"You can't make it better with sex," Tim says harshly, even as his body responds with hungry need to Dick's light caresses.
"I need you back," Dick murmurs in his younger brother's ear, his arms wrapping around his trembling shoulders.
"You don't want me back," Tim stresses the word 'me'. "You want your kid brother." Frustrated, angry, he yanks himself free from Dick's embrace and shoves his unruly bangs out of his face before glaring at him. "I'm not him anymore."
Dick's simple reply is, "You're Tim."
"I don't feel like your Tim." That comes out sounding too hollow, and the younger man shakes his head in exasperation at himself. "Go back to Gotham, Dick. I'm busy."
"Busy ruining your life."
Tim snarls at the bitterness in his elder brother's voice and crosses his arms over his chest. "My life to ruin. I'm eighteen. You can't make me go back. You can't make me be what you want."
Sighing, Dick shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "This is because I gave Robin to Damien, isn't it."
"No. Maybe at first," Tim admits to both of them, "But I understand now. You didn't want me as a subordinate."
Dick jumps on that, nodding. "Yeah, I need you as a partner, an equal. Be Red Robin if you need to be, but come back to me, to Gotham."
"You still refuse to get it! Bruce is alive, I know he is. I'm going to find him. Me, Tim. Not Red Robin, not Robin." He's yelling now, his eyes shining with passionate belief. Dick's look of disappointment only makes him shake his head. "I'm not crazy."
"I didn't say that." Now Dick's being careful and Tim snarls.
"Tim, I want to help you. I love you."
He knows it's true, but it's not enough. Not until he finds their father.
"I'm not crazy," he mutters again.
Dick sinks down onto the end of the bed, stubbornness joining the disappointment on his face. "And I'm not going anywhere."
A voice comes from behind Dick, making his eyes widen in shock. "Oh, I think you are, Richard. You are not wanted here."
"Oh...Tim..." Disbelief colors his voice as he springs to his feet, hands clenched, body sliding easily into a defensive posture.
Ra's al Ghul smirks at him from the doorway. "He wasn't ready a year ago. This time, you're too late, and Timothy is mine."
"Over my dead body!"
"Dick, just leave," Tim says tiredly.
Dick doesn't turn. "You don't mean that."
"I sold my soul to the devil. I'll live with it."
"Bruce wouldn't want this."
"Well, good thing you're convinced Bruce is dead then, isn't it," Tim snaps in reply.
Dick does glance over his shoulder at that anger, and only barely manages to duck the blow from Ra's' staff. As he stumbles forward his eyes widen in disbelief as Tim's fist flies at his chin, and the staff cracks across the back of his head, sending him to the floor.
Barely conscious he sense Tim crouch beside him, feels gentle, oddly trembling fingers on his temple, his cheek, then warm lips brushing his. "You can't fix me, Dick. I'm shredded. Just let me be. Go home."
"Forget me," the younger man whispers as he rises and leaves.
"Never," Dick swears before the darkness falls over his eyes.
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