Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim knows that things haven't been going very well lately, but he can't quite understand why that is.

The last few months have been strange. Even when he slept the necessary amount of hours, he felt exhausted, as if the warmth of his bed sucked him in and tied him to it, leaving him no escape.

But the truth is that Tim is a liar. He knows perfectly well what was happening to him, and would rather face Captain Boomerang and let him escape alive as many times as necessary than admit it.

When he got off work, he would go to the Nest, reorder the cases he still had pending, and if he was very sleepy, he would drink an energy drink and then get ready to go out on patrol as Red Robin. Then, he would simply go to his apartment, take off his suit, and go to sleep.

He had an established routine. However, running into the damn Red Hood was clearly not part of it.

𓅪

Tim had started investigating a case, which, in reality, he wasn't even giving the importance it deserved. He simply chose it at random from those projected on his computer and decided to show up.

He arrived at Gotham Harbor, where a group of men were preparing a large shipment of drugs. He watched as some loaded a boat and others, probably the bosses, talked among themselves, settling accounts and strategizing.

Every detail was captured in Tim's mind.

He came up with a quick plan and prepared to act. But before he could even take a step, he heard an unexpected noise: someone shuffled their feet as they approached. Instinctively, he extended his bō staff and turned around in a defensive stance.

Behind him, Red Hood stood there, pointing a gun directly at his head. However, there was something strange: Jason's hand was shaking slightly, and he was leaning more heavily on his right side. It was an unusual sight for him, something difficult to ignore, even with a gun pointed at him.

“This is my territory,” Tim said quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on the red helmet. “What do you want, Hood?”

“Those are Black Mask's men,” he replied. “One of their packages has a bomb I planted. The shipment will arrive in Star City just in time for Arsenal to stop it and destroy the ship and its cargo,” Jason explained. “If you go there, you'll fuck everything up.”

Tim slowly lowered his staff, keeping his guard up. He knew Red Hood wasn't someone he could easily trust, but this time he seemed to be serious.

“So what do you suggest?” he asked, his voice firm.

“I don't want you to fucking interfere.” Red Hood turned slightly, looking toward where the men were still carrying the load, unaware of the tension between the two. “I want you to stay out of this.”

Red Hood lowered his weapon and, with a slight gesture that Tim couldn't interpret, began to walk away without saying another word.

Tim couldn't help asking, “So why plant the bomb if you don't want anyone to intervene? Wouldn't that attract more people?”

Jason stopped, looking back with his helmet dimly lit by the lights of the harbor.

“It's so Arsenal has a backup plan.” His voice was low but firm. “If things go bad, he can use it. But I don't want anyone else getting involved, or this operation getting ruined before it even starts.”

Tim knew Jason was serious; that was evident. But even without seeing his face, he could tell: the tension in his posture, the way he shifted his weight to one side, the slight tremor in his fingers.

“Fine. Whatever.” Tim kept a tight grip on his staff. “Tell me something before you go. Did you twist your ankle before or after planting the bomb?” He smiled languidly. “And was that before or after you dislocated your thumb?”

Red Hood paused, and the air grew tense. The helmet slowly turned toward Tim, and Jason's voice boomed out, colder than before.

“That's none of your fucking business. What is your business is my warning. If I see you in Star City, or if you set foot near this shipment, you won't have that fake ass Nightwing smile on your face anymore. Got it, Robin?”

“Red Robin,” Tim corrected, frowning.

“Red Robin, Robin... who gives a damn? You're just a brat.”

“You know I'm only three years younger than you, right? And considering the time you were dead... you'd actually only be one or two years older than me.”

Jason's response was a knife that whistled straight at Tim's face. He dodged it effortlessly. But by the time his eyes returned to where they had been previously, Jason had vanished.

𓅪

Tim is an idiot, and he really doesn't care if he puts his life in danger. Not that he doesn't like living, but he wouldn't mind if he stopped, so he managed to track Jason's bomb-laden boat and calculated the day and time it would arrive at Star City harbor.

Okay, Tim is an idiot, but he's not stupid. He arrived in Star City on the estimated date as Tim Wayne, the CEO of Wayne Enterprises, with the excuse of having a meeting with a technology company that he would end up buying since it actually looked promising.

When night fell, Tim slipped through the city's harbor as if he knew it inside out, having memorized the place's maps just the day before.

