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Tim had always felt invisible. He never knew anything different. His parents were always gone, rarely calling and when they did bother to check in on their son, it was mostly to berate him about his grades or a call they got from school about Tim misbehaving or something along those lines. Tim can’t remember the last time his parents called him just to check in, to say hello, or wish him a happy birthday, or happy holidays, or anything.
Tim had always just been there, never more.
So when he became Robin, he didn’t expect anything else. He was there to keep Batman from breaking his one rule, whether it be from the death of one of his victims, or his own. Robin was there to keep Batman from shattering the image that had been building for over a decade, one of hope, a light in the darkness. That was all Robin was there for, he was never meant to be a son, or a brother, or even a grandson, in Alfred’s case. He was there to do his job and nothing beyond that.
That doesn’t mean that it doesn't hurt when Batman reinforces those beliefs. Tim may be naive, may be weak for wishing that it was different, but he’s still a child, and, no matter how hard he tries, he still yearns for the approval of others, especially Nightwing.
~~~
“It was reckless, unneeded. You need to learn how to not march into things without thinking first.” Batman scoffs, not even bothering to look at the Robin behind him.
“But you would’ve gotten hurt!” Tim exclaims, desperately trying to prove himself worthy of the mantle he stole was given.
“That doesn’t matter, you could’ve compromised us, compromised the mission. What if you had gotten shot, what then? How would I go about telling your parents that you were shot without exposing our identities? What would I tell the media?” Batman finally turns around to face the tiny 11 year old with a scowl, causing Tim to nearly shrink back. He can’t, he tells himself, because that would prove that he was weak, and he doesn’t think he can handle another lecture about how Jason would have done better, how he would never measure up to all that Jason was.
“I-I’m sorry. I promise I’ll think before I act next time.” Tim finally relents, bowing his head in apology. He hears Batman huff.
“You better, or else there won’t be a next time.” He walks away, leaving Tim to put away his suit alone, in the big empty cave, every movement he makes echoing throughout the room, no matter how hard he tries to muffle his footsteps. Just another thing that he’s awful at, stealth. He nearly revealed himself during an undercover operation just a few days ago, his breathing louder than normal due to the punctured lung that was still healing. He needs to train more, he needs to make Jason proud.
Tim walks home alone, just like he normally does. He put his suit in its proper spot and changed into his civvies, Alfred not even bothering to check him over, as he trusts Tim to say something if he was injured. (He doesn’t, he’s good enough at stitching himself up and he doesn’t want to bother Alfred when he can just do it himself. He doesn’t have any right to ask Alfred for help, it’s not his responsibility to take care of Tim. Tim can take care of himself just fine on his own.)
The still air of the empty house greets him as he climbs through his window, flopping on his bed immediately, not even bothering to take a shower (even if he knows that he should). He stares up at the ceiling, thoughts of unfairness running through his mind. Jason would have done the same thing, he would have thrown himself in between Batman and a thug if he realized that Batman didn’t realize the thug was behind him, and he wouldn’t have gotten in trouble. In fact, he would have probably been praised for it! Batman may have even ruffled his hair and called him Jaylad, and checked over him making sure he was okay while Jason pushed him off and said that he didn’t even have a scratch on him, and Bruce would’ve wrapped him in a hug and said ‘I’m just worried about you’ while Jason squirms and claims he’s too old for hugs.
But Tim isn’t Jason, and he isn’t Batman’s son. He’s Robin, nothing more. (Even if that thought brings a tear to his eye and he tries to ignore the way his breath hitches as his throat grows tight)
There’s no reason for Tim to dwell on moments that didn’t happen, and never will happen. He has to get up in two hours for school and he has casework he needs to get done, but he allows himself these two hours of rest. He can always do his casework during school, anyways. It’s not like anybody would notice, much less care. Yes, he decides, he will do his work at school. Tim promptly passes out. feeling like he barely got a blink of sleep before his alarm woke him up. Tim to do everything all over again.
~~~
Nightwing is in town, Tim excitedly realizes as a hint of blue flashes through his vision. Batman barely acknowledges his overactive presence, letting out a grunt before grappling away. Nightwing pouts at Tim, who nearly lets out a giggle, but holds himself back. That would be unprofessional, he internally scolds himself, he can’t let there be a crack in his oh-so-carefully-crafted facade. Nightwing lets out a dramatic sigh as he reaches for his own grapple gun.
