Work Text:
It's been three days. Tim has been stuck spiraling for three days while Dick has been in gods know how much danger.
Sure, Tim was trying to grasp the idea that his death toll is so high.
Sure, he was dealing with consecutive panic attacks gripping him.
Sure, he was a fucking mess.
That doesn't excuse his lack of oversight into the situation.
Both brothers are mentally berating themselves for their lack of attention to this matter when it may be too late. They are shaken up from their emotional conversations beforehand, but quickly change gears. It's unlikely Dick will be at the Manor, but Bruce might be there. They can run damage control before hiding their oldest brother.
If Dick is not there, Damian still is. They have two brothers they need to protect. Whether or not Bruce and his paranoia will attack the youngest is a gamble. The chances are smaller, but not zero.
When they arrive at the Manor, Alfred greets them at the door. His usual stoicism has a thin level of weariness and concern. His limbs are slightly more stiff, his lips a bit more downturned, and his tone has a hint of disappointed anger. Despite knowing he is most likely upset with Bruce, both boys straighten at the display.
“Master Jason and Master Tim. It's a pleasure to see you.”
The boys glance at each other. Their grandfather's strict manners are betraying just how worried the man is. For an ex-spy, that's extremely concerning. The younger brother turns back to the butler.
“Hey, Alfred. Where's Dick?”
Alfred's brows furrow the slightest bit. “He returned to Bludhaven three days ago.”
The two brothers glance at each other again before looking back at their grandfather.
“And Bruce?”
Alfred's lips purse. That's really not a good sign.
“Master Bruce decided to follow up with Master Richard on a case. He departed not too long ago in the Rolls-Royce.”
Fuck.
Jason rushes inside while Tim turns back to Alfred. From the somber gaze in the older man’s eyes, the teen knows Alfred is aware of where this is going. Their only saving grace is that Bruce is visiting Dick, not Batman. Though, the fact he chose the Rolls-Royce is not assuring.
“Where's Damian?”
“I'm afraid that Master Damian has not left his room the past few days.”
Tim allows himself a brief moment of guilt and self-recrimination at those words. Like an idiot, Tim had assumed his younger brother would be okay. Sometimes the teen forgets to account for emotional repercussions in situations, especially when it comes to their well-being. It's not okay, but he needs to focus on the matter at hand. He can berate himself for neglecting the youngest at a later time.
Now, Tim needs to form a plan, pack their bags, corral his brothers, and haul ass to Bludhaven. He'll probably steal the batplane for both speed and ease of escape. While in route, Tim can send messages to Oracle and Young Justice. There's too many moving parts Red Robin needs to account for in his contingency systems. He can already feel the stress headache coming on. He needs to get moving, and he needs to have already been five more steps ahead. Despite this, Tim waivers before addressing Alfred.
The number of times Tim has hesitated in the butler's presence is four times. One of those times was when he first put on the Robin suit. Another was on his sixteenth birthday.
He knows what choices he's going to have to make. He knows what it will mean for Alfred.
The older man, slow enough for Tim to refuse, reaches out to cup the teen's face. The kid leans into the touch as his eyes flutter close.
“I will miss you, my boy. Keep them safe.”
The teen opens his eyes and peers into his grandfather's eyes. The distressed sorrow wars with his fond heartbreak. Seeing such open emotion on Alfred's face is terrifying. It takes everything in Tim to nod.
“Always.”
The older man's hands, betraying the slightest tremble, drop and clasp behind his back. He takes a step back and clears his throat.
“Very well, sir. I shall prepare your transportation and pack it with the necessities, such as feed for Titus and Alfred the cat.”
Tim allows himself a final glance at his grandfather. The man is a regal as ever with only the barest hints of anguish darting behind impassive steel blue eyes.
The teen allows a small smile to appear before dashing inside. Alfred will ensure Damian's pets and belongings throughout the Manor are packed away. Knowing the old man, he'll probably even pack roadtrip snacks.
Tim meets Jason outside of Damian's door. Already, the youngest is throwing together a bag. The tension in Tim's shoulder decreases slightly with knowledge he won't have to convince Damian to leave. It's cruel, but Tim's glad he won't have to tell the child to abandon his father's home.
Tim turns to Jason. “Alfred is packing the batplane. Is there anything you want to grab before we leave?”
There's the unspoken message of in case we don't return that passes. Jason shakes his head. “I haven't considered this home for awhile. The only things I'd want are gear.” Those are items that, if not already loaded onboard by Alfred, can be quickly grabbed on their way to the plane.
Tim purses his lips but nods. He focuses back on the youngest. He can't quite bring himself to break the stilted silence. An overwhelming wave of grief hits Tim as he realizes he may never come back to the Manor. He hasn't felt safe here in awhile, it hasn't been home, but some part of him was soothed by the notion he could come back.
