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It's a quiet night at the manor. A rarity ever since Jason moved in. Dick is in the cave, getting ready for patrol.
Things have been a bit weird over the past few months. Tim doesn't train with them, and he's stopped responding to Damian's insults. Jason insults him less, and the two of them have become significantly closer.
Bruce is acting strange too. He seeks out Tim to talk to him, and the two of them sometimes sit on the couch for hours. Talking about meaningless things that Dick can't hear.
Tonight, Tim is sitting at the computer. The circles under his eyes have been prominent lately. Ever since his parents got in a terrible accident and his mother died, he's been at the manor less and less. Dick doesn't know why he keeps visiting his father in the hospital. The man never did Tim any favors.
"Tim, you should go to bed," Bruce enters the cave with Damian beside him. The boy's face is unreadable.
"I will," Tim says quickly. He doesn't turn around. "I'm just finishing this report."
Bruce sighs heavily and steps beside the computer. He spins Tim's chair around and cups Tim's cheek. "You need to sleep. Staying up for days at a time isn't going to fix anything. Sleep, Tim. Go to bed."
Tim's shoulders sag, and he scrubs his face. His body is stiff. He looks pale. Dick remembers that he hasn't been on patrol for a while. Jason keeps asking after him than pretending he doesn't care. But Dick knows.
Bruce helps Tim to his feet and ruffles his hair. "C'mon. This'll still be here in the morning. Get some rest."
Tim shakes his head. "I still have school work I need to do. And there are still papers from the hospital I need to sign. I'll go to bed soon."
Bruce's face pinches, and he sighs heavily before taking off his cowl.
"Tim, this is non-negotiable. Everything you need to take care of is still going to be there tomorrow. You need to take care of yourself."
Tim flexes his fingers, and his mouth opens wide as he yawns. Dick can tell. He really needs to go to bed.
"I-" Tim starts, but he cuts himself off. Whatever he was going to say is stopped with another yawn.
"I'll be right back," Bruce announces as he takes Tim's hand. The two of them leave the cave, and Damian huffs angrily.
"This is preposterous. I can't believe Father is taking valuable time away from patrol to deal with Drake. It's ridiculous. Drake isn't working half as hard as the rest of us."
Jason comes striding through the cave, dressed in leather and armed to the teeth with guns. "Hey, what's going on? Where's Tim and Bruce?"
Damian rolls his eyes. "Of course, your thoughts would go straight to Drake. Father is putting him to bed. It's pathetic, he hasn't been on patrol in weeks, and he doesn't even train with us. Why is he still here?"
Dick notices that Jason's gaze darkens. But, he doesn't comment on it.
"Damian, you know that Tim's father is still recovering. He's dealing with a lot right now. You need to be empathetic about that."
Damian rolls his eyes and sneers. "You're all too soft on him. Especially Father. If Father were more firm Tim would-"
"Damian!"
Dick jumps when Jason shouts. He's heard Jason yell before. But never in his life has Dick heard Jason yell like this.
"Jay," Dick says, a bit harsher than he means to. "There's no need to yell."
Jason completely ignores him. His eyes are burning green, and he looks like he's trembling. His fists are clenched close to his sides.
"Firm. Firm? You think Bruce needs to be more firm with him? You have no fucking idea what you're talking about."
Jason's voice is hushed now. He tucks his bottom lip under his teeth and takes a shaking breath.
"He was. He was too firm. And now, now Tim's leg is fucked up and probably so many other things. There is a reason he doesn't train with us. There's a reason he doesn't go on patrol anymore. He's not ready. I don't know if he'll ever be ready."
Dick freezes for a minute. He takes a step back. His stomach is in knots and he can feel something thick rising in his throat.
"Jason, don't just say stuff like that. Do you even know what you're insinuating?"
Jason swallows thickly and chuckles. "You mean you never noticed? I guess you wouldn't. You didn't bother to look close enough. You weren't here for the first half of my death. But, Tim was. And Bruce, Bruce got bad."
