Archive of Our Own

Tim doesn’t look Bruce in the eyes anymore.

He used to stay over for dinner most nights after their daily training sessions to talk Alfred’s ear off about anything that caught his attention that day, from his solo Robin adventures to a crash course on Minecraft YouTubers with ridiculous names. Sometimes he’d spend the night, preferring the manor over the empty mansion he shared with his absent parents.

Now, ever since the revelations that came to light earlier in the week, Tim has avoided Bruce at all costs. Alfred says he visits the cave only when he knows Bruce is out during the day, and he leaves before Bruce returns. On patrol, Robin keeps his distance from Batman and speaks only when necessary. He doesn’t spend the night anymore. He doesn’t stay for dinner. He can’t even look at Bruce.

The worst part about it all is that Bruce can’t even blame Tim for keeping a safe distance. After the things Bruce said while under the influence of that damn truth serum, he wouldn’t blame Tim if he had thrown his uniform at Bruce’s face and quit right there on the spot. What Bruce did was unforgivable on every level.

I do need you. That doesn’t mean I want you.

You’re nothing like Jason. You’re nothing like Dick. You’re just you.

Stop waiting for me to care about you like my son because I never will.

Bruce tells himself that he didn’t mean any of it, but he knows better than to expect better from himself. Alfred ran the test three times. Bruce has received the antidote by now, but what does that matter? He’s already wrecked everything. He spit every horrible ugly truth he had at poor, helpful, kind Tim. All Tim has ever done was help him, and Bruce repaid him by telling him he was worthless in every sense of the word.

He has no right to be surprised that Tim believed it. After all, has Bruce ever given Tim a reason not to trust his word? He practically conditioned the boy into following Bruce to the end of the earth. What reason did he have not to believe Bruce when he implied that Tim didn’t matter?

Bruce can never make this right, not in a million years, but he will try his damn hardest to make it better in whatever way he can.

Bristol Middle School is bustling tonight with the annual science fair in full swing in the gymnasium. Tables span in endless rows, each segment displaying another child’s project for the judges.

It’s been a few decades since Bruce was in school, but he remembers well how the science fairs usually go when it comes to rich kids. Half of the students scrapped together some half-assed attempt at a project the night before they were due, while the others either had a relative put together their projects for them or paid someone else to do the job. It’s all pantomime.

Children stand proud beside their respective projects, explaining the chemical processes of their baking soda volcanoes and the way their Vegetable Chopper 3000s are fueled by toothpaste foam to passing faculty. Most of them are accompanied by smiling mothers and fathers who boast the intelligence of their progeny, taking full responsibility for their success.

One kid stands alone.

There is nothing flashy about Tim’s project. It’s a simple poster board covered edge to edge in printed-out paragraphs and photos. The Solution to Water Pollution in Gotham City’s Water Systems, the title reads in neatly markered block letters, the last word squished together and trailing downward as Tim ran out of room. The boy stands quietly beside his project with his head down, small fingers fiddling with his tie.

No one stops at his station or compliments his relevant choice of subject matter. Jack and Janet Drake are nowhere to be seen, not that Bruce was expecting them to show. They’ve never seen their son the way Bruce does. Not in any way that matters.

When Tim catches sight of Bruce walking towards him, he freezes in place and goes wide-eyed. “Oh.” Not hi. No flicker of happiness or relief at Bruce’s unexpected presence. “You’re here.”

“You invited me. Of course I’m here.” Bruce steps closer to Tim’s project, reading the step-by-step cleanup plan he’s created. “This is impressive,” he says. “You did this all by yourself?”

“Uh, mostly, yeah,” Tim stammers. He doesn’t look at Bruce, having gone back to tightening and loosening his tie. “I mean, there’s—I asked a few people. I got sources, see, they’re listed at the bottom. But—yeah, just me.” He looks almost ashamed about that, as if Tim has any reason to be ashamed of anything about himself. As if he isn’t the best and brightest student here by a landslide.

“You did a great job,” Bruce says. “The glitter pen is a creative choice.” He examines a colorful flower doodled on the edge of the poster board, half-hidden behind a newspaper clipping.