Tim watched from behind a rusty dumpster, binoculars pressed to his face, as the scene unfolded before him: the same men who had once been in Gotham were now unloading cargo from a ship at the Star City docks. When they had almost half of it out of the container, Arsenal appeared like a flash and took them down with ease. Efficient. Too efficient. Tim barely had time to register their movements and every arrow that was thrown.

Then he heard it: heavy footsteps. Shuffling. One step shorter than the other.

Before he could turn around, he felt an arm wrap around his neck with more force than necessary, pressing him against a body he immediately recognized by its tension.

“I told you I didn't want to see you here, Timbo,” Jason murmured, his voice rough against his ear.

He was still putting more weight on his right side; he was still injured.

“You said you didn't want to see Red Robin,” Tim replied with difficulty. "I'm not wearing the suit.

Jason scanned him from head to toe, taking note of his civilian clothes. A light gray sweatshirt, ordinary jeans. Just like him: dark red sweatshirt, black pants, no helmet.

Jason snorted, visibly annoyed. “What's going on? Did Bruce put you on me now?”

Tim turned around, hitting Jason's abdomen with his elbow to free himself from his grip and come face to face with him.

“Tell Bruce I don't give a shit about what he thinks of me,” Jason spat, holding his abdomen with one hand due to the blow.

“I stopped working with Batman months ago,” Tim replied, without looking at him. His voice was low, harsh. As if he were saying it out loud for the first time.

Jason stood still. The snort he was about to let out froze on his lips. He tilted his head slightly and for a second just watched Tim. He studied him.

“Oh...” he said with a half-smile. “You're trying to get Bruce's attention.” Jason slowly lowered his hands to his hips. 

“You have no fucking idea what you're talking about.”

“Are you risking your neck to see if Dad will clap for you?” Jason took a step forward. “Why?”

Tim looked at him. Not a hint of recognition crossed his face. It was as if Jason were speaking a language Tim no longer understood, or simply refused to process. His gaze drifted away, as empty as that of someone who hadn't rested in weeks.

“That's not true,” Tim said. His voice was flat, almost mechanical. He brought a hand to his neck, absentmindedly stroking his skin, as if trying to loosen an invisible knot. When he looked back at Jason, his eyes were still dull. Disconnected. Uninterested. “It's not about Bruce.”

“Don't fool yourself, Tim.” Jason's voice was low, raspy. “I know exactly how you feel.”

“Do you know how I feel?” Tim took a step forward, irritation finally coloring his previously empty eyes. “Do you really think you know?”

Jason held her gaze, and his voice, though still low, now vibrated with icy intensity: “I know what it's like to die a little every night, waiting for someone to notice.”

A whistle cut through the air, sharp and sudden. Just as Jason's last word echoed in the sea breeze, an arrow embedded itself in the ground, an inch from his left shoe.

Tim and Jason turned in unison. Roy Harper, with his bow casually hanging from one hand and a pile of unconscious men behind him, approached them with a mocking smile. He stopped a few feet away, raising an eyebrow as he noticed the stillness between the two brothers.

“Am I interrupting something, Jay?” he asked with a crooked smile. “Because I swear I saw you about to cry. Do you want a hug? By the way, I already disarmed the bomb.”

Jason's expression changed immediately. He picked up the arrow with a barely concealed pang of irritation.

“Shut up, Roy. And no, you're not interrupting anything. We were just finishing discussing whether Timmy is going to get us some decent beers or not.”

“I'm not going to go get you alcohol,” Tim said, his voice still monotone, but with a hint of tiredness that had nothing to do with sleep. “I have work to do.”

Roy smiled as he walked toward them. “If you do, I'll tell you why Jaybird has been limping like a penguin for over a week.”

Jason tensed up and a grimace formed on his face. “Roy, I swear to...!”

Roy ignored him completely, his eyes fixed on Tim, a smug smile on his lips. “What do you say, Tim? It's a story you'll love, I promise. It involves a classic of Russian literature, a very undignified slip, and Jay refusing to go to the doctor because his pride wouldn't allow it.”

Tim blinked, the idea that Jason could have been injured in such a mundane and literary way was too absurd to ignore.

“Is that how he dislocated his thumb?”

Roy smiled. “That's an even funnier story.”

Chapter Text

The weeks passed slowly once Tim returned to Gotham. For the last two days, he hadn't been able to go out on patrol, he went from meeting to meeting with the main departments of Wayne Enterprises.

He was tired, so when he finally got home on Friday after work, he put on some comfortable clothes and lay down on the couch in front of the TV with a blanket that was too fluffy. He stayed there for a couple of hours until his cell phone started vibrating, indicating that he had received a message.

