Chapter Text
Tim fell to the ground, smashing his head against the cave wall.
"I - I'm sorry.. I'll fix it, I promise," he stuttered out looking up at his guardian's face. Bruce's face twisted into a snarl.
"You don't get it, do you? You might have let people die. The computer is a vital part of crime fighting and you spilled your fucking coffee on it because you ’re too weak to stay awake without it. You’re a liability, Tim."
Tim looked at the ground. Tim knew he was right. Bruce was always right. It wasn't money that was a concern, obviously. He was so stupid and possibly let people die. God he hoped not.
Tim did his best not to sniffle and nodded.
"I'm sorry, you just - you ’re still a stupid child, I need to remember that." Bruce rubbed his face and sighed. "Any injuries?"
"Just bruised I think," replied Tim. It was a lie, he was pretty certain Bruce had fractured a rib and hitting his head against the cave wall had caused a mild concussion, but Tim could live, he'd dealt with worse after all.
"Good, get ready for patrol" Bruce ordered.
Tim complied and scampered away.
Tim flipped a batarang around his fingers watching with fascination as the light refracted against it.
He should be studying for an upcoming exam but there was no point. It wasn't like he'd actually do anything with the results, he was just going to stay a Bat until they had enough of him and he served no purpose. After that, well, he would go out on his own. Maybe he could infiltrate gangs and take them out from the inside? It was dangerous, but that was good. He wanted to die crime fighting, die an honorable death, but at times he felt unworthy of that type of death. Today was one of those days.
His hand slipped and the batarang slipped out of his hand and planted itself in his shin. Serves him right for playing with a weapon.
With a frustrated sigh he leaned over to his bedside cabinet and retrieved his first aid kid.
Carefully he pulled out the blade to reveal a deep wound. Now that the wound was unplugged blood began to gush.
It was odd, different than when on patrol. He supposed it was the lack of adrenaline, but whatever the cause, it was soothing, he didn't even mind the dizzying nausea, just as long as he felt the relief.
Blood spread over his bed sheets snapping him out of the trance like state. He should clean up.
He squidged gauze into the wound and added pressure. Once the bleeding had slowed he removed the material and began to sew. He hated getting stitches, but it's a necessary evil.
Damian glared at him, venom in his eyes, hate in his heart.
"Why must father stick me with you?"
Tim looked away to prevent his brother seeing how he'd been hurt. He hated being a hindrance and Damian had been evidence that that was what he was. He knew he should leave them soon but it hurt to admit that so he'd cling on to denial for as long as he could.
Relief flooded his brain when he had a mugging to interrupt allowing him to escape Damian ’s judgement.
He was weak. He'd tried to deny it for so long but he was ready to admit it.
The red lines against his forearms painted a picture of the person he was. A weak, pathetic, freakish little vermin.
He slashed harder against his arm, he needed to go deeper, needed the relief but more than anything, he needed to stop thinking.
No one could hate him more than himself and he hoped it could stay that way but if his family found out then maybe it would no longer be true. Maybe he'd be sectioned, but, if he was being honest with himself they wouldn't care enough to make him get help.
He let out a sudden hiss as he came down too hard with the batarang. A wave of nausea came over him as he saw he'd gone too deep. Fuck.
He had to stop for today before he went too far, he already needed stitches. But he couldn't. He was weak.
Jason yells at him a lot, today was not exception. He deserved it, he was constantly fucking up. Besides, Jason never meant it, he just struggled to cope with Tim. Tim set off the Lazarus Pit madness a lot but Jason was strong and was no longer as easily controlled by it so he didn't hurt Tim anymore— well, not a lot. He would even apologise to Tim after losing his temper.
Tim wished he could be just like his hero and even have a brotherly relationship with him but that wouldn't happen. He was only ever a trigger for Jason and a reminder of his death.
"Fuck off, Replacement" Jason spat out. "I don't need you hovering around when I'm patching myself up. I wouldn't even be in the infirmary if you hadn't distracted me."
Tim wanted to say Bruce had told him to follow Jason for this mission. But it would only make him angry and set him back with his progress and maybe even prompt him to leave Bruce again. Tim refused to allow that to happen, it had broken Bruce and he didn't deserve to go through that again.
Besides, Bruce had overestimated Tim's skill and presumed he wouldn't be a distraction. Bruce had been wrong which only added to Tim's guilt. He had proved Batman's judgement wrong. He truly was a hindrance.
"Sorry..." Tim said quietly then headed back to the guest room he had the audacity to call his room. Tim was temporary, he had no right to claim a room.
His time with the Bats was coming close to ending.
Soon he'd be alone.
He deserves it.