Work Text
Maybe I should quit.
Tim thought for the nth time, staring at the back of the fleeing goon that had deserted the rest of his crew, unconscious in the alley, as the last of them fell with a particularly hard punch from Tim. The guy hadn’t gone far, what with his sprained (possibly fractured) foot; Tim would be on him in less than ten strides, if he could actually bring his legs to move. Or he could hit him with a batarang and it would be over. But that also required mobility on his part and these moments, where his neurons would falter and clog his nervous system, rendering him immobile and comfortingly blank, were becoming more frequent as the days went on.
It had been three months since Bruce returned from the time stream, had started recovering and connecting with the rest of the Waynes. The day that Bruce entered the cave, Tim waited patiently on the side. He waited with varying expectations, ranging from whimsical to realistic. For guilt, worry, sadness, an apology, a hug, a pat on the back, even worry disguised as anger (or had it always been the other way around?); he had waited for
something
, trying to look desperately like he wasn’t remaining in the Batcave for
them
. He typed his report on his gauntlet while Damian’s wet, hoarse ‘baba!’ made Bruce cry. He had cleaned and bandaged the night’s injury (a cut on his arm from a rusting fire escape) while Bruce repeated apologies to a frustrated, heaving Jason. He had even washed the dirt off the ends of his cape as Dick broke down in Bruce's arms. And, after three hours, he numbly watched as a moist-eyed Alfred asked them all to move to the medbay so that the precautionary tests could be run on Bruce. And then, he had left, wondering why he felt more rage than hurt.
Now, he was here, in a dark, dirty alley of Gotham, feeling more at home than at the manor as he punched burglars into unconsciousness. Exhaling a sigh and feeling his tense muscles unlock, Tim held his breath as he forced himself to move.
But what would quitting even do? I don’t wanna leave this life.
Catching up to the limping man, Tim kicked his leg, making him scream at his foot twisting further as he fell forward. The man turned on his back, waving a knife in his hand that Tim narrowly dodged, disarming him with a sharp chop to the wrist. Grabbing onto the fist flying in his direction, Tim decisively punched the man in the jaw, effectively knocking him out.
What’s the difference between vigilantism with them and vigilantism alone?
Tying up the burglar’s hands quickly, Tim let out the breath clutched in his lungs, straightening up and pulling the man back towards the alley where he efficiently dealt with the rest of the subdued men, binding their wrists and dialling the police.
“You’re still as incompetently slow as ever, Drake.”
Stiffening, Tim turned, head tilting back as he saw two hauntingly familiar shadows sitting on the edge of a nearby rooftop, the sounds of aluminium wrappers and the crunch of crisps like a slap to the face in the quiet of Gotham.
"This could have ended much quicker if you had been faster in dealing with the last of the men."
“Code names, Rob”
Ahh,
Tim numbly thought as he looked up at the first and current Robins on the rooftop, relaxing and waiting for him to finish as the two looked, to each other, what Tim could never be to them; no matter how much he tried.
That’s the difference.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
“Are you sure?”
“I’ll pummel your mouth in if you ask that one more time. For fuck’s sake, I’ve said it thrice; we’ve seen ‘em movin’, specifically in the north-west of Ar-Rutbah.”
“You’re on the other side of the screen, Pru. And you can’t just expect me to not question this info when we’ve already surveyed Iraq and come up empty. But, then again, Ra’s always has a card left to play.”
Tim was currently in his Nest, strapping on his gauntlets as he looked through the report on the computer screen, sharp eyes scanning through the contents.
Prudence Wood, former League assassin and mercenary, loudly munched on Cheetos, watching her friend and co-worker lazily through the computer screen in front of her. She had been on a rescue mission in Ar-Rutbah, Iraq, acting as backup to some defected League assassins that now worked for Tim. It was ironic to find herself helping people and assisting in such missions (missions for the
good
of others), but her boss was a softie and sue her for getting used to it quickly; the kid paid well, and she had more days off than ever before (Tim pulling out the tired-slash-sad puppy eyes as he said he’d have to go himself if she couldn’t, had nothing to do with this at all.). The mission ended with an attack by a few of her
other
old co-workers that recognized her and, according to Tim’s intel, should not have been in Iraq at all. Tim had blown up all the known Lazarus Pits in Iraq, and he hadn’t received word of another base being set up there. All this led to unauthorized use of a zeta tube, a rescue for the rescuer (embarrassing really, and Tim’s smug grin didn’t make her feel any better) and, as Tim’s tired voice later suggested, a tongue lashing from the old Bat for bailing on them.
