Chapter 24: Prodigal

What a shame, you have known the darkest corners of your mind
And what a shame, you believed you were something to leave behind
—Zoë Johnson, "Good Things Come in Threes" (excerpt)

ROBIN

Tim stood there before her, and though he was taller than Dana, something about his stance made him seem small and awkward. It was the first time she had truly seen him as Robin; this close, the brightly coloured outfit, heavy two-toned cape and white-lens domino mask seemed almost unreal.

"Hi," he said.

She found herself spellbound into silence as she drank him in, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the green sleeves, only letting her eyes linger on the Robin symbol displayed so prominently on his chest. I'm so proud of you, she wanted to say, but the same fear ran through her—that she might send him running with a single word.

Tim reached up and touched his mask, but seemed to reconsider taking it off, for he dropped his hand abruptly. "Sorry for not telling you I was leaving," he said, not meeting her gaze.

It was how he would have spoken to Jack—half contrite, half wary, always asking for forgiveness instead of depending on permission. Dana pressed back her grief, but let the memories stay within arm's reach as she nodded.

"I was worried when I heard that you'd left, but I knew you must've had a good reason."

His expression cleared slightly as he nodded, and her heart ached because it was plain that he had not been taking her trust for granted. "It worked out, I think."

"I went out today," she continued. "I found a condo downtown that's close to my practice. I hope you'll be able to have a look at it, too."

There was confusion on his face, but she glimpsed a spark of interest within. "Yeah?"

Dana's heart beat faster. Time to take the plunge. "Nothing's settled yet," she began, "but I still want to live in Gotham. I don't know everything that's been on your mind this past week, but I am willing to honour the guardianship clause in your father's will." That sounded too formal. "Not just willing," she amended. "I would be honoured to—"

"Dana, wait." The words burst out of Tim. "There's something—more than one thing—you need to know."

She halted, disappointment turning her lips numb, and nodded for him to speak.

"I don't know how to say this." Tim's face was growing redder, right to the tips of his ears. "The day Bruce and I went to Darla's funeral, Dad came here and told me not to bother coming home."

The unexpected words tore through her with the force of the final image from that terrible night, so that for an instant Dana again recalled the bloodied body of her husband on the kitchen floor, saw Tim shaking as he clung to Batman. Then she breathed, finding herself motionless in the Batcave, unable to comprehend why Tim sounded so flat, so calm at the damning words he had just spoken.

"When was Darla's funeral?" she asked slowly, her guilt mounting. That was something she should have already known.

"A few days after the gang war ended." He named the date. "I know I should've called and told you—it just never crossed my mind. I was going to go by myself, but Bruce insisted on coming along, and it was only when we were about to head home that I remembered I needed to call Dad."

Dana noted the unconscious use of home to refer to Wayne Manor. "What did your father say?" she asked. She had been at work at the time, she remembered, so Jack would have been home alone.

Tim swallowed. "I broke my word by keeping him out of the loop. He told me he'd changed his mind about Robin and that he was coming to the Manor to talk to me so that I would stop running away from all my problems. And then, when he came over and threatened to go to the police about Bruce and I called his bluff, he told me that I might as well stay at the Manor for good."

Thoughts whirled within her, too fast to follow. "I don't understand what you're saying."

"He told me it would be my job to explain it to you. I never thought…" Tim's voice cracked. "Please don't ask me to say it again."

"Oh my God," she breathed. "Tim, he should never have said any of that to you! You're sixteen! I… I wish I'd known about Robin, but there's nothing that justifies kicking you out. Nothing."

"I wanted to tell you." The confession spilled from his lips. "But Dad didn't want you to know I was Robin. Neither did Bruce."

Of course. She knew now that there was no other secret that Jack had been so determined to keep from her.

"He told me that you wanted to give us some time to ourselves," she murmured. There was some part of her that was coolly dissecting all the information she had collected, extracting facts from lies and incomplete truths. But another, more primal part of her was slowly being smothered by a half-frightened, half-sickened feeling as she fully grasped the extent to which the two most important people in her life had deceived her.