In an attempt to soothe his younger brother, Tim croaks out a pleasant lie.
“Hey, Dami. We're going to go on a road trip with Jason and Dick for a bit. I'm assuming Jason filled you in?”
The kid's eyes narrow. Despite the harsh tone, hesitancy is in his posture. “Don't treat me as if I'm an imbecile, Drake. This isn't a ‘road trip.’ This is you opposing Father.”
Tim's lips purse, but he nods. “You're right. I'm sorry.”
The kid huffs and looks away, unease evident.
Jason sighs. “Look, Bruce is going to go apeshit. We're just trying to make sure everyone is safe in the meantime.”
Emerald eyes snap to the oldest in a glare. “Are you implying that Father would hurt us?”
Despite Tim appearing as if he'll interject to ease tension, Jason nods. His expression is grim, but he's confident when he speaks. “Wouldn't be the first time.”
The oldest brother was referring to himself, to quite a few incidents he's had with Bruce, but there's a slight flinch from Tim. The two other brothers focus their gaze on him.
“Wha-”
The teen shrugs and peers down the hallway before glancing back. “We need to get moving. Bruce is already heading to Bludhaven.”
A flash of panic is visible on Damian's face and Tim winces. Using their oldest brother's imminent confrontation with their violent dad as a topic changer was not his brightest of ideas.
If they had the time, Tim would wrangle together an apology for Damian. As it is, the teen is trying to hold himself together until everyone is safe.
“Jason, can you check with Alfred to see if there's anything he needs help with?”
Arctic eyes meet turquoise. The true purpose of that request is clear. Tim has already gotten his goodbye with their grandfather. Jason has not.
There's a nod from the older brother. With one last look at the youngest, he proceeds.
Tim casually leans against Damian's door frame and frowns.
“Do you want any assistance?”
Jade eyes dart to Tim for a moment before returning to glance at the bag. “No. I’m perfectly capable of loading my own bags, Drake.”
The teenage CEO, or perhaps ex-CEO now, merely nods.
A few minutes pass before, surprisingly, Damian breaks the silence.
“Are there any plans to return?”
Tim bites his lip and looks away. “I don't know.”
Jade eyes assess the family's strategist with a huff. “I thought scheming was your only redeemable quality, Drake.”
Tim's lips quirk up, but the smile is melancholic. He turns back to his youngest brother and observes the slight shakiness of his hands. Perhaps Damian is thinking about the last time he left the only home he's known. Some might imagine the process would be easier the second time, but Tim knows better.
When he left the League, Damian had a purpose. He didn't know what to expect from his Father, and certainly could not have imagined what he would gain, but he knew his role as a successor and a soldier. Training to make his heritage proud was all that he knew how to do. Changing which parent was his supervisor was supposed to be a formality, not a dastardly decree.
The kid was nervous, as nervous as he was allowed to show, but he was also excited to meet his Father. Batman was rumored to be one of the greatest warriors of their time.
Despite the way the child had acted, Tim acknowledges, in hindsight, that he was just trying his damned hardest to make Bruce proud. It wasn't the kid's fault the rules had changed on him without warning. Damian did everything he could, all that he thought he had to do, to stay with a Father he’s never known.
Now he was leaving that same Father of his own will.
Tim wonders if Damian feels frustrated and hopeless with all the work he's put in, all the work that's seemingly pointless. Tim knows that the progress was worth it, that Damian is better off and happier with it. That doesn't change how painful this situation is going to be.
The teen ambles into the room until he's standing in front of Damian. They're almost eye-to-eye now, but the kid still slightly looks up at Tim. Concern for his brother increases when Tim notices the lack of scowl on Damian's face. He grabs both of the kid’s shoulders and peers into his eyes. “We will find him. We'll protect him. To you, this I promise.”
Jade eyes flicker between arctic ones assessing. Neither of them take oaths lightly. They are both aware of the weight of those words. After a moment, the kid nods and his shoulders lower in relief. Tim drops his hands and steps back.
It's a matter of a few moments for Damian to finish stowing away the life he made at Wayne Manor. There's more bags than he came with, but there's also more he is leaving behind.
The kids make their way to the batcave where both Jason and Alfred are waiting. Nobody mentions Jason quickly fleeing to the batplane upon the others’ arrival.
Tim sends his grandfather a smile and grabs a few of Damian's bags.
“Master Damian, Titus and Alfred the cat have been placed in their traveling kennels. All of their belongings have been placed on board as well.”
Damian nods. “Thank you, Pennyworth.”
Tim turns to Damian. “Jason's going to start the engine. Can you check with Alfred to ensure we have everything?”
