Chapter Text
Dr. Leland had mentioned that Tim and JJ might not be the only two people in Tim’s system, but Bruce hadn’t expected to discover his son’s third alter like… like this.
Bruce was tied up, some new villain in town was spouting some nonsense he didn’t care to pay attention to—he was more worried about Dick and Steph, who the villain had tied up next to him, and Tim, who the villain hadn’t realized was behind him.
Knowing Tim, knowing how his mind worked, Bruce had expected him to take a defensive position—to work on freeing him, Dick, and Steph without the villain’s knowledge, so that they could all work to apprehend the criminal in a way that was the least risky and most efficient.
Never in a million years would Bruce expect Tim to take the villain straight on, let alone take them straight on and win almost instantaneously.
No one in the bats was unfamiliar with the moments in which Tim seemed to act a bit less concerned about others, a bit more cold, a bit more detached, and in some ways, a bit more confident, but with the recent discovery of Tim having Dissociative Identity Disorder, these behavioral changes seemed to shine under a new light.
This was Tim’s first mission since he had started seeing Dr. Leland regularly three months ago—Bruce had allowed him to help Barbara and work on gathering intel, of course, but fighting had been off limits until Bruce was sure both he and JJ would be able to handle it—and therefore it was the first time Bruce could observe this vigilante-centric side of Tim with the knowledge of his son that he now possessed.
And it was odd. Odd, because the process of discovering Tim’s DID and JJ’s existence had been so hard. Odd, because JJ needed a lot of help, a lot of support. But the new alter seemed so immensely capable… perhaps even more capable than Tim himself.
“Nice work, Red Robin,” Stephanie said, the three of them observing the villain who was on the ground, unconscious and in cuffs, Tim standing over him. The young man’s lips were pressed into a thin line, and he responded to Stephanie’s praise with an indifferent hum. He stepped over the restrained criminal, moving to untie the ropes holding them all hostage.
Bruce rubbed his wrists as they were freed, hesitating as he stood back up.
“Batman, Nightwing, Spoiler, Red Robin, what’s your status?” Barbara asked over comms.
“Red Robin apprehended the villain,” Bruce answered, “We’re all okay.”
Bruce didn't say anything as they traveled back to the Batcave. Nor did he say anything once they were all home and showered and up in the living room. But Bruce kept an eye on this mysterious third alter, watching ‘Tim,’ noting all the ways he was acting differently, holding himself differently.
“That's my job.”
Bruce nearly jumped as Cass appeared behind him, leaning against the back of the armchair in which Bruce sat.
“What?”
“You're analyzing the new Not-Tim,” she said in a hushed voice, “That's my job.”
Bruce let out a puff of air that was somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. “So you noticed too. I'm glad to know I haven't just had a few too many hits to the head today.”
“I wouldn't rule out that possibility,” Cass teased flatly, “but yes. I see. That's not Tim. And it's not JJ.”
“Well, since it's ‘your job,’ why don't you tell me what you're picking up on?”
Cass hummed, her eyes tracing over Not-Tim as he sat on the other side of the room, listening to Stephanie talk. Bruce followed her gaze, wishing that he could see through her eyes.
“His posture is different. Straighter. But less open. He's sitting with his legs crossed, and they're pointed away from Steph. He doesn't want to talk to her.” Cass began, Bruce nodding along. “He's still. Not fidgety like Tim or shaky like JJ. His hands are steady. And he's not bouncing his leg like Tim would.”
Bruce took in her words, each one serving to confirm his growing suspicion. He had noticed the steadiness and the straighter posture, but what Cass said about his body language suggesting he didn't want to be talking to Stephanie was something he had completely missed.
Bruce knew Cass’ ability to read body language was something she saw as a curse, but by god did Bruce find it incredible.
“So he doesn't want to talk to Steph. That explains why he hasn't said a single word since she started talking to him,” Bruce said, putting a hand to his chin in thought. “I wonder why he wouldn't just get up and walk away, end the conversation.”
“He doesn't want us to know he’s not Tim,” Cass said. “He's better at hiding it than JJ.”
“Ah, right. I forgot that it's a covert disorder. I guess I'm just too used to having Tim and JJ be so much more open about it now that we know.”
“I’ve noticed him for a while,” Cass said, as if it should have been obvious. “Usually in missions. But the change wasn’t as drastic as with JJ. I didn’t think to bring it up.”
Of course Cass had noticed for a while. Bruce felt dumb for not asking Cass if she’d noticed anything the minute Dr. Leland had suggested the presence of a third alter. Bruce found himself feeling dumb a lot lately.
“Whatcha guys talking about?”
Bruce jumped again. For someone usually so good at being aware of his surroundings, he was really letting his children get the better of him today.
He watched as Jason walked in front of him, collapsing down onto the couch. He seemed a little out of breath, a few patched scrapes on his face.
“You’re looking worse for wear,” Bruce changed the subject, “What happened?”
“Got in a little scuffle with some low level goons. There were like fifty of them—a good workout, but damn, exhausting after a while– Hey, wait, don’t change the subject.”
Bruce remained quiet, as did Cass. But damn, Jason was able to follow their gaze.
“Tim?” Jason asked. Bruce nodded. “What’s up this time? Don’t tell me he’s got the son of another villain living in his brain.”
Bruce grimaced at Jason’s words, his jaw tightening.
“Right, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
Bruce sighed, turning to meet Jason’s gaze. “What scares me, Jay, is that you could be right.”
“What?” Jason exclaimed, louder than intended. Bruce quickly put his hand up, looking over to make sure ‘Tim’ and Stephanie hadn’t noticed Jason’s outburst. Fortunately, it appeared they hadn’t.
“Keep your voice down,” Bruce said, holding his hands up. “What I mean is just… we think ‘Tim’ isn’t… well he’s not ‘Tim’ right now. Cass says he seems different, and I’ve noticed the same things too. But it just occurred to me that… we have no idea who this third alter could be.”
“I’m not sure I’m following you, B,” Jason said. Bruce sighed again, running a hand through his hair as he tried to figure out a better way to explain.
“We know JJ formed because of…” he gestured with his hand, knowing that Jason would know what he was talking about. He didn’t want to say it out loud, though, fearing it could potentially be triggering for Jason.
“Right, yeah,” Jason said in affirmation.
