with Tim, helping him, supporting him but on the other hand, Tim needs his space and Dick won’t be the one to impose. 

Except he will. Because the longer the silence from Tim stretches on, the more Dick will worry and Dick needs to see him soon before the worry consumes him completely.

Maybe it’s the thought of Tim that subconsciously led him here, Dick thinks as he puts his phone away and takes in his surroundings for the first time in hours. He finds himself at the same shop as before, with the same sign and the same board in the window.

Dick all but blinks before he’s standing at the register with the same board as before in hand. It’s the same cashier as before too, a few years older but it’s still the same kid as last time– Hiro, Dick remembers. 

Normally he'd strike up a conversation, ask the kid how he was, how come he's still working the night shift etc., but today he's more distracted. It seems Hiro is just as distracted because he doesn't try to hold up a conversation with him either and in less than five minutes Dick is back outside in the cold.

This time when he sits down in his apartment, Dick already knows what he’s going to decorate the board with. He doesn't put as much effort into it this time albeit rushing it. The quicker he finishes the quicker he can get to Tim. 

He grabs a bunch of space stickers and opens up a picture of the solar system and begins. 

The lines are wobbly and the paint is messy and Dick is sure he's gotten the colour of some ring wrong but he doesn't care. He remembers Tim mentioning his favourite constellations instead and decides to draw them in too.

Once he’s done he doesn’t even bother to look the board over and shoves it into some bag and throws it into the car. The drive feels like minutes yet hours at the same time. He’s sure he’s speeding at this point but can’t find it in himself to care. 

It’s dark and the trees on the roadside sway violently against the wind as it crashes around them. The landscape shapes into something more familiar as he arrives closer and closer towards Gotham and then, before he knows it, he’s pulling up right outside Tim’s house. 

He grabs the bag from his backseat and practically sprints out of the car and up the stairs. He tries the door– locked– and then knocks. There’s no answer. 

“Tim?” 

Nothing.

“Tim, open up. Please.”  He knocks harder. “Timmy, please I–” The door swings open, interrupting Dick mid-sentence and he looks down at his little brother. His heart pangs slightly as he looks at the ruined state of Tim. 

He had wrapped himself in some blanket, eyes blank and surrounded with dark eyebags making it look like he hadn’t slept in days (he probably hadn’t). They were red-rimmed from obvious crying and he was walking shakily like he’d forgotten how to move in the first place.

“Hi,” he whispers, voice hoarse and scratchy. Dick reaches for him on instinct, the back of his hand meeting Tim’s forehead as he checks for any fever just in case. Tim leans in against Dick’s hand, unconsciously seeking comfort from the contact.

Dick tries for a smile but it’s the last thing he wants to do. “You alright?” He asks, moving his hand away from Tim’s forehead. Tim doesn’t reply.

“I– uh– I got you something,” Dick says, holding the bag with Tim’s new skateboard out for the boy to take. Tim just stares at him blankly. 

“You… got this for me?” He asks slowly, repeating back Dick’s words like they’re taking aeons to catch up with him.

“Yeah–”

The next thing Dick knows is the skateboard clattering to the ground as Tim all but crashes into his arms. For a moment, just a moment, he doesn’t know what to do. Then he wrapped his arms around Tim and lowered the two of them down to sit on the ground.

Tim doesn’t speak, burying his face in the crook of Dick’s neck as Dick leans back against the brick wall of Tim’s home. Neither of them say anything, Dick pretending he doesn't notice Tim’s shoulders shaking and something soaking through his shirt because his brother is crying .

He doesn’t stop him though, and instead takes one arm that was wrapped around Tim and starts running it through his hair, wordlessly tugging out the knots whilst the other hand is rubbing soothing circles along Tim’s back. His brother deserves to cry.

Tim’s hand fists Dick’s shirt tightly and Dick notices in alarm the large and deep scars crossing over his hands running all the way down to his fingertips. He doesn’t need to ask where they’re from– it’s a no-brainer and Dick isn’t stupid. 

The scars look painful, bright red and puffy where Tim hasn’t bandaged them. They’re going to get infected, Dick thinks, and he pries Tim’s iron grip off his shirt to get a better look.

“Hey,” He whispers to Tim, “Let’s go inside. I’ll patch you up, kiddo.” 

Tim doesn’t look up and keeps his head buried in Dick’s shoulder, taking in large gulps of air to try and wash away the delirious sadness. Except Dick doesn’t need Tim to do that—what Dick needs is for Tim to go inside with him so he can fix up his wounds.

