Author's Notes: I'm glad everyone liked the last part and gave feedback. Ah, I love feedback. ;-) So, here's the next part and actually, after this there's only one more left and an epilogue which will probably all go in one post. I hope everyone enjoys this part.

Masquerade

Chapter 14

…….

By the time the Dick and Tim reached the main road to the Manor, the younger man had regained consciousness the older man he hadn't said anything. Dick allowed the teenager to broad in his silence, not knowing what to say or ask. Dick knew Tim had sought out his father and it was fairly obvious that things had not gone well, or at least how Tim had foreseen them. Unsure of where things presently stood, Dick felt it was safer to remain mute unless Tim decided to speak. And so, they road on in a thick silence.

By the time the reached the garage, Dick's pledge to remain silent was at its breaking point. It was as Tim made a slow and awkward move to exit the car, the Dick broke his mental promise and spoke.

"If there's anything you want to tell me, you know I'm here for you. Even just to listen to you vent."

Tim stopped moving and looked at Dick. The older man was taken aback by the utterly stillness in Tim's eyes. The teenager, like himself, had unusually vibrant blue eyes that flickered either brighter or darker depending on moods. Alfred had once joked, though in a deadpanned voice, that his 'children' might think they could hide disappointment or anger, but they could not; their eyes always gave away the truth. Rarely had Dick ever seen this apparent feeling-indicator reflected in his own eyes, but suddenly he was struck with how very true it was for Tim. The young man's eyes were a dull blue, nearly gray, and screamed defeat.

Tim, oblivious to Dick's scrutiny, nodded. "I know," he said as he griped the door handle again.

He never got the chance to open the door for himself however, because it was pulled out of his hands and a very stern looking butler came into view with a wheelchair in tow. "Master Timothy, what were you thinking? Running off to who knows where without so much as a word!"

The young man moved himself slowly to the wheelchair and lowered himself into it without argument. "Sorry, Alfred," he replied and just looked at the ground. Above his head, unknown by the teenager, Dick mouthed to Alfred: 'he went to see his dad.'

The butler looked down at the young man in the wheelchair and shook his head. All three slowly made their way towards the sickbay, the only noise a soft sigh from Tim. It was as Alfred finished re-dressing Tim's stomach wound, without so much of a 'tisk', that Bruce walked in.

"Where were you?" The older man ground out in 'The Voice' and Alfred not so subtlety steered Dick and himself out of the sickbay area knowing that it was not their place, no matter how badly both wanted to stay and either listen or defend Timothy.

Tim, ignoring the exiting men, rolled onto his side away from Bruce being mindful of his sore stomach. The last thing he wanted right now was to deal with Bruce's prodding questions. He wanted to sit and wallow in his pity and curse all the things he had done and said over his last sixteen years. Bruce, however, was not easily swayed and simply stepped around the bed to look at the teenager.

"Timothy," he began in a slightly less angry version of Batman's growl. "Where were you?"

"Go away," the teenager mumbled.

"Not until you answer me." Bruce waited to see if Tim would speak, and when no words were forth coming, he continued. "You know you shouldn't be walking yet and your bullet wound is still tender."

The young man sighed. "I'm tired, Bruce," he said as he rolled on to his back and stared at the ceiling. Bruce was startled to see a soft trail of tears falling down the teenager's cheeks and even more amazed that Tim made no move to hide them. All of his 'children' took great cares to hid emotions, something that no doubt he only encouraged, and when they let such emotions out Bruce never knew how to deal. And so, as was his custom, he said nothing. And, in the silence, Tim spoke again. "I'm tired of all this. Everything I do is wrong; everything I've done has lead to another, worse problem. I can't do anything right and I can't even fix the things I do wrong." The young man's voice hitched, "I'm just tired. I want things to be normal."

Bruce moved towards the bed. "You know that can't happen."

"I know," Tim said and turned his head away while finally discretely wiping his hand over his eyes.

Silence fell into the sickbay, and Bruce withheld the urge to ask Tim again what had happened.

"I went to see my dad," the teenager finally said in a soft voice. "It didn't go well," he added.

