Archive of Our Own

I can hear the song of the Robin

I haven’t wrote my own in a long time...

we go way back by Noah Kahan

They’re eating in a shitty diner on a lonely road between Metropolis and Gotham when Tim finally opens his stupid mouth. The sun is starting to set, their view out of the window by their corner booth disappearing more and more the longer they sit. They’ll have to leave soon. The Kents are expecting them in Metropolis and Tim knows that Damian will start getting that pinched look on his face when he realizes how close they are to being late. But this shitty diner is a tradition, one they stop at every time they do the drive from Gotham to Metropolis to visit Kon and Jon when they’re both in the city. They haven’t been able to make this trip in a while, since Bruce disappeared and Tim went on his globe-trotting adventure. Tim feels a little bit like he did when he was thrown out of the window, off kilter, stomach swooping, heart pounding and pounding and pounding.

Damian has a falafel wrap halfway to his mouth when Tim grits his teeth and speaks. “I want to go to college.”

Damian pauses, wrap in his mouth, a pointy canine already breaching the soft tortilla. His green eyes are sharp, flickering over Tim. He can feel the way the other boy reads him like a book, from his still full plate to his shaking hands to his slightly heaving chest. Eventually, Damian crunches down on his wrap, chewing almost comically slowly. Tim isn’t sure how the kid can even trust side of the road falafel. He assumes Damian did his research. The image of Damian using the Batcomputer to figure out if his new favorite restaurant is actually vegan shatters some of the nerves tightening Tim’s shoulders.

“I’m glad you have realized this now while you still have time to study,” Damian replies. His voice is even, Damian’s version of indifferent, his accent rolling off the vowels the way it always does when he’s focused more on tone than pronunciation. Tim loved Damian’s accent before this past year. Now, it makes him shiver a bit, a reminder of sand and fire and blood from his own time in the League. He’s sure Damian catches it, can see the way the boy’s lip tugs down in one corner. Tim pouts at the teasing and Damian’s lip lifts, the older boy’s blunder forgotten. 

He appreciates his brother’s attempt at levity, but the truth is snarling behind Tim’s teeth, begging to be let free. His anxious fingers play with a few of his fries before abandoning his plate again, tapping the table rhythmically while Damian takes another bite. Tim blinks out of the streaky diner window. His car stands sentry in the parking lot, a gorgeous 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle, bright Robin red with black racing stripes down the hood. It’s dirty from their drive and from other late night escapades, mud flecked over the hood and grill, because Tim doesn’t agree with Jason’s thought process that vintage cars must be cherished. Cars are for driving. Lives are for living. 

“I think I’m done being Robin,” Tim confesses. 

It’s rushed, pulled from his chest like he’s on his knees in a church and Damian is a terrible priest because his normally perfect composure breaks. He chokes on the bite he was in the process of swallowing, coughs and hacks into his fist until he clears his airway. When he looks up, his green eyes are red and watery and wide with shock, and Tim isn’t quite sure what to say.

He expected anger. He expected Damian to rage, to take his terrible diner knife and stab him, to flip the table and storm off into the night on his own. He expected Damian to immediately call Dick or Bruce or Jason and tell them that Tim’s lost his mind. He isn’t expecting his little brother to look nervous and heartbroken. “What? If it is something I have done, Drake, I am truly sor -”

“What, Dames, no, this has nothing to do with you!” Tim interrupts because he’s never heard Damian apologize and he’ll lose the very flimsy grasp he has on his emotions if the kid starts now. It isn’t even a lie. Damian and Tim got off on the wrong foot, sure, but eventually, once Damian began to find his place and stopped lashing out at Tim’s very non-existent patience, they figured it out. Damian needed to realize that being Robin didn’t mean being loved. Tim needed to rediscover his confidence and reassure himself of his skill. 

There were a few months, almost a year, where Tim thought they could maybe be a normal family. Well, normal for them. Jason was back. Dick stopped talking to ghosts and yelling at their dad and started coming around more. Tim finally felt less like a soldier and more like a son. Damian realized that he doesn’t need to be a soldier to be a son, that the two aren’t connected the way he was taught. And then Bruce disappeared. Everyone thought he died, Tim felt like he was going insane, and in the end, everyone ended up being kind of right. Tim let himself be thrown out of the window of a sky scraper with no grapple, no back up, and no contingency plan. In fact, getting himself thrown out of the window was the contingency plan. His death was the plan.

