Archive of Our Own

The art of moving with stealth (even when you are absolutely certain that nobody is there to watch you) seemed to have been lost on Robins Three and Five.

Dick had been assigned to a task that was nothing short of a babysitting job with Tim and Damian. The objective, post failed mass attack from one Mr Jonathan Crane, was to sweep warehouses on the southern end of Gotham for any crates of fear toxin or traps that may have been left in the aftermath.

Bruce, of course, had gotten to handle the more flashy side of such a debacle, the part that involved sending Crane crashing through a wall. After the dust had cleared, he'd headed back to the Batcave to analyse a sample of what was supposedly a new strain of fear toxin, leaving Jason and Cass chasing drugged up, hysterical thugs around the city while the rest of the group was split up to go and search for any leftovers.

They'd searched through about two sketchy warehouses with relatively little trouble, and it was only when they hit warehouse three that disaster struck.

The air was cold and crisp, with the faint smell of smoke drifting through the air as was typical of Gotham, and rain dripped down from a gloomy sky streaked with ugly gray brushstrokes. Short of a few teenagers gathered in a cluster huffing and puffing out clouds of sweet-scented chemicals (Dick took a moment to wonder if there was a technical term for a gang of teens), there seemed to be nobody else around.

Ideal circumstances for an investigation, really, no nosy witnesses or angry thugs on guard, but that was still no cause to drop the stealthy approach he'd manufactured for the previous locations.

Despite the obvious need for silence and slow movements, Damian's sharp voice cut through the quiet patter of raindrops against concrete and the distant wailing of sirens and car horns. "I still believe Father is incorrect about Crane implementing a new strain of fear toxin."

A quiet scoff at the statement escaped Tim somewhere in front of him as Dick leapt off of the lamppost he'd been crouched on, rolling into a handstand before pushing himself back up onto his feet with both hands in the air proudly. Dick's artful landing received no response from either Robin, each party far too busy staring the other down.

"Let's not start this up again, Robin." Dick murmured to Damian just as Tim moved to open his mouth. Damian's head swivelled around to stare at Dick as his self-satisfied expression morphed into a scowl. "Might still be people around, and we wanna be quiet if we're investigating."

Tim and Damian had been having this debate on and off since they'd set out from the scene of the original fight, and his temper was beginning to wear thin- although that didn't stop him from keeping his voice to a whispered lull and keeping a pleasant smile plastered on his face. His companions, however, held no such respect for the situation at hand as Tim's face crinkled into a frown.

"That's just- blatantly not true, Robin." Dick chewed on his lip to repress a groan, instead approaching the double doors of the warehouse. "From what I saw during the fight, a decent chunk of people were exhibiting several new symptoms. A lot more rage and violence, for one." He pushed his shoulder gently against the flaking metal, ear pressed against the door, to see if the set of doors give easily. There was a quiet creak of complaint, but no movement. "Enough so that it's a cause of concern for Batman to go and investigate." Another experimental push, but still nothing more substantial than a small scraping sound as the door shifted fractionally. Maybe it was locked. "Are you saying you don't trust Batman's judgement?" Dick didn't even need to turn his head as he pushed harder against the door. He could just about hear the irritated hand gestures in Tim's voice.

Dick slammed the whole of his body against the cold panels of metal, and finally they gave way, rusted doors creaking open with an echoing groan. The interior of the warehouse seemed mostly bare apart from the crates stacked up against the walls. Some were open, empty vials spilling out (the fact that they were empty was a good sign in itself), while some seemed jammed shut or had restricted access due to several more stacked on top of them. He didn't envy whoever'd lifted them in the first place- they were about half his size.

The inside of the warehouse, Dick decided as he walked in, was somehow colder than the rainy docks outside. He could see a leak from at least three spots in the walls, and mould was creeping up a shaded spot barely hidden by some sopping wet cardboard boxes in a corner. There was a door at the back of the large central room that seemed to lead to somewhere smaller, although it was hard to tell from a distance.

The sound of Damian clicking his tongue rang through the warehouse, almost in a scolding manner at the fact that Tim dared to carry an incorrect opinion. "Not particularly. Father is a very paranoid man. And every civilian will respond differently to fear toxin, Drake." Tim's beginning of a protest died in his throat as Damian, even mid complaint, still had the minor shred of awareness needed to correct himself. "Red… Robin. It is like medication- many people can respond differently to the same thing." Dick began to move towards the back end of the room, nearer to the small door he'd spotted. "The presence of a new symptom is no cause for alarm, and it's a waste of Father's resources when he could be searching elsewhere."

A sharp inhale came from where Dick was sure Tim was behind him, and he took a moment to press his eyes shut and take a deep breath. To give them some credit, Tim and Damian had improved majorly on the grounds of squabbling in the past few years, but after the fight with Scarecrow, everyone was tired, cold, wet, injured, or all of the above. As a result, tensions were high and fights were being picked left and right over mostly inconsequential matters- he'd heard Steph and Duke squabbling as they'd grappled away, and Jason had been muttering to himself as Cass made a point of running on the roof of a building on the opposite side of the road to him.

In all honesty, Dick was on Damian's side in regards to logic- it wasn't unusual for some people to be angry when under the effects of fear toxin- but he also understood Tim's more pragmatic and cautious approach. Voicing support for either side was a death sentence anyhow, and so he remained quiet.

"Even so, with something as- volatile as fear toxin, it makes sense to check every possible new development!" Tim protested. When his eyes flicked open, Dick could see Tim move to the right to try and pry open the nearest crate. "And aren't you all about- efficiency or something? Wouldn't you rather check every option?" There was a scraping sound and then a click as the doors slid back shut behind Damian. Much easier to close than open, it seemed.

"I am not about efficiency." Damian squawked, purposefully moving over to tug at the lid of a crate on the complete opposite side of the room to Tim. "I am 'about' success. And wasting time and resources making something out of nothing is not successful." Jesus Christ, this was a useless debate. Bruce was going to examine any samples no matter what opinion won the debate.

The smashing of glass and cursing from Tim sounded as he bumped into a tower of crates, sending one at the top smashing into the ground as Tim quickly scampered backwards. Dick assumed that the lack of screaming hallucinations from his brother implied that the vials had been empty- another success, in his books.

Damian took a moment of pause to crane his neck and stare owlishly at Tim with his large, dark eyes before continuing with a huff. "You are not stopping any crimes or imprisoning their proprietors, you are wasting money. Just because Father has a lot to go around doesn't mean that it should be thrown around for a pointless endeavour."

Dick turned his back away as Tim launched into a rant about better safe than sorry, allowing himself to let out a sigh. If they wanted to squabble, he consoled himself as he began quietly cracking open crates and squinting down at empty vials, he would let them. As long as one of them wasn't being loud, there was a chance to catch any leftover goons off guard, so Dick himself opted to remain silent.

It was almost comforting, the repetitive cycle of forcing lids off of crates and picking up a vial to study it before drifting along to the next. The amount of empty vials did scare him a fraction- clearly, Crane had been planning something even bigger than his failed attack and had just yet to get around to actually filling these crates and crates of empty vials. But Crane was back behind bars now, so it was less of a worry, he supposed.