The youngest sibling, recognizing the gesture for what it is, nods and follows Alfred to a more private area. Tim allows himself a moment to watch his youngest brother before turning towards the cockpit. He buckles himself into the co-pilot's seat and the two brothers are silent while Jason continues the takeoff procedures.
It's not long before Damian climbs into the last chair. No one mentions the slight redness to his eyes.
No words are exchanged when they take off. They allow themselves a final glance at the Batcave and Alfred before tearing away their gaze. It's not long until they no longer can see the Manor.
Tim sends the necessary messages to set his plans in motion and warn concerned parties. He knows, both from discussions with Barbara and helping her with Oracle's system, that she has her own contingencies for Bruce. It pains him that they both knew this day would come.
The current Tim goals are to rescue his brother from Bruce, get far away, and regroup with the others on what's to come. For that end, Red tenses his spine in preparation before speaking. “When we get there, you will let me do the talking.”
“No fucking way, Repl-”
The glare sent the oldest's way cuts him off.
“I will do the talking. If either of you two interject, he may respond with violence or vitriol. Bruce will listen to me. Due to our history and that I am the only one to have followed his rule, that man will not have a choice.”
Jason shakes his head with a scowl, his glare fierce, but he doesn't argue. Damian opens his mouth to disagree, but Tim cuts him off.
“While I talk to him, I need you both to protect Dick.”
Damian's jaw snaps shut as he glares. He seems pissed at the plan, but the notion of protecting Grayson slightly soothes him. Neither of Tim's brothers are very happy with him.
“Good. The goal here is extraction, not engagement. We are trying to leave as quickly and safely as possible. All other avenues can be discussed with Dick in a safe environment. Okay?”
There's grumbles, but otherwise they assent.
Dick, to put it lightly, is having a mental fucking breakdown.
After the Reds left the cave, Bruce immediately whipped to Dick’s direction. The calculating gleam in his eyes, the rage, the disappointment, and the guilt were swirling in terrifying patterns.
It was time for Dick to leave.
He rushed through saying goodbye to the others (ignoring Bruce's pointed stare) and fled to Bludhaven. Dick doesn't know what Bruce is going to do, it could be nothing, but Dick doesn't know what he is going to do.
Theoretically, Bruce should connect the kill to Joker (He doesn't know about Blockbuster. Is it Blockbuster? ). Yet, he was also under the impression that the Joker being revived wiped Dick's sin away. That was at least the excuse Batman gave at the time when he was resuscitating that monster. Does the finality of that murder being painted on Dick change Bruce's mind? Is he now suddenly worth his father's wrath because a magical spell declared his wickedness?
It shouldn't. Everyone but Tim had a murder to their name.
Jason and Damian were already known to have killed.
They all desecrated Bruce's decree.
Bruce has a kill count. Not just one. He's killed multiple times.
Bruce is a fucking hypocrite.
That doesn't stop the man from hunting down his eldest son for the sin of breaking his number one rule. It hardly matters that Bruce has broken it multiple times.
It takes three days of hiding before the Dark Knight lets himself into Dick's shitty flat. The son is sitting on the couch, hands stuffed between cushions and wrapped around escrima sticks. He doesn't want to fight Bruce, but he has a feeling he won't have a choice.
Like the jackass that he is, Bruce wordlessly glowers at Dick. It seems the son, like always, will have to be the one to break the silence.
“Hey, B. You know I have a door, right?”
The man continues to just stare at the son. Dick sighs.
“If you're upset about what the magic revealed, we both already knew.”
The man crosses his arms. “The Joker was resuscitated.”
Dick nods. “Yes. You brought life back into him. That doesn't change that he did die.”
“We don't kill.”
Usually, Dick would conform to this lecture. He would nod, list all of the points the man wanted to hear, and apologize for any slight. After losing one sibling and gaining others, Dick learned to choose his battles with his former father figure.
Dick has spent the last three days in a cycle of grief, self-loathing, fear, betrayal, and anger. Not to mention, Bruce is just plain fucking annoying and tiring. The man could've called. He could've fucking knocked instead of breaking in.
It's a culmination of the last three days and Bruce's behavior that leads to the words spat out. The son that responds is closer to the kid who fled to Bludhaven than the older brother of six.
“Yet, it seems that you do .”
When the three younger brothers burst in, it's to the scene of Bruce towering over their eldest brother with his fist raised.
The brother that is sitting there without fighting. The brother that already has his face turned in anticipation, as if he's fully aware and compliant to the turn of events.
The sound of the door hitting the wall causes both of them to jump. Bruce whirls around to the commotion, clearly caught in the act. His fist lowers, but he takes several steps in the direction of the three. Only Dick's sudden verbal response stops the man from continuing his path.
“What are you doing here?” Dick warily eyes his younger brothers. He trusts them, he trusts them with everything he is, but can he trust them against their own father?
