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Tim awoke in unfamiliar clothes, in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room.
Within seconds he put the clues together.
The teak wood cresting along dark walls, the smell of hot chocolate floating through the door, the soft patter of rain on reinforced glass beside him.
He was at Wayne Manor.
He must have been injured on patrol, Bruce must have taken him back here to recover.
But it wasn't his usual guest room. He was on the second story, the same hall as Bruce’s own room. The canopy over the bed, the dressers, he was in Dick’s room. Maybe Nightwing had joined them on patrol and helped him home?
Tim looked down to his body, civilian clothes wrinkled over him, rattled with cuts and bruises, he raised his hand gently to the side of his head where a tight bandage wrapped around his hairline. A concussion most likely.
“You’re awake!”
Dick appeared in the doorway before him, light silhouetting his significantly larger figure that the mentor Tim had remembered.
“Yeah!… did you get taller?”
Dick chuckled, closing the distance between him and the bed, resting beside Tim’s legs, patting him reassuringly.
“Not in the last 8 hours, I don’t think. You took a pretty nasty blow to the head, you might be a little confused still.”
No matter how much older Dick’s features made him seem, his smile remained the same. White, shiny, a little lopsided, as long as it was there, Tim was safe.
“Yeah, I can’t really put my finger on what happened. Last thing I remember was going on patrol with Bruce towards the docks, can’t remember what we were looking for. Bane maybe?”
Dick maneuvered himself to the bedside closest to Tim, folding his arms over the sheets and resting his head over them like a dog.
“Yeah, not sure kiddo. End result was a raid in one of Falcone’s rings, they ganged up and some thug got a hit on you from behind. You went down hard.”
Dick grimaced, quickly shifting to a smile when he felt Tim’s glance on him.
“But Alfred said you’d make a full recovery. Don’t you worry your pretty little broken head about it.”
He lightly ruffled Tim’s hair, careful of the wound on the backside.
“Come on, Bruce and Alf will want to see you now that you’re awake.”
Tim groggily raised to his feet, shocked at how disoriented he felt. He followed Dick down the hall, passing Bruce and Alfred’s rooms, along with a few others that looked like they were in use.
That’s when Tim was really disoriented.
In the room third to the left from his own, a ghost lay in deep slumber.
An image of his predecessor struck him, peaceful, aged with scars and brawn. It was unreal. But this wasn’t Tim’s first time anyways.
He had been seeing Jason since he first started taking up the mantle of Robin. In the cave, beside a torn and bloodied uniform. In his room, smiling warmly at him after a good night on patrol. Sitting with him in solidarity after Bruce would take it too far. Alfred had said it was common, Bruce still saw his parents, and Dick his own family. Eventually he had stopped seeing the second robin, sometime after Tim’s own mother had fallen ill thanks to a run in with the Obeah man. In a way, it was comforting to see Jason again. He had always hoped he would return, maybe even say something to Tim. But Tim wondered still how his imagination had conjured up such a spitting image of an older Jason.
“You comin’ Baby Bird?”
Tim’s attention was brought back to Dick, smiling cautiously at his father’s apprentice.
Even when Tim was young, he wished on every star that he would find a family, to have a brother like Dick Grayson, to have a caretaker as loyal as Alfred, to have someone like Bruce. He wasn’t Tim’s blood, but he was more of a father these past few years than Jack Drake had ever been, despite his best efforts.
Tim trailed behind Dick, down the stairs into the drafts kitchen where Bruce sat groggily, shirtless with a few long pieces of bandage wrapping his chest.
“Look who rose from the dead.”
He jested dryly, smile quirking at the corner of his lips. He rose from his chair with a grunt, earning a flinch from Alfred who stirred some sort of ginger concoction in a mug behind Bruce furiously. He staggered over to Tim, gripping the boy’s shoulder lightly with tight eye contact before lowering his voice so only Tim could hear.
“How are you feeling, chum?”
That’s odd, Tim had thought. Bruce usually reserved the title of “chum” for Dick and occasionally Barbara.
“Uh, fine I think. I’m not really sure to be honest.”
Bruce grimaced, peering towards Dick who made a quick hand signal that Tim couldn’t make out.
“Memory problems then?”
Bruce squeezed his shoulder just gently enough. Tim nodded, signaling Bruce to pull his hand away and sink back into his chair.
“Alfred will look you over after lunch, for now sit and have some tea.”
He pulled out at the chair beside him for Tim to take. He could give in and let Alfred examine him, let himself be taken care of, but when has Tim ever let that happen? Besides, he was still concerned with the whole hallucination of Jason upstairs.
“It’s alright, really. I’ll go assess my condition myself. I’m good, really.”
With that, he dodged anymore questions, finding his way to the grandfather clock in the office, making his way to the cave.
After enough vital checks for a small village, Tim came to the conclusion that he was not in fact healthy aside from an odd case of amnesia and apparent hallucinations.
