Archive of Our Own

Snakes in the grass beneath our feet
Rain in the clouds above
Some moments last forever
But some flare out with love, love, love

- "Love love love”, The Mountain Goats

Tim

In the end, it’s one line that unravels everything.

 Lex Luthor likely knew exactly what he was revealing, Tim reasons. He’s not sure what Lex’s angle is for showing his hand now. After all, part of his leverage was how desperately Tim wanted to keep his secret from getting out. But looking at the shock, the anger, the guilt, the shame on his brother’s faces, Tim thinks that Luthor got exactly what he wanted. With one sentence, he’s hurt their family more than any injury or wound ever could.

What makes Tim truly nauseous is realizing that whatever game he thought he was playing with Luthor, he never had a chance of winning. How could he? 

After all, he had no way of anticipating how many pieces were on the board. 

-

Damian

Damian doesn’t even understand why they’re in this godforsaken city. Metropolis is supposed to be firmly Kryptonian territory. At least Damian would usually get to see Jon when he’s here but with the Kent family on a short-term space mission, the task of babysitting their city has been left with the bats.

None of them expected the hostile takeover of a competitor company that Lex Luthor would try to instigate as soon as the Supers left Earth’s atmosphere. 

Luthor must have found whatever he was hoping to steal from his rival because, by the time they arrive, he and his henchmen are getting ready to leave. Luthor gives them a bored look as he’s faced with the familiar figures of Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, and the newly christened Red Robin. Damian thinks the entire family coming for an excursion against one non-powered villain is overkill for what’s needed but all three of his brothers insisted.

“While I’m flattered you all wanted to see me, it’s rude to show up without an invitation,” Lex drawls. His eyes drag over Red Robin’s new uniform and it’s like his gaze carries physical weight. Luthor is too far to notice any reaction but Damian can see the tiniest shudder work its way out from Tim’s spine.

Lex smirks and wets his lips. “A new look, I see. It does suit you. You’ve certainly matured a lot, little Robin.” There’s something to those words, some kind of inside joke that Damian isn’t privy to, but he can’t help stepping out from behind his father to correct Luthor himself.

Damian feels a thrill of satisfaction as Luthor’s gaze immediately snaps to him.

“He’s not Robin anymore. I am,” Damian declares.

What he doesn’t expect is Luthor’s face to light up with delight and something almost akin to predatory interest.

“Oh, Batman, you spoil me!” he laughs. Damian tenses. This was not the reaction he was expecting and judging from the growl behind him, neither was Batman. “Another little boy playing dress up in your shadow? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re tempting me on purpose. Better keep this one close, Batman.” Lex’s eyes glint and his expression splits with a leering grin. “Or it will only be a matter of time before I get to try this one too.”

It’s only because Damian is standing slightly behind his brothers that he sees each of their reactions. Tim goes rigid, his knuckles white on his bo staff and his whole body so taught that Damian thinks his ribs must be aching. Dick moves a half step in Damian’s direction as if to shield him, escrima sticks arcing with electricity strong enough to knock out a meta-human, much less someone unenhanced like Luthor. And Jason? He does exactly what he promised Bruce he wouldn’t when he rejoined the family.

He shoots for the head.

“Hood!” Batman barks but it hardly matters. One of Luthor’s armored meta-henchmen steps in to take the shot, the bullet bouncing harmlessly off his metal chest plate.

Lex laughs and Jason bellows, something crazed and primal, a sound Damian has only heard once before. The memory is dredged up despite how Damian tries not to dwell on it. It’s the same anguished howl Jason made when he dragged himself out of the Pit and into Ra’s waiting claws. Damian doesn’t need to see Jason’s eyes to know the Pit has him fully in its thrall.

Damian only just glimpses Jason lunge at Luthor before Dick is fully in front of him. His hand isn’t harsh but it’s unyielding as he pushes Damian behind his back, gaze never leaving the threat.

Usually, Damian would say something. He should say something. It’s humiliating that Dick still thinks he can’t fend for himself. Damian is better than this. Robin is better than this.

Through the gap between Dick’s arm and torso, Damian makes out Tim still locked in the same spot. He’s not moving, even as Dick screeches something at him, even as Damian hears the sounds of Jason engaged in a full-on firefight with Luthor and his men. Damian wonders if Tim is hearing the same thing he is. If Bruce’s orders sound as if they’re coming from underwater to him as well.

The sickening weight in Damian’s stomach grows heavier. It unbalances him. No one is acting how they should. Damian doesn’t understand.

Luthor’s laugh grows more hysterical. Bruce’s commands get louder, sharper, deadlier, in return.

Damian should be fighting alongside his brother. He should protest being treated like a child. But something nauseating and dark in his gut tells him that might be just the problem.

That Lex Luthor sees him as a child.

It’s that thought that makes Damian, for the first time since he met Bruce, whisper, “Dad?”

His father whirls to look at him, gaze panicked as he scans Damian for injury or danger or… something. Damian’s not sure what his father is looking for. Is he trying to see whatever Luthor sees? What if he finds it?

If both Luthor and his father agree, then it’s not just some villain’s delusion. Then it must be real. Then it could be Damian’s fault, somehow. For wearing a suit that was never really his. For trying to fit into the same shape as his brothers. For daring to imagine that Robin could be someone with a history as bloody as his.