“Think of how many villains we’ve fought since then. People like the Jervis Tetch or Jonathan Crane. Even Nygma’s put us all through a lot of trauma.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is, if Tim’s mind was already broken before all those events, isn’t it possible any one of them could have been bad enough to cause another split in his mind?”
Bruce could see the understanding forming in Jason’s gaze.
“I don’t know, B. That sounds like a Dr. Leland question to me.”
“Third alter? Oh, you must mean RR.”
Bruce stared at Dr. Leland from the chair across from her desk, positively flabbergasted. RR? Dr. Leland already knew about Tim’s third alter—and she hadn’t told him?
“You– You know who they are?” he asked, mouth open in shock and eyes wide like a deer in headlights—or a bat in headlights.
“Well, I’ve never spoken to him,” she said, nonchalantly flipping through some files that likely had nothing to do with their topic of conversation. “But JJ talks about him a lot. I think he views him a bit like an older brother. He talks about him that way, at least.”
Bruce had a million questions. Maybe even more than a million. He was silent for a few moments, trying to decide which one to begin with, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to form words.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, Tim’s my patient,” Dr. Leland said, fixing Bruce with a stern look. “Even given the special circumstances, patient confidentiality applies. But, during last week's session, I did happen to ask JJ if he wouldn’t mind me telling you about RR, and lucky for you, he said it was fine.”
“But Tim’s my son.”
“Yes, your
adult
son, Bruce. You’re no more entitled to his information than anyone else is.”
Right. Bruce could sometimes forget that most of his adopted children were adults now, he had taken them all in so young.
“Does Tim know about…” Bruce trailed off.
“About RR?” Dr. Leland finished for him. “ Patient confidentiality , Bruce. But… I have told Tim about RR, that much I can tell you.”
Bruce hummed, pressing his lips together in a thin line. He could tell by the look Dr. Leland was giving him that he wasn’t going to be getting much else out of her.
“You know, Bruce, might I suggest you talk to Tim or JJ themselves about these kinds of things?”
He sighed, looking down at his hands. He absently tapped his thumbs together. He knew Dr. Leland could tell that he was avoiding her gaze, but that didn’t stop him from doing so.
“What if I push too hard? I don’t want to overwhelm them.”
“Well, the solution to that is simple.”
Bruce looked up at Dr. Leland like a disciple looking up at a prophet.
“If they say they don’t want to talk about it, then drop the subject.”
Right. Bruce felt dumb again.
Chapter Text
Over the next few days, Bruce had been driving himself crazy figuring out how best to approach the topic with Tim. He knew he was making it more difficult than it needed to be, that he was overthinking every little thing—but how could he not, when saying the wrong thing could potentially lead to any number of horrible outcomes? What if he accidentally triggered Tim? What if he pried too much and Tim got angry with him? Or worst of all, what if he fumbled over his words and Tim laughed at him? It wouldn’t be the first time, and by god, Bruce didn’t want to deal with that embarrassment any more than he already had.
“Master Bruce, you’re driving yourself mad over this and for no good reason. I doubt anything you say is going to affect Master Timothy in the ways that you’ve imagined.”
Bruce sighed, poking at his breakfast like a kid who didn’t want to eat. He sat alone at the dining room table—Damian and Duke were both at school, and the rest of the family were out living their own lives, doing whatever it was they did in a day.
“We can’t know that for sure,” Bruce said, though he knew he was, to some degree, being irrational—making a mountain out of a molehill, as the saying goes. “I just… I don’t want a repeat of what happened when Dr. Leland told Tim he had DID.”
“That turned out alright though, did it not?”
Bruce remembered the fear on Tim’s face as he ran past him out of the library, the way he had panicked, not wanting to believe that his mind wasn’t fully his own. It had worked out, yes, but seeing Tim like that…
“I guess it did, but I don’t want to put Tim through something like that again.”
He set his fork down, leaning back against his chair. “This has all been so complicated. I want to do everything I can to help Tim, to be there for him in the ways I failed to be five years ago. But I just– I don’t know how, Alfred. I’ve been trying to do my research, to listen to Dr. Leland’s advice, but I still feel like every move I make is the wrong one.”
Alfred sat down in the chair at Bruce’s left, resting his hands on top of the table and looking Bruce in the eyes. It was looks like that—moments like this—where Bruce was reminded of just how much of a son he was to Alfred, and even moreso, how much of a father Alfred was to him.
“I don’t believe there is one right thing to do in a situation like this,” Alfred said, “But there are certainly plenty of wrong things to do. But you, Master Bruce, have been putting in so much effort just for Master Timothy’s benefit, far more than many other parents likely would.”
“You’ve done far more to help Tim than I have,” Bruce countered. “JJ trusts you more than anyone. And you knew about RR before I did.”
“It may be true that I have the strongest bond with Master JJ, but the same is not true of Master Timothy. Surely you can see that, Master Bruce.”
Bruce stared at Alfred for a long moment, taking the time to process what was being said to him.
“Do you really think Tim trusts me that much?”
“If he didn’t, do you think he would spend most of his nights here, when he has a perfectly fine apartment he could be staying at?”
That was true, Tim did seem to spend more nights at the manor than not—more so than anyone else. Bruce hadn’t really considered it before, but… maybe what Alfred was saying was right. Maybe it didn’t matter if Bruce knew exactly what to say, maybe what mattered was that he was putting in effort, and Tim trusted him.
“You’re right, Alfred. Thank you.”
Bruce steeled his nerves, approaching Tim who was sitting on the couch, working on his laptop. Normally, Bruce wouldn’t bother Tim while he was working, but he needed to have this conversation before his nerves came back again.
“Hey, Tim, you got a minute?”
“No,” Tim said flatly. Bruce wasn’t expecting that sort of response. It wasn’t like Tim to deny him so immediately like that. Was something wrong? He observed as Tim continued to type away on his laptop, not even so much as looking up at the taller man standing beside him.
“Tim–”
“Incorrect.”
Wh—What? What was that supposed to mean exactly?
Bruce swallowed. “Pardon?”
Tim huffed, finally looking up at Bruce in annoyance. “Don’t tell me you need Orphan here to figure it out for you, Batman.”
Oh. Oh. The pieces began to click into place. This wasn’t Tim. This was the third alter—RR—and clearly, he had overheard him talking with Cass the other day. Bruce couldn’t help but find it odd that RR seemed to be only using their superhero names, but in some odd way, it made sense, given that this part presumably came out the most during missions.