He remembers the numb feeling once he made the decision and began acting on it. He remembers the feeling of elation when he realized he had saved Bruce, remembers the way it sank and shattered when he realized he wouldn’t be around to see it. 

Most importantly, he remembers being okay with it. With sacrificing himself. With dying. 

Dick caught him. He lied and told everyone he knew Dick was there the entire time. It’s taken days, weeks, for him to be able to admit it to himself, but he finally can. The thought of dying terrifies him, shakes him to his core and crushes his lungs and yanks at his heartstrings. He doesn’t want to die.

He wants to help people. He wants to go to college. He wants to explore his growing feelings for Bernard and Kon, as troublesome as they are. He wants to make a difference in Gotham, in the world, and he doesn’t want to have to die to do it. 

“The world is so much bigger than the Batcave, Damian. I know it sounds impossible to believe, but it’s true,” Tim sighs. Damian has abandoned his wrap on his plate now. His hands are out of sight beneath the table, but Tim can picture the way his fingers are playing with the leather bracelet on his wrist, a nervous habit he never could kick. 

Damian glances around the diner, though it’s pointless. They’re the only ones here, their waitress disappearing the minute she dropped off their food, their car alone in the parking lot sans a beat up truck with heavily fogged windows. To the rest of the world, they look like two boys up to no good, a high schooler with a fresh license and a younger brother with an appetite. He could get used to this, he muses to himself. No longer looking over his shoulder. No longer checking every shadow twice.

Of course, for all that he wants it, he knows it won’t be like that. Just because he won’t be Robin doesn’t mean he won’t be Timothy Drake, heir to Drake Industries, adopted son of Bruce Wayne. There will still be a target on his back, contingencies in his head. 

“Why are you telling me?” Damian asks, quieter than before. Tim can’t help but feel like they’re doing it out of order, like there should be anger before the grim acceptance appearing on Damian’s face, but no one processes things normally in their family. 

Tim shrugs, fingers going back to picking at his fries. The chocolate shake in front of him is melting. His burger is probably cold. He finds he doesn’t mind. His breath has been coming easier since he spilled his secret, the hum in his brain quieting down. “Because, at one point, you wanted to be Robin. And I think that somewhere deep down, you still want to be.”

“I seem to remember you decreeing that I would be terrible at it,” Damian snarks, pointed canines flashing. Not quite the anger Tim was picturing, but getting closer.

“It doesn’t matter what I think, Damian. That’s why I’m telling you this. Because Robin can be as all-consuming as it is magical and I would hate for you to pick up the mantle because you feel forced to.”

Damian’s eyes cut to the window. His normally perfect posture is hunched in on himself and Tim sighs. He doesn’t know how to do this, be an older brother, be a mentor. He picked up the cape when it was nothing but a bloody cross. Dick didn’t speak to Jason for weeks. He and Damian have the chance to do this right, for the first time ever, if the boy wants it. But only if he wants it. Tim Drake isn’t in the habit of creating soldiers. 

“You didn’t want Robin for the right reasons when you first got here,” Tim starts again. He thinks that Damian can admit that now, even if it’s only to himself. “And only you can know if you’re in the right place for it now. If you want the cape, Damian, it’s yours. If you want nothing to do with it, you can tell me to go to hell and we’ll never speak of this again.”

For the first time since their food was sat down, Tim picks up a fry and takes a bite. It’s cold, a little soggy, but the nausea has finally subsided enough for Tim to realize he’s ravenous. Damian looks like he’s had the opposite feeling, tan skin turning pale. Tim eats in silence for a few minutes before Damian speaks. 

“Who else have you told?” 

Tim shakes his head, slurping down some of his milkshake before replying. “Nobody. You’re the first.”

Damian’s eyes are sharp across the table. “Why?”

Tim hums, considering. It’s a valid question. Tim had thought about going to Jason first. Out of all of them, he seemed the most obvious pick. But the more Tim thought about it, the more the idea made him balk. Telling his Robin, because that’s what Jason was, that he wanted to throw the mask away and be done? That he was giving up? Absolutely not. Dick seemed like the next step as the original Boy Wonder, but even that felt daunting, and telling Bruce was the last stop. “I didn’t want this to be sprung on you. I didn’t want you to feel ambushed by Dick or Bruce. You’ve told me to fuck off more than once, I figured that if you really didn’t want it you would feel comfortable telling me that again.”

