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“Someone hurt me once,” Tim Drake muttered.
It was under his breath. Something that wasn’t supposed to be noticed. A passing comment one says without the intention of anyone hearing. A throwaway little thing.
But he’s heard.
“Oh did someone trip the little rich kid while he was walking home from school?” Jason teased from his spot on the living room couch in the Wayne Family living room.
He and Dick had been arguing about some stupid show playing on the TV and how one of the characters was a terrible representation of a trauma character. They both felt that as they each had their own suitcases with of hurts they pretty much gave them a degree in diagnosing someone. Damian was sitting on the floor between Dicks legs with his head resting on the oldest brother’s knee. He didn’t even look up at the show or the argument as he sketched some drawings from a medical journal he found on the shelf.
Tim - who had been sitting at the desk behind the couch tucked between a window and a bookshelf - rolled his eyes and didn’t look up from his laptop.
He didn’t notice Bruce Wayne himself who had just silently walked through the door.
“Someone hurt Tim?” his adopted father asked, his voice steady and hard. Holding the smallest hint of Batman.
“Yeah the little prince was bullied in preschool.” Jason shot back, his eyes carefully tracking Bruce while pretending to be returning to the show.
“That isn’t what I said,” Tim sighed, before looking up at Bruce. “It’s nothing Bruce. I was just trying to get these two to understand that they’re stupid and they don’t get to judge trauma just because they have their own.”
“Drake is giving accurate information.” Damian pipes up.
“Oh come on,” laughed Dick, “This show is so stupid! Someone who has been assaulted in that way would never react like that! We’ve seen-”
“I have not seen this on patrol.” Damian interrupted, his brows furrowed in confusion.
“Yeah and you’re too young too,” Jason mocked.
“What the hell are you watching?” Bruce asked, looking at the TV in the hope of finding context to the mess of information his sons were giving him.
Tim checked out of the conversation as Damian began to object to being called young while Jason and Dick defended themselves to the commentary they were giving on the character who claimed to have been hurt but unable to remember it.
“You can’t just forget stuff like that!” Jason’s voice rang in Tom’s head. “It is seared into your mind. Branded memories.”
You can cover a brand with a burn mark.
Tim shook his head to get his thoughts in order and took a gulp of his now cold coffee sitting beside him. He tried to focus on his homework in front of him but it didn’t contain any challenges so it washed over his brain like a wave leaving the four year gap in Tim’s memories.
He sort of knew what was in the gap. He found evidence from the years his parents paid zero attention and let all manner of different people into their child’s life. Tim made sure to destroy all of it so no one else would find it. But sometimes the pictures still haunt him. And while most of the people might now be in jail for life on other charges it kind of bothers him that no one else knows about it. Not even him really.
“I do not think the human mind works like that,” Damian was saying when Tim floated back into the conversation. The TV was now off and Bruce was standing in front of it glaring at his kids. “There are multiple cases of those being unable to remember and recall past hurts. It is a mechanism the brain uses to protect itself. Memories too painful and such.”
“Well who the hell gets to decide if it is too painful?” Jason demanded. “I have a few I would love to get out of my head. Being beaten to death seems like a good one to start with!”
Tim got up from his spot and brought his laptop and coffee with him as he wandered over to sit in an armchair closer to the discussion.
“Wouldn’t erasing the memory erase the trauma?” Dick asked. He didn’t have the annoyed tone under-laden with anger Jason sported, instead he sounded simply curious at the ten year old sitting in front of him.
“I would not know,” Damian said before frowning, Tim could see he was bothered by the unanswered question. “I will do more research and report back.”
Tim knew the answer. He had done extensive research on repressed memories.
“Don’t bother brat,” Jason huffed, slumping further into the couch. “Some people are just lucky I guess.”
Tim flinched at that as he was setting his coffee on a side table and the mug slipped from his fingers before shattering on the ground.
Oh, that was his favourite.
He reached down to pick it up but a large hand stopped him.
The touch felt hot and unfamiliar and Tim stood up suddenly and jumped away from the hold. Hot pain shot up from underneath his right foot and he yelped falling over onto his back.
What the hell…
“Tim what the fuck!” Jason snapped.
There was a commotion around him as Tim stared blankly up at the ceiling. Voices talking above and at him but he just blinked until the world stopped turning pixilated and finally focused on Bruce’s face hoving close in his vision.
“Tim, don't move, you have glass in your foot.” He said with a forced calm.
Tim nodded because that made sense. He stepped on the coffee mug when he jumped away from someone grabbing him.
“Sorry,” he said simply, putting his hands under him and sitting up.
“Damian go run and fetch Alfred,” Bruce was directing while Dick handed him some napkins that had been sitting on the tray of snacks they had stolen from the kitchen.
Jason was looking over the back of the couch with a confused expression on his face, white streak falling into his blue-green eyes.
Bruce put his hand on Tim's shoulder to help him sit up more but Tim shrugged him off and looked down at his foot. There was a pool of blood right underneath it but luckily it was on the hard wood so it would clean up easily.