While testing his vision once more, a glinting light caught his eye, pulling his gaze towards the glass case beside the computer platform. Displayed behind the panes, Tim’s own Robin costume sat undisturbed, like it had been there for years. Beside his was Jason’s old torn suit, still dripping with the pure dread that Tim seemed to feel whenever he saw it. Next was Dick’s old suit, obsolete yet ever present in Tim’s mind. The rest of the case was littered with Barbara’s first suit, Bruce’s first of the Kevlar armors, and one that Tim didn’t seem to recognize, a grey and red spiky costume with a signature Robin “R” on its chest. Tim wondered why he had never seen it before, and to whom it belonged. He left it as a question for later, taking in the rest of the batcave. The batcomputer must have been updated since he was last down here, it’s impressive what Alfred could do overnight. The cells doors were upgraded, the pushpads now with green and red confirmation lights. Tim didn’t know how he could’ve missed this much, maybe there really was something wrong with him.
“All good down here?”
Dick appeared beside the medbay, speed walking over towards Tim.
“Yeah. Exam came up clean.”
Dick settled beside the bed, looking over the statistics on the screen connected to the IV stand.
“You sure there’s nothing bothering you? You seem a little off.”
Tim cleared his throat, trying to find the words to tell Dick that he was seeing his little brother’s ghost a little too much.
“Uh- I don’t know. I think I’m okay. Everything says I’m okay.”
He gestured to the screen Dick had finished scanning. The older boy settled beside him, pressing his shoulder to Tim’s.
“You can tell me if something’s wrong. We need to know or else we can’t help you.”
He tried to find Tim’s gaze, but it was glued to the suits behind glass across the floor.
“I keep seeing Jason.”
Dick quirked his eyebrow, clearing his throat.
“Yeah. Is there something wrong with that?”
Tim sighed, unsure of what Dick was insinuating.
“I thought I had gotten over that, but it’s just- it’s happening so much more.”
Dick frowned, standing before Tim. His hands gripped Tim’s shoulders, anxiety radiating through.
“Tim, if there’s something going on, you need to tell me.”
Tim nodded, but kept his gaze down.
“I know. I will.”
He at last raised his head, finding Dick’s baby blues. Behind him the batcomputer glowed vibrantly, the date in the top corner catching his attention.
“Dick, is that right?”
He pointed behind the boy, who quickly checked and confirmed.
“Yeah, April 27th. You sure are out of it little-“
“I have to go.”
Tim jumped off of the bed, speeding towards the stairs up.
“Tim wait!”
Dick was hot at his tail, following him up the staircase and through the study.
“Sorry Dick, we’ll talk later. I promised my mom I’d be home hours ago!”
Dick stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide.
“Tim… what?”
But he didn’t listen, and only kept racing towards the door, almost running into-
“Chill out, the hell are you in such a rush for kid?!”
Jason’s memory barked at Tim.
“You’re not there, you’re not there.”
He continued forward, finding the door handle and twisting as Jason’s ghost called out after him.
“Timbo, the hell’s going on?”
Odd, he had never been called “Timbo” before. But his concussed head could create whatever nicknames he wanted right now as long as he made it home in time to see his mother before she was gone for another four months. He pushed out through the door, the setting sun catsing orange rays into his already sensitive eyes.
He reached the edge of the long driveway in front of Wayne Manor, racing onto the road across Bristol, Drake Manor in sight.
When he came closer the first attribute he noticed had changed was the absence of lights throughout the manor. Each window was gray with oncoming darkness from the sunset, it seemed like no one was home, still he pressed on. The front door was locked, and Tim’s pockets were void of any key. He would’ve picked the lock but his parents may have frowned upon that.
The bitter cold that picked through his tee and sweats stayed with him even after he found his way through the back door. Stumbling into the dark hall leading into the foyer.
“Mom? Dad?!”
The house was seemingly empty, the furniture dust ridden, the corners filled to the brim with cobwebs and flecks of dust.
“Is anyone home?!”
Tim had began to come to the conclusion that his parents weren’t here. That they hadn’t been here in a long time. And maybe Tim hadn’t either. He paced through the rest of the first floor, finding an empty fridge in the kitchen, all valuables gone, drawers empty, the few family pictures they had were nowhere to be seen. Every trace of Tim’s life here had vanished. Tim’s eyes stung, the hairs on the back of his neck stood straight. Each and every inch of his body was petrified.
“Tim?”
He shot into a defensive position, leering behind the kitchen island.
“Tim, it’s alright.”
Even in the pale beams of moonlight drifting through the window, Tim could make out the wide face of his mentor.
“Bruce?… What’s going on?”
The older man shook his head, tentatively taking steps towards the boy.
“You tell me chum. Dick and Jason saw you run out, saying something about your mother’s birthday-“
Tim ignored the part about Jason, most likely Bruce’s attempt to ease Tim’s nerves about the hallucinations. Dick must’ve told him about his little psychotic visions.
