Chapter Text
It was quiet in Gotham. Tim knew it would be. With Batman on his latest rampage he knew the rogues would hide away until the bat’s target was caught. Even Robin was steering clear of him this time. The fresh bruises along his ribcage from training were warning enough. Batman wouldn’t watch out for him this time. If they went in together Robin had to hold his own. He was getting better about that, about being kinder to Tim, but when he was like this that all disappeared. Or he’d get lectured, benched, and sent to his room. So he opted for sitting on the rooftop with his legs swinging in the air. Speaking to the air, maybe Jason could hear him wherever he was? He didn’t know. Or maybe Dick? Either of his predecessors. Both are dead now. Maybe they were screaming from the heavens for him to get out of the suit and leave Batman to his own devices. Screaming at Tim to save himself.
When Robin disappeared mid patrol years ago Batman had been a mess. Just as broken as when his parents had been killed. Nothing could motivate Bruce to get out of bed and take care of himself or motivate Batman to dodge deadly blows. Tim knows this, he heard the whispers from his parents when he was kid about Bruce and saw the news footage. Batman wasn’t fighting like he did before. Maybe he hoped to join his son wherever he went.
But then he found Jason. And Jason gave him hope again. Batman began fighting again, Bruce was alive again. Tim had seen this Bruce. Had met this Bruce and had followed this Batman at a distance. Sneaking photographs of Robin smiling and laughing. Jason was his Robin. His Robin was magic. This Batman was the one Tim knew would save Gotham. But then Jason died at the hands of the Joker and Batman got angry. He was determined to join his son this time and take as many rogues down with him. But Robin was supposed to be magic and Tim couldn’t let that be tainted. Robin had to be Gotham’s hope, had to be Batman’s hope. So he stole the suit. It earned him broken ribs but Robin was alive again. Dick and Jason were alive again. Alive in him. Even if Bruce refused to see it. Only saw him as a stand-in. That was fine. It would be fine. He was just here long enough to help Bruce heal.
“ Robin ,” Oracle’s voice was grim. She kept her distance from Batman, had for a long time even as Batgirl, but since Tim took the mantle she had eased her way back in more so for Tim’s benefit. Tim wanted to feel guilty over it, even when the Sirens had begged Barbara to step away from Batman, but he couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t relieved whenever he heard her voice over the comms.
“Go for Robin,” he tried to sound cheerful and not like he was sporting more bruises than he should’ve.
“ Time to go home. The Owls are out.”
Right. The Court of Owls. Batman’s latest pain in the ass. Which meant they were his pain in the ass too. They had been gunning for Bruce for a while now yet could never really get their hands on him. Only ended up with severely injured, maybe even dead, owls. But they were already undead? Could they die again? It made his head hurt thinking about it.
“On it,” he mumbled, no room for argument.
The journey home was easy. Especially since no one was gunning for Robin. Either they were too scared of Batman’s wrath, not that Tim was that important to him, or they thought he was unimportant enough to bypass. Which was fair, he wasn’t Dick or Jason. He was a placeholder and most people made it known that is how they felt. Especially the Justice League. Every time he thinks of their disastrous first meeting and how it ended with Batman leaving the league it makes him shrink. He had been the reason Bruce lost his best friend. Hadn’t talked to him in nearly the entire three years he had been Robin.
“They do not get to dictate who Robin is. You are a qualified Robin.” Was all he had told Tim when they had arrived at the cave. He was still 14, fresh in a suit that wasn’t his and awkward. It was the first time Bruce showed no regret about making Tim Robin and maybe, maybe it was a turning point. But progress with Bruce was slow. Slowed even more by the fact that Tim’s parents were still alive. Until, well, in the last year.
“Welcome back, Master Tim,” Alfred greeted as he rolled his bike to a stop and hopped off. There was no Bruce when he got home but he expected as much. A part of him was disappointed to not see him at the computer giving him a small greeting nod.
“Hi Alfred,” Tim mumbled, “he won’t be back for a while will he?”
