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It had been a long and arduous night, and Tim wanted nothing more than to go home.
Several rouges had escaped Arkham tonight, and Tim had been left to deal with Ivy all by himself. He managed to apprehend her with minimal injuries, thank God, but in exchange it had taken him hours to complete the task.
Worse still, the women were away on Barbara's orders, so the remaining vigilantes were pulled thin. This resulted in Hood having to team up with Batman to capture the Riddler and Mad Hatter, whilst Robin and Nightwing were off fighting Killer Croc. This, naturally, pissed Hood off because he was forced into working with Batman against the “weak and boring fuckers” whilst the rest of the team “got to have all the fun”.
So now Tim was in the Bat Cave after being wheedled into coming by Dick, with a pissed off Jason taking his anger out on everyone around him in his usual fashion of spitting insults and cutting remarks. Tim, being his favourite target, got the worst of it.
“You’re telling me that the Replacement gets to go off on his own, fight his own rouge, whilst I’m held back being fucking babysat?” This same argument has been going round in circles for the better part of fifteen minutes. Tim was only here because Dick insisted he be checked out properly by Alfred, and he was too tired to protest. Now he was regretting it.
“You’re seriously letting that useless piece of shit get more action in the field than me?” Ouch. “Not only am I better trained, but I have more experience and have a better win rate than him. You’re really showing your favouritism here, B.” Now that was just patently untrue: sure, Jason has more experience, but after this long in the field, a two-year head start doesn’t make that much of a difference. Not to mention that Tim has pretty much the exact same training as him, considering how long he spent with the League when looking for Bruce. And what does a ‘win rate’ even mean? Against who? Under what parameters? He doesn’t see Jason outsmarting Ra’s al Ghul. Tim also didn’t die on the job so he thinks he’s doing alright, all things considered.
Bruce rubbed his temple in an attempt to stave off the inevitable headache. “Jaylad, please, it was just the most strategic option at the time—”
“I don’t give a fuck about your bullshit reasons. If you think the Replacement is so much better than me, then we can find out for sure.” Jason turns his furious green eyes on him and Tim snaps to attention. He’s not chancing being caught off guard with Jason looking at him like that.
“Come on, Replacement. If you think you’re so good then you’ll have no problem beating me in a fight,” he grins wickedly, already knowing that it’s a fight he’d win. Tim wasn’t rising to the bait, however; they may have had the same training , but Jason’s hyped up on magic steroids and isn’t afraid to break a few bones.
He meets the man’s gaze warily. “I’m not doing this with you, Jason. Your issue isn’t with me.”
That only fanned the flame and Jason’s scowl turned ugly. “No, if you think you’re so much better than me, better enough to fly on your own, then you can prove it right here.”
“Jason—” Bruce puts his hand on his son’s shoulder, trying to intervene, but he shakes it off, focus not straying from Tim.
“No!” He steps forward menacingly. “He thinks he’s so much better than all of us just because he’s so fucking smart! He needs a reality check because I'm fucking sick of it!”
“Tt. As if Drake could ever measure up to anyone in this room. Leave him to his delusions, Todd, you’ll only be wasting your breath.”
Great, now Damian’s joined in as well. It’s a shame Croc only sprained his wrist and not his jaw, because maybe then Tim would get some actual peace and quiet. Damian’s appearance also signals Dick’s presence, since he was constantly fluttering around the brat. Double great, now he had another useless spectator to watch as he’s being bullied by his own supposed family.
He can’t deal with this. He’s sore, and tired, and the absolute last thing he wants to deal with right now is Jason fighting him whilst Damian eggs him on. All the while, their big brother watches and does nothing since he’s deluded himself into thinking two assassins need to be handled with kiddy gloves.
He’s vaguely aware of his three brother’s voices arguing with each other, but the words are muffled through the cotton in his ears. He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself down but it does little to help. He needs to leave right now.
He turns on his heel and starts walking towards his bike. He couldn’t give two shits that he’ll miss Alfred’s check-up; he shouldn’t have come here to begin with. He knew how unwelcome he was by most of the members of the family, and yet he couldn’t deny that tiny spark of hope he felt when Dick asked him to come.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going? I’m not done with you yet!”
He ignored the voice. He just wanted to go home.
Unfortunately, his silence only pissed Jason off even more.
“Jason! No!”
