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Tim had hardly seen the family in the last three years.
Tim had lost everything, Bruce was presumed dead and Dick had chosen Damian. Dick had handed Robin to his almost-murderer and hadn’t looked back.
“He’s just a kid, Tim. He doesn’t know better.”
Dick had said to him after another attempt by Damian on his life.
“You’re almost an adult, Tim. You need to be more mature than this.”
Tim was 14. Not that Dick knew this.
Piece by piece everything was taken from him, Bart, Kon, Bruce, Robin, his home. Everything he had thought was important to him, gone in such a short space of time.
But Tim knew Bruce wasn’t dead. And so after being pushed away from home, with no one believing him, he knew he had to bring him home. He had to fix this alone.
He went looking.
He lost more pieces of himself.
And when he found proof Bruce was alive, he brought him back to the manor, just like he had planned.
But he didn’t stay.
There was nothing left to stay for.
——————————————————————-
Tim had always been expected to act older than his age, more independent than he should’ve been. This was something he had learned far before he had become Robin.
He had worn a mask far before the white-out lenses of a domino mask had ever touched his cheeks.
At five, Tim had been permitted to attend his first gala. Tim stood beside his parents, hair and suit as polished as the furniture of the large ballroom. His mother’s claws dug into his shoulders.
“You’re a Drake, Timothy. You’d best act like it tonight.”
And so he did. He acted, played the role his parents had given him. He stiffened his shoulders, silently pretending not to glare at the other children in attendance. They had been older than him, running around the place like animals. Didn’t they know better?
And so, when Jason died, when Dick refused to return to his position as Robin, the conclusion was natural. Batman needed a Robin.
And if he had to lie to give him what he needed, then so be it.
———————————————————————
Three years after he left, Tim was back, climbing the same steps he had walked up thousands of times before.
After everything, it still looked the same it had when he left.
The heavy doors weren’t locked. They never had been unless the manor was empty. Tim breathed deeply, calming his nerves before pushing them open, stepping into the quiet echoing hall.
Everything still felt so big.
Not as big as when he had left but the ceilings still stretched far above him, the paintings and photos staring down at him from the walls still made him feel small.
The manor had always been like this. too grand, too vast, filled with too many rooms and too many memories. It had never been his house, not the way it had been for Bruce, or Dick, or even Damian. But for a time, it had been the closest thing he had to home.
Looking down at his feet, Tim walked through the manor, not wanting to see any more reminders of what he had once had here.
He didn’t know why he had returned. Maybe it was exhaustion, maybe it was nostalgia. Perhaps some part of him still thought there was something left for him here after all.
He passed the study, he passed the staircase and crept towards the one room he always did feel comfort in.
Brushing against the kitchen counter he reached into familiar cupboards, preparing a coffee. He knew he was about to have some exhausting conversations.
As the coffee maker sputtered out the last of his drink, he heard a floorboard creak at the doorway.
“…Tim?”
Tim pauses, his hand clasped tightly on the handle of his mug. His breath shakes as he looks over toward the man.
“H..hi, Dick..”
The two stand still, carefully watching each other from their distance. Tim carefully watches Dick’s expression shift from shock to confusion as he studies Tim’s appearance.
Panic begins to rise in Tim’s chest, maybe he was right, he should’ve never returned to the manor. He should’ve known he wouldn’t have been welcomed back.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll leave.” Tim whispered as he quickly set down his coffee, picked up his bag and began to walk towards the entryway of the kitchen.
"Wait.. Tim, stop."
Tim didn’t. His legs carried him forward, faster now, his breath tight in his chest. He shouldn’t have come back. He had known better.
A hand firmly clasped his shoulder as he passed Dick. shaking fingers digging in before quickly leaving.
“…You don’t have to go,” Dick said quietly “Not if you don’t want to.”
Tim now beside the man he had once thought of as his older brother looks down and nods slowly. He may not know why he had wanted to return to the manor but now being beside Dick, he realised how much he had been missing him. It made him want to try.
Dick stepped back slightly, now not in sudden fear that Tim would run away, his thoughts of confusion returned to him.
“You look-“
When Tim had left, Dick had thought Tim to be seventeen, still young but old enough to start being independent. Hell, Dick has moved out at seventeen. Old enough to drive, even old enough to get married if he had wanted to. A kid should have almost finished growing at seventeen but Tim…
Everyone had always thought Tim had just always been small for his age. They had made fun of him for barely reaching Dick’s chin. They had all written it off as being caused by childhood neglect or just unfortunate genetics.
But now, Dick had to look up at his little brother, somehow a few inches taller than him which should have been impossible. Right?