When Luthor saw him in the Robin suit, he laughed.

Damian thinks he feels humiliated. After all, he hates being laughed at. There are still many times when his brothers’ playful jabs and jokes land somewhere more sensitive between his ribs. Sometimes they only think it’s funnier when he doesn’t understand. His embarrassment will dig further and further into the ducts behind his eyes until he dares not blink. Then his brothers will quiet and lay their play to rest. Sometimes they even comfort him.

There is no comfort here. Only skin-crawling wrongness.

And this humiliation… it’s not like any Damian has experienced before. Humiliation has never made Damian feel this… filthy. This… fearful.

Damian is not a coward. He’s the heir to the Demon and the Bat. He swears on his line and his blood and his family, he is not a coward. 

He wonders if his father believes that as he watches Damian cower behind his oldest brother.

“Fall back,” Batman breathes, only loud enough for Dick and Damian to hear. He stares at Damian for one second longer before he turns and shouts over the din, “Fall back!”

Tim doesn’t move, Tim still doesn’t move, but Hood yells in reply, “No fucking way! Scum like this don’t get to walk the fucking Earth! Fuck your code, fuck everything, this piece of shit is dead for what he–”

“Hood, fall back!” Bruce roars. 

Jason takes a step back into his field of view so Damian watches the exact moment Jason goes from screaming, “Listen to me, old man–” to seeing Tim’s frozen form, still paralyzed in the field. “Shit!” Jason hisses and then he’s running towards them, grabbing Tim by the wrist as Red Robin finally finally stumbles back to life.

It’s a blur after that but somehow they all end up on the Batplane back to Gotham. They're not pursued. Neither do they stop Luthor and his men. Damian reads through the mission report in silence on the return ride.

Kryptonite. Lex and his company had managed to steal kryptonite. And Batman had let them escape without consequence.

Damian’s stomach twists into a tighter knot. Heavy. Sickening.

Bruce thought that getting their family away from Luthor was more important than stopping Superman’s archnemesis from obtaining his greatest weakness. 

Damian doesn’t understand. As he glances at his brothers, all in various stages of shock-anger-denial, he wonders if he wants to.

-

Jason

They deboard the Batplane into the cave, first Bruce, then Damian, then directly behind him, still hovering like an overprotective guard dog, Dick. Jason starts to follow them before he realizes the plane’s last occupant has made no move to leave.

Jason backtracks and nudges at his shoulder. “Come on, Tim. Let’s go.”

Tim shakes his head slowly. “I’m not going out there.”

“What, you’re just going to stay in here then? You’re going to have to come out eventually unless you plan on flying this plane somewhere else.” Tim twitches and Jason quickly corrects, “Don’t do that,” before Tim can actually try.

Jason watches Tim’s chest rise and fall, faltering every few breaths. His fingers flex against the leather seat. 

“We can leave. We can… we can just go.” Desperation starts to bleed into Tim’s voice. “It’s not like Bruce really knows anything. He’s– he’s just assuming. That’s hardly good detective work. You don’t have to say anything if we leave.”

“Me?” Jason raises an eyebrow. Tim winces. “I’m not deaf, bird boy. Don’t pin this just on me.”

Tim finally raises his gaze to meet Jason’s. It’s piercing and pleading. “You don’t want to tell us about this. Especially Bruce. I know you don’t. You’d rather stay and put yourself through that?”

“This isn’t about me,” Jason growls. “I know what you’re trying to do. I’m not as stupid as you all think. Now get up.”

“Jason–”

“No.” Jason hauls Tim out of his seat. “We’re going. Stop stalling.” Tim resists and Jason turns to him with a sigh. The green that’s been steadily creeping at the edges of his vision recedes as he takes in the terror on Tim’s face. He keeps his voice steady as he admits, “I want to know. I need to know.” So I can kill that son of a bitch, he doesn’t add out loud. “Don’t you?”

“No,” Tim mutters but he still allows Jason to drag him to the exit. 

The rest of the family is waiting for them.

-

Dick

Dick can’t bring himself to meet Bruce’s eyes as Batman gives a curt, “Robins, report.”

Normally Dick would chafe against the order that clearly encompasses all of them. Jason does as he scoffs, “Not a Robin.” Dick can’t bring himself to protest this time. By now he’s well in tune with Bruce’s mannerisms and he can tell it wasn’t meant to be condescending. It was meant to be conciliatory. A way to open the floor to any of them who might take the first leap.

All that greets Bruce’s question is silence.

Dick should speak up first. He knows he should. It’s what all his brothers expect of him. He sees their shifting feet, feels their sideways glances. When his brothers need a protector, Dick is the first one they call. When someone needs to draw the fire, Dick is there to distract the enemy. When someone needs to take the blame, Dick is always the one to volunteer himself. 

And he wants to. He wants to be the person his brothers rely on. He can take the hits and the bullets and Bruce’s disapproving chastisements. Jason always calls him the golden child. He should do this for his brothers.

Dick needs to speak up first. This is his fault, after all.

He opens his mouth to explain… and nothing comes out.

Shame burns through him. His brothers must hate him. He’s failing them again. Just like he did all those years ago when he was still Robin. They don’t even understand the full extent of the blame he carries and still he deserves their hatred. He just can’t bring himself to say the words and admit that.

Only after a full 30 seconds of painful silence does Damian interject, running through a clinical mission report. 