Damian still looks dissatisfied so Tim keeps going. “And because I think you’re ready. I see how hard you’ve been working, Dames. You’ve fought back against years of training, over a decade of stab first and ask questions later, to be one of the most genuine kids I know. Gotham would be lucky to have you as Robin.”

His shoulder moves and Tim knows he’s playing with the leather bracelet again, twisting it around and around in circles. Tim wants to reach out, to stop the frantic movement, but he doesn’t know if the touch would be reassuring or suffocating, so he taps his foot against Damian’s under the table. “I am a stronger fighter than you,” Damian starts. Tim just raises an eyebrow. A year ago, Damian would’ve stopped there. Tim knows to wait him out now, that he isn’t trying to insult him but make a point. It’s an arguable point, especially after the year Tim has had. He beat Ra’s in combat, took down several League bases all on his own, but Damian was an assassin, so who really knows. “My detective skills are not where yours are now. What if I am not the Robin Gotham needs?”

Tim understands what Damian is asking, though the compliment rocks him to his core. What if I am not good enough? 

Tim is already shaking his head. “Gotham’s got a shortage of hope and a whole lot of enemies, kid. She needs all the help she can get. Robin doesn’t need to be perfect. Robin just needs to be.”

Damian nods hesitantly and goes back to picking at his food. Tim drops his eyes to his plate too, letting silence fall back over the table. The kid doesn’t have to tell him right now. Tim has more people to tell before he’ll get the cape anyway. 

Eventually, Tim can feel his phone begin to buzz, Kon and Clark attempting to reach him to ask where they are. His plate is clear, Damian’s wrap almost gone. He pulls out more than enough money to pay the bill, but Damian stops him before he gets up. 

“What if you regret your choice?”

What if you want it back?

Tim lets his lips quirk up. He probably will want to come back at some point. He’s always been weird, always loved the adrenaline from rooftop running, always chased the feel of a fight. He’s always loved helping people, solving cases, putting the bad guys away. Robin is supposed to be made of magic and hope and light, all things that feel too far out of reach for Tim right now. If he does come back to the hero game, it won’t be as Robin. He’ll have to get used to that. 

“Everyone grows out of the tights eventually, kid. Dick’s hand-me-downs only fit for so long. It’s time I went lookin’ for my own style.”

Damian doesn’t tell anyone, but he does start following Tim on patrol, which is incredibly hard to hide considering they’re a family full of detectives and Damian is supposed to be in bed by 9:30. Tim tries to mollify him with a laptop and a pair of comms, but he still feels a shadow two steps behind him on most patrols, Damian’s subtle way of letting him know he has a countdown now.

He should mind it more than he does. There’s still a scary numbness that slips over him when he dons the cape and mask. Never for the civilians, but for himself. He puts the domino on and suddenly he’s throwing himself into fights, taking hits he should be dodging, making plans with no clear way out. So, he prefers the nights Damian takes to the rooftops with him, though his heart clenches with worry. He can show Damian Robin, make sure he’s really ready. It feels less like giving up with the younger boy there. It feels more like moving on. 

He decides to tell Dick next. 

Their relationship is still slightly strained. Bruce disappeared, they both lost another father, and neither handled it well. Dick was worried about him, about his mental health, about his sanity and went about it in all the wrong ways like their family always does. He’s apologized, he’s saved Tim since, but the wound sometimes feels raw and achey still. 

There’s no shitty diner or questionable food. There’s no tradition to ease the blow. Tim shows up at Dick’s apartment in Bludhaven because at the very least, if Dick hates him after this, he can run back to Gotham with his tail between his legs. 

He knocks on his oldest brother’s front door. Dick opens it with concern already written on his face. Tim never comes in this way, always preferring to take the fire escape and test his lock picking, Bat-security breaking skills. 

“Tim? Is everything okay?” Dick asks, leaning out into the hallway to look for assailants. One of his arms stays behind the door. Tim would bet all the money in his wallet that Dick’s got his taser gun with the safety off behind it.

“I’m done being Robin,” Tim says, voice low but certain. He’s almost proud of the way his voice doesn’t tremble, though he’s faintly aware that he’s shaking. 