“You…” Bruce felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He sat down on the couch, making sure to keep a bit of distance between them. “Are you… RR?”
RR tightened his jaw, looking at Bruce silently for a moment. Then he let out a sigh in what sounded like exasperation, closed his laptop, and set it on the table.
“Don’t call me that.”
Bruce widened his eyes a little. “Sorry, I thought…”
“JJ calls me RR,” RR—or not RR?—said, waving his finger at Bruce, his voice firm, “And only JJ. My name is Red Robin. Understand?”
Red Robin. RR. Tim’s hero name. The pieces were slowly clicking into place in Bruce’s mind—this part of Tim really was the “vigilante” part, like Bruce had assumed. But, of course, that didn’t explain why he seemed so annoyed by Bruce’s presence. Was it because Bruce interrupted him while he was working? Or maybe, it was because he had overheard Bruce talking about him with Cass and Jason. Yeah… they definitely weren’t being as discreet as they should have been, now that Bruce thought about it.
“Alright,” Bruce said carefully, “I understand.”
All that work preparing himself to talk to Tim to see if he knew about Red Robin, and here he was, not even talking to Tim. He supposed this was karma, for piddling over how to approach it for so many days instead of just talking about it.
“Are you going to sit there and gawk at me, or can I get back to what I was doing?”
“Hold on now,” Bruce said, quickly moving to put his hand over Red Robin’s laptop before he could grab it again. “I’d like to talk with you. I have questions—”
“I’m sure you do,” Red Robin cut him off. “But I don’t have to answer them.”
There was something familiar in the way Red Robin said that, a tone that reminded him of Damian, and a look in his eyes that reminded him of Jason, in a way. At least, how Jason had been after Bruce had convinced him to come back to the Bats. That cold dismissal, that inherent sense of respect for things Bat, but annoyance for all things Wayne. And Bruce’s questions and concerns and craving for knowledge about this third part of his son were Wayne needs, not Bat needs.
“You’re right. You don’t have to answer them.”
Bruce wracked his brain, thinking back to what he had done to slowly rebuild his relationship with Jason, ways he had built one with Damian. Ways that had gotten them to open up to him, whether they realized it or not. A way to disguise Wayne needs as Bat needs. Then, an idea came to mind.
“But, it is training day for Tim. So… would you mind coming down to the Batcave, and doing a few fighting simulations? We don’t have to talk, but it’s important to keep to the training schedule, even if you’re not Tim.”
Red Robin raised an eyebrow. Bruce knew he was full of horseshit, but he didn’t know if Red Robin knew he was full of horseshit.
“Do you make JJ stick to Tim’s training regiment?” Red Robin questioned skeptically.
Bruce looked away, “Well, no, but– that’s a special case, because JJ’s not really—”
“I know,” Red Robin said. He and Bruce shared a look for a moment, and Bruce got the feeling that Red Robin had been testing him in some way.
A beat of silence. Then another.
“I’ll be down in twenty minutes. I’m finishing my report first.”
Bruce let the air out of his lungs that he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. “Alright. I’ll go set everything up.”
He stood up, watching out of the corner of his eye as Red Robin picked up his laptop and began typing away once more.
Well, this would be a start, at least.
Red Robin typed a few more sentences on his report, carefully waiting for Bruce to exit the room before he shut his laptop once more. He then closed his eyes, focusing inward, searching for that image of a young, clown-faced boy that only he could see.
“JJ, did you tell Batman about me?” he asked internally, unsure if he would get an answer. It always depended upon how close JJ was to him, whether he was far in the recesses of their brain or lingering just on the cusp of consciousness.
“No,” he heard a soft reply, “But I told Dr. Leland, ‘cause she asks about you sometimes. And I think I told Alfred, and Duke… did I do something bad?”
“No JJ,” Red Robin assured, “You didn’t do anything bad, buddy. Just warn me before you tell anyone else about me, alright?”
“Okay, RR. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s alright.”
Red Robin opened his eyes again, looking down at his watch to see how much time had passed. Sighing, he stood up, carried his laptop back to his room and then made his way down to the Batcave.
Notes:
Next week's chapter might be a bit late due to Christmas, but I'll try my best to get it out as soon as I can!
Chapter 3
Notes:
Hi all! Not back from hiatus yet, but I wanted to upload this short chapter to let you all know I am not done with this story and am still working on it - but a lot has been going on for me irl that has been taking up most of my time and energy. I'm going on holiday for the next two-ish weeks, and I'm hoping to get back into a regular posting schedule once I get back, but it's up in the air for right now. I'm sorry for the delays and I hope this chapter can help tide you all over until I can get back on track <3
Chapter Text
The training simulation came to life, and Red Robin gripped his bo staff. He swung at the simulated enemies and dodged their hits with the skill of any well-trained fighter.
Bruce stood a few feet away and watched, his arms crossed over his chest as his eyes followed Red Robin’s movements like someone in the audience of a ballet. It was never lost on Bruce that Tim’s choice of using a bo staff was largely influenced by Dick’s use of the same weapon when he was Robin, but watching Red Robin fight—it was almost as if Bruce was transported back in time, observing Dick as he beat up the old practice dummies they used before they had the simulation technology they use now.
Tim was a capable fighter, but combat had never been his specialty—he had always preferred to investigate, to look for clues like the brilliant detective he was. But Red Robin moved like a weapon, as if he had absorbed every last move and teaching he had been taught, combining them all into what was a near perfect performance, fluid and exact in every way. Nothing outside of the realm of possibility, of course, but it made Bruce wonder if perhaps all the times he had taught Tim a specific move and it seemed as though the next day, Tim had forgotten it completely, it hadn’t really been Tim he had been teaching. That was possible, wasn’t it? It was odd for Bruce to think about, but the more he watched Red Robin, the more he felt like that had to be the case.
Bruce didn’t say anything, keeping quiet as Red Robin trained. The young man’s focus was clear, and Bruce didn’t want to disturb that—plus, it didn’t seem like Red Robin really wanted to talk to him in the first place. Bruce could understand that, to some degree.
When the simulation ended, Bruce took a few careful steps closer, the clicking of his shoes echoing around the Batcave, as were Red Robin’s heaving breaths. It had been one of the longest simulations—but Red Robin had selected it, and Bruce wasn’t going to tell him no.