Now, she was chilling in a five-star hotel in Moscow with her leg in a cast and supporting a broken nose, a blanket around her shoulders as she watched her little boss go through the surveillance report that didn’t have much info at all. Pushing a whole cookie into her mouth and washing it down with wine (
tea, my ass
), she commented lazily,
“I could take a plane right now, kid. And maybe it’s not another Pit; maybe the old geezer’s just got somethin' cookin’ up. Oooor it could be a big hit.”
Pru’s gaze was meaningful as Tim turned to face her. Of course, he’d also considered the possibility of a high-level assassination target attracting such attention from Ra’s, but Tim would like to think that his intel on the League of Assassins was as up-to-date as possible. If this was really about a high-level target, Ra’s would send one of his best to finish the job quickly, and Tim wasn’t aware of any League elites in Iraq currently. The Demon Head would only be sending multiple low-level assassins, without a care for anyone interfering, if (a) he wanted to test his target’s capabilities, (b) he wanted to toy with them before finishing the job, or (c) he wanted someone to notice. And Tim’s bet was on option c currently, given how the old man hadn’t called his men back even though Tim now knew something was happening; the self-assured psycho hadn’t even sped up the operation. The question remained; who was Ra’s trying to lure? It could very well be Tim himself. Red Robin wasn’t a fool to think that the Demon’s Head didn’t know about his movements; the guy was too intelligent to not have noticed.
And too much of a creep, too.
Shuddering at the thought, Tim shook his head, deft fingers pulling up a bird’s eye view of Ar-Rutbah on the computer screen along with the computer’s customized search engine,
“Guess I’ll have to check it out myself.”
Raising an eyebrow, Pru leaned forward,“Yourself? If this is somethin’ big, the mission won’t last just a day. And if it’s only more recon; send someone else.”
Tim’s eyes lit up as he scanned through the webpage in front of him, his hand reaching for his Superboy logoed coffee mug as he sat down on his pink recliner (courtesy of one of Bart’s shopping sprees).
“A hit being targeted by Ra’s; either, they’re good enough in Ra’s’ eyes to have their abilities tested before he makes a move, or they’ve done something to get on the old man’s bad side. Both options seem increasingly attractive to m-Oh! Did you know, Al-Rutbah used to be an airstrip for Imperial Airway flights? Interesting…and it was also a water stop for-”
“Boss,” stopping his oncoming learning-induced rant midway, Pru shoved a cookie into her mouth, “Whut'sh the alibi?” She swallowed the cookie, “Isn’t the old Bat already pissed at ya for runnin' off two days ago?”
Tim sipped at his coffee, rolling his eyes as he muttered, “That’s what I was about to say if you’d have kept listening.”, steam-rolling over Pru’s disbelieving scoff, he retorted, “There’s a trafficking case I’ve been looking into here;
coincidentally
, their main HQ’s in Al-Rutbah. That’s what I’ll tell them if they ask. And don’t speak with your mouth full; I can’t fix the voice box if you choke again.”
Pru gaped, a vein ticking in her forehead as she downed another glass of wine. A low, static buzz filled the room as she yelled, but no other sound came out, the voice box in her throat not made for the high decibels. Composing herself, she gritted her teeth, looking like she would headbutt the screen at any moment,
“You couldn’t start with that, you brat? And what’s the point of confirming with me so many times if you’d already found a link, you dolt?!”
Smirking, Tim put on his other gauntlet, eyes glittering as he chirped,
“Just wanted to be sure.”
“Why you-”
A beep sounded, turning their attention to the white dot blinking on the gauntlet. Cursing, Tim put on his cowl, downing the rest of his coffee.
“I’m late for patrol.”
Considering that was the third call, Tim guessed they had work for him as he reached for his bo.
They wouldn’t remember otherwise.
Shaking his head, Tim closed the computer’s search engine and faced Pru, the glint in his eyes making her straighten,
“I’ll hand over my patrol routes to someone but, just in case, send out team Gamma 3 to the Gotham countryside with orders to move only at a Code Red. Take the lead on that; you know enough of the situation here. Also, look into the assassins that you recognized during the attack. Their skill set might clue us in on their purpose. I’ll contact you tomorrow. And, another thing,”
Pausing, Tim waited until Pru started drumming her fingers before grinning,
“No need to take a flight; it’s not like you could win even if you were recovered.”