Conner:

Heyyy, Bart said he's finally free. It's a bit out of the blue, but maybe we could hang out? I already told Cassie and Cissie, and they both said yes. Are you coming?

Tim stared at the message for almost 15 minutes before putting his phone on vibrate and setting it aside.

He didn't answer.

Not because he didn't want to see them.

Not because he didn't miss them.

But the mere thought of having to go out, smile, hold a coherent conversation, laugh at the right moment... was more exhausting than any board meeting.

still on, but he wasn't watching it. The blanket covered him up to his neck, even though he wasn't cold. He closed his eyes, as if that were enough to pause the world.

The phone vibrated once more.

He didn't check it. He didn't have the energy to feel guilty yet.

A couple of hours later, he went to his room, placed his cell phone on his nightstand, but not before turning off all his alarms and putting it on silent mode, to finally go to sleep.

Tim let himself be drawn into the darkness. Sleep slowly enveloped him, until suddenly, an intrusive sound woke him up. On the nightstand, his cell phone wouldn't stop ringing and vibrating.

Tim blinked, confused. The light from the screen dimly illuminated his room.

He sat up halfway, completely exhausted, having sworn that he had silenced his cell phone. The ringing became more insistent, almost like a siren. With a tired grunt, he stretched and felt around on the nightstand, dragging the phone toward him.

The screen flashed, blinding him for a moment.

Steph - Incoming call.

Tim frowned. It was almost three in the morning. Steph didn't call at this hour unless it was a real emergency. His finger hesitated over the answer button, but his exhaustion and the weight of having to “be there” for her were greater, so he just rejected the call.

But the phone didn't stop. It kept ringing. Again and again. Stephanie didn't give up easily. Tim was about to put it in airplane mode, his patience running out, until the buzzing turned into a peculiar melody, not a normal call. And then, a pop-up window covered the entire screen, with a stylized logo that Tim knew all too well.

Oracle.

“This is an emergency. Answer the phone, Tim. You know who I am. And I know you're there.” That was the message that appeared on the screen.

Tim's exhaustion gave way to a mixture of surprise and a hint of irritation. Barbara. Of course. She had hacked into his phone to make it ring, bypassing his silence and his turned-off alarms. This wasn't just any call from Stephanie; it was Batgirl contacting Red Robin.

With a sigh that sounded like defeat, Tim slid his finger to answer.

“What the hell do you want, Babs?” His voice was hoarse with sleep, more exhausted than he intended.

But the voice that answered wasn't Barbara's. It was Stephanie, anxious and agitated: “Tim! Finally! I need help! I'm... I'm in big trouble and I don't know what to do!”

“Stephanie, why is Babs hacking my phone? What happened?” Tim sat up, leaning on his elbows.

“It's the Riddler!” Steph's voice cracked with urgency that left no room for doubt. “I was patrolling and I came across one of his riddles, you know? One of those stupid ones. I thought it would be easy, but... Tim, they released all the animals from Gotham Zoo.”

Animals? All of them?

“Yes! Lions, tigers, monkeys... elephants, Tim! Elephants running through the city! And that's not all, the Riddler set a series of traps throughout downtown, and one of them just caught a group of people. I can't get them out on my own. I need your help, and your... your Red Robin stuff.” The panic was palpable in her voice.

“I didn't go out on patrol today, Steph. I'm in my apartment.”

“Tim, please. Batman and Robin aren't in town, I need backup.”

Tim brought a hand to his face and rubbed it. “Send me your location, I'll be there in 5 minutes.”

A sigh of relief escaped Stephanie on the other end of the line. “Yes! Of course! I'll send it right away! Thank you, Tim! Thank you, thank you! Please hurry!”

Tim ended the call and dropped his cell phone on the bed. He stood for a moment in the darkness of his room, reconsidering his choice, but it was too late to back out.

𓅪

The early morning had begun with chaos, and now Tim could barely breathe. The cages at the zoo were full again. The animals, drugged and secure.

Tim leaned against a pillar in the ape enclosure, his hood pulled back, but still wearing his domino mask, which covered both his eyes and part of his nose, imitating a bird's beak. His face was covered in sweat and ravaged by exhaustion. Steph was beside him, sitting on the edge of an empty fountain, trying to calm her breathing.

“Was that a chimpanzee with a knife or...?” she murmured, half joking, half still trembling.

“I never want to see another chimpanzee again in my life,” Tim replied, rubbing his eyes. “Or another riddle.”

