The manor’s halls were dim, the low hum of the cave drifting faintly upward. Bruce was still down there, Damian tucked away somewhere with Bat-Cow, and Dick was restless, pacing through the quiet like a shadow without purpose.

He noticed first that the Batcomputer chair was empty. No soft tapping of keys, no pale glow reflecting off tired eyes. Strange. Tim was always there. Always. For a second, Dick let himself hope—maybe Tim had finally listened, maybe he’d gone to bed.

He pushed open the door to Tim’s room, quiet as always.

The hope shattered.

Tim was on the floor, not in bed. Curled tight against the wall, clawing at his own face until his skin was raw, blood streaking along his cheeks. His chest rose and fell in frantic bursts, breaths shallow, ragged, like he was drowning in air. His eyes were wide but unfocused, trapped in some nightmare that didn’t end when he woke.

“Tim,” Dick said, dropping to his knees. His hand reached out on instinct—but the moment his fingers brushed Tim’s arm, Tim flinched violently, gasping and trying to jerk away. His body shook, every muscle taut with terror.

“It’s me,” Dick rushed, voice low, soft, but urgent. “It’s Dick. You’re safe. You’re home.”

Tim struggled harder, clawing at his face again, nails raking skin already raw. Dick caught his wrists, gentle but firm, pulling them down before he could do more damage. “No—no, you’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Tim fought him, panicked, but Dick didn’t let go. He pulled him in slowly, step by step, until he could fold his arms tight around him. Tim was stiff as stone, shaking so hard Dick could feel it in his own chest. He kept whispering, steady words, again and again, “You’re here. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

It took time, but eventually Tim’s weight gave out. His fists loosened, no longer straining against Dick’s grip. His body sagged into him, pressed trembling against his chest. Blood smeared across his cheeks where nails had torn skin open, the wet warmth soaking into Dick’s shoulder as Tim buried his face there, too exhausted to fight anymore.

Dick held him tighter, steady as stone, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other locked around his back. He rocked him slowly, his voice a quiet, unbroken rhythm: “You’re not alone. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Tim shook, face hidden, breath stuttering against Dick’s neck. His bloody hands clung weakly to Dick’s shirt, smearing red but holding on like it was the only thing keeping him tethered.

And Dick didn’t let go. Not for a second. Not for anything.