Dick nudges his shoulder upwards, and Tim finally looks at him, eyes red and watery with tears still rolling down his face. Dick just smiles and wipes his face clean.

“You feel like getting up?” He asks gently. Tim shakes his head but clambers his way out of Dick’s lap anyway and unsteadily to his feet. Dick follows him up, grabbing onto his wrist, carefully avoiding the scars and leading them both inside.

They walk into the kitchen, Tim leaning on Dick, eyes bleary as the tears won't stop falling and Dick helps him onto a counter before beginning to rummage around for a first aid kit.

Around 2 minutes later, he opens a drawer to find said first aid kid stuck in the back of it. He takes it back to Tim and gently takes hold of his trembling hand.

“My—My—” Tim hiccups, voice watery and just as unsteady as he is, “My mother, she—she used to sit me up here. Like you did. Loved me like you do."

He looks at Dick, fresh tears springing up in his eyes, “I want my parents, Dick. It’s not fair, I—I—” Tim cuts himself off as Dick gently pulls him in for another hug, tightly holding Tim to him like Tim was going to disappear before his very eyes.

“I’m sorry, Tim.”

Tim does not stop crying. The skateboard lays forgotten in the doorway.

+1.

Tim is stuck. Not a bad kind of stuck but he’s stuck, nonetheless. He just… doesn’t know what to do which usually means that he’s stuck. Except he kind of knows what to do so maybe he’s not really stuck at all. But maybe the type of stuck he is, is the type of stuck where you half know something and-- whatever. He doesn’t have the time to think about if he’s stuck or not (he is).

The problem is as follows: for the past year, Tim Drake (that would be him) has been completely M.I.A looking for proof that Bruce Wayne (Batman) was still alive. Just before he left for his suicide quest, his older brother Dick Grayson told him to get therapy. Tim (unwell and unstable as fuck) didn’t take that really well however in hindsight, Dick wasn’t being mean or wrong, Tim was just a bit… high strung.

Anyway, long story short, Tim left Gotham crazy, came back considerably crazier (maybe a bit suicidal too), won a fight, remembered he had something Batman didn’t (friends), met up with his brother(s) and then tried to kill his father’s murderer. Typical 17-year-old stuff.

So currently Tim and Dick are… not talking. And it’s killing him. They’re not at odds or fighting or anything like that, they just haven’t been talking as much and Tim’s starting to think that Dick got used to the absent hole that is Tim.

He didn’t replace Tim—he can’t even begin to stress how much he loves Dick and trusts him on this. A year ago, he felt betrayed at seeing Damian wearing his suit, how Dick chose Damian over him, but now? Now Tim’s starting to think he should’ve taken Dick’s offer for therapy.

Damian is a whole other topic Tim knows he should address—and he will. The kid’s alright, he knows and secretly… Tim’s always wanted a little brother. But he’ll have to wait his turn which falls just right after he sees Dick.

So, he arrives to where he’s stuck. Does Dick even want to see him? What would they even talk about? Should he go? Eventually, it boils down to: “Do I want to go?” and the answer is—has always been—“Yes.”

He ends up contemplating all this whilst wandering aimlessly through Bludhaven. He’s not even supposed to be there yet, here he is, very adamantly not stalling his visit to Dick. (He is.)

It’s been a long time since he’s last been in the city and—not that he’d admit it—ended up getting a bit lost having taken a wrong turn down some alley and ended up in an area with a bunch of shops just lined up.

Most of them were closed except for two or three, but one caught his eye. Specifically, it’s the one with a skateboard in the display window. The very same skateboard Tim has two pairs of lying around in his room. The skateboard that Dick had gifted to him.

It’s like he’s been shifted onto autopilot because the next thing Tim registers is him making a beeline to the shop. He keeps going until he’s right outside the door when his feet decide to plant themselves down firmly, giving control back to Tim.

He hesitates, hand pressed on the door.

“Ah fuck.” He swears, letting go of the door and running his hand through his hair, frustratedly stomping away from the store and then pauses again, looking back at the board.

He lets his hands fall and sighs. “Screw it.”

The very next moment he’s pushing open the door, a little bell jingling as he steps in. The shop is decently sized, and filled with all kinds of trinkets and objects. From what he can tell there’s no theme to the store whatsoever and has basically anything anyone could possibly think of in sight. 