Tim coughs. “I, um, got a little distracted.” He looks around at the other projects surrounding them, each flocked to by fascinated judges and parents. “It’s not as good as everyone else’s.”

“I’d beg to differ,” Bruce tells him. “It’s well-researched, thorough, and practical. You did the work. Just because it doesn’t seem spectacular at first doesn’t mean it isn’t.”

Tim’s blush reaches the tips of his ears. “Thanks,” he says, but it’s clear that he doesn’t believe Bruce’s words one bit. Why should he? What reason does he have not to question every compliment Bruce throws his way for the rest of his life?

Bruce was so encouraging, so patient with Dick and Jason. He was hard on them when he had to be, but not out of callousness. He embraced them as his sons with open arms; they never once doubted how important they were. How could Bruce have failed Tim so terribly? Why didn’t he notice when the truth serum took hold in the first place?

Before he left the manor tonight, Alfred gave Bruce advice on how to make it up to Tim, emphasizing to be careful with him. “That boy hangs on your every word,” he said. “He’d shoot himself if you told him to, without a moment’s hesitation. That is how much he trusts you. Do not screw this up.”

That’s the difference between Tim and the Robins who came before him. While Jason and Dick had their moments of teenage rebellion, Tim is loyal, through and through. He argues with Bruce on occasion, sure, but his loyalty to Batman and everything the symbol stands for is devout. Bruce used to view this as a strength. How foolish he’s been.

Bruce forces a smirk and points to a graph on the board. “I like the part about corporations contributing to over seventy percent of water contamination.”

He might as well have insulted Tim for the way he blanches and stammers, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, I just—”

“No, you’re right,” Bruce stops him. “The data is all there. Actually, I think if I gave these numbers to the environmental division at the company, they might even think about implementing some of your ideas in the new Clean Gotham project.” He pats Tim on the shoulder and tries not to take it personally when the boy stiffens up. “You’re very bright, Tim. I’m proud of you.”

“Oh. Thanks, Bruce.” Tim looks at the floor when he says it.

How could Bruce have let it get this bad? Is it even possible to fix it at this point? And, worse: How much of Tim’s insecurity began before the truth serum even took hold?

Bruce drops his hand from Tim’s shoulder and attempts to sound upbeat despite hating every inch of himself at this moment. “Now, I was promised there would be coffee and cookies here. What do you say we get some, and you can tell me more about your research.”

After the science fair has ended and the projects have been packed away, Bruce takes Tim out for ice cream. Tim took the city bus to the school, which is offensive in every possible way, so Bruce doesn’t take no for an answer and carefully lays Tim’s poster board in the backseat of his car where it won’t crease.

“I’m really proud of you, Tim,” Bruce says on the drive to Carvel. Tim has been silent the whole car ride. Before Bruce ruined everything, the kid used to chatter non-stop in the Batmobile after patrol. Now, he hardly speaks to Bruce unless asked a direct question.

Tim looks at his plastic bronze medal skeptically. “Third place barely counts as anything. It’s just the prize they give out so the runner-ups don’t feel as bad about not winning anything.” First place went to some fancy robot built on top of a Roomba. “That kid didn’t even do the project himself. He had his brother make it for him. He told everyone about it at lunch.”

“It doesn’t matter who wins or loses,” Bruce says as he pulls into the parking lot. “What matters is that you tried your hardest, and you still snagged third place even when everyone else cheated their way to the top. I’d call that impressive.”

“I guess.”

They head into the ice cream shop where Bruce orders them two banana barges—chocolate soft serve for Bruce and strawberry for Tim. When their sundaes arrive, Bruce notices an immediate tension in Tim’s shoulders. Instead of digging in like he usually would, he just holds it, shuffling uncertainly in place.

“What is it?” Bruce asks. He could have sworn that Tim loved Alfred’s banana split sundaes. It’s supposed to be his favorite dessert.

Tim starts to shake his head, then lowers it as if bracing for impact and says quietly, “I’m allergic to walnuts.”

Fuck. God. Bruce knew that. Didn’t he know that? He coughs. “Right. I’m sorry, Tim, I—”

“It’s fine, I can just take them off—”

“No, you will not.” Bruce can’t bear hurting Tim in any other way, even if it’s something as small and stupid as an ice cream order. He’s determined to make this right. “We’re getting you a new ice cream.”

