In which Dick is surprisingly racist towards clones.

Two birds on a wire
One says "come on" and the other says "I'm tired"
The sky is overcast and I'm sorry
One more or one less
Nobody's worried

-Regina Spektor, "Two Birds"

Then.

Once their guest had left, Tim turned to Dick with a wounded air.

"How about giving me some warning next time before someone shows up, huh? A little heads-up would've been nice."

Dick's smile didn't falter.

"What, did she catch you doing something embarrassing?"

Tim skewered him a look of disgust.

"Do you have to make everything sound dirty?"

"Sorry, sorry. …I'm surprised you're still doing 'that' after all these years though."

Tim shrugged with a heavy sigh. "Was just testing to see if I still could, I guess. I messed up on the landing anyway."

"You probably just need to work on your form some more. It has been a while since I last saw you brush up on any techniques, they're bound to get a bit rusty. If you want, I can still coach you…"

Tim's lips tightened.

"Forget it. It's not worth it."

"Are you sure? That girl seemed pretty impressed by it. She's the one you were talking about earlier, right?" Dick nodded in sage observation. "She's cute; nice face, decent rack- ow!" He rubbed his arm as it was abruptly met with an annoyed punch. "Hey, it was a compliment."

"…Didn't sound like one."

"Would you prefer I said she has a mighty fine ass?" He waggled his brows and grinned provocatively, despite wincing from the pain. Kid could still hit pretty hard when he wanted to. "Not as fine as mine though."

"Shut up before I shove a dumbbell up there."

Dick clutched his behind in mock dread at the threat.

"Seriously though, she's obviously into you."

Tim rolled his eyes. "The way I see it, from where I'm standing, she's more into you."

"Oh ho, do I detect a note of jealousy?"

"No," Tim denied hotly, though his cheeks told a different story. "It's just that you're being super-gross about it. You know you're acting like Bruce by coming onto every giddy schoolgirl and her mom who walks in through the door."

Dick's smirk jerked slightly.

"Wow, okay dude, we're really going there." It was his turn to be hurt by insensitivity. "You didn't need to go that far. I'll have you know this and that are completely different."

"How so?"

"I approach these things from a sole marketing perspective. Purely professional. It's called 'show business', bro."

"Uh-huh. This coming from the guy who just lied about his scars to make himself look good. I suppose 'that's' also part of your advertising strategy?"

"Hey, it's not like it was a total lie. That really did happen, you know – minus the 'falling debris' part. …Besides, what else would you have me say?"

Tim shook his head, keeping his voice low. "…I don't know."

Dick seized on the telling silence. "You are attracted to her, aren't you?"

"I am not."

"It's okay, I can see why. It's all right to admit these things, you know. You don't have to hide it."

"I'm not hiding anything."

The firm, yet flustered defiance only further confirmed Dick's suspicion.

"Heh heh, little Timmy's got a crush~"

He tousled Tim's hair teasingly, to which the boy scowled.

"I do not." He pushed the invading hand away in indignation. "Will you cut that out already? I'm not a kid anymore."

Dick lowered his limb in disappointment.

"Okay, okay. Sorry." Despite insistence otherwise, it delighted Dick that Tim was finally exhibiting some of the youthful desire – if not exuberance – he'd missed out on through his teenage years. "Trust me though, I have no interest in someone her age. She's all yours."

"Look, will you just drop it?" Tim snapped bluntly. "It's none of your freakin' business."

Dick exhaled, clicking his tongue. If only Tim could be more honest with his feelings, true to himself – though he was painfully aware of how excruciatingly difficult that must be, what with everything the boy had been through. To be fair, he had his own troubles genuinely opening his heart to others, after all the times it had been broken and betrayed before. …He could only imagine how terrifying it must be for Tim, to allow someone else – a complete and total stranger – to get close by entering into his currently (semi-)stable and secure – if supremely secluded life, experience that kind of risky emotion again. Breach the many walls and defensive barriers he had set up around himself, upset the plainly precarious balance that was still a struggle to barely maintain. So as much as he wanted to continue coaxing and clowning – kidding around, he agreed to leave it alone for now, raising both palms in admitted defeat.

