Tim tries to stay out of the way. He only asks Selina to drop him off at a safe house, thanks her for...everything. And when he looks back at her, presses against the door frame, she smiles at him. Those green eyes are just reading him like a book, they're like no eyes that Tim has ever known.
They don't stop at the mask he's always wearing, at all the walls that he's thrown up. They suspect and find all the chinks in his armor. Peers into the dark within.
He has a hard time drawing his own eyes away.
"Call me." She says, eyes narrowing. She must see that he is nervous, feeling that doubt that has been eating at him all morning. "Let me know how you're feeling. You can always come back."
Her hand closes over his. "I'll be right here."
He feels empty as he watches Selina's black car drive away. He sighs, steam rising in the cold. He signs into the security, heads upstairs. The room, decked out in black and white, is relatively clean, but there's...a distinct smell of cologne.
Dick's cologne.
Jason's shaving cream though, he notes as he glances in the bathroom.
Tim tosses the backpack he borrowed from Selina onto the bed and gets a change of clothes, stuffes the pieces of his suit, covered by a jacket that he had been wearing into the backpack. He opts for Dick's sweater because it's the warmest thing in that closet and he...wants it. It smells like Dick, even feels like Dick, with the cable knit lines and its gray and worn out. Tim throws it on and then flops onto the bed, breathing in its scent in the sleeves.
What is he doing here? He should be home, he should have said, Selina, take me home, Bruce is looking for me. But he didn't. He came here because he wanted to think. He wanted a distance.
Why nobody even called Selina was beyond him, and Tim closes his eyes and bites his lip when the thought occurs: what if it was as he had suspected all along?
That Bruce really didn't care.
Or that Bruce was really, seriously angry.
Tim stares at the ceiling.
Why shouldn't he be? Tim had been enemies with Damian for a long time, had fought with him, even resented his presence in Bruce's life. Of course Bruce would suspect that Tim didn't want Damian back. It was logical.
It was logical if he didn't know how much Tim ached. How much he missed Damian. How his nightmares were all about him, how he blinked and there he was.
But there wasn't time. Bruce didn't know, and Tim hadn't told him, but maybe...just maybe…
Tim sits up a little, fishes around in his backpack for the phone (what if he didn't call last night?) and taps to his contacts.
Bruce Wayne (cell).
Tim breathes in Dick's sweater one more time for some reassurance. He holds the phone against his shoulder as he ties on his tennis shoes he left here some months ago. 20 seconds passes.
"You have reached Bruce Wayne's number. Please leave your message at the tone."
Bruce's voice is soft and professional, and when the beep sounds, Tim is silent. His mind is hung up on the voice. It's a little shocking. He hasn't heard it sound that way in a long time.
Top speed, straight in.
Tim swallows. "Hey, B, it's me, um. Tim."
Everything's gone. He doesn't know what else to say. Explain everything, no way, you can only record so much on voicemail.
"Uh, everything's okay. N-nothing much to report. Um...yeah. So."
So what?
"Bye."
Nothing to report.
He taps the red button as fast as he can, drops the phone on the bed like it burns. He rubs his hands on his jeans, trying to work the sweat out of them.
That's Bruce's phone, there's his name there, it would say Tim Wayne, it would be there. Bruce is never without his phone. It's protocol actually among the family, you never turn your phone off, you never turn the volume down, you never leave it.
It's too dangerous out here.
Bruce is nervous and out of control, that's all. I know how it is. I've been here before.
I know what it's like.
He needs to go home. Bruce needs him.
But does Bruce need him?
Does Bruce want him?
That's the more important question.
Tim keeps Dick's sweater. He slings the backpack over his shoulder, puts on a baseball cap he found in the closet. It'll cover him on his way home.
He catches a bus to Bristol County. He puts his earbuds in his ears and listens to enough noise to drown out his thoughts. He doesn't look at the people who are expecting a weekend, who are dying to get this day over and done. He ignores the cold seeping into the sweater.
His heart feels tired. But he stares straight ahead and gets off at his stop, walks down the sidewalk turning into the long driveway. His old house is way back there, behind that hulk of Gothic architecture. Wayne Manor is silent and only a few lights are visible from Tim's distance. There's no sound of Titus barking. No trembling of trees as they are sliced by old swords held by a boy no more than ten.
