"Are you sure you're ready?" Bruce asks.

Tim stares at the door, taking deep, even breaths. "I'm ready."

Reaching out, Tim turns the door knob and steps into his old bedroom. Not surprisingly, given how Bruce mentioned they'd reconstructed it as best they could when they'd realized he was alive, it looks a lot like it'd looked the last time he'd been in it about two years ago.

Tim slowly turns on one heel in the middle of the bedroom, looking around. The skateboards, the band and movie posters, the stacks of Zesti cans organized by flavor…

They all seem exactly the same, at least as far as Tim can remember.

So why does it all feel so different?

Tim knows the answer before he can even ask the question out loud. It's not the bedroom that's different. It's Tim himself.

It takes him a moment to realize Bruce is talking, listing off the differences Bruce knows of that they couldn't account for in reconstructing the bedroom. "-And obviously much of your Zesti was expired, so-"

"It's great, B," Tim says with a smile, trying to fool himself into believing it. "Really, it's all great."

Bruce hesitates, watching Tim.

Tim feels his shoulders slump. "Yeah. I mean, it's a great reconstruction. It's just… So much has changed. I don't know if this room fits me anymore."

"We can redecorate," Bruce offers instantly, stepping closer. "Or we can-"

Tim blows out a long breath in response, unsure of what to say.

Bruce cuts himself off. He stares at Tim for a long moment. "It's not just the room, though, is it?"

"It's everything," Tim admits. He takes a few steps to one side and sinks down into sitting on the edge of the bed. "In the Gilded Cage, all I ever wanted to think of was getting out, even when it hurt. Now that I'm out? I don't know what to think of. I don't know what to do next."

Bruce hesitates again.

Tim appreciates that. Bruce is clearly trying to think of what to say next, what would be best. Bruce has come a long way in his emotional abilities since Tim first met him, a long way since Tim last saw him before "dying," even.

"Is there something you want to do?" Bruce asks. "Or something you specifically don't want to do, if that's easier?"

"I want to be a good dad," Tim says. That much of an idea is easy to come up with.

Bruce gives a smile. "I think you're already on top of that."

"You of all people know it's not something that you should stop trying for, though," Tim points out, kicking his feet at the rug next to the edge of the bed. "It's something you're always going to be growing into."

Bruce sighs.

"Beyond that?" Tim says. He thinks for a moment. "I want… I don't want to do what Jason did and never come back to life legally. That's worked for him, it's what he wants, but it's not what I want. I want to go to work as Tim Drake-Wayne and come home to be with my kids the same way."

"That's certainly a thought," Bruce says.

Tim tries not to frown. Bruce says that like it's not a good thought.

"And I don't mean it's a bad thought," Bruce adds hurriedly. "Just that it may be hard to do at first."

Tim laughs wryly, flopping back onto the bed. "What, coming back from the dead isn't easy? Who would've thought?"

Bruce leans against the nearest bedpost, shaking his head with a small smile as he watches Tim.

"It'll work out," Tim says. "I mean, we worked it out for you, didn't we?"

Bruce's smile disappears in a split second. He looks away.

Tim sits up again. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Bruce says.

"Bruce," Tim says.

"Nothing's wrong," Bruce insists, looking at Tim again, but not quite meeting his eyes.

Tim raises his eyebrows and pulls out his verbal weapon. "What's wrong, Dad?"

Bruce sighs. "I'm sorry."

On alert now, Tim looks around, trying to figure out what Bruce could be sorry for.

Bruce waves a hand, indicating their general surroundings. "For all this."

"You're sorry for reconstructing my bedroom," Tim says slowly.

"I'm sorry it had to be reconstructed in the first place," Bruce says.

Tim blinks. "I mean, why would you have kept it? Everyone thought I was dead."

"Everyone thought you were dead," Bruce agrees. He shakes his head and looks down, muttering, "I thought you were dead."

"Well, yeah," Tim says. "That was pretty much the whole point of the fake-out explosion and everything, to make everyone think I was dead."

"That's not it," Bruce says.

"Then what is it?" Tim says.

Bruce looks up and locks eyes with Tim. "I thought you were dead."

Tim nods, not breaking eye contact.

Bruce continues, "When everyone thought I was dead, you knew they were wrong. You knew I was alive, and you found me and made sure I made it home. But I didn't…"

The whole conversation rearranges itself in Tim's mind. He breathes, "Oh."

"Oh," Bruce agrees heavily.

Despite himself, Tim snorts a laugh.

Bruce's eyes widen in what looks like betrayal.

"I'm not laughing at you," Tim says, then he corrects himself. "Okay, maybe a little. But Bruce? It wasn't your fault that Ra's tricked everyone."

"It was my fault I let him trick me," Bruce says firmly.

"Nah," Tim says. "That's like saying it's my fault I got kidnapped and held captive for almost two years."

"It wasn't your fault," Bruce says.

"Exactly," Tim says, standing up and advancing toward Bruce. "None of it was my fault, and now I'm making the best of it. And none of it was your fault either."

Bruce looks away.

Tim comes right up to him. Standing toe to toe, Tim notices absentmindedly that Bruce seems shorter than Tim thinks of him, or maybe Tim is taller. They've both aged in the past two years, after all. Huh. He pushes that thought away for a later crisis. The current crisis needs his full attention.

"Bruce," Tim says. "Don't be like this. Don't take everything on you. When everyone thought you were dead, you know what convinced me you were alive? You did. The little hints you hid throughout your time being lost in time. You convinced me you were alive, and I believed you. And guess what? The same is true in reverse. I told you I was alive, and you believed me. You believed me, and you found me, and you made sure I made it home."

Bruce is still looking away. His entire body is so tense and still, Tim is almost tempted to check that Bruce is still breathing. But Tim knows this. Bruce is locking himself down against his emotions, and he's trying to stay in control.

"B," Tim says softly. He leans in toward Bruce.

Bruce's arms come up around Tim, slowly and awkwardly at first, then all of a sudden squeezing Tim close and tight.

Tim wraps his arms around Bruce in turn, laying his head against Bruce's shoulder and chest. "It's okay. We're okay. It's okay now."

"You're okay," Bruce says, the words coming as if wrenched out of him.

Tim nods against Bruce and lets the both of them just feel for once. "I'm okay, and you're okay. It's okay."

Author's Note: Looks like the next chapter will be the last one! Hope you're enjoying this story as it draws to a close! Let me know what you think!