“You, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and myself arrived in Metropolis via Batplane at 11:26 pm to address the police alert of an explosion at a rival company of Lex Luthor. When we arrived, Luthor and his compatriots had already retrieved the kryptonite they came for. Red Hood engaged in brief combat but we were ultimately unsuccessful at retrieving the stolen goods or apprehending Luthor.”

Bruce nods and gives a sweeping look to the rest of them. “Anything to add?”

Dick swallows. His throat is dry. Someone sniffles and all of their eyes swing to Tim. His brother's hands are wrapped tight around his stomach. His shoulders paint a rigid, trembling line against the backdrop of the batcave.

Dick should comfort him. Jason beats him to it, wrapping an arm around Tim, only for it to be shoved off.

“You made me come out here,” Tim hisses, resentment blazing. 

“Boys,” Bruce interrupts and Tim falls abruptly still and silent again. “We need to talk about our withdrawal.”

When no one volunteers, Damian hesitantly starts again, “We… we were forced to retreat after Luthor said it would just be a matter of time before he got–”

“Don’t say it,” Tim begs. Damian sends a darting look from Tim to Bruce, clearly unsure who he should obey.

Their youngest brother curls in on himself as he asks, “Why did he say that?” 

Dick should tell Bruce to make Damian leave. The words are already sitting in his mouth. Robin gave his report. He should leave. He shouldn’t hear this. But Dick can’t make them come out. Not even as Damian says, “We let Luthor escape with kryptonite. We didn’t even attempt to fight honorably or pursue. Why did you make us do that? Why are you all acting like this?” His voice raises to a terrified yell by the end as no one answers him. His final question echoes off the cave walls.

This core truth sticks to the inside of Dick’s ribs: He can’t protect anyone. He can’t even protect himself.

This time he doesn’t even try.

Bruce reaches up to tug off his cowl. His eyes are haunted. He has never looked older. He takes a steady breath and seems to steel himself. Even knowing they’re coming, the words still land like a knife in Dick’s gut.

His words are even, no trace of emotion to grab onto, as he asks, “Luthor implied he has assaulted the three of you. Is this true?” As Bruce surveys them, it’s obvious they all know the answer. Luthor wouldn’t have gotten such a reaction to a lie. Bruce’s voice softens, less Batman and more Bruce, and it’s almost worse as he coaxes, “We all understand what was implied.” 

From the way Damian flinches, Dick thinks at least one of them didn’t. Or maybe he just didn’t want to be faced with the knowledge his brothers aren’t as infallible as they’ve always seemed. 

“I won’t force you to talk but I’m giving you the chance to tell me on your own terms,” Bruce continues. “Luthor has proven today that he’s willing to use this knowledge for his own gain. I swear whatever is said here will never be held against you. Any of you.”

Jason nudges Tim with the tip of his boot. In a flurry of action that Dick barely tracks, Tim lets loose a throat-tearing snarl, whips a batarang from his belt, and presses it to the artery on Jason’s neck. Tim’s eyes are wild, chest heaving as he draws the first bead of blood. 

“Stop. Fucking. Touching me!” Tim spits.

All of them tense. Bruce’s hand inches towards his own belt but Jason just gives Tim a crooked grin. “Just making sure you’re in there, Timmy. Stop leaving and I’ll stop bothering you.” Dick watches in amazement as Jason pushes the batarang away with a finger. When did they get so close, he wonders. All of this nagging and provoking because Jason was the only one out of them who understood how to pull Tim out of his own mind.

Tim seems to realize that too because he staggers back a step. The batarang slips back into his belt. He half-turns back towards the family. There’s still anxiety in the circles under his eyes, in the shifting of his body language, but for the first time since their encounter, Tim’s eyes finally seem clearer.

“Sorry,” Tim mutters in Jason’s direction.

“Might not be as smart as you, baby bird, but I told you I’m not stupid,” Jason jokes, breaking through the tension like a chisel through stone. 

“That’s not what I said,” Tim murmurs through an uneasy smile.

Jason gives a dramatic, put-upon sigh. “Fine. If you’re all gonna be such babies about it, I’ll go first. Look, we all know that before I was Robin, I was a street whore. So no big surprise something like this happened really.”

“I didn’t–” Jason blinks at the interruption. Damian looks shocked too, like he didn’t mean to interject. But he straightens anyway and tries to put on a brave face they all see through as he admits, “I was not aware that was your prior… occupation.”

Jason throws Bruce a concerned look. “Uh, maybe it’s time for baby bats to go to bed.”

Bruce opens his mouth like he’ll follow through on Jason’s suggestion but Damian’s hands ball into fists. “No! You cannot just send me away. I deserve to know the truth as well so– so I can best protect myself. Luthor– he–” Damian falters. His fingers tangle in his cape in a rare display of vulnerability that Dick has only witnessed once or twice. Usually, it’s just fiddling but this time, Damian can’t seem to stop pulling it in front of himself, another layer to hide his body. The difference is not lost on Dick. “He was talking to me when he said that,” Damian finishes weakly.

Jason looks like he might protest more but Tim cuts in. “He’s right. If we’re doing this anyway then he should be here. He’s Robin. He can handle it.” Tim’s expression twists into something awful and rueful. “Besides we were all his age or younger, right? That’s part of the problem.” They all wince at that.