Tim turns his eyes away. But he notices that Dick's car is pulled up.
Tim heads to the door, but it opens before he can type in his security.
"Master Tim!" Alfred nearly cries, reaching out and pulling Tim in. "There you are! We've been looking for you all-"
"Tim," Dick comes around the corner of the foyer, catching Tim and pulling him close, oh so close and pressing a hand to the back of his head. Tim buries his face in Dick's shoulder, breathes in that familiar cologne. Dick is shaking. "Tim, where have you been? You weren't on the radio last night. Why didn't you call?"
He pulls back just enough, to look into Tim's face, to brush his hair out of his eyes. "I've been calling everybody I know, even Jay for gosh's sakes."
"I'm okay," Tim responds but the moment it's out of his mouth, he knows it's the lamest thing he's ever said in his life.
"No, no," Dick shakes his head, keeping his arms locked around Tim, "Tell me where you've been."
"I've-" and Tim stops.
Does Selina want everybody to know?
Does...Tim want everybody to know?
He thought that maybe Selina's house...Selina herself... would be like a safehouse. She welcomed him with open arms and he disintegrated in front of her and she didn't judge him.
You don't just give away the location of your safe house.
"I've been with the Titans," he says. "Yeah, Conner...Cass..."
Dick blinks. Tim doesn't breathe.
"I called Conner," Dick frowns. "He said you weren't with him."
"That was before I got there, I guess," Tim responds.
Dick looks at him, trying to read him like Selina does. But there's a different light in Dick's eyes, one that appeared after Damian died, and it's quiet and hollow, not like his old one. The one that still had the circus glittering in it.
So Tim is a little disappointed when Dick doesn't say, come on, Timmers, tell big brother the truth, because he just smiles a little sadly. "Thank God you're okay. Why weren't you on the radio?"
There's a burning in Tim's conscience. He has to tell him at least one truth. "I just...forgot about it. Sorry."
Dick sighs, nods and murmurs, "C'mere," and takes him to the living room. The lamps are all off, Dick doesn't bothering turning them on. The only light is streaming through the windows, making the room that once held a whole and complete family look like a tomb. "Timmy, I've got to tell you something."
Dick leads Tim to sit on the couch with him, and Tim watches Dick try to make everything seem okay and that feeling good is alright. That nothing hurts as bad as he believes.
Tim's back hurts. His eyes are dry.
"Timmy," Dick starts slowly, "I've...I've gotta get back to Bludhaven."
Dick moves his hand tentatively toward him, eventually coming to rest on his knee. "B's not gonna be on patrol for a few days and...I've got to get back to work. I can't just leave poor Babs there, you know?"
Tim nods, but he can feel his heart rate increasing. Dick...leaving? Dick's leaving for Bludhaven and he's-
"And I've got a new mission of sorts," he continues, "It'll mean some undercover work."
Undercover, he could be gone for just a week or more than a year. Tim doesn't move.
"But you've got to know I'm always here. Call me anytime you need me. Hey you can come over and we can patrol together, yeah?"
His mouth is dry and he whispers, "You're leaving me with Bruce?"
Dick sits up a little bit, puts an arm around the couch, capable of just sliding down to Tim's shoulders. "I know, Tim. I know. Bruce is being a real pain right now, it's just..."
Tim looks up at Dick, who stares out of the windows just over Tim's head. There's a bright reflection in his eyes. Tim feels his hand on his shoulder, stroking back and forth.
"It's just hard, Timmy. It's really hard."
Tim looks down at his hands, pulls them deeper into the sweater. Grasps the ends and the knit covers his knuckles. It's hard.
Too hard, a whisper says but another responds, You have to do this. Do this for Dick.
"The only way we can get Bruce back up is if he realizes that he has to. We can't carry all of it for him while he...he gets all the evidence and stuff," Dick continues. He sounds a little hopeless. "He has to remember Gotham. You can help him remember Gotham."
"Dick," Tim says suddenly, shocking himself, "I can't even get him to remember me."
There's the ticking of a clock, Titus' nails scratching on marble somewhere in the distance. But other than that, there's a long and empty silence in the living room. Tim can't even hear Dick breathing.
