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Tim looked around, suspicious.
He could hear the faint buzz of people talking and the clink of silverware. Just barely though. He was sitting in a private room at a 3 Michelin star restaurant, a napkin folded on his lap and a dozen more utensils in front of him then he needed. He had always hated these restaurants.
Alfred's cooking easily surpassed it, and you got larger portion sizes as well as the comfort of your own home. Or well, of Wayne manor and its creepy portraits staring at you.
He fingered the thick cloth of the napkin, his mind naturally straying to how many times he'd been gagged and trussed up as the Boy Wonder, or to how Bart could and had folded them into 28 different shapes including a turkey and an elf hat. (Kon took to wearing that one on missions.)
It didn't help that he could use superspeed and for the few days that he was obsessed with napkin origami, anytime someone was munching on a snack, there he'd be with a swan shaped napkin proffered, grinning ear to ear, watching you with big brown eyes.
Tim had only eaten in the safety of his Bat-secured room that week.
It was strange how being Red Robin was his whole life now when he hadn't even been planning to stay as Robin.
It had been a temporary thing, a way to help Bruce get back on his feet.
But now...
He looked up and shoved down the Impulse - Bart really had to stop with the jokes - to cover his face in embarrassment because goddammit it, Dick, don't wear bowties outside. Or ever.
And that self-satisfied smirk on Dick's face as he shifted the tie - Tim knew it was just to mess with him, but still - and waved to a few of the onlookers at the restaurant as he returned from the restroom.
Tim sighed, and returned to the menu, trying to decipher the foreign words and ignore his deluded older brother. He had learned more than a dozen languages in the duration of working as Robin, but this, this he had no idea what it said.
It could be some sort of Asian dialect.
Tim had been debating whether he could sneak his phone out while Dick was in the bathroom. If it was just Kon or Bart, he wouldn't have even thought about it, but this was Nightwing he was up against: the guy who had taught him most of what he knew.
Dick would tease him relentlessly about worrying about a simple meal.
They just had so much sarcastic, mentally disturbed humor to throw at each other. Mainly jabs at the fact that - damn, you don't know how to do this? But Batman trained you - considering that was basically the behavior of everyone who were only acquaintances to their superhero identity.
With his nose, shoved into the menu, Tim sighed again. He had lost his chance now. Even if Kon always told him he should stop overthinking things, it wasn't like Tim had superpowers and could afford to screw up.
Dick settled in the chair and grinned, coughing to get Tim's attention.
He slowly lifted his head, eyes narrowed.
"So, what're you ordering?" Dick grinned innocently, his hands unfolding the opera house shape napkin. He offered Tim a smirk before taking a long sip of water and gesturing at the menu.
Annnnnd wait for it - his brother was a jerk. Tim couldn't count the number of times Dick had tried to freak him out while staking out some criminal. Like it was his past time to try and break Tim's professional demeanor. Dick did it to Batman too. And when it was Nightwing and the Flash, they were relentless with the bad puns.
Tim shrugged coolly, "Maybe the second one."
In his younger, naive and stupider years, Tim had thought he could maybe outdo Dick and stop the teasing. The prank that he had planned with Kon and Bart had only led to an all out war. Criminals had avoided Robin and Nightwing solely due to the fact that they might get caught in one of the traps the two heroes had set up for one another.
Itching powder. Superglue. Diluted sex pollen - Dick was a dick. Tripwires. Locking Dick out of his electronic devices. And so on.
Bruce had not been happy that month.
And for several weeks, it wasn't just, "Metas are unwelcome in Gotham City," but, "Metas and Dick Grayson better stay the hell away from Gotham City."
Tim, as usual, had gotten the short end of the stick, and was the one stuck with a pissy Batman while his brother was shamelessly running free.
Dick hummed, his eyes gleaming. "Really? I'm not sure which one you're talking about. 'cause I can't read anything on the menu."
Tim glared.
Dick grinned.
Tim groaned and whipped out his phone, muttering curses. "We're going to be poisoned, Dick. This is how we're going to die, eating cockroaches and sheep's heads."
Dick closed his eyes and simply started moving his hand around until his finger landed on some random dish.
His little brother made a noise of indignation.
"Don't expect me to save you when you die from food poisoning."
Dick faked a hurt expression, "But Timmy, you're my hero."
Tim blatantly ignored him for his phone, but eventually gave up his faked nonchalance when Dick continued with his charade and kicked him in the shins. He hoped he bruised.
When the waiter came by, Dick ordered his carefully chosen dish, and Tim ordered what he thought was some kind of rice and some kind of meat after playing 2100 questions with the waiter and Dick playing footsie with an unresponsive Tim.
