Just a heads up, this contains spoilers (ish) for Detective Comics #940. I highly recommend reading it, it's a great issue!

Home never looks better than with a new set of eyes.

Dick remembered that quote, mildly pulling it around inside his head, as he stared up at the Manor. It was true- the Manor was beautiful, even if it hadn't changed. The smell of springtime was emanating from the garden, full of luscious colours like a fancy watercolour painting. Each light coming from a room was a reminder of life, of warmth, of home. All things he'd missed while he was... away.

Yeah, he was not looking forward to that conversation.

Sure, he'd met his family already, exchanged a few words. But it hadn't been permanent, almost like he was a ghost imparting words from the land of the dead. Now, though... now he was back.

And boy did it feel good.

He didn't bother with knocking, instead placing his hand on the shiny brass knob and pushing the door open. He braced himself for that dizzying feeling of coming home, with all the bittersweet emotions that would come with it. And the blame, no doubt, that would be coming from his brothers. The insults, the hurt, the betrayal. But they were still his brothers, and that was all that mattered to him.

"Well, are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna come in?"

Dick felt a smile threaten to split his face. "Careful with your tone, Jaybird. I could almost imagine you actually missed me."

"You're delusional," he scoffed, but he couldn't quite hide his smile.

Damian appeared from around the corner, a sword clenched tightly in his fists. "Todd! I demand you spar with me!"

"Well sorry Your Highness, but I found someone who actually can tolerate you."

Damian scowled and was about to bark out a retort before his eyes landed on Dick. Dick gave him a smile.

"Hey, Little D," he said, grinning. "It's been a while-"

Damian lunged forwards and wrapped his arms around his brother. Dick laughed, patting his back soothingly.

"I missed you too, buddy," Dick said softly.

"You imbecile. I did not miss you, I merely require your presence for training." His voice was muffled by Dick's sweater. "You are the least incompetent of my predecessors, not that that is at all an accomplishment."

"Really? Well then, I guess I could just leave-"

"No." Damian's grip tightened, his cheeks a flaming red. "Stay."

Dick pried Damian's hands off, kneeling until they were eye level. He squeezed his shoulders.

"Trust me, Dami," he said honestly, "I'm not going anywhere."

It took him a while to catch on.

Honestly, it was almost embarrassingly long. But to be fair to himself, he had been swept up in a media storm (so you're saying you're not dead? What is it with the Waynes?), countless of messages from his friends, and impromptu drop-bys from various superheroes just checking if it were true.

So, yeah, all-in-all it was exhausting. So it was abut two weeks in, when the storm had died and everyone finally just let him be, that he finally started to notice it.

Hues of orange and yellow seeped in through the kitchen window, as Dick prepared a pot of coffee. He hadn't really been sleeping much, what with all the work that he had to catch up on, and going out patrolling again had been a strange experience. He sighed and poured the coffee into his favourite mug.

Just then, Tim came in, bleary eyed with a serious case of bedhead.

Dick started, trying to figure out why a strange feeling had erupted in his chest. Then he realised that he hadn't seen Tim, not once, during the past few weeks.

"Timmy!" Dick grinned, walking over to him. "How's it going?"

"Fine."

"Really?" Tim avoided Dick's attempt at a hug, going straight for the coffee pot. "I, uh, haven't seen you around much. How's the arm?"

"Healing." Tim rolled his shoulder. "B still hasn't let me out, though."

"Right." The awkwardness ballooned between them like a giant fist. "Uh... I was thinking, if you want, we could go for a movie-"

"Sorry Dick, I can't," Tim quickly cut in. "Got work to do, you know?"

Dick blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, that's okay. I- um- that's fine."

Tim nodded, taking his cup and leaving without a word.

Now the fear was settling in.

Dick had thought that he could just come back, repair the holes he had left in his previous life, and slot right back into where he used to be. And yes, for the most part he'd done that. Drinks with Jason, semi-flirtatious meetings with Babs, training with Dami, watching Cass' dances. All the things he knew he'd get back.

But Tim? It was like they were on opposite ends of the world, speaking different languages.

And it scared him. Because honestly, Dick had thought that normal was a light switch which you could just turn on and off again. But something had broken, something had shattered when he'd faked his death and left for Spyral, something that might never be fixed. Because he had no idea what it was.

Any attempt at talking to him had resulted in cold, harsh silence, or an unforgiving stare. Tim had always been the hardest to read (he'd always been the most like Bruce), but never like this. It made Dick flounder in a way he hadn't done since he'd been eight years old, ripped out of his colourful world into one of long hallways and fleeting shadows.

The world was grey and dark and Dick didn't like it at all.

He groaned, rubbing his temples and swiveling around on the Batchair. Bruce, packing his stuff into his utility belt, didn't look up.