After a painful pause, Bruce turns back to Jason and keeps his words gentle as he questions, “Even with your past being what it is, I am… surprised that you would have encountered Luthor during your time in Park Row. LexCorp may do business here but Luthor rarely steps foot in Gotham.”

“Not on the streets but he’s here,” Tim whispers. Barely audible, all he says is, “Galas.”

Jason’s voice is rough as he agrees, “Galas.”

Bruce’s face cracks with devastation. “It happened while you were living with us?”

“Well– It’s not– It’s all tangled together.” Jason mimes a knotted ball before letting it fall apart. Instead he just stares at his hands. “It was after that but it was… it was about that, really. It wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t…” He runs a hand through his hair and sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I’ll just say it. A few of them knew me from the street corner and they thought hey, why not take their shot for free this time. You always told me to behave at those stupid galas so I did and word got around and more people wanted a turn. Luthor was one of them.” Jason crosses his arms. His bravado is slipping now. Not even his forced levity can relieve the tension returning to the room. “It wasn’t even… It wasn’t like he was there for a good time. It wasn’t like that. I think he liked knowing I was your son and that I couldn’t stop him more than anything. Fucking… power trip.” Jason’s gaze fixes on some invisible point in the distance. “He kept calling me Robin.”

Tim gags. Damian turns white. Dick goes somewhere far, far inside himself. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen in civilian clothes. The uniform was the– Bruce should have been there if he wasn’t– Robin whispered hot against his ear– Their identities were supposed to keep them safe from–

“I’m so sorry that happened,” Bruce placates but it’s not the voice of their father. Dick can see him trying to keep it together and in doing so, he retreats into the safety of Batman. It’s the start of a familiar speech as he starts to say, “A child should never have to–”

Jason holds a hand up. “Don’t fucking victim-voice me. I don’t need the abused kid lecture. I know it was rape. I’m not in fucking denial or something. If I saw that happening to a kid now, I’d stop it. I know now that those were fucking empty threats. I just… didn’t know it back then.” Jason gives a flat scoff. “I mean, come on, right? Like they could have actually told you that they raped a kid and use that as leverage against me instead of signing themselves up for jail time. But I just… Fuck. I just thought you were going to give me away if you knew. Or that… It would have been even worse to find out that you did already know and for you to be disappointed if I didn’t… behave. So I did. It was stupid and I was a kid and I just did, okay?”

“How… how long?” Bruce presses at the sensitive wound.

Jason snaps. For a moment, he blazes with all the self-righteous fury of Crime Alley’s greatest protector. “You told me to behave! You told me to behave and be good and– and to– to play fucking nice with your white-collar buddies. And I did! So it was years, Bruce, years! ” Jason screams. “I never got to stop. I never got to just be a kid from the moment I started until I fucking died. Even the Pit can’t give you back some things.” Jason ends with a single hollow laugh before falling quiet, all the fight wrung out of him.

“Jason–”

“No. No more questions. I went first and I’m cashing in now. Someone else’s turn.” The deflection is obvious but no one can bring themselves to argue with Jason as he continues uninterrupted, “I thought for sure he wouldn’t dare touch any of you rich fucks or else I would have said something. Was it…” Jason takes a deep breath and resettles himself, lowering his voice and turning to Tim as he offers, “Tim. Kid. Was it the galas for you too?”

It’s an easy way out. An olive branch. Jason went into enough detail to show that there’s a network of predators who need to be weeded out of high society and that the galas they attend are providing easy-picking grounds. Tim would only have to nod and his side would slot neatly into Jason’s, saving him the anguish of recounting the same story. 

That’s why Dick’s heart falls when Tim shakes his head.

“It wasn’t like that. It was…” Tim searches for the word. He lands on one that Dick can’t imagine has any shred of truth. “Practical.”

“Practical?” Jason repeats incredulously.

Tim gives the barest nod. “If you think about it logically then, yes. It was practical.”

Tim has none of Jason’s rage. Just quiet resignation. It’s the kind of isolated apathy that Dick is sure made him freeze in their fight today. It’s coupled with an undercurrent of fear that makes the occasional word tremble as Tim admits softly, “It wasn’t about Robin. I can say that for sure.”

It’s Damian who asks faintly, “How can you be so certain?”

Tim gives him a small smile that’s probably supposed to be comforting but looks more like a wince. “Don’t worry, Dami. I’m sure.” He breaks eye contact and gets even quieter as he explains, “It was before I was Robin. I didn’t meet him as a supervillain. We were… introduced,” The word twists out of Tim’s mouth like a decaying tooth. “...by my parents.”

Jason’s eyes widen. “What?”

Tim shrugs. “Business transaction,” he whispers. 

“A business…” Bruce repeats helplessly. He sways towards Tim like he wants to embrace him but thinks better of it.

“Transaction?” Jason finishes with a croak.

“Mm,” Tim hums shortly. He grips at his elbows, hunching in on himself. “I… I helped Drake Industries secure business deals, sometimes. It wasn’t always like that. Usually, it wasn’t, honestly. Most times I’d just help my parents find blackmail on rivals. That was easy. Insider trading, embezzlement, bribery. People do a bad job hiding things when they think no one is looking.” Dick almost wants to laugh at the parallel. Of course Tim, who discovered Batman’s identity at age nine, would think uncovering highly valuable company secrets was child’s play. Then he thinks nine. That sobers him up quickly.

