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Tim Drake is the best at finding things. Things no one knows, things he should leave alone, things not his to look.
And secrets are the easiest thing to find.
But secrets are private, personal, not meant to be digged without proper consent. It's basic manner. And Tim is very well-mannered.
But, because of course there is a but, when it come to Dick Grayson, manner is out of the question.
Tim wants to know everything about him—for educational purposes, obviously, just admiration—from the surface of that smile to the root of his lies.
Because Dick is life itself, and Tim finds it unacceptable to miss even the smallest part of him.
Nightwing on patrol. Dick at his favorite coffee shop. Dick and his police partner. Nightwing and Robin on the roof talking. Dick giving Cass a gift. Nightwing soothing a civilian. Nightwing chasing a criminal. Nightwing getting shot and Tim happened to be near. Dick working late on a case. Dick eating cereal for dinner. Dick's tears fall at the edge of his bed. Dick avoiding the rain. Nightwing coming home late and falling asleep in the bathroom, waking up on his bed. Dick coming for family dinner. Nightwing with a new partner. Nightwing—
Tim did not, in his wildest dreams, expect the name Tarantula, and the disaster it came with.
—Nightwing on the rooftop. Nightwing multiple days later in a hotel.
Tim keeps an eye out on Dick now—well, more than he already did—and he sees things that didn't make sense before.
So whenever it rains, or whenever Dick zones out at the supposedly normal promiscuous jokes, Tim takes Dick away to watch a movie or a sport game at Dick's place.
And Dick, he knows Tim knows something, but doesn't say anything, enjoying the warmth and how sweet his brother is.
And Tim knows Dick knows he knows, but it's like there's a silent vow between them, and none says a word as they laze on Dick's couch, engulfed by the cheering of the stadium crowd.
Bruce-lost-in-time happens, or in everyone's opinion—dead, and Dick thinks Tim is delusional and grieving.
Tim still drags Dick along through a TV show anyway. But then Tim loses both Batman and Robin, and he stops coming.
When patrol ends and Damian is asleep, and the manor is quiet save for the rhythm of the rain, Dick finds himself turning on the TV. It’s much larger and of better quality than the one at his apartment.
Tim had always told him to get a new one, Dick should probably look into it.
He plays one of the movies already downloaded there before heading for the couch.
And he sits there, until the rain stops, until morning comes. The movie doesn't pull him out of haunting hands and voice, doesn't do anything.
It continues to play in the background, dull, repetitive, almost static in his ears.
—someone crying, someone laughing, someone falling, a gunshot, a voice, sweet and intimate, he can’t hurt us anymore, baby—
“Master Dick?”
Dick blinks, registering the voice and looking up from the couch.
Alfred stands at the living room entrance, glancing at the TV with a questioning look.
It must be a weird scene, Dick at 7 AM watching a melodrama about—Dick finally looks at the movie, and what the—a tragic love story between the mafia’s most loyal right-hand man and the underground officer working on taking them down.
What in the world has—had—Bruce been watching? Or was it Steph?
Dick clears his throat with no way to rescue his reputation, he returns Alfred’s stare. “I… really like this movie?”
Alfred raises his eyebrow, “Enough to watch all night, and again until you’re late for work, Master Dick?”
“Shit—“, Dick springs to his feet before looking at Alfred apologetically. He sighs, handing the butler five bucks.
Then he’s on his feet, Alfred’s stare burning at his back.
The next time it rains, Dick calls Tim.
He knows he's being selfish (and manipulative, honestly), using this as an excuse to mend things, to keep tabs on Tim like a coward. Like Bruce.
The call comes through, and Dick pretends the past weeks weren't there. "Hey. Wanna watch a movie?", he says, as casual as one can be.
There's a long silence, as if Tim is thinking about it. Even now, he's too sweet and caring, despite the things Dick has done.
"… I'm busy", Tim says in the end, tired, quiet, and perhaps irritated, "… Sorry. Maybe later".
Tim doesn't fall for his trick, it seems.
Dick smiles, hoping his voice reflects the same. “Okay. It’s cool. Come over whenever, the manor or my place. I got the new model last week, too, you won’t have to complain about the slowness or the mismatched colors or regret not using the manor TV instead—”
Okay, he’s rambling now. Dick really wants to bite off his tongue. “Anyway, see you later?”
Again, Tim takes a while to answer. Dick wonders what’s going on inside Tim’s head. He never really knows, and especially not after Tim’s obsession of finding a dead man.
Maybe Tim wants to say more, or maybe he wants to deny it—that there’s no “later”.
Dick suddenly dreads the next words that come.
”Okay”, Tim says, suddenly meek and hesitant, as if he can’t hold his grudge the longer the call goes on. “Uh, See you… later”.
”Yeah”, Dick breathes. Maybe he can fix this.
The call ends.
Tim leaves.
He needs Batman, if not him, then Robin. That's what makes him Tim, but there's none left.
If no one believes him, he just needs to prove it.
Dick watches the TV alone, turning channels to channels. The manor is once again quiet, but his mind is not.
The movie is playing, but it comes to him as static, distant, familiar.
When Damian comes down to complain about the noises, Dick looks at him with confusion. He didn’t remember it raining that hard during patrol, but Dick has been sitting here for a while so it probably has gotten worse since.
“Is the rain too loud? Wanna switch room? Mine isn’t at the corner so it’s quieter”.
Damian, in his lovely pajama and with a scowl that’s more funny than scary, says, “What are you talking about? The rain stopped hours ago. It’s your ridiculous movie that’s loud”.
Really? He didn’t notice.