"I needed to visit Steph, see if she was all right. And then I found out that she'd been tortured. I couldn't leave her. I just couldn't. I don't know if I was thinking straight by that point, but I do know I'd still make the same decision."

"I understand," she said, as another piece fell into place. "But… your father didn't."

"He didn't give me a chance to explain." Then, Tim must have seen something in her face, for he added, "I'm sorry."

"What? Tim, none of it was your fault."

"No, I mean… I'm sorry that it's all come out like this."

She shook her head. "That doesn't matter now. There's just one thing I need to know. When you two met up during the gang war, and then we went to help out at the clinic afterwards… whose idea was it for you to show up as yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know that must have been when you started being Robin again. Whose idea was it for you to change back into regular clothes, so that I would still be kept in the dark? Yours? Or your father's?"

Tim let out a long breath. "I left the decision up to him."

She had suspected it, but the truth did not sting any less. "I see," she said. "Thank you for telling me. But none of this changes anything—at least, not what I was going to say. I think Mr McBride was right. You, Bruce and I need to sit down and talk about what to do."

But Tim was facing away, his lips twisted and eyes downcast. "Dad's will is from the day after he found out about Robin," he said. "Guess he wanted to make damn sure Bruce couldn't get his hands on me."

There were a number of unexplained events that she had been turning over in her mind, but all at once they became clear. Jack's mysterious visit to Wayne Manor all those months ago. The abruptly cancelled internship and engineering school. Tim's subsequent reticence and withdrawal.

"Your father forced you to stop being Robin," she said.

Tim turned crimson. "That's not… well… I just…" He blinked hard. "I promised to quit."

"What were you going to say?"

"It doesn't matter."

"If… if he forced your hand somehow, then you—"

"Look, he ended up agreeing to it during the gang war, all right? That night you were talking about, I met up with him on the roof as Robin and told him I couldn't stand by, knowing I had the skills to help. And… he was okay with it, I think. He even wanted to get his own mask and weapons." Tim laughed wetly.

This triggered a multitude of potential responses within Dana, but she made herself pause, because while there were many things she could say, she knew that she had to consider their current circumstances and Tim's mental state most of all.

Don't you see how that just makes it worse?

But then he kicked you out.

I can't believe he never told me.

Fighting in a gang war at sixteen! What were all of you thinking?

But Tim had very deftly distracted her from the real issue, she realised. She had been in the middle of telling him how much she wanted to remain in his life, in whatever capacity he needed, when he had interrupted her to relate a humiliating sequence of events that should never have occurred.

Dana knew Tim well enough to understand that he was not inviting pity. There was only one other reason she could think of for him to tell her such damning, alienating truths. He was testing her, though she wasn't sure if he realised it. It was a paradoxical push and pull: premature rejection born from trauma. But what could she say?

And then it hit her—the crucial flaw in Tim's reasoning. For though they were freshest in her mind, Jack's final words had not been the will they'd heard in the solicitor's office, but the emotion-filled sentiments he'd shouted into a communicator while clutching a handgun and desperately trying to stave off the inevitable.

I'm sorry I tried to control you. You deserve a better father.

Tell Bruce and Dana to take care of you.

"Regardless of the will," she said carefully, "your father died saying he was proud of you, and so am I. Everything else is less important. I would love to be your guardian—or at least your friend, no matter what you decide. There isn't a world in which I wouldn't miss you, and I know that Bruce feels the same."

But Tim shook his head. "If Bruce wanted to be my guardian, or even… um… he would have said by now. He's always been clear about letting me know exactly what he thinks."

Dana's heart sank at the notes of bitterness she detected in Tim's tone. "I'm not sure that's true."

"Maybe you don't know Bruce as well as you think you do."

What's that supposed to mean?

"I don't think there's any use jumping to conclusions," she said. "Why don't you ask Bruce directly? I know you said he promised to help you become emancipated, but was that his suggestion, or yours?"

