Chapter Text
Tim’s fingers stuttered across the keyboard, the only betrayal of his surprise. It was a small sign, though Tim had no doubt that it had been caught and Tim was being evaluated based on it, based on everything that could be seen in here, and Tim would yet again be found wanting.
The safe house was lacking and in poor taste. An abandoned restaurant from when Falcone had been top dog, there was a basement that didn’t exist on any blueprint filled with concrete rooms that had drains in the floor and eye screws in the ceiling. Tim had claimed the one furthest from the trapdoor that led up into the restaurant as his own by virtue of it having an old power generator inside, moving in just the very basics: a mattress, a mini-fridge, a computer and a workbench. It wasn’t comfortable like a hotel would be, but Tim had craved the security more than comfort and with only one entrance it theoretically should have been possible for Tim to set up a kickass warning system so he could secure the room before anyone even found the basement.
Given that Batman had found his way in, that theory was rapidly falling apart.
Tim bit back a sigh. He’d planned on getting a few hours of sleep after he’d finished responding to Lucius’s emails, proving to the man that despite his days of silence Tim was indeed alive. It looked like instead he’d be either upgrading his security or moving his things to a new temporary safe house. If Batman could get in, Damian or Jason could get in and that would lead to Tim waking up dead.
“Are you hurt?” Batman asked, concern painting his tone.
Tim's hands froze. He couldn't remember the last time Batman had asked him that. Before Bruce had fallen through time. Probably before Damian had appeared. And even then the question had always been loaded, more about Batman cataloguing Tim’s failures than inquiring about his health.
Batman didn't bother to record Tim's failures anymore. Him almost killing Captain Boomerang had cemented Tim as the black sheep of the family. Not that Tim had ever been family. Whatever. The point was that now Batman only watched Tim to see if he left behind a trail of corpses, which, considering Jason and Damian, was actually kind of hilarious in the most fucked up sense. If Kon and Bart had survived, it was something they would have laughed over together.
Tim pushed the dead aside and tried to focus on the problem at hand. Why was Batman here? The three most likely options were that: Batman was legitimately worried about Tim, Batman wanted to reprimand Red Robin, or Tim was hallucinating because even he could only go without sleep for so long. The first was a manifestation of Tim’s fantasies, not a reflection of any possible reality. He judged himself for even bringing it up as an option. The third would explain both the concerned tone and the lack of alarms, but until the second theory was dismissed Tim would assume it to be true. Better to be cautious with hallucination Batman than overshare with the real thing.
“I'm fine.”
Batman’s shoulders slumped with relief, though Tim wasn’t sure why. There was the expectation that he would be fine, that it was only the Riddler, that Red Robin could take care of himself.
“Then we need to go.”
“...Go?” Tim asked, titling his head. “Has there been another breakout?” No, Tim would have heard. It must be something else.
Watching the way Batman stiffened was fascinating, as it was so out of character. Bruce didn’t do suprised, didn’t get caught off guard. If Tim was so far out of the loop that his ignorance was shocking then he was in deep shit.
“You don’t remember.” It should be a flat statement, judgemental in its lack of inflection, not an agonized realization.
No. This wasn’t Bruce. A very poor imitation or a hallucination. Either way. “Coffee, I need coffee for this.”
Fake Bruce took a step closer, reaching out his hand. “Tim, we need to go. We don’t have time.” There was definitely an undercurrent of panic.
“You can leave at any time,” Tim pointed at the door even as he studied the hand, something that he thought he’d killed years ago yearning to reach back. But he would either be met with an enemy, or worse – empty air.
“Not without my son.”
It was like being slapped. Painful because of how unexpected it was. Tim physically recoiled, stumbling back. He wasn’t Bruce’s son. He wasn’t anyone’s son. Having Fathers had never made Tim someone who could be loved back and he knew that. He accepted that. He didn’t need anyone, even if it was his own brain, digging their fingers into that particular trauma. “Go fuck yourself.”
Fake Bruce took another step forward. “I can’t grab you and run this time, Tim. You have to come willingly. Please, take my hand.”