Dick shakes his head. Unable to believe it. Unable to process anything that's coming out of Jason's mouth. Damian is silent. His face is set in a stony expression.
Jason wipes his mouth and sighs heavily. "And now, his dad is incapacitated, and he has to stay home a lot more. Bruce is terrified that one of these days, Tim is going to walk out that door, and he's not going to come back. And to his credit, Bruce is trying. But it's not enough."
Dick is shaking his head again, and Jason scoffs. "I can't believe neither of you noticed. Shows how much you pay attention. I thought this was supposed to be a family of the greatest detectives in Gotham."
Dick stays silent. The gears in his head turn and grind. His jaw is set tight, and his molars begin to burn. He needs to think. He needs to take a step back and really look at the situation. He needs to remember all those late nights when he still believed Jason was dead when Bruce would break down in his arms and just sob, the stench of liquor rotting his breath.
Dick remembers those times in his nightmares. And every time, Tim is there. Always somewhere in the background. Lurking, waiting to be noticed. Waiting for someone to pull him in and say, "I know you're trying; you're doing a good job." But Dick knows that neither he nor Bruce was ever the right people for that.
He also remembers Tim's shaking hands quickly moving away whenever Dick moved fast. He remembers Tim always whirling around whenever he entered the room, eyes wide and terrified. It was no secret that Tim preferred the manor to his own home. But when did the manor become just as bad?
"So, you're saying it's Father's fault that Drake is like this now?"
Damian sounds confused. He sounds frustrated. Dick can certainly relate to that.
Jason sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his hair. "I'm saying there are a lot of reasons for why things are the way they are. And maybe you two should look inward to figure out how to fix a few of these things."
Dick's stomach turns over, and Bruce comes back into the cave looking haggard. Dick distantly wonders if he got Tim to bed.
"Jason, I'm glad you're here," Bruce cracks a small smile in Jason's direction, but Jason can see plainly that it's forced. "There's something I need to tell the three of you."
Dick sees Jason go tense. Damian pretends to be disinterested, but Dick can tell that his little brother is listening very closely.
"Jack Drake isn't progressing in his condition. The doctors say that it's very unlikely he'll be able to operate without help for at least a few months. So, Tim is moving back home for a little while. He might be over from time to time but don't expect to see him very much. We'll all have to pick up the slack, but that's okay. Tim needs us right now. So all of us are going to step up."
Dick can hear the sharp breath that Jason takes. He feels his palms beginning to sweat and his mouth going dry. Tim is moving out. This is what Jason was talking about. And the worst part is, Dick never saw it coming. Tim had been drawing back for a while. Dick just didn't look close enough to bother analyzing his behavior. He told himself Tim was fine. Tim is fine. But those words are bitter in his mouth and burn, going down like cheap booze.
"Bruce, he's too young to be taking care of his father full time. You know that." Jason's voice is quiet and almost careful as if he's testing Bruce's reaction.
Bruce takes a heavy breath. He looks uncomfortable. "There will be a nurse there for Jack. Tim is just going to help out. He wants to be there for his father."
Jason sniffs. "You sure? You sure it's not just a desperate attempt to get away from you? From all of us?"
Bruce stiffens, and his eyes turn dark. "Jason-"
Jason cuts him off. He sounds scared to Dick. His voice is shaking just a little, and it cracks the way it always does when he's nervous. The severity of everything finally sets in.
"Bruce, come on. After everything that's happened? He's forgiven a lot from all of us. But, I don't know, maybe this is it. Maybe almost losing his dad and losing his mom is snapping him back to reality. Nobody is bulletproof. And, as much as you might care about him, you've hurt him. We all have. Don't pretend like this hasn't been a long time coming. We all know that Jack Drake isn't exactly a perfect man. Forget about being a perfect father. So, if Tim is choosing to leave for his father, whether it's because he wants to or not, it's all partially our fault."
The cave is dead silent. Dick swears he can hear Damian swallow. Bruce's eyes are on the floor now. That's a first. Normally, he's very insistent on eye contact for these types of conversations. Shame covers Bruce's face. Dick wonders what he's thinking about.