“I’m afraid not, dear boy,” Alfred said softly and extended his hand, “but come. Let us look at those ribs, hm.”
“They’re fine-”
“Master Bruce should not have been that rough with you. You are still healing,” Alfred hushed him and led him towards the bed bay.
Right. Healing. The scars on his side still ached some days when he woke up. A stinging reminder of what happens when you get too close to a Talon. You get a shredded side and a splenectomy. And a life of antibiotics. Ever since then Bruce had been hell bent on burning the Court of Owls to the ground. He could still feel the blood bubbling past his lips and rushing up his throat as Bruce held him in the batmobile as it auto piloted back to the cave. He couldn’t think about it for too long or he’d spiral so he shook the memory out of his mind.
Once Alfred was satisfied with how Tim’s ribs had been healing he was sent up to the manor to bed. Which sounded amazing. The hot shower he took eased his muscles and allowed for the sleepiness to move in. The closer her got to his bed the heavier his limbs felt and the more grateful he was for Oracle sending him home early. But just as he was going to throw himself onto his bed he heard a creak. Part of him wanted to chalk it up to the manor being old. Old houses made noises. Bruce’s security was impenetrable. Yet something made his adrenaline spike and sleep evaporate. He slowly made it look like he was going to bed but was really reaching for the bo staff he kept hidden between the mattress and bed frame.
Before he could reach it something wrapped around his wrist and pulled him back. It knocked him to the ground flat on his back. All the air left his lungs and his ribs screamed as he tried to gulp down any sort of air. No, no this couldn’t be happening. Bruce’s security, no one could get past it. His thoughts raced as he tried to get up only to be knocked back by a body straddling his torso. His eyes traced up the figure. Over the all too familiar owl-like uniform. Until he was staring into the glowing eyes of a Talon. He knows this wasn’t the Talon that almost killed him. That Talon ended up dead, Batman had let Harley deal the final blow in his own twisted agreement with the Sirens to keep him from killing.
“No,” he gasped out.
“Timothy Jackson Drake,” the voice rasped, much more human than any of the other Talon’s voices, as he pulled a dagger out of his bandolier, “The Court of Owls has sentenced you to die.”
“Not a chance,” Tim gritted out and bucked his hips up to attempt to get him knocked off but it didn’t even shake him. The blade glinted in the dark room as it was raised. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the blow. For the pain and the blood again. But instead he got the weight off him. He cracked his eyes open to see the Talon standing, nearing the wall of pictures he kept over his desk. His clawed hands plucked one picture off the wall and brought it closer to him. All Tim could do was watch in silence as the Talon’s head tilted in interest before looking back at Tim. Back to the picture and then at him.
“Consider yourself spared, for now, Timothy Drake,” it hissed. Before Tim could even move the Talon had his bo staff in his hand and he was knocked out.
Talon couldn’t understand why he knew this picture. This boy in it. Smiling at the Bat on a rooftop. He couldn’t understand why he had hesitated in killing his target. Yet he had. He had failed and he had hid in an abandoned clock tower. The Court would be looking for him. Even if they trembled in fear whenever he entered their halls. He could always smell their fear and it made his slow heart beat faster. Maybe at a normal pace. He knew he wasn’t like the other Talons. He just didn’t know why. Now he couldn't understand why he couldn't kill one boy. One, weak boy.
He couldn’t understand why months ago when the Court announced they had killed Robin he was feeling rage. Talon did not feel rage. Yet his fists had trembled when they celebrated. And he had smirked under his mask when they had announced his survival, his fellow Talon’s failure. Was satisfied to see the Talon wither away without the Electrum. Electrum he did not need. Electrum he could survive without. Perhaps that was why the Court feared him. Talon had no loyalty to them. But he kept returning. Some nights when he was in his cell, not a pod like the other Talons, he couldn’t understand why he continued returning. Why couldn't he just stay in his abandoned clock tower.
“Who are you?” He mumbled thinking of the boy in the picture.
