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He still dreams about that night.
Stripped of his Robin costume, choking on tears in Bruce’s arms, calling for his father who was sprawled on the red-stained carpet before them. The night he was too late. Robin was too late.
Bruce tried to spare him from it, Barbara too. Both of them pleaded for him to stop, warning him that there was nothing they could do. Maybe that was why he never dreamed of his mother’s death in the same way. He wasn’t there to see it only moments after it happened.
It wasn’t a common dream. So when it did rear its head, Tim knew why. It meant he was exhausted, wearing himself down to the bone. But Robin can’t be late again. Never again. For the past few weeks he's stayed out later and later every night, starting patrol the moment the sun dipped below the horizon, saving as many as he could. If he wasn’t out patrolling, he was pouring over case files.
It was because of the anniversary. The rational side of Tim knew it was fueling his desperate crusade. Dick and Bruce both acted off when their anniversaries came around so it made sense that he would too.
Bruce grew even more solemn and contemplative, disappearing to Crime Alley alone. Dick spent more time flying and around the people he loved, even as he sank into his own head and hid his feelings.
But rational Tim was being drowned out by emotional Tim until only these two thoughts remained: He was going to be better. He was going to be on time.
Tonight, only two days out from the exact date, Tim was tucked into the Batcomputer chair frowning as he reread the same paragraph for the fifth time. Nothing made sense. Words were no more than sounds without meaning to his sluggish brain. His eyes burned. His limbs felt like stone. Sleep was the obvious solution. But time was precious so he blinked hard and reread the paragraph again.
He blinked again and saw a bloody boomerang.
“Tim.”
Tim jolted awake with a gasp at the familiar growl. Bruce was standing over him, cowl off and frowning. “That’s enough. You’re done for the night.”
“I’m fine.” Tim shuffled the file in his hands, sitting up straighter in the chair.
A black-gloved hand snatched it away. “I’m not asking. You’re exhausted and no use here or in the field. Get some sleep and tomorrow–”
“I can’t!” Tim exploded, trying to grab for the file as if he were a toddler. For some bizarre reason his throat began to ache, as if he were about to cry. Alfred was here now, drawn by the commotion. “B, I can’t, okay?” He swallowed hard, throat unclenching slightly. “I need to be here! Robin needs to be here!”
Bruce regarded him with a suspicious look, still holding the folder out of reach. “Why?”
If Tim had been running on more than fumes, he would’ve been alert enough to lie and lie well. But his tongue was tripping over the words he was barely managing to string together. A good, Batman-proof lie was out of the question.
“Because I need to be better!” He insisted, “And if I’m sleeping then I’m not saving people! I need to save people! I–” Tim’s voice cracked. His throat clenched again and this time he couldn't hide the distinctive strain as he kept speaking. “I couldn’t save them. I couldn’t save my parents. I was too late, just minutes too late to save my dad! I’m Robin and I was late– ” A shuddering sob rattled through his entire body, made his chest stutter and clench the same way it had a year ago running up familiar stairs.
Without hesitation Bruce dropped to his knees and pulled Tim into a hug. It felt like bands of iron were wrapping around him, drawing him into a sanctuary. “I’m sorry.” Bruce whispered as he clutched him. A hand settled heavy on Tim’s head, soothing as he sobbed into the cape, body trembling. “I’m sorry.”
Truth sat heavy behind those words. This nightmare had given him a glimpse into Bruce’s mind. It was painfully clear why Batman had driven so fast and recklessly that night, why he begged Tim to stay back, why he tried to avert Tim’s eyes in the hallway.
Tim thought a bit more like Batman now. And that frightened him.
“It’s not your fault, Master Timothy.” Alfred said softly, squeezing Tim’s shoulder once his crying began to subside. “Their deaths were a tragedy but nothing about you caused them. And saving the entirety of the world, or Gotham, isn’t resting on your shoulders either. Don’t let it crush you.”
Bruce sat back and Tim wiped his tear streaked face, still sniffling. "You wear this because you earned it, because you do good, not because you're perfect." He said in a warm, gentle voice, touching the emblem on Tim's chest. "Remember that."
+++
He still dreams about that night.
Bruce had been contemplative on patrol and now he was standing awkwardly before Tim, searching for a way to start a conversation as Alfred watched. Despite being tired from patrol, Tim waited dutifully for Bruce to find his words. It couldn’t be terrible news, Bruce wasn’t frowning. But of all the scenarios Tim thought up, Bruce hesitantly offering to adopt him didn’t even break the top 100.
It left him reeling, staring with his mouth open as Bruce rushed to explain himself. Tim hadn’t meant to start crying. But he did and it startled Bruce even more. But now he was unable to find any words to voice the resounding 'YES' that was consuming his whole being. So he crashed into Bruce with a hug instead.
"Everything will be alright." Bruce promised as he held him, gently smiling. And Tim believed him.
He used to wake from that dream with the same soaring giddiness in his chest. The elation of having a family again, a father.
Now he woke up wishing that reality was the dream. That it was all mixed up and if he closed his eyes he’d return to the correct world.
One where he hasn't lost his father.
Again.
Searching for Bruce was lonely. But it was a self-imposed exile. Tim was sure if he asked one of his brothers to help–besides the Demon Spawn–they would rush to his side. But he couldn’t bring himself to ask.
Dick was beside himself when Superman told them what Darkseid had done. “I want to see the body!” Dick roared at Clark and Diana, Tim standing frozen beside him. “Show me the body!” Tim couldn’t fault his brother for his denial. Or for crying alone on a balcony after they’d been given Bruce’s tattered cowl, knowing he was the one who had to fill their father's shoes.
