Author's Note:

So this was posted on AO3 about 3 weeks ago now. It's past time for me to update here as well.

Part 3 is in the works and I'm still going strong so who knows maybe it'll end up with more chapters?

Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 2: But words will never hurt me

Running back to Young Justice seemed cowardly. All his life, he'd been taught to stand up and face his battles like a man but now he was running away. Even Alfred tsked at him disapprovingly. He stayed long enough to pack his bags and leave a note for Damian in that one pocket of the Robin suit Bruce couldn't get into. He still didn't like the kid much, but Robins stuck together and the little demon didn't have anyone else to watch out for him. Damian had to know that he could go to Tim, or Jon, or Jason, or anyone else on either of their teams, if necessary, that if he needed to he could run, too. Meanwhile, Tim would go stay with his friends, have plenty of fun, and kick some bad guy butt.

Tim loved his friends, really, he did, but they could be a bit stupid and this was no exception. He understood their reaction, he had shown up battered and bruised with a suitcase and nothing else, of course they wanted the culprit to pay. But they wanted to fight Bruce and Tim couldn't let them do that. This was Batman, the Dark Knight, the world's greatest detective, master of multiple martial arts, a couple of super-powered kids couldn't get the better of him. Besides, he was still Tim's dad. He might get angry on occasion, might sometimes think with his fists, but Tim had been annoying, Tim had argued back, Tim had disobeyed a direct order and Bruce was just worried about him and Damian, he loved them and wanted them to be safe. Young Justice didn't need to go racing in to defend him because there was nothing to defend against. Batman was a hero, not a villain. It was all just a big misunderstanding.

He went back to Gotham to tie up loose ends. He gave the company back to Bruce. He left Damian and Jason instructions on how to get into his safe houses. He packed up all the stuff he couldn't replace and had Kon fly it to San Francisco. All that was left were photos. They had accumulated dust over the years, stacked in a box beneath his bed, but now he was confronted with years of memories from an earlier time. Dick and Jason as Robin, a few shots of the city, some of the family. There was an actual family Christmas photo from the previous year, everyone but Jason present and smiling. Tears burnt his eyes and he scrubbed them away. He thought back to that Christmas: everyone was happy and healthy and getting along. He hadn't even fought with Damian that day. He thought back to breakfast with Jason, how he'd felt like a brother, like family. How could he throw that all away? Was one fight worth severing ties completely? He looked at the Bruce in the photo, smiling proudly, and remembered his face the last time they'd spoken. They were not the same Bruce. Except… Bruce a year ago had beaten Jason so badly he couldn't walk, Bruce a while before that had fought Dick over Spyral, had been cruel to all of them at least once; and once could be forgiven but twice? Three times? Four? They'd lost track over the years of how many times they'd been hurt. Bruce had always been Bruce: emotionally constipated and quick to anger, quicker still to use his fists. He couldn't stay anymore.

Tim grunted and rolled over in bed. There was a buzzing from somewhere near the ceiling and while he knew he should probably deal with whatever it was, he was so tired and he finally had time to sleep for more than two hours a night. The buzzing didn't let up. Now he was more awake, it had mutated from a slight buzzing to a piercing alarm. He heaved himself upright with a groan. What could possibly be the problem at… 2am? His comm vibrated softly against his wrist and he accepted the call without checking who it was.

"Drake." He groaned again.

"Damian, it's 2am what do you want?" Why was the brat here when he was meant to be in Gotham? His mind immediately went to anything that could have gone wrong. Someone had died; someone was injured; there had been some kind of disaster; their identities had been revealed; anything could have happened. Tim hadn't kept up with the Gotham news since he'd left.

"This is a conversation better had in person. Let me in." So, that explained the alarm. He turned it off and allowed Damian access. Standing with a stretch and a groan as his joints clicked, he made his way to the communal area. Damian would know where it was: his Titans had operated out of the building for a while when Young Justice had split. Sure enough, he was already there when Tim arrived, perched on the sofa with his hands between his knees, spine straight and rigid. Tim sat opposite him but Damian wouldn't look him in the eye.

"So what's the problem, Demon. It's not like you to come visit." He stayed staring out the window. Tim could admit that the scene was beautiful, with the city lights sparkling on the bay, but it shouldn't take that much of his attention.