There was not much that Talon remembered of his life before waking up in the pod. Sometimes he got flashes of a circus, of the Romani language, and of a gothic mansion surrounded by woods. Yet he could not remember his name or who he was before Talon. He is and was always Talon. There had to be more, he knew there had to be more. The Court was falling, cracking under the Bat’s attacks. Talon would not stay to watch it burn. He would not be confined to his cell again only to be killed in it. So he stayed in his clock tower, even as every fiber of his being screamed at him to go back under. To find the Court.
“Ow,” Tim whimpered as Alfred cleaned off his temple.
“I’m sorry dear boy,” Alfred hummed as he continued to apply antiseptic to the wound. The bruise around it throbbed with each of Alfred’s gentle dabs. Tim wanted to pull away but he willed himself to stay still. He only flinched when the roar of the batmobile tore through the cave.
“He’s going to be so mad,” Tim whispered.
“Worried, Master Tim, he is worried,” Alfred said gently.
Soon enough Alfred’s aged hands were replaced with Bruce’s calloused ones as he turned Tim’s face to get a better look at where he had been struck by the Talon. With his own bo staff. Embarrassment heated his cheeks as Bruce continued where Alfred had left off. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Alfred sorting antibiotics that Tim would need for this to heal properly.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” Bruce’s voice was gruff but Tim could hear the worry in it. Or maybe the Talon had hit him that hard.
“How did he get past the security?” Tim asked.
“I will find out,” Bruce said, “for now we stay in the manor. Locked down. You will be safe here Tim.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Tim said and winced when Bruce injected the local anesthetic. He received a low apology before Bruce stepped back to give it time to numb the skin to stitch up.
“For now focus on resting,” Bruce said, prepping the materials for the stitches. He could see the extra care being taken to make sure this won't end in infection. More embarrassment rose up Tim’s neck. This wouldn’t have been a problem a couple months ago. A couple months ago he still had his spleen and Bruce barely cared. Maybe almost dying changed his mind. Tim didn’t wanna find out.
“He was staring at one of my pictures,” Tim brought up once Bruce started the stitches. He figured if he had a needle in his skin Bruce wouldn’t lose it with his new being gentle with Tim attitude. Sometimes, anyways.
“Which?”
“The um,” Tim hesitated, “the one of Dick. He took it with him.”
He saw Bruce still. If he counted his breaths he knew he’d catch him in a breathing exercise. Probably trying not to throttle Tim for bringing up his dead son. He had stopped snapping at him about bringing them up a year into being Robin but some days were still sensitive. Grief never really went away, he knew that lesson all too well now.
“I will take a look in your room. You can stay in mine or…theirs if you prefer.”
The night his dad had been killed by Captain Boomerang Tim was a mess. He had pushed Bruce away even if the man followed him through the halls as he broke down. Instead of heading to his room he had gone into Jason’s. Had buried himself in the old Robin’s sheets and screamed until his throat was raw. He had clutched the sheets to his chest so tightly the next morning he could see the bruises his fingers left behind on his chest. Maybe some part of him wanted Jason to appear, to be his Robin…his big brother maybe. And if Jason could come back so could Dick. Yet, the room stayed empty and untouched save for Tim on the bed. Those first weeks after he had alternated between Jason and Dick’s rooms. Never his own until recently. Which would change again. But he had only ever gotten in their beds, never touched anything else. Not Jason’s extensive collection of books or Dick’s stray gymnastic equipment. Yet their blankets around him gave him some sort of comfort. As if the previous Robin’s were engulfing him in their capes. So that’s where he went that night. Curled in their sheets and if he pretended long enough they would be curled around him too.
One thing Tim didn’t expect about being Robin was inheriting his predecessor's best friends. Well, in Dick’s case Wally was more than his best friend. But the first time they saw him in the suit both Kid Flash and Arsenal sent fury to Batman. How could he do this? How could he give him the suit? How could he put another kid in danger? Once they accepted that Tim wouldn’t give Robin up it just meant he gained two pseudo-brothers. Sure, they weren’t the former Robins, but they were the closest he could ever get to them. He was the closest they’d ever get to them too, he supposed. So of course when Barbara told them Robin had been attacked in the manor they had ended up on its door steps. Which led to them now sitting with him in the den while Bruce was out hunting the Court of Owls. It did make him feel a little better having them there. Even if the manor was in full lock down mode it wouldn’t have changed that fact he would’ve been with just Alfred. And Alfred wouldn’t be slouched with him on the couch like Roy was.