Tim stays in the doorway as his eyes are locked onto Bruce. He draws the man's attention to himself with the cut of his shoulders and the demand in his voice.
“Bruce.”
Jason and Damian maneuver themselves carefully around the room until they are between Bruce and Dick. They both stand in front of their eldest brother, their backs to Dick, as if blocking him from Bruce's view. Jason draws his gun but keeps it pointed at the floor. Damian has a hand on the hilt of his sword, but doesn't otherwise take an offensive position.
Bruce, assessing the stance of the group, takes a step towards them.
Tim clears his throat.
Batman's eyes snap towards the teen, assessing and questioning. Tim's own eyes are narrowed. From the kid's years as Robin, Bruce knows that Tim would win in a battle of wills. He was also trained, by Tim, that the younger one will not answer stoney silences.
“You are the only one to have followed my rule.”
If Batman had been facing the other way, he would’ve seen Jason tense. If the old bastard had studied that son's face, he might’ve discerned the true reason behind the reaction. The others near Jason take his behavior as a sign of hurt or anger. Tim is aware that it's of shock and fear. If Bruce had studied Jason, he might’ve even gathered that his second youngest son is not as pure as he believes. Instead, he faces Tim Drake. He faces the son of Janet Drake. He faces the Robin that can lie.
“Yes, Bruce. We've known this. What is your point?”
Taking the conversation for the opportunity it is, Jason and Damian help Dick to stand up. Neither are willing to leave their oldest brother’s side.
Bruce glares at Tim. His gaze is filled with disappointment and simmering rage. “We have known that Damian and Jason have a kill count. Not Dick.”
Crystal blue eyes apathetically examine Bruce. As if taking part of a particularly demeaning and arduous report, they lazily track the tension in Bruce's shoulders and his clenched fists. They dart back to the azure eyes of the man that is supposed to be Tim's father.
“We didn't know you had one either.”
The tension in the room ratchets at this blatant statement. Bruce partially growls his response. “ Tim .”
The man takes a threatening step forwards. Jason aims his gun at Bruce's back. Damian draws his sword. Dick's grip on his escrima sticks tightens.
The second youngest merely tilts his head to the side. There's no emotion visible on his face as he calmly regards the man.
“I bet that seventh kill bothers you.”
The way Bruce freezes is almost imperceivable. Almost , but the Birds in the room still catch it.
“You know about the other six. After all, they occurred before you swore off murder. That seventh kill, though. It has to be driving you crazy.”
Tim hums, an almost bored expression is adopted. “It's been, what, seventeen years? Seventeen years since you've sworn off murder. That's a lot of ground to cover. I'm honestly shocked there's not more than one.”
“Tim.”
“What, Bruce? Do you want to know if I'm aware of who you've killed? Just who it was that you snuffed the light out of without a clue? I bet it drives you real mad. ”
The man might as well be stone for how still he is. Rage is evident in every line of his body, but the son continues.
“Or, are you more curious about how many of the seven I already knew about?”
The man growls at his son. Dick and Jason bristles at this action.
Before the other two could step in, Tim laughs. Somehow, the teen manages to sound light as if they were discussing fond memories.
“Mikhail, full name unknown, was killed with a kick to the head that snapped his neck.” Tim jerks his head to the side in mimicry. He frowns exaggeratedly while looking at his father. “His crimes were murder, attempted murder, and attempted robbery. A bit harsh, don't you think?”
Maybe Tim is slightly having a mental breakdown and displaying it in unhealthy ways.
He's sure it's fine.
“Mad Monk. The vampire you shot with a silver bullet to the heart.” He makes a finger gun and pretends to shoot Bruce.
Jason chokes.
“There's also the kill where you shove some guy onto his own sword.”
The man, seemingly impossibly, grows even more tense. His arms start to shake in repressed fury as he glares.
Tim holds a finger up in the air as if recalling something. “Oh! There's one where you crush ,” the teen slams his hands together in approximation, “Jose Garzonas with a car! That's a fun one.”
The chuckle from Tim is dark. The other brothers look warily at each other.
Red, noticing this, focuses his attention on them. He actually winks as mirth dances in his eyes. “I think my favorite is when he hangs a guy with a rope. He just flies around,” Tim's right hand makes circles in approximation, “with the giant dangling until he croaks!”
Bruce takes another threatening step forward. “That's enough, Tim.”
The teen pouts while looking at his dad. “That's only five, though.”
The man's expression clearly displays his temper. If Tim wasn't in his weird state of emotional breakdown, he might have hesitated at the sight. He knows the consequences of angering Bruce. Now, though, Tim lets out a cheeky grin.
“On his first day as Batman, Bruce killed Alfred Stryker.”
The teen giggles causing Jason and Bruce to flinch.
“The very first day of the Dark Knight's run, and he kills! He murdered a man who had only killed two people!”
