Chapter Text
At first, Tim just thought he was a lesbian. Of course, he never said a word of that to his parents, or anyone at school; when you're nine years old, people tend to not listen to you about much. That was stupid- after all, who knew him better than he did? No one.
But as time went on... He started thinking guys were cute, too. So he updated the terminology to bi, and later chose pan instead, and moved on. It wasn't a big deal, he would tell his parents when he was older and it would all be fine... Right?
When he was ten was when things started to really hit. It started with not wanting to shave his legs like all the 'other' girls in his class, and spread to hating the uniform. More than the uniform itself he hated the way older men stared as he walked by, the ten year old 'girl' in the short skirt he had to wear by school rules.
After that, it was hair. Tim always had long black hair, just like his mother's. Every time he looked in the mirror, it was like it was wrong. He tucked it into neat buns to keep it out of his face, but that wasn't enough.
He learned how to do makeup, because that was what all the girls his age were doing when they hung out; even though he hated looking at himself. It just looked wrong on his face... Even though all the 'other' girls looked just great.
He couldn't stand it when it came down to his interests, namely, that they weren't 'conventional.' No one thought it was 'quirky' that he liked sneaking out to watch Batman and Robin through the city; they just thought it was weird. No one understood why he 'still' didn't know how fashion worked. His friends didn't get why he seemed so detached from them.
Eleven changed everything. Robin was gone- had been gone, for a while now. Someone had to take his place. Pulling on a hat to cover his hair, and a baggy hoodie to cover his body, Tim sought out Nightwing to convince him. The disguise wasn't necessary, but Tim rationalized by saying that it was a good idea, being the child of a wealthy family.
And, in reality, he just liked it. The clothes, the fake name- it was amazing.
Which is why, when Dick wanted him to be Robin, he nearly lost his mind. Thankfully his parents weren't home- because if they were they would have known immediately. He knew how to purchase things online; that was all too easy. Two binders were delivered to the door by the next week- finding them in his size had been a hassle, though.
The scarier part was the hair. Tim couldn't do it himself, he knew that. He had to pretend to be his mother- a trick he had employed before- get an appointment, go to the appointment, make sure no one saw him, and more importantly: make sure no one questioned why his mom wasn't there.
In hindsight, it was easy- but his nerves didn't calm down until he had been at home for twenty minutes, his hair sufficiently 'boy short.'
***
Which is what landed him in this mess.
It wasn't his asthma; he knew how to identify that much. Instead, Tim lay in the middle of the training floor, wheezing. It wasn't his asthma he just couldn't breathe for fucks sake-
Batman rushed over with his inhaler, and he took it by virtue of trying to get his breathing under control. It wasn't working.
A thought flashed across Tim's head about the binder, and how it was squeezing into him. That was probably the problem; how many articles did he read about not exercising in one?
Too many to have not payed attention, that was for sure.
Struggling, he sat up. Bat- Bruce, was helping him. He still couldn't breathe, but tried to make it sound more under control. Flashing a thumbs up, he attempted to stand-
-And immediately fell back down.
"I'm fine, fine-" he choked out, but found even that difficult.
Blinking, Tim tried to pull himself together. No, there was no way to get to the bathroom, let alone get Bruce to leave him in there, take off his binder, put his shirt back on, and pretend he was fine. Hell, he didn't even think he could get his binder off on his own.
And breathing was becoming increasingly difficult; black spots danced before his vision.
"Binder-" Tim finally admitted. "Off-"
Bruce didn't seem to understand, his eyes narrowed in confusion- then all of a sudden he very much understood. In an instant he was lying Tim back down on the ground, getting up, and calling for Alfred.
In his current state, Tim had no break from the mortified feeling in his chest other than the humor of how his eyes had widened. Truly, Bruce didn't know how expressive his face was.
In a few moments Alfred was down, seemingly having been told about the situation.
Great, now both of them have to see me topless, Tim thought to himself.
As soon as Bruce had appeared though, he was gone. Alfred was behind him; lifting him up and asking if he could hold his arms above his head. Tim complied, every single way he could have avoided this situation running through his head.
Not exercising in a binder, for one.
Not long after, Tim felt his ribs expand fully once more. The pure relief was enough to distract him, momentarily, from the fact that he was now topless in the middle of the batcave.
There had to be cameras in here!
"Can I have my shirt?" Tim whispered, as loud as he could manage.
Alfred, still respectfully sitting behind him, handed it to him. Shivering, Tim pulled it on.
He swallowed. "Thanks, Alfred."
"You are welcome, Master Timothy." He replied. "Though, may I advise you on the dangers of wearing a chest compression binder while doing strenuous physical activity?"
Too focused on how Alfred had said 'Master Timothy' without any awkward gender hesitation, he nodded.
He didn't even care how long the lectures he got were, just that he had found a place he could be himself.