"I saw the note you left for me, about your safe houses." And that explained nothing at all. "I didn't understand why you left Gotham, left father." Tim wasn't sure how to answer that. Now it was his turn to stare out at the bay.

"I… Batman… umm" How do you explain to a kid that his dad had been an asshole and he needed to get away? He sighed and shifted uncomfortably. Damian was staring at him with rapt attention and it was more than a little unnerving. "B and I had a fight, after you got kidnapped." He saw Damian stiffen; apparently that was still a sore spot. "We hadn't been getting along great and that was just the final straw, I guess." Damian frowned and opened his mouth to respond, closed it again, furrowed his brow. It was funny, watching him think before he spoke. Tim hadn't realised how much he'd matured.

"I knew all that. I heard your fight, heard what he did. I'm not sure it was the right course of action. But why leave? You're still needed back home." Oh, this was not what Tim had wanted at all. Guilt flooded him. He'd left his city behind, left a vulnerable kid behind. He would have to go back. He would have to just deal with the awkwardness and the pain and the fear. And for Damian to admit he was needed? Something must be going on.

"What's going on, Damian? Seriously, if something's wrong, you can tell me." He saw Damian hesitate and felt a twinge of fear.

"It's father. He's been… disagreeable of late. Not even Alfred can keep him in check. And the things he says, they are unpleasant and hurtful, not just to me, to everyone. No one will work out of the cave or help us on important cases. I do not wish to be alone with him anymore."

Well, fuck.

Tim wasn't a bad person and Damian was his brother, even if they hated each other, so he let him stay the night on the sofa. They had spare rooms but there was too much bad blood between them for Tim to offer them up and Damian seemed perfectly happy to stay where he was. He probably didn't intend to sleep anyway, the weirdo. Tim went back to his room, just up the corridor from Kon's and Cassie's and close enough that he was within shouting distance if there was a problem. He curled up beneath the covers in a tight ball and screwed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to sleep. It didn't work. Eventually he gave up and lay flat on his back, eyes wide open, and let his brain work. Damian feared Bruce or what he might do. Minor difference but one that needed clarifying. Damian came to him instead of anyone in Gotham or a safe house. Was there anyone else in Gotham he could go to? Normally, if there was a problem the brat went straight to Dick and if that wasn't an option (which it wasn't) he'd go to Jason. Not Tim. What was it that Damian thought Tim was better equipped to deal with than any of the others? Another detail to go over later. He hadn't appeared injured. That was good, but it didn't mean he wasn't hurt: Robins are good at hiding injuries; it's a rite of passage. He'd have to talk to him; it was the only way he'd get answers. That didn't stop him worrying though and his mind kept recycling the same scenarios over and over: Bruce raising his hand to strike Damian, Bruce shouting, Bruce furious, Damian hurt, Damian with tears in his eyes, Damian shouting right back in Bruce's face, heedless of the danger. Damian had not been taught to never question Bruce's orders (it wasn't a rule anyone had ever stuck to rigidly but it was easier to just play along even if Bruce could be a complete idiot sometimes). He'd been Robin to Dick's Batman first and Dick's Batman let Robin question everything, let him do things his own way to an extent, explained his plans in a way that made sense. Bruce's Batman ruled Gotham with an iron fist and could not stand the thought he wasn't good enough. There could be no questioning Bruce's Batman. Tim was not supposed to be the one to tell Damian this. Except… he was a big brother now and that's what brothers were meant to do, right? Help their siblings, tell them what they can get away with and when to toe the line. It was 6am. The sun was peeking over the horizon and turning the water orange. It was time to get up and deal with Damian.

Damian was asleep, still in full Robin gear complete with mask and those chunky boots he had added. Tim didn't think he'd ever seen the kid asleep. It was weird. His face was softer, more child-like, and it wasn't that Tim had forgotten Damian was a child it was just that he had always seemed so much older than he was. He didn't want to wake him so he set about getting breakfast. Tim was hopeless at cooking, as were Kon and Bart. Cassie wasn't because she was perfect like that but she also wasn't at the tower. While it was just the boys, they tended to survive off takeout and anything Ma Kent sent them but Tim could handle toast without burning it. He even scrambled some eggs while he was waiting for water to boil so he could make tea. Normally he'd have coffee, just for the caffeine boost, but Damian preferred tea so that was what they would have. He laid it all out on the table and watched Bart whizz around grabbing anything he could find to snack on before skidding to a halt when he saw Damian on the sofa.