The hidden jab of that statement reaches its mark when Bruce staggers back a bit. He won't avenge the murder of his son, but he justifies this kill. This is a conclusion that each of the occupants slowly arrive to.
At that thought, Tim's demeanor changes. He loses the fake cheer and sighs.
“It's…” The actual hesitancy in Tim's speech causes the others to freeze. Even through the most perilous encounter, Red has always sounded assured. From the way Tim is gazing at Jason, there's no doubt that this is going to hurt the man.
“Spit it out, Timmers.”
Bruce’s face spasms not quite in guilt but of someone fearing the consequences of his own actions.
“The Joker's identity has never been identified, correct? There's rumors about his fabled start, one of which includes your own moniker of Red Hood.”
The dread settling in the room doesn't bode well.
“Most stories include Batman and the previous identity fighting over a vat of chemicals before that cumstain ends up in it.”
“Language.”
Four incredulous stares turn towards the man and slowly blink. They glance at each other questioning did Bruce actually say that before looking at the man again.
Tim physically shakes himself out of it and continues.
“Alfred Stryker was punched into the vat and was deemed not an accidental kill.”
The room of detectives don't need it spelt out for them, but there's an important distinction Tim needs to say.
“Bruce marked Stryker as a possible identity for Joker.”
Jason shoots Bruce's left shoulder. He's glad the man isn't wearing any armor. If the crime lord wasn't being emotionally assaulted under the tidal wave of reveals, he might make some witty literature reference to one's failings of their own convictions being their downfall. At the current moment, Tim Drake's kill count being higher than his is the only reason he didn't aim fatally.
That and maybe something about scarring his twelve year old brother by killing his father in front of him. Worse case scenario, Jason can kill Bruce later.
While the other members of the batfamily startled at the shot, including Bruce who's reaction almost led to further violence, Tim doesn't blink. He snaps his fingers three times to draw Bruce's attention back to him. When eye contact is obtained, Tim hums noncommittally.
“Here’s what's going to happen, Bruce. The four of us, Dick, Damian, Jason, and I, will be leaving. You will not try to stop us or get in contact with us.”
The man's jaw tightens. “And why the hell would I do that?”
Batman will never admit it, but the stare he receives back is unnerving. Like facing a snake coiled to strike, Bruce falters at the sight.
“Seeing as you've shown your willingness to lay your hands on your kids, they are being removed from your care. If you try to interact with any of them, including Duke, Cass, Steph, and Babs, I will eviscerate your social standing, your wealth, and your prestige with the Justice League. At the moment, I am allowing you to continue operating in Gotham.”
Tim steps forward, rage practically curling the air around him. “Make no mistake, every right you have from this moment forward is one I allot you. I can revoke them at any time.”
Bruce's eyes narrow as he regards Red Robin. He nearly scoffs.
“They didn't believe you when you said I was alive. In fact, many League members still presume Red Robin to be mentally compromised. What makes you think they'll listen to you now?”
Tim's grin is so sharp that the room inhabitants are surprised they don't get cut.
“Oh, Bruce.”
He takes several steps forward until he is within the man's personal space.
“You have no idea what I’ve done to get you back from the timestream. You don't know what I've been doing without your knowledge. For the world's greatest detective, you never realized I've been controlling your life since you've returned. You know nothing of the resources I have.”
He takes a step back and beams a smile at Bruce. It's innocent, happy, and gives him the appearance of a child. The child Tim was never allowed to be, but the one he pretended he was. Not even the Greatest Detective had seen past its blinding nature.
“ Try to oppose me, Bruce. ”
The man just stares at the teen in front of him. He doesn't move or otherwise react.
Tim's grin drops, like peeling away the mask of an innocent kid.
“That's what I thought. We’re leaving.”
As the four brothers make their way out of Dick's apartment, Batman doesn't twitch a single muscle. He doesn't even turn to watch them leave.
It's been silent inside the aircraft for the last three hours. The plane is on autopilot, the animals are within appropriate carriers that have been triple checked by Damian, and the four brothers are gathered in the cabin. Each member has been stewing in their own thoughts of the matter while wondering what they were going to do next. They couldn't return.
One by one Tim felt his brothers’ eyes fall upon him. Their gazes bore relentlessly into the teen. He looks up from his computer and sighs.
“What?”
Damian huffs, but Jason throws his hands in the air. “What the fuck was that?”
A raised eyebrow is the only response.
Hood points a finger at the teen. “You know exactly what the fuck I mean!”
“I threatened Bruce and creeped him the fuck out. He's probably having three life crises as we speak.”
There's a huff from Damian, but the older two brothers stare bewildered at the teen.