They had lunch and Tim had to fend for his meal when Dick decidedly didn't like his.
Knife in one hand, and spoon scooping up the food at every opportunity - most of it ended back onto the dish or being choked down as Tim laughed, feeling a little high, surreal - they ended up fencing; he didn't stop himself from gloating a little when he beat Dick.
Throughout the meal, Tim kept on thinking one thought: for once everything was good.
All recent alien-robot invasions had been thwarted. His family and friends were in good health. Damian and Jason didn't try to kill him anymore. It was nice.
And just the thought as he openly laughed, was a reminder that it wouldn't last, that he wanted it to, that he didn't want to lose his family and friends, whether through death or distance, but it would happen and Tim would be helpless to stop it.
He grinned, flinging some of Dick's rejected food at his brother, ducking and laughing because Dick's laughter was contagious - comparable to the Bubonic plague. They would definitely pay for it when they had to pick each rice grain off the carpet before the waiter returned.
They did, fumbling to gather them up and falling over each other as they scrambled to get more than the other. The waiter had come in on them wrestling with each other in mashed up rice.
As usual, Tim stewed in his own shame while trying and failing to explain their behavior.
On the other hand, Dick snuck the rest of his food before swooping in and charming the pants off the waiter.
Dick got his number.
Without trying.
Tim sighed as he walked out into the blinding morning sunshine. And the outside. Which meant no air conditioning. His stomach grumbled and he made a face just as Dick caught up, looping his arms around Tim's neck before the younger boy could react.
Tim had been Robin for five or so years. Red Robin for another year or so. And he had known, studied Dick since he was what? Five?
He was always still too slow.
He expected the knuckle before it came, and Tim was questioning whether six years worth of noogies were worth it. Which they were. But still.
"Hey, Dick. Stop!" Tim groaned, tugging at his forearm.
People were looking. Some were smiling, but it still unnerved Tim when people were staring at him for acting like a five year old with Dick. It was embarrassing.
His older brother only grinned. "I've got to make up for all the lost time when I've could've been showering you in my brotherly affection."
Tim sighed, giving up his struggle. He had thought that after becoming equals with Dick, the man would finally give up on the noogies, because well, Tim had supposed they were more demeaning than anything and Dick was the one who had encouraged becoming Red Robin - for multiple reasons including a murderous child that Tim was still slightly sore over - but he hadn't. And it frustrated Tim to no end.
Being equals should exclude you from the noogieable category in Tim's mind.
But besides Bruce and Alfred, no one was immune. Dick had done it to fucking Lex Luthor in a fight and Tim winced at the thought of not even having hair as a buffer.
Tim had learned another thing. That becoming equals - bar the fact that he was always and would always be, as Dick had insisted, Dick's little brother - meant seeing a man you had worshipped like a pitiful squealing fangirl, as Damian had insisted Tim was, be more vulnerable.
He had watched his hero fall. Bleed. Lose.
But he had never been the one to see his brother lost, asking for help.
Now, Dick was trusting Tim more.
And Tim was starting to realize that this pain, this fear that he had finally revealed to Tim - it was what Dick had managed to hide every time he had swung by Gotham, grinning.
Because who had Dick confided in before, if not his family?
Barbara had her own problems, and had been more distant as Oracle with the Birds of Prey.
Jason - was well a somewhat psychopathic bastard who was still sorta family, but still a somewhat psychopathic bastard with a gun.
Damian was a problem in and of himself. But he hadn't been here that long. And he had his own extensive list of mommy problems. Not to mention the daddy problems he would soon be developing with Bruce "around".
Cass and Steph had never been the closest to Dick. And well, Steph often ran off with some random idea faster than you could think.
Bruce. Well. Bruce.
Which left Alfred and Wally, Tim guessed.
Because now he was seeing more and more frequently the reasons why Dick was Nightwing and not Robin, why he was working solo.
After a few long humiliating moments of Tim finally relaxing so that Dick had to deal with the full brunt of his weight, which Dick took gladly, dragging Tim around like a giant plush toy, Dick finally loosened up.
Tim leapt away at once and kept a good distance between them as he watched Dick warily, rubbing his neck. "Am I allowed to pass these on to Damian?"
There was obvious mirth in Dick's eyes. "As in you'll pass it along, or you and Damian trade places? Because I'm pretty sure either would get you killed."
Tim narrowed his eyes, "Why am I always blamed by him?" He threw his hands up in defeat. Because he never really won against Dick, at least never in a way that made him feel good. He had to be the reasonable one.
Dick shrugged. "He shows his affection by getting stabby?"
He made a face.