“Bruce, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t know why it’s happening. Please don’t be mad, I think I just- I don’t know.”
Tim had started breathing fast and rough virtually hyperventilating. He was afraid of what Bruce would put him through if he knew all the things that were wrong with the boy.
“Tim. Tim stop, please. I’m not going to punish you. I would never punish you for this sort of thing.”
Tim shook his head wildly, hands gripping the marble countertop until the knuckles turned white.
“But-but you always said I needed to be at my best, and last time I failed like this you had your “training” where you broke four of my ribs. Please, I’m sorry, just don’t do it again. I promise I’ll do better.”
Bruce’s mouth hung agape, his eyes wide with confusion.
“Tim… last time? What day is it?”
The boy fell to his knees, backing up like a caged animal against the cabinet behind him.
“What is that some sort of trick question to lure me into some lesson?”
Tim’s wet eyes had begun to go blurry now, barely making out the second and third figures behind Bruce.
“Timmy, calm down. Just answer the question okay? No one’s going to hurt you. What day is it bud?”
Dick crouched down before Tim, his hands lightly resting on Tim’s knees.
“April 27th.”
Jason’s memory had followed him to the house, standing tightly beside Bruce’s the older man resting a steadying hand on his son’s arm.
“What year Timber?”
Tim’s eyebrows arched far into his forehead.
“Can- can you guys see him too?”
Dick turned his head, taking in Jason and Bruce.
“Jason?”
Tim nodded, eyes bouncing between the three of them.
“Timmy, when you said you’re “seeing Jason”…”
Dick began putting the pieces together in his head, his eyes matching Tim’s own in unshed tears.
“You thought Jason was still dead didn’t you?”
Stifling silence followed. Jason left Bruce’s side to crouch down beside Dick.
“Hey, kid. You gotta let us help you, okay? What’s the last thing you remember?”
Tim stared at the older boy like he had seen a ghost. In all fairness, he had.
“Going on patrol with Bruce.”
Bruce had apparated behind his two sons, eyeballing Tim.
“And before that?”
Tim swallowed the lump in his throat, afraid of what they might think of he cried.
“Dick took me out to the train tracks, we practiced some flips over the 80 track.”
Dick sighed, standing up, pulling Bruce with him, leaving only Jason with the cowering boy. Tim stared in awe, reaching a hand out cautiously.
“Go ahead.”
Jason gripped his wrist, guiding Tim’s hand to rest on the larger boy’s chest. His gentle heartbeat radiated into Tim’s palm, soothing his worries.
“How- You’re here?”
Jason nodded, pushing Tim’s hand back down.
“You really don’t remember anything?”
Tim shook his head lightly before Dick and Bruce returned from their secret whisper huddle.
“Baby bird, I think you’ve got a problem with your memory thanks to that bump on the side of your head. Some long term amnesia most likely.”
Tim could’ve figure that out himself, and honestly he was ashamed he hadn’t.
“Where are my parents?”
Bruce sucked in a breath, visibly preparing himself for the conversation he was about to have.
“Tim… your mother passed away some time ago. And your father, more recently. You ended on good terms. It’s been some time since anyone has come in here.”
Tim found the floor once more, tracing the floorboards through blurry eyes.
“They’re both dead?”
“…Yes. I’m so sorry Tim.”
Tim sighed, plastering a fake smile onto his face.
“It’s okay. Really. I mean, they weren’t around when they were alive anyways. What’s the difference right? I’m probably better off as an orphan. Independent, like I’ve always had to be. Just me.”
He fought every instinct to let his tears fall, keeping them hidden away behind the floodgates.
“You’re not an orphan Tim, I would never have let that happen.”
Bruce knelt down beside Jason, eyes even with Tim’s.
“Then who?”
Bruce smiled sadly, his shoulders rising proudly.
“You’re my son, Tim. I know you don’t remember, but you’re part of our family. These two, they’re your older brothers. You have a sister too, and a younger brother. And Alfred, Barbara, and Stephanie, Duke, Luke, Kate. You have so much family, so many people who care about you…”
Tim flinched when Bruce came too close to him.
“When you came to me, after Jason… I was alone, I was grieving, I treated you like filth. I’m so so sorry for that, my boy. But we’ve changed, all of us. You have made me so proud to be your father, to call you my son.”
Tim didn’t care anymore. The reservoir in his eyes had broken. He broke with a single sob, falling into Bruce’s chest.
Dick and Jason pressed in from the sides, wrapping their arms around Tim’s shaking body.
“We’ll figure this out baby bird.”
Dick whispered into Tim’s hair. Jason soon followed his lead.
“You’ll be okay. I swear.”
And something seemed familiar about the warm embrace. Dick’s octopus arms wrapping Tim tightly, Jason’s broad shoulders closing him in safely, Bruce’s chin resting on his head.
No matter what happened next, he trusted these three, his team.
His family.