Tim scoffed. “Are you going to offer me candy to go to your van?”
“Tim. We are running out of time. Please, son. I am begging.”
That got Tim to roll his eyes. This was either the worst trap ever or his lack of sleep was really getting to him. “Let me guess, I need to come with you to save the world.”
“Fuck the world!” Suddenly Tim was staring at Bruce with his cowl down, the Batsuit looking more like a costume than an identity. “I need you to come to save yourself, Tim. This is a pocket dimension and it is collapsing and if you are here when it goes we will die.”
That…actually sounded plausible. Plausible-ish. Bruce was still definitely not actually like his Bruce. Also, “we?”
“I am not abandoning you here.” Bruce took a step closer, holding out his hand. “I am not returning to a world empty handed, where I have to explain to all the people who love you that I failed you so completely that you were within inches and I let you die.”
Tim frowned, focusing his eyes on Bruce’s hand. It was easier than watching the tears gathering in the doppelganger's eyes. “There is no world like that, Bruce.”
“You were born to be loved.” Tim wanted to deflect, wanted to discard or ignore the statement but it echoed in his chest, like he’d heard it before. Like someone had meant it when they said it. “And you are. Our world is like that, Tim. I love you. Your brothers love you. Conner and Bart and Jon and even Lois all love you, Tim, and we want you to come home.
“Just take my hand.”
It was a lie. A good one. A tempting one. Everything Tim had ever denied that he wanted coming from Bruce’s lips. A single step and a raised arm and then, what? “So I touch you and go to a magic land where everything is perfect?” Tim didn’t bother to hide the derision.
The room shook. Maybe an explosion. Was this just a distraction?
“No!” Bruce denied sharply. “We fight. I don’t respect your boundaries and you lie to me like it’s an Olympic sport. Your brothers smother you when you are perfectly capable of being independent and Alfred restricts your caffeine intake. You aren’t allowed to be a vigilante until you turn eighteen and when we get home you are very grounded. It’s not perfect. But it’s real, Tim. This isn’t. Take my hand.”
The room shook again.
It wasn’t a good argument. It was actually pretty stupid. Why would Tim want to go somewhere he didn’t have open access to coffee? But maybe if he reached out then this would stop and move to the next stage of the plan because this? This hurt. This was torturous, like having his soul laid bare. There were few things that Tim could think of in this moment that would hurt more.
Reaching out and finding empty air was one of them.
But it would be a temporary pain. A quick thrust and then the wound could heal and Tim could drink coffee and work on his emails until he tucked this part of his brain away.
Or he could go full Red Hood on whoever thought that fucking with him like this was a good idea.
Tim grabbed the hand.
“Then you are loved!”
“Tim, I promise that I’m never going to just let someone hurt you. I get that you won’t believe me right away, and that we aren’t brothers, but I do want to be your friend. And friends look out for each other. So that’s what I’m going to do. Not because Bruce asked me to, not because Damian will likely stab me if I don’t, but because you’re worth it”
“Hi. I'm Bart Allen and I'm from a post apocalyptic future. My favorite colour is red and eating a pluot is on my bucket list.”
“Hell, yeah I would have been pissed. At Bruce. Not at you. It wasn’t your fault and oh fuck you are bleeding. “
“In the meantime, hug Red Robin."
“I love you, and you will always have a place here. You are so smart and so strong, and even though you are causing me to go grey early, I respect you and I love you.”
“Timothy, where is your spleen?”
“You’re my fucking brother and I fucking love you.”
“Missed you. You’ve been here. Far away.”
“We match.”
“I will tend to you and I will do an infinitely superior job than that imbecile Todd. Now you. Will. Eat.”
“You are loved. Dami loves you. Jay and Bruce love you. I love you! You are my brother and I need you to live, Tim! I need you to be safe. So the next time you feel that way, that you can’t go on, or that you don’t want to, you find me.”
“You have the worst luck. You nearly died getting a cat.”
“Mostly that you didn’t think anyone would care if you died. But I’d care. As would Jay and Bruce. I think Damian would actually go fight the grim reaper to get you back, and he might even win. The kid’s got spunk.”