Dick grinned, reaching out to ruffle Tim's hair as the younger boy jumped out of his reach on reflex. Which got a laugh out of him. He chased after Tim his fingers wiggling. Tim groaned internally, trying to keep his frustration of a brother away - tickling was just so much worse - when Dick's phone rang.
Tim released a purposefully loud sigh of relief, glaring pointedly as Dick picked it up. His brother winked, his smile familiar. Comforting. But at the sudden silence, without their joking chatter, everything else was unsettling. The sunlight was blinding behind Dick and lit the edges of his figure, creating shadows in his face. It lit up the old silvery scars, the slight bags under his eyes, and the crinkles of his eyes that Dick always got when he smiled.
"Dick here."
Dick sure as hell better appreciate that Tim was more mature than that.
"Yeah. I got it. No worries, Vic." Dick laughed, "Will do. Okay. Bye."
Tim met Dick's eyes, raising an eyebrow.
His brother gave him a genuine smile, his expression conflicted for a short moment, before he waved, winking. "Seeya, little bro."
Tim knew he would be bothered by that slight change in expression for a while. He couldn't ignore a mystery he was presented with. Especially when he thought Dick trusted him more than that already. Tim had, after all, survived being Robin, been a team leader, found Bruce, and was completely capable of working on his own now...but he supposed that was the way it went. He shouldn't be so bothered by it, but he supposed he needed something to think about on the walk back anyway.
Tim nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets, watching Dick leave.
It was always weird. Laughing until your cheeks hurt with someone. And then being alone again. But Tim supposed it couldn't be helped.
After Dick left, Tim had gotten take out, because the only brother he thought wasn't trying to kill might've been planning to slowly starve him considering the way he habitually stole his food. He must've been in cahoots with Bart.
Tim stuck a dumpling in his mouth before returning to his computer, the bright screen shining in the darkness of the room. He sighed. The Titans tower system needed to be upgraded but there were so many specifications that his teammates had demanded. Some of them wanted to sneak one night stands in to impress their date. Which. Really.
Why had they even asked? Did they actually expect Tim to comply?
Suddenly, he felt his phone vibrate next to him and the caller ID said Dick. Jason actually, had a picture of a cartoon dick for Dick, a stick in the mud for Tim, and Grumpy Cat for Damian. He didn't want to know what he had for Bruce. Probably a bloody corpse or something.
"Yeah?" Tim held the phone with his chin and shoulder, continuing his typing.
Dick called up, "So turns out Damian, the brat, actually liked the dish I ordered."
Tim tried to avoid doing a spit take on his laptop, and moved to the side, water overflowing out of his mouth anyway, before he gathered himself enough to respond. "You're kidding, right?"
"Nope. He was a little giddy. Insulted half of the world's intelligence, including yours and mine in between bites."
Tim snorted, as he wiped his mouth. Yuck. Water in his nose. He hummed as he looked through the security codes and couldn't help but click on some of the surveillance videos. He swore that the Titans always forgot that they had security cameras in all the public spaces except the bathrooms. Because some hilarious and/or racy stuff went on in those halls. Not that his teammates had much shame - Kon. Bart.
At the voice chattering on in his ear - Tim noticed the faint tenor of stress in Dick's voice. A smile appeared on his lips. He was glad that he could notice these things. That he was able to help Dick. "So what's up with the call?"
Dick was silent, before responding wryly, "Blunt much? Well before I got called away, I was going to ask if you were all right."
There was a longer silence as Tim constructed his response. Because that was Tim's question. And Dick had stolen it right from under his nose. He was tempted to laugh at the irony as he distantly watched Cass and Bart get drunk (not that Bart really was; he probably just wanted to wear her's) and switch costumes. But he shouldn't have expected anything less from his brother. In the end, all he managed was, "Why're you asking?"
"You seemed more pensive than usual. Which I guess isn't grounds for touchy feely talk, but with Bruce back, and well, the Insider thing and Red Robin everything and...I dunno. You all right?"
Tim paused, "Yeah. I'm...fine." Very convincing, Tim.
Was it because Dick felt he hadn't been spending as much time with Tim? Sure he was always glad to have Dick around, but he didn't exactly want him to feel guilty...okay maybe he did a little, but that was because Damian - and now Bruce - took up all of Dick's time and energy...
Okay maybe he did a lot. Because weeeeell. Tim was pretty good at holding grudges. He blamed his adolescent mind for having placed Dick on a pedestal and for having never been able to take him down from it. Having the Robin mantle be taken away from him had hurt. Of all the people to betray him, he had never expected it to be Dick. Never Dick. To be honest, it had taken a lot for them to get back into their usual rhythm. Or not their usual, but something better. Something more solid.