Dick looks back at the TV, its noises finally coming through his ears. As said, it is a little too loud because of how quiet everything else is.
“My bad. Got a bit too focused”, Dick smiles apologetically and stands from the couch, his bones cracking, grinning at Damian’s disgusted eyes.
“Good movie. We should watch together sometime”. He says for good measure but halts at the nasty look Damian throws his way.
Dick raises his brow, staring back at the screen, ”What? It’s not that ba—“
The spy yanks the mafia’s shirt collar, declaring his love…
Is this the sequel?!
He turns the TV off, his reputation long shattered.
Dick apologizes again as the little guy ushers him to the bedroom.
Later, he realizes it wasn’t because he didn’t notice the rain stopping, but because the movie sounded like one.
His calls go to voicemail.
He stops watching.
Bruce is back. Tim and Dick try to mend things the only way they know: pretend. The movies thing a touchy spot that none dare speaks of.
Tim sees Dick dissociate once, it's quick. Of course Dick didn't suddenly get rid of his traumas simply because time passes. Tim knows that, but seeing with his own eyes is a different thing.
Tim doesn't want to think about the time they were apart. Pride matters little when his brother is like this.
While the pain stays, tugged away in a box, Tim calls Dick again the next time it rains.
The barely held back hope and confusion and so much disbelief in Dick's eyes when Tim reaches out kills him a little.
Tim needs his anger, he can't let go just yet, not when it still hurts. That's why doesn't want to put thoughts into those eyes. He knows he wouldn't care about anything then, and would forgive Dick in a heartbeat.
Tim is sitting in his couch for the live game and Dick is happy—but careful, as if Tim is a stray cat that runs at any sight of a sudden change. It's a bit awkward, but they're both trying to avoid the elephant in the room.
There's popcorn and everything. And a new TV, freshly unpacked.
Dick said he changed his TV again because he carelessly broke the last-new one. Bur the dusted box indicated something that makes Tim’s heart die of grief.
He can’t think about that.
Tim sits by the end of the couch, and Dick lies along it—very close to Tim's leg, actually, pressing against it and almost laying his head on it.
It started slow, Dick inching back to the old presence of their closeness. A tentative shoulder touch, a playful poke, a hesitant side hug.
Tim can’t pull away, not when Dick moves so carefully, not when he wants it just as badly.
That and this moment painfully reminds Tim of his little crush that has been floating around all this time because of how messy things were.
He feels stupid that such feeling remains after years of changes and everything in between. If anything, it just went from a pure puppy crush to a less pure one…
But then again, it's Dick Grayson. He does that to people.
Tim is trying very hard to not look down, not wanting Dick to catch the faint blush on his face. It's already awkward enough, okay?
And Tim is supposed to be angry, staring at someone's face while blushing sounds anything but angry.
Dick doesn't comment on the show as much as before. But people change. It's understandable, the game today is a bit intense, hard to get your eyes away. Tim doesn't delve into it.
Only later, when the rain has eased and Tim gives himself the courage to glance, he notices Dick’s unfocused gaze.
"Dick?"
Tim doesn't know what happens, hovering uselessly over Dick. The rain is much quieter now, even if it isn't, the show would have done something.
Tim stares at the TV screen, and at Dick again, not knowing what to do.
"Dick", he calls, but Dick seems to be past the state to be pulled back.
How long has Tim let Dick in this state? Why did he even take that long to notice? And now Dick is too deep in it and Tim isn't helping.
"Dick, the rain stops". He tries again, frustrated tears stinging his eyes. Helpless, always so helpless.
The cheers from the TV reminds Tim of its existence. And he looks at the moving faces, suddenly praying that it's not what he's thinking.
Tim turns the TV off.
It takes a long, long time before Dick blinks again. And the first words come almost missed, "?… Don't cry". He mumbles, hazy eyes meeting Tim's.
Dick's hand brushes Tim's tears, and relief fills Tim's chest, despite the silent screaming of it's not the TV, it's not the TV, it's not the TV.
"Dic—" "Don't cry, Cat".
Tim's face goes pale and he is frozen. Frozen as Dick continues to caress his face, whispering soft words that aren't meant for him.
"Shh. I'm sorry. You can do it. You can do it. Just… give me a moment". Dick shushes apologetically, hoping she can forgive him.
And Tim feels sick. So, so sick.
"Dick. No", he says, lamely. "No. You're not there".
Even without the rain, without the movies, the silence doesn't help, either.
And Tim's also voice isn't helping.
Why would it?
Tim doesn't know what to do. The show should have helped, and it didn't.
Tim covers Dick's ears, praying to whatever deity out there to just fix this.
Tim presses his forehead against Dick's, for a second hoping his tears won't fall into Dick's eyes and sting them.
"Dick", Tim calls and tries to find just a sign of recognition in those blue eyes.
Blue eyes that have gotten so sad, so dull. For each bright fragment taken and taken. By her. By Tim.
"Dick, please".
But Dick can't hear Tim. No one hears his voice but himself. A voice that only ever ruins.
Why does he always ruin things? He ruins this for Dick. And now he may have ruined Dick as well.
"I'm sorry". Tim whispers, the words wretched out of him.
"It's my fault. I'm sorry", Dick says, kissing her cheek and fingers carding her hair.
"I'm sorry". Tim cries, and praying once more that Dick won't remember this, won't remember Tim's selfish tears and greedy wishes, so that he won't call Tim's name with guilt in his eyes, won't hesitate to touch Tim's head, won't disappear when Tim dares show any signs of discomfort.
"I'm sorry". He says, hoping the words come through.