“He got you good,” Roy hummed when he saw the bruise that started at Tim’s temple and extended to his cheek.
“God fucking dammit,” Wally had cursed and paced. Wally always paced when it came to Robin or Tim.
When he had lost his spleen and woke up in the Justice League med bay Wally had been pacing the length of the room. Roy had been right there next to him along with Bruce. Which was a sight to see Batman at his bedside but he was too tired, too hurt to really understand what any of them were saying. It had all been so overwhelming. The lights were too bright and the room was so cold and he was just in so much pain he couldn’t help but burst into tears. But it had been Wally who put his hands on his cheeks and helped him breathe through it until it wasn’t so overwhelming anymore.
“He broke in,” Tim whispered, voice trembling slightly, because he could be vulnerable with Wally and Roy in a way he couldn’t with Bruce. If he was vulnerable like this with Bruce it would only send him into even more of a rage. “And-And….”
“Just breathe Tim,” Wally reminded him.
“He said The Court of Owls has sentenced me to die,” he whimpered which made Wally stop in his tracks and whirl around to him.
“ What?” His voice was tight and it was clear by the way he was clenching his jaw that it was taking a lot of control not to snap.
“I don’t know what I did,” Tim said, “but he didn’t kill me. Talons always finish the job but…but then…he took one of my photos. One of the only ones I have of Dick.”
“What are you saying Tim?” Wally asked calmly and sat on the coffee table in front of him.
“What if he knows Dick? What if that's why he didn’t kill me?” Tim said, “What if Dicks’ alive?”
It had been brewing in his brain since Talon took the picture with him. Why else would he take that one? It was the blurriest, darkest of them all. If you couldn’t tell the difference between Robins you’d never know it wasn’t Jason but Dick in the photo. Yet he had, and he had picked that photo out of the dozens on his wall. Dozens of Jason in the suit and even a few of him in the suit. Yet, he took the only one of three he had of Dick. That had to mean something. There was no body when Dick disappeared which always meant more in Gotham, it always meant there was the possibility they would come back.
“Tim,” Roy said softly and tucked a stray piece of hair away from his face, “listen, we exhausted everything when he went missing.”
“But what if-”
“Roy’s right,” Wally’s voice was strained, eyes holding so much sadness as he looked at Tim and rested his hand on his cheek right over the bruise the Talon left behind. “But god he would’ve loved you. Always wanted a little brother.”
“Jason didn’t,” Roy chuckled humorlessly, “but he would’ve warmed up to you. It’s impossible not to.”
“It has to mean something to the Talon, they never do something if it doesn’t mean something,” Tim said.
“Yeah, this means getting into Bruce’s head. Your head. Dick’s dead, Tim. We need to focus on keeping you safe now,” Wally said strongly, “No more dead Robins, alright? Roys’ gonna stay with you. I gotta head back to Central City soon.”
“We’ll be here for a few nights,” Roy said softly, “so for now you rest, okay? We’ve got you.”
It should’ve embarrassed him how quickly he let them wrangle him into laying down and putting on a random movie. His head was in Wally’s lap as the speedster ran his fingers through Tim’s hair. Maybe in another life this was him and Dick. And Jason. All in the den watching senseless movies while Bruce went out as Batman. Maybe even in that other life they weren't even Robins. Just his sons. It didn’t matter anymore. The longer Wally stroked his hair the harder it was to stay awake.
“Sleep, Tim. We’ll be here when you wake up. Promise,” Wally said softly and that was all it took for him to finally let his eyes close.