His brothers' squabbling faded into the quiet hum of background noise as he continued the process, and after a few minutes of searching his gaze drifted back to the second door.

Dick turned his head back towards Tim and Damian; they were still arguing from opposite sides of the warehouse. Tim was grumbling sharply under his breath just loud enough for the latter to overhear, while Damian loudly complained in response to every mumble. He turned away, ignoring the crash of an empty vial and another yelp from Tim as he crouched down to push away the crate that was blocking the smaller door. Despite being full of only empty glass bottles, the crate was still heavier than he'd like, and it took an embarrassing amount of mumbled complaints and shoving for it to finally shift to the side.

This door clicked open a lot easier than the entrance doors, and it also seemed significantly smaller than the other room. Which made sense. No shit, Batman, the storage room is bigger than the back room?

Being the only one that seemed to still value stealth right now, Dick managed to slip inside unnoticed by the other two, but that didn't stop him from frowning at the lack of contents apart from a single crate in the centre of the room. The door shut behind him, and if Dick had been paying attention to anything other than the small crate and the relief at Tim and Damian's voices fading, he might have heard the hiss of air escaping from the cracks in the walls. He might've thought to grab for the rebreather in his belt.

He didn't, though.

Dick crouched down to crack open the crate, and his frown only deepened as he was met with rows upon rows of small glass vials filled with bubbling and splashing green liquid. Gotcha. Fear toxin was usually dispensed in a gaseous form, but chucking a liquid vial was a surefire way to speed up the process of your opponent's torment.

He picked up one of the glass tubes as gently as he could, feeling the small weight of it in his palm. It was cold against his warm skin (weirdly warm, actually), and he could feel the liquid twisting and slamming against the edges of its container as though attempting to escape. It was kind of unsettling to watch, but he couldn't really make himself look away.

It was only when a bead of sweat dripped down his face and onto the vial he was holding that Dick realised the room had suddenly become uncomfortably hot. He slowly rose to a standing position, grip on the vial tightening as his breath switched to uneasy shuddering. Something felt incredibly wrong, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it. His palms were growing incredibly clammy, actually, now that he was thinking about it, and it took all of his focus on that moment to not let the vial slip and drop.

The worst thing that could happen right now would be one of them getting hit with fear toxin while in a warehouse with stubborn doors and crates stacked high. Dick couldn't let that happen.

He was just about to reach for the doorhandle when he heard a sudden screech and the sound of something hitting the floor, and his hand stopped midway through the moment. The resonating sound of the scream rang in his ears, alarm clawing at every fibre of his being as he tried to reason with himself about what the thud might have been.

Dick abandoned all pretence of a calm stroll to open the door, instead slamming his shoulder roughly against it in a desperate attempt to force it open quickly. "Robin? Red Robin? Is everything okay out there?" He tried his best to keep his words steady as the door didn't budge, but he couldn't mask the obviously crack in his now shrill voice.

As his nails scrabbled at the cold metal of the door, his mind raced for logical explanations. Damian had probably thrown something else, or Tim had banged into another tower and rolled quickly out of the way.

Then something else hit the ground, accompanied by more yelling and a harsh choking sound, and Dick abandoned all rational thought. "Tim? Damian! What's- are you okay?" His voice was as loud as he could manage. It almost drowned out the pounding of his heart or his shaky breathing. Almost, but not quite. Dick abandoned any attempts at pushing the door, fist pounding against it as his voice rose into screaming.

By some miracle, his hand slipped and crashed down against the door handle, and the force of his body leaned up against it pushing the door wide open. Dick practically fell forwards, chest heaving for breath as his gaze darted wildly around in search for his brothers. The screaming and shouting from outside had now gone dead silent, and his heart only somehow managed to claw its way even further into his stomach as he looked at the sight laid out before him.

In spite of all the other things he could've latched onto, the first thing Dick zeroed in on was the blood. The quiet, trickling stream of scarlet that poured down from Tim's slumped figure on the floor to add to the pool of crimson collecting beneath him. His gaze drifted to the left to see Damian twitching on the floor, coughing up blood and struggling under an odd figure, a twisting mass of shadows with its foot planted firmly on his back. His dark gaze drifted up to meet Dick's, and Damian made one last desperate attempt to scramble forwards before his head dropped and he lay still. The only sound left to fill the silence was the dripping of blood and Dick's hysterical gasps for breath.

For a moment, Dick could only stand still, fighting off the tears brimming under his mask and trying to steady the shaking of his hands as his mind raced to figure out what was happening and what he could do about it. What the fuck is happening? I was gone for five minutes. I was gone for- Tim's mask had been dislodged at some point during the fight, his glassy gaze staring Dick down.

He could feel his throat tightening as a wave of nausea washed over him, and it took every fibre of restraint in his body not to keel over and throw up where he stood. The glass of the vial shattered under his grip, green liquid mixed with blood dripping down his hand, but he paid it no mind.

He tried to straighten slightly, to maintain a somewhat intimidating posture, but his legs wobbled as he took a small step forwards and a pained sound escaped him. They're dead. I was right there, I was a room away, and they're dead. I left for five minutes and they're dead.

Dick's mind drifted to the incredibly rare occasions where Bruce had touched on Jason's death. Bruce being Bruce only gave brisk, gruff descriptions, of course, but he couldn't help but wonder if Bruce had felt a similar amount of small and helpless in that moment. Dick couldn't help but wonder if every single sense had also been simultaneously dulled and heightened for Bruce, to an extent that also left him frozen.

It was only a very mild comfort to think that a stoic man like Bruce could be just as scared as Dick, but nonetheless it was at least a drop of comfort into the sea of boiling rage and despair that was beginning to froth and bubble up inside of him.

His mouth cracked open to say something, anything, to scream and shout as he'd been doing earlier until his voice grew hoarse. Nothing came out.

The shadowy figures only stared Dick down, dark eyes boring into his skull as the dripping of blood grew only louder, drowning out every other possible sound.

He could feel something shift inside him as he was met only with blank stares. The sickening despair that was thrumming throughout every part of his body was slowly being replaced with a boiling hot rage.

Not again. Dick could only imagine the look on Jason's face when he'd arrive to the scene after a distress call. The slow shift between realisation and anger at Dick's failure yet again to protect. He could see the disappointment on Bruce's face. He could hear their voices, their shouting, their scolding.

Never again.

Fueled only by rage, Dick took a step closer to the figure stood over Tim, reeled back his fist, and swung forwards.

Tim only noticed that Dick was missing when something began pounding on the door next to him from the other side.

For the most part, tonight had been a nightmare. He was actually having a rather pleasant evening before Bruce had shot up from his chair and told them all that Scarecrow was on the loose. Tim was midway through planning a movie night with Kon over text, actually, so it was less than fun to be pulled up by the back of his shirt and told to go get ready.

Then the fight itself had been a nightmare, of course. Tim hadn't actually gotten to partake in any of the cool parts of combat with a famous supervillain. He'd just spent most of the fight trying not to get the shit beaten out of him as he ran around trying to both administer antidotes to anyone on fear toxin while also attempting to study them for any new symptoms between punches swung at his head.

He was pretty sure at least three of his ribs were bruised, but Bruce had still insisted on everyone splitting up to either administer antidotes to the stragglers or look for any leftover fear toxin. Tim had spent enough time chasing down hysterical civilians that night and volunteered for the latter.