They go back up to the counter and Bruce orders another banana barge, explaining the situation. The girl doesn’t charge him for the second sundae, but he leaves a few hundreds in the tip jar for her trouble.

When Tim finally has the correct order with no life-ending allergens sprinkled on top, they go back outside of the small shop and sit on one of the benches set along the building. “Thanks, Bruce. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“When I did my first science fair as a boy, my father took me out for ice cream afterward,” Bruce says by way of explanation. “Although I didn’t do nearly as well as you did tonight.” He smiles a little. “I didn’t get smart until high school. My volcano didn’t even erupt because I used apple cider vinegar by mistake.” But Thomas was proud of Bruce anyway for trying.

“I’m sorry if I pressured you into coming,” Tim says, eyes on his sundae instead of on Bruce. “You didn’t have to. I appreciate that you’re trying, but I know how busy you are. I wouldn’t have been offended or anything. You have better things to do than look at a bunch of kids’ science projects for two hours.”

“No, I don’t,” Bruce insists. Gotham can handle one night without Batman, and Oracle will contact one of their other allies if there’s an emergency. “This was where I wanted to be tonight.”

Tim snorts. “Right.”

Of course Tim doesn’t believe any compliment Bruce gives him. He’s crushed this boy’s spirit so deeply he has no reason to trust any of it. Bruce told him to his face that he wasn’t good enough, and he can’t even pretend that he didn’t mean it at the time.

Tim is indeed young and inexperienced, but only because he’s supposed to be. He’s still learning. He just turned fourteen—he’s still a kid. He isn’t weighed down by the world yet like every other experienced hero is. He’s still light. Even Dick lost some of his spark after a few years in the business. Jason would have too if he’d had more time.

If Bruce had it his way, he never would have let Tim take up the Robin mantle in the first place. He knows this job will only ruin him in the long run, but Bruce selfishly let him stay because he likes having Tim around. He’s a good boy, a good Robin, and he makes Bruce proud every day. He tries so damn hard to measure up to the expectations of everyone around him. Just because he has a long way to go doesn’t mean he won’t be an incredible hero and person someday.

And Bruce told him it wasn’t enough. That Tim wasn’t enough. After everything this boy has selflessly sacrificed for Bruce’s mission, trading his life and his soul away for the privilege of being part of something bigger than all of them, Bruce decimated his confidence like it was worth nothing.

Tim hides it well, but Bruce knows he cries in the locker room after patrol most nights, hating himself for every slip-up and failed rescue. The security cameras in the cave confirm that Tim has been sneaking down in the middle of the night to get in extra practice in the training room. It’s a mystery if he even sleeps anymore. He’s working himself to the bone trying to be everything Batman needs, trying so hard to measure up to the intimidating legacies of the Robins before him.

Anyone else would have quit by now. Hell—anyone else would have written Bruce off as a lost cause and left him to self-destruct after Jason died, but Tim believed in the symbol of Batman and Robin deeply enough he took matters into his own hands and made a difference. He’s so strong, so good.

I do need you. That doesn’t mean I want you.

His stomach turning at the terrible memory, Bruce puts down his spoon and turns to face Tim directly. “Tim…I have many things I need to apologize for.”

“Don’t, Bruce,” Tim says before he can get out another word. “It’s okay, really. You don’t have to.”

“No, I do. The things I said to you…they were inexcusable. I would take them back if I could.”

“You couldn’t help it. It was the drug.”

“But they were my beliefs all the same,” Bruce says, “and that is my fault. It isn’t fair that I keep comparing you to Dick and Jason. You shouldn’t have to feel inferior to anyone. You’re you, and that’s enough. It’s the best thing about you. I’m sorry for making you doubt that.”

They are the words any kid would be relieved to hear, and yet Tim’s demeanor doesn’t change one bit. If anything, he looks sick to his stomach hearing Bruce say them out loud.