“It’s fine guys,” he assured. “Nothing an ex-Robin can’t handle.”
He offered Dick and Bruce a smile as Alfred came puttering in with a sterilised tray of tools and bandages as to effectively remove the glass.
“Drake, you must stop being so clumsy.” Damian snapped at him from where he stood at the Butler’s side, arms crossed and a scowl on his features.
“Yeah, yeah. Go back to your show.” He shooed them away
“Bruce turned it off,” Dick sighed, flopping down on to the ground next to Tim. “Said when we go to college and get a degree in psychology we can start passing judgment on the mental health of others.”
Tim snorted.
“Unfortunetly Bruce only gets to have one kid in college.” Dick continued nudging Tim’s shoulder with his own. “And you can’t even vote yet little genius.”
“I would like to argue against that statement.” Damian spoke up. “My education level would be equivalent to a university student. If father would permit me to stop attending the Academy with those other simpletons.”
“Not happening kid,” Jason cackled, reaching over and dragging Damian over by the collar of his tee shirt.
The younger boy protested by attempting to punch Jason in the nose but the former crime lord dodged and dragged Damian over the back of the couch. The boy let out a yowl similar to that of Alfred the cat as they proceeded to wrestle each other out of sight of Tim who was still on the floor watching Alfred wrap pristine bandages around his foot before tapping it securely.
“All set Master Tim,” Alfred said standing up. “I will be right back to clean up the glass, Master Bruce please see that none of the other children get impaled by the remains of Master Tim’s coffee mug.”
Bruce nodded before reaching down to offer Tim a hand to stand up.
But Tim ignored it and pushed himself clumsily onto one foot before slightly limping over to the recently vacated couch - Jason and Damian currently dueling it out on the other side of the coffee table, like watching a rottweiler fight a very angry kitten - Tim reached over to retrieve his laptop which he once again opened to complete his assignment.
Dick sat down next to him again while Bruce took the arm chair. From where he was on the middle cushion Dick wasn’t touching him. He had folded his legs into a pretzel shape and was watching Damian and Jason's fight. His face was blank though. Tim could almost hear the gears turning over something.
“Tim, what did you mean before?” he suddenly asked.
Tim looked up from where he was about to ‘Submit’. A clash of blue eyes met. The dark ocean blue of Dick battling the soft sky of Tim’s.
“Before when?” the younger asked, looking away to press the button on his screen and going to the next lecture to get ahead.
“When you said you got hurt. That someone hurt you.”
Tim wouldn’t describe what he did as freezing. He simply stilled for a second as he stared at the pages on the digital textbook. His hands hovering over the keyboard. His heart holding off the next beat while his brain worked around the black expanse of his memories. He assumed that this is when someone would have a flashback. Be trapped in a nightmarish moment that he had seen all of his brothers experience many times. But there was nothing. He simply stopped.
“Tim?” Bruce cut in and Tim snapped his eyes to the older man.
“I don’t know,” he stammered out.
“You don’t know,” Jason repeated from his spot on the floor pining a now unmoving Damian in his lap.
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Tim reiterated. “I don’t know.”
“Don’t know or don't remember?” Damian asked and this time Tim froze.
Nope this isn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to bring this up. He erased everything for a reason and he never wanted anyone to find out. So why did he say anything in the first place?
Dick gasped next to him and Jason’s eyes tried to bore into Tim’s soul.
“No, no!” Tim hurriedly tried to do damage control. “It’s nothing. Guys I have homework so I’m going to go.”
He tried to get up but Dick grabbed his wrist and this time it was Tim’s beloved laptop that slipped from his grip.
Luckily Bruce caught it before it also broke and set it safely on the coffee table.
“Please let me go,” Tim whispered and immediately Dick’s hand vanished.
“Tim, kid, you’re shaking.” Bruce said softly moving in front of him without touching.
“I know,” he answered. And he did know.
His arms trembled at his sides and his legs felt so weak he might just fall back onto the couch if he wasn’t locking his joints. He so badly wanted Bruce to take his shoulder or Dick to grab his arm, any form of support from his family but he can’t. His skin is on fire. His mind provides detailed information of all the horrible things that his body experienced even though he has no memories to back them up with. He wishes it was all a lie. Because without any memories it shouldn’t be true. But it is true. He knows what he went through. He saw the photos. Those horrible, disgusting, evil photos that were taken. Taken of a scared and hurt little boy staring back at him through the paper begging for help. And that boy was him. People hurt him! He can imagine them touching and pulling and hurting him. Taking and taking and taking. And he didn’t even know they took anything.
“Timbo,” Jason whispered and Tim looked over at him. “You’re crying kid.”
“I-I know,”
But he didn’t know. The tears on his face hadn’t registered. But they did now. The lump in his chest threatened to swallow him whole while his lungs tried to curl in on themselves.
“I know,” he choked around a sob. “Please, I know.”
“Tim, what do you need?” Bruce asked in a soft commanding voice, willing to provide the moon and stars if Tim asked.
“I don’t remember,” he sobbed. “I don’t remember but I know!”