Tim’s nose scrunches before his expression smooths again, a thought cresting at the surface and then brutally suppressed. “But a couple times, someone would… ask. If that could be part of the transaction. If… if I could be a part of the transaction. And then I was the blackmail. Bad look for a CEO to assault a rival company’s heir. My parents, they were very thorough. They always got what they wanted in the end.

“Luthor, he… he’s not stupid. Not like most of them.” Tim says it almost like a compliment. Dick’s stomach rebels. He recognizes that tone. Tim hates to be outsmarted but he can’t help but hold some admiration for those that do. Tim is an expert at compartmentalization. Dick knows that the child and the genius are having two entirely different reactions to the assault. 

Tim continues, “There was nothing substantial enough for proof of bad business. So they offered. Luthor accepted. And they introduced us.”

Tim pauses and starts to blink rapidly. Dick doesn’t realize that’s the first crack until silent tears start to carve their way down Tim’s cheeks. His voice is still perfectly flat as he says, “I just thought it wasn’t my fault because I wasn’t Robin. So I didn’t say anything. I know it was wrong but I… I couldn’t figure a way out. I let Luthor hold it over my head all these years because I thought then it couldn’t be my fault that I didn’t tell you. I thought you would believe me if I told you I was coerced, if it had to come out.

“But now that it’s here… now that Damian’s involved, I…” Tim’s tears drip steadily to the floor as words fail him. He breathes, “It doesn’t feel right to deny that I share part of the blame.”

“Sweetheart, no.” Bruce moves towards Tim but before they can blink, a batarang is in Tim’s hand again. 

“Don’t lie. Robin is supposed to be better than that. We both know it.” Tim holds the batarang like a dagger, a stance they all know is hardly effective with that weapon. His hand is shaking, just barely. It’s not a threat. It’s a plea to stay away.

Bruce’s expression crumples, lined with sadness. “Tim, it’s not your fault. I would never blame you. You were a child. You didn’t have the power to stop him and that’s not your fault.”

 Tim shakes his head. “It is. I didn’t let my parents continue once I was Robin so I– I could have stopped at any time. And I didn’t. I just thought I had it under control.” Tim curls in on himself again and for a heart-stopping moment, the batarang presses into the soft flesh of his stomach. Dick’s breath catches in his throat. “I thought he wouldn’t be able to go after Robins.” Tim’s gaze goes distant for a moment before suddenly snapping towards Bruce as he adds desperately. “I didn’t know. I– I swear, Bruce, I didn’t know it was more than just me.”

“I know you didn’t, darling. I know.” Bruce takes two steps forward, reaching for Tim’s hands.

“I’m sorry,” Tim insists. Bruce is almost to him now. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Bruce is within reaching distance. He holds a steady hand out for the batarang. “Tim, sweetheart. May I have that?”

Tim barely seems to hear him as he says, “I know why he went for the kryptonite.”

“Tim,” Bruce’s voice projects comfort and reassurance. “Superman will be fine. If it becomes a problem, the Justice League can step in.”

“No, no, that’s not–”

“Tim, you don’t have anything to prove to us. Please just let me–”

 “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it was really important. It’s not hurting anyone. Or, well it’s not something the League would need to intercede on.” Tim rushes out. His expression turns guilty. “And he said that he wouldn’t tell my secret if I didn’t tell his.” Tim swallows. The batarang still hovers too close. Dick watches as Jason inches closer from behind.

“Luthor, he’s… he’s not well. He’s sick. It’s some kind of– of kryptonite poisoning.” Tim hasn’t looked up at any of them but neither Jason or Bruce seems willing to try and wrestle the batarang out of his hands. “Superboy asked me to look into Luthor’s kryptonite stash to gauge his capabilities and the threat he might pose to the Kent family. During my search, I discovered that the majority of Luthor’s kryptonite was being used for medical research in a private facility. From there, it wasn’t hard to figure out. No more kryptonite ring, the armored vest he’s been wearing, less hands-on involvement with Lex Corp.” Tim darts a look at Jason and blinks at his closeness. Still, he adds softly, “Less galas.

“He obviously didn’t want any of his enemies knowing a potential weakness so we agreed it was mutually beneficial to keep it quiet. I know it’s concerning Luthor has more kryptonite but all my monitoring indicates that curing whatever this is still has his whole attention. Even with that, I… I promise I would have said something if I thought he was a danger to Conner and the Kents. To any of us,” Tim begs, turning back to Bruce. 

Bruce takes a moment to absorb everything Tim revealed. Dick can see the cogs turning in his head, probably considering if there could be a more nefarious angle Tim missed. Dick doubts it. Tim was always the smartest Robin, the one who took after Bruce’s detective side most closely. If Tim says Luthor wants more kryptonite for research, then Dick believes him. 

“Thank you for telling me that, son. I don’t blame you for holding onto this. Luthor manipulated you with a trauma you endured as a child,” Bruce soothes.

“I could have–”

“No, Tim,” Bruce contends gently. “You were a child and he hurt you. Then he continued to hurt you, even when the sexual abuse stopped. I believe you when you say you evaluated the threat and acted accordingly.” 

“I lied to Conner,” Tim argues weakly but he’s clearly losing steam. This seems to be the one last confession he needs to make before he can atone.