"What's he doing here?" he asked and squeaked when Damian shifted and scrunched his face up in sleep. Tim shushed him and went back to the kitchen before replying.

"He showed up last night with some questions about Gotham stuff. I'm not sure why." Bart looked troubled and it didn't suit him.

"Is it about, you know…" He trailed off, but his eyes were on the spot where Bruce had left a still fading bruise on Tim's face. Tim shrugged. They heard a thud as Damian's boots hit the floor and Bart zipped away. Time to face the music.

"Hey, Damian. I made breakfast." Damian grunted and slid onto a stool, dragging a plate of toast towards him. No eggs. He yawned widely and rubbed his eyes, the mask slipping slightly as the adhesive degraded.

"You can take your mask off, you know. Everyone here knows who we are." Damian made no acknowledgement, but he peeled off his mask. The circles under his eyes were dark and Tim wondered how long it had been since he'd slept well. They ate in silence and Damian drank his tea with only a slightly wrinkled nose at the difference in taste. It was probably the only time they'd done something like this. They'd been getting on better recently, now Damian had stopped trying to kill him every few weeks, but they were still walking on eggshells around each other, waiting for the other to snap. The silence was comfortable, more so than Tim had been expecting. He didn't want to break it.

"We need to talk about last night," he said finally, hesitantly, and saw Damian's shoulders stiffen. "You're welcome here whenever, Damian, I promise, but please give me a heads up first, ok?" Damian nodded and he gave an internal sigh of relief. "But just, why me? If Bruce was bothering you, you could have gone to anyone in Gotham, any of my safe houses, any of anyone's safe houses. So why me? Why here?" Damian didn't reply at first, just stared at the table and drank his tea.

"Because father can trace any of us inside the city. He knows where all of us are all the time. He knows where the safe houses are, our patrol routes, our bio readings, everything. Once we're out of the city, he can't track us anymore. Todd left. Grayson is…" he trailed off as his voice cracked and he looked so small and so lost, Tim just wanted to give him a hug. But Damian wouldn't appreciate it so he let him finish. "There was no one in the city for me to go to who would understand. I thought you of all people would." Tim's brain was buzzing, trying to connect the dots.

"Damian, are you scared of him?" Damian froze. There was a look that he got sometimes, Tim had noticed, when he thought he'd overstepped a line and was going to be punished. Normally it was for good reason, he'd hurt someone, or he'd broken something valuable, but sometimes it was because of the League's teachings and that had always made Tim sad. It was the look of a hunted animal, cornered. Damian had it now.

"I know he'd never hurt me on purpose. I'm his son; he…" He was babbling now, losing that iron grip on his control and really that was all Tim needed as an answer.

"I get it. He's our father and fathers don't hurt their kids." Damian nodded. Tim let his brain wind down a little, draw the conclusions it needed to, come up with a plan of action. "Damian, you have to tell Bruce where you are. He'll worry." Then, when Damian protested: "at least tell Alfred. You can even do it on speakerphone so I can talk to them as well, if you'd like." Damian got out his phone and started tapping away at a message, presumably to Bruce, and Tim relaxed slightly. Now he wasn't going to get accused of kidnapping, or have a raging Bruce on his hands, they could get down to business.

It had been a few hours and no one had disturbed them. The tower was weirdly quiet and Tim was suspicious but he wasn't going to question it. Him and Damian had been scheming, or at least discussing options, and it was nice to not have the usual interruptions. They'd made some sandwiches for lunch and were eating in silence when Damian's phone buzzed on the table. He froze.

"Is that Bruce?" Tim asked, trying to keep his tone light. Damian nodded.

"He says I must return to Gotham at once." There was dread in his voice and Tim wondered where it had all gone wrong.

"Ok. Just… don't tell him what we discussed here, alright? What did you tell him earlier, anyway?" Damian looked up from his phone to reply.

"I told him I was assisting you with a case. It's believable; you're far too incompetent not to require assistance from others." Tim laughed, relieved at the old banter.

"Brat. It's a good cover though. Tell him I have the case notes if he asks." Damian nodded and stood to leave. Tim was about to ask how he'd gotten all the way to San Francisco in the first place but he was out the window before he could even open his mouth. Crazy kid.