Tim finally turns back around at Dick’s panicked voice, just in time to hear the distinct ‘click’ of a gun’s safety being flicked off.
He makes eye contact with the barrel of Jason’s gun from their thirty foot distance. His eyes then jump to make contact with the gun’s owner. He has never seen Jason so furious, not even at the Tower. The intensity of green blazing in his eyes indicates he will not be leaving this cave unharmed.
“Don’t turn your back on me, Replacement,” he hisses lowly, “You’re really starting to piss me off with that high and mighty attitude of yours. Now, you will get your ass over here so that I can knock you off that high horse you’ve put yourself on, and then we can be on our merry way. Yeah?”
Tim feels numb, a static-y feeling tingling through his limbs as he stares at Jason. He looks at the man, the man with whom he’s made absolutely zero progress with relationship-wise for years now, and he feels nothing but a slow, creeping hatred. It’s a feeling he that’s directed towards everyone in the cave, he realises, and yet he can’t seem to muster up anything towards the gun pointed at his head.
He blankly takes in Jason’s expression and body language, who’s practically vibrating with rage. “Or what? You’ll shoot me?”
He hears Dick gasp in the background but pays him no mind. The words leave his mouth before he can stop them, but he doesn’t regret them; he's just so fucking tired of doing this with Jason all the time. Every. Single. Time they see each other he is threatened with violence or death and he’s just about reached his breaking point with it. If Jason wants to shoot him, then let him. Not like anyone in the family would stop him anyway, but Tim was tired of constantly advocating for himself when it got him nothing but ridicule and admonishment.
Jason sneers at him. “Oh, I just might.” Still not taking him seriously.
Tim grins at him, baring his teeth. “Yeah? Go on then.” He lifts his hand to tap the centre of his forehead. “Right here. Don’t miss.”
Jason stills, eyes trained on his hand. “The fuck? You asking to be shot?” he snarls again but some of the previous fire is gone. Can’t have that now.
“Well, it’s not like asking you not to shoot me has stopped you before. Look, I’ll even make it easier for you since you’re always so eager to hurt me,” he says as he starts taking several steps towards him, staying in line with the gun. Jason’s brow is furrowed, but more in confusion now than anger. Tim doesn’t get what’s so difficult to understand.
“Tim, what are you doing—”
“Don’t chicken out now, Jason.” He interrupts Dick. “It’s like you always say: the family will be better off without me here to fuck everything up, so do everyone a favour and shoot me. I won’t even dodge.”
“Tim, stop. Jason, please—”
He feels like he’s in a daze as he keeps walking towards Jason. The older man has taken several stumbling steps backwards to increase the distance between, but Tim was unrelenting.
Jason looks genuinely concerned now, especially since the green has almost completely left his eyes. “Jesus, kid. What the fuck is wrong with you.”
Tim is only about five feet from the gun still pointed at his head when Jason starts to lower it, his attitude seemingly having faltered.
He strikes out, forgoing his previously sedate pace to snatch Jason’s wrist before it can lower any further. He drags the gun-holding hand to his head once more with a strength he didn’t know he possessed. He hears Bruce and Dick cry out in shock, Dick in particular sounding far closer than he did previously. He even thinks he hears Damian somewhere in the commotion, but the space falls silent when Tim presses the barrel of Jason’s gun firmly against his forehead, holding his brother’s wrist in a white-knuckled grip.
“Shoot me!” he spits, his own features now twisting with grief and anger. “Shoot me since you hate me so much! Kill me like you’ve always said you will! Kill me like you failed to in the Tower!”
He wasn’t even aware he was crying until the tears forced him to blink, breaking his staring match with Jason’s terrified gaze. He could feel his brother’s stiffness, the tension with which he was keeping his arm steady. Not a single twitch of his normally trigger-happy finger.
Tim glares at him. “Do it. Pull the trigger. I know you want to,” he whispers harshly, chocking slightly on the words. There was no need to yell at such close proximity, after all. His mother raised him better than that.
Jason holds his gaze. “Tim,” he says breathlessly, “the gun is empty. There are no bullets in the magazine.”
That makes him pause. He has no reason to believe Jason; Hood is never seen without a fully stocked armoury, but then again, they have just returned from a long night of fighting criminals. He searches deep within Jason’s blue eyes for any hint of deception, and finds none.