He understood why Dick took Damian on as Robin. If anyone could tame the kid’s bloodlust and coax a semblance of kindness out of him, it would be Dick. And he couldn’t fault Jason for spiralling at the news of Bruce's death. Things had begun healing between them. But there was still so much unresolved and would now never be. And so he didn't blame Dick for going to Jason’s side after Red Hood unleashed a rampage of violence they hadn’t seen in years.
They were all grieving in their own ways and carrying their own burdens. So Tim let them be and carried his own.
He hadn't been able to resist saying goodbye though. He picked a late night, when Dick was exhausted and standing weary over a table strewn with gears. He was in street clothes now, eyes closed as he rubbed his forehead. Damian was off somewhere in the manor, pouting after another scolding. Jason's tracker blinked slowly on a computer screen.
Silently, Tim slipped over and leaned against Dick's side. For the first time in a long time he felt out of place in the cave. It stung but he told himself it would only make it easier to leave.
"You alright Timbo?" Dick asked with a half-hearted pep Tim knew was only for his benefit. He said nothing as his big brother wrapped his arms around him, giving him a firm hug. If he closed his eyes he could almost pretend it was Bruce hugging him. That same security and warmth and love promising everything would be okay.
Tim forced his eyes open and found his words. "'m fine." There was a long pause and Tim knew if Dick was alert and running on a full night of sleep this never would've worked. Dick would've called his bluff instantly.
Instead his brother sighed and squeezed him tighter for a moment. He sounded weary beyond his years. Wearing the cowl was taking a toll. "I'm sorry I've been so busy with everything. But you know I'm here for you, right?"
"I know." Tim cleared his throat. "I, uh, wanted to let you know I'm going on a trip. Need to clear my head."
Now Dick pulled back and looked down at him. Studied his body language. "Is this about Bruce?" He asked softly.
"Kinda.” Frowning, Dick started to speak but Tim cut him off. He would try and convince him to stay, to go be with the Titans, some other big brother nagging. But he’d made up his mind. “So much has changed for me on top of losing him and I... I don't think I can process it all in Gotham. It's too raw."
Dick's face fell. Great. He managed to make his brother even sadder. "I'm fine Dick!" Tim insisted, forcing false cheer into his voice as well. "Seriously. No need to be mopey, I'll be back in a few weeks."
Dick crushed him in another hug. “Promise me you'll take care of yourself?"
"Only if you promise the same."
"Touché." They both laughed and Dick finally released him, ruffling his hair with a tight smile. “I’ll miss you, Tim.”
Now Tim wrapped his arms tight around himself, burrowed into the cheap mattress, and tried to remember that hug, any shred of comforting memory to chase the lingering dream and aching homesickness away.
For all the things and people he couldn't blame, there was one he could. Batman needs a Robin. And Tim gave it up months before when he donned a new suit and changed his name. It was a testing of the waters, trying to see if like Dick, he was dealing with growing pains from a title that no longer fit.
Which is why Robin wasn’t there when Batman needed him. Red Robin was off fighting with the Teen Titans. And it didn’t matter how many times Dick insisted that Bruce would’ve sent him away, whether he was Robin or Red Robin, Tim knew he should’ve been there at his side.
But he was late.
Which made this his wrong to right.
+++
It feels like a dream.
The entire day Tim felt like he was holding his breath. His body is sore from being tensed for so long as he stood and watched with anticipation as the League darted through time, fists clenched at his sides. It actually worked and now it wasn’t years or millenia separating them but one damn wall .
Tim wants to tackle Booster Gold out of the way and burst into the medical room where JL members have rushed Bruce. Which is the exact reason why Booster is there in the first place. He was saying something about omega beams and coma but Tim wasn’t listening anymore as he paced the room like a caged tiger. He probably knows all of it anyway.
Bruce is alive. Bruce is alive. Bruce is alive.
Those three words marched through his mind on repeat. Months of searching, of pain and grief and loneliness all while saying those words over and over. Months of questioning his own sanity until finally there was proof.
Yet actually helping the League pull Bruce back, calling Dick and Jason and Alfred to say those three words and knowing they weren't just a theory anymore...Tim realized that a tiny part of him had been holding its breath, prepared for the words to be lies.
He lapped the room again, worrying at a ragged nail. The rest of the family would probably make it here before the JL let anyone in. It was hard to tell how they were taking it over the phone. Dick and Alfred were probably the most hopeful. Jason seemed wary. And Damian...truthfully he barely knew his father. But now he has that chance back–
The door slid open with a whoosh. Tim whipped around as Superman stepped out. There was a tired smile on his face as he looked from Booster to Tim. “He’s awake now if you want–”
Tim was already bolting past them, weaving through people and machines, using all of his will power to not shout with joy or do a flying leap onto the bed. Because it really was Bruce in the hospital bed. Gaunt and battered, looking like death warmed over, but still Bruce. Still–
“Dad!” Tim sobbed as he threw himself into Bruce’s open arms. Bruce held him so tight he felt his back pop. But he didn’t care. He didn't care that half the League was there watching this odd Hallmark moment or that his cool unflappable Red Robin persona was effectively ruined. No, he wrapped his arms tight around Bruce’s neck and let new words chant through his mind.
My dad is alive. My dad is alive.
My dad is alive.
Nothing else mattered.
“I searched for you.” Tim finally forced words out, knowing Bruce could hear them even if they were garbled by his tears. “I didn’t stop. I knew, I just knew you were alive! God, I've missed you. We've missed you. I have so much to tell you!”
A gentle laugh vibrated through Bruce’s chest as he rested a hand on Tim’s head, smoothing messy, too long hair. “I’ve missed you too, son.” He said in a hoarse voice. And Tim cried even harder as his dad comforted him. Because even if the entire world wasn't resting on his shoulders, this little world that he'd cobbled together over the years was.
And he’d finally made it in time.