It was how they'd ended up at this warehouse, and it was how he'd ended up with Damian still shrieking protests down his ear from across the room as they both sorted through crates. Tim had tuned out from Damian's arguing a few minutes ago, still muttering responses but not wanting to waste more energy on this debate when he was clearly in the right.

If Damian wanted to be hit by a new strain of fear toxin and freak out while having no antidote in development, that was his choice. God forbid Tim wanted to be prepared.

"I just do not think it is a valuable use of time and resources on a nonexistent problem!" Damian snapped. Tim couldn't find it in himself to repress an eye roll and a sigh, and the younger boy's head whipped around to frown at him. "You're not taking this conversation seriously." Damian said slowly.

"You started it." Tim grumbled, slamming down the lid of yet another crate of empty vials closed. If he didn't know any better from watching a sickly green cloud of fear toxin drift through the streets only a few hours beforehand, he would've been theorising that the new strain was an invisible, odourless gas based on the amount of empty vials.

"And you snapped back. Don't start a fight you can't commit to, Red Robin." Damian sniffed, making a point of turning his back away from Tim. There's no way I was this immature when I was fourteen, right?

"I didn't start a fight, Robin, I just responded to your stupid fucking-" Tim went dead silent at the sudden sound of muffled shouting, and Damian's huffing stopped. Both slowly turned their heads to face the small door at the back of the room. It was only then that he noticed the stark absence of Dick, who'd previously been lingering by the back of the room and visibly trying not to pull faces at the arguing that was happening.

He'd presumed Dick's silence was the result of a mental effort not to shout at both of them for a useless debate (since Tim was clearly in the right), but it seemed to be from a lack of his presence in the main room at all.

The shouting from behind the door grew louder- it was clearly Dick, but what he was actually saying was muffled. He could hear the resounding clang of metal as Dick began to pound on the door, and it was then that he noticed the thin cloud of green smoke curling from under the door.

Shit. Fuck. All the bad words. Fear toxin and Dick Grayson was a combination he'd yet to see, and he wasn't particularly looking forward to it.

Tim took a few alarmed steps backwards, immediately scrambling for the rebreather on his belt and snapping it onto his face. "Robin!" He didn't even get to finish his sentence before he turned his head to the side and saw Damian's face similarly covered, his expression showing something but a frown or a scowl for the first time in hours. That kid is gonna have horrendous frown lines when he's older. Instead his face was just riddled with quiet alarm as he slowly moved backwards from the door.

Dick's screaming grew only louder, and Tim could faintly hear his and Damian's names among the garbled panicked words. That was bad. That was really bad, actually, because Dick was constantly the first to smile tightly and correct people when they didn't use codenames on patrol, so the fact that he was screaming their names and banging on the door was a sign they were in for a rough time.

Finally, Dick seemed to manage to pause his scrambling and barrel into the door as it crashed open. His older brother stumbled out, gasping for breath and hiccuping between the beginnings of sobs as his head whipped around wildly. He froze the moment his gaze landed on Tim, and then it slowly drifted over to Damian.

Tim and Damian exchanged a look that universally meant, 'oh shit,' (even with masks on) before he turned back to Dick and called out hesitantly. "Uh… Nightwing? Are you-" Tim's hand slowly moved to the pouch on his belt that contained an antidote. If this was a new strain of fear toxin then it wouldn't help much, but it would maybe calm him down a bit before he hit the violent phase. Maybe he's like a dinosaur. Jurassic Park had been the movie he'd been talking with Kon about watching, so that was maybe why it was his first thought. Maybe if I move super slowly he won't hit me. "Are you okay?"

Dick still didn't move, looking between Tim and Damian- or, more specifically and oddly enough, between the floor by their feet. His ragged breathing was rapidly breaking down into uncontrollable sobbing, but he still seemed to try and stand up taller, shaking like a leaf.

To give Dick a shred of credit, he seemed much more composed than the average civilian on fear toxin. Then again, Dick was trained to handle high pressure situations. And maybe he was scared of something really dumb, like butterflies, that wouldn't be hysteria inducing to have a hallucination of. Please be butterflies. He won't fight butterflies, but he'll fight us if he's scared.

Tim winced slightly as Dick took a small step forwards and let out a pained whimper, audibly unable to catch his breath as he stared down at the floor. "Nightwing?" No response. He shrugged at Damian helplessly. Charging at Dick with an antidote didn't feel like the right move right now, but they needed to do something about this, and fast.

Damian was back to frowning again- he wasn't sure he'd see another expression on his younger brother's face ever again- and staring at Dick like he was a puzzle he couldn't quite manage to solve. "Dick?" His voice was quiet, almost a little worried. The usual spiel of words or supercilious tone were completely absent.

Damian had seen Dick angry before, sure, but Tim couldn't actually recall a time that Dick had been this upset since Damian showed up. It was probably way more jarring for the kid than it was for Tim.

Dick didn't respond, taking another staggering step towards Tim. His mouth dropped open as if he was going to say something, but nothing more than a choked sound came out. All the screaming from before was gone. He was still shaking, but he seemed less upset now. He seemed quite angry, actually.

"Dick?" Tim abandoned all pretences and code names, fist clenching around the antidote in his hand. It was a small vial (god, Tim was sick of seeing vials) with a needle at the end. A quick insertion, if he could find a spot with exposed skin. "Dick, you're scaring Damian. Knock it off." He mumbled, trying to make his voice a little more harsh, but seeing Dick leer towards him with anger so strong he was shaking was scaring him a bit as well.

Damian opened his mouth to protest to the comment about scaring him and then closed it quietly, just staring at Dick. The older man took a final step forwards, and Tim found himself face to face with his brother. His brother, who was staring him down and so angry that he was struggling to breathe.

His gaze flicked down to Dick's hand as it balled up into a fist, cracked glass and green liquid mixing with blood that dripped from his hand onto the floor. The muscles in Dick's face twitched slightly into the beginnings of a snarl, and his body shifted slightly onto better footing like he was getting ready for a fight.

Tim tried his best to swallow the nerves bubbling up inside him. This was fine. He'd watched Dick fight for years. They'd trained together before. He could do this. "Dick, you're- fuck, you're kind of scaring me as well." Well, there went his cool and collected demeanour. "Actually- can you even hear a word I'm saying?" And now he was rambling. Great. "Or- or are you, like, too drugged up right now to-"

Dick's fist flew forward and collided with Tim's face, sending him reeling backwards and smashing into a stack of crates. The force of the hit was brutal, and Tim felt something in his face crack. He didn't have time to wheeze and cough before he heard something shift and felt another person crash into him and knock him sideways.

He craned his neck as best as he could to see a crate hit the ground right where he'd fallen. Broken shards of glass now littered the ground, and Damian was sat next to him, taking a moment to pant before scrambling back up to his feet. Tim could feel something hot and wet trickling from his nose, but he didn't have time to panic as Damian tried to pull him up as well.

Tim managed to stumble to the side just as Dick's fist collided with another crate right where Tim's head had just been. He took a fraction of a second to check that he was still clutching the antidote before stepping backwards away from the crates.