“Wha-OI! GET BACK HERE, YOU-“
Tim was out the door before the curses could reach him.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Redbird’s revving echoed in the Batcave with Red Robin’s entry. Putting the bike on standby, Tim made a beeline for the water cooler, blood dripping on the floor from the cut on his arm. Filling up a glass and downing it within seconds, Tim yanked his glove off and pulled down the zipper on his sleeve, grimacing as the sticky material of his suit pulled at the gash on his arm. As much as he didn’t want to take care of his wound in the middle of the cave when the others were only minutes behind him, Tim wasn’t in the mood to risk an infection when he had several important cases waiting to be solved and three WE meetings scheduled for just this week. Biting down on a hiss as he sprayed an obnoxious amount of disinfectant on the wound, Tim kept an ear out for any sound of vehicles approaching.
‘Needs stitches. Great.’
Reaching for the hemostatic powder, Tim prayed that he could finish this up before the others returned. He really wasn’t in the mood for any more opinions on his ‘
lack of skill in the field’
, especially when he already had an impending lecture from Bru-
Batman
tonight
.
While Tim hadn’t been informed on what this rare face-to-face ‘meeting’ was about, he could guess.
**The previous night, 12:35 am.**
Nightwing and Robin had been pushed onto Tim for a raid on a high level weapons deal. Since the buyers were confirmed to be from out of town and had their hands on some teleportation tech, it was crucial to shut down the trade on the same night to not allow chances of escape. The operation started off fine, with the criminals caught off guard and barely any chit-chat with the Bats (not that anything substantial could ever be said to Tim except when aiming to hurt). The mission went down-hill quickly though, when Robin decided that he was safe enough with Nightwing at his back (which granted, he probably was) to start multitasking; a punch to a criminal here and a haughty glance towards Tim who was busy dodging bullets from three expert shooters blocking the staircase that the target had run up, at one end of the surprisingly small warehouse. There was a noticeable lack of guns among the criminals as seven men stood behind the shooters with the usual metal pipes, rods and whatnot; probably their last line of defense in case of a disaster.
“Always on the defense, Drake, will you ever make a move yourself or are we supposed to do so for you?”
“No code names on the field, Rob! And focus on the fight.”
“I am perfectly capable of handling myself, Nightwing, unlike
someone
here.”
Since Nightwing interjected before Tim could, he ignored the taunt, focusing on keeping his head bullet-free until the opponent ran out of ammo and subtly moving closer with every swerve to the side. Noticing two of the goons back off to reload, Tim swept into action, propelling himself forward with his bo and twisting in the air, barely dodging a bullet from the third shooter as he hit the gun out of his hand before swiftly disarming the other two that were now standing with loaded weapons. It was when he’d dealt with the rest of the men at his end that the newest Robin decided to open his mouth again.
“How long does it take to handle three opponents, Red Robin? Or are you lazing on the side because you know we are better off fighting without you.”
Turning around to retort, Tim’s breath hitched as he noticed a modified gun aiming at Robin’s back from the 2nd floor, their
target
holding a teleportation disk in his other hand. Searching for Nightwing, Tim found him in between 4 men, clearly busy.
‘No time!’
Tim bolted, diving for Robin who was holding out a batarang as if he would attack Tim at any moment if he got closer. Tim crashed into Damian unceremoniously, the batarang cutting his cheek as it whirled past his head. The bullet missed them by a long shot, embedding itself into the concrete. But before Tim could be relieved, the room was filled with smoke as the bullet exploded.
‘A smoke bomb.’
The realization came too late; by the time Tim’s goggles adjusted resolution, the main buyer of the night, the target that they weren’t supposed to lose at all costs, was nowhere to be found.
**Present time**
Leaving the stitches for later, Tim bandaged the cut and zipped his suit back up, heading for the computer to type in his report. Since he was already here, it was better to be productive than to let his thoughts take over. Tim had a pretty good idea on how the night was going to proceed; there was little that ever changed, if anything at all, He would bet his bike on the fact that he was the only one that would bear the consequences of last night’s failure during this ‘meeting’. Last night, Nightwing had been the distraction and his role was to take care of the henchmen and sellers while Red Robin and Robin were in charge of getting to the buyer after the initial wave of bullets. Between himself and Robin, it wasn’t hard for Tim to guess who would take the fall for the escaped target, considering the bias that probably shone in Nightwing’s report. He wouldn’t completely lie and say it was Tim’s fault; the guilt would eat the first Robin up if he did such an
unjust
act. But he also didn’t need to; Batman wasn’t any better than him, after all, when it came to passing judgement. Damian would be let off with a warning at worst, but Tim would probably be taken off some cases, maybe even benched. Not that he was going to listen; half the time, Batman doesn’t even care enough to check if Tim is actually following the order. After all, even Tim disobeying means getting more cases done and less work left.