So, he grabs some paint off the nearest shelf and one of the boards near the display. He lingers around the keyrings for a moment but decides to forego it and walks to the counter.

“Hi, my name’s Tadashi,” the cashier greets, “Hope you found everything you needed.” Tim nods, handing his stuff over to him and the Tadashi started scanning Tim’s items.

Tim smiles gratefully, “Thanks, I did.”

“Noticed out there you were a bit conflicted coming in. Something wrong?”

“I wouldn’t say wrong … I…” Tim shakes his head. “It’s complicated. Stuff with my brother.” He waves his hand and Tadashi snorts, putting Tim’s stuff in a bag.

“Oh yeah? I know a thing or two about brothers, try me.” He offers, handing Tim’s bag to him. Tim glances around at the empty shop and sighs, letting the bag drop to his feet and leaning against the counter.

“See—” Tim cuts himself off, trying to figure out how to explain the mess that’s been everything in the past few months. “Uh. Long story short, I’ve been a bit M.I.A for like… a year?” Tim winces. It sounds a lot worse when he says it out loud. 

“I made a few… a lot of bad decisions lost my spleen—my brother doesn’t know that part—and right before I left, I had a massive fight with him that boils down to him wanting me to go to therapy—whatever.”

Tadashi nods, “Sounds like one heck of a year.”

“You could say that.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you were going through the 11 stages of grief outside my shop, though.”

Tim snaps his fingers, “I’m getting to that.” He sighs again, glancing at the pattern of his scars across his hand.

“Well now that I’m back, things are different. And… I know my brother loves me but, I mean it’s been a year , does he even still want to see me? We haven’t been speaking much and I feel like he’s, I don’t know, gotten used to me not being around?”

Tadashi lets out a small hum of thought and he eyes Tim carefully.

"I think you shouldn't worry. He's still your brother right?" He asks and Tim nods. 

"Exactly. Take it from me– I have a brother around your age and trust me he's made his fair share of bad decisions. But it never made me hate him or anything." He looks up thoughtfully. “Go see him– distance can warp your thoughts, you know. You miss him, isn’t that enough reason to see him?”

Tim straightens up from his position, "I guess you're right." He looks down at the bag next to his feet and for the first time in a while, he doesn't feel stuck. Strange how retail workers make the most sense to him these days.

"Still though," Tadashi says, making Tim look up, "Why this store?"

Tim laughs. "You know the skateboard you have out on display?" Tadashi nods, "My brother bought me that exact board twice and decorated it as a gift– so it kind of surprised me when I saw it here."

"So, I take it the board is for him then this time?" 

Truthfully, Tim was buying it on instinct, but now the more he thinks about it, the more giving the board to Dick seems like a good idea. It's a good excuse to see him at the very least—even if it’s only for a short while.

“I… yeah. Yeah, it is.” He pulls out his card and Tadashi turns the payment machine towards him.

“Are you going to decorate it?”

Tim points to the paints in his bag, “That seems to be the idea.”

Tadashi snorts and Tim smiles before turning around to leave. “Good luck!” He calls as Tim walks through the door, and Tim waves his goodbye.

He decides to retrace his steps out of the alleyway he walked into and back to the main road where he had at least some semblance of an idea as to where he was. He walks down a few blocks before recognising a park that’s relatively close to Dick’s apartment and more importantly—a place that he actually knows.

The sun had started to set, and the park was completely vacant, most kids having gone home due to how quickly the cold was setting in. It wasn’t a problem for Tim, his red hoodie keeping him warm enough that he didn’t feel the need to hurry. He pushed open the gate and sat down at a bench, pulling out the paints and skateboard. And stared at it.

On instinct, Tim had just grabbed the blue and black paints which is stupid because now Tim really only has one idea to paint but said idea is probably the least original thing ever.

But time isn’t going to pause for him and he doesn’t really have a choice, he sighs and instead gets to work.

In total? The work takes him just about 10 minutes. Then he just sits idly for another 20 for the board to dry. It then takes him another 5 minutes to attach the wheels (most of it spent trying to remember where on his body he hid his pocketknife) and once it’s all done, he shoves the board back into his bag and starts the trek (7-minute walk) to Dick’s place.

It’s as he gets there, with each footstep getting slower and slower, that he starts to feel uncertain again. The bag in his hand starts feeling impossibly heavy and there’s a sick, pounding feeling in his chest that was spreading to every inch of his body. Should he turn back? Dick wouldn’t even be hurt—he doesn’t even know Tim was there to begin with. 