The Bat was getting on his trail. Even as he tried to cover all his tracks the Bat still was getting close. Too close. Yet Robin was nowhere to be found. His target. He couldn’t penetrate his home again, not for lack of trying. Talon was growing frustrated. He wouldn’t go back to the Court, they hadn’t sent anyone after him yet either. Yet, there was the itch to find Robin. Not to finish his mission but he had to see that no other Talon had done what he hadn’t. That Robin was still alive and breathing. It shouldn’t matter this much to him, Talon did not feel. Talon did not have attachments. So why, why was Robin on his mind this much?
Why was he hiding from the Bat so much instead of fighting him? The thought of taking him on made his stomach churn. That had never happened to Talon before. As he watched him fight a group of Talons from above he couldn’t help but watch in curiosity. The movements were familiar to him. He was so sure if he jumped into the fight at that moment he’d be able to fight with the bat not against him. When one of the other Talons got a good hit on the bat he snarled and drew his sword. What was this feeling? Something bubbling in his chest as they descended on the Bat. Before he could realize what he was doing he was in the frey, fighting the Talons he had seen in the Court before. Their eyes glowed like his but their movements slowed when he approached. Talons did not fear but he could smell the bitterness coming off of them as he swung. As the Bat stood and fought alongside him.
Only once they were all down did he turn to face the Bat whose face was stoic. Lips pressed in a thin line as he assessed Talon.
“Why?” Was all he asked.
Talon wanted to answer. He didn’t know why. Truthfully, his body had moved before his mind had registered what he was doing. So all he could do was give the Bat a blank stare. The Bat’s gaze hardened as he grabbed another batarang. Talon raised his arms in surrender as he took a few steps back. The Bat’s posture didn’t change even as Talon got farther away. It wasn’t until he neared the edge of the rooftop that the Bat started charging towards him but Talon was off. He was gone before the Bat could swing off the rooftop after him.
He would spend the rest of the night trailing the Bat. Trying to figure out why he had helped him. Talon’s did not help they killed. Yet, he hadn’t killed Robin. He had saved the Bat. What the hell was happening to him?
“Hey Batman,” he laughed as he ran across the opposite rooftop and flipped over the gap to meet with him on the neighboring building. “What if…we call it early and watch The Mummy tonight!”
“Robin,” Batman said but there was the slightest hint of a smile in his features, “it’s imperative we finish this patrol.”
“Ugh,” Robin, he, complained as he flopped down on the rooftop, “but nothing is happening! We locked the rogues up a few days ago and we both know that means we have some time for peace. C’mon, don’t make me pull the dad card.”
“Robin,” Batman tsked, “I will only watch the Mummy if you can beat me home.”
“You're on, old man!” Robin laughed as he shot up, “We’ll be watching The Mummy in no time!”
“Not if I can help it!” Batman said and took off, “We’ll be watching Sunset Boulevard.”
“No chance!”
He could feel the wind against his cheeks, hear Batman’s low and gruff laugh as they whipped through the city until they found their individual bikes and continued their chase. Even in the underground route to the cave they weaved between each other until Robin’s bike skidded to a stop in the cave seconds before Batman’s. He laughed and it echoed in the cave.
He could remember the feeling of the plush blankets in the den as The Mummy played on the ridiculously big TV. And the feeling of his cheek against Bruce’s arm. The smell of Alfred’s cookies as they baked in the oven. Bruce had already decided to call him out of school the next day so they could watch the next movie too. A day for them, they were so rare now.
Neither of them knew it would be their last one. Or that a few days later Robin would be ripped away from on patrol.
Talon, no, his name was Dick. Dick Grayson. He sat up with gasping breaths in the abandoned clock tower. Memories rushed forward without the cloud of Electrum. His hands shook as they rose up and he ripped the gloves off to reveal pale skin with purple hued veins underneath. And nails too sharp to be considered anything other than claws. What had they done to him? What had they turned him into? He is Robin. He was Robin. His head pounded with all the memories that kept rushing forward but one thing he knew was clear: he had to go home. He had to find Bruce. He had to find Tim, this new Robin. And he had to keep him safe from the Court even if it killed him. For real this time.