“Shall we go catch up with Mr. Dark-and-Broody?” He asks with a teasing lilt in his tone. Tim shakes his head stiffly.
“You go ahead, I already have my patrol route laid out.” Tim responds. Nightwing lets out a hum that says ‘I only half heard what you said’ before waving goodbye and grappling to join Batman on a nearby rooftop. He doesn’t even question why Tim, in all his twelve-and-a-half year old glory was patrolling alone in the most crime ridden city in the country, without a comm in his ear. (He left it in the batcave and, when he brought it up to Batman, he was just lectured on his forgetfulness. Batman didn’t even lend Tim his backup comm, merely stating that if Tim was irresponsible enough to forget his comm, that he could deal with the consequences, in not so many words.)
The earlier excitement from seeing Nightwing was quickly squashed, and he didn’t see Nightwing again for the rest of the night.
~~~
Tim hangs limply, hanging from the ceiling, bound by rope, as the thug kicks him in the stomach once more.
“It’s pathetic that you’re stopped by a few measly pieces of rope. It seems Robin isn’t as good as everyone thinks.” The thug laughs scathingly, smirking as if he actually did something with that. Jokes on him, he’s just saying the same words that Tim tells himself every day. Those words can’t make Tim’s self esteem any lower if his self esteem is already as low as it can be, he thinks bitterly.
If Tim were to try and make excuses, he’d say that his wrists were broken, and hanging in the air with no traction made it increasingly difficult to try and get himself out, and he’s too tired to even try to fight against it, anyways. He can feel the exhaustion deep in his bones, creeping into the very depths of his mind. What’s the point of fighting when you know that you’ll always lose? When you know that, no matter how well you do, how fast you get out of restraints, or how high your pain tolerance is, you’ll never be good enough. Not for Bruce, not for his parents, not for Dick, or Alfred, or anybody.
Tim accepts that this is it. This is how he’s going to die. He can’t help but think that it’s better this way. He just wants it all to end, he just wants to not feel the tightness in his chest that’s screaming at him to just let the tears fall, or the sharp tang in his heart when Batman tells him he wasn’t good enough, or that yearning to feel the touch of others, to be wrapped in a hug and be told that he’s enough just the way he is. Not that he’s felt that before. Nobody’s ever thought all that highly of him.
So he hangs there. He listens to every nasty word that the thugs say, and he doesn't fight against the restraints, or the abuse that they put him through, and he wonders how long it’ll take for Batman to show up and rescue him. If Batman ever even notices that Tim is missing. He doubts it, but maybe there’s a part of Tim that’s saying ‘of course he’ll notice, you’re Robin’, but he doesn’t believe that. If anything, Batman’ll feel a wave of relief that he’s gone, that Batman finally won’t have to hold back because some dumb kid is yelling at him not to.
In the end, it takes a week for Batman to find Tim, just barely hanging on to the thought of life, unconscious and malnourished, having not eaten anything for the week he was kidnapped, but Batman doesn’t notice, not that Tim thought he would. It’s not like that was abnormal. Rather, Tim just gets scolded for not fighting more, for not being good enough to get out of the restraints, no matter how much pain he was in, or how tired he was, or how much he just wanted it to end. All that Batman cared about was the fact that, if he were to die, the thugs would find out who was behind the mask, and that would ruin the Mission.
Tim finds himself tied up, literally, more times than he can count that next week. His wrists are rubbed raw and his throat is sore. From screaming, from crying, from lack of hydration, Tim doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter, Batman isn’t going to rescue him this time. Why would he, when it’s his own training exercises that caused Tim to be this way. It’s embarrassing, Tim tells himself, that he’s resorted to being so pathetic, so needy. So Tim gets out, every single time, uncaring about the effects it has on his body. He just needs to get out.
~~~
The next day, Tim finally shows up at school, much to Bernard and Darla’s relief. He’s quiet, Bernard observes, but he just gets like that sometimes. He’ll either be the most talkative person in the room, or he won’t say a word the entire day. It seems that he’s resorted to the latter.
“What happened? You were gone for the whole week and, no offence, you look like you had a business meeting with Death and you blackmailed your way out of it.” Bernard jokes, but it falls flat, Tim not even acknowledging his presence. Bernard and Darla exchange a glance, Darla laying a hand on Tim’s shoulder with her mouth open, about to ask what the matter is, but she pulls away when Tim flinches, her eyes wide with concern. That action seems to finally snap Tim out of whatever hole he’d most likely been digging himself into, a strained smile adoring his face. Bernard holds back a grimace at how painful it is to look at him.