"Okay, I get it. I won't bother you about it anymore."

The subject successfully dismissed, Tim attuned towards the boxes in the back.

"So did you want me to help with moving this stuff or what?"

"Yeah, I needed to clear out some old things to make space for new equipment. Trying to tidy up the place more, getting rid of useless junk and whatnot. …Although most of it's probably going up to the storeroom in the attic anyway. Sorry to bother you for this; I'd do all the lifting myself, but with my back…"

"Don't mention it, it's the least I can do to repay you."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

Tim knelt by one of the cartons as Dick set to work sifting and sorting, organizing according to some arbitrary system that ostensibly only made sense to him.

"Christ, how much crap do you have here? Seriously, what even is half this junk? I knew you had all kinds of odd ends lying around, but I didn't realize it amounted to this much. Do you ever throw anything away?"

Dick shrugged.

"What can I say, I'm a hoarder by nature. Keeping keepsakes is my hobby. …Well, more like a habit, I guess. Why do you think we had a trophy room in the basement? It wasn't originally Bruce's idea, I can tell you that."

Tim remained quiet as he poked through a large collection of CDs, containing a few recognizable but mostly random titles by various indie bands and artists he'd never heard of.

"Man, you've got weird taste in music."

"Hey, don't knock the classics. Those are precious goods, be careful with those."

In spite of his scoffing, Tim picked up one of the discs that appealed to him, and was almost about to subconsciously slip the item under his oversized hoodie – an old, old habit of his own – before remembering he didn't have to resort to sneaking or stealing when he could just ask.

"Can I borrow this?"

Dick didn't even twist to look, implicitly trusting in his little brother's judgment. "Yeah sure, go ahead."

Tim breathed out in relief as he pocketed the prize with permission. That was a close call. Borderline kleptomaniac compulsions hadn't surfaced like that in a long time, but then, it was only another minor checkbox on the extensive, exhaustive list of psychotic symptoms he was suffering from today.

There was another entry that caught his eye, different from the others. It had no hard case or album cover; just a plain, simple jacket labeled with marker:

For Babs.

Tim wondered if it was a mix tape – surely Dick wouldn't have tried to record something himself? He couldn't tell whether it was a gift Dick planned to give but never worked up the courage to – or something Barbara sent back after (one of numerous) breakup(s).

…Maybe Joker was right. Being in love with someone seemed like way more hassle than it was worth. Hell, just watching those two go back and forth between affection and anger even back then was tiring. Aggravating.

At any rate, he left burning curiosity alone, not wanting to intrude too much on Dick's privacy (years ago he would've taunted his brother with the juicy bit of exposing bait himself, but that was then, when he was less mature and still found amusement in such things), and moved on to another container. As soon as he saw the contents inside, he balked a bit, heartbeat spiking. Aching. It was a family photo album, full of fond memories from the Flying Graysons' circus days. His hands trembled as he flipped tentatively through the pages, unable to tear away even though it made him uncomfortable for a number of reasons. Paranoid of polaroids. Anything involving camerawork tended to make him queasy, though he could typically tolerate homages to others at least. These were different from the blown-up, polished posters on the wall though; the images portrayed within were more intimate, unscripted. Candid, captured moments of a close-knit clan, happy as a clam – treasured remnants of childhood innocence and bliss combined with parental pampering.

"This must have been such a cool place to grow up."

"…It was."

Glancing back at the receptacle, buried at the bottom was another set of snapshots: a framed photograph of Dick and Barbara together (him smiling smugly straight at her in puppy-like adoration while she beamed brightly at the viewer instead), and a worn print of the former in graduation garb next to Bruce, who had his paw wrapped proudly on the other's shoulder. Scrawled on the top left-hand corner in Bruce's surprisingly haphazard handwriting was a short congratulatory message:

Good luck at college, Dick.