There's a small scratching noise behind them, and Tim is in the doorway, his backpack in one hand and his phone in the other. There are dark circles beneath his eyes. The baby fat has drained from his cheeks over the past few months. He looks sullen, older. Worn down. Dick is having a hard time remembering what he looked like before.
"Um, I just got a call from the hospital. My dad had some sort of fit, so they're moving him to the ICU. I'm gonna head over there for a few hours just to make sure everything is squared away. I just wanted to let you know."
Dick is stalk still, and nobody speaks for what feels like a long time. Tim doesn't move from his spot in the doorway. He looks like he's waiting for something.
"Let me drive you."
Bruce's voice slices through the silence like a freshly sharpened sword cutting a limb off.
Tim's hands are fiddling with the keychain on his backpack. He looks hesitant. No, not hesitant. He looks indifferent.
"I'll probably be a while. I should just go on my own. I don't want to be disturbing you at an ungodly hour."
Dick watches as Bruce moves across the room. Bruce is standing only a few feet away from Tim now. "Tim, please let me drive you. I really don't mind."
Tim sighs and nods. "Alright. Let's go."
And Bruce and Tim are gone again. The cave is silent again.
"Are we still going on patrol?" Damian asks after about twenty minutes of uncomfortable silence. Dick almost jumps out of his skin when his younger brother's voice echoes off the cold stone walls.
Dick takes a deep breath. "No, let's skip tonight. Actually, I have a better idea."
That's how they ended up outside the hospital with snacks and drinks. Jason is hesitant about this. He's been especially careful when it comes to Tim's personal space. He doesn't ask that many questions about Tim's life. Nobody does. It's yet another trait that seems to be passed from Wayne to Wayne.
They immediately catch sight of Bruce sitting on a chair in the waiting room. He has glasses resting on the bridge of his nose and an iPad open on his lap with a pen sliding across it. He's drawing. Dick has seen him do that more and more lately. Late nights on the couch where Bruce draws nonsensical patterns on the glowing screen, eyes vacant.
He looks up in surprise when he sees his sons walking toward him with a mountain of chips and processed foods. He greets them with a warm smile. As warm as a smile in a hospital can be.
"Wow, this is certainly quite the haul you've got here. Did you bring all this stuff for Tim?"
Dick is nodding and setting some of it down on tables when a nurse comes by with Tim in toe. Dick has to swallow a sharp inhale when he notices the stiffness in Tim's movements. The lurch in his step, the stutter in his knee.
She smiles at the family and pats Tim's shoulder. "Just stay here for a few more minutes. I'll be back with the papers."
Tim thanks her and damn near collapses in a chair beside Jason. His hair shines, oily, underneath the harsh fluorescent lights. His skin is gray, almost ghostly. He looks like he's about to collapse.
"So, how bad is it?" Dick asks, offering Tim bottled water.
Tim takes a long greedy gulp of water and wipes his mouth. "They have him on a bunch of different meds to try and help the swelling in his brain go down. His heart is weak, so it's difficult to find the right mix of medicine. They said it's definite that he'll some sort of brain damage if he ever recovers."
The 'if' rings in the air and lays bleeding onto the cold linoleum tiles at Tim's feet.
Tim's eyes slide shut, and he quickly jerks up. "I have to sign a few consent forms and guardianship papers. If it comes to it, they've been telling me about pulling the plug."
Bruce puts a hand on Tim's knee. "That's not going to happen."
Tim brushes it off and sighs heavily. "I wouldn't be so sure. There's still a lot of internal bleeding. They've been trying to drain some of the fluid in his lungs. I'm not sure if he knows what's going on. I don't think so. I don't think he's known for a long time."
Everyone is quiet, and Tim takes a deep breath. Dick can see tears sparkling on his lashes. He looks like he's on the verge of a breakdown.
Some ugly part of Dick wishes Tim would shatter. He wishes that his little brother would finally let himself break and allow everyone around him to pick up the pieces. But, Tim has broken many times before and, nobody even noticed.
