Chapter Text
It’s an odd feeling, watching the world move.
They were both very different people now. Tim thinks about how much he had missed, how life just kept going after he died. It was unfair. It was unfair but it was how life was.
Bernard was supposed to move on, Tim knew that, but it still hurt.
He doesn’t know how he should feel about Jason’s connection to Bernard. It felt like he was losing everything he had before to the very thing that had taken it all away. Robin was a fickle thing. It gave him power. It gave him death. He doesn’t want Jason’s magic to turn dark and curse him in the end.
Tim doesn’t know if he regrets the way he handled warning Bruce and Jason, but that could be the bitter green venom running through his veins. It always hissed in his ears a sickly mantra.
Break their wings, stop them in their tracks.
They cared for no logic of his, so Tim resorted to undisputable force. If they wouldn’t listen, he’d make them .
He thinks that makes him a bad person.
Bernard’s apartment is cold and still. Tim hates that. Bernard had always made things warm, his room at his parents house holding so much personality that it was almost too overwhelming. Tim wonders when Bernard had left it all behind.
There are patches on the wall where it looks like pictures should have been and Tim scans the book shelf pushed to the side. His books are all there and Tim feels an immense pressure lift of his chest when he spots the CD perched on the top shelf. As he moves closer to the plastered wall his foot catches on the edge of something under the couch. He scratches down to inspect it and finds a photo album shoved under. Tim wipes off the bit of dust and cracks it open. He’s met with the Halloween pictures he had been roped into so long ago.
He never did get to say goodbye to Darla.
The longer he flips the pages the more the green hisses. Tim closes it and puts it back in its mourning place.
The door to Bernard’s room stands slightly cracked and Tim feels drawn to it in a way he hadn't felt for a while.
He told himself that he’d leave the bleeding heart to heal, told himself it was better that Bernard never knew him again.
Bernard’s room is even colder than the rest of the apartment.
Tim holds his breath as he sees Bernard revealed by the opening door.
He’s laying on his side, back to Tim, and the ceiling fan spins above him, the metal ribbon clinking softly to an unsteady rhythm. The comforter is peeled back to his waist and his bare chest rises and falls just the tiniest bit.
Help him
Tim takes a careful step in and brushes his hand across the jacket of his hanging from the door.
It's better that he forgets me
He didn’t want to be forgotten. He didn’t want to be left behind. But Bernard needed to heal and Tim had to let go.
“It’s time to wake up Berns,” he calls out quietly. Bernard stiffens. “The dream is over.”
“I wish it were,” Bernard rasps. Tim sighs and carefully puts a knee on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He waits for any protest and climbs on the rest of the way and shrugs off his jacket when he gets none. He lays on his back and stares up at the ceiling. The popcorn texture is calming, the sense of domesticity settling in and comforting him in an odd way. Tim hasn’t been next to Bernard like this in a long time.
“I shouldn’t be here,” he says to himself.
“You really shouldn’t,” Bernard replies. Tim’s head falls to the side and he looks at the silhouette of Bernard’s shoulders and side, watches a few pieces of blonde hair twitch under the fan.
“You’re not okay Bernard. You need to let me go.”
“I did . I did but you’re still here,” Bernard whimpers, “Jason was here. He says you’re… you’re real , but I know that can’t be true.”
“Why not?” Tim asks, his curiosity winning out.
“Because I don’t get things like that. Nothing good ever stays.”
Tim frowns and ignores the twitch of his hand.
“I don’t think that’s true.”
“It is. You were gone and then Darla was gone and then my home was gone. I think I was meant to be alone.”
“...I think I should be,” Tim admits quietly. They’re hushed and Tim turns to his side. He reaches out slowly and lets his hand smooth over Bernard’s back, his fingertips running over and catching the divots in Bernard’s spine. He’s ice cold and Tim wants to pull him close until the warmth seeps in. Instead he keeps to just his hand and shoves the thought of his bloodied hands ruining Bernard.
“If I told you something… could you keep it a secret?” Tim asks.
“I’m just talking to myself aren’t I?” Bernard says. Tim swallows the bitter bitter green making its way from his throat.
“When I was still…me, I was Robin,” Tim explains. Bernard stays quiet. “I was Robin and I died alone. Batman didn’t come. Nightwing didn’t come. Nobody came.”
Bernard’s breath starts to shake.
“Remember when you told Darla and I that you thought that Batman just cycles through Robin’s? I’m starting to think you were right. I don’t want Jason to die the way I did, alone and having everything he has ripped from him.”
“Stop,” Bernard says.
“He wouldn’t listen to reason so I did what I thought I had to do. There’s something wrong with me Berns. I don’t think the way I did before. I’m not good . Jason says that I am, but I don’t think I can believe him.” Tim looks back to the ceiling and feels his breath pick up. The green licks like flames around the corners of his eyes and he blinks hard. “Fuck… I don’t know what I am.”
Tim forces the iron grip he has twisted in the blanket to loosen and he pushes off the bed. He stumbles forward, catching the door frame for support, and runs a hand through his hair and over his face. He digs his wrists into his eyes and tries to forcefully push the green back.
What is he? What is he?
Tim never should have come back, wishes he was still dead. Why the hell was he picked to come back?
Tim never should have left, wishes he could stay here with him forever. Why the hell was he the Robin picked to die?
“Look at me,” a voice says. Tim’s hands drop from his face and he turns to look at Bernard. Bernard looks him dead in the eye. “If you’re real, I hope this hurts.”
Before Tim can think his head snaps to the side, the sting of Bernard’s palms stabbing at his cheek.
“That’s for leaving again,” Bernard says. Tim’s eyes are wide and he’s frozen in place, staying still even when Bernard winds his arm back. His head jerks back when Bernard punches him and he can’t find it in himself to feel mad. Tim thinks that maybe he deserves it. “That’s for Jason.”
Tim blinks a few times before realizing that he can’t find a trace of green.
“And this,” Bernard starts, hand gripping the front of Tim’s shirt, “Is for coming back to me.”
He pulls Tim forward and kisses him hard. Tim holds his breath and feels his eyes sting. When Bernard pulls back Tim can see the tears falling down over his cheeks.
“I don’t know if I want you to be a dream or not,” Bernard chokes out, “I want you back but I don’t know how I want you.”
“I’ll be whatever you need me to be,” Tim says.
“God I hate you.”
“Don’t worry. I do too.”