“If you don’t know what you want to do right now, that’s okay. We’ll figure it out one day at a time. You, me, your siblings, Alfred. We’re all in this together and we all support each other. You can always count on us Tim.”
“I think we’ll be just fine.”
Tim blinked, the circle of light surrounding him and Bruce fading into the Batcave where everyone stood gathered, looking grim. Dami was draped over Dick’s shoulder, shuddering as he cried into the older boy’s neck. He wasn’t the only one affected by tears. Conner’s eyes were red and his cheeks were stained. Lois was comforting an anxious Jon, who was shifting from foot to foot. Bart looked grim while Cass and Jay looked…blank. Even Alfred looked like he had aged by a million years.
The moment they spotted Tim that grief washed away.
“Tim,” Conner surged forward, stopped by Bruce’s hand.
“I don’t know if he remembers.”
How could he not? How could he have for a moment forgotten this? “Dad,” he squeezed Bruce’s hand tighter. “Dad,” he practically threw himself into Bruce’s arms and was caught in a strong grip. It was easy to ignore how they both shook. “I’m not supposed to be here.” Bruce’s grip tightened. “Is this just so I can say goodbye?” He didn’t want to lose it, lose everything again. But Tim couldn’t condemn reality to unravel, no matter how much he wanted to. He didn’t think he’d survive without this. But they would.
His family would.
“No,” Bruce held Tim tighter, to the point of discomfort.
It was grounding.
“The Klarions did something,” Conner explained even as he impatiently waited for his turn to hug Tim.
“We don’t know what,” Bruce spoke into Tim’s hair. “They said we had one chance to keep you.” He released Tim from the hug, but he kept one hand on Tim’s shoulder as everyone else came over.
“Is everything fixed?” Tim whispered.
“Right as rain,” Dick said with a shimmery smile. “Everyone else is gone and you’re staying, Tim.” He carried a squirming Dami over, ignoring the boy’s threats as they approached. “You get to stay with us.”
“Yeah, you fucking loser,” Jay barked with geniune heat. “You’re a punkass bitch for thinking you get to sacrifice yourself and I will kick your ass.”
“Tim, my man, you can’t just do that!” Bart held a hand to his chest dramatically. “I really will have to figure out time travel on my own if you ever pull something so mode again.”
“Sorry.” Tim choked on his apology.
Dami, finally having succeeded in freeing himself, launched himself at Tim’s waist. Tim reached down to steady his brother only to hear a familiar ker-snick as a metal cuff snapped around his wrist. “You are mine, Timothy, and you aren’t allowed to leave. You promised to stay and you are not allowed to break your promises. I will not have it!”
Tim patted Dami’s hair with his free hand.
Conner did too. Then Dami squawked and the cuff popped open as his tactile telekinesis kicked in and he lifted Dami harmlessly by his hair and set him out of the way before he pulled Tim into his own hug, placing a kiss against Tim’s lips. “I love you,” he whispered. “I love you.”
Conner did. Everyone in this room did. Bruce was willing to die because he loved Tim so much.
It hurt. Tim was fairly certain it hurt because he was so happy, that the tears pouring over his face were tears of joy as everyone pushed and shoved for a hug, Conner being pulled away to be replaced by Jay then Dick and then it became a mess of arms and Tim was in the middle of love and relief.
Bruce had claimed that this world wasn’t perfect. He was right. In the next coming months there would be tension, anger that Tim was still so ready to throw himself on the sword, fear that he was going to disappear again, and annoyance and the constant smothering and surveillance. There would be fights: cutting words, slamming doors, and brooding silences. There would be bouts of grief, of anger, and of bitterness.
But there would be gentle kisses and hair pats, mugs of soup and trips to the Pride Centre. Bruce would finally cave and get Damian a dog. Dick would work with Kaldur to start a new team. Jay would wear a dress through the house and not punch anyone over it. Cass would be in a dance performance and Lara would video call on weekends. Lois and Jon would stay.
It wouldn’t be perfect but it would be filled with moments like this. Moments that were.
And that was enough.