"Okay, Damian, we need a plan yesterday-" Tim ducked to the side with a gasp as Dick charged towards him again. "Any ideas?" Damian was still staring at Dick with an uneasy frown as their brother stood still for a moment, chest heaving.

A wave of nausea washed over him as he was hit with an uncomfortable memory of another time he'd seen Dick this angry. It had been a while ago now, but Tim remembered the brief period of time that Joker had been convinced he had brain cancer and went buckwild killing as many people as he could.

Dick had been misled to believe Tim had died as a result of something Joker had done, and Tim had arrived at the scene after a fight with Killer Croc in all his scrawny thirteen year glory to see Dick screaming as loud as his lungs would allow as his fists collided with Joker again and again. It had taken a few minutes of his older brother yelling hysterically about how Tim's presence was a trick before Tim had managed to physically pry Dick away from Joker's still bloody form, and Tim had never wanted to see Dick that angry again.

Is he going to kill us? The thought settled in his mind uncomfortably as Dick whipped his head around, movements staggering and wild. It was like being trapped in a cage with a savage animal, which wasn't an unfair comparison. Dick was a monster to fight when he was in his own right mind, so fighting him while he was hysterical and crazed felt like a death sentence.

"You have the antidote, correct?" Damian finally spoke again, and although he moved on quickly, Tim heard his voice crack a little as Dick just stood panting and looking between them. The rest of Damian's words seemed to come through gritted teeth. "If you do, I can attempt to distract him while you administer it."

Tim took a deep breath as Dick began to move forwards with steps that were both calculated and shaky. "I mean, I do, but if this is a new strain, it isn't gonna do much." Damian's frown twitched a little but he made no comment. "I could send a distress call out, but-"

Dick lunged forwards, tackling Tim to the ground and reeling his arm back again before his fist met Tim's face once more. He barely had time to yell out after the first wave of pain crashed over him before he received another blow. His yelling rose into screaming as he kicked and flailed under his brother, the sharp metallic tang of blood filling his mouth. His hand let go of the antidote, reaching up to try and fight back, but Dick made no pause in his attack. Dick's relentless assault managed to knock Tim's rebreather off of his face and he could hear it clatter to the ground.

He knew Dick was screaming something at him, sobbing with each breath. He could feel saliva hitting his face between blows and blood, but he couldn't discern what was being said at all; his ears were ringing, his head hurt so badly he was convinced it was going to explode, his face was wet with tears and spit and his own blood, and his brother was going to kill him.

Dick's blows faltered for a second, arm pulling back in a jerky, unnatural movement, and a ray of hopeful sunlight shone briefly through the red cloud that hovered around Tim.

Then Dick tried to swing around to launch an attack at Damian, who had tried to physically pry him away from Tim by pulling at his shoulder with one hand and smashing the blunt handle of his sword against the larger man's head.

The sunlight shrivelled and died as the clouds grew ever thicker.

Damian did a small flip backwards, rolling and hitting the ground with a grunt before jumping to his feet, sword clutched tightly with both hands as he panted. Tim took half a second to admire the acrobatics before crawling backwards as Dick began snarling at Damian in turn, stomping towards him. It would've been almost a comical sight if Tim's face wasnt soaked with blood and his vision wasn't blurry and he couldn't hear the resounding pound of his heartbeat in his ears.

He scrambled to pick up the antidote before all but smacking his earpiece. They couldn't handle this alone, but they also couldn't let a stampeding Dick Grayson out onto the streets.

Barbara's voice was smooth and calm in his ear. "Oracle here. What's going on, Red Robin?" Hearing such a calm sound amidst the utter pandemonium of the warehouse was like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head (in a good way, of course).

Tim took a moment to cough and splutter and catch his breath, watching Dick's failed lunges at Damian out of the corner of his eye before trying his best to steady his voice. "Babs, we need- we need help- fuck- Dick's going crazy, I think he's-" Tim couldn't help the small sobbing sound that escaped him and then he just couldn't stop babbling as words flowed from him. "He's gonna fucking kill us, Babs, he's not listening to us, he- I think there was fear toxin in the room he went in, he's just screaming, he won't stop hitting- Damian had to try and pull him away or he would've-" He paused to suck in a gasp of air that tasted like metal.

His statement was supported by Dick's screaming in the background as he sidestepped Damian's attempt at a slash.

"You killed them!" Dick's hoarse yelling finally shifted into words in Tim's ears, overpowering the static and the sound of his heartbeat. "You killed them, I can't- I said I'd never let-" His leg swung up, catching Damian's midsection in a motion that sent him crashing into the wall. "I'm gonna kill you!" Shit. Shit. Shit.

"Babs, he is going to kill one of us. Please." Tim hissed, trying to stop his sobbing. Crying like a baby helped nobody when he was going to die.

Barbara was silent for all of three seconds before her voice rang out again, cool and collected. "Hood and Orphan are about two minutes out, I've sent them a signal and I'll swap lines and explain the situation in a second. Batman has also been alerted. Spoiler and Signal wouldn't be able to make it over in time. You just need to keep him occupied for two minutes, okay?" Her voice was calm on a surface level, but he could hear an undercurrent of mild panic as he coughed and spluttered on the other end.

"The doors are- fucking annoying to open." Tim gasped. "Tell them they need to push the doors- really fucking hard." He paused to cough again, staring in dismay as Dick stormed over towards Damian. "He's gonna kill Damian." His voice dropped to a whisper. "He's gonna-" Tim tried to sit up from his current position and then sank down again as a wave of nausea rolled over him once more and a sharp pain struck his head. The lights of the warehouse were blinding. "Tell them to be quick."

"I'll see if they can make it in a minute-thirty." Barbara's voice was quiet. "Are you injured? How badly?" Tim tried to take a moment to assess. His face was covered in blood, his head had probably hit the floor a few times and he was only now noticing the sharp pain in his chest where Dick's knee had collided with his ribcage in his fit of violence.

"Uh- concussion, maybe, I- I don't know. Tell them to be quick." He babbled. "I don't wanna- he's gonna kill Damian, Babs, he's- he's not in his right- fuck-" He couldn't just sit and watch Damian get hurt. Not only would he be a brother down, but he could already predict the state Dick would be in when he came back to his senses and realised what had happened. There was a small click in his ear as Barbara presumably swapped to the other line to give Jason and Cass a rundown of the situation.

Tim tried to push himself up further as the sound of a crack rang through the warehouse. He could see Dick screaming in Damian's face, and he could see his hand reeling up again after an initial blow. He just about managed to haul himself to his feet, fist gripping the antidote so tightly it was a miracle it didn't shatter in his hand as he stumbled over.

Every movement felt like he was he was being thrown around by an invisible force, and every noise felt like someone was blasting an air horn down his ear. Tim heard Damian's sword clatter to the ground as his younger brother's protesting grew to match Dick's screaming, and he tried his best to stagger towards them faster. Babs said a minute thirty. We've got a minute left. I think.

Tim could faintly see Damian's hand repeatedly move for the blades on his belt before pausing and trying to push Dick off of him. There were many weapons at both of their disposal- if they wanted to stop Dick, they could, but not without causing him severe harm. Knocking him out wouldn't be easy or worth it when he was this hysterical.