“I only pulled the gun on you to scare you,” he sounds desperate, “I was never planning on shooting you, Tim. I swear.”
He looks completely earnest, and Tim can feel himself begin shutting down. His grip on Jason’s wrist slackens as he takes a few small steps back. The second him and Jason are separated Jason clicks on the safety and tosses the gun behind him. A bit dramatic if you ask him but he can’t pull himself together enough to care. He’s practically tackled in a hug as Dick launches himself at him now that he was no longer in the firing zone.
His eldest brother is trembling as he wraps his arms around Tim so tightly it hurts. He was sobbing, mumbling fears and reassurances into his hair as he all but drags Tim to the floor of the Bat Cave. He could see Jason and Bruce sporting identical horrified expressions from where they stood farther back in the cave. Jason must have backed up quite a bit, but Tim never saw him move. Damian was standing shell shocked off to the side, looking more uncertain that he thinks he’s ever seen him. He thinks he might even see concern peeking through.
Alfred approaches their huddle with his usual gentle poise. He looks down to Tim tenderly. “Master Tim, I think it is about time we get you checked out.”
He nods mutely and goes to stand up, but Dick scoops him up before he can so much as wiggle. Despite the man being a weepy mess, he still manages the single-minded task of getting Tim to the medbay with strong strides. He doesn’t think he’s going to be left alone for a very long while after this.
Sitting at the bedside of his apparently suicidal little brother left him with some time for reflection.
There was a lot to think about, such as Jason’s shitty attitude which led Tim to lose any faith that he wanted the kid alive, the family’s complete and utter ignorance to Tim’s declining mental health, and, of course, Ivy.
When Alfie performed his check-up, he found traces of Ivy’s pollen in Tim’s hair, meaning the kid had to have inhaled some. It was some new fucked up concoction that increases the intensity of emotions, and latches onto, and amplifies, the most potent one. It oddly reminds him of the Pit, how it multiplies all your worst parts so it can feed off your anger and shame. He swiftly halts that train of thought.
He’s sitting on Tim’s left, now, with Dick taking the other side of the bed. The kid had passed out pretty much immediately after Alfie administered the antidote. Neither of them have left his side since his stand-off with Jason’s gun. He knows that Bruce went out to hunt for Ivy again, despite the fact that Tim apprehended her; he’s going to work off the stress and fear in the only way he knows how to, even if it means ambushing her in Arkham. Alfie took Damian upstairs to prepare some food, he thinks. Anything to give the demon brat something to do. The poor kid was terrified; he needed a distraction.
Which just leaves him and Dick to sit vigil at Tim’s bedside; two of the world’s worst big brothers.
Looking at Tim’s lax face now, he can’t help but see his blank expression after Jason told him he wouldn’t, couldn’t, kill him. He keeps thinking of how hateful his brother appeared, glaring at him and airing out his sins. He didn’t know Tim was capable of such hate. He supposes that he wasn’t, that it was the pollen making Tim lash out, but the emotion had to come from somewhere.
He shouldn’t be so surprised, anyway. Jason has been nothing but cruel to Tim since the day they met, for no deeper reason than the kid annoyed him and he could get away with it. He doesn’t even believe half the shit he says to him, hasn’t for years now, but it’s just so easy to let the Pit mindset take over and let off some steam when he got mad. And it was fine because Tim could handle it. The kid was resilient, and he always walked off Jason’s treatment.
Well, he used to anyway.
Because it turns out it wasn’t fine; never has been. Because behind that stony exterior, Jason’s words were slowly chiselling away at the kid’s will to live.
At least he wasn’t the only one who fucked up, he thinks as he spares a glanc at Dick’s curled-up form. The thought doesn’t even bring any reassurance, since he is a grown ass man and is, in fact, responsible for his own actions. The only consolation he could glean is that there was no illusion that Jason was a good brother that should be relied upon. Dick on the other hand…
He’s being an ass again. He knows how much this has shaken Dick, can see clear as day how much Tim’s almost-death is affecting him. He has no idea what happened between Tim and the rest of the family for him to believe whole-heartedly that he wouldn’t be missed, that they’d be happy he was gone; he has never cared enough about the kid to pay much attention to his relationships (That’s a lie. He just didn’t think he had the right after everything he’s done), but he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Dick fucking loves this kid.