‘It’s just the principle of the matter that’s called me here tonight.’
Stiffening at the roar of a bike echoing in the cave, Tim kept his eyes on the computer as Red Hood got off and headed for the showers. He paused when he noticed Red Robin on the computer before continuing on his way. Sighing in relief as Jason disappeared, Tim finished up his report. While he and Red Hood seemed to have a silent deal to ignore each other’s existence, it by no means meant peace. But Tim would take the silent treatment over Jason spewing vitriol any day. Though he wasn’t sure if this was fortunate or not, since he never did become numb to the taunts; he would’ve very much liked to have felt numb to Jason in the same way that tiredness seeped into his bones when he saw the rest of the Waynes nowadays. It was an improvement from the ache in his chest and the raging sting behind his eyes; Tim was almost proud of it, if he wasn’t more ashamed that this change had occurred before he’d been able to vent his frustration; now, he was too tired to do so.
Tim’s thoughts came to a screeching halt just like the Batmobile as it parked, his heartbeat picking up like it knew it would have to anyway during the inevitable lecture. Taking a deep breath, Red Robin stood up and turned towards the approaching vigilantes. Nightwing, who stiffened awkwardly when his eyes met Tim’s, gave an awkward and pathetic attempt at a casual smile before heading to the showers. Red Robin ignored him, standing ramrod straight as he waited for Batman, but it was Robin passing by and
also
heading to the showers that made him falter. He waited for Batman to stop the ex-assassin and call him over to stand beside Tim but the man was calmly looking through last night’s report.
‘Wait, Batman wouldn’t-’
“Red Robi-”
“Why isn’t Robin here?”
He needed to know; it couldn’t be that Robin’s role in the mission’s failure was going to be ignored completely. It just couldn’t; Tim knew that they hadn’t said a word about it to Robin yet. A warning, a scolding,
anything.
They wouldn’t just
not
talk about it, that wasn’t possible; if not for Tim’s safety, then for the success rate of missions. If they didn’t even mention it, then was this expected to remain a normal occurrence for Robin to cause failures and for Tim to handle the consequences? But Tim already has so much to
do.
The only indication that Batman was irritated by the constant interruptions was the low temperature of his voice,
“Is this your way of pushing responsibility onto someone else? Unprofessional, Red.”
“No, I mean we were both in charge of getting to the buyer, so why isn’t he here?”
Batman paused at that, likely surprised by Tim already knowing the purpose of this meeting.
“I didn’t see the need to call Robin here when you were in charge. And, I must say, Red Robin, for the past few weeks, your fieldwork has been..”
A loud buzz went off in Tim’s ears, muffling Batman’s next words, but he could see his lips moving, his fingers trembling before he clenched them into fists.
“When was I put in charge?” The hollowness of his own voice would’ve scared Tim on any other occasion but, right now, it seemed a small problem compared to the constriction of his throat that threatened to silence him.
Batman’s annoyance at Tim’s constant interruptions was clearly starting to show, though he tried to keep his cool,
“Considering the fact that you’re the older sibling, is it irrational for you to have taken the lead?”
‘Older sibling.’
It was those two words that did it; all the fight left Tim’s limbs, the familiar numbness enveloping him like his bathwater when he dips his head inside on tiring days because at some point, that pure, blue, heavy lens had become clearer than his murky life. And, from the deepest parts of him, there was a frosty rage that sometimes rose up to nip at his insides, only to be crushed down mercilessly by his own desire to hide himself and, now, by his fatigue. He was the older sibling, so it was obvious that he would be in charge. Except it wasn’t obvious; not to Tim, at least. It wasn’t obvious because Robin had never thought of Tim as a brother. It wasn’t obvious because, to Nightwing, Tim was not worth getting mad at his brothers if they hurt Tim. It wasn’t obvious because, to Batman, Tim was ‘Red Robin’ and Damian was ‘son’. And yet, still, it should be apparent that Tim’s the older sibling so he should take responsibility for the child that had never thought of him as a sibling, as family. He was supposed to take responsibility even if they didn’t. He was supposed to care, even if they didn’t reciprocate. It was expected of him.
‘It’s unfair.’