Tim recalled how Dick told him the story of Bruce missing his graduation from Gotham State University, shortly before the two split up as Batman and Robin. (…The old man never even bothered to come to his own high school ceremony – not that Tim was expecting him to – although Dick and Barbara both did attend at least, albeit sitting at opposite ends of the auditorium.)

"It was building for a long time. I realize that now. …It was never really right. I mean, this isn't exactly a normal childhood."

He hadn't really comprehended the notion then, but Tim understood now what those words meant – unfortunately all too well.

Tim sensed a shadow behind him, and for a brief instant, he half-envisioned it being Bruce from the way it loomed – but of course when he revolved around it was only Dick instead.

"Yo, you all right? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

"Yeah, I'm fine." Tim looked down at the scrapbook in his lap, a wistful mist in his eyes. "I was just… thinking I don't really have any pictures of my folks. At least none where we're all together." Or that isn't a mugshot, he thought sullenly to himself. "I never saw my dad keep any mementos of Mom after she died. To be honest, I'm not sure I even still remember what she looks like."

Dick plopped down on the ground next to him, resting a hand on the boy's sagged shoulder.

"Listen, I hope you know: No matter what, you can always think of the two of us as family at least. I know I haven't exactly been that much of a great guardian myself, that I could never replace what you lost either… But you are still a brother to me. Hell, I consider you the closest thing to a real relative I've had since then."

Tim simply nodded, swallowing a lump in his gorge. Dick patted his back with a thump.

"Us guys, we gotta stick together, right? Through thick and thin."

"Yeah." Tim ducked his neck towards his collar, surreptitiously drying ducts on his sweatshirt. "…Thanks, you know, for letting me stay here so long. Roy and Conner too."

"Hey, what are friends for?" A pause. "…How's Conner doing by the way?"

Tim snorted, the caution in the other's tone not escaping his notice. "What do you care? You never liked him anyway."

"That's not true. It's just… The whole idea of cloning someone kinda wigs me out, okay? I dunno, imagining there being a duplicate copy of you running around is freaky enough, but one of Superman? It still doesn't sit well with me to leave him loose like that, after all the underhanded crap Cadmus has pulled. Something about it just doesn't seem right. Who's to say he doesn't have some secret kill switch that'll make him go rogue like Supergirl's doppelganger? Gotham may be full of crazies and creeps, but at least we never really had to deal with stuff of metahuman caliber aside from Ivy and Clayface, or Kirk when he took the serum." Dick intentionally didn't include Killer Croc on the atypical rogues roster; guy was too dumb a criminal to count. "We're on the high end of the 'weird' scale, sure, but not even Batman's equipped to take down a serious superpowered menace alone."

Tim glared at him in disbelief.

"Is that you talking, or the old man?"

"…Maybe a bit of both," Dick willingly conceded. "Look, I'm just worried, that's all."

"Yeah well, don't be. I've got Mr. Kent on speed-dial, and Kon gave me his full consent to use the Kryptonite at my discretion as part of our 'roommate agreement'. If anything happens, he told me himself he wants me to hit him with it as hard as I can." …Even if it meant killing him – although Tim knew he could never go through with that. Not again. "Besides, it's not him you're actually worried about, is it?"

"Tim…"

"No, you know what this is?" Tim clenched his fist, drawing away from contact again. "You look at him with the same way you do me – like some ticking time bomb about to explode. I'm getting real sick and tired of it."

"It's not like that."

"Sure it isn't. Look, for your information, Conner's doing fine. Hell, he pretty much behaves just like you; he's probably getting wasted and chasing after chicks at some mixer right now. …That's what you call a 'normal college life', isn't it?"

Dick cleared his throat, aversely acknowledging hypocrisy.

"…What about you? How is school going? Do you like it there?"

Tim shrugged.

"It's okay."

"You know you didn't have to just stick locally around here. If you wanted to go someplace else I would've sponsored you. I mean, I chose to stay close to Gotham because of that… 'part-time job' stuff, but you're smart, you could've gone anywhere better."