If he was being honest, Tim was starting to go a little stir crazy. Thankfully it was summer so they didn’t have to deal with the problem of calling him out of classes. That did not stop his boredom. After Roy and Wally had to leave he was left at the mercy of the manor. He had paced the halls so many times now he could probably do it blind folded. He had helped Alfred clean the entire place and had even rearranged the books in the library by author. He ran through so many training exercises his muscles were sore. Yet, the Court hadn’t been stopped yet so he wasn’t allowed to leave. Bruce had promised he would soon. But soon kept seeming further and further away. The longer time went on without progress the more Bruce was slipping into his old ways and Tim was scared. Scared the delicate balance they had established would be broken for good. He wasn’t so sure he could fix it a second time.
He was in Dick’s room, sitting on the bed and flipping through an old copy of Frankenstein when the lights completely went out. Every part of him tensed but he knew the back-up generators would be kicking in at any second. Yet they hadn’t. He stood and checked under Dick’s bed for any hidden weapons he kept with no luck. So he went to his room for his bo staff. Once his hand was wrapped around it he heard the creaking of the window shutter being forcefully pulled up. He saw clawed hands forcing them up, then glowing eyes behind an owl mask. All he could do was let out a small gasp and tear down the hall towards the cave entrance.
But he only made it a few feet before being knocked down. A Talon was standing over him, such a familiar sight. He swung, striking him, using his recovery time to get up and keep running. A dagger sliced through the air and right into his thigh making him cry out. His back slammed against the wall of the hall as he tried to stay up right. Each end of the hall had a Talon at their entrance. He stared between the two of them and gripped his staff with trembling hands. One Talon he might be able to slip away from, but two would be nearly impossible. If there were two there had to be more. His mind flickered to Alfred and he hoped the older man had gotten his hands on one of his many hidden shotguns before the Talons got to him.
“Shit,” Tim said when they charged at him. He let himself fall to the ground again and stopped one of their claws with his staff. It was groaning under the pressure and he knew it wouldn’t hold. Once it snapped those sharp claws would be going straight through his throat. He tried to push back but it was hard with his thigh screaming in pain each time he tried. Just as the staff snapped and he closed his eyes expecting them to slice him to ribbons he heard a grunt instead.
Opening his eyes he saw another Talon, this time without the helmet. Without the helmet, even in the dark, Tim would recognize the man throwing the Talon away from him. That was Dick Grayson, the first Robin, without any doubt in his mind. Sure he was older and had the eerie eyes and veins that belonged to the Talons. But that was Dick. That was Robin. When his eyes whipped around to face him Tim gulped.
“I knew it,” Tim whispered, which made Dick smirk slightly.
“Don’t move,” Dick said and the voice sent chills down his spine. This had been the Talon sent to kill him. The one who was successful in breaking into the manor all those days ago.
“Dick,” Tim breathed out and he gave him a small nod.
“I’m going to deal with them,” Dick’s voice rasped, “and then with you.”
Tim had never seen two Talons fight before and it wasn’t like anything he had ever seen. Not even with Bruce when he fought with full force and little care. Dick was aiming to kill and Tim could see the black blood of the other Talon’s staining the walls. He could hear their bones crunching and muscle tearing. At one point he snapped his eyes shut and whimpered as the adrenaline wore off. The pain started to radiate and spread up his leg. It wasn’t until he heard a soft trill that he slowly opened them again. Dick was crouching in front of him, gently grabbing his thigh to get a better look at it.
“It’ll be alright,” Dick said, even though he had heard his voice before Tim couldn’t get used to it. It sounded nothing like how light and airy it once was.
“It hurts,” Tim whimpered as Dick poked at the knife which earned a hiss.
“Is the cave entrance the same?” Dick asked and Tim nodded. “I’m going to lift you. This is going to hurt.”