Dick lets his shoulders fall, mouth ticking up into a small smile. He’s still tense, still concerned, but there’s no anger there. “You should come in.”

Dick gives him warm tea, chai, the way Jason makes it, which means his older brothers have been hanging out without him, but he can’t find it in him to be mad. Dick wraps him up in a blanket and Tim rubs it between his fingers, humming at the texture. It’s summer, close to ninety degrees, but Tim feels comforted by it nonetheless. Dick sits on the ottoman, sipping from his own mug. 

“You didn’t know I was there when Ra’s pushed you out of the window.”

Dick says it like a statement, like there’s no other alternative, like he’s always known. The sky is blue, the earth is round, and Tim Drake almost killed himself by defenestration. 

Tim nods, looking away from Dick’s steady gaze. The apartment walls are painted a comforting shade of dark blue, brilliant gold and burnt orange patterned rugs covering the slightly battered hardwood. There are frames everywhere, Dick and Bruce, Dick and Jason, Dick and Damian, the Teen Titans, even a photo of him and Tim at the skate park. In the photo, Tim is attempting to teach Dick how to skate. They’re frozen, the board half out from under Dick who’s barely a blur of motion, but Tim’s beaming smile is easy to see. 

He doesn’t think he smiles like that anymore. He’d like to again one day. 

“Then I definitely agree that you need a break,” Dick affirms. Tim shakes his head. 

“I don’t want a break from Robin. I want to give Robin to Damian.”

Silence falls over them. Tim takes a sip of his chai, trying to focus on the spices and the hint of orange and the memories of Jason that wash over him. The windows of Dick’s apartment are tall, warm sunlight filtering in through them, but Tim can’t feel it. The numbness is creeping back. His fingers are tingling. He feels like he’s watching himself sit in Dick’s apartment, feels like he’s out of his body.

Dick sits down in front of him, cross-legged, and puts a hand on his knee. Tim snaps back, blinking quickly, petrified to find that he’s crying. “Hey, it’s okay,” Dick comforts. He doesn’t move closer, doesn’t smother, just keeps tapping his fingers against Tim’s knee, occasionally squeezing it.

It takes a few minutes, but Tim finally gets it, huffing out a wet laugh. Dick is tapping I-T-S O-K-A-Y and Y-O-U-R-E S-A-F-E out in Morse Code, again and again and again, the way he always does with victims. Though most can’t understand it, it’s an easy way to bring people back from the brink when they may not do well with extreme touch. It’s always worked well for Tim after a panic attack. He isn’t sure when Dick learned that. 

“Sorry,” Tim mutters and Dick shakes his head. He stops tapping, hand settling on Tim’s knee, the other one coming up to wipe away Tim’s tears. 

“No sorries, baby bird. Talk to me.”

And Tim does. He and Dick may not be the closest out of his brother’s, but he’s always fallen to Dick’s big brotherness eventually. He tells Dick about when he was gone, about how hard it was to search for Bruce when even he felt crazy half the time. He tells him about falling out of the window, about being okay with dying, even hoping for it, only to turn around and become so scared of it he can barely put the cape on. He tells him about telling Damian, about the younger boy’s reaction, about Damian coming with him on patrol. 

He speaks until he can’t speak anymore. Eventually, he quiets, and Dick hands him a new mug of tea. 

“When I left Bruce and Robin, it felt like my soul was being torn in half,” Dick narrates, drawing a spoon lazily through the spiced liquid in his mug. “Robin was mine. It was what my parents called me. And suddenly, it had Bruce’s fingerprints all over it, his bloody vendetta staining it. Robin was magic and then it wasn’t. Tim, if you’ve outgrown Robin, it’s okay.”

“It isn’t giving up?” Tim asks and Dick is already shaking his head.

“No. I’d rather you ‘give up’ then die out there. I can’t bury another little brother. Give Robin a chance to save someone else the way it saved me. The way it saved you.”

Tim takes another few sips, heart rate tripping out of its too fast rhythm as he calms. “I don’t want Damian to feel forced into it.”

Dick smiles, a little too sharp, a little too fast, but it’s the most he’s smiled the whole time, so Tim takes it. “Damian will be a force to be reckoned with. Just like I was. Just like Jason was. Just like you were.” Dick ruffles his hair and taps his chin with his knuckle, nudging Tim’s face up. “With three past Robins guiding him, how can it go wrong?”