That's his response.
Dick's hands move closer around Tim, pulling him to his chest.
"Hang in there, Timmers," Dick whispers into his hair. "Just hold on, okay?"
I can't anymore, you don't understand, whatever I'm holding on to is wet and slippery and I'm shaking, Dick. I can't do this anymore.
"Okay," Tim whispers. He needs to blink. The world is smearing again.
"You're a good kid, Timmy," Dick says, managing a small smile. "Bruce is...he's crazy proud of you, he...he loves you, Tim. Just give him some time."
Tim faces Dick and gives him the smile he needs, the one he wants. Dick stands up and whispers, "I gotta get going." He cups the back of Tim's neck, says again, "I'm always here, kiddo. You can always come and talk to me."
Tim nods, hugs Dick one more time, listens to the fast-paced heartbeat. He winces. They both have masks.
Dick seems almost stuck to Tim, eventually putting a hand on his shoulder to almost push him away, unable to look at him directly in the eye. "Love you, little bro," he murmurs and walks too quickly out of the room.
Tim stands there motionless, facing the wall. He listens to Dick's hushed goodbyes to Alfred, the shuffling of his shoes, the opening and closing of the door. The tires crunch outside in a few minutes. And when Tim turns to the window, he sees the car zooming away. Barely visible silhouette of Dick's head and shoulders hunched over.
The clock ticks on.
Tim looks away from the window and down at his sleeves. Dick never mentioned the sweater. But it smells more like him than it did before.
There's nothing more to do it seems. Tim wonders what stole Dick away so fast, what made him rush out the door like that. He made sure Tim was safe, that he knew where he was going, that he could call. And then he was gone.
It's kind of what Tim always imagined Dick was like when he left Bruce to become Nightwing. The repulsion at the sight of the manor walls, the silence. Bruce's sharp and apparent absence.
Tim sits down on the couch and wonders if it being repeated. If Bruce has said goodbye to Nightwing this time.
If Bruce had told Dick to get out too.
Tim has a fleeting image of calling Dick even now while he's on the road and telling him about everything that happened last night. He could tell him the truth, tell him that he was with Selina, not Conner, and she kept him all night and she gave him a place and a bed and breakfast and yoga pants and she let him cry.
She let him cry.
It's something with the Manor. Tim glances around at the shadows and the edges and grooves. There's no room for tears here anymore.
There used to be. He used to be able to go down to the Cave, and Bruce would notice the scent in the air that something was so terribly wrong. That everything was actually a mess. Like that time that Bruce came to Tim's bedroom just a few mornings after Jack Drake's death.
"Do you want me to take the day off?" he had asked.
Bruce? Take the day off for Tim?
Tim didn't allow it, but later on that night, Tim cried himself to sleep in Bruce's arms. Bruce came and stayed right next to him throughout the funeral. He let him cry when he said he wanted to adopt him. And Tim cried by himself when he got a letter next to his bed the day after all the papers were signed. Some things Bruce wrote down, the things he couldn't say out loud.
I promise to love you, to provide for you, to shield you, to always be here for you. No matter where you are, in distance, time or space, I will be your father. Nothing will ever change that.
And Dick whispered in his ear, "Did you get your letter?" And when Tim whispered, yes, how did Dick know?
"I still have mine. We all got one."
Tim blinks and then keeps his eyes closed.
Batman and Robin.
There's still a chance.
Dick said that Bruce would remember Gotham, that Tim could help him remember. Tim can bring him back, he always has.
He brought him back from the dead. He can bring him back from this kind of dead.
Tim bolts up and steps two at a time up the stairs. He rushes to the library, nearly slips on the old throw rug on the threshold but he staggers away with a hateful glance at the hideous thing. He rubs his hands together and stares at the grandfather clock for a moment, before turning the hour hand to ten. And the minute hand to a little after forty-five.
The locks slap against each other.
A/N: Okay so the continuity is a little changed here, especially with Dick and his undercover work, and I know the story, but it's an AU so stuff will be changed. If anybody has any questions about how the story has been remade, please send me a PM and I'll explain (without giving spoilers!). Please review! It's very encouraging. :)