His eyes locked on to the back of Dick's neck- a small bit of skin was bare and visible. He wasn't sure if an antidote there would even work. Maybe it'd be better to just splash it onto him? I don't know. I just need to stop him before he hurts Damian any more. Tim pulled his bo staff from his back as Barbara's words rang in his head. 'You just need to keep him occupied.'

Tim slowly raised his arms and then swung at Dick's head as hard as he could. Dick went stumbling to the right with a yell, crashing into one of the untouched towers of crates and sending it cascading down. Tim launched himself forwards, grabbing Damian and pulling him out of the way. There was a sharp thud as one of the crates hit Dick and knocked him down to the ground, and then for the first time in who knows how long, there was silence.

Or mostly silence, anyway. Dick was still coughing and writhing as he tried to push the crate off of him, and blood dripping was audible as beads of scarlet rolled down Tim's face and hit the floor. But there was no yelling, or crying, or the sound of bones cracking. Tim whipped his head around to study Damian's face.

His younger brother appeared to be less beaten up than he was, rebreather still strapped firmly to his face, although parts of it were broken and dangling off of the frame. Damian's nose was bloody and it looked like he'd bitten his tongue while shouting as his was bloody, but he still seemed alert, head turning to stare at Dick's struggling form.

"It's- Cass and Jason are on the way. They should be here soon. Maybe Bruce, I'm not sure." Tim mumbled, letting himself sink to the floor. He felt like he'd just gotten off of a rollercoaster. An evil one, that hit you in the face several times and probably broke something.

Damian's gaze flicked over to Tim's face, studying him with minor alarm and something close to concern that he'd never quite seen on the other boy's face. Tim paid him very little mind, trying to wipe his face with his sleeve and turning to look at the door. He could hear Dick's movements getting a little more agitated and it wouldn't take long for him to free himself. He could only hope Jason and Cass were close.

Maybe Bruce. It would be nice to see Bruce.

Tim tried his best to school his pained expression as the scraping of metal against concrete sounded, but he couldn't hide the quiet relief on his face as Cass slipped through the gap between the doors. Jason shoved them open moments later, grumbling under his breath and pausing as they both studied the (probably very sorry) sight before them.

Tim could feel Damian hovering behind him as he tried to stagger towards them, waving a vague hand over towards Dick, who'd started shouting again. "He's not- we couldn't give him- antidote." He pressed the vial into the hand of Jason, who stared down at it for a moment before looking over to Dick.

Dick was still shouting and squirming, but it was much more sad to watch now than scary. His words were barely intelligible through sobs and while he'd managed to push the crate off, he made no attempt to sit back up. Cass reached out and quietly took the antidote from Jason's hands, moving over to administer it. Dick made a faint attempt to swat at her and she grabbed his arm with a small sigh.

"Stop it. I'm trying to help you." She mumbled, crouching down. Tim looked away with a half grimace.

"Looks like we weren't needed." Jason declared gruffly, crossing his arms as he watched Cass mutter to a sobbing Dick. "You guys have it handled."

"We don't- have it- handled. I whacked him- really hard- he fell- crates." Tim wheezed. His heart was still pounding and he could feel his legs wobbling somewhat, but he tried to straighten and keep his voice steady to the best of his ability. It was hard to talk when you were gasping for air that seemed to never be coming. "If you'd- given it a few more minutes, we'd probably- broken bones. Or worse. He was gonna fucking- kill me if- Damian pulled him away." Tim finished lamely, taking a deep breath. Jason let out a snort of laughter at that.

"Jesus fuck, kid, you need to breathe. Besides, if Nightwing could kill you, you need more training. Batman clearly stopped doing it right after I left. I mean, seriously, you square up against Gotham's greatest supervillains everyday but Nightwing on drugs is an issue?" Tim could hear the amused grin in Jason's voice.

"You don't- ugh. Whatever. I have a headache." He mumbled. His gaze flicked over to where the fear toxin had been pouring out from under the door, but it seemed to have dissipated in the time it had taken for them to deal with Dick.

"Probably a concussion." Jason said with an unusual air of thoughtfulness. "Or a brain injury. Looks like you hit your head a few times." He craned his neck to study the bloody mess that probably was the back of Tim's head, the amount of times it was slammed into the floor. Miracle he was still standing, really, but adrenaline does marvellous things when you're in life-threatening danger.

"We should get you both back to the Batcave." Cass agreed, somehow appearing behind them despite being next to Dick moments earlier. Jason jumped a little, hand jumping to his heart.

"Jesus, Ca- Orphan. Fucking- you need to stop doing that. You're as bad as Batman." Jason protested lightly, making a faint attempt at swiping over her head that clearly had no intent to hit. Cass brightened a little at the comparison to Bruce, and Jason sighed. "But you're right. Batcave for you guys, probably."

"Is Dick going to be okay?" Damian's voice rang out quietly from behind the group, and it was now Tim's turn to have a mini heart attack as he stumbled back into Jason (who protested considerably less than normal). The youngest of the group was watching Dick's writhing form with uncharacteristic unease, wringing his hands and shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Tim, looking at this shivering, bloody teenager who was just worried about his big brother (and probably also had a concussion), had never seen Damian look quite so much like the fourteen year old boy that he was rather than the mature adult that he pretended to be. Damian's voice still carried a hint of its usual sharp quality but his words were a lot more flat and his voice had actually wobbled and cracked when he'd spoken. If he wouldn't lose a hand for the action, Tim would hug him.

Jason paused before reaching out to rest a firm hand on Damian's shoulder. "It's-" Damian's head slowly creaked up to give Jason a blank stare and his confidence in comforting seemed to falter. "I'm sure Batman will have a way to fix it." He finished uneasily, patting Damian like he was a stray dog that might have fleas before pulling his hand away. The scraping of the doors opening sounded suddenly and Jason turned to the side, seemingly both annoyed at the new presence and grateful for a quick distraction.

"Speaking of the devil and he shall appear." Jason muttered as Bruce slipped through the gap of the door in a similar manner to what Cass had done. "Hey, we were just talking about you! Nothing bad, I promise." Tim offered a small wave, wincing at the gesture and dropping his hand quickly.

Bruce stood there for a moment, in that silent, analytical way that he often did. Although his head didn't move and his eyes were hidden under the cowl, Tim could feel his gaze flick across the bloodstained room. Over to Damian shivering by the door, then over to the empty antidote vial in Cass' hand, then over to Tim's bloody face and slightly hunched form, and finally over to Dick sobbing quietly on the floor.

"Fear toxin?" His voice was calm and gruff, as per usual. Barbara and Jason had at least betrayed mild alarm, but of course the Batman couldn't afford to show too much (or any) emotion when one of his sons had just been drugged and attacked two of his others.

"Uh- yeah. He just kinda went crazy." Tim mumbled, running his tongue over his bitten and bleeding lip. The nauseating, metallic tang of blood still coated his mouth, and he could only imagine the state of his (definitely broken) nose right now. "I think you were right about a new strain. Or maybe he just gets super angry when he's scared."