Dick groaned louder, swiveling around three times in quick succession. Bruce sighed and looked up.

"Would you like to talk about something, Dick?"

Dick sighed dramatically. "Oh, Bruce, you know me so well."

The younger man could practically feel the exasperation coming off from him in waves.

"What is this about?"

Dick scratched the arm of the chair, fiddling with a loose thread. "Well... it's just that I haven't seen Tim around lately."

"He's busy with Titans work, and his own cases."

"I know! But he could've at least visited his previously-thought-dead older brother. I mean, I've been trying to call and text him, but he never responds! He can't be 'too busy' forever, right?"

Bruce closed the flaps on his belt and clipped it on. "What do you expect me to do about it?"

"Oh c'mon, B. I just want some advice or something! What should I do? The last time he was like this, Jason was the one to talk him out of it. Jason! And at least that time I knew what he was mad about. Maybe it's Damian again? No, no, they've gotten along better now..." Dick ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe he's mad cause of Spyral? I thought you explained the situation to them."

"I did," Batman said, pulling the cowl on.

Dick huffed and sank down into the seat. "Tim never liked being lied to."

"He wasn't being lied to. You were undercover."

"That's not much of a difference, is it?" He rotated so that his head was nearly touching the floor, legs thrown over the back of the chair. "You think that was the right thing to do? Do you think we should've told them?"

"It was better this way."

"Really?" Dick sat back upright, sighing. "Bruce, you know I'd do anything you ask me to. But maybe we should stop lying to everyone we care about."

"It's for their-"

"-Protection, I know. You lectured me about it far too many times for me to forget." Dick bit his lip. "But... one day they're going to run out of reasons to trust us, aren't they? I mean... Bruce... how would you feel if I'd died, and I'd lied to you?"

Bruce froze, and Dick searched his body for some kind of reaction. Of course Bruce probably had thought about this before- he was the most paranoid man on earth, after all. And you could rarely lie to him anyway. But, still, it felt like Dick had hit a nerve.

"...I need to go," Bruce said, clipping on his cape.

"Want me to come with? I know you said to take a break, but-"

"No, I think you should stay. You should talk to Tim."

"Really?" Dick raised his eyebrows. "Is the Batman suggesting communication as a means to solve relationship problems?"

Bruce huffed. "Just go there, before it's too late."

And Dick watched Bruce leave, cape swishing in the darkness of the cave, an eerie sadness left in his absence.

Dick turned to look up at the staircase, and took a deep breath.

He knocked gently against the door.

"Timmy?" He called, before he could stop himself. He knew Tim was most likely still awake, considering their entire family had such an erratic sleeping schedule. He hesitated before calling, "I know you're awake."

There was a shuffling sound and then the door opened, with Tim standing unimpressed on the other side.

"Dick," he greeted curtly.

Dick pouted. "Were you not going to let me in?"

"Well, some people actually respect other people's privacy, but whatever."

"Hey, I wouldn't do this if it weren't important."

"Important?" Tim stepped back from the doorframe, allowing Dick to enter his room. It was messy as usual, with books strewn all over the floor. It was funny if you thought about it- almost everyone assumed Tim would be the neatest of the Batkids, but his was actually the messiest. (The cleanest was, of course, Jason's, but Cass cuts pretty close. The only reason that title doesn't belong to her was her disastrous attempt at growing flowers inside her room). "And what exactly is so 'important'?"

Dick cleared some papers off his bed and took a seat. "Look, Tim... you know I love you, right?"

Tim threw him a look. "Yes, I got your last 300 text messages."

"But you didn't reply to them."

He hesitated. "Dick, I know you think I'm avoiding you, but..."

"...But...?"

"...But it's nothing," he mumbled. "I'm just being stupid."

"Tim, it's not stupid if you have a problem with something. You don't have to keep quiet about things that upset you, remember? We've been through this-"

"Yeah, we have. I'm not a kid anymore, Dick, I can handle my emotions."

"Then why don't you want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

Dick bit his lip again (old habits die hard), running a hand through his hair. "Tim... I would've told you if I could. Bruce said-"

"Bruce said," Tim spat out sarcastically.

Dick winced. "Okay, yeah, fair. I should've told you. But it was a weird time, and Spyral needed to be infiltrated- it was the perfect opportunity-"

"I know!" Tim was turned around, but Dick could hear the wetness in his voice. "I've thought about it, and thought about it, and- it was logical. It was the... right thing to do. And I guess if you didn't tell us then we wouldn't have to worry about you all the time, so yeah, I know it was the best thing you could've done! I know!"

"Hey- no- I didn't mean it was the best thing..."

"No, no it was, because Bruce is never wrong, and neither are you, right?!" The words hit Dick like bits of fire. "You didn't even stop to think how we would feel? I... I thought we agreed... to never lie to each other."