Tim called Jason. It was that secret number he'd given him all those weeks ago and, as far as he knew, he was one of a select few who knew it in the first place. He knew it was early evening in Gotham, and he knew Jay was normally awake. It went to voicemail. Trying not to be disappointed, Tim left a message.

"Hey, Jay, it's me. The demon brat showed up last night, said you'd skipped town. I was wondering if you'd like to catch up sometime? Just let me know. I guess you're busy so I'll talk to you later." He hung up. That was a fruitful conversation. If he was honest, he felt at a bit of a loose end here with no case work and no missions. He considered fabricating a case file for if Bruce asked what Damian had wanted, but it wasn't like he needed to hand over Young Justice files, anyway. His comm buzzed. Jay's number flashed across the screen and he picked it up eagerly.

"Replacement, I got your message. I was helping Roy out with a couple things, didn't hear my phone. What did Damian want? It's not like him to go to you of all people."

"He wanted to talk about, you know, family stuff. I think he's struggling all alone over there. By the way, in case you were considering heading back to Gotham soon, don't. Apparently B's got everyone tracked." Jay's long drawn out 'fuck' was warranted, Tim thought.

"Well, Roy's taking Lian camping for the weekend. I've got the place to myself if you want to come visit." Tim considered it. On the one hand, he had a responsibility to his team and if Damian came back and he wasn't there, he didn't know what would happen. On the other, he was going stir crazy with nothing to do.

"Sure," he said, already mapping a route up the coast. "I'll bring pizza?" Jason started to protest, but he cut him off. "I owe you one, remember? It's no big deal." He shut down the computer and stood up. If he left now, he'd get to Star by nightfall. "Where should I meet you?" Jason rattled off the address of an apartment complex and told him he'd need to be buzzed in. That was fine.

"I'm gonna leave now. I'll let you know when I'm close." He hung up and grabbed his bag from the floor by his bed. He'd barely unpacked since he'd arrived, just taking out the clothes he needed and then dumping them in the wash when they got dirty. It still had a few pairs of socks and underwear and a couple of t-shirts. That was the most he'd need. He chucked in his toothbrush and antibiotics, scribbled a note telling everyone he'd gone for the weekend and stuck it to the fridge with a tacky old fridge magnet. Then he hit the highway.

Tim loved the open road. He loved his bike (though his skateboard would forever remain in his heart) and the wind rushing past his face. It was the closest feeling to flying you could get while still on the ground. The two-hour trip wasn't anywhere near long enough for him. The apartment building Jason directed him to wasn't any different to the ones on either side, or any other in the city really, and he stood outside waiting to be buzzed in, pizza boxes leaving a warm grease patch on his arm. To anyone else, he'd probably look like a delivery boy. The electronic lock beeped and he hurried inside, taking off his cap and shaking out his hair. It was getting long again but he couldn't be bothered to get it trimmed. Jason opened his door when Tim knocked and took the pizza from him.

"Pepperoni? Nice," he said, cracking open the lid. He let Tim in and locked the door behind them. Roy's apartment was nice, nowhere near as messy as Tim's nest back in Gotham or the few of Jason's safe houses he'd been in. No guns. No weapons. It was very homely. They sat on the couch and grabbed a slice of pizza each. Jason scarfed it down like he hadn't eaten properly in days and moaned. "So good." Tim let his mouth quirk up into a smile. There was an action movie playing on the TV, the volume down low. It felt so normal. Like they were two brothers just chilling together with pizza and a movie; like they weren't here to discuss their dysfunctional family. They watched the movie. It was already part way through so neither of them had a clue what was happening plot-wise but they knew enough about explosions and fights to have a laugh at the actors' expense. Jason pulled apart every inaccuracy without remorse and with such deadpan humour that by the time the credits rolled, Tim's stomach hurt from laughing so hard. It was a good feeling. The news came on. Jason changed the channel. He asked when Damian had left. Tim told him about their discussion. Jason was frowning. Another movie came on: some animated disaster with talking animals. Tim didn't understand kids movies anymore.

"So B's being a grade-A asshole and no one'll work with him, like that's new." Tim shrugged. He knew Jason had opinions about Bruce and his attitude. "And Damian wants you or someone there to be a buffer between him and Bruce." He nodded. "What about Cass?"

"She's in Hong Kong," he replied.

"Steph?"