His voice was descending into an uneasy, cracked whisper under the white eyes of Bruce's mask. "I- I dunno. He didn't stop until a crate dropped on him, and Cass, uh-" Bruce gave him a slightly stern look at the name but he was too tired to correct himself. "-Cass… gave him an antidote, but he's still- he's still crying, so maybe it is a new strain? Since it's not really, um, helped, and I think I have a concussion?" Tim was rambling now. "My head really hurts, and I think I might, um- throw up on you, so don't stand super close-" He paused to gasp for more air to supply a fuel source for his blabbering, and Jason took a step away from him with an urgency that hadn't even been present during life or death missions. Damian had slunk closer as Tim spoke, watching him silently.

"And my nose is probably, like, super- fucking- broken, and I'm sorry for swearing- and I know- I know- Dick's gonna feel super bad about this and I don't want him to because he didn't mean it? But also that was super fucking scary, and I'm saying super a lot, and I think he wanted to kill me, like- for real. And-" Tim fell silent save for a few hiccupy sobs as Bruce placed a hand firmly on his shoulder.

"It's okay, son. You don't need to explain yourself." His voice was still gruff, but softer. "That would've been alarming for anyone, and you look injured." He turned to Damian, his free hand moving to the smaller boy's shoulder. "Same goes for you as well. You've both had a long day. Go back to the Batmobile. I'll meet you there."

He straightened a little and stepped around Tim, starting to move towards the sobbing mess on the ground that was Dick. Dick seemed to have quietened since Cass administered the antidote, but he was still crying quietly to himself, mumbling incoherently. The rage seemed to have all but faded into a pool of misery.

Tim noticed Jason and Cass exchange a glance, one of them tilting their head on occasion. "Looks like we came out here for nothing, then." Jason muttered with a sigh.

Cass nodded in agreement. "Mhm. Seems like you two had it all handled." She said slowly, glancing back over at Tim and Damian. "You should still go back to the Batmobile. Tim." His head lifted slightly. "You look like you're about to fall over." He gave a small shrug and winced. It was becoming remarkably difficult to stay upright now that the adrenaline was fading. Probably should get to the Batmobile sooner rather than later.

He opened his mouth to call after Bruce. To ask for more comfort, or maybe even a hug. Then he closed it.

Tim made an attempt at a salute that he was pretty sure went downwards instead of upwards before stumbling back towards the doors. Damian followed close behind, quiet for once in his life. Tim cast one last glance over his shoulder to see Bruce crouched down next to Dick, before he slipped out of the doors and staggered over to the Batmobile.

His hand drifted to the side a few times before it finally met the doorhandle, tugging the door back with a click before falling inside face first. The seat of the Batmobile were made of leather and not particularly comfortable for someone exhausted and beaten, but Tim could've fallen asleep on a bed of daggers right now.

Damian clambered over him and closed the door behind him, and finally there was complete silence. Both of them seemed scared to breathe and break the peace and quiet that had been lacking for the last… how long was it? Thirty minutes, at least. Maybe ten. Or an hour.

Tim needed to stop thinking so hard. Tim needed to sleep, actually. He didn't bother sitting up, simply laying sideways on the car seats as his eyes slowly closed and he finally drifted off to sleep.

The last few hours had been a blurry mess of every emotion under the sun, and Dick felt like he'd been hit by a truck.

Everything from the warehouse was a bloody haze. He remembered launching himself at Tim and Damian's killers, screaming and hitting and flailing in an attempt to do as much damage as he could. Even then, in the midst of a whirlwind of rage and despair, Dick had managed to make time to be a little bit scared by himself- by how badly he'd wanted to kill another person. By how hard he'd tried. He'd almost managed it, and then he gotten sent reeling to the side and something had stabbed him in the neck.

Dick wasn't sure exactly what had stabbed him, but whatever it was had at least dulled the boiling rage down into sobbing grief. He remembered someone picking him up, a voice in his ear that he'd faintly tried to swat at, and then it had just been darkness.

Until now, at least, when his eyelids flicked open to a bright light above him.

Dick could still feel a small amount of fear and adrenaline pulsing through his veins, and he took a moment to wonder if this was heaven before he heard footsteps. He turned his head to the side despite the ache in his neck, squinting through the light as Bruce approached, flicking through some files.

The older man froze mid step as he noticed Dick squinting at him, staring for a second before clearing his throat. "You're… awake. I- figured you'd still be asleep for a few more hours." Bruce set the files he was reading down on a desk, looking at him with an unreadable expression. It was now that Dick realised he was sat on a bed in the medical bay of the Batcave. "How are you feeling?" His tone was clinical and calm, as if he were having a polite conversation with someone at a gala about the weather lately.

"I- my eyes feel weird." Dick sat up slowly. He tried to stretch and winced as his muscles protested. "My arms hurt. A lot." His gaze flicked down to his hands on instinct to avoid Bruce's gaze, and he frowned slightly as he noticed his knuckles were red and raw, a few fresh scratches lining the palm of one hand. Maybe I got into a fight?

Dick looked back up at Bruce, trying to figure out what he was thinking. He was wearing a tight-lipped frown on his face, an expression that Dick knew well (from years of experience) meant that he was trying not to give away a fraction of what was going through his head in the moment.

"What happened?" Dick asked sharply. Bruce just stared at him with that carefully schooled expression. "Bruce. Please."

"What do you remember?" His voice was a touch strained- barely strained at all, actually. It was only strained in a way that you couldn't really pick up unless you'd been listening to Bruce try and compose himself at galas for the better part of a decade. "What do you think happened?"

Dick began drumming his fingers against his knees. "I mean, I don't- we went to check out a warehouse, right? Uh- Dami and Tim were arguing over something stupid, I think." Bruce's expression twitched a little. What the fuck is happening? "I went to look around in a back room because they were arguing, and then they were-" Dick paused. "Someone was shouting? I went out to check on them, and I-"

The next few words wouldn't leave his throat as the faint memory of stepping into a bloodstained room hit him. His fingers grew still, and Bruce let out a small sigh.

"Are Damian and Tim okay?" The older man turned his head away slightly and Dick could feel himself begin shaking as he looked back down at his bruised hands with dawning realisation. His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "Bruce. Bruce, what did I do?" When Bruce didn't respond, Dick's hand shot out to grab at his shoulder, pulling himself up in his urgency. His voice was strained, his words coming out though gritted and he could feel his legs wobbling underneath him. "Bruce."

"You ran into some fear toxin." Bruce said gruffly, finally meeting his eyes. "It seems like you were under the impression that Damian and Tim were a threat of some kind, and, well…" Dick's mind flitted back to the looming, shadowy figures, and he could feel his throat tighten in the buildup to more nausea. "They're both relatively injured. Tim more so, but they'll both be fine. No lasting damage." Bruce nodded like that last part was meant to be reassuring, like he hadn't just told Dick that he'd attacked two people he cared about very deeply.

There was a deafening silence between the two for a moment as he let that new information sink in. His hand slipped from Bruce's shoulder and he sank back down onto the bed, letting out a shaky breath. He remembered beating his fists against those shadowy, bloodied figures. He was just so angry, so full of overwhelming grief. He hadn't been able to form a single coherent thought around the emotions twisting his heart.

He remembered how badly he wanted to hurt them- to kill them, even. And it had been his brothers.

It took a deep breath to allow himself not to lean over and retch where he sat, and Dick resorted to squeezing his eyes tightly shut to hide the spinning of the cave around him. He could feel his heart sinking to the deepest pit at the bottom of his stomach while it also somehow was pounding against the confinement of his chest.