Bruce finally takes the batarang from Tim’s loosening grip. The room seems to heave a sigh in unison. Bruce cups Tim’s face, wiping away the drying tears as he says, “It’s still not your fault. I don’t blame you for any of your choices. But I hope you know that you can always come to me. Whatever it is, no matter what happens. Until the end of my days, I will protect you.”

Tim gives a watery laugh. Somehow it sounds both relieved and bitter. He leans into Bruce’s palm, eyes fluttering closed. “You were always a better dad than my actual parents.”

“Who are god damn lucky they’re dead because if they weren’t, they’d be next on my list, right after Luthor,” Jason grouches but it gets a more honest laugh from Tim.

Bruce lets his hand fall back to his side and respectfully looks away as Tim sniffles and wipes at his eyes.

Dick realizes with a frisson of lightning panic that that’s it. He’s the last of their trio who hasn’t said a word. Before he can decide if he should run or laugh or even lie, all eyes turn to him.

Dick has held onto this secret for so long that he’s almost forgotten what he’s meant to feel about it. He’s gone through every stage of grief ten times over. Denying it ever happened or that it really amounted to anything that serious. Furious anger turned at Luthor, then at Bruce, and finally aimed at himself. Changing his uniform and his city and his name as if he could just escape the past. The despondent loneliness he felt protecting Bludhaven. Until finally after years and years of sick bitterness and resentment, eventually he just stopped thinking about it. 

He never quite accepted it. He’d be hard-pressed to say he even came to terms with it. He just drowned it in so many other things, in joy and pain and love and sex, in new relationships and new brothers and new responsibilities, that eventually it had to give way and make room. When he did think of it, he did everything he could to put it away again.

Because confronting this meant confronting the truth he tried so desperately to ignore. 

Dick knew deep, deep down what this meant. What this has always meant.

He was never the person he thought he was.

He was Robin. He was supposed to be the hero. He was supposed to be the one who saved others. He was supposed to be the symbol that gave people strength. He had believed that, too. Robin isn’t perfect but he always does everything in his power to do the right thing. For all his shortcomings, for every mistake he had made as Robin, Dick had always tried to do the right thing. 

Logically he knew he could have told Bruce when it happened. He should have told Bruce then. It could have stopped with him. He could have saved his brothers from this, shouldered it himself, like he was supposed to. Instead he took the coward's way out and ran away to Bludhaven, swallowing that memory down down down until he never had to look it in its face again.

“It wasn’t…” that serious. He can’t bring himself to say it. Expectant gazes press in on all sides.

Compared to Tim and Jason, it’s true. It really wasn’t that serious. It wasn’t repeated assaults. It wasn’t multiple people. It wasn’t even rape, really. Assault, maybe, but not…

Not as bad but still bad enough for Dick to leave behind his entire life to escape it. 

“It was my…” Dick chokes. The room shrinks around him. His whole body feels feverish, heat flashing under his skin.

“Grayson?” Damian whispers. Dick stares at him. God, he’s so small, so young, but Tim is right. He’s nearly the same age Dick was when it happened.

It was easier when Luthor was in front of him. At least then he could actually protect Damian. At least then he had Bruce standing beside him. Now, even with everything in the open, even with his brother’s admissions paving the way for his own, the truth can’t seem to force its way out of him.

He doesn’t know why this is so hard. It should be easy to say. Hell, Dick used to fantasize about someone finding out. He’s never been naturally inclined to keep secrets, especially about himself. He used to dream about telling Bruce. He thought Bruce might take him in his arms, might feel the same rage that Dick felt, might validate every hurt he endured and finally take that burden from him. He had so many ways he thought he might say it so Bruce would really understand. He just wanted Bruce to understand. He used to imagine how his dad might find out and finally see why Dick couldn’t be Robin anymore without Dick having to say it. Sometimes it was Alfred who realized. Sometimes it was Superman. Anyone, really, anyone who would look at him, just acknowledge him, who would finally protect him instead of trusting him to protect himself. He didn’t want to be trusted anymore. He just wanted someone to help him for a change without having to beg for it.

Dick has rehearsed this confession a thousand times but now that someone is finally listening, the words fail him.

For all his fantasies and desires, he’s never actually managed to ask for help. Doing it now might truly break him in half.

“I… I can’t,” is all Dick can manage.

“Son…” Bruce’s disappointment lances through him, sharp and hot, but not as fierce as Jason’s anger as he glares at him.

“Of course the fucking golden boy doesn’t want to share. Lets us go first and say all that shit, and now you won’t even do the same for us?” Jason growls.

“He shouldn’t have to say it if he doesn’t want to,” Tim mutters but Dick can hear the reproach. Dick winces. This isn’t how he ever thought this would go. He thought, hoped even, for sympathy. Even pity he would have taken. He wanted that.

How messed up inside does he have to be to want to be pitied? How dare he, when it's his responsibility to be their older brother?

He wanted to tell them, he always wanted to tell them, but he was too afraid of what would happen after. And now it’s happening. His brothers hate him, Bruce looks down on him, and Dick still still still hasn’t figured out how to heal from something that happens years ago. He’s making a big deal out of nothing at all and if he could only just say that then they could all move on from this. Or maybe they would take the chance to ridicule him. Dick couldn’t take that, he couldn’t. 