"Off doing the college thing. Why would she help anyway? She gets on with Bruce even worse than we do." Jason snorted, but it was true. Steph could get on with pretty much anyone but Bruce's controlling tendencies grated on her and she was too stubborn to know when to let things slide. It was a recipe for disaster.

"You're not gonna go back are you, Tim?" Tim hesitated. There was a part of him, the selfish part, that just wanted to stay with his team, just hang around the tower and save the world and play video games on their downtime. Maybe he could even go get a college degree if he had the time. The part of him that had been Robin, then Red Robin, that was loyal to his family and wanted so badly to help out and be useful, wanted to go back. And Damian needed help. He didn't even like the kid and god knows the kid hated him but he still needed help and if Tim was the only one who could give it…

"Someone has to look out for Damian." Jason shook his head and chuckled darkly.

"The kid is a trained assassin who's actually murdered people. I think he can survive until we sort this out." Tim was sceptical. Jason hadn't seen him that morning, small and scared and more scared to admit either of those things. He didn't say that though. The selfish part of him had won. They decidedly had not come up with a plan, but Jason cracked open a beer like they'd accomplished something, anyway. He offered one to Tim. Tim wasn't twenty-one yet. He turned it down.

They didn't speak for a long time. They let the movie on the TV run through but didn't really watch it. Tim knew Jason didn't like the idea of either of them going back, but something had to be done. Except… Jason was right too, in a way. Damian was a trained assassin and he was perfectly capable of defending himself. They all were. And didn't he deserve to spend time with his father? He'd left the League for this life, for Bruce. He deserved to get the chance to learn from him and get to know him in the same way that the rest of them had. If Tim stepped in and tried to take that from him, it would ruin all their progress. Damian didn't try to kill him anymore. Would he still be able to say that if they confronted Bruce? No, he would wait and see what happened. If Damian needed help, he knew where to go.

"You know, Bruce was alright to me as a kid. Dick, too. I don't know what happened." Jason knew what happened, they all did, but neither of them wanted to say it.

"Yeah. Sometimes he was more like my dad than my actual dad, even while he was still alive." It was a sad truth, but one that Tim had been ready to admit for a while now. His dad had gotten better once he'd stopped travelling all over the world on a whim and tried but he hadn't known what he was doing and it showed. Bruce had been good to him, as a mentor and a foster father. He wasn't sure when that relationship had fallen apart. Jason chuckled.

"I hit him with a tire iron when we first met and he still took me in." Tim nodded like he hadn't heard the story a dozen times before. Jason in general was an untouchable topic in the manor but Alfred was fond of telling it occasionally and Dick sometimes brought it up when a street kid was spunky enough to not run away from Batman like he should.

"He used to send me home with Alfred's cooking after training when I was home alone." Tim missed those days, missed Alfred and the casual affection of his Robin days. He liked this kind of discussion. The kind with no sudden realisations or sadness. He liked being able to banter with his brother and talk about the old days when life was good.

"Oh man, Alfred. He taught me how to cook. Bruce tried to help and almost blew up the kitchen." They laughed together. Each of them had a story about Bruce's terrible cooking: it was good to know that he wasn't perfect. The back and forth continued, little stories that made up their childhood with Bruce. Jason told him about the time he was sick and Bruce had stayed off patrol to watch movies with him while he recovered. Tim wasn't sure he could remember Bruce taking a break without being forced by Alfred. But the story reminded him of another illness, another time.

"Do you remember, a few years ago, when Gotham had that crazy mega-virus? The Clench?" Jason nodded slowly. He hadn't been in Gotham at the time but news spread fast and everyone had known that Gotham was dying. "We were all working together to stop the spread, to find a cure, and there were riots and it was terrifying and then I got sick." Tim watched as Jason's eyes widened and his breath caught. He hadn't known that, apparently. "I'd been living with my dad but I couldn't go back to him, obviously, so I stayed in the cave and Bruce had Alfred look after me while -"

"Hang on, Bruce just left?" Tim nodded. "Do you have any idea how fucked up that is? Leaving your sick, possibly dying kid with the butler while you go off on some mad crusade against crime?"

"I think we can all agree Alfred is far more than just a butler."

"Of course; Alfred's awesome. But Tim, you were dying. You were in terrible pain. I've heard the stories about what the Clench does and it's…" he trailed off. "Bruce should have been there. That's what a dad does."