Dick didn't realised his breath was coming in wheezy gasps until he was snapped out of his panicked daze by Bruce sitting down next to him quietly. His eyes flicked open, and the spinning of the room slowed before centring around Bruce.

"You need to calm down, chum. It wasn't your fault." Dick closed his eyes again, trying to slow his breathing. It was too overwhelming to look at anything right now. He just tried his best to focus on the sound of Bruce's voice next to him instead of the searing guilt rushing through every part of his body. "Fear toxin is a chemical weapon manufactured by a maniac. It is made to cause as much harm as possible. If you let the guilt consume you, then Crane wins."

"Nice speech, but Crane thrives on the fear in the moment. Not how people feel after the fact." Dick mumbled. "Appreciate the attempt though, B." He added after a moment. His heartbeat was still ringing in his ears but it was beginning to slow down.

Bruce let out a noncommittal 'hm', followed by a sound that was almost a huff. "You could argue that guilt being a byproduct of the fear means it would be letting him win to be guilty." The older man responded slowly. Is he seriously arguing with me about whether a supervillain would be jumping for joy to see me beating myself up about it? A small snort of laughter escaped him, and his eyes opened again just in time to see a small smile on Bruce's face.

"You can never just accept that you're wrong, can you, Bruce?" Dick snarked weakly, hand moving to his chest as his heart finally slowed down to a semi-normal pace. "We both know what Crane gets off on-" A frown flickered across Bruce's face for half a second before the smile returned, accompanied by a small sigh. "And it's not the guilt afterwards."

"Okay, chum. You win." Bruce admitted, smile growing a little. "But even if it wasn't his goal, I'm sure he'd find pleasure in the fact that you feel bad afterwards." There was a small silence. "Feel any better?"

"A little." Bruce's smile shifted to a slight smirk that left no doubt he and Damian shared blood. Dick wiped away the tears that threatened to fall, taking a deep breath before he asked his next question. "Where… are they? I- I mean, I'd like to apologise, but if they're not ready to see me, I understand." His gaze dropped back to his hands again.

"I think they'd both be ready to speak to you. But I also wouldn't blame them for being a bit… nervous, too. All of you were in a state when Cass and Jason arrived." His voice did its usual half stumble over Jason's name, but both were so used to it that it barely even registered. "I'd maybe wait until they…" Bruce paused, looking up. "Seek you out first." He finished slowly. Then he sighed. "Damian." Dick's head shot up. "Haven't I told you not to eavesdrop?"

A small figure was lingering by the entrance to the medical bay, twiddling his thumbs and watching the pair with a bashful demeanour. His eye was black- swollen shut- and his nose was bloody and bandaged. Watching them silently was none other than Damian Wayne.

Dick's breath caught in his throat and his hands immediately shifted to an anxious, wringing motion. He cleared his throat, trying to sit up a little straighter if only to appear more confident. "Uh- Damian!" His voice cracked. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Bruce's face crinkle into the beginnings of a grimace. "What are you, uh- hi." His voice was a little squeaky and he just gave up on talking altogether, staring at his younger brother with bated breath.

Damian took a hesitant step closer, movements lined with uncharacteristic discomfort. It was sickening to watch his own brother approach him in the same manner that a shelter worker may approach a feral cat- alert but pitying, ready for a fight at any moment. He'd seen Damian move like this before, when he was investigating a scene that was likely to be a trap, or when he suspected he'd dislike the outcome of something.

Damian stopped a few steps away from the bed that he was sat on, watching him with eyes (well, one eye, singular) that was so intense it made Dick wince a little.

"I'm not gonna bite, Damian." His voice was a little flat, almost defeated, as Damian didn't respond, studying his twitching hands and red eyes. "Dami, I'm sorry. Please. Say something." The silence was more agonising than any physical pain he was feeling in the moment.

"You tried to kill me." Damian's words were like a dagger to the heart, and yet there was no malice behind them. Only caution, and something maybe akin to curiosity. "You would've killed Drake, had I not stopped you." His words were slow and purposeful, as if he'd been practicing them before approaching. Something in his gaze was unreadable.

Bruce seemed to Dick's flinch as a cue to get up, clearing his throat. "I'll leave you boys to it." He muttered, sidestepping Damian and staring at Dick for a few seconds before walking away, leaving the pair alone.

"Dami, I am… so sorry." Dick's voice was shaking but he didn't particularly care, words tumbling from his lips with no thought beforehand. "Sorry doesn't even begin to describe it. I- I had no idea. You have to know that. If I'd known, I would never- I- I didn't mean to- and I know that doesn't undo it, and I'm meant to be setting a good example, but I still walked off into a random room without a rebreather on, and I didn't- I didn't check for traps, I'm such an idiot, I-"

Dick fell silent as Damian suddenly wrapped his arms around him, clinging to him tightly as he buried his face into the crook of Dick's neck. He could hear Damian's hiccupy breathing, but the kid was quick to compose himself before he spoke again, voice snarling and annoyed as if he wasn't clinging to Dick like a koala.

"If you ever- and I mean, ever- attempt to attack me like that again, Grayson, I shall have your head." That's fair. Totally, super duper fair. Then, softer and quieter, riddled with relief, "But I am glad that you are okay. You were clearly not in your right mind." Nobody said anything for a short while, and then Damian spoke up again. "It was unsettling to see you so unable to control yourself. Avoid fear toxin in future, if possible."

Dick couldn't help himself, huffing out a laugh. Damian looked up at him through a watery eye, scowling. "Sorry, bud. I'll, uh- try and avoid it where I can. It wasn't exactly pleasant for me, but I'm sure it wasn't too great for you guys either. Sorry for the shiner, kiddo."

Dick could only make himself look at Damian's swollen eye for a few seconds before his gaze latched onto the ceiling of the cave. He could tell that Damian must have been emotional in spite of the scowl that said otherwise, as 'kiddo' normally earned him a kick to the shin, while Damian's only response to it here was a small scoff before burying his face in Dick's neck again.

They remained like that for a few minutes, clinging to each other tightly as Dick listened to the sound of Damian's breathing. But a question was still rising up, and he couldn't stop himself from breaking the silence.

"Do you know where Tim is? I'd really like to say sorry to him as well." Damian didn't respond for a moment, shifting. Was that a bad move? Maybe I shouldn't mention other people when he's still upset? I don't know. Fuck. The emotional stunting caused by having the Batman as a father figure became more blatantly obvious every day.

"In bed, if he has any sense." Damian's reply still managed to sound mildly annoyed even when muffled by Dick's neck. "His nose and a handful of ribs are broken. He shouldn't be slinking down here hoping for an apology." Like you did? The words were left unspoken as Damian's words finally registered and he sat bolt upright, startling his brother away from him.

"I broke his ribs?" Dick hissed, face falling as he stared desperately at Damian. He'd known from Bruce's quiet synopsis that Tim was more injured than Damian, and this was furthered by the fact that he'd yet to show his face, but for his attack to have broken some of Tim's bones was another level of guilt inducing.