His locked joint couldn’t keep him up forever and he crashed down to his knees knocking into the coffee table on the way down as he cried into his hands.
“Someone hurt me,” he forced out, louder than the first time.
“Who hurt you Tim,” Dick asked, moving closer on the couch, hovering right over Tim’s head.
“He doesn’t remember!” Damian snapped. Anger boiling in his voice. “His memories are gone!”
“Tim, son,” Bruce begged. “Please look at me.”
Tim shook his head and folded down until his forehead met his knees and he could wrap his arms around himself. Protecting, saving, keeping himself together.
Heavy foot falls approach him and someone grabs his upper arms and pulls him up until his feet don’t even touch the ground.
“No!” he screams, “stop!”
His eyes open to find Jason holding him up so they are face to face. The anger in the blue-green makes Tim think of the Lazarus pit and he writhes a little.
“Answer him, Tim,” Jason demanded. “Who hurt you!?”
“No, no, no!” Tim cried out kicking his feet and trying to find purchase but they were held too far off the ground in the Red Hood’s iron grip.
“Jason stop it1” Dick yelled and Jason dropped Tim who crumbled.
He stared at his hands spread on the ground, the only thing keeping him from smacking his face onto the wood. Tears dripped down around his pale fingers.
Above him Jason and Dick were yelling.
“He doesn’t get to keep us from taking down those bastards!”
“What the fuck Jason you can’t treat someone who is traumatised like that!”
“Someone hurt him! I’m going to kill them!”
“You can’t force him to tell you! Imagine if Bruce treated you like that when you first came home!”
“We didn’t just bring this fucker home! He’s lived here for years! He trusts us!”
“Well he didn’t fucking trust us with this, did he?!”
A small hand appeared in Tim’s vision.
It was tiny. The skin darker than his with perfectly manicured nails and otherwise soft and flawless except for some calluses and charcoal smears.
Tim couldn’t stop himself from reaching out one finger to tap against the other hand. It was warm and didn’t move an inch at the contact.
His eyes followed the hand up the arm until he saw Damian's face. So young it still held babyfat in the cheeks. He wasn’t looking at Tim though. He was looking down at the sketchbook on his lap and idling tracing over some of the softer lines. When he sensed Tim looking at him Damian looked over.
“Let us go find Titus,” he said simply. Putting his book aside he wrapped his hand around the one finger that was one his hand before getting to his feet and waiting for Tim to do the same.
After a pause interrupted by the continued yelling, Tim forced himself up and allowed Damian to lead him out of the room by only the tip of his pointer finger. His foot ached as he walked but he was barely aware of it as the voices of his family faded as he and Damien walked - in Tim’s case limped - down the hallway until they reached the stairs to the third floor. Damien continued up and into the room at the top where there was the third library. This one was Jason’s favourite - Tim’s mind provided helpfully - it held all the fictional books and the comfiest couch to curl up in. Titus the dog also loved it and could usually be found curled up in his dog bed right in front of the fireplace.
And there he was in all his giant glory, raising his ridiculous head up to look at the boys walk into the room. Titus got up and padded over to them as Damien led Tim to the couch and let him sit down. Titus sat next to them on the floor and looked up at Tim with his large eyes.
He couldn’t even stop himself from reaching out and rubbing the dog's head. The contact made Titus open his mouth and start panting with a stupid expression that almost looked like a smile on the dog’s face. It made Tim smile.
Something soft is draped around his shoulders and he looks over to see the fuzzy yellow blanket that Damian loves above most other things. The boy himself was smoothing the fabric with a frown like it would personally offend him if it didn’t fit just right around Tim.
The tears had dried up and Tim slumped back and looked up at the ceiling. The high slanted ceiling was mostly made of glass where you could look up at the cloudy skies of Gotham. Sometimes in the summer though it would give you a lovely view of the stars.
“Todd did not mean to grab you like such,” Damian spoke softly. Tim could hear the sound of a pencil and he assumed the brat had pulled out another drawing pad from the void and he appreciated the attention not being solely on him.
“I know,” he said back. “It’s fine, I just needed to calm down. Freaking out was stupid.” He let out a humourless chuckle. “Not very Robin-like. Good thing you got the mantle Kid.”
“I do not agree,” Damian answered. “Grayson says that when I have nightmares I am allowed to react however I like.”
“Well I can’t argue with Dick can I,” Tim huffed and closed his aching eyes. Titus rested his head in Tim’s lap and he continued to pet the beast.
“Did Todd injure you?”
“Nah I’m fine. Just tired. Caffeine crash.”
“Then rest I shall keep the others away.”
Tim opened his eyes to see a very determined looking little demon boy glaring at his sketch. He snorted and ruffled Damian’s hair, pleased when the touch wasn’t uncomfortable.
“Thanks kid,”
“I am not a child,” Damian shot back but did not pull away or react when Tim curled further into the blanket and closed his eyes again.
Away from the yells and that stifling room Tim could almost forget. Oh how he wished his memories would vanish like the bad ones.
“I think you are always Robin-like,” Tim thought he heard Damian say before the teenager let sleep guide him away.