“You don’t have to do this,” Tim says, quieter this time. “I know I’ll never measure up to Dick and Jason, and I’m…I’ve made my peace with that. I’m okay with it, really. Robin was never supposed to be permanent for me anyway, right? You won’t need me forever. I’m just a placeholder until you find someone better.”

“You’re not a placeholder,” Bruce insists, affronted by the thought. “You’re my partner. You. I haven’t told you enough how important you are, and that’s entirely my fault. Batman would be nothing without your Robin. I would be nothing.”

If Tim hadn’t stepped in when Bruce needed him most, Bruce would have inevitably strayed too far from his senses and killed someone—or himself. More probably the latter, if he’s being completely honest. The months between Jason’s death and Tim showing up are a complete blur in his memory banks. Bruce went days at a time without eating or showering. He took his grief out on any criminal who looked at him wrong. He debated every single day about taking Alfred’s shotgun and putting a bullet in his mouth.

Tim saved Bruce’s life just by becoming a part of it. Even if he lives one hundred years, Bruce will never be able to repay that debt.

“Stop lying to me,” Tim snaps, uncharacteristically harsh except that Bruce can see a glassiness in his eyes that means it’s taking all of his control not to cry. “I’m not stupid. I know how truth serum works. If you didn’t believe all those things, you wouldn’t have said them, right?”

Bruce can’t bring himself to answer. Tim doesn’t wait.

“It’s true, anyway—I’m not your son. I’m not strong enough, and I’m not ever going to be like Dick, or Jason, or—or—” Tim’s breath hitches, and he puts down his ice cream with shaking hands. He swallows hard. “You said it yourself. You don’t even want me around. It’s fine, I’m used to it. I don’t care if I’m the worst Robin you’ll ever have. It’s not going to stop me or drive me away. As long as you need Robin, I’m going to be here, no matter if you want me or not.”

Hearing Tim talk about himself this way just about slices Bruce’s heart in half. Knowing that he himself is the reason Tim believes every word of it pulverizes the dead organ into pulp.

“You’re right,” Bruce concedes finally. “I don’t want you here. I don’t want this life for you. I wish you were going to movies with friends and playing sports like a normal teenager instead of spending your nights putting yourself in danger. If it were up to me, you never would have put on the suit in the first place.” He lowers his head to meet Tim’s eyes. “But it isn’t because I don’t enjoy your company or I don’t think you have what it takes. I’ve stolen your childhood from you, and you should resent me for that. You should resent that I’ve convinced you you’re not good enough to deserve better.”

“I don’t care about the danger,” Tim says all too calmly. “I knew going in that what we do could very likely kill me. I’m okay with that.”

“Well, I’m not.” God, how did Bruce do this? If the truth serum incident had never happened, would Bruce have ever noticed Tim felt this way? “Losing Jason was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. I don’t think there’s a pain in the world worse than losing a child. I let him into this violent world, and my failure cost him his life. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.”

He honestly doesn’t think he’d survive the pain a second time. He meant what he said: Tim isn’t his son. But he’s not nothing to Bruce either.

“I’m Robin,” Tim says. “Danger is part of the job. I’m here for whatever you need, Bruce.” And isn’t that the awful center of it all? Bruce told Tim every cruel, unforgivable thing he thought about him, and Tim is still here. He’d still follow Bruce to the ends of the earth.

“I’m hard on you because it’s the only way I know how to keep you safe. That’s my job as your mentor, yes, but it’s also my job to encourage and to teach you—not to bombard you with criticism. I’m sorry you had to be there for it. And I’m sorry…”

I’m sorry it was the truth.

The truth, but all the wrong ones. He didn’t tell Tim the other truths, like that he’s one of the most courageous young men Bruce has ever met, and that he makes Bruce proud every single day. He didn’t tell him that Tim saved Batman in more ways than one. Bruce owes Tim everything. He wouldn’t still be here if it weren’t for Tim walking into his life.

If Bruce were a better man, he would be able to say it all out loud and not feel worse for it, but Tim seems to understand the clumsy silence. “It’s okay, Bruce. I know.”

“I’m going to do better by you,” Bruce promises.

Tim may not be his son, but he’s family nonetheless. He is Bruce’s partner. He’s Robin. Bruce won’t stop until he makes it up to him, however long it takes.