Dick likes to think he knows himself well. He’s spent long enough as himself that he knows his mind and body inside and out, all the signals they send to make him him. But this… this is one of those things where Dick can no longer tell if he’s being rational or not. He’s been haunted by this so long that he’s swung wildly in every direction. That’s the scariest part. He doesn’t know himself anymore. Where does that leave him?

Just when Dick thinks that he might shake apart, he feels arms wrap around his waist. He looks down to see Damian giving him a hug, cheek pressed to Dick’s side as he squeezes tighter.

“Richard, you protected me.” The sound is muffled, just a little, but still Dick hears the tiny, vulnerable, “Thank you.”

The last fragile thing finally snaps loose and Dick starts to weep.

He tucks Damian into his arms with a broken, “Not enough.” If he had truly protected Damian, Lex never would have had the chance to make that comment. Bruce or Clark could have dealt with this years ago. Dick shoulders that blame as a life sentence. 

Over Damian’s shoulder, he catches Jason’s stricken expression, Tim’s wide eyes. It occurs to him distantly that he’s never cried in front of them before. Not like this.

“It was… it was so long ago…” Dick finally managed, the words pulled out of him. It’s hard to speak through the tears. His face twists as the memory burns inside of him. “And it wasn’t… It wasn’t like Jason or Tim. I could have– I could have said something. It’s my fault I didn’t tell anyone.”

Dick’s breath catches. He steps back from Damian, chest tightening with every second. He can’t– he can’t–

He hides his face, feeling the tears drip into his palms, the warm panting of himself hyperventilating. He needs to pull himself together. No one wants to keep lingering in the cave waiting for Dick to just say the words they all already know. 

“It was just one time,” Dick chokes out between his fingers. “Superman needed Batman’s help in Metropolis. So I was… I was alone on patrol. I’m not even sure why Luthor was in Gotham. Maybe he just heard you weren’t there and he– he–”

“Took advantage of that,” Tim mutters. 

Dick tenses. He forces himself to shrug. “Maybe.”

“Of you,” Jason points out. The words land like an accusation, another dagger between Dick’s ribs. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Please stop,” he begs. His brothers fall mercifully silent. “I wasn’t… I didn’t think it could happen with Bruce here. I thought he could– he would– that Batman would be enough to protect you both.” He hears someone stagger back from Bruce’s direction and guilt sings through him again. He’s hurting him. He’s hurting his dad. This is the reality that always kept him from indulging his fantasies. He’s hurting all of them, just like he was terrified he would. He has hurt them and he is hurting them.

“There was no Oracle back then,” he tries to make them understand. “No team. Just the two of us. Just– just me. Luthor cornered me and he told me I shouldn’t go out like– like that. That Robins shouldn’t be out alone when they– when they–” Dick presses the heels of his palms into the sockets of his eyes. He strangles out brokenly, “When they looked like me and dressed like me.

“He pinned me to the wall. He had some kind of enhanced suit. I’m– I’m not sure. I couldn’t–” Dick swallows back the excuses. He shouldn’t be dragging this out. “He stuck his hand down my pants. And I… we…” Bile rises in his throat.

“Dick, honey, you don’t have to say anymore,” Bruce tries to appease him. Damian, Dick thinks. He can’t say this in front of Damian. The scolding fractures something even deeper inside of him. Bruce is trying to stop him from saying something stupid, he knows, but it’s all rising to the surface now.

Dick rounds on Bruce, feeling nearly manic as his heart pounds and aches and bleeds. “I was so scared. And so– I was so mad. We were fighting all the time. You– you didn’t even try to stop me when I left. Didn’t you wonder why? Why weren’t you there for me?” His hands clench into fists. “I couldn’t be Robin anymore. I had to be something else. And when I finally came home, Jason was in the same suit. My suit. The suit that made Luthor– that he said–” 

“Jesus, Dick.” Jason is slack-jawed, staring at him like he’s never seen him before. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Dick flinches hard. 

“I… I made you put on a different suit,” he protests weakly. Like that made any difference in the end.

Jason looks lost. “I thought that was because you hated me taking Robin from you.”

“No,” Dick answers shortly. It had never offended him. No, it terrified him. He knew the danger he was putting Jason in and even that couldn’t convince him to overcome his shame. Instead, all he did was make sure the next Robin uniform had pants.

“Statistically, how you dress…” Tim starts hesitantly. “How anyone dresses actually plays very little part in the likelihood of assault. Especially if the perpetrator has already chosen their… target. If that makes you feel better.”

Dick swallows past the lump in his throat. It’s not worth arguing. Part of him knew it wasn’t only the suit but the other part… he thinks it’s still him. Something about him that invites it. Lex was the first person to say it like that , but he wasn’t the first to say Dick was too pretty for his own good. And after that… he wasn’t the last person to take advantage of that invitation.

“As always, you are entirely lacking in tact, Drake,” Damian scowls. “But there is some small regard in which he is correct, Richard. If Luthor was determined to seek you out, then you hadn’t much recourse to outwit him. You are not at fault.”

Dick forces himself to take one, two deep shuddering breaths before he wipes viciously at his eyes and says, “I don’t blame myself for what happened.” A partial truth. He ignores the way Damian’s eyes narrow. “But I blame myself for the aftermath. For not letting someone know when I should have. I know you both– you all probably b-blame me for that. And I– I can never–” A fresh wave of tears wells up, rolling down Dick’s cheeks. “I can never make up for that. I’ll never be sorry enough.”