“Fucking hell. Fine. Let's just ignore what the fuck you did and casually brush it aside. Sure.” The crime lord sighs. He gazes up at the aircraft's metal ceiling as if pleading to a god that's never answered, before lowering his stare. “Alright, Timmers. The plan?”
Another raised eyebrow.
“The plan, Timmy. You've got to have some idea cooking up in that noggin of yours. Probably something to do with those resources of yours.”
He studies his brothers for a minute cataloging the nervous and tense ways they hold themselves. Even Damian seems to be waiting for Drake's idea to drag them out of this mess.
Red hums. “Which plan?”
There's an exasperatedly fond huff from Dick, but his eyes are woeful when they meet Tim's. Yes, the third Robin is known for his various contingencies and multi-step plans. This is different. “You have multiple plans on escaping Bruce?”
Despite their many unresolved issues, the resigned expression on Tim's face is obvious to the brothers. There's no hesitancy or regret in his features, just acceptance for an outcome he knew would come to pass. The three feel varying levels of apprehension and dread.
“I know you were there as much as you could, Dick, but there's some part of me that has never trusted Batman as his Robin. I might have idolized him as a child, but the last time I fully trusted him was when I was eleven. That trust was fractured when Jason never returned home.”
There's a harsh intake of breath from Jason, but Red continues.
“It was shattered when he beat a purse snatcher into a grave. It completely evaporated when he started training me.”
Tim's eyes are distant as they gaze ahead of him. “I’d say, through my years of being Robin, I have a strong distrust of Batman.”
Tim's eyes dart between his brothers’ faces. He reads the boiling anger in Dick, the hurt in Jason, and the betrayed confusion in Damian. Whether they are latching onto Tim admitting Bruce's final kill or the harsh difference of his Robin training, the teen doesn't know. His eyes flicker back to his computer.
“Obviously I didn't have one contingency plan. The different plans stem from who's with me, the severity of the situation, whether I wanted to continue being a vigilante, and whether I wanted Bruce to pay.”
He glances up, notices there are Emotions ™, and quickly glances back down. “Group decision, yeah? I think everyone will need to decide what they want to do.”
It's silent for several minutes as each of the brothers contemplate just what they want. Can they ever return to Bruce? Do they want to? Can they really outrun Batman?
Dick is the one to break the silence. “Say we went into hiding or never saw Bruce again, what about the others? Cass, Babs, Duke, and Steph?”
Tim nods as he pulls up a few files.
“Oracle and Birds of Prey are independent from Batman, but we can support them. Steph and Cass work either with them or independently. We can figure out how to better assist them and what we can do for Duke based on what we decide.”
He makes a point to obtain eye contact with each sibling before continuing.
“Do you want to confront Bruce, deal with Bruce, or avoid him?”
There's hesitancy in the air, but Damian pipes up. “Would confronting Father or dealing with him not equate the same?”
Red's eyes flicker to meet Damian's in a sympathetic stare.
“Do you want to have closure and the chance for redemption or do you want him dealt with?”
The tension rackets with the pure confidence the teen has in defeating Batman. He's declaring that he can and will take down Bruce if given the word. It's as frightening as it is astounding. If it were a few months ago and the situation was different, Tim might’ve prepped for an attack. The relationships with his siblings are tenuous, but he's decently assured they won't retaliate.
He's mostly sure they won't attack.
Damian glances over at Dick for some cue on how to proceed or what path they should take. When Jason's gaze joins, the oldest brother sighs. He runs his hand through his hair and takes a few moments to calm down.
“I don't know. No matter what path we go down, there's going to be issues.”
Tim nods again. “So we can settle for hiding, figuring out our shit, and then setting our agreed plan into motion.”
It's not the solution and it's hardly an answer. For now, it'll do just fine.
In the meantime, Jason focuses back on Tim.
“He beat a purse snatcher into the grave?”
The sound of clicking stops as Tim freezes. The teen just pauses and doesn't look up from the computer screen.
“Tim. How did you know Bruce had killed a purse snatcher when he himself didn't know?”
The teen looks up at them unsure.
“I looked it up?”
The three disproving frowns cause him to wince. He closes his laptop and hugs it to his chest. His feet are placed on the chair so his knees become a barrier between him and the others.
“It was right before I became Robin. Batman's violence was becoming worse and I knew he was going to kill someone or get himself killed.”
His gaze is distant and his face is blank without emotions.
“I tried to get others to help. I asked the JL and Alfred and Nightwing to stop him. No one did anything.”
Tim wasn't trying to blame his oldest brother for this. It wasn't Dick's responsibility to manage his dad's mental health. He was barely an adult at the time too. Yet, it doesn't stop the guilt from festering in the man. It shouldn't have been Tim's responsibility either.
“I only went to the Manor and demanded to be Robin after failing to save Mitchell Scott. All of the other ones, the EMTs and doctors were able to keep breathing.”