The two past and present crime fighters fell back into their silence; neither knowing what to say or even if there was something appropriate to say. Bruce, was smart enough to know that things had not just gone unwell, but actually terribly wrong between Tim and his father. He'd read the note Jack left his son and, though finding the majority of what the man said to be true, he could not grant him any credit. Jack had left his son in a vulnerable moment and only illustrated weakness at running away. And, no doubt, Tim went to his father attempting to ease the guilt the older Drake felt, but somewhere along that journey things had gotten off track. Knowing Tim would never answer a direct question, Bruce took the time to look over the chart Alfred left.

"You're going to need surgery on your leg. It needs to be re-broken with pins put in place to help it heal properly."

Tim didn't open his eyes, but merely nodded already having assuming as much from his early conversation with Alfred. Also, after what he'd been through tonight, he realized that he just didn't care. There was something inside of Tim, that somehow hadn't been shattered when he read his father's note, that now was completely broken. Something inside the young man had been extinguished. The little hope that Tim had kept alive, that had told him his father simply made a mistake and written the letter out of fear, was forever gone. And, without that hope, Tim found he didn't care about much, if anything.

And, perhaps worse of all, Tim had begun to accept that his father was right and everything was his fault. Words that had been thrown at him in haste, were burned in his memory and their truth scarred upon his skin. Already the teenager had replayed countless times that he had made a poor decision and how those ramifications had affected his father. Too often, Tim realized, he had thought of the duty to Robin and not to that of his family and too often the duty of Robin had harmed his family. Too often Jack had been forced to pay some price or another based on his son's decisions and, some part of Tim's mind, was finally beginning to rationalize the fact that his father had lied because it was only fair. Tim had kept the greatest secret he would ever possess from his father at the cost of their relationship and so why on earth would Tim expect his father to do what he never did for Jack?

"Tim?" Bruce asked again having expected some reaction from the teenager about the current diagnosis, not at all aware of the mental battle the teenager was wagging.

The younger man looked at Bruce and simply mumbled, "Please go away," and Bruce was compelled to do just that based on the pleading tone of Tim's voice alone.

……

Three days later, Tim was still as quiet as ever. Bruce, not the most talk-a-tive person especially after being scorned once by the teenager, spent his days at the office and nights in costume. Therefore, Dick and Alfred took it upon themselves to try and make the young man open up, but, so far, they had been met with silence. Tim would take the prodded on his leg and stomach by Alfred without a word. Dick had attempted to bring his brother into conversation multiple times, but the most he had gotten was a soft, "I don't want to talk."

Everyone knew the young man was slipping into depression. Tim was barely aware of his surroundings; his mind occupied by the last conversation he'd had with his father and the guilt that came from it. It was a mistake, one part of Tim's brain told him again and again. Jack had simply gotten ahead of himself in words and misspoke. It was rational that that is what happened.

But the louder part of Tim's brain screamed at him that it had not been a mistake; that his father had finally said what he neglected to say in his letter. And this part of his brain was the one that Tim chose to listen to and it began to consume him.

When he wasn't being eaten away by guilt, the other question on his mind was: what am I suppose to do now? Robin career was over. Even if Tim decided that he could put on the costume again, his leg would hold him back. There was nothing in the young man's mind that would allow him to think there was any possibility that his leg would be okay; there was no reason for such false hope. When Tim had lost Robin before, there was a part of him that never thought it was really gone; that he would be able to put on the costume once again. The teenager had a part of him that foolishly hoped his dad would come around one day. But now, even with his father's "permission" Tim didn't know if he could put on the Robin suit again. He would never be the same and could never be what he once was.

It was the combination of all these depressing thoughts that had cause Tim to simply shut down inside. There was really nothing left for him now. He didn't have his father, he didn't have Robin, and he didn't even know who he was anymore without those things. The homes he had known were gone.

"Master Timothy, we can remove the bandage from your stomach and the stitches."

The young man nodded and moved himself into a more comfortable position, offering his stomach to Alfred without a word. The Englishman worked gently on Tim and did as he said he would. The wound had healed nicely over the last few days, even with Tim's adventure, and Alfred was impressed by his handy work. It wouldn't even leave a scar.

If only his leg would be as simple, Alfred thought with a frown. The older man worried that, even with the surgery, it still wouldn't' heal properly. Not for the first time since Tim had come in to the Bat Cave after the incident, Alfred wondered what kind of people could attack a mere child so. He had seen a lot of violence in his years with the Family, but never something that was so heinous against one of his children.