"Is there anything we can do?" Bruce asks. His tablet is still open on his lap, the reflection of his drawing shining in his glasses.
Tim shakes his head. "No, you guys should go home. I'll just call if I need someone to pick me up. If I find another way home, I'll text."
The nurse comes back with a packet of papers and a clipboard. She smiles at Tim and hands him a yellow bottle.
"You're doctor called me and told me you forgot to pick up your prescription again. You can't skip these, Timothy. You're only hurting yourself. You refused reconstructive surgery, so these are the next best thing. You'd better hope I don't get called again. I mean it, Timothy."
Tim smiles tiredly. "Ooh, full name. I must be in big trouble. I'm sorry, Kate. It won't happen again. I was just busy. Thank you."
Kate humphs and gives his arm a squeeze before turning away. Tim quickly tucks the pills into his pocket. Dick's stomach does a somersault.
"What did you need reconstructive surgery for?" Damian asks. His voice doesn't have the same snark it usually does. But there is a bite to it. "Are you hiding injuries again? Did you go on patrol without telling anyone?"
Tim sighs and flips through the papers, taking periodic sips of water. "No, Damian. I didn't go on patrol."
Damian clearly expects more, folding his arm over his chest and pouting. The sound of Tim's pen scribbling on paper rings in Dick's ears.
"So, why did you need reconstructive surgery? And why would you refuse it? That's just plain stupid."
Tim scrubs his face with his hand and looks up at Damian. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"
Damian is about to explode when Dick interrupts him. "Tim, what did you need surgery for?"
Dick's voice is much quieter than Damian's, and he speaks slowly. Tim resumes writing.
"And old injury messed up my ankle and calf a while back. Reconstructive surgery is a waste of time, so I just take anti-inflammatory medication as well as some painkillers on bad days. I just didn't wanna be bedridden for six weeks."
Dick's eyes shift to Dick's leg. The one he had been limping on. The one that Jason had stopped mid-insult to criticize and even call Bruce over. He had never gotten an explanation for it. He hates to admit it, but he forgot about it.
"You need reconstructive surgery?" Bruce's voice is dry and hoarse. His hands are clenched on his thighs, and his eyes are wide and terrified.
Tim puts his pen down. "As I said before, I'm fine here. I appreciate the fact that you guys showed up here, but there's really nothing for you to do. I'm just gonna be doing paperwork all night. So, go home. Watch a movie or something. There are better things to do than spend the night in the hospital."
Dick is surprised when Bruce stands up. He's less surprised when Damian follows.
Bruce's last words are, "Call me if you need me," before striding out of the hospital with Damian right behind him.
Something finally clicks in Dick's head. Like a cog finally becoming unstuck after being clogged with gunk.
"Oh, I'm a fucking idiot. Bruce fucked up your leg, didn't he?"
Tim stays quiet. He puts his pen down and crosses his hands in his lap. Shifting his eyes from his lap to Dick's face, he says, "Yes. But, he wasn't the first one."
Dick's eyes instinctively flick to Jason. He hates the look on Jay's face when he realizes he's done it. He quickly puts his head down.
"No, hell of a guess, though. When I was little, around six or seven, my parents were gone, and I was playing some dumb imaginary game. I ended up breaking through the railing at the top of the stairs. I fell around twelve feet, and my ankle got fucked up in a really nasty way. Bone poking through, torn ligaments and muscles, the whole nine. It took a while to get that healed, and I was forced from bedrest just a few weeks too early. It healed wrong. When Bruce broke my leg, he broke it backward, so the bone almost sliced through my calf. I looked up splinting tutorials online and never told a soul. Guess they were both my fault, really."
Jason flicks Tim's shoulder, and he scoffs, scooting away a bit.
Dick is in shambles, unable to say a word. He puts a hand on his forehead as he thinks.
"So, the reason you don't train with us or go on patrol, it's because Bruce broke your leg?"
Tim shrugs. "If you wanna be that black and white about it, sure. To be honest, I've had a bit more important things than running around Gotham in latex. But, I haven't trained with Bruce in almost seven years."