"I told you, I'm fine with this."

"What about taking that girl's suggestion at least? Life doesn't just have to be about books and studying for tests all the time either, you know. Look at it this way: You've got the time and opportunity now to be a part of after-class club activities that I never had. Why not take advantage of it, get out there and socialize. Enjoy the excitement of your youth and all that."

Tim stared, trying unsuccessfully to read the other's expression. He couldn't deduce whether the dude was just being humorously sarcastic, or genuinely envious and attempting to live vicariously through him. Either way, he wasn't falling for it.

"I said forget it."

Dick kept pressing despite disengagement, earnest in his endeavor to tempt Tim to pursue what used to fill the boy with fervent passion, desperately hoping to rekindle some kind of joyful spark.

"Come on, I'm sure it'll be fun. I bet I could even still teach you to do a quadruple somersault if you're interested."

"Why? I suck at it."

"You just need more practice. …Besides, it'd be kind of a shame to let a legacy die out without passing it on to at least one person."

Tim wavered at the sincere, if somewhat scheming statement.

"I don't know…"

"Trust me, it's easy once you get the hang of it."

"Maybe for you." He bitterly bit his tongue under his breath. "I'd like to see you try to concentrate on keeping your balance with the Joker as a peanut gallery."

"What was that?"

"…Nothing."

Dick held his gaze for a second.

"Tim, I didn't want to bring this up, but… Conner called me the other day. He told me, about the lab incident. He says you haven't been sleeping or eating much either."

Tim grit his jaw, feeling like a dagger had just been thrust in his gut. He couldn't believe his best (perhaps only) bud in the world would betray him like that.

"Damnit, Kon."

"Don't blame him, he's just worried about you too. I told you: You don't need to keep hiding things from us. We're here to help if you need anything. Babs too. If something's troubling you, you can talk to us."

"It's fine, I'm handling it."

Dick wouldn't desist, determined to get the truth out of him.

"Tim, I heard you yelling earlier. …He's back again, isn't he?"

The boy sighed in surrender, eyes slanting stage right. "…To your left, making faces."

His partner fixed him with stern concern.

"Are you off your meds again?"

"They don't work. Not as well as they used to."

"That doesn't mean you should just stop taking them."

"For what? So I can only experience the side effects?"

"So talk to Leslie. Ask her to adjust the dosage."

Tim made a hollow noise. "I'm already on the highest strength that's considered 'safe' for human consumption."

Dick pulled out his phone anyway and began dialing her number.

"I'm contacting her. There must be at least something else we can try."

"Not Dr. Thompkins," Tim whined, as if a toddler throwing a tantrum.

"Look, either you call to make an appointment, or I will."

Tim seethed, grinding his teeth. "All right, fine. Jeeze. God, you and Barbara still both treat me like a fucking child."

"Yeah well, maybe if you stop acting like one."

"Whatever. Just hand me the phone. I'll talk to her."

Dick extended the cell towards Tim, who took it with all the enthusiasm of accepting a dirty sock.

"It's ringing."

He listened closely in on the conversation to confirm a meeting time was set up, before Tim returned the receiver.

"Here. She wants to talk to you."

Dick lifted the mobile to his ear.

"Hey, doc."

"Hello, Richard. It's good to hear from you boys. How's the back treating you?"

"Fine." He didn't want to dwell too much on his own health status, so he moved on to the matter at hand. "Is there anything we can do to help Tim?"

"In such a rare and unusual case as this, it's hard to say. It'd be beneficial to start by identifying the root of his relapse. Once we pinpoint that, it'll be easier to formulate a treatment plan. It's possible it could just be due to the stress of moving to a new environment. It's good that you've been able to help support him through high school, but now that he's becoming independent it may be triggering a stronger separation anxiety response in him. Even if consciously he rejects it, the Joker ingrained himself as a parental figure in Tim's mind. Essentially, he equates that kind of attention with the nurturing love and protection he never properly received growing up. It's common for child victims of abuse to form a disorganized attachment to the caregiver, especially when the caregiver behaves in an inconsistent manner. The conflict of the caregiver being both a source of comfort and distress can cause the child to display contradictory patterns when faced with a stressful situation; instinct tells him to simultaneously avoid and approach the one who is mistreating him. In the absence of a familiar atmosphere he's accustomed to, he's likely seeking alternate methods of coping as a survival mechanism. Has he been under any kind of particular pressure lately?"