Dick began to cycle through possible conclusions to explain Tim’s growth.
Maybe it was the Lazarus Pit.
The thought hit Dick like a punch to the gut. It had happened before. Jason had come back from the Pit, changed, different, not just in his mind but in his body. The Pit could heal, could restore, but it could also twist. Jason had been taller too, broader, he changed impossibly from the boy he was when he had died.
But Tim… Dick had no idea where Tim had been the last three years. No idea what Tim had been up to before bringing Bruce back from being lost in time.
Dick’s breath caught as he looked him over again, searching for any sign of unnatural sharpness in his features, a sickly green sheen in his eyes. But Tim just looked… older. Tired.
“You..” Dick swallowed. “Tim, what happened to you?”
Tim frowned, tilting his head. “What do you mean?”
Dick hesitated. He wanted to ask outright, but something in Tim’s expression made him stop. If it had been the Pit, Tim would’ve told them, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t have kept it to himself.
…Would he?
Dick’s gaze was sharp, scrutinizing, searching for something Tim couldn’t quite place. Then it hit him. He realised why Dick reacted like something was so wrong. He was wrong.
It wasn’t just that Dick was shocked to see him. It was that he was looking at someone who shouldn’t exist. A Tim Drake who had grown. A Tim Drake who wasn’t supposed to be able to grow.
It had been years since he had last seen the older man and he wasn’t the boy that had left anymore. He had been living without his masks for years now, living by himself or staying with the Titans. He had almost forgotten.
“Tim.” Dick’s frown was tense with worry as he continued to stare at his brother. “ How the hell are you so tall?” His voice cracked slightly, half in disbelief “Tim, you barely made it to my chin three years ago. Now you.. ” He gestured vaguely between them. “ Did you..? I mean, is this..?”
He hesitated, then asked what he was really afraid of.
“Was it the Pit?”
“The Pit?” Tim squawks in disbelief “No Dick it’s not the fucking pit. I just… I just grew. It’s normal okay?”
Tim swallows anxiously nervously fidgeting with his fingers. Maybe if he stays calm Dick will move on and forget about it. Maybe he’ll…
“Tim… nothing about this is normal, you shouldn’t have been able to grow this much. I mean..” Dick sputters in disbelief ”You’re what, 20?”
“Seventeen.” Tim says grimly, knowing Dick isn’t going to take this well.
“What?”
“I’m seventeen” Tim repeats grimacing at the confusion on Dick’s face.
Dick stands dumbfounded. silently trying to comprehend Tim’s confession.
“No, you turned seventeen years ago, Timmy.” Jason’s deep voice speaks out from out in the hall, just as confused as Dick’s had been.
To Tim’s horror, the rest of the family had left the living room upon hearing the earlier confrontation. Jason, Damian, Barbara and Bruce had all watched the scene take place from the hall. Tim knew there was no getting out of this now. He had to own up to his lies.
Tim just looked down, face blank, not knowing how to respond.
Barbara, sitting nearby with her tablet, frowned and started typing. She ran through records faster than any civilian ever could, her fingers flying over the keys as she pulled up Tim’s birth certificate.
It read: Timothy Jackson Drake. Born July 19, 2003.
She narrowed her eyes. Something felt off. She ran a deeper search, looking through old government records. And there it was—a trail of edits. Alterations made at age 10. Again at 18 bringing his age back to seventeen. Every year, for the last three years, Tim had adjusted his own records, keeping himself legally seventeen.
Barbara’s breath hitched.
“Oh my god,” she whispered.
Everyone’s focus shifted to the woman who had now turned her tablet to show the others’ what she had found. Grief contorting their faces as the implications of what this means sets in.
“You’re seventeen, Tim?” Bruce says stiffly looking at his second youngest. He receives a nervous nod.
The silence stretched on, long enough for it to feel uncomfortable, reminding Tim of far darker times when the manor was emptier, a time when the only emotion felt within its walls was grief.
Finally, it was Bruce who spoke. His voice was quiet, but it cut through the tension like a blade.
"You were ten when you became Robin?"
Tim swallowed hard. "Yeah."
A sharp inhale. Jason turned away, running a hand through his hair like he needed to physically shake off the words. Ten. Ten years old, fighting killers in Gotham’s streets.
"No." Bruce's voice was firmer this time. Not angry. Not accusing. Just...denying reality. Like if he rejected it hard enough, it wouldn’t be true. "You were thirteen."