“Wait-” Tim was cut off with his own scream when Dick lifted him up. He choked on his gasping breaths as Dick trilled softly to calm him. All he could do was cling to him and dig his fingers into the sharp edges of the Talon suit as Dick moved him to the med bay. When he was lowered onto the bed he grabbed Dick’s wrist.
“Wait,” he gasped out with teary eyes, “I don’t have a spleen.”
Dick’s eyes narrowed for a split second but then nodded.
It was then that the Batmobile ripped through the cave, closer than it had ever gotten to the med bay before and Batman flew out. He moved faster than Tim had ever seen him move before and slammed Dick into the ground with his forearm pressed against his throat. For a moment all that could be heard was Bruce’s ragged breathing.
“Dick?” His voice broke when he registered who he had pinned down.
“Not now,” Dick said and Bruce flinched at the sound of his voice, “Tim needs medical.”
That got Bruce’s attention quickly. He let Dick go and ripped his cowl off as he made his way to Tim. Cursing when he saw the blade he reached for the antibiotics he’d need. His thigh started aching and throbbing worse than before.
“Get it out,” he gasped out and laid back down on the bed with a whimper, “please get it out.”
“Easy Tim,” Bruce’s voice was shaky and he felt the prick of local anesthetic.
“Tim,” Dick’s voice made his eyes shift towards the first Robin. One of those clawed hands cupped his cheek and guided him through a breathing exercise as his leg was starting to numb. As Dick coached him he could barely feel Bruce pull the knife out. Or the stitches. Once he was well and aware of what was happening he was being moved into a better position to lay down. Dick was talking to Bruce but whatever pain meds he had been given was making him floaty.
“Wally,” Tim slurred and Dick tensed.
“What?”
“Call…Wally…” Tim said before his eyes finally rolled back.
Coming back wasn’t going to be easy. Dick knew this. His memories were still so muddled and some days he felt more like Talon than Dick. Especially as he watched Tim writhe on the bed fighting a fever that just wouldn’t break. Even with all the precautions they took the knife still gave him an infection. It wasn’t easy, not being able to do anything but watch. In another life he could’ve been a doting big brother. Maybe in this life too. But not right then. Not when his memories were still so mixed up and he was still ready to attack at any minute.
“Dick,” Tim whined and when he opened his eyes Dick could tell he wasn’t all there. There was a glassy look to them that told him Tim was still floating away.
“Right here,” he hummed, pressing one cold hand to his boiling forehead.
It had been a difficult few hours with Bruce. Of course Bruce wouldn’t trust him. He wouldn’t trust him either. As soon as Tim had passed out Bruce had wrestled him into a containment cell to run hundreds of tests just to prove that yes, he really was Dick Grayson back from the dead. But he wasn’t ever really dead. Just a brainwashed assassin pumped full of Electrum. Which he didn’t need anymore. But whatever he had been dosed with, some experimental batch, had left lasting effects. Then he had to deal with Bruce’s fluctuating emotions. From anger, to sadness, to guilt, and then to remorse. Dick didn’t have the patience to deal with the man.
Yet, he had all the patience in the world for Tim. Before the fever set in he was rambling thousands of questions at once and Dick could only feel amusement as he tried to answer them all. Then once he got sick he didn’t want Dick to leave his side. Alternatively, he didn’t want Bruce anywhere near him. That had made Dick’s eyes narrow and snarl at Bruce a few times when he got too close for Tim’s comfort. He’d deal with that later.
“It hurts,” Tim panted and writhed again. Dick’s lips pressed into a thin line as he watched Bruce give Tim another round of meds.
“I know, Tim, I know,” Dick soothed.
Once the fever broke and Tim was just miserable from feeling ill, Bruce’s suspicions had set in and he was back to his emotionally stunted self. Not that Dick could help much in that regard. If Tim wasn’t awake and asking for him he was holed up in the attic. It reminded him of his beloved clock tower. Tim had once climbed up there, only to be scolded by Alfred for being careless with his stitches, but since then Dick had welcomed him more and more.
A week after the fever broke, Tim’s head poked up from the floor with a goofy smile. Dick couldn’t help but give him a small smile back.