He spies movement from the corner of his eye and gets ready to bolt, before he realises it’s just Dick adjusting his position for the first time in an hour. He looks predictably shit, now that he can get a good look at his face, but he doesn’t judge; if he could still feel the normal spectrum of human emotion, he’d probably also look a mess.
His brother intertwined his fingers, elbows propped up on Tim’s bed, and leaned his head against his hands. He took a shaky breath, but at least he wasn’t crying anymore.
“If you knew the gun was empty, why did you not just move it?” His voice is rough from tears and blame. “You were stronger than him, so why not break his grip? Did you just want to scare us a bit more?”
Despite the fact that Dick is one hundred percent justified in his questioning based off Jason’s past actions and recent words, the accusation still smarts. He knows full well that Dick’s temper is flaring because he very well could have lost Tim tonight and it would have been entirely Jason’s fault, and he feels bad enough about it that he can’t even scrouge up enough anger to stir the Pit.
Still, the question opens up a gaping void in his stomach.
Jason has to look away, unable to face Dick as the burden of knowledge weighs down on him. “It’s because I lied.”
“What?”
He stares off in the direction where he threw his gun. He already knows he’s gonna have trouble shooting for the foreseeable future; Tim’s blank stare superimposed on any pathetic criminal that crosses his path.
“The magazine was empty, that much was true. But I lied about the gun being empty.” He swallows.
“There was still a bullet in the chamber.”
The Red Hood always keeps at least one bullet in all his guns in case of emergency, because the Red Hood is always prepared. Jason has never hated himself more for it than now.
“Fuck.”
He couldn’t agree more.
Damian has returned to the medbay with a platter of sandwiches and snacks, but Dick pays him no mind. His head is in a whirlwind; he doesn’t think he’s experienced a single straight thought that didn’t stray to imagining Tim’s corpse since Jason first pulled that gun.
God, Jason.
He has forgiven his brother for many things over the years, things that he’s now realising now he maybe shouldn’t have forgiven so quickly, but this really takes the cake. He has never felt so enraged at him, and he’s done a lot of fucked up shit. The only moments that came close were when he attacked Tim in the Tower, and during the battle for the cowl when he… also attacked Tim.
Yeah. He’s starting to see the pattern.
It’s feels like every time he begins to calm down slightly, some new memory of Jason’s actions towards Tim pops up and adds fuel to the fire, and whilst he’s plenty mad at Jason, he’s doubly mad at himself. How could he miss this? Why did he miss this? Because it’s not like he wasn’t there for Jason’s moments of cruelty, he remembers many times where he stood to the side whilst his brothers argued, remembers the times Tim would send him pleading looks which he ignored. Remembers how Tim stopped looking to him for help at all.
He knows he treats Tim differently from Jason and Damian. Tim was reliable; he was the rock of the family, the one who was always there when you needed him, the one who would offer help before you even knew you needed it. He had already lost Jason once, Damian had been very close to leaving before he acquired Robin, but Tim? He didn’t need to worry about Tim disappearing, so he focused on the other two. Except, in focusing all his energy worrying about those two, he ceased to worry about Tim entirely.
And look where that got them. Tim, unconscious, after goading a violent individual into shooting his brains out.
It was bad enough when he was angry with Jason for pulling a gun on his little brother just to scare him. It was a million times worse to learn that Tim had genuinely been centimetres and the twitch of a finger away from certain death. He had to take a walk after that, and finding the gun where Jason threw it, finding the bullet, it took everything in him not to break down into screaming, heaving sobs right then and there.
He was all out of tears, now all he felt was exhausted. Damian had pulled a chair up beside him, and Jason was still sat exactly where he was hours ago. The only reason he isn’t spitting, screaming at them to get away from his baby brother is because Damian, for once, actually looks his age, and Jason just looks like shit. They all look like shit, but Jason especially so, and he hasn’t seen even a flicker of green in his eyes no matter what Dick spat at him.
So they can stay, for now.
Even though he regrets that choice when Tim finally stirs awake.
He watches as he blinks several times as he adjusts to the lights, then as he brings a hand up to scrub the gunk from his eyes. Briefly, very briefly, the image of Tim raising his hand to his forehead flashes before his eyes, but it’s enough for his breath to catch in his throat.
His close monitoring also means he can see the exact moment Tim realises where he is, and why he is there.