Tim gives Dick a deadpan look and Dick laughs. They don’t need to tempt fate, not where Damian is involved. The kid gets into enough trouble as is.

In the end, Tim tells Bruce before he tells Jason. Damian says he’s being stupid and emotional. Dick says he’s worrying about nothing. But when he first wore the mask, donned the cape, it was Jason’s ghost he spent the most time with. It was Jason’s ghost who taught him the ropes, who shadowed his patrols, who showed him how to fly. 

To follow so carefully in someone’s footsteps, to carve your feet into their shape until the path runs red, and then walk away? Tim can’t bear to linger on it. 

So, he pivots. He moves like he would in a fight, dodging and pushing away with his bo staff, creating distance to breathe and think and weigh the odds. The odds are in Bruce’s favor more than Jason’s now, at least that’s what Tim’s addled brain is telling him.

Bruce is in the cave. He’s always in the cave. 

Tim spends a week bouncing around, staying anywhere but the manor. He crashes with Dick for a few nights, invites Kon and Bernard to one of his safe houses and wastes a few days with them, soaking in the attention and worry of the people he loves. He’s worried about it, if he’s honest with himself. 

Bernard is one of the most handsome and caring people Tim has ever had the pleasure of knowing. He thinks about him all the time, the way he always smiles despite his own pain, the way he’s always helping people despite his own trauma. And Kon, well Kon is his best friend and probably the love of his life, which is terrifying because how can Tim come to terms with loving his best friend when he’s also probably in love with his other, civilian, best friend? 

He doesn’t know. What he does know, more and more each day, is that he wants time to figure it out. Senior year of high school starts soon. He needs to start applying to colleges, needs to start figuring out his future, needs to start living his life instead of surviving until the next patrol. He hasn’t brought it up to Kon and B, but he thinks that they can tell, because they hug him extra tight before they leave his safehouse and Tim dismounts his bike to a text from their group chat admonishing him for speeding. He hopes Kon keeps his promise to not listen in on this.

“Look at you. Long night?” Tim asks, voice echoing through the cave. Bruce turns from the Batcomputer, watching as Tim starts to descend further into the room. He’s in the suit sans cape and cowl, his back straight but his smile still soft. This is probably the closest to Bruce Wayne he gets, part Bat part man. “I’m sorry I wasn’t on patrol too. We need to talk.”

Bruce Wayne is just as much of a detective as Batman is, so Tim isn’t surprised when Bruce doesn’t seem surprised. The man says nothing, but turns all the way around, placing his back to the computer and giving Tim his full attention. 

Tim keeps his eyes on the screens just behind Bruce, watching as an algorithm scrubs through footage. It’s a good distraction as he opens his mouth. “You know, sometimes on patrol, up on the rooftops, I would see some random pair walking together. Sometimes I could tell by the way they moved that they were more, that they were a couple. That they fit.” 

He takes a deep breath and moves his gaze, making tentative eye contact with Bruce. “Can you imagine? A love you can see from the rooftops? I think I may have, well I don’t, but…” he trails off, taking another deep breath. “I think I need a break from this. I think I’m done being Robin.”

The echo bounces around them, his final declaration ringing through the cavernous space. It’s terrifying to hear again and again and again, even more terrifying when Bruce steps forward gently. His eyes are soft, though shiny, and there’s a tentative smile on his face. “What else have we been fighting for if not that?” He reaches forward, grabbing Tim’s hand softly in his, squeezing ever so gently. “Tim Drake, you are the bravest soul I’ve ever known. You can always come back. But, if I’m honest, I hope you never have to.”

Tim knows he’s close to tears, knows that he’s shaking hard enough that Bruce can feel it in the hand he’s holding, but he could care less. He launches forward, tackling his dad in a hug, breathing deeply as the older man tucks him into his chest. 

When Tim finally feels brave enough to step back, Bruce doesn’t let him go far. He pulls another chair up to the one facing the computer and guides him into it, settling into his own. He leans forward, smile wide, ignoring the computer behind him. “Now, tell me, who is it?”

“Bruce, stop, that’s embarrassing,” Tim whines, uncaring of how young it makes him sound. Now that it’s over, now that the weight is off his chest, he finds he doesn’t mind being in the cave. Not with Bruce there, even though he’s still in the suit, even though it’s clear he’s putting off patrol to stay with Tim a little longer. 