Removing the last stitch, Alfred re-bandaged the wound in a looser manner. "I was wager that in two weeks time you'll hardly feel any pain from that wound."

Tim looked down at his stomach and gently poked with his finger. It hurt, but nothing that he couldn't stand and already it felt better. Alfred moved the old bandages aside and turned his back to the young man. The butler opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped from doing so by a voice coming from the entryway.

"Pack up, Timbo, you're moving out of this stuffy mansion and in with me."

Tim and Alfred both turned and saw Dick leaning against the door jam wearing a black leather coat smiling.

…….

For all intensive purposes, Bruce had been avoiding Tim, even if the teenager was in Bludhaven. Bruce's mind worked in a simple manner when it came to guilt. For him, he knew that if Tim had never come into his life, never became Robin, he would be living peacefully at home with his father. But now, because of Bruce, the young man was without a father and, it appeared, without a home other than Dick's less-than-impressive apartment which was no place for Tim to settle. Of course the teenager was more than welcomed in the Manor, but right now, Bruce wasn't certain that was what Tim needed or wanted again. When Dick had proposed the move to Bludhaven, Bruce had objected, but then reversed knowing the teenager needed to be someplace a little more comfortable and friendly. The Manor, though beautiful, never had a true home quality to it; it was just too big and too many memories haunted it of the Waynes.

And Tim followed Dick to Bludhaven without so much as a word. There was no excitement, but there was also no protesting. Like most everything, he teenager just accepted what was happening to him.

"You need to see, Tim." A voice said from his doorway and Bruce looked up to see Alfred standing there. The Englishman, although outwardly looking as peaceful as ever, had body posture that screamed anger.

"I will," Bruce answered and looked back at his papers.

"He already lost one father. Don't make him think he's lost the other one as well." Without another word, Alfred turned and headed towards the kitchen. Bruce held the pen in his hand lightly, but did not write anything. Don't make him think he's lost another one as well. Bruce never considered himself a father to Tim; after all the young man already had one dad he didn't need another.

But, deep inside, Bruce knew Alfred spoke truthfully. To all the young crime fighters Bruce had become somewhat of a parental figure. At first he was merely a mentor, but as hours and days were spent on the street in life or death circumstance a bond formed. And that bond, in the end, molded itself into a parent/child bond even without anyone truly acknowledging it.

Bruce spared a look at the clock and then put his pen down. He wasn't good at fixing things of this nature; he wasn't good at repairing relationship problem, but only at causing them. The only experience he had in any regard to this was with Dick and that hadn't gone over that well. I pushed him away because I loved him. Looking back at the paper on his desk, Bruce tried to keep reading, but found he couldn't get Alfred's words out of his head.

How can I even repair the hole Jack left? Bruce stood from his desk and grabbed his coat. He wasn't good at these types of things, but Tim had suffered enough presently. It was time for Bruce to swallow that uncomfortable lump in his throat and time to repair some of the damage left behind from Jack.

…….

Bruce didn't even bother knocking when he reached Dick's apartment knowing the older man was gone and not wanting to give Tim the chance to sneak out. Bruce found the teenager lying on the couch, an arm draped over his face, but not asleep. He didn't so much as move as Bruce walked closer to the couch.

"We need to talk, Tim," the older man said as he reached the couch.

The teenager moved his arm and looked up at Bruce. "I'm fine," he said.

"No, you aren't," Bruce said as he sat down next to Tim without asking. "You haven't been fine since your father left. You eat just what you have to, you hardly talk, you're barely existing."

"Leave it, Bruce."

The older man laughed which seemed both out of place for Bruce and for the situation. "That's my line, Timothy and not yours. I'm not going to watch you just fall into this depression any more." The teenager opened his mouth, but the older man cut him off. "I know I didn't say anything before and so why would I bother now. Here's the thing, I've made a lot of mistakes with you and Dick and Jason. I've seen all of you get hurt physically and mentally and have rarely said anything. But this is different."

