Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Brothers Together

Chapter 5: Trust in Dreams

The boy stirred slightly, rolled over and pawed at one eye through his mask, but didn't quite and settled back into his unknowing sleep.

Robin watched it all without interruption, though he held his breath just a moment when he thought the other might wake. The rustling of sheets was the only sound that echoed in the dark guest room, indeed, probably the only sound in the entire Tower - satisfied with their find, the other Titans had gone to bed, leaving only the crime scanner still running (as usual.) Only his training - and a mild sense of paranoia brought on by his not-quite doppelganger - kept Robin from following suit.

The others - Starfire, in particular - had volunteered to keep watch in his place, but he wouldn't hear of it.

He wanted to figure this kid out for himself.

The kid shifted in his sleep again, tugging uncomfortably at his costume. It was the only movement he'd made since Cyborg had laid him out two hours ago, and even those half-conscious movements were somehow measured and controlled.

Robin frowned and leaned over in his chair, resting his elbows against his knees. One hand reached out to brush a few locks of coal-black hair out of the boy's face with all the precision of a forensic examiner at a crime scene. "Who are you?"

His fingers drifted down the boy's forehead, careful not to more than brush against the other's skin. He reached the covered black domino and hesitated only a moment before slipping his fingers under the edge of the mask and…

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Robin jumped and twisted, pulling his hand back defensively. He let out a breath of relief when he realized it was just Cyborg, leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest. "Cyborg…I didn't know you were still up."

The half-metal man grinned a bit, patting his cybernetic arm in a manner that could only be called proud. "Outside of chasing kiddo here all over the city, we've had a pretty easy day. One hour of quick-charge and I'm good to go." The smile faded just a bit as he grew more serious. "Besides, I thought it might be good to help keep an eye on him."

"I've got it under control…"

"Then I'll stick around to keep an eye on you."

Robin glared and let his lip curl up in just a bit of a snarl. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, I'm gonna make sure you don't do anything you're going to regret later," Cyborg continued calmly. Out of all the Titans, he was the most used to dealing with Robin in one of his 'ill-humor' moods - having caused more than one of them himself. "You don't trust the kid, I get that, and you're worried 'cause if he is from the future, there's no way for us to know what it means for you in that future. But the fact is, we don't know anything about him, and he hasn't done anything that obviously makes him our enemy. Unlike Chronos."

Robin frowned and turned away from his friend, looking back down at the younger kid. "I want to know who he is."

"We all do. But if he's anything like you, he'll prefer keep that quiet as long as he can."

Robin jerked back and twisted, staring at his friend wide-eyed. "I never…"

"Rob," Cyborg's voice remained even and calm, not accusatory, just blank fact. "I've known you for three years. You're my best friend and the best leader the team could ask for. I'd trust you with my life and more. But I don't even know what color your eyes are."

Robin winced, shrinking back the slightest bit. Taking his mask off had never been a real option for him - it was just too much of a risk that one of the others would some day stumble across an old ad for the Flying Graysons and recognize him, pushing his two lives together. "Cyborg, I…"

"I know, man. You've got your secrets," Cyborg looked down at his own steel hands, flexing the metal carpals with a barely-noticeable sigh. "We all do. And that's what I'm trying to tell you. Do you realize how many times we've had you here, just like that kid? How many times you've gotten hurt, been knocked out around us, and how easy it would be to just sneak a peak without you even knowing?"

"Cy…"

"It happens a lot, Robin. We've had a lot of chances to see who you are under there," Cyborg's voice and expression remained carefully even, carefully blank. "But we've never done it. Because we know you trust us not to. You trust us."

The Boy Wonder felt thrown for a loop, in a way that his teammates could only really pull of when they had just the right point to make. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that, no matter what kind of future this kid comes from, he chose to model himself, his superhero life, after you," Cyborg stressed the words even more than he had before, driving the crux of his argument home. "That means he looks up to you, Rob. He trusts you enough to base his entire life off an example you set. He really trusts you, Rob.

"I think it'd be wrong to make him feel like he put that trust in the wrong person."

With that, Cyborg fell completely silent, leaning back against the doorframe his arms braces firmly over his chest. Robin let his own hands lower into his lap, contemplating what his teammate had said.

With a soft, resigned sigh, he leaned back in his chair and waited.

( - ) ( - ) ( - )

"Rock-a-bye baby, on the tree top. When the wind blows, the cradle will rock…"

Mother did not have the world's greatest singing voice by any matter of means, but it was warm and soft and soothing and just familiar enough to lull him to sleep, even though he didn't want to.

"When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall…"

He curled further into Mother's warmth and mumbled a wordless protest against the sleep tugging at his eyelids. He didn't want to go to sleep, not yet, he had to stay awake and wait for…

"And down will come baby, cradle and all…"

Slam.

"Hi honey. I'm home…finally."

Father. He tired to reach the voice, but his arms were heavy with sleep and wouldn't listen to him.

"How's Timmy doing?"

"Sound asleep. He'll be mad when he wakes up - he wanted to see you…"

"But it's just too late. I know," a warmth crossed over his forehead as Father rustled his hair, leaning over him to give Mother a kiss. "I'll make it up to him tomorrow. I've got the tickets right here."

"Dear, are you sure he's old enough for something like that…?"

"Sure he is, honey. In fact, the younger the better. All kids love the circus."