“Let your old man live through your young love, Timothy,” Bruce swoons dramatically and Tim shakes his head at the man’s antics, some of his nerves creeping back. 

“I don’t know what it is yet. I just know that I want the chance to figure it out. And that with Robin, sometimes it feels like I might not get that chance.”

Bruce nods, sobering up a little. “I think that’s incredibly wise for someone so young. You always have been so wise. I’m glad you shared this with me. I’ll always appreciate the opportunity to be your partner, but I have to say that selfishly, I am excited to have the opportunity to be your father.”

Tim blinks back unexpected tears. Jack Drake wasn’t a bad father per se. He just wasn’t around. When he was home, he was present and accounted for, but Tim can still remember the feeling of his cold shoulder all too well. Bruce used to not be as present, always lingering but never quite close enough to touch. Now, the man in front of him seems almost unrecognizable, the past year pulling all of their relationships into focus. He almost lost his dad. Bruce almost lost another son. They can be a little sappy every once and a while. 

“I told Damian,” Tim adds, watching as his father’s face falls a little. “I think he’s interested in being Robin.”

Bruce, to his credit, doesn’t automatically disagree. He watches Tim carefully. “Would you be okay with that?”

Tim thinks about it. He thinks about Dick storming off, about Jason dying bloody, about shaking glass out of his cape with no feeling. Damian has a chance that no Robin has had before: to not do it alone. “I’ll worry about his safety, but I think he'll do an amazing job. He’s grown so much since coming here. Plus, I don’t think I’ll be gone forever.”

Bruce nods, considering it. “I’m not saying this for you to feel pressured to stay, but you are an amazing hero. I know that if you do come back, Gotham will prosper with someone like you helping her.” 

“Thank you, Bruce,” Tim croaks, throat aching. Bruce pulls him up into another hug and Tim burrows into it thankfully. 

Jason finds Tim, because Tim learned how to be Robin from a boy who hid as a method of survival and Jason is the only Bat who remembers where his old hideouts are. This one is in the eaves of an old church, a decrepit old thing. Jason used to love perching on the spires. It’s muscle memory to leap from one to the other until he lands next to Tim, letting gravity do the work until he reaches out at the last minute. 

They could’ve done this in Jason’s apartment. Tim breaks in at least once a week to spend the night, Jason returning the favor enough that he’s learned to expect it. They could’ve been comfortable, warm. Instead, there’s a cold wind blowing, a light summer rain beginning to hit the city. It’s going to be a bad storm later. They have a moment though.

Tim knows everyone is getting antsy. Damian is patrolling with them now, occasionally answering to Sparrow, usually only speaking when spoken to instead, like he knows the title is wrong but can’t respond to what he wants. He steps where Tim steps, looks where Tim looks. Jason isn’t stupid. Tim is sure that he knows.

Tim is also trying to teach Damian to rely on his instincts. That yes, detective work is patterns but it can be intuitiveness and emotions and luck. He’s trying to show him that he made mistakes when he first started, that he still makes mistakes, that there are unsolved cases and people he couldn’t save and things he never did. It would be easier without having to hide it. 

This is going to be one of his last patrols, Tim decides. It was a fairly simple night. A few break ins, a few attempted muggings. Everyone stayed in Arkham, Jason didn’t use his guns, and they spent the night running over rooftops and tracking each other by the sounds of their laughter. This view, Gotham spreading out before them, skyscrapers on the horizon, is one of his favorites and he wants it to be the brightest memory of his time as Robin. 

“I’m done,” he whispers into the summer breeze. It carries over to Jason, he sees when the older boy registers it, turning towards Tim in surprise. He takes the helmet off, revealing messy white bangs and eyebrows furrowing together, but Tim doesn’t look away from the view. “I’m done being Robin.”

It feels more final like this, cape fluttering in the wind, blinking rain out of his domino lenses. The rest of the family is wandering home, probably tuning in through CCTV the way Tim would have to once he hangs up the mask. A small part of him hates it, stomach turning at the thought of not having Robin to cling to. A larger part of him relishes it, the excitement, the freedom.

“If Bruce is trying to force you to quit -” Jason starts, but Tim shakes his head and he stops. 