That information makes Dick's eyes tear up. He was so blind. So stupid. So utterly oblivious to the clear abuse happening right in front of him. And, he had just let it happen. His mind is a mess, and the smell of antiseptic and hand sanitizer is just making everything worse. He needs to get out of here.
Damian is quiet as he watches cars pass them as they drive down the streets of Gotham. He likes to think he knows Father. He likes to think that he's done a good job of establishing something like a relationship with the man. But, he's never seen that look on Father's face before. The look he had before he rushed out of the hospital, nearly knocking over someone in the parking lot.
Damian doesn't pretend to understand the complexity of human emotions. That area is sticky, and he thinks of it like quicksand. His mother is better with those sorts of things. She knows what people want to hear. She knows how to keep them docile and purring. But Damian doesn't.
"Why did you run out of the hospital like that?"
Damian has his eyes on his father now. The man's hands are tight on the steering wheel, and he is chewing his lips raw. His glasses are tucked into the neck of his soft polo shirt.
Father doesn't take his eyes off the road. "Because Tim said that he didn't need us there. I was just trying to give him the space he clearly needs."
Damian wrinkles his nose at that. The lie smells like vomit and sweat. He scoffs. "That is a sorry excuse. You and I both know that Drake needs us now more than ever. Or, at least you. I mean, his father is in the ICU. Don't you think he could use some support right now? Isn't that what you're always telling us. No, there's something you aren't telling me."
Father remains still, but Damian can see his chest moving fast. Perhaps this is the wrong time to have this conversation. Then again, Damian can never see when the right time is.
"Damian, I became a terrifying person when Jason died. I took my frustration and grief out on the only outlet I had. Tim. I hurt him very badly. I- I broke his bones."
The truth doesn't smell as bad as Damian thought it would. Oh, so Father broke some of Drake's bones. That's all? Damian can't see what's so horrific about that. He says as such.
"I don't see the problem. I mean, I can understand that having an incapacitated Robin is probably not very handy. But, still. Is that what Drake is making such a big deal about?"
Damian can't hide his surprise when the car comes to a screeching halt in front of the manor.
"Damian, what I did was horrible. Now, I understand that something like that might sound normal to you. But, it isn't. Grown-ups should never beat children. I'm an adult. Tim is a child."
Damian is confused. "So, if Drake were an adult, it wouldn't matter?"
Father pinches the bridge of his nose, and Damian winces. Did he say something wrong again? He still can't see the problem.
"Damian, have you noticed how Tim doesn't stay here as much? He isn't in training, and he doesn't go on patrol?"
Damian thinks. He has noticed. He's only noticed because Todd keeps pointing it out.
"That's because I broke his trust. Tim was there for me when Jason died, and Dick left. And, he stuck around even after Jason attacked him. But his body hasn't healed right. I've pushed him to try physical therapy, but he insists that nothing is wrong. The problem is, Damian, I hurt him very badly. And, because of this, I might not get to have a relationship with him like I have with the rest of you."
Damian cocks his head. "But, he isn't useful. He's smart, but he doesn't help with cases. Why do you still want him around?"
Father's face falls. "Because I love him. The same way, I love all of you. I don't keep you around because you're useful to me. I keep you around because you're my sons, and I think of you as such. But, I haven't done enough to prove that to Tim. So now, I might never get to change that."
Damian is starting to understand now. He's getting a headache. Why are people so complicated? If Drake could just push his emotions aside and stick to their missions, then Father wouldn't be having these issues and getting distracted. It's all Drake's fault.
Tim doesn't get home until 7 o'clock the next morning. He's exhausted. His wrist is cramping from writing so much, and he desperately needs coffee. His body is aching from sitting in those horrible hospital chairs all night.
Dick left shortly after their fun little chat. Jason left a few hours later.
Tim finds himself on the floor in the kitchen. Coffee mug clutched tight in his hand. He's tired. He'll just close his eyes for a few minutes. Yeah, a few minutes won't hurt.