The circus…

With a sudden jerk, Father's voice and Mother's warmth were gone, replaced by a bone-shattering snap and airless emptiness. He was falling, falling but never hitting the ground, his ears filled with the crowd's frantic screams, his nose with the sickening smells of blood and popcorn, his eyes with the horrified expression that covered the previously-happy face of the Boy-Who-Flies…

His mind leapt to Mother, and then suddenly it was hot, hot and dry, his flesh cracking and burning, his throat drying and tightening, strangling him. His insides twisted and screamed with burning fire, wrenching a wordless cry of pain from his parched, bleeding throat…

Groping through the dark brought a fleeting moment of cool relief, a gentle, soothing color filling his vision. It was plum, no, eggplant - Spoiler, Stephanie…! - and then his heart was the thing that burned. His skin pulled back, tore and bled, his flesh ripped under the pressure of needles, blades, hooks, chains. The wounds hung open, blood flowing, unseen, untended, and the red brought words to his mind, words he would never, ever say, however strongly they had burned inside: My color, mine, thief, spoiler, I thought you, how could you…?

And then the red smelled of copper and too-sweet barbeque, and then it was everywhere, everywhere, all over the floor and his hands and his bare legs and everything, everything. His voice finally returned and he cried for his father, his hands grasping at that horrible, hard, sharp, golden shape, cutting his hands but never, ever moving, like his father's eyes, those blank, unmoving, lifeless eyes…

With a harsh, ragged gasp, Tim was suddenly awake, and sitting straight up before he could register either of the movements. The first thing he realized, coming completely to consciousness, was that it was very dark. But he was used to the dark, and what little he could see through it indicated that this was a Titan room - was he at the Tower? He must be. Then it was a dream, just one long, terrible, horrible, lonely…

"Hey. Hey. You okay?"

Tim jerked at the voice, the voice somewhere between Nightwing and the Boy-Who-Flies, and pulled away from the white, lensed eyes.

"Hey…!"

"Stay. Away." Tim took a deep breath, trying to steady himself with a few deep, measured breaths. "D-Don't…touch me. G-Give me a minute."

The gloved hand retreated back into shadows, the lensed eyes watching him again. Tim took another series of breaths, slowing his heartbeat, falling into a meditative rhythm, before deciding finally that he was calm enough to open his eyes again.

He and not-quite-Dick weren't the only two in the room, he realized. A glowing, red light near the door told him that Cyborg was watching - no, it was Other-Cyborg, his strange glass-covered circuitry glowing a soft blue, refracted off the silver finishing of his arms.

…Right.

They hadn't been a dream. Just the rest of it.

"Where am I?" He asked, tensing. If the chase from before was any indication, he wasn't a guest - he was a prisoner.

"Titans Tower," Other-Cyborg said simply, his voice calm. "You fall asleep on a roof in town. We brought you here after we found you."

Other-Robin…Other-Dick…said nothing, but his glare was intensified, amplified by distrust.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why…" Tim paused a moment to consider his next words, his tongue running over his dry lips nervously. "Why bring me back here? You didn't have to. I'm a crook for all you know. You should have taken me to jail."

Other-Cyborg smirked, as though amused by an unspoken joke. "Man, even I know the Bat would never let a criminal in that suit, and even if one got a hold of it, he wouldn't be runnin' around for long."

Subconsciously, Rim touched the hidden-in-plain-sight 'R'-shuriken on his chest. He noticed Other-Dick's eyes narrow further, but chose to ignore it. Even if the tension was hanging between them like a dead bird.

Other-Cyborg sensed the tension and decided to something about it.

Unfortunately, his way of 'doing something about it' was to glance at the clock, declare that it was time to get breakfast started, but he'd take care of it, and promptly retreat out of the room, insisting that the two of them "Talk it out and get to know each other," before closing the door behind him.

It took both of the Robins a full five seconds to realize what he meant before Other-Dick had launched himself at the door. He pushed against it rather uselessly, trying to force it open, but it didn't budge. He pressed his gloved hand against the automatic sensor on the wall, and all he got for his efforts was a high-pitched whirring and buzzing noise as the locks protested his efforts.

Finally, Other-Dick growled, slamming his fist against the door one last time and holding it there, scowling. "Dammit, Cyborg!"

Tim watched the ordeal without question, simply observing. "He locked us in."

"He locked you in."

Tim rolled his head to one side and blinked slowly in the curious bird-like manner he'd adopted primarily because it amused Dick and Alfred. "Can you get out?"

"No."

"Then he locked us in."

Other-Dick glared at him at over his shoulder like a venomous snake ready to pounce. But it wasn't near as tough as Nightwing's glare when he interrogated a murder suspect, and Nightwing's wasn't near as scary as Batman's expression on a daily basis, so Tim was less than impressed. He took a moment to ponder whether Other-Cyborg's reasoning circuits were operating correctly, what with locking his friend in guest room with a possibly-dangerous operative whose loyalties were unknown, but they hadn't started throwing sharp objects yet and he certainly wasn't going to start a fight in enemy territory, so he had to give the alternate Vic the benefit of the doubt.

He sighed a little and began to work himself out of his gloves and boots. This night - morning, dawn, whatever it was - was just going to get longer, and he might as well make himself comfortable enough to ride it out.

TBC…