Tim's answer was so quiet that she barely heard it. "Mine." Abruptly, he turned away from her, running the back of one hand beneath his mask. "Damn it," he mumbled, voice muffled. "I'm so stupid. I've messed everything up."

Slowly, gently, she reached out and rubbed his back in smooth circles. "You're not stupid." You're a teenager who's gone through several incredibly traumatising experiences in a short period of time. If you're still coping, it's a miracle. "Just try to talk to him. I know from experience that he's a great listener."

Tim did not reply, but his shoulders became even more hunched.

"Can I hug you?" she asked, and he nodded after a moment's hesitation. This time, when she raised her arms, he did not shy away, but sank into her embrace like a ship seeking shore, and each breath jolted its way out of him, shaking her to her bones.

"I love you," she whispered, no longer afraid of sending him running, but instead that he would leave without understanding his own worth. "I'm sorry I never said it before. You mean a lot to me, and I'll miss you if you go away."

Again, Tim did not respond, but she felt his grip tighten around her briefly, before he jerked out of the hug with a small gasp, and both he and Dana looked up.

Bruce and Steph were coming downstairs.

DETECTIVE COMICS

"Do you think Tim and Cass are back yet?" Steph asked, as they stepped into the elevator that led to the Batcave. She had been using Bruce's arm for support as they walked; now, she rested on the handrail with an undisguised sigh of relief.

He grunted. "It's possible."

"Tim did say why he needed to leave," she said tentatively. "He wanted to go alone, but I made him take Cass with him. He was looking into the possibility of someone coming back from the dead."

"Tim said that?"

"Yes—I know how it sounds, but he swore to me that it had nothing to do with his dad. He thinks you have a blind spot about the Red Hood."

Bruce found himself unable to look at her, even in the small space of the elevator. He wanted to press his face into his hands. Damn it, Tim, why didn't you just tell me?

But that was unjust, because Tim had tried to tell him. What had he said?

Batgirl thinks so too. She doesn't know him, but she thinks it's as if you've both had the same training—

I have a theory, and I just need to be sure—

Steph spoke up again. "I didn't say it to him at the time—I didn't dare—but it's not possible, right? Is it?"

It shouldn't be, he wanted to say, but he couldn't make the words pass his lips. To his knowledge, Lazarus Pits were limited to rejuvenating the living, and other methods only resulted in pitiful, zombie-like parodies of humanity. But what about what he could not fully explain, like the instances of people he knew personally who had been dead for an extended period of time—Clark and Oliver, at least—and yet were alive today? He could not fault Tim for following the same train of thought that he himself would have pursued, had he not been occupied with the wellbeing of those under his roof.

The elevator came to a stop, and the doors opened. Again, Bruce offered Steph his arm, and together they entered the Batcave. He was still unable to speak, so tumultuous were the thoughts whirling within him, beginning with a solitary sock on a nightstand and ending with a lonely boy who had run away from a place he didn't know he could call home.

Cassandra, barefaced in her Batgirl uniform, was with Barbara in the trophy room. Tim and Dana were furthest away, standing motionless near the vehicles, including the recently returned Batplane, but Dick and Alfred were waiting by the computer as Bruce and Steph approached it haltingly.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred's tone held reproach. "Miss Stephanie should be resting in bed, not spending time in a chilly cave."

Steph gave a sheepish smile. "Don't blame him, Alfred. I asked to come."

Bruce gave Alfred a look intended to emphasise that he would not have brought Steph downstairs for trivial reasons, and Alfred looked appeased, though a faint scepticism remained that Bruce was used to ignoring.

Past Alfred's shoulder, Dick caught Bruce's eye. "Barbara came as soon as she could, and Robin and Batgirl arrived about twenty minutes ago," he said.

Bruce nodded. "Thank you, Dick." He knew that the others were aware of their arrival and slowly approaching the small group clustered by the large desk, but he paid them no notice as he helped Steph into a chair. Then, he logged into the computer and pushed a sleek electronic pad in front of her.