His brain is buzzing. It has been ever since his father got hurt. He wants to be done with this horrible ball that is suffocating him.
Tim misses when he could brush everything off. He used to be able to pull three all-nighters and then train and go on patrol before doing all his homework. He used to have so much drive. Lately, that is being sapped out of him at an alarming rate.
Now is the time when people normally miss their dead parent. They reminisce and cry a little. They sob over the lost time. But Tim didn't know his mother all that well. And, although it irks him to admit, it is easier with her gone. He doesn't think he'd be able to handle two parents in the ICU.
Instead, Tim just closes his eyes and ignores the smash of the coffee mug as it slips from his grasp, and he slips into a sleep so deep that he doesn't even register his head hitting the floor.
Damian is awoken by a loud crash that has him reaching for his sword. It takes him a few minutes to bink away the drowsiness and realize where he is.
Yawning, he steps out of bed. Maybe it's Father.
Father has been restless lately. He's up much later. It isn't until Damian looks at his watch that he realizes it's seven in the morning. Well, Father is a night owl, but he isn't an early riser. Especially after a day like yesterday.
He decides to take his sword with him as he pads softly down the hallway and down the stairs.
Damian is sneaking around the kitchen island when he catches the sight of Drake asleep on the ground, broken ceramic digging into his cheeks and arms.
Damian's body moves on autopilot. He drops his sword and rushes to pull Drake's body away from the broken shard. There is some blood beading on Drake's arms, but that's about it. None of the fragments cut very deep.
Damian is sweeping up pieces of the broken mug when Father appears in the doorway, staring at the scene with his mouth hanging open.
"Damian, what-"
"Drake seems to have fallen asleep with a mug in his hand. There was nothing in it, but he got some cuts. I'm guessing he was tired and went to make some coffee but ended up falling asleep instead. I'll never understand why he goes for coffee instead of the bed."
Bruce lets out a dry chuckle and puts a hand on Damian's shoulder. "Thank you for handling it, Damian. But, I suggest you check on your brother instead of the mug."
Damian pauses his sweeping and slowly sets the broom against the fridge. "Oh, that makes sense. I suppose I should."
Damian's eyes linger on Father for just a moment. Bruce is kneeling over the pieces of the mug, eyes glossed with the same vacant expression from the night before.
Damian settles beside Drake and gently taps his cheek. Drake's eyes are open, and suddenly he is sitting up. Clearly, that was a mistake because Drake clutches his head and goes crashing back to the floor.
"Are you alright?" Damian asks, tone short. He isn't sure what else he's supposed to say.
"Where am I?" Drake asks. His voice is rough. It sounds like he hasn't consumed the proper amount of liquid.
"You're at home. Our home."
Our home. It slips past Damian before he can catch it, and he winces a little. But Drake doesn't react. Well, that's not entirely true.
Tim's body shoots up, and this time he doesn't fall back down. He staggers to his feet, and his eyes fall to the mug on the floor. Or rather, bits and pieces of it.
"Oh, oh Bruce, I'm so sorry. I- fuck, I thought I went back to- fuck."
Damian can see Tim swallow, and he remembers his conversation with Father last night. Drake looks afraid.
"Tim, it's alright. You were tired. We'll get it cleaned up. Just go put yourself to bed. The room next to Damian's is already made up. Alfred just washed the sheets. You can shower too if you want."
Damian watches Drake shake. His hands are gripping his arms.
"I- I can get you another mug. O-Or I can clean this up first and-"
Bruce has the same look on his face as he did last night. Damian is getting deja vu.
"Come on. I'll take you to bed. Damian, clean that up, please."
Damian doesn't bother complaining. He doesn't say anything as he takes the dustpan and slowly cleans up the floor, images of Drake's terrified face flashing through his mind.
Bruce doesn't say anything as he helps Tim's tired body up the stairs and down the hall. Tim is so exhausted that Bruce is carrying him by the time they get to the guest room.
Tim is asleep when Bruce slips him into pajamas and tucks him into the clean bedspread. He needs to do this more often. He needs to remind Tim that things are different.
But really, what's different?