His body immediately locks up as his hands immediately shoot to prop himself up. He drags his gaze across every occupant in the room, becoming more tense after seeing both Damian and Jason, but keeping his face totally blank. Dick hates that expression with a burning passion, and glancing at Jason, he seems to agree.
The silence of the room is deafening as all three of them stare at Tim, who is vaguely looking towards the exit. Despite the hours he’s sat by Tim’s bedside, he is the furthest thing from prepared to talk to Tim. Which is stupid, he’s comforted people who were suicidal many times as Nightwing, but it’s like he forgets all his training the second it’s Tim that needs help. Worst of all, he knows that Damian and Jason are expecting him to make the first move, and rightfully so because Dick’s the only one here that hasn’t brutally attempted to murder Tim, but he just… he feels frozen to the spot.
He hates to admit it, but he no longer knows how to speak to Tim. He invites Tim over occasionally, but he always hopes that… that Tim could carry the conversation, because he’s just at a loss for what to do. It was so simple, back before Tim took on Red Robin, and everything happened around that time. He wants to go back to that, but he knows he’s been failing miserably at reconciliation.
Just like he’s failing to comfort Tim in the moment he needs to most. He can even feel Damian side-eyeing him, which is saying a lot.
Tim huffs and throws his covers aside. “Well, this has been great. Thanks for looking after me, but I’m gonna leave since I don’t seem that be injured.” He starts to scoot to the foot of the bed to make a run for it, which finally kicks Dick into action.
“Whoa whoa whoa! Hey, you’re not going anywhere!” he grabs Tim’s shoulder to halt his escape, which causes Tim to finally properly look at him, though annoyed. He swallows back to automatic irritation he feels at Tim’s pushback, knowing he has absolutely no right to be mad at him right now. “You’re not leaving until we, at the very least, talk about what happened.”
Tim raises an eyebrow. “What happened? Nothing happened. I just got a little emotional and did something stupid whilst overwhelmed. Now, I want to leave before I get in trouble for provoking Jason.” He tries to wiggle out of Dick’s hold, but he only tightens it in response.
“Tim, Jesus, you’re not gonna get into trouble for what Jason did to you,” he says desperately.
“No?” His voice takes on an angry tone. “Because that’s usually how these things pan out. Jason or Damian will say something, or do something, then I’ll be the one receiving a lecture. And now, as it turns out, it’s perfectly fine for Jason to pull a gun on me, and for Jason to call me a waste of space, but when I put a gun to my head it’s suddenly worth talking about?” His brother is shaking with rage, clearly having had that bottled up for some time. Dick wants nothing more than to pull him into a hug again, but he knows it would not be received well.
He swallows thickly. “You’re suicidal, Tim. It’s something that needs to be discussed,” he says as gently as he could manage.
Tim scoffs. “I’m not suicidal, that was just Ivy’s pollen making me act out.” He might have believed him had he not seen the certainty in Tim’s eyes when he pulled Jason’s gun to his head.
“The pollen only amplifies emotions, not creates them,” Jason speaks up quietly, like he’s unsure if his voice will be welcomed.
Dick looks at Tim’s reaction, and it’s as if he can see each individual brick be placed as Tim builds up the walls around him. He can’t lose Tim now. He can’t lose Tim ever, but now is such a critical moment to keep Tim present, for Tim to listen.
“We’re all really worried about you, Tim. It might be a good idea to see a professional about this, because you can’t continue on like this.”
Aaand the walls fall down.
“’See a professional’?” he snarls, and Dick briefly makes contact with Jason’s wide eyes over Tim’s shoulder. “Where have I heard that before, hm? What, did my issues get too much for you again? Gonna send me to that psych ward in Metropolis like you always wanted to?”
Dick flinches. “No!” he cries out, “That’s not it! I just think—”
“Oh, shut up! You think I don’t know what this is? ‘I love you, Tim. This is in your best interest’.” He mocks, “You couldn’t give less of a shit about me. Sure, maybe you loved me at some point, but the second you got your real brother back, you stopped trying.” He can see frustrated tears gathering in Tim’s eyes. “You dedicate months of your own time and effort into helping Damian and Jason. Months of hanging out, and talking, and checking in, and making plans, but the second I step out of line, need a bit more attention, you want to send me away to another city to become someone else’s problem.” His voice cracks and the tears finally fall.
Dick’s heart leaps to his throat. Is this how Tim had felt? Since Jason returned? All those years of feeling neglected by them… after Dick had promised himself that he’d do better by Tim after failing Jason so spectacularly.