“What’s wrong?” Darla asks softly, resisting the urge to take Tim’s hand. Tim shakes his head, smile falling for a minuscule moment before getting equipped once more.
“I’m fine, don’t worry,” He responds, hands fidgeting with each other as his eyes flit nervously between Bernard and Darla. Darla can obviously tell that’s a lie, Bernard can too, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she brings out a small bag of apple slices from her lunch box (the kind without the peels, the superior kind) and places it in front of Tim.
“You look like you need something to eat.” Darla says, lips pursed as Tim pushes them across his desk, back at Darla.
“I’m okay. I just ate breakfast.” Bernard can tell that that, too, is a lie, and he desperately tries not to snort at the obvious fallacy in that claim, but alas, he fails, both pairs of eyes turning to him. Bernard freezes, putting a loose smile on his lips as he tries to formulate a reason as to why he thought something like that was funny. (He didn’t.)
“No offence, dude, but you don’t look like you’ve eaten anything in weeks.” Bernard nearly misses Tim’s flinch at those words, Bernard’s concern for Tim now shooting through the roof. Has he seriously not eaten in weeks? Bernard stands up, placing his hands determinedly on the table. “Alright, let’s go. We’re going to the skate park.” He decides, staring at the two with an expression that he hopes conveys the message of ‘what, are you coming?’, but the two just stare at Bernard as if he’s grown a second head.
“We have school.” Tim responds carefully, confusion pulling at his features. Bernard scoffs.
“As if you’ve ever cared about that.” He grabs the three backpacks that were thrown haphazardly on the ground just minutes prior, walking out of the room and not looking back at the other two to see if they’re following or not.
~~~
The three sit on a bench under the best three in the park (in Bernard’s very humble opinion), munching on ice cream as a tense silence fills the air. Bernard, ever the blunt person (not really), finally fills the silence with a question.
“What happened to your wrists?” Bernard asks, taking a bite of ice cream as soon as the words exit his mouth in an attempt to act nonchalant. Tim freezes, spoon halfway to his lips, as his brain works overtime to find an answer to that.
“I dunno what you mean.” Tim finally responds, pulling down his ice cream to pull his hoodie sleeves further down his arms in an attempt to cover the already-scabbing wounds. Bernard just gives him a deadpan look, not breaking his stare until Tim finally relents.
“I was kidnapped,” Tim says, a questioning lilt in his tone as if he’s trying to believe that himself. Bernard sighs.
“Try again.” Tim pulls his feet up on the bench, pushing himself into a ball.
“I can’t tell you,” He finally responds, voice near silent, words almost getting lost in the chilly November breeze.
“Was it your dad?” Darla asks tentatively, placing her how-empty ice cream cup on the bench beside her as she turns to fully face Tim, hands in her lap. Tim shakes his head so fast that Bernard can almost feel the headache that is growing in Tim’s forehead.
“I’m so tired.” He says instead, voice breaking as he tries so hard to keep the tears from falling. Bernard and Darla freeze, shocked at the turn of events. They’ve never seen him cry before, for gods sake, before this, Bernard didn’t even think he was capable of crying, but here they were, fumbling to try and comfort their friends.
“I’m just– God, I just wish everything would stop, that-that my thoughts would quiet down enough to just let me sleep.” A sob finally breaks through Tim’s walls, his carefully crafted facade falling so rapidly that Bernard almost gets whiplash. He panics, drawing Tim in for a hug and squeezing as tight as he can when he feels Tim’s hands grip his shirt like a lifeline, his ice cream left long forgotten on the bench.
Tim falls asleep in Bernard’s arms, the trio staying on the bench long into the night.
~~~
Tim stitches up the knife wound on his side absent-mindedly, going through the motions he’s done several hundred times in the three years he’s been Robin, trying not to think about the fact that this was given to him by his supposed brother. Not that Tim thinks of Damian as a brother. He doesn’t think of any of the batkids as siblings. If they were, maybe they would’ve cared enough to check in on him every once in a while. But alas, here he was, sitting in the empty batcave as he drags a needle and string through his skin, not even flinching, as if this was normal. To be fair, it was. Tim usually dropped through the window in his bedroom at least once a week with a newly stitched up wound.