"He wasn't my dad then, not really. More like my boss, I guess, or a supervisor maybe." Why was this distinction so important to him? He wasn't sure. But Jason had to know it wasn't Bruce's fault, had to understand sacrifice for the sake of the mission. "Besides, if he hadn't left he never would've found the cure and I definitely would've died. It all worked out for the best." That wasn't the right response, apparently. Jason buried his head in his hands and groaned.

"You're missing the point," he began and Tim snapped right back.

"No, you're missing the point. Bruce has done everything for us! And yeah, maybe he's not great at dealing with emotions or being a dad but he's all we've got and we should help him, support him, not talk shit about him behind his back!" He stopped, breathing hard, and sat down. He wasn't sure when he'd stood, or when he'd started shouting but now it was done, he felt shame rise in him. Jason didn't look angry though, just pitying. It grated on him.

"Such a good, loyal little soldier. He's got you right under his thumb." He shook his head and Tim remembered the words on the plaque in the cave. 'A good soldier'. Jason had more reason than most to be angry about loyalty to Bruce, he supposed. There was a long period where he'd whole-heartedly believed that it was loyalty to Bruce that had got him killed. Jason stood and gathered the pizza boxes to throw out.

"You ever been scared to tell him something?" Tim blinked. Had he? He'd certainly lied to him a lot, left a lot out when talking to him. It wasn't because he'd been scared though! Or at least he didn't think it was. But then again, how many times had he lied about injuries so Bruce wouldn't bench him? Why had he invented an entire uncle just so he wouldn't have to go live with Bruce and could still be independent? Every time he avoided the cave, avoided Bruce and lied about it. Had he been scared all this time? He wasn't sure. Jason was back and he tapped Tim's shoulder as he sat down, bringing him back.

"The answer's yes, by the way. I don't know a single kid who hasn't been afraid to tell their parents something. The real question is whether that fear was justified." He was watching Tim with a careful frown, waiting for… something. Tim didn't want to think too much about what he was waiting for. He didn't want to think about his question either. Why had he been scared to tell Bruce the truth? It wasn't like he'd done anything wrong most of the time. Sure, Bruce would have benched him over injuries; he would have been upset and angry about Tim lying to him. But why was he afraid of that?

"If I made a mistake," he began. "Bruce wouldn't have let me be Robin anymore. If I wasn't Robin, I wasn't being useful and I'd have to go back home." Jason nodded.

"You thought if you made a mistake he wouldn't love you. He'd cast you out just like me." He was right, Tim realised. All he'd wanted as a kid was a family that stayed and Bruce was the closest he'd got to that.

"Parents are meant to love their kids unconditionally, Tim. If he was really a good parent, he'd love you no matter how many mistakes you made." Tim didn't think that had ever been true. He must have looked sceptical because Jason rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ, Timbo did no one ever teach you this shit?" When Tim didn't reply, he stood up and began to pace. "This is so not my job. Why me?" he muttered angrily and ran a stressed hand through his hair before sitting down again.

"Look, when I shot Penguin and Bruce beat me up so bad I couldn't walk and kicked me out of Gotham, did I deserve it?" Tim shook his head. He'd always thought that punishment had been too extreme. "He came and found me a few months later, told me he loved me but sometimes I needed a good ass-kicking. Does that sound like something a good parent would say?" Tim shook his head again. He hadn't known about that discussion. It did sound like Bruce though. "If he was a good parent, he'd have helped me out when I needed him, not tossed me aside. It's why I hated you so much when I first came back: you were the replacement." Tim shuddered at the old nickname. He was used to it now, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt to be reminded.

"Batman needed a Robin," he said with a shrug.

"Yeah well that's a whole other level of fucked up and we're definitely coming back to it but for now let's talk about how he's an abusive asshole." Tim froze.

"He's not." He couldn't say the word, couldn't assign it to Bruce in his mind.

"Ok, sure, it's totally normal for a parent to beat up their kids and make them believe that if they make mistakes, they're worthless." Jason had always been sarcastic but now it dripped from his every word and Tim hated it. He wanted to curl up in a ball and pretend none of this had ever happened. He couldn't let an accusation like this lie. He had to refute it, prove it wasn't true. He couldn't.

Author's Note:

Thanks so much for all your response!

If you liked this give it a review or a favourite! You can also check out my tumblr where I've been posting stuff for Batfam Week (but I'm very behind now oops) storm-leviosa-fanfics