Tim's only joined as Robin for a few weeks, has gone on patrol, has fought, and it's fantastic, it's great, except that Batman is just as self-destructive and horrible and cold as ever and he knew what was up, he knew what was wrong and yet why couldn't he solve this issue?

He gets injured on patrol and Batman bandages it so fucking carefully, disinfects it and he's soft and soothing and for a moment Tim wonders if maybe he actually does care and then he goes and says, "You can't be Robin anymore," and Tim is done.

He is so. Fucking. Done.

"What the fuck is your problem?" He snarls, standing up and ignoring the pain that spikes through his leg. "What are you trying to do here? Why are you trying to hold this back? What are you so fucking terrified of, Bruce?"

Batman flinches at his name, and then he repeats, "You can't be Robin," because he's stupid and bullheaded and stubborn and...

Tim hates this.

"Fine," he rips off the mask and throws it to the ground, "Then go and fucking self-destruct. Destroy yourself! Leave Gotham without a hero. I don't fucking care anymore. I thought that you were supposed to be a hero... but you aren't, are you? Batman's not about Gotham. It's about you trying to be a fucking martyr because you can't commit suicide without some warped idea that you're doing it for a good reason. News flash, there's never a good reason to die. But fine, if that's what you want." He takes off the Robin suit and shrugs on his clothing, "Go and die."

And fine, he thinks.

Because he has admired Batman and Robin, he has geeked out over them, he was amazed by them, but he can't just sit and watch Batman destroy himself like this, but he's obviously not the right person for the job, so fine. Whatever.

Who cares?

Not me, he thinks as he storms away, and when he sees Batman on TV without a Robin by his side he thinks it wasn't meant to be me, anyway.

Tim is done with the superhero business. It's done and over with and he doesn't fucking care (or so he tells himself, and ignores the sharp pang in his chest when he sees Batman fly alone through the sky).

Which is why it's a bit of a shock when he wakes up at 2 am to Dick Grayson clamping a hand over his mouth.

"Please don't attack me," Dick says, and Tim forces himself to stop halfway through the instinctive self-defence movement that he had already been moving through. "Come on, Timmers, what do you think of ice cream? There's a nice place just down the street that's open 24/7."

"Let me just... let me just get my jacket," Tim says, because he's unsure and stunned and how the fuck do you react to the original Robin breaking into your house at 2 in the morning to invite you to eat ice cream?

"Neat-o!" Dick beams and Tim thinks this is Robin. You're Robin. Why did you ever leave? "Do you have a favourite flavour? Oh, right, it's my treat, of course. Don't bother getting your wallet." Tim shrugs on a lame hoodie with some dumb pun about chemistry that makes Dick smile at and he has a short moment thinking is this too lame before Dick says, "It's nice to see that you have a sense of humour. God knows that B has none."

Tim can't help but smile at that, and says, "I tried making one pun about a villain once, and he gave me this look like what language is this."

"Oh my god, he still makes that face?" Dick snickered and opened Tim's window, "Man, and here I was thinking that it was just with me."

"Nah, he goes all," Tim mimics the face, and Dick bursts into laughter as they climb onto the drainpipe and he shuts the window.

"Man, B's a real riot," He slides down the pipe and flips onto the floor because he's a show-off and Tim can't even call him out on it because he's too much of a fanboy to do so. "So, what happened between you two? Did you get sick of it or something?"

"Well, kind of," Tim gingerly steps off of the drainpipe like a normal person with bones that can actually get broken (because he is 99% sure that Dick Grayson has no bones and is like the human version of a slinky or something), "But I think he also fired me. I don't think I'm cut out to be Robin, honestly."

Dick gives him this baffled look, possibly because he's the Golden Boy who can Do No Wrong and doesn't understand what it's like to not be good at being Robin, and then he says in a no-nonsense voice, "Are you crazy? You're amazing. You're an even better Robin than I was."