What if he doesn’t want to see Tim? He bought the skateboard as an excuse for visiting, something to kickstart the conversation. What if it’s just that? A polite conversation that lasts about 10 minutes before Dick sends Tim home without a warm word and a forced smile.

But Dick’s also never given up on Tim– like the time he tried to bring his parents back from the dead. He remembers Dick holding him close, knowing that Tim would make the right decision regardless of what he wanted. He remembers Dick being proud of him and Tim just sobbing into his chest about the unfairness of it all. Would Dick really turn him away?

He spent so long deliberating whether or not to turn back that he doesn’t notice that he’s walked straight to the point right outside Dick’s door, almost bumping straight into it. It looms over him, almost menacingly taunting him. He’s never felt like this before—never with Dick anyway.

“Fuck.” He says out loud. “Fuck," he repeats, moving his hand through his hair, stressed and pacing about. By this point, his hair’s a bigger mess than he is.

“I can’t do this, I should go—”

“Tim?” The door beside him opens and a familiar voice cuts him off, making him jump. 

“Dick,” Tim breathes out. 

The sight of his brother is achingly familiar, making his chest twinge unnaturally with violent longing. He missed his brother he knows this– but now that Dick’s right in front of him, concern etched onto his face at the dishevelled state of Tim, the feeling is more real than he expected.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Dick hurls question after question at Tim, none of which he answers. 

He just takes in the company properly. No masks, no Batman. Just Tim and Dick. Brothers.

“Holy shit it’s cold—get in.” Dick grabs Tim by his wrist and tugs him in through the doorway.

"What were you doing out there?" He asks, shutting the door behind them 

"Uh," Tim says dumbly, "I– Well– This is for you." He shoves the bag into Dick's hand and watches as Dick takes out the skateboard and stares at the Nightwing logo covering the deck. He looks at Tim and then back at the board and then back at Tim, taking in his tensed body.

“Sorry, it’s really, uhm, unoriginal I literally only had two colours.” The silence is deafening and crashes all around Tim. It’s like he’s suspended in static as Dick just stares at Tim calculatingly, piecing together things that Tim would rather be left unsaid. 

“Tim–” 

“Well, now that I’ve given this to you I guess I can go– good seeing you, Dick.” Tim blurts out at the same time and steps towards the door. Dick sidesteps in front of him, giving him a cynical look. 

He looks to the board once again and sighs. “Tim,” He repeats, “You don’t need an excuse to see me.” Tim falters in his step momentarily.

“Who said I needed an excuse? I just…” he said defensively, trailing off, trying to search for some other lie to feed Dick. There isn’t any– not any he would believe anyway. 

Dick’s mouth twinges up in a smile, the cold gaze disappearing replaced with one of warm familiarity and he rolls his eyes fondly, ruffling Tim’s hair like he’s always done. The action is so familiar, countless upon countless of instances that come to mind in an instant and it sends the tension bleeding straight out of Tim like it was never there to begin with.

He slumps against the wall, groaning and shoves his head into his hands, “How do you always see through me?” He complains as the awkwardness he feels dissipates into nothingness. 

Dick laughs and in an instant, all the remaining doubt in Tim vanishes. “I’m your brother, kiddo. Knowing you is just part of the job.” He winks and the stupidity of the day– the stupidity of everything– crashes into Tim and he collapses into a small heap of giggles. 

“I’ve missed you,” Tim confesses and Dick rolls his eyes. The words are hard to get out but Dick deserves to hear them. It’s the least Tim could do.

“Yeah, I know,” Dick says, pulling Tim alongside him into the living room. The "I missed you too." goes unsaid but Tim knows. It’s basically written on Dick’s face with the way he’s holding onto Tim like he might run for it if he lets go.

They both collapse on the couch, Tim sitting against the armrest and Dick laying down, his legs going over the opposite armrest and his head in Tim’s lap. He closes his eyes comfortably and Tim resists the urge to grab the nearest pen and draw on his face for old time's sake. Maybe next time though.

“I’m just happy you came back safe,” Dick mumbles and Tim smiles, raking his hand through his brother’s hair. 

It's a familiar motion, one that Tim's memorised the movements to, with the number of times he relives those days. “Even if I’m a bit damaged?” He jokes and Dick cracks one of his eyes open.

“You came back,” he says simply, “Even if you’re damaged I’ll take care of you–- you said it yourself: I’m your brother.”