“Do you want to take a break?” Bruce asked.
Red Robin didn’t respond immediately, taking a few long breaths. He didn’t turn toward Bruce or even look in his direction—something Bruce was becoming used to the more they interacted—and shook his head.
“Run it again.”
Bruce’s eyes widened a fraction. “Are you sure? You look—”
“Run it again,” Red Robin insisted, and Bruce could see there wasn’t going to be room for argument. He activated the training simulation again, and Red Robin went about disarming each of the practice villains with efficiency.
“You’re quite skilled,” Bruce commented.
“Is there any reason I shouldn’t be?” Red Robin responded, dodging a punch from one of the simulated enemies.
Bruce tensed, realizing his mistake. “Well– no. I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant—”
“I agreed to train,” Red Robin cut him off, “not to talk.”
“Right. Sorry.”
God, Bruce felt like he was talking to a titanium wall. Part of him wondered, absently, if this was how Clark had felt during their more… tense days.
The simulation ended once more, and Red Robin was heaving, bent over slightly, his whole body moving up and down as his lungs inflated and deflated.
“Okay, that's enough,” Bruce said, shutting off the simulation before Red Robin could say he wanted to go a third time. Red Robin stared at him for a moment, as if debating on whether or not to argue.
“...Fine,” Red Robin said after a moment, taking a deep breath as he stood up straight. “Are we done here?”
“Well, I suppose training is over, but if you’d spare a minute—”
“I’ve spared over an hour.”
“ Listen ,” Bruce implored, causing Red Robin to meet his gaze. “Just for one moment, alright? I’m not going to take up anymore of your time, I just– I just want to know why you seem so… agitated towards me, when this is only the first time we’ve properly met.”
Red Robin rolled his eyes in a way that made Bruce fear he had made a crucial mistake, but then he sighed, and didn’t make any move to leave, and that eased Bruce’s nerves a little.
“I’m not ‘agitated with you,’ as you put it. I just don’t have time for family matters, or all that heart-to-heart bonding time you seemed to have thought you could have by asking me to come down here.”
“Well… I can’t deny my motives,” Bruce said sheepishly, “But look. You’re a part of my son, and I care about you, even if I’m not familiar with
you
yet. I think you could understand why I would want to get to know you better.”
Red Robin took a step forward, his gaze intense as he stared directly into Bruce’s eyes.
“Tim is your son, Batman. I am your colleague, your teammate, maybe even your pupil. But I do not consider you to be
my
father, so leave the fatherly-attitude for Tim.”
It was a tough boundary to accept, but Bruce could tell by the look in Red Robin’s eyes that he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. He didn’t even have the chance to formulate a response as he watched Red Robin spin on his heels and walk away.
Chapter Text
Junior sat on the couch in the library like he always did, waiting for Dr. Leland to get there. He was in a good mood today—he had so much to tell her! He was smiling—a smaller smile, he was getting better at doing that—and humming softly to himself as he waited.
Barbara—she let Junior call her Batgirl when it was just the two of them—had given him some special communication cards to help when he had trouble speaking or voicing his thoughts. He was excited to show them to Dr. Leland, especially since he vaguely remembered using something similar back when they were recovering. He hoped she'd approve of them—Batgirl had put in a lot of work to get ones that were special for Junior, even going so far as to make specific cards just for him and adding them to the premade set. They weren't as crisp as the premade ones, which had the characters from Junior's favorite cartoon on them, but they were beautiful in Junior's eyes. There was one that said “I'm about to laugh” for when he could feel a laughing fit coming on, and one that said “Alfred” so that Junior could ask for him if he needed him. They were all on a keyring so that he could flip through them easily. He kept it in his pocket, and Batgirl made sure Tim kept it on hand too when he was around the manor.
There were other things Junior was excited to tell Dr. Leland about too: like how Alfred let him help bake chocolate chip cookies for everyone and even let him eat some of the cookie dough, or how Stephanie taught him how to play Mario Kart—even if Junior had to stop playing when his character got hit by the zappy-thing, and Stephanie had apologized profusely… that part was less exciting. Junior forgave her, of course. And he did enjoy the game until then.
Still, a lot had happened in the week since he last saw Dr. Leland, and Junior couldn't wait to tell her all about it.
“Hey, JJ? How about you let me talk to the doctor first, alright?”
Junior couldn’t help but frown a little.
“But RR…” he said out loud, not as skilled as RR at communicating internally, “There's so much I wanna tell her. Can't you talk to her next week?”
“I know there is, buddy. But this is important, okay? I’ll try to make it quick, and if you don’t have time, you can always tell her next time.”
Junior wanted to keep protesting, but RR was able to take control even if Junior didn't want him to, which made it difficult to argue with him. Junior wished he knew how to do that.
“Okay…” Junior said reluctantly, “But don't tell her about the cards, okay? I wanna be the one to show them to her.”
“Cards?” RR questioned.
He blinked as he found himself in their shared body. He took a moment to get his bearings, looking around the room, feeling the couch cushion beneath him, the slightly cool air around him. The manor was always a bit cold.
He felt something in his pocket, and reached in to see what it was. He found a ring of what looked like communication cards, with little cartoon dogs on them.
“Ah, cards,” he muttered, tucking them back into his pocket. “Don't worry, JJ. I won't say anything about them, I promise.”
“Good afternoon, Dr. Leland.”
Red Robin was a little tense, more than he usually was. Something about making his presence known was always a bit nerve-wracking for him, as if his brain was screaming at him “No! No! What are you doing?”
“Good afternoon, Tim. Is it Tim?” Dr. Leland asked as she sat down, smoothing the wrinkles out of her pants.
Red Robin hesitated for a moment, reminding himself that he was doing this for a reason.
“No.”
“Oh,” Dr. Leland's eyebrows raised a little, but her tone was steady. “Then may I ask who I'm speaking to?”
He hesitated again. He knew Dr. Leland already knew of his existence from JJ, and likely from Batman. Saying it outright wouldn't make any difference. His brain needed to quiet down so that he could handle this. He needed to be strong and capable—just like he always was. That was his job.
“Red Robin.”
Dr. Leland nodded. “Thank you for introducing yourself. Has JJ told you a lot about me? I'm assuming you're the RR he always talks about.”