"Put your palm here," he told her, the same way he had all those months ago, when he'd agreed to let her be Robin. She did as instructed, and a message appeared on the screen.

POSITIVE ID: STEPHANIE BROWN

OTHER ALIASES: SPOILER, ROBIN (IV)

ACCESS: DENIED

He felt Steph's eyes on him as she murmured, "You didn't delete my handprint."

"I archived it. Completely removing the record was unnecessary." As she watched, Bruce typed in an override code and restored her access permissions, then navigated to a case file:

KEY: "FAMILY CRISIS"

ID: 611391225318919919

FILE NUMBER 0001

SUBJECT: STEPHANIE BROWN/SUB CAT: "LESLIE THOMPKINS"

CLASSIFIED

Bruce knew from the sharp intake of breath beside him that Steph realised what the file contained. He also knew that the steadily approaching footsteps had ceased, and so he took a silent breath before turning at last to face his family, saying in a low, steady voice that belied his trepidation, "Thank you all for coming."

And then he paused. Someone was missing. Bruce's gaze darted to the trophy room, the trapeze equipment, the stairs and the hangar, his pulse quickening.

"Where's Tim?" he asked sharply.

"We were just talking over there," said Dana, gesturing. "I thought he was right behind me, but…"

Dick began to straighten from where he was leaning against the edge of the desk. "I'll look for him."

"No," said Bruce, who had just spotted a flicker of movement between the Batmobile and the Redbird. "Leave Tim to me." He made to stride over to the vehicles, but Barbara caught his arm.

"What's going on, Bruce?" she asked, her eyebrows drawn together in an uncompromising frown. "Why are we all here?"

Bruce could not move. The space near the Batmobile was now devoid of motion, but he was certain he saw a shadow. His eyes flicked to the computer screen, then back again to Tim. He could not be in two places at once.

"Bruce, I can do it," Steph said breathlessly, and it took Bruce a second to understand what she was proposing. "I'll tell them everything. You talk to Tim."

"I can't ask you to—"

"I'm offering," she insisted. "Please. Let me do this. Let me help."

They were all watching him now, from Alfred and Dick to Cassandra and Barbara and Dana and Steph, and it took all of his strength not to flinch at each perceptive gaze. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled letter from Leslie that he had shown to both Selina and Steph. The case file was still open on the Batcomputer's screen.

He had thought that the pain and shame of divulging the secret for a third time would be punishment enough—a deserved and inevitable exercise in humility—but now it seemed more like self-flagellation, because the secret was no longer only his own. It was Steph, more than anybody, who deserved to reclaim the agency that had been stolen that night in the clinic.

"All right," he relented, and Steph took the letter from his nerveless fingertips. "I'll be back as soon as I can. Use the footage if you need to."

He found Tim slumped against the driver door of the disused Redbird, one hand on his chest as he shuddered his way from breath to breath with tremors that seemed to shake the entire vehicle. Bruce dropped to his knees beside him and felt the wrist of Tim's other hand, which was pressed flat against the floor.

"Tim," he said urgently. "Tim, son, talk to me. What's wrong?"

Tim grimaced. His face was pale behind his domino mask, but he pushed himself to sit up straight, disregarding Bruce's hovering. "I… I don't know," he mumbled. Even his hands were jittery; he clenched them into fists in a futile attempt to quell their movements.

In denial, Bruce thought. Grieving. Out loud, he said, "An adrenaline crash. When was the last time you slept for more than four hours?"

Tim shrugged, and Bruce was glad to see that the shaking was fading. "Couldn't sleep on the plane, and we never stayed in any place long enough."

The apathy was nauseating. Bruce pressed his lips together, thinking.

"Take off your mask," he said.

Tim just looked up at him. "What?"

"Take off your mask. I want to see your face."

Slowly, Tim reached up and removed his mask, exposing shadows under slightly bloodshot blue eyes. "I'm okay," he said. "You can go back to talking to the others."

Bruce shook his head. "I want to talk to you."

"Because Cass and I took the Batplane."

"That's part of it. Was your trip successful?"