Dick still didn't respond and Tim let out a snort.
He could hear the disbelieving silence. It was outright ridiculous that Tim could now decipher the different silences that his family offered. Bruce's proud ones. Dick's pained ones. The ones right before Damian and Jason tried to beat the shit out of him.
He broke out of his thoughts at Dick's tentative tone. "You sure?"
Tim shrugged and almost dropped the phone, flushing when he realized Dick couldn't see him.
Was he okay?
Maybe?
No one in their line of work was ever really fine. But as of the moment...Tim was. Sort of. He wasn't in mortal danger so he supposed that was a plus...
He was...he had his friends, his family all alive. Which was beyond good. It was almost miraculous. It was just that...he felt like it wasn't real. That he would wake up alone again with Conner and Bart dead or with everyone calling him insane with grief. But that...that wasn't what he wanted Dick to know at the moment. Dick had more than enough to deal with. He wanted...
Tim finally figured out what he wanted to say, what had been bugging him the whole time and while he considered saving it for another time, his dad's death had taught him better than that. So had all the other not-deaths of his family, but..
"...just. Y'know. The same for you. The same offer's there for you too if you ever want to talk."
And there was Dick's giddy silence before he said something that would embarrass and/or irritate Tim.
"Thanks, Little Wing."
Tim paused, ignoring the need to blush and squeal, because this was, in the end, his childhood hero talking. "Y-yeah. No problem."
"So if I have some girl pro-"
"Stop right there." Tim pinched his eyebrows. He could practically hear Dick's shit eating grin.
"C'mon, Tim." Dick whined.
"No. Dick. Oh god. The drama I get into with you."
"Says the guy who had Greta and Steph fight over you."
"I- No." Tim flushed, flicking through the cameras to make sure he had considered all past scenarios that might need specifications for the new security. "They're my friends." Sort of. Not so much with Greta. She sort of scared him actually. Not that Steph didn't sometimes, but...
"Yeah. I know." His voice was low. Warm. Familiar. "They're lucky to be your friends."
"You're not jealous are you Dick?" Tim muttered, half joking, half disbelieving.
"I'm your brother, Timmers. I always get first call over you."
The younger boy rolled his eyes. "Hey!"
Dick laughed. "I was just pointing something out that you should know. About your friends. Though I stand by my other statement too."
"I-yeah. Okay." Tim wasn't sure what else he should say to the first part - he was ignoring the second. That Dick believed he needed the confidence boost. Which was nice. And awkward. Which was...it was strange having someone care about you when you were trying to care for them. He bit his lip and grinned.
"So-" Dick started.
The younger man could hear loud honking and cussing through the phone. Then gunshots.
Tim face palmed.
"Ah so, well. I'm actually on a stakeout." Dick added somewhat sheepishly.
Tim groaned. "Dick could you please be more-more-" He was at a loss for words even after all the times Dick had munched on chow mein and orange chicken while debating -loudly- with him on stakeouts. He couldn't help but worry. Then again. It was Dick.
The laughter filtered through the phone, "Okay. Well see you. I gotta go rock these guy's worlds...and I might swing by the tower to beat you at Dance Dance Revolution sometime this week."
"You're joking." Tim was constantly reminded that anyone was a klutz compared to Dick.
"I never joke. I'm Batman." Dick's impersonation was spot on. And then he snorted at the same time as Tim, the usual humor in his voice returning. "Okay - shit - okay I really gotta go now. Seeya."
"Seeya." The phone clicked as Dick hung up.
A weird smile was still on Tim's face; he let it fall so that he was impassive again even if there was still the tight ball of worry in his chest mixed with amusement and happiness. He sighed. So making the floors slip-proof seemed like a good idea. Forget the security. He needed to upgrade the whole building to prevent his teammates' antics. He started to fall back into his usual trance, running through the different problems that could crop up when there was a ping on his computer.
An email from Steph.
He opened it to see a plethora of emoticons and colored, bolded text about a romcom she'd just watched and about her vacation in Hawaii sponsored by the bona fide Batman. The smile crept up on his face as he pressed the link to a video. It was a montage of her and Cass at the beach. The pictures were pretty blurry and the sun was too bright, but the smiles on them were carefree and impish.
Tim smiled, faintly before starting on a reply to her, pausing for a moment to think.
All of this. Him a hero on his own - and enjoying it. Him having a family who wanted him. He had a hard time convincing himself it was real. But it was. He was Red Robin. His family was alive. They were alive, difficult and frustrating, and heartbreakingly real. He was glad.
Because being here, seeing them, fighting with them. That was more than enough.
These days with his family, he would never trade.