Tim allowed the laptop to rest against his thighs as he scanned his hands. They felt heavy and unpleasantly warm, as if still weighed down with blood.
“I didn't even have the chance to call for help before he died.”
There's a long pause as it sinks in.
The implications, though, Jason couldn't get over.
“You covered it up.”
Arctic eyes snap up to Chartreuse. Tim holds his breath while desperation and fear swim in his eyes.
“You covered up his kill.”
While it wasn't his intention, the words come out as an accusation.
“I was thirteen, okay? I saw Batman beating the shit out of everyone he came across and trying to get himself killed. I knew that if he was aware of the blood on his hands, he'd never recover. He would continue killing and killing and killing until he took everyone down with him. I hadn't known about his previous kills. All I saw was Batman, the vigilante standing between Gotham and its imminent collapse, and his rapid decline. If I let his crime come to life, it would be a death warrant for Batman. He would never be trusted by Gotham again and Bruce would fall into a murderous pit he'd never climb out of. I did what I thought I had to do.”
There's a huff as a self-deprecated smile paints itself on Red's face. “Not that it matters now.”
Tim, having been on the shitty end of his brothers’ poor emotional control, decides to change the topic. He may also want to not have the emotionally charged conversation following his reveal. He's shared more about his emotions in the past 24 hours than he has in five months.
“I wonder how high Alfred's kill count would be.”
Bewildered, the three others stare at Tim. The boy shrugs.
“He was a spy. Besides, you should've seen the way he carefully took apart his shotgun, cleaned each crevice, and practiced a few rounds every time Joker broke out of prison. He was hoping for a break-in to 1v1 the clown.”
Jason breaks out into a grin, a soft and fond look to his eye. “Yeah. I bet Alfie was.”
There's a bit of heartbreak in the air, especially because Dick never got to bid Alfred farewell. They wish they could've taken him with them, but the fatal flaw of Alfred is his loyalty to Bruce.
“So. Golden Boy has a kill count?”
Dick grits his teeth but nods. “It's probably the Joker.”
Jason chokes a bit on the air. “You- what?”
Tim, over the sound of his keyboard clacking, pipes up. “He beat the Joker to death with his bare hands.”
More clacking is heard throughout the cabin as they process. Jason and Damian have heard about the Joker hurting Tim. They heard that it made Dick snap at the thought of another brother being hurt by that clown ballsack. They've heard that Dick did something not approved by Bruce because of it. They had assumed it was merely excessive force.
Before the two brothers can ask further questions, Tim answers the most damning one.
“Bruce resuscitated him.”
“What?”
The absolute venom coming from the youngest Bat shocks the hell out of everyone.
Damian is clenching and unclenching his fists as he glares at the wall. He's vibrating with anger.
Dick hesitantly reaches out. “Dami?”
Damian's eyes snap to him.
“He's not only killed before, but he rescutated the monster that killed Todd and tortured Drake?”
Todd's head whips to Drake, his eyes wide in horror. Evidently, Bruce had downplayed the extent of Tim's encounter with the green troll doll.
As one to always deflect and never reflect, Tim hums in response to Damian.
“Before Dick allowed Joker to become intimately familiar with CPR, the clown was taunting about killing another Robin.”
Green flashes in the cabin as Jason starts to visibly shake. Tim continues.
“The Clown Special Treatment hurt like hell, but I didn't die. Unfortunately, Nightwing didn't know that. The jester clearly didn't think through the one-sided MMA fight he signed himself up for.”
Red shrugs and continues typing away at his computer. He pretends he isn't aware of the impact his revelations are having on his fellow vigilantes.
Like the little shit he is, he continues to lay little breadcrumbs of life changing realizations at his brothers’ feet.
“Batman also ensures that he is the one to respond to Joker calls. The GCPD would probably kill the man on sight, but noooo. Mr. Dark Knight can't have Joker be put down by the cops. It’s not like Batman goes out of his way to ensure police brutality isn't disportionately affecting other victims. It's only the Joker.”
Tim suddenly pauses his typing. His entire body is intense as his face portrays utter horror. Arctic eyes stare at the wall for three minutes before his nose scrunches in disgust. His eyes narrow and, in a fearful whisper, softly reveals:
“That is probably why there is Joker/Batman fanfiction.”
Dick gasps as Jason shakes and Damian goes unnaturally still.
The second oldest brother puts his head between his knees as he starts to dry heave. Dick is quick to rub comforting circles into Jason's back as he turns a scandalized glare at the teen.
“Tim! What the fuck?”
He doesn't think he needs to prove his point, but Tim displays the statistics anyways. The graphs are shown hovering above his wrist computer. They are numbers he has personally gathered, surveyed, and put into neat little diagrams.