“No matter what those two do, I’m always the one that suffers.” He chuckles wetly. “Even my own family can’t stand being around me. And you wonder why I’m suicidal.”
He can’t hold himself back anymore, he climbs onto the bed and pulls Tim towards him until he is sat bracketed by Dick’s legs. He folds his arms around his little brother so he can’t leave, and buries his face in his hair and just breathes. He needs reassurance that Tim is here, and alive, and real.
“Dick? What are you doing?”
“I’m keeping you here until you stop talking about yourself like that,” his voice is murky from sheer emotion, but he doesn’t bother clearing it. Tim needs to hear how much he means to him, and how much his death would affect him.
Tim sniffles. “Yeah? Well, you’ll be here a while.”
Dick pinches his eyes tighter and squeezes Tim, pressing his face harder into his hair. “That’s fine. I can wait.”
Tim exhales, giving in to Dick’s ministrations as he relaxes slightly into his brother’s hold. He glances warily at the two other occupants in the room, waiting for them to make a comment, but none come. Instead, they share a look, before Damian gets up to fetch what looks to be a tray of food. He brings it over and sets it at the foot of his bed so that it’s within everyone’s reach.
“You should eat something, Drake. You did not eat after patrol, and you have been unconscious for hours since then. You must replenish your energy,” he says, holding out a sandwich for him to take, but Tim just looks at it with suspicion.
“Did you poison it or something? Since when do you offer me food?”
Damian visibly falters, frown appearing on his face. “Don’t joke about that, Drake, I only want my allies to be at full working capacity.”
He thinks that might have been a compliment, but he’s more annoyed by the first half of that sentence. “Why shouldn’t I? If memory serves me right, you were the one always harking on about how I’d be better off dead in a ditch than on your team.” Dick gives him another squeeze, so he tries to mellow out his tone a bit. “Don’t pretend to care now; you hate me, both of you do.”
Silence befalls the room once again. Damian returns the sandwich to the tray and now stands awkwardly to the side. The tense quiet was only broken by Jason heaving a sigh and turning his body to face Tim. He appears to be gearing up to say something.
Jason looks up to meet his eyes. “I’ve been an asshole to you, and I’m sorry,” he begins, and Tim gawks at him. “I’m sorry for attacking you at the tower, I’m sorry for all the times I’ve hurt you, and I’m sorry for all the nasty shit I’ve said to you. You never deserved any of it, and I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.”
“I apologise as well, Drake. My actions towards you have been unforgivable. I have not wanted you dead for a long time now, but I never corrected my behaviour to reflect that.”
He can feel Dick lift his head from his hair to look at their brothers. Tim’s eyes flicker between the two as his mouth twists into a scowl, expression souring.
“That’s not good enough. I’m sick of being hurt just because you two had a bad day and no one doing anything to stop it. This has been going on for years, and there has been practically no improvement in how you treat me. I don’t give a fuck if you were raised in a cult, or dragged out the Pit, or fucking died and brought back to life. It has been years, years! And not once did any of you look back at your actions and think you were in the wrong?” he says incredulously, “I didn’t want us to be brothers. I didn’t want us to be friends, or to even get along. I just wanted us to be able to coexist in the same space without shedding blood, and you couldn’t even do that!”
He sighs, feeling completely drained. He leans back into Dick’s chest, and the older man predictably tightens his arms around him. “I just want you to leave me alone. That’s all I ask.”
Jason and Damian look at him with a grief he doesn’t understand. They exchange another look, and this time Jason takes charge. “Listen, if your really want us to leave you be, then we’ll do that, but please just give us a chance to be better.” Damian nods along in agreement.
Tim is unimpressed. “I’ve given you many chances over the years and you’ve spat in my face every time.”
Jason at least has the decency to look sheepish. “I know, but we weren’t trying then. We want to try now,” he admits. “Will you let us try?”
And Tim, because he is weak and pathetic, and because deep down he still wants a family where his big and little brothers love him, reluctantly accedes.
“I will only give you one more chance,” he says hesitantly, “I’m not allowing myself to be hurt all over again.” He might as well have told them the Joker died with how elated they look.
“We won’t let you down, Timmy. Promise.” Jason grins, and Tim returns his own reluctant, yet hopeful, smile.