“Yes. And yes. I've also been… around, sometimes, during previous appointments.”
“I see. Well, it's very nice to meet you, RR…?”
“Red Robin,” he asserted, “RR is a nickname JJ gave me.”
“Apologies, then. Red Robin,” Dr. Leland gave a firm nod.
There was a beat of silence. Why was he doing this again?
Right. He needed to make sure Dr. Leland stopped being loose-lipped about him.
“Dr. Leland, I'm here today to express my disinterest in your treatment. I don’t see anything wrong with the way that JJ, Timothy, and myself currently function, and I'd like to ask that you stop telling… other parties about me.”
“Oh,” Dr. Leland said, raising her eyebrows. “Well, I apologize, Red Robin. I only told Bruce what JJ said I could tell him. But I suppose I should have waited for your input before saying anything.”
Red Robin was… surprised, by how amiable Dr. Leland seemed. He knew she likely had to have been a rather kind woman, given how comfortable JJ was around her, but Red Robin’s experience with the authority figures in their life was certainly not the best, and perhaps a lingering sense of distrust always accompanied his expectations.
“Your apology is appreciated. As well as your further discretion.”
“Of course.”
There was a small pause. Dr. Leland shifted her posture, crossing one leg over the other. She looked down at her notepad, tapping her pen against it.
“I wonder if you wouldn’t mind indulging me in answering a few questions?” she asked.
Red Robin tensed a little. He hadn’t intended to share any information about himself. He didn’t like talking about himself, and he especially didn’t like how that seemed to be the only thing people were interested in talking to him about.
“I would mind, actually,” he said sharply. “And… I promised JJ I’d let him talk to you as soon as I could.”
Dr. Leland’s expression softened, and Red Robin relaxed—if only fractionally. “If you made a promise to JJ, then by all means. It was nice to meet you though, and I hope to get to talk to you more in the future.”
Red Robin made a small noise of acknowledgement, before shutting his eyes and lying back against the couch.
Chapter 5
Notes:
Can't believe it's been almost a year since I started this series! Thank all of you who commented and left kudos, it really gave me the motivation to continue writing it, even if chapters come out slow as molasses at present. Still not sure exactly how long this part will be, but I'm estimating that there will be at least 3-4 more future chapters. Still working on the side stories I've mentioned a couple times, and hoping to get back into the swing of things with this series and writing in general.
Chapter Text
Tim had been happy when things had gone back to pretty much routine. He was making progress in understanding himself and his disorder, and his family seemed to have relaxed about it all. Well, besides Damian, but that was nothing if not expected. Damian would have treated Tim like he had four heads whether it was DID, a migraine, or well… he actually had four heads.
But now the weird looks were back. It wasn’t everyone this time; just Bruce, Cass, and Jason. But still. Was this family incapable of just saying what was on their mind? Cass he could give an obvious pass to, hell even Jason since they weren’t exactly great at talking with each other. But come on, Bruce? Tim would have thought he’d learned since the last time.
Well, thinking about it more, honestly Tim couldn’t really be surprised. It wasn’t like Bruce was known for his open communication. Tim supposed it was his job if he wanted to have any type of a conversation with him.
“Hey, B?” Tim asked, walking up to Bruce who was sitting in the Batcave, reviewing some security footage for the latest case they were working.
Bruce looked over at Tim with a guilty expression, as if he knew he’d been acting weird. Bruce being somewhat self aware was at least a little bit reassuring.
“What is it, Tim?” Bruce looked back at the security footage, his hands hovering a couple inches above the keyboard, like he was trying to make himself look busier, or maybe more nonchalant.
“You’re acting weird again,” Tim said bluntly, “Like you were when you found out about JJ. I want to know, plainly, what’s going on.”
A sigh from Bruce. And then he paused the footage on the monitor, and spun in his swivel chair to face Tim.
“Right, I’m sorry. I didn’t… didn’t mean to be… weird like that again. It’s just…”
An alert came up on the screen. Bruce’s attention immediately snapped to it, and he spun quickly in his chair, pressing a button to talk into the comms.
“Nightwing. What’s going on?”
Dick was breaking up badly on the other end. “Freeze… bridge… –ackup… now…”
Bruce and Tim shared a look. Unfortunately, their conversation would have to wait.
The situation was worse than they could have anticipated. The entire bridge was frozen, including all of the people on it—which meant Dick. Mr. Freeze was in the center of it all, holding some sort of upgraded cryogenic ray. The pieces of the puzzle from their most recent case clicked together—a series of robberies at different high-tech labs across the city, all containing parts related to temperature regulation or manipulation. They’d known it was Freeze, of course, but they hadn’t quite figured out what he was working on, until now.
“Talk to me. Where is everyone?” Bruce said into the comms, hiding behind a turned over car just at the edge of the bridge, with Tim by his side.
“Orphan and I are on our way, moving as fast as we can,” came Steph’s voice.
“Got it. Hood?”
“On my way too.”
Bruce looked at Tim. “We need to keep Freeze on the bridge until the others arrive.”
Tim looked up at the frozen bridge cables, then back at Freeze.
“You distract him from the front and give me an opening, that way I can go over to the other side, and then we can box him in. But you’ve got to make sure he doesn’t see me, and be extra careful, since he’s definitely planning to use Nightwing as leverage.”
Bruce nodded. “Got it.”
Bruce stood up and walked out from their hiding spot, approaching the bridge slowly. He began talking with Freeze just to distract him. Tim waited a few moments before ducking over to the side of the bridge. Looking back at Bruce and Freeze, Tim took a deep breath, before grappling onto the top. He ran as fast as he could to the other side, sliding down the metal support beams, jumping, and then—
Shit.
A strangled groan escaped his mouth as he was yanked by a metal chain that wrapped around his waist. Arms held him in place as he thrashed, trying to escape. Dammit, he thought. He should have been prepared for the possibility that Freeze wasn’t alone. Why wasn’t he thinking? His eyes darted around frantically as he was dragged beneath the bridge. He could tell in the last glimpse he got of them that Bruce hadn’t heard him, couldn’t see him. He could try to scream, but that would distract Bruce from Freeze, and what if he or Dick got hurt because of it? So he didn’t scream, just tried to will his brain to think, to come up with some plan to get him out of this. He was great at plans, or at least he should have been! He just had to stay calm, figure out a way to get an opening.