"Are you crazy?" Tim rebuttals, "Robin's job is to be the light to Batman's darkness! To stop Bruce from being such a... such a..." He searches for the right words.

"Self-destructive turd?" Dick offers, and Tim nods angrily.

"I can't do it! He hates me! He never talks to me and just criticizes me when I train and the only time he acted nice to me was right before he fired me. Bruce never even wanted me to be Robin! He just took me on out of pity."

Dick is silent for a moment, shadows over his face, and Tim sees the Bat in him as opposed to the Robin in that single moment, dark and thoughtful, and then Dick says softly, "I know that B's not the best at this feeling's stuff, and I guess that was what I did as Robin. I made sure he knew how he was feeling, and that it was communicated properly. But that's not... that's not Robin's job. Robin's job is to be there. To love and be loved and I knew that you had some issues, but..."

"But Bruce hates me," Tim concludes, shoving his arms over his chest.

"No," Dick corrects him, "Bruce is scared to love you."

"Because the other Robin died?" Tim asks uncomfortably.

"Because of Jaybird... because of Jason... yeah." Dick stops just below a street light and reaches out to ruffle Tim's hair, "You don't get it, Tim, because you didn't know B before this. But he cares about you, he's just forgotten how to do it."

"So firing me is his way of caring?" Tim snarks.

"In his own way, yeah," Dick runs his fingers through his hair, "I think, really, it means he's gotten really attached. Look, Timmers,"

"Why do you call me that?" Tim cuts in, interrupting Dick.

Dick's fingers freeze on his head, and he stares at Tim, "Because that's what... that's what..." He turns bright red and then shakes his head, "I don't know. I just... I guess it's my way of showing that I'm attached, too."

Tim is unsatisfied, and his face must show that because Dick's hand drops.

"I can call you Tim, if you want," Dick offers, voice as soft and fragile as glass, "Or Robin. That's who you are now, I guess."

"I'm not," Tim answers stubbornly, "I'm not Robin."

"Right," Dick lowers his eyes and smiles, hollow and twisted, "I'm not Robin and Jay... Jason... can't any more where he is. If you aren't Robin, then who will be?"

"Nobody," Tim snarks, "I was wrong, Batman doesn't need a Robin."

"That's where you couldn't be more wrong," Dick shakes his head, "Batman needs a Robin. He needs... he needs you."

"He doesn't," Tim answers, because he's tried, he's tried so fucking hard and Bruce hadn't tried at all to connect, too stuck in fear and uncertainty to see Tim trying, and Tim is so sick of trying to be perfect, he's so fucking sick of it and he doesn't need another broken relationship where he's the one who's always trying and the other person is never satisfied. He tells Dick as much, gets mad and snaps and he's so angry and he just can't.

Dick is silent for a long time after Tim says so much, chews on his nails and lowers his eyes, and his smile is gone for that duration, leaving behind a blank, shattered expression that makes Tim wonder what's left when Dick stops smiling.

Then Dick smiles again, a sick, wrong smile that's a bit too cut and paste and trying to be bright but too faded and dim to sit right on Dick's face, and he says, "Okay," in a voice that sounds like water falling once the wave's already crashed against the shore, "Okay. Sorry, it was selfish to want you to..."

He shakes his head, once, twice, and then Dick laughs, awkward and wrong and shoves his hands in his pockets.

"Sorry, this was a silly conversation," Dick says, and is it wrong for Tim to feel so guilty? "I promised you ice cream, didn't I? Let's talk about something else."

So they do.

They talk about Lego and the Lego movie and sexism in movies and they talk about Rom Coms and Audrey Hepburn and how Meryl Streep is queen and how Marilyn Monroe was forever remembered in history as something that really she shouldn't have been and they talk about history and kings and the French Revolution and they talk about everything and nothing and they talk and talk and Dick doesn't mention Tim trying to reach a bar of perfectionism that can't be achieved and Tim doesn't say anything about the hollow smile on Dick's lips and they both pretend that everything is perfect and fine and it's wrong but it's right and Tim would like everything to stay like this just for... just for a while.