It hurts more, though, knowing that this came from someone who was supposed to care about him. Tim is startled from his thoughts by the sound of footsteps echoing throughout the vast expanse of the cave. Dick, his mind supplied. Obviously, Dick wanted Tim to know he was coming, or else the footsteps would have never made a sound.
“Tim?” Dick calls out hesitantly. Tim hums in acknowledgment, not looking up from where he’s sitting on the med bay cot. “Ouch. That doesn’t look fun.” Tim finally looks up to see a grimace on Dick’s face as he stares at the half-closed wound.
“Yeah. Damian really knows where to hit to make it hurt.” Tim responds dryly, silently relishing in the way he made Dick grimace even more. He sits beside Tim on the cot, the look of pity so sickening that Tim has to look away for his own sanity.
“Yeah, about that,” Dick gulps, “He didn’t mean it.” Tim drops the needle to look at Dick with an incredulous look.
“Pardon?” Tim asks, baffled by Dick’s words.
“Listen, he’s just trying to unlearn everything he was taught in the league-” he tries, but Tim cuts him off.
“He tried to kill me, Dick. This isn’t even the first time!” Dick opens his mouth to try and defend Damian, but Tim isn’t having it. “I’m so tired of you making excuses for him! He’s been here for six months already but he’s still making attempts on my life! Stop acting like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He is very aware of everything he does, and you’re encouraging it by not getting mad at him, or punishing him, or doing anything more than telling him ‘no’ whenever he does something that he shouldn’t! He’s never going to learn if you never tell him to stop. I’m sick of you acting like his happiness is worth more than my life.” Tim stands as he lets out all of the words that have been building up for months despite his injuries.
“Tim, you need to calm down,” Dick raises his hands in front of his body in what Tim knows is supposed to be a calming gesture, but it just serves to anger Tim further.
“No, Dick, I’m not going to calm down because I have been nothing but forgiving up until now. I didn’t get angry when he took my name, or when he talked down to me, or even when he hurt me previously, but I’m done! I’m not going to sit here and take this while Bruce is out there doing god-knows-what.”
“Bruce is dead, we’ve been over this-” Tim doesn’t even bother letting Dick finish his sentence before he grabs his bag and phone.
“Bruce isn’t dead, and I’m not crazy. I’m going to prove it to you and when I do, you’re not going to care. You never do.” With that, Tim walks out of the cave, not letting Dick dignify himself with a response.
~~~
Tim shoves his suit into the black duffle bag on the floor in front of him, grabbing every knick-knack from around the cave that he’s left over the years in an attempt to make it seem like he was never there in the first place. Tim has the passing thought that he had more in the cave then he realized, but he refuses to come back for a second trip, shoving everything he finds in the already-overfilling bag. He hears Jason’s footsteps behind him, but he doesn’t pause to even acknowledge his presence.
“What are ‘ya doin’?” Jason asks, his alley accent thick.
“Packing,” Tim responds absent-mindedly. Jason raises an eyebrow, not that Tim notices in his scramble to grab anything of importance.
“An’ why’s that?” Jason asks again. Tim finally looks at Jason, sending him a glare as he continues what he’s doing.
“‘Cause I’m leaving.” Tim answers vaguely.
“Why?” Jason asks once more, causing Tim to sigh exasperatedly.
“What are you, a child?” Tim stops moving to look at Jason with annoyance, awaiting Jason’s response.
“No, I’m just curious why you’re leaving.” He finally responds after a few moments of silence.
“Because no one wants me here.” Tim states in a factual tone.
“Bullshit, you were always the favorite child,” Jason scoffs, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. Tim looks at Jason with a look of confusion and anger, mind racing a mile a minute.
“What do you mean, I was the favorite child? I’m not even Bruce’s son!” Tim asks, baffled.
“He always trusted you the most. I wasn’t even allowed to patrol on school nights, much less alone! I patrolled alone once, and even then, Batman never went further than a block away. Yet he let you start patrolling alone at what, 12?” Jason claims. Tim’s jaw just drops even further.
“No, Jason, that wasn’t trust, that was a lack of care. Batman didn’t even want me in the first place. For gods sake, he practically begged me to patrol alone. He doesn’t care about it being a school night, or if I got injured, or kidnapped, or even killed. I mean, let’s be real here, he’d probably be relieved if I got killed, if he even notices in the first place.” Tim says hysterically, throwing his arms up in exasperation.