But an opening didn’t come.
“Night, night, little bird,” Scarecrow’s voice echoed in Tim’s ears. “Have sweet nightmares.” Tim tried to struggle, but it was no use.
“Tell me about your parents.”
Tim blinked. He was in the library, in front of Dr. Leland. She had her notepad, like usual, leaned slightly forward in the armchair while Tim sat on the couch.
“My parents?” Tim repeated. “I… I don’t know, they weren’t really around much.”
Tim felt on edge. He didn’t know why. He hadn’t really thought about his biological parents in a while. Not since… not since what? Come to think of it, Tim didn’t really remember.
“Daddy wasn’t very funny.”
Another voice. It wasn’t Tim, or Dr. Leland. Tim looked around, trying to find where it was coming from. Dr. Leland just stared at him, moving on like she hadn’t heard anything.
“Did your parents ever… do anything to you? Harm you in any way?”
Everything began to blur together. Dr. Leland’s face flickered in front of his eyes like an old film, until Tim found himself standing somewhere he didn’t recognize. Or did he? It was fuzzy, familiar, but at the same time so very foreign.
He was in a long hallway. The roof above him was crumbled and ruined, the stars in the night sky visible through the gaping hole seeming to twist and distort like the colors of a painting. There was mold on the walls. It smelled foul, like decay and blood and vomit and something else Tim couldn’t quite place. Tim heard laughter. It echoed from somewhere down the hall.
Step. Step. Step. Tim wasn’t sure what he was stepping towards. The closer he got, the less it sounded like laughter and the more it sounded like screaming. He reached for the doorhandle, gently pushing it open…
“Robin! Tim!”
Bruce’s arms were around him. Tim was somewhere else. He couldn’t quite see where, with Bruce holding him so tightly. He’d never been held this tightly before, at least not in this way. Tears. Bruce was crying. Crying? Bruce never cried.
Tim opened his mouth. He wanted to ask what was going on. But all that came out was a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
Tim looked down at his hand. A purple glove. White wrist? Too-white. This wasn’t…
The world blurred again. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. His vision flickered again. Or maybe someone was just flickering the lights. That was a funny prank, wasn’t it? Just a funny, funny joke. Maybe that’s why he was laughing. Laughing, laughing, laughing…
Junior felt the buzzy feeling. It was normal for him. Every day, no matter what, buzz buzz buzz. Sometimes it was when he did something wrong. Sometimes Daddy said he just wanted to have some fun. Junior didn’t think it was very fun, but if Daddy said it was, then Junior supposed he would laugh. He couldn’t stop it, even if he wanted to.
“Go to your room, Timmy!”
Smack!
That didn’t sound like Daddy to Junior. Junior opened his eyes. He was on the floor. A man stood in front of him, glaring down at him. Junior couldn’t see his face. It was blurry, unclear. Yet Junior could tell the man looked angry. Junior felt his limbs scramble backward, until he was climbing up the stairs, running away as fast as he could.
This didn’t feel right. Junior didn’t remember this place.
He scrambled to the room that he somehow knew was his and locked the door, wiggling his way under his bed. There was a newspaper under there.
Timmy clutched the newspaper, wiping his tears with the back of his hands. He fished out the little flashlight keychain he had with the Batsymbol on it. He flicked it on, illuminating the picture on the front cover. Batman and Robin were posed with smiles on their faces, a disgruntled looking Penguin tied up behind them. They’d saved Gotham once again.
Maybe one day, they’d save Timmy.
Bang, bang, bang.
“Open this door right now, Timothy Jackson Drake!”
Bang, bang, bang.
Timmy closed his eyes and imagined Batman swooping in through the window, standing guard in front of his bed.
“Please, Batman.”
Bang, bang, bang.
“Please don’t let my dad in.”
Chapter 6
Notes:
Warning for a bit of body horror in this chapter, if that makes you uncomfortable!
Two chapters in a row?! More likely than you think... I think I was struggling more with writer's block than I realized, but I've finally gotten through it (for now)!
Chapter Text
Bruce slowly approached, his eyes narrowed behind his cowl.
“What do you think you’re doing, Freeze?”
Bruce looked from Freeze to Dick, who was frozen in front of the villain, his bo staff raised. Bruce swallowed. He needed to be careful, needed to give Tim time to reach the other side, while also making sure Freeze didn’t shatter Dick into a million pieces.
“Just experimenting with some brand new technology of mine. Your sidekick made a rather welcome test subject. Frozen in less than twelve seconds, while midair. Sometimes I even impress myself.”
Bruce grit his teeth. It was just the normal taunting that came from villains, he reminded himself. He’d done this song and dance thousands of times. But still, every time one of his children’s lives was on the line, Bruce found it harder to stay calm.
He had been counting the seconds. Tim should have made it over to the bridge by now. But he couldn’t see Tim in his peripheral vision, and he couldn’t risk looking behind Freeze and having him catch on to their plan.
But if Tim was across, he wasn’t acting.
Luckily, Jason arrived just in time. He came in from behind Freeze, catching him off guard with a surprise attack. He distracted Freeze enough that Bruce was then able to swoop in. They fought for a while, but once Steph and Cass had arrived, it was a matter of minutes before Freeze was restrained.
Tim still hadn’t made a move. Bruce knew something was very wrong. Maybe Freeze had goons on the other side of the bridge? Tim could be busy fighting them, though Bruce didn’t hear anything. They could be under the bridge, he supposed, the rushing water drowning out the sound of a scuffle.
“Hood, take Nightwing back to the cave and start thawing him out. Orphan, Spoiler, take Freeze to the police, and tell them to send a team in to unfreeze the bridge and thaw out the civilians.”
The three nodded.
Bruce turned, practically sprinting to the other side of the bridge. “Red Robin, come in,” he tried on the comms. No response.
He searched the bridge. Every spec of the road. Every nook, every cranny. Every frozen man, woman, child. Beneath cars, on the cables and support beams, down near the river below. There were only so many places to go on one bridge, and yet, there was no sign of Tim anywhere. No sign that he’d left, or that he’d been there in the first place.
“Oracle. I need a location on Red Robin.”
He walked along the river bank at the edge of the bridge, his eyes scanning the ground, his boots crunching against the rock and damp soil. Then, he stepped on something.
“It says he’s right beside you, Batman.”