“This isn’t Bruce, Jason. This is all me. I already told Bruce.”

Jason reaches out for Tim, pulling him towards him slightly. Tim keeps one hand on the spire he’s near, but lets himself be turned. He isn’t worried about Jason not having a secure hold. He learned to climb from him. He knows his footholds.

“But kid, you love Robin,” Jason pleads and Tim’s kind of shocked. He thought Jason would be mad at him, not beg him to keep the mantle. 

Tim brings up a hand, mirroring Jason’s hold on his shoulder by squeezing the older boy’s gently. “I do. But I don’t want to die for it. Robin was magic and hope and light and everything I needed, but I need something else now. I need a future. I need a life. And right now, I can’t have both.”

Jason’s shaking his head, almost frantic. “You can! I figured it out. You can too!”

He has a point. Jason has a boyfriend, practically has a kid, and doesn’t patrol when there are parent teacher conferences the next day. He has a degree and a tutoring gig and a public library card. He’s considering going back to university to study law and has been talking about taking over some of the charities at Wayne Enterprises. If anyone has figured out a work-vigilante balance, it’s Jason. 

But as much as Tim tried to force himself to be like Jason, this is one way they differ. Tim hides like Jason and fights like Jason and flips like Jason, but he doesn’t live like Jason. He’s not as fearless, not as bold, not as reckless. He takes things slower, builds up to things, scans them and watches them and builds a plan for if they don’t work. Jason can live and fight for Gotham, but right now, Tim can only do one or the other. 

“Jason, you’re still going to be my brother. Inside the mask or out of it. I look up to Jason Todd as much as I look up to Red Hood, as much as I looked up to your Robin. Why do you think I told you last?”

Jason’s frown deepens, hurt pulling at his lips. “I’m the last one to know?”

“I became Robin because of you. I became Robin to do what you did, to help people, to save Batman. Jason, I wouldn’t be who I am without you. How do you tell the person you tried to become that you aren’t as strong as they are?” Tim questions, shaking Jason gently.

“You’re stronger than I ever was, Tim,” Jason shouts, pulling Tim closer when he tries to disagree. He reaches up, gently peeling off Tim’s domino mask, meeting his teary eyes with his own. “No, listen to me! You are a better Robin than I ever was. You saved more people than I ever could. This city needs you, as Robin or Tim Drake,” Jason takes a shaky breath, like he’s dredging up his confidence. “I need you, baby bird. I don’t care who you are, I just need my little brother. If you need some time off, take it, okay? Just don’t shut me out again. Just talk to me. You do not have to be useful or strong or whatever just to be family.”

Tim lets go of the spire, slamming into Jason’s arms. Jason’s feet don’t move, his weight doesn’t slip. For the first time since Tim fell out of that window, he feels grounded. He feels safe. His brother isn’t mad at him. His brother is okay with him being done. He can stop fighting and taking hits and bleeding and still have a family. 

When they finally separate, Jason ruffles his hair. “Screw you for telling me last. Next time, tell me whatever big emotional thing you’re dealing with first, okay? Do you understand how much this has sucked? I thought I was going crazy.”

Tim is grateful for the wind and rain, grateful to let Gotham sweep away his tears one last time. “Sorry, Jay.”

Jason pulls Tim back into his side just as quickly as he pushed him away, settling them both between the church spires, forgiving him immediately. “So, what does the future look like for Timbo?”

Tim shrugs, cautious excitement filling his chest. “I filled out my application for Gotham U. But, I also was thinking about MIT.”

“Massachussets? It’s pretty in the fall. What do you want to study?”

It feels easy to talk about the future like this, out of the masks, with the one brother who understands his need to escape. He talks about MIT’s R&D labs, talks about medical technology, talks about his interest in medical anthropology and turning Drake Industries into a company that helps people, nonviolently. Jason asks questions, jokes about him becoming a privileged rich boy at privileged rich school, pokes fun about Bruce moving him into a dorm. It doesn’t feel intangible anymore. It doesn’t feel fake. It feels completely in reach, like the future is finally in Tim’s hands instead of some random rogue’s.

“And what about heroing? You ever comin back?” 

It’s casual, but pointed. Tim shrugs, for once not feeling anxious about it. “Probably. Think it’s time to retire the tights, though.”

Jason throws back his head and laughs. “Oh baby bird, you’re gonna do great things.”