“C’mon,” Tim said and motioned for him to come down, “got a surprise for you!”
“Baby bird,” Dick hummed, but followed. He didn’t know where the nickname had come from but it rolled off the tongue naturally and Tim had practically melted in his arms when he first said it. So he continued to say it.
“What’s the surprise?” Dick said, watching Tim’s limping steps with careful eyes. The kid was stubborn, refusing help and insisting on doing it all alone. Dick didn’t like that but relented to the kid. He would only step in if Tim really needed it or asked.
“The den!” Tim said and dragged him.
Dick didn’t know what he would find when he went in but it surely wasn’t Wally West. In a Flash suit. Rambling and pacing with Roy watching him carefully. Tim called his name and Wally whipped around and raced to Tim to pull him into a tight hug, paying no mind to Dick at first. That made Dick smirk, of course Wally would still be just as oblivious as he had always been.
“Thank god,” Wally breathed as he hugged Tim, “fuck, we hadn’t heard from Bruce and I-”
“Holy fuck, Wally,” Roy’s voice stopped him and made Wally look away from Tim. At Dick’s now golden eyes.
“Dick?” Wally said his name as if all the air had been knocked out of his lungs.
“Hey,” Dick rasped and in a blink he was engulfed in the red head’s arms. Dick couldn’t stop his own arms from rising and gripping the back of Wally’s uniform. He wouldn’t mention the tears he felt against his shoulder or how they soaked through his shirt or the shaking of Wally’s shoulders. “Flash huh?”
“Oh god shut up,” Wally choked out.
“I told you,” Tim said as he flopped on the couch and elevated his leg with Roy’s help.
“Yeah you did,” Roy said and ruffled his hair, “too damn smart for your own good.”
Dick was…odd. Tim knew he would be, he had been a brainwashed assassin for the better part of his life. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t call him odd. Especially when he seemed more animal than man some days. The sounds that came out of his throat resembled an owl sometimes. From his trilling to his hissing and growls. Well, Tim wasn’t sure if Owls growled but Dick sure did. Or how his eyes glowed brighter when he was angry. Especially when he was angry at Bruce. But having Dick back was good, nice. Tim liked it that when he snuck into his room 6 times out of 10 Dick was actually in his bed and welcomed Tim with open arms. The more time Dick spent at the manor, with them, the more he shed away Talon and was just Dick.
It was four months after he came home that Tim went out as Robin again. His first excuse was his leg taking a long time to heal. Then wanting to bond with Dick. Then school started again. Until he finally admitted to Bruce he was scared. Dick was back, the original Robin was back. What use did Bruce have for him now? He never wanted Tim to be Robin, now there was no need for him to be Robin. He just didn’t account for Dick to be eavesdropping on the entire conversation. Truly, he should’ve expected it. Dick had been exceptionally over protective of him.
“No,” Dick said and grabbed his chin gently to make him look up from where he was staring holes into the floor, “you are the best Robin. Perfect.”
“Dick-”
“Tim,” Dick said, “you were Robin when Gotham needed it most, when Batman needed it most. You are Robin. Not me. Not Jason. You. I’m proud that you are Robin.”
Something about hearing the first Robin, the original Robin, saying he was proud of Tim when not even Batman had said it made something break and yet heal all the same. His lip trembled as he hugged Dick tightly. The older boy just hushed him softly. So Tim put the suit back on for the first time in months, this time with Dick smiling proudly at him as he let Dick put the mask on his face and motioned for him to go.
Robin followed Batman on patrol with a laugh, something that used to be so rare. Of course he pretended not to notice the Talon shaped shadow following him close behind. Until they stopped on a rooftop for a break and it stepped from out of the shadows. Dick in his full Talon suit, sans mask and instead sporting a normal domino.
“I’ll race you to Wayne Enterprises,” Tim said.
“You’re on, baby bird,” Dick said with a smile.
They both flew off into the night with Batman trailing close behind and for once, Tim didn’t feel like Robin wasn’t his. Or so alone anymore.