Damian shrugged, waving a hand in a way that felt a little dismissive for the gravity of the situation. "Father suspects they were damaged from the fight with Crane anyway. You only finished the job. Your attack was not enough to break ribs from scratch." A pause. "His nose was all your doing though." He added conversationally. The moment of vulnerability seemed over, and Damian's face had returned to its passively annoyed expression.

Dick returned to fidgeting with his hands, suddenly feeling at a loss for what to do. "Is he in his room? I can go and see him." He mumbled. Damian's nose wrinkled.

"Neither of you should be moving around right now. Drake fell unconscious in the Batmobile, and you probably still have some of Crane's toxin in your system. And you are clearly on the brink of hysterics again, based on your eyes watering." Damian took a pointed step away from him. He squinted at Dick's crestfallen expression for a few seconds, and then an annoyed little sigh escaped him. "I won't tell Father if you won't. It would be a shame if you slipped up to see him while my back was turned." Damian shifted to pick up the files that Bruce had left abandoned on the desk, making a point of facing away from him.

"Mm. Toxin analysis. Seems Drake was correct about a new strain. Fascinating." His tone was dry as ever, voice strained when he mentioned Tim's theories, but the hint was clear as day.

Dick allowed a grin to cross his face, glancing around for any witnesses and pulling Damian into a brief hug before making his way towards the stairs that lead up into the manor.

His body protested more than he expected as he began moving. His head was still pounding- he remembered one of them hitting him in the head, but wasn't entirely sure who. His arms still ached, and the fact that that was presumably from the amount of effort he'd put into his attack was sickening.

Dick began stumbling up the stairs, occasionally missing a step and having to grab onto the railing to prevent himself from tumbling back down, but he managed to make his way out of the cave and to the correct floor with relatively little trouble before he began to move towards Tim's room.

He had a lot of time to practice what he was going to say before he arrived, but nothing felt adequate. Sorry for beating the shit out of you? Absolutely not, although that was adjacent to what he'd said to Damian. It was easier to talk to Damian somehow. He could be more blunt. Sorry I tried to kill you both? Needed workshopping, but maybe. Sorry. That was a strong start.

Dick drew to a halt in front of Tim's door, taking a deep breath before reaching out of and rapping his knuckles against it. It stung a little, but he deserved it at the very least. "Timbo? You awake?" He wasn't sure if it was silent or not, because the pounding of his heart was the only thing he could hear. "We need to talk, I think."

He wasn't sure if he was standing there for minutes or hours, or maybe it was only mere seconds, but he heard a small grunt of pain before the door swung open. Stood in the doorway- well, more leaning on it than standing- was a thoroughly beaten Tim.

Jesus Christ. Damian's black eye looked like a graze compared to Tim's swollen face. He was covered in dark bruises and scratches, bandages wrapped around his midsection and dry blood still visible on parts of him even several hours later after presumably being cleaned up. Standing up was a visible effort and he was wheezing slightly with every breath. He was squinting through a half open eye, the other completely shut, and when he made eye contact with Dick he visibly tensed, although his expression betrayed nothing as he spoke.

"Uh- Dick. Should you, uh. Be- up?" Dick couldn't even repress a wince at the way Tim spoke. His voice was raspy and stutter, every word clearly an effort to force out, and his face managed to twitch slightly even in its battered state.

"I- probably? No? But I needed to talk to- I mean, once I found out what was-" He took a deep breath, fist clenching and unclenching as he tried to steady himself. Tim's gaze latched onto the movement and he took a staggered step backwards.

"You're not still- on the toxin- right?" His movements were incredibly wary, fist still balling up ready for a fight even though he would clearly lose in seconds. "I assume Bruce wouldn't- let you roam free. If you were."

"I don't think he knows I'm out of bed." Dick admitted with a shrug. "Damian's covering for me. I think. Or maybe he was just being weird, I dunno." He let the silence sit for only a second before jumping to fill it. "Listen, I am- so sorry. Words can't even- I had no idea. I didn't know."

Tim squinted at him. "You'd think a guy with- what, twenty years of hero experience? You should be- more careful by now- about walking straight- into a trap." His tone was completely blank, words stunted by the obvious pain that he was in, but his lip curled up a little bit so Dick could at least be relieved that Tim was comfortable enough to make a joke. "It's- I mean, it's not fine, you- that was fucking scary."

"I know, I-" Dick didn't even get to stumble his way through a full sentence before he was abruptly cut off.

"But." Tim paused, wincing a little at the effort of standing upright. "Everyone does- stupid shit- on fear toxin. I don't even want to know- what you saw." Another pause. "I think I have a guess. Based on some- stuff you said. But I think both of us would rather we just… move on. Right?" Dick took an excited step forwards, but he went stock still when Tim flinched.

"Shit- sorry. Sorry." The flinch made him want to curl up and die because this whole encounter was just making him feel both worse and better. "Can I hug you?" The words were quieter than he'd have liked, but it was hard to talk at all in the presence of a brother that was bruised and battered at his hands. Some Crane goons beat him up too, he reminded himself quietly. Not just me, at least. But poor kid.

"If you're careful." The words had barely left Tim's mouth before Dick wrapped his arms around him, chin resting on the top of his younger brother's head. Tim was silent and still for a few seconds before bringing up one of his arms and throwing it loosely around Dick's midsection, lamely patting him on the back.

He instinctively squeezed a little tighter and Tim coughed, grimacing. "Ow. Ow. Ow. Ribs. My ribs. Dick." He loosened his grip with a mumbled apology, but he didn't let go.

"I'm really sorry, Tim. I-"

"I know. You don't need to keep saying it. Just- don't do that again. That was fucking- scary." Tim mumbled, allowing his head to drop and rest on Dick. "I mean, I know you didn't do it on purpose. But if you ever give us another lecture about being careful around fear toxin again, I will laugh in your face."

"That is… completely fair. You can insult me freely for the next, like, two weeks with no consequences." Tim hummed thoughtfully at Dick's words.

"Make it three, and we have a deal."

"Deal. But we tell Dami it's only a week, because that kid is- mean." Dick faked a shudder, and Tim huffed out a small laugh. "We should probably get you back in bed though." Tim pulled away, nodding in rapid agreement and simultaneously wincing like crazy.

"Oh, yeah, this hurts like a bitch, I just didn't- want to be rude. Felt like we were kind of having a moment, y'know?" He took a few steps and collapsed backwards onto his bed with a grunt of pain. "Fuck. Ow. I feel so bad for all the guys you fight now. And me. I feel so bad for me."

"I'm not normally that aggressive." Dick pulled the chair out from under Tim's desk, sliding it over next to his bed. "I was hysterical. Mind if I sit here? The bed in the cave is fucking- uncomfortable, and B gets a weird look if I try and go in my old room." Tim shrugged and immediately gasped in pain. "Don't- don't do that. Jesus, kid."

Tim let out a mumbled response. Something super snarky and rude, Dick was sure. What he couldn't hear wouldn't hurt him.

Dick just watched silently, fingers drumming against his knees, as Tim slowly drifted back off to sleep. He didn't plan on moving anytime soon. Maybe he felt too guilty to leave, or maybe he just wanted to make sure Tim was semi-okay. But either way, it was fine.

He was content to sit there and watch over Tim for however long it took to stop feeling guilty.

Maybe he'd let Tim win next time they did some training.