Bruce stopped for a moment making sure Tim was still paying attention. "This is about you and your father. This is about a family that isn't mine in any true sense. I can't stand by and watch the world I've created destroy something that it was never supposed to be a part of. I know your father loves you. He cares deeply for you. You have to understand that he made a mistake."

Tim looked at the far wall. "You don't understand."

"What don't I understand?"

The teenager shook his head, "Forget it."

"No Timothy!" Bruce pointed a finger at the teenager's chest, which struck the younger man as the action of an irate teacher, which, in some way, Tim figured Bruce was. "You will tell me what is going on and now!"

Like before at his house, Tim almost felt something snap inside of him and angry flood his system.

"He blamed me, okay, Bruce! My dad stood in front of me and blamed all the problems of our family on me." The teenager laughed softly. "Oh, he said it was a mistake, but you should have seen his face." Tim looked directly at Bruce for the first time. "He looked at me and for that brief instant, before he realized what he had said, I saw the truth in his eyes. He knows with his entire being that I was the cause of all our problems; that I somehow even lead to the gambling problem."

"That's ridiculous, Tim."

"You weren't there! You didn't hear or see him. Everything in his life that has gone bad is my fault. And he's right, you know. If I hadn't been Robin, I never would have lied and made him not trust me. My family woulda been normal and everything would be okay!"

Tim sat up abruptly and stood even before Bruce realized it. "Just forget it, okay. There's nothing you can do; nothing anyone can do." The teenager began to move away, but was stopped by Batman's voice.

"Stop."

Without thought, the younger man obeyed.

"Your father loves you," he said again. "I don't know what he said, but I don't doubt there was some truth to the claims he made." Tim flinched slightly at that. "But, at the same time, it's not all your fault. Your father had issues when you were growing up and no one can claim he was the best father then. You grew up, basically, without him. You became a young man on his own and then your mother died and everything that had been established, no matter how out of sorts it might seem to other people, came crashing down. When that happened, everything had to be re-aligned, but neither you nor your father knew how to do that.

"By then you both had your own lives. You barely knew your father and vice versa, but he wanted you back in his life; he needed to make up for all that he realized he had lost. And you, you had to choose, but you didn't. You see Tim you tried to live in both worlds. You wanted to be Robin and you wanted to have you father. So, you tried to give both your entirely being and the problem was there is only one of you.

"You became torn, but, in the end, Robin won. Robin was the epitome of the life you had created for yourself before your dad came back. You couldn't get rid of that last bit of freedom and so you allowed yourself to lie to your dad. You allowed Robin to take over and, what happened was that it caused a clash and the break you now have. Your father's gambling was just another issue that became tacked on to the vast amount of issues already there. And, in the end, this was the breaking point."

Tim, who had stood silently during Bruce's soliloquy, blinked to clear his thoughts. It was almost frightening how quickly Bruce had pegged his life in a few short minutes.

"What do I do then?" The teenager asked weakly, finally realizing that something had to be done.

"Talk to him when you are ready. Both of you have to admit to the problems and defects you've had. This is not either one of yours fault entirely." Bruce bit the inside of his cheek at the end of that sentence. Deep inside, Bruce longed to blame Jack (and had) for all these issues, but he knew Tim would never heal that way. The teenager needed the chance to clear his soul as well and, if this is what it took, this is what Bruce would do.

"What if he won't listen?"

Bruce smiled at the younger man. "I'm sure you can make him."

The mood instantly changed in the apartment when Tim smiled at that comment. Though the light in the young man's eyes was far from what it once had been, Bruce was certain he saw the first signs of hope in them since the kidnapping. It was a small victory, but, presently, it meant the world to Bruce and he knew it would mean the same to Alfred and Dick.

The ironic thing was, Bruce came to Tim's aid under the advice that the teenager not feel like he lost another father, but the advice he gave, in fact, pushed Tim in the direction of only having one. It was for the best, though, and that was what mattered.

"Bruce," the younger man said and Bruce looked up. "Thank you."

A smile followed the comment and, for a moment, Bruce felt that the gratitude wasn't just for his coming over now, but for something more. Something that neither ever acknowledged nor probably ever would, but that would always be there. Tim would hopefully get his father back and that family, but he would never forget nor give up the other family he'd come to know and love.

And, in the end, that was all Bruce could ever want.

…….

TBC