Bruce’s blood turned cold. Slowly, as if expecting to find a landmine, he lifted his foot. What he found was worse. So, so, so much worse. He could feel his body turn to ice, as if frozen like the people on the bridge.
Tim’s comm.
Oh god. Please, no.
Not again.
“Oracle, tell everyone to meet in the cave. This is an emergency.”
“No, Batman, don’t tell me…” Barbara’s voice shook.
So did Bruce’s.
“Red Robin’s been kidnapped.”
Batman never came. Timmy knew that. He had wished, and wished, and wished, but no matter how hard he tried, his dad always made it into his room, always dragged him out of his bed—by his arm, by his wrist, by his hair, by anything he could get ahold of. And then he would scream at him, would hit him, would make sure Timmy knew exactly what he had done wrong.
And then Dad would leave, and so would Mom. And Timmy would be alone. Sometimes for days, sometimes weeks, sometimes months. Timmy wasn't sure if he liked being alone more or less. Sure, he wasn't being beaten, but at least when he was being beaten it felt like his parents cared enough to beat him.
After years of wishing, of begging, of hoping that maybe, just maybe, Batman and Robin would come, that they would save him, Timmy learned the truth. No one was coming to save him. So Timmy decided he would become his own Batman and Robin.
And in a way, that worked. Because Bat-Timmy would stand strong, would face the beatings, the neglect, the constant cycle. Just like Batman, just like Robin, Bat-Timmy never gave up, stood brave and tall in the face of a villain.
And normal Timmy would forget hiding under the bed. He'd forget crying, begging, pleading for Dad to stop. He'd forget Mom's face. He'd forget Dad's face. He'd forget Mom's death. He'd forget that Dad remarried. He'd forget where they lived. He'd never even think about them, because they weren't really even his parents anymore.
But Bat-Timmy would always remember. He'd always remember the sound of Dad's yelling, and the silence of being alone. He'd remember the feeling of dread he got when he heard their car pull up into the driveway. He'd remember begging, crying, hiding under the bed.
And he'd remember that Batman never came.
Red Robin's eyes shot open, darting around like wasps trapped in a glass box. His heart rate was skyrocketing, he was sweating, and it was hard to think. He struggled against the chains that bound him, tying him to a metal chair. He couldn't make out anything beyond himself, the world beyond stretching on like a vast, distorted blur of blackness. He felt like he could barely breathe, and he didn't know if this was real, if anything was real, if he was even real.
“Where are you, Timmy?”
His head snapped to the side. But no one was there.
“Come on, Tim, open the door. I just want to talk.”
The other side. Still no one there.
“No one's coming to save you.”
Red Robin's head snapped forward, and it took everything in him not to scream as he looked into those awful, horrible, evil blue eyes.
“Batman will save me,” he found himself saying.
But Dad merely scoffed.
Then pain, right through his abdomen. Blood spewed from his lips as his body lurched forward. And then he could feel it, his body decaying as each agonizing year went by. His skin and flesh began to rot, falling off his body in clumps. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, could only feel as his jaw hung open, the skin of his face beginning to melt away, until even his bones couldn't stay together, his skeleton collapsing into a pile of dust—forgotten. Alone. Not rescued. Not loved.
Red Robin jolted awake. He was back in that chair again. His flesh was still attached to his body, something that he was at least thankful for.
He looked in front of himself, his eyes narrowing to try and make out a shadow moving in front of him.
He recognized the sound of those footsteps. He wasn't going to let what he'd just witnessed happen again.
“Stay away from me!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. He struggled against the chains, his heart sounding in his ears like a miniature explosion every time it beat. The shadow approached him faster, causing him to struggle more.
When it got close enough to touch him, Red Robin acted out of desperation, raising his legs and slamming them directly into his dad’s stomach. He fell backwards, chair and all. His heart felt like it was going to erupt as he realized he'd only made matters worse, and he thrashed back and forth on the ground desperately.
But it was too late. Far too late. Something covered Red Robin's mouth and he couldn't fight the pull into the deep, dark, blackness.
Two days.
Two days Tim was gone.
Bruce had vowed to never let this happen again.
And yet, Tim was gone for two days.
When they found him, he had been dosed with so much fear toxin, he didn’t recognize who Bruce was, had fought back when he tried to help. Luckily they’d been able to sedate him, and were able to get him out and back to the batcave before his heart gave out. But they had been dangerously close to coming too late. Too close for Bruce to feel anything but guilt.
Bruce wasn’t sure which of Tim’s alters had been there in that moment when they found him, wasn’t sure which one would wake up once the antidote got through his system.
And Tim wasn’t the only one Bruce was feeling guilty about.
Dick had spent too much time on ice. His heart had stopped. They’d managed to get it beating again, but Dick hadn’t woken up yet. He had severe hypothermia, and the beginnings of frostbite on his fingertips. Luckily there wouldn’t be any permanent damage, as long as they kept his core temperature stable.
Bruce sat in the cave, sitting in a chair between two beds, the heartbeats of his two unconscious sons filling his ears like a horrible soundtrack to his guilty conscience. He was always too late. No matter how hard he tried, he was always too late. Too late for Dick. Too late for Jason. And too late for Tim.
The Joker had taunted him about it once.
“Batman, when will you learn! The biggest danger to a Robin is the Bat who taught him to fly! I may clip the birdy’s wings, but who gave them to him in the first place?”
Bruce, in many ways, agreed with him.
And he’d tried, on many occasions, to convince his children to hang up their capes, to live normal lives, to be protected from the danger his lifestyle brought to them. But they were stubborn, they were passionate, and they were good, dammit, they were all so good, and they refused to leave Bruce alone even after he tried begging, pleading, forcing them to.
Bruce looked up at the sound of footsteps.
“Hey.”
It was Duke.
“Hey,” Bruce said back, his voice rough.
“You look tired. I’ve got some homework I need to get done, so… I can stay here and, y’know, keep an eye on things, if you need to get some rest.”
“No,” Bruce shook his head, “I need to stay with them. I’ll be fine.”
Duke looked at Bruce for a moment, and he could tell the teen was trying hard to figure out what to say.
“Bruce, I really think—”
He raised his hand, and Duke paused.
“I’m not leaving their sides,” he said, “But… I wouldn’t mind some company.”