Tim shrugged again. "I guess. We had to cut it short because Dick called, but it was our last stop anyway."

"Where?"

"Metropolis. We went to Star City before that. You can ask Cass about it."

"I'm talking to you," Bruce reiterated. "Tell me where you took the Batplane, and why."

"Okay—I know how it sounds, but I have a theory." Tim began to explain their itinerary, beginning with a sealed Lazarus Pit and ending with a conversation with Superman in Metropolis. "I wanted to research the possibility of someone coming back from the dead, because I think that the Red Hood is Jason Todd."

Bruce stilled.

"He's familiar—too familiar. Someone you trained or were trained alongside. Someone whose moves are so specific that Batgirl could tell you recognised him, even though she never met Jason. Someone who has it out for mob bosses in Gotham and is trying a different approach. Tell me you see it too."

"Yes," Bruce admitted. "I do."

"You do?" Tim stared. "Then I don't understand why he's still out there. We should be bringing him home."

"It's complicated," Bruce began, but Tim didn't let him finish.

"I don't get it! You were so different after—after he died, like it was easier to pretend he never existed. I should know. I was there. But it shouldn't matter how he came back or what he's doing now—he's alive—he's your son!"

"So are you."

Tim opened his mouth, then closed it again. A faint flush travelled up his cheeks.

"I've encountered Jason multiple times recently," Bruce continued. "I know what he's done and what he's capable of. He's threatened your life once before. I will not let him do so again."

"I thought that was Clayface."

"I have reason to believe they traded places during the fight, but Jason was the one who held a blade to your neck."

Tim passed his fingers over the thin scar, studiously avoiding eye contact. "But I'm not your son," he said quietly.

"Not legally," Bruce conceded. "But, if he threatens you again, that's not how Jason will see it." He paused, heart hammering. "Or I."

Tim's head jerked up. "What do you mean?"

"You've always been a part of this family. That remains unchanged. But, in recent weeks, while trying to respect you and your father's wishes, I… regret that I have left far too much unsaid."

Tim was motionless as he watched Bruce, barely breathing. All his restless energy had vanished, leaving only a precarious stability born of a resilience that was Tim all over.

"You possess a defining quality that is very admirable, Tim. Your sense of duty. You see a need and you seek to fulfil it. When we first met three years ago, you convinced me that Batman needs Robin. I know there is nothing I can say that will make you stay if you decide to leave the Manor. But I must tell you something I have known for a long time, but was reminded even more sharply of recently. It is true that Batman needs Robin, but even that…" Here, Bruce faltered. He swallowed and pursed his lips to collect himself. "Even that is nothing compared to how much I want you, Tim." How much I love you…

Tim's mouth dropped open and his eyes were wide. He was very still and looked nothing short of stunned, but Bruce could not tell what thoughts were going through Tim's mind. He ploughed on, and although his words were slow and measured, he felt frenzied, desperate.

"I don't know if that is enough to keep you here. You have the mind and resources to do whatever you choose, regardless of what the court decides. But I know you have spent much of your life living according to the needs of others. All I ask is that you consider very carefully what you want to do from now on, and decide if you will take that path." Get to the point, damn it! "I don't know how else to say this, except…"

Just say it, you coward!

"… I'd like to adopt you, Tim. I'd very much like you to consider becoming my son."

A/N: My excuse for the cliffhanger is that the final scene was getting way too long. Sorry.

Anyway, I'm back! Yay! I posted seven mini stories and one longer story during September, all of which were for events with hard deadlines, so check them out if you like my writing style.

Sources:

As previously mentioned, Tim and his father met up during the gang war in Robin (1993) #130 (Batman: War Games).

You can assume that Robin and Batgirl's travels were largely similar to Batman's in Batman #639-640 (Batman: Under the Hood).

Bruce and Tim first encountered an apparently resurrected Jason Todd in Batman: Hush.

Some lines are inspired by the first and second times Bruce offers to adopt Tim in canon, in Robin (1993) #134 and Batman #654 (Batman: Face the Face) respectively.