“The fuck you mean he wouldn’t notice? He’d probably care about you the most out of any of us. He would hate to lose his precious detective.” Jason mocks. Tim halts all of his movements, going still in a way that is uncanny for him, as he’s rarely ever not moving, and his eyes grow distant for a moment before he finally responds.
“Exactly. That is all that I am to him,” Tim says coldly as he marches out of the room dramatically, his bag left forgotten on the cave floor.
~~~
Tim sits on the roof, feet dangling off the side as he swings them back and forth, his mind wandering as the winter chill claws up his civvie t-shirt. He stares at the road below him, so far, yet it would be so easy to bring them closer, Tim thinks. It would be so easy so just…fall. To let go and push himself just a few inches forward. To make everything go away. Oh, how easy it would be to allow himself just one last moment of selfishness, to allow himself to go through with it.
He’s tired of giving every part of himself away and receiving nothing in return, not even a pat on the back. Not that he wants one, he’s 17, that’s far too old to want any sort of reassurance. Plus, that’s not why he’s there. He’s there to keep Batman alive and not toeing the line between Batman and his number one rule.
But he doesn’t need to do that anymore. Batman has a new Robin and Jason’s come back and Tim has no use anymore. He tilts his head to the side, a small, maybe a tad manic, smile dancing along his lips. He giggles when he hears the tell-tale sound of someone on the roof behind him.
“Do you know how easy it would be to just, let go?” Tim asks, desperation coating his words as he turns around to meet Kon’s eyes, Tim’s smile unfaltering at Kon’s own horrified expression.
“Rob,” Kon tries, but Tim cuts him off with a giggle.
“Nope! Remember, I’m not Robin anymore! That title was given to the kid that tried to kill me four months ago, and six months ago, and four more times before that! Not that I deserve that name, but I think he deserves it even less. But Dick doesn’t care about that, and now that I’ve brought Batman back, why would he care? I’m not surprised that he’s gone for the shiny new model. Who would want a broken Robin when there’s a perfectly new one right there?!” Tim goes back to gazing wistfully at the view in front of him, polluted air making it hard to see anything further than a few stories down. He doesn’t react when he feels Kon’s warm hand on his shoulder, nor the familiar feel of his TTK wrapping around Tim in a way that he knows is only to keep him from jumping.
Kon sits beside him, hand trailing down Tim’s arm to grab his hand, Kon’s other hand moving to have his two hands fully encasing Tim’s one. Tim sighs as he leans into Kon’s space, mind thinking about how this is probably the most emotion he’s shown in months.
“Please don’t jump,” Kon whispers, hands squeezing Tim’s tightly. Tim lets out a distant hum, taking a deep breath before responding.
“Why not? I’m of no use now that the whole family is back together. And, by the way, did I even get a thank you for that? No! Dick yells at me and fires me for trying to prove that B’s not dead and when I finally do, he yells at me for that, too! Now I’ve just been put back to being treated like I’m not actually there, why should I be there? I bet you they probably wouldn’t even notice if I left.” Tim rambles.
“But we would. Me, Cassie, and Bart would notice. We just got back, Tim, please don’t separate us again. I don’t know what we’d do if we lost you.” Tim finally looks at Kon’s eyes and he falters at the sincerity that twinkles in his eyes, the smile that’s been on his face the entire time, falling.
“You would be fine.” Tim responds. Kon nearly breaks when he realizes that Tim truly believes that.
“No, Tim, we wouldn’t. You’re the most important part of our team. Without you, there wouldn’t be an ‘us’.” Kon brings his hand up to wipe away the tears that started rolling down Tim’s face, not that Tim noticed.
Tim shakes his head as if he doesn’t believe Kon’s words, pulling his hand out of Kon’s and standing up, trying to walk to the door that leads to the inside of the building, but Kon grabs his hand.
“Please, Tim, you can leave here if you want to, but please don’t make that mean you leave us, too.” Kon’s voice cracks, Tim turning around to see a look of desperation on Kon’s face and that’s what finally breaks that dam. Tim falls into Kon’s arms, sobs racking his body as he tries to say his thoughts aloud, but the words aren’t able to form on his tongue. Kon wraps his arms around Tim’s shaking frame, whispering reassurance in his ear and rubbing his hand up and down Tim’s back.