Tim started to crack under the guilt from his lie. “Bruce needed someone, and I wasn’t going to let him spiral again. And I knew that if he found out how old I really was, he never would have let me do it. He would have shut me out. I couldn’t risk that.” His fingers twitched at his sides, the old instinct to fidget clawing its way back up. “So, I did what I had to do. I acted like I was older. I made sure no one ever questioned it.”
Reality setting in, Tim’s family began to piece together the last seven years, not liking the answers they found. Seven years already filled with regret now felt far worse with the truth uncovered.
——————————————————————————
Bruce thought back to the tiny child that had forced his way into the Robin suit. The child that had pulled him out of his grief, forced him to better himself. A ten year old that had figured out his identity. A ten year old that he had sent away to train with god knows who before sending him out on the streets that had killed his last son. Tim should’ve been playing with toys, making friends, reading picture books.
The worst part is that he knew Tim was young when he first became Robin, too small, too short for his age. He had ignored all the evidence because as much as he hated it, Tim was right. Bruce had needed Tim. But Tim was a child, he should have been the one protected. He had needed the man who pushed him into danger at every opportunity, the man who hadn’t tried hard enough to hold onto his son after he once again saved him.
Bruce had failed this child beyond belief and nothing he could ever do would fix this.
Dick was shattered. Memories of Every late-night patrol where Tim had pushed himself too hard. Every quiet nod of approval Dick had given, every proud smile when Tim got something right. He had thought he was encouraging him, thought he was mentoring him. But now he saw it for what it was. A child desperate to prove himself, hanging onto every scrap of validation like it was a lifeline. Tim had never just wanted approval. no, he had needed it, like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. And Dick had given it freely, never questioning why Tim was so willing to bleed for it. Never realizing how young, how small, he really was. For seven years Dick had looked at Tim, exhaustion painted on his too-young features and had done nothing about it.
And three years ago when Tim had needed someone the most, when Tim was only fourteen Dick had left him to rot alone. He had neglected a child left in his care, choosing another over him. The regret was suffocating and Dick knew he could never let Tim go ever again.
Jason was angry. His thoughts flooded back to his rage after he first became the red hood. Rage at Bruce for putting another kid in the colours he had died in. It was bad enough that he and Dick had been thirteen when they first flew but for this kid, this stupidly smart kid to have been 10?
He felt sick.
For years he had resented this kid for replacing him, for obediently following Batman’s orders. But now all he could see was a kid, tired and scared. A kid he had beat to near death. A child that he had treated like a punching bag. Jason swallowed hard, eyes darting away, ashamed to even look at him. He didn’t know.. he couldn’t have known.. not that it changed anything. 12 or 15, it shouldn’t have mattered, he never should’ve touched Tim let alone slit his throat. And now? He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how he can make this better.
Barbara had always prided herself on being the smartest person in the room. The one who saw what others missed, who found the cracks and followed them until she knew everything she needed to.
So why the hell hadn’t she seen this?
Her fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up file after file. birth records, school transcripts, medical history, all showing what now seems so obvious. Years of edits and careful fabrications, so obvious and messy that she wanted to scream.
It was all right there.
She could’ve checked. Should’ve checked. It would’ve taken seconds.
But she hadn’t, because she had never thought to question it. Never thought to question him.
No, she never wanted to question him, not on this. Because the truth is they were all responsible for irreparable damage to this kid.
She had looked at Tim a thousand times before but she realised now that she had never truly looked at him, never truly knew him. None of them had.
Damian had always hated Drake. He had stolen Damian’s rightful place by his fathers side. He had always seen how he was clearly of poor genetic stock, far shorter, far weaker than he would be at Drake’s age. It had always been clear to him that Damian was Drake's superior.
Damian had spent his life training for combat. Training to be the best at what he did. And so when Richard, his Batman inherited the suit, it was only natural that he should be his Robin.
But now, as Drake stood in front of his family, only one year older than Damian, the image he had in his mind was shattered. The man in front of him is clearly not weak. And if the stories Grayson had told him over the last three years were true, then Drake was far better than Damian. He remembered his first year as Robin, when he had been thirteen. Mistakes upon mistakes, injuries slowly accumulating. But above all it was emotionally draining. It wasn’t like the league where any mistake could cost you your life. No, a mistake out in the field could cost the lives of your family, of innocent civilians. And yet, every mistake was met not with punishment but with concern.
Damian remembered hiding his struggles, hiding how difficult it could be behind arrogant jabs and snide comments. But Damian had Richard. He was always there for him, always there to encourage him. Richard gave Damian the chance to be a kid, something he now realises Drake never had.
He had been jealous. He had resented him. But now, all he could feel was something unfamiliar.
Guilt.