Is it selfish to want everything to stay like this?

"What the fuck are you so scared of?" Dick demands, slamming into Bruce as soon as he walks into the Manor. "Tim was perfect for you! He was the perfect Robin, he tried so fucking hard, he's the perfect detective, he's Robin, why would you take that away from him?"

"He didn't need to be Robin," Bruce says, haughty and high because this is Bruce, pretending that he's always right and that he knows what to do even when he's self-destructing when they both know that he's the perfect mess.

"He doesn't need to be Robin?" Dick repeats, high pitched and shrill, "I didn't need to be Robin! Jason didn't need to be Robin! You didn't need to pity some random circus brat or a street kid, you didn't need to take us with you and..."

"Should I have just left you..."

"You didn't need to bring me on your stupid crusade..."

"Oh, then I should have just pretended that everything was fine..."

"You didn't need..."

"Would you have just stayed home, then..."

"This isn't about us, Bruce!" Dick cuts in, pressing two hands against Bruce's chest. "I'm not here to talk about you and me, I'm here to talk to you about Tim, and it's not about needing to be Robin, it's about what you need too, something, so fuck, even if Tim could be successful and amazing without beating up dudes in shifty alleyways, what are the chances that they won't find your body rotting in the sewers without you having a Robin?"

"I won't..."

"Or in the fucking bathroom?" Dick shoves Bruce, hard, and buries his face in his hands, "What are the chances that you won't fucking hang yourself and leave Alfred to find you, without a Robin? Batman was supposed to be about justice, but you keep forgetting to be Bruce Wayne, you keep forgetting that Batman isn't the only thing that you are!"

"Then what are the chances that you won't find Tim's body, rotting in the sewers?" Bruce snarls, angry and harsh, "What are the chances that he'll live, that he won't be Jason? He can still avoid this, can avoid dying, can choose to..."

"But he didn't choose to, you chose for him and..."

"It's the better choice..."

"He needs to make it himself, Bruce!"

"If I can keep him safe..."

"He's not Jason, dammit..."

"He could be!" Bruce explodes, "He could be Jason! I'll get attached and I'll love him and I'll get ice cream with him and the next thing that I know, I'll be at his funeral pretending that it wasn't my fault."

Dick sobs and Bruce turns his face away, eyes closing. "It wasn't your fault," Dick says, voice cracking, and Bruce shakes his head.

"How long do you think you're going to live, Dick?" He asks, soft, bitter. "How long do you think you'll outlive the rest of the heroes, how long do you think you can stay lucky, how long can we pretend that there's some way to have a happy ending and still be a hero?"

"A short life doesn't mean it's not a happy ending," Dick says.

"So, me standing at your funeral, can still be a happy ending? Me, watching you get your brains blown out because you saved someone..."

"But that means that I fucking saved someone, Bruce, this isn't about me, this is about the girl who doesn't get raped, this is about the boy who doesn't have to watch his dad hit his mum anymore, this is about so much more than you and me, this is about so much more than..." Dick takes in a shaky breath, "It's about so much more than us."

Bruce stares at his hands, stares at his feet, anywhere but Dick, and then he says, "I'll... I'll talk to Tim."

"Yeah," Dick says, "You fucking better."

Then he hugs Bruce, a quick few seconds, and leaves, leaving behind Bruce and a mansion that's a bit too big for just himself and Alfred.

Bruce apologizes to Tim. Finds him and talks to him and confesses that he's not quite sure how to act and Tim is angry, Tim screams at him and Bruce apologises a bit more and then Tim forgives him and it's not perfect, it's nowhere near so, but they talk, and they understand each other a bit more and when night comes, Batman's no longer alone and Robin feels a bit more like the symbol that he is and a bit less like a kid playing dress up.

It's not about us, Dick had said, and he was right.

It wasn't about Dick and Bruce anymore.

It was Tim and Bruce.

Batman and Robin.