Dick relayed the events leading up to the fainting spell, with little input from Tim beyond affirmative nods.

"I see. It's certainly a sign of progress that he's trying to face his fears, but a heads-on approach might not be the best tactic."

"I tried to tell him that. He won't listen."

"I'll have a chat with him about it when I see him, hopefully we can find a way for him to succeed in his studies without compromising his sense of safety. One more question, this is important: Has he tried to harm himself?"

"I… don't think so. I'll check, and let you know."

"Please do."

As Dick temporarily terminated the exchange, he rotated to see Tim had stood up and was headed towards the door.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Out for a smoke – walk – whatever. Just text me when you need me."

"Hold it." The harsh bark arrested the boy before he was halfway to the exit. "Wrists."

Tim swiveled with a sour countenance.

"Seriously? Do we really have to do this?"

"Show me."

He hissed, but obediently rolled up his sleeves, revealing bare but apparently unmarked skin.

"Satisfied?"

Dick advanced and examined him all over anyway, before nodding.

"All right. Now empty your pockets."

Tim tsked, feeling as violated as when the staff at the detention center frisked him on admittance for any concealed contraband. He dug through his possessions, retrieving objects one by one: phone, wallet, CD player, lighter, cigarettes, and finally – under Dick's demanding eye – the hidden pocketblade.

"Give me the knife."

He hesitated.

"Don't make me wrestle it from you."

Relinquishing, he slapped the weapon into Dick's grip without a word.

"Thank you. You can go, but try to keep near."

"Sure thing, Mom."

Dick deliberately chose to ignore the sardonic retort, used to receiving attitude by now. (For a fleeting moment, he mused if he ever gave Bruce this much frustration, although no doubt Alfred would certainly attest to it.)

After Tim left, Dick hit redial to reassuringly inform Leslie on the observed lack of self-inflicted damage to the patient's physical condition at least – and preemptive confiscation of means just to be safe – before bidding goodbye with a final beep. He sighed as he rubbed his neck, hoping his "tough love" hadn't come off as too deterring. He really wasn't good with this whole "parenting" thing, considering the primary role model he had for nearly half of his life after early adolescence.

As he picked up the memoir from the floor, he caressed his fingers feather-light over the cover, brushing off collected dust and disenchantment before delicately placing it on a shelf for easy viewing access. The rest he unceremoniously dumped in the "to toss" pile, purposefully cramming as much trash as he could on top. …After a few minutes though he fished them out again, rescuing from the base of the rubbish heap with ambivalent reluctance, restoring to the original package and sealing tightly with tape. They could remain upstairs for now at least – like his ruined Nightwing costume – evidence of old wounds and shattered bonds shuttered behind closed panel; tucked away in the dark recesses of his conscience, lurking and lingering deep in the shadows off-screen.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Two birds of a feather
Say that they're always gonna stay together
But one's never going to let go of that wire
He says that he will
But he's just a liar

Ironically Dick later gets a clone himself in the "Hush Beyond" comic story arc (which is a mess in all sorts of ways but I'm considering canon for the sake of keeping "continuity").

On the subject of the tie-in comics though, one thing I love about Gotham Adventures is how they highlight Dick's fondness for music, wherein his musical knowledge actually comes in handy to help solve a couple cases. If you haven't read the series I highly recommend doing so for a lot more extra character development and wonderful BatFam interactions.

Also FYI all the photographs appeared in the show at some point. Cookie to whoever guesses which ep each is from. ;O

P.S. Happy Father's Day.