“But did you see my kick to the lion's face? It was awesome.”

“It was unnecessary. And dangerous.”

“And awesome.”

He looked at her, tired, but not without a small smile. The kind of smile that comes when you don't have the strength for anything else.

The moment was interrupted when two shadows slid down from the ceiling of the adjacent aquarium. There was no sound of their fall. They just appeared there, between them, as if they had always been there.

Batman and Robin.

“What?”

Batman landed first, his cape fluttering like wings, followed by an agile and silent Robin. Damian. They both approached, their expressions hidden by their masks.

“Good work, Batgirl, Red Robin... Robin and I will take care of the rest of the animals.” 

Tim felt Bruce's gaze, that silent assessment he knew all too well. It was a weight that added to his already unbearable exhaustion. But it was Stephanie's barely contained smile, seen out of the corner of his eye as Batman complimented her, that stabbed him in the chest.

Steph's words echoed in his head: “Batman and Robin aren't in town…” The bitter realization seeped through his exhaustion. They took advantage of the emergency to get him out of bed.

“Drake.” Damian's voice snapped him out of his stupor. It wasn't the tone of utter contempt from years ago, but one that implied a tense familiarity, almost resignation. “Good to see you decided to come... Even if it was just to help take out the trash.”

Tim could only close his eyes for a moment. Fatigue was like a wall. He opened his eyes again, encountering the imposing silhouette of Batman, then Damian's, and finally Stephanie's face, which now showed a hint of regret.

They lied to him... to force him to come back to work with them? To remind him how well they worked together?

“Looks like you're just in time for damage control,” Tim said, his voice so flat and monotone that it was barely a whisper. He didn't bother to look at anyone in particular and started to walk away.

𓅪

When he was close to his apartment, he heard footsteps behind him, along with a voice calling his name: “Red Robin, we need to talk!”

Tim immediately turned around and saw Bruce land beside him, with Damian nowhere in sight. 

“What?” Tim looked at him irritably, the mask still in place, hiding most of his expression, but not the exhaustion that seeped into his voice. “What do you want?”

The figure of Batman was an imposing wall in the early morning light. “Talk to my son.”

Tim let out a hollow laugh, without a trace of joy. The laugh felt rough in his throat. “Now I am your son? After months of... of nothing? Of ignoring me because I decided to stop working with you?” His hand, still holding his bō staff, trembled slightly. “You are unbelievable, Bruce.”

A tense silence settled in, broken only by the distant squawk of a seagull. Bruce's jaw tightened.

“I've been... busy, Tim. I just need to know why you were seen with Red Hood in Star City.” Bruce's voice was low, controlled, but with an underlying warning. The question was not one of concern, but of monitoring, of suspicion.

Tim blinked. A pang of bitterness shot through him. All the exhaustion, Steph's lie, and now this.

“This is what I mean, Bruce,” his voice was a thread, barely audible, but laden with such deep disappointment that it hurt. “It’s always about Batman. Never about Bruce and his children. No matter what happens. It’s always… this.”

He didn't wait for an answer. With a sudden movement, Tim turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of an alleyway, leaving Batman alone on the street, under the faint light of dawn.

𓅪

The adrenaline left as everything else does: without asking permission. Tim felt his body begin to take its toll on him, trembling, fragile, as if it weren't made to support itself. He wanted Bruce to follow him. To say something. Anything. But he didn't. Of course he wouldn't.

When he arrived at the Nest, he didn't turn on the lights. The place was the same as always, quiet, indifferent. He took off his mask without thinking, letting it fall onto a table. His eyes were burning. Maybe it was the smoke from the chimneys. Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe it was everything.

He took off his suit, piece by piece, not caring about the mess he was making. He didn't care. He didn't have the energy to care. The fabric felt like sandpaper against his skin, leaving a rough sensation on his shoulders and sides. 

He put on some shorts and an old T-shirt. He went upstairs and entered the bathroom. He didn't look in the mirror. He didn't even think about it. He turned on the shower, but didn't get in. He let himself fall to the floor, leaning his back against the bathtub and his knees against his chest.

A tear slid down his cheek, slowly, uncomfortably. Then another. And another. Until he could no longer control them.

He hugged himself, as if that could contain something. As if it could stop the way everything weighed on him. For once, just for a moment, he let himself feel it all.

The tears burned their way down his dirty skin. The sobs escaped his throat until he was completely exhausted, and there was no choice but to simply get in the shower and move on.