Something broken and scared and
defeated
whispered at the back of his mind. It was unfair; why were they around when he was hurt and aching and
longing
, but whenever it was time for his anger, either they weren’t there to see it or he wasn’t brave enough to show it? Why was there a faded black cavity in his chest now where there used to be a cavern of colors? Why couldn’t he be cared for, for once? Even the history of pain carved inside his ribcage seemed to have collected enough dust until only a blank slate was left. If it were dusted off with care, would the scars still be there? Why was he picking up their pieces and shattering himself to keep them whole? Why was it
expected
of him? What was the reason that everything is always expected from him, yet he wasn’t allowed to expect back? What had he snatched from the world that, wanting
anything
else, meant that he was selfish? Tim was
tired.
Tired of wanting something that seemed so out of reach that he could barely ever see it now, so unfamiliar to him that he couldn’t define it, yet he still wanted it.
“But do I really want it? Does it even matter?”
“You’ll be benched for a week. And you’re off the trafficking case; the lack of progress is disappointing, so Jason will be taking over.”
He wasn’t sure what caused it. Maybe it was the unfair blame, or the constriction of his throat when Jason had ignored him, or Nightwing’s gall to meet his gaze knowing well what was about to happen. Or maybe it had just been the simple act of Damian walking by, but something had become the straw on the camel’s back and Tim, Tim was
tired.
“No.”
“And don’t-...what?”
“I said ‘No’, Batman.” Tim replied calmly.
Batman’s jaw tightened and Tim would’ve laughed at the obvious confusion in his eyes if he wasn’t feeling the need to punch him.
Not yet.
“Red, I’m not in the mood for-”
“That’s what I should be saying, really, Batman.” Tim calmly interjected yet the steel in his tone resounding. He was beginning to enjoy cutting Bruce off. It always drove the man up a wall.
Small mercies.
“I’m not in the mood for biased and prejudiced judgements hindering my casework and patrols, so you can stop talking now. And next time you need me for such an ‘urgent meeting’, don’t wait for me. I’ll also be handling the human trafficking case myself as it should be considering that it was mine from the start and a change in teammates is only a waste of time at such a point, which you would realize if you weren’t blinded by your anxiety to not fuck up with your son
again
. As for benching me when this is
clearly
your son’s fault? Not happening.”
Saying out loud all of Bruce’s actions affected Tim himself almost as much as it angered Batman.
That’s what’s happened. Has it really been that bad?
His throat constricted, hurt and fury finally making itself known, but the shame outweighed the pain. There was so much in his chest, yet his tongue was too heavy, and his jaw was too tight. Swivelling on his heel, Tim speed-walked towards his bike. He needed to get out of here before he let himself show. He needed to get a grip. He hadn’t said too much yet; it was all still salvageable, so he wouldn’t have to worry if he left now. He just needed to breathe. He just needed to
get. OUT.
A hand wrapped around his arm, pulling him back with a force that made the zipper of his suit press into his unstitched wound and Tim’s ears buzzed, eyes wild and sparking like shattering glass.
“TIM! Your behaviour is-” Batman didn’t get to finish as Tim wrenched his arm away, pulling it back and letting it go. It all happened so fast that Batman didn’t see it coming. One moment he was holding onto Tim’s arm, the next he was stumbling at the force of the punch that his own
son
had delivered, barely keeping from falling backwards. The reality of the situation set in and Batman froze, eyes widening in a way that he would’ve never allowed himself.
“My behaviour is exactly how it should be!” Tim’s voice was cold like it never had been before, a layer of fury to it that had the room temperature dropping, “You, on the other hand, might need to go and see the therapist again; did you forget what she said about letting personal life seep into work?”
Bruce paled at the words, looking almost betrayed, and Tim wanted to laugh. Jason had gone up to the manor but he was still here. Nobody knew what Batman was like when Jason died. Nobody but Tim, that is and he was sure that Jason wouldn’t take too kindly to Batman’s more
violent
tendencies towards a kid even if said kid had almost been killed by Jason himself.
Hypocrites.
This was a clear threat to shatter any semblance of peace with Jason that Bruce had worked for. While Tim would never have brought this up before because the peace of the Waynes mattered the most to him, he needed to
breathe, and
they weren’t allowing that.
“
Don’t
get close to me,
don’t
talk to me unless it’s for work and don’t even think about touching my cases. I once built you back up, Batman. Don’t force me to pull you down to pieces. Understood?”
“What the hell is going on here?! Tim??”
Batman jolted to look to the side as Richard exited the bathroom with Damian following behind, looking like he’d seen a pet zoo in the cave. But, right now, Tim was too frantic to care. He’d given a warning; it was up to them if they listened or not. Tim walked backwards, keeping an eye on all three of the Waynes. As Dick rushed towards him, Tim moved swiftly, getting on his bike and high-tailing it out of there like the bats of Hell were at his back.
And wasn’t that true.