“GCPD is notoriously horrendous for killing civilians. Rogues protected by Batman aren't subject to this and, according to this graph, Joker has the best response rate by Batman.”
Dick's voice has jumped an octave by the time he responds. “That's not what I asked. You know that's not what I asked.”
The teen hums and runs his thumb across his lip as he thinks. “Regardless of how I feel about utilizing that method, I'm surprised Gordon hasn't shot him for ‘resisting arrest’ yet.”
Jason’ breaths are wheezy while he tries to get himself under control. It takes several minutes, none of the others willing to break the silence, but the dry heaving finally slows. The man's voice croaks as he begs his younger brother.
“Stop, Tim. Stop.” The crime lord holds his palm up in the universal ‘stop’ sign, but his head is still between his knees. Tim purses his lips and allows Jason to collect himself. When the man feels calm enough, he peers up at Red. Jason's elbows are on his knees and he's hunched over, but he’s able to maintain eye contact. “Back the fuck up. What the fuck do you mean there are Joker and Batman fanfics?”
By this point, Jason is grinding his teeth. He's pale, but the vein in this jaw is popping.
“Look, I was just as disgusted as you when I found out.” Like someone who hasn't learned his lesson, Tim continues with his next unbidden thought. “I don't know if those or the Batman and Nightwing fics are worse.”
Dick looks halfway between throwing up and laughing hysterically. Jason appears as if he is deciding whether he wants to jump across the plane to throttle Tim or go skydiving without a parachute.
“Drake…” The youngest hesitating causes the older three brothers to pause. They have a horrible feeling where this is going. “Are there fics with Batman and Robin?”
The look on the second youngest’s face is pure anguish.
The clacking stops. Tim's brow furrows as he stares at the wall in front of him. He scrunches his nose before his gaze slips to Dick.
“You said ‘probably’ Joker.”
The oldest brother grimaces but nods.
“I'm not sure which incident it was referring to. The Joker is still alive while Blockbuster is dead.”
Damian tilts his head “Blockbuster?”
Dick, similar to that godsforsaken rooftop, starts to feel distant from his body. He can hear his voice continue, but there's a hazy film between his actions and thoughts.
“I let Tarantula kill him.”
Tim and Jason exchange a heedful look.
“She- I- After Blockbuster… I wasn't okay. I had just let her .” He paused, his voice cracking as a broken laugh bubbled out. “I guess I let her do both of those things. Kill him and…”
He flinched away from Jason's outstretched hand. Tim's eyes narrow in response. Dick keeps talking.
“Blockbuster knew my identity and he was threatening everyone. I didn't know what to do.” Dick's voice is very soft and quiet as it shakes. “So I let her kill him.”
A feeling of dread pools in Tim's gut.
“When we got away, I realized what I had done. I couldn't move.” His gaze is desperate as he stares at Jason. “ I couldn't move. ” Dick shivers at repressed memories of the rain.
By the tightening of his jaw, Jason understands what that means. It brings back vague memories he had when he was catatonic and unable to speak; when he was unable to consent to anything done to him. This is a different situation, but the sinking panic of helplessness, the cycle of self-blame, the crawling feeling of disgust, and the fear of being violated feel similar. The ghost of hands ache on his skin as he tries not to recall their path. Jason's not sure if it's a curse or a blessing that he can hardly remember that time.
When the oldest brother watches the same shiver travel through Jason's body, his eyes widen in the horror of being known. His brother, his baby brother , shouldn't understand this so well. The grief, the devastation, nearly drowns him.
At the same time, Tim's hand flies up to his collar. His hand, trembling as it fumbles for his collar, clenches onto it as if to reassure himself of its presence. Without the zipper, it's not nearly as grounding. Damian is the only one to catch this reaction.
Dick lets out a shaky breathe as he tries to reach out to Jason. “Little Wi-”
The second oldest shakes his head with a frown. His gaze is distant when he regards Dick's sapphire eyes.
“It's not your fault.”
The oldest's mouth clicks shut.
“Regardless, your kill count would be for the Joker and not Blockbuster. I'm guessing the number has to relate to direct deaths you correlate. You didn't actively choose to kill Blockbuster. You choose not to save him.”
The other three brothers share a look before glancing back at Tim. Damian is glaring due to Tim's bumbling approach of comfort that instead just brings up Dick's trauma. It's not the best approach, but Tim hopes it assuages some guilt.
“We're vigilantes. If every life we couldn't save counted against us, we'd all have much higher kill counts.”
That was probably worse. Great going, Tim.
It takes a minute, the blunt words and acknowledgment of their highly regretted and mourned mistakes are distracting. The grief and self-blame for the lives they could not save will always haunt their minds.
After they process this, Dick reviews the phrase in his head again. There's something about the wording…
“We would all have higher kill counts?”
Tim winces.
“Shit.”