Duke cracked a weak smile. Bruce stood up to go grab another chair, gesturing for Duke to sit in his. He could see Duke’s eyes flick between Dick and Tim. This wasn’t easy for him. It wasn't easy for any of them. It never would be.
Bruce sat down in front of his second youngest, leaning forward with his hands folded in front of him.
“Need any help with that homework?”
“Yeah… that would be great.”
Chapter Text
The lights were flickering. It made his head hurt. The shadows flickered with the lights, in and out, in and out. Crowbar. Flicker. Belt. Flicker. Cables. Flicker. Backhand. Flicker. Batarang.
Wait, what?
Flicker.
“You’re a disappointment.”
Flicker.
“Worthless.”
Flicker.
“Waste of space.”
Flicker.
“Tim, wake up, please.”
Light poured in through his vision. A faint glow, enough to illuminate the shadows, to cast them away.
His eyes opened, and the light burned, eyes stinging as tears fell down his face. The shadow above him cleared, and he knew he recognized who was looking at him.
His lips moved to make the ‘B’ sound, but then he couldn’t get the name out. He didn’t know what name he was looking for.
“Hey, hey, don’t try to speak yet, it’s okay,” ‘B’ said, “You’re okay.”
Was he okay? Was he okay if he couldn’t remember who he was talking to? If he couldn’t remember his own name? If his heart was beating so hard he could feel it slamming against his ribcage? Was he okay if his breathing was picking up again and he was crying for who knows what reason and everything around him was strange but normal but wrong but right, his body both his and someone else’s entirely, fog over his mind and his tongue and his limbs that wouldn’t quite move the way he wanted them to?
“Relax, relax, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
A hand was stroking his damp forehead, brushing back his hair, and he latched onto it as if it were the most gentle touch in the world, the only thing tethering him to a reality away from the shadows, from clownish smiles and the angry baring of teeth all the same, from the the words Dad and Daddy that now felt more like pleas for mercy than the names given to fathers.
“The antidote is working through your system. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
He didn’t quite understand what ‘B’ was referring to. But he heard his tone, he understood it, so different from the ways he’d been spoken to, by the shadows that danced along the edges of his memory, appearing to him whenever he shut his eyes.
He wanted to laugh. But he wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He didn’t know what he wanted. He was terrified. So terrified of even blinking, even for just a moment.
But no matter how hard he tried to keep his eyes open, the shadows creeped in anyway. The lights flickered, and he swore he could see them behind ‘B’, waiting, waiting for just the right moment to take away his anchor, his safety, the only thing shielding him from the inevitable.
“Shh, shh, shh, Tim, it’s okay, it’s okay,” ‘B’ kept repeating.
His throat hurt. It burned, it burned so badly. But he couldn’t even hear himself screaming. The shadows were all around him, getting closer, the mingled shouts and laughs mingling in his ears until he couldn’t hear anything else.
But ‘B’ pulled him closer, wrapped his body around him as if to shield him from the shadows. His voice drowned out the shouting, the cackling, the words of venom spat into his ears.
“It’s okay.”
And then he remembered.
He knew what that ‘B’ stood for.
“Batman!”
Once Tim had recovered enough to be coherent again, Bruce had scheduled him an appointment with Dr. Leland as soon as possible.
“I’ve been doing some research,” she explained to Bruce afterward. “The fear toxin likely increased the dissociation he experiences on a regular basis—he’s probably sort of a mix, right now. Not quite Tim, JJ, or Red Robin. Somewhere in between. Bits of memory from each, but nothing concrete, no strong sense of identity.”
Bruce nodded as he processed everything she’d said. “So that’s why he’s been so… spaced out, even after we flushed the toxin.”
Tim had been more than spaced out, though. Dick still hadn’t woken up—a fact that was stressing Bruce out so badly he hadn’t slept in days (maybe even a week or two, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed anymore)—and every time Bruce came down to check on him, there was Tim, sitting where Bruce had sat the first few days, just… staring at Dick. But the look in his eyes, it wasn’t just concern for a family member, or the kind of guilt that Bruce felt. It was something else, something Bruce couldn’t quite place. Almost like… awe.
Seeing Dr. Leland off for the day, Bruce slipped back down to the Batcave. Sure enough, Tim had already settled himself back into his spot at Dick’s side.
“Hey, Tim,” he said, and Tim flinched, and Bruce immediately regretted sneaking up on him, even if it was by accident.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay.”
Those two words seemed to have passed between them a lot recently.
“Is he showing any signs of improvement?” Bruce asked, gesturing to Dick.
Tim shook his head.
“He looks different than he did in the picture.”
Bruce was slightly taken aback by that comment.
“What do you mean, son?”
“You know. When you and him saved the city from The Penguin.”
Bruce and Dick had apprehended The Penguin about a dozen or more times over the years. Anywhere public, and the paparazzi had been around. So it was safe to say he had no idea what picture Tim was talking about. Though, no matter which photograph, it had been a long time since he and Dick alone had gone against that fine feathered fink.
Bruce swallowed. There was a slight, uncertain tremor in his voice.
“Well, that was a long time ago, bud.”
Tim just nodded.
“Well… since we’re on the subject,” Bruce began, sitting down on the bed that had been Tim’s until he woke up, and that hadn’t been moved just yet, “would you like to hear about the time The Penguin ran for mayor?”
Tim’s eyes, which had been so dull since he’d woken up, seemed to brighten up a little at that, and he nodded again. Bruce found it in him to crack a small smile.
“Alright. It started with an ad on the television…”
Notes:
I've been rewatching '66 Batman recently and that definitely influenced this chapter, lol
Some things I've noticed in the comments that I'd like to clear up:
1. While Jason did become Robin when Tim was a kid, he didn't become Robin until Tim was about 10-11. So Dick would have been Robin when Tim was going through the beginning of his trauma (think ages 5-8), and would be his childhood Robin
2. At this point in time I don't have plans to write anything about a concrete innerworld for Tim and his alters. Not all systems have innerworlds, and to me there are a lot more aspects of Tim's disorder and his healing that I would like to focus on more with this story. I may decide to write innerworld stuff later on down the line, but it's not something that's part of the vision as of right now
3. I'm loving all the theories about what's the deal with Timmy and Bat-Timmy! I will just say that this fic has and always will be centered specifically on Red Robin, so take that information as you will.
Thank you all so much for reading!!
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