“None of you have to be sorry for what Luthor did. None of you are to blame,” Bruce whispers but the words don’t land. He isn’t the person Dick needs to seek forgiveness from. When he reaches for him, Dick cringes away. 

He searches for his brothers instead. He meets Tim’s eyes first.

Tim responds with a tired half-smile. “Of course I don’t blame you, Dick. The timelines don’t match up for you to have intervened. Like I said, it was years before I was even Robin. It might even have been around the same time it was happening to both of us.” Tim’s teeth click together as he cuts himself off. He goes pale as he seems to process what he just said. “Shit.”

The room falls quiet as they take that in. There was some beauty in how they all shared the mantle of Robin but this… this is something Dick never wanted to have in common with his brothers.

“I just never thought that could happen to you,” Jason murmurs. He looks… unsteady. Since he became Red Hood, Dick has seen him angry and wounded and even hurt but never so unsure. “You’re… you. You’re his golden child. I just thought you were… I don’t know, perfect.”

Dick’s gaze falls. “I know. That’s why I didn’t want you to know. I–” He takes a ragged inhale, wiping at his cheeks again. “I let you down.”

“No.” Jason crosses the distances between them instantly. Dick squeaks as he grabs his shoulders. Jason shakes him as he demands, “No, that is not what I’m saying, dickhead. That’s not what I fucking said. Just– fuck.”   Jason’s fingers dig into his flesh. He’s shaking, Dick realizes suddenly. “This is so fucked up to say but if anything, it’s– it’s fucking nice to know that it’s you too, okay? That you’re not this– this unreachable, untouchable– fuck, that’s not– It’s just nice to know you’re a real person. That you’re like us. Me. That it wasn’t because we’re bad Robins or some shit, and that we’re kind of… kind of the same? I’m not saying it right. Just–” Jason huffs and then pulls Dick into a tight hug. “I know you never listen to me but just listen this time, okay? It’s not your fault. I never blamed you for any of it. Not Robin, not Nightwing, not the Joker. And definitely not this. Never.” He squeezes him a little tighter. His next words are quiet enough for only Dick to hear. “You’ll always be our big brother but that doesn’t mean we aren’t here for you too. We love you, Dick.”

Dick brings his own trembling hands to clutch at Jason and buries his face in his shoulder. The sobs start in his chest but soon his whole body is shuddering with the force. The absolution rocks him to his core. And for the first time, he lets his brother share his burden.

-

Bruce

Bruce understood, from the moment the words left Luthor’s mouth, that this would change him forever. All of his sons violated in some way, by deeds and by words, by the same man. Violated in the most cruel, heinous, monstrous way as children. Some things are unforgivable.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever recover from the knowledge of how badly he failed his sons. 

Eventually, Dick lets him approach. As he wraps his oldest in an embrace and feels him quake against him, he promises himself that this will never happen again. Not to any of them. Not to his youngest. Not to another soul under Luthor’s hand.

He repeats that to himself that night when Damian crawls into his bed and pleads into the dark, “Father, I… I don’t want to see that man again.”

Bruce holds up the cover for him, tucking his son into his cocoon of warmth. “You won’t, Damian. None of you will. I swear it.”

Damian shifts under the sheets. His head knocks on his sternum and Bruce cuddles him closer. Even so tainted, Bruce can’t help but hold this moment preciously. The times when Damian acts his age are few and far between.

“And… and what about–” Damian pauses. 

“I won’t let him hurt you,” Bruce promises.

Damian nods. “I believe you. But I…” Bruce feels tiny hands wrap in his shirt. “I worry for Jon. I know Kent is not like us. I know he’s… strong. But we are the same in other ways, Father.”

Damian doesn’t need to state that they’re both children out loud. The unsaid words are deafening. Bruce’s heart breaks all over again.

He presses a kiss to the top of Damian’s head and whispers, “I’ll take care of it, Damian. He’ll never lay a hand on a child again.” Bruce takes a deep breath. “And may I ask something of you, son?”

“Of course, Father.”

“If something like this happens to you… If you find yourself, whether through force or coercion or any other means, in the same situation as your brothers… Promise me you’ll tell us. It doesn’t have to be the whole family. It can be me or Alfred or any of your brothers. Anyone you trust. Just promise me you’ll reach out for help. Please.”

Damian’s voice is even quieter as he agrees, “I promise.”

They drift to sleep, though Bruce finds himself awoken three more times in the night as first Tim, then Dick, then Jason join them on his thankfully massive bed. He doesn’t complain, just brings each one in closer so he can keep vigil. 

In the end, Luthor’s undoing is obvious. Tim’s encounter with him was always meant to be a contingency and his history as a Drake sets him far apart from any connection with Batman. It takes only one tape slipped to Commissioner Gorden for Luthor to be consigned to a lifetime in Blackgate. With Tim’s intel, Bruce is sure it’s only a matter of time before Luthor succumbs to his karmic illness.

There are still bad days. There is incalculable healing his family must endure. But there are good days too. They are indeed forever changed, just as each event in life changes them in one way or another. Bruce is there for each of his sons every step of the way. And they keep moving forward and forward and forward, together, until the past fades into the distance.