The older man looked down in shame. "We did. And I'm sorry I lied, Tim, I know it was wrong-"

"Yeah, but that's not the worst part! You let us... you let us mourn you! You let us believe you were gone and that you weren't coming back! How could you do that to us?!"

"I didn't mean-"

"You knew," Tim all but whispered, "you knew it would hurt. But you still never told us anyway. The grief, the pain- did you not even care? I- I cried, but, but you were okay, and the funeral and the speeches and all of that just- just meant nothing!" Tim drew a shuddering breath.

"Because you were alive... but that doesn't change the fact that to me, you were dead."

Dick didn't dare to lift his head. He hated when any of his brothers cried, but when he was the cause of it, it felt a thousand times worse.

"And not... not just you. I mean, I never knew Jason when he died, but he had been my hero, you know? So I learned heroes were vulnerable, and that they could die once in a while. And then Steph was Robin for the whole of maybe one minute and she was gone, too? And then she was alive that whole time? I could never- I loved her, I could never be mad at her, but it had still hurt so much. And then it was Bruce, and then Damian, and now you? What am I supposed to think except that everyone is gonna die around me, but it won't matter, because they all come back anyway? What- what am I supposed to learn from this?!"

"Tim..." The boy had finally calmed down enough to let Dick get in a word edgewise, but he was in tears, choking on the words he'd held in for years. Dick gently wound his arms around him, tugging Tim down into a soft hug. "Tim, I'm so sorry. I just..." He just what? He just forgot how much death surrounded their lives, in the suit and out of it? He hated it. Hated how Tim, who had had two parents who loved him growing up, had been thrust into this life and lost everything.

And why had he become Robin? Oh, right, because Nightwing had been a stubborn idiot and refused to work with Batman, who had been breaking apart.

Not that Tim didn't deserve being Robin- no, he deserved every single hour in that costume. But for Tim, maybe, life would've turned out much better if he'd never come into their lives at all.

Tim sniffled, and managed to choke out something resembling a laugh. "I told you it was stupid. I'm blaming you all for dying, but that's not something you can help, is it? I mean, chances are the next victim will be me anyway-"

"Don't say that. It's not stupid to worry about things like this," Dick soothed, brushing away Tim's tears. "Look, I promise if I'm ever strapped to a bomb and need my heart to be stopped again, I will not try to infiltrate a secret organisation who are stealing organs and lie to you about it, okay?"

Tim snorted. "Wow. I never realised how ridiculous it was."

"Yeah, it is pretty stupid, right?"

He looked down. "So you're not mad at me?"

"For what? For being upset that I died? Tim, you will never have to apologise for anything that makes you upset. And, to be honest, I'd be more concerned if you didn't care."

"Yeah, I guess. It's just... I just wish we'd stop doing this. Stop dying, and coming back to life, because well the first time it was lucky, but it's like the fifth time now, so is there something wrong with us? Is this some sort of punishment, or like a gift?"

Dick nestled his face into Tim's hair. "D'you remember back when Bruce died? And you'd been convinced that he was alive?"

"...And you refused to believe it? Yeah, I remember."

Dick pushed down the mountain of guilt rising up his throat. "Well, you were right. And maybe Bruce would've never come back unless you believed in him. So, maybe... maybe it's the fact that we hold on, that's why we keep coming back."

"Or it's the Lazarus Pits."

"Or that, too," Dick chuckled. Tim curled up into his side. "You should go to bed now. Don't think just because I left I forgot you never eat, sleep, or do anything remotely healthy."

"I exercise."

"An unhealthy amount," he rebutted. "C'mon, the sun's nearly up."

Tim yawned. "Okay, I guess a little nap couldn't hurt."

He had barely closed his eyes before slumping completely into Dick's shirt, a light snore- which Tim vehemently denied he had- coming out of his mouth. By the time the sun had risen, they were both fast asleep.

"Bruce?"

"Don't say it."

"Tell them I'm sorry. Tell them how much they all meant to me. Dick, Jason, Damian, Alfred... all of them.

Thank you for everything, Bruce.

Robin out."

So hey guys, I'm back! This is an instalment in the All The Little Birds universe (check out my profile for some more), I hope you enjoyed it! If you don't already know, the final lines are taken from Detective Comics #940, where -SPOILER ALERT- Tim is 'killed' by drones. Also, the first part alludes to Grayson #12, where Dick talks to his family for the first time since he died. He didn't come back then, though, and so this is imagining what it was like when he permanently came back.

And seriously, how many people in the Batclan has died? Like what the heck?

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this! Please like/follow/review if you did, and make sure to check out the other stories preceding this (though the continuity between them is pretty flexible, with only minor references here and there.) Thank you so much for reading!