Work Text:
3:00 AM. The Witching Hour.
Tim glared at his clock as he rearranged his room for the third time that night. He tried to be as quiet as possible so he wouldn’t wake the other people living in the Manor. He could only imagine what Damian or – God forbid – Bruce would say if they found him awake at that hour.
He supposed it wouldn’t have been too strange. With their nightlife, the Wayne family was known to stay awake at odd hours. The concerning bit would be the room arrangement. He usually had no reason to reorganize his room – everything was already meticulously in place. Yet, here he was, picking up a now-empty bookshelf and carrying it to the other side of the room. There was no rhyme or reason to it. Just move, move, move.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
‘How much does a plot of land in Nebraska cost?’ he thought. ‘ Can’t be too much.’
Tim abandoned the bookshelf once it was in its new place and headed straight for his desk, also newly moved. Sitting on it was his pride and joy – a custom-built computer made entirely from his hands. He had poured his blood, sweat, and tears into that thing. Sitting in front of it now, he pressed the power button and watched as the monitor came to life. He typed in his password, pressing each key with intent. Tim thought he heard a second keyboard clicking away but ignored it and the way the sound made his heart race. His search engine popped up and he started looking at empty properties. Clicking keys led him to all sorts of real estate websites.
$600,000 for 163 acres. $4,000,000 for 1,535 acres.
So it could be a little pricey. Factoring in the cost of building a home on said land and he was looking at over $1,000,000 in expenses. Maybe he could just drive out there and enjoy the view without buying the land.
Now there was an idea. Yeah, he could just drive to Nebraska. How far could that really be? Two days non-stop? He could do that. But the others would probably stop him. And besides, he was needed in Gotham just in case.
He shut the computer down again. No need to have it on for longer than necessary. He went back to moving stuff around his room.
The sleeping pill finally started to kick in. He grew semi-tired. He knew he should probably sleep, at least for an hour or so. He turned the light off and laid down in his unmade bed, trying to get a little bit of sleep.
It was hard, but he managed, eyes slipping closed and the darkness uneasily welcoming him. He absently wondered how much sleep he would get – maybe it would be an hour, maybe three. Or maybe it would only be thirty minutes.
Just a few weeks ago, Tim was on top of the world. He was a god among men. Absolutely nothing could stop him in his goal to do everything he ever wanted with reckless abandon. Now he could barely get out of bed. He felt hopeless, like nothing he did would ever be enough to get him off of that stupid mattress.
He sighed, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. He looked at his desk, once so pristine and clean now covered in old coffee cups and crumpled papers. Pens littered the ground with old clothes. Tim was certain that no amount of air fresheners would get rid of the underlying stink of something off – it sort of smelled like old onions. He was certain the smell was coming from him. He hadn’t showered in a while.
He felt the first tear fall and soon, dozens more followed. He heard a short, pitiful whine echo from his chest. He could only imagine what the others would think if they saw him like this. Damian would scoff and tell him to pull himself together, not quite understanding the weight of what Tim was feeling – he was getting better about emotions but wasn’t quite to a comfort-providing level. Jason would ruffle his hair and not mention it until Tim was feeling better, only using the instance as teasing material. Dick would try to wrap Tim in a cocoon of hugs and love, smothering the young man to the point where he couldn't breathe.
Deep in his thoughts, he absentmindedly sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. Suckling on the soft pink flesh soothed him and helped clear his head. He clenched his eyes shut as tears dwindled. They burned after crying for so long.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
He just wanted it to be over.
There was a knock on his door. The wooden panel inched inwards and a blonde head peeked through.
"Hey, Tim," Bernard greeted quietly. "Your dad was worried about you so he asked me to come talk to you."
"Why can't he talk to me himself?" Tim asked, voice rough and croaky.
Bernard's kind eyes softened into a look of understanding. "Because he figured you'd want to talk to your boyfriend instead of your dad."
Tim snorted softly. "He was right."
Bernard sat on the edge of Tim's bed, hip by the blue-eyed boy's head. He buried his hand in the other boy's hair, beginning to soothingly stroke the black locks.
"So, what's up?" Bernard asked, hand still carding through Tim's hair. "What's wrong?"
Tim sighed, leaning into the touch. "I don't know." At Bernard's hum, he said it again. "I don't! I don't know what's going on or why I feel like shit. I feel like I'm glued to the bed, like getting up will waste energy that I just don't have to spare. I feel like everything and everyone is against me, that the only use I'll be to anyone right now is an inconvenience. It keeps building and building and I don't know how much more I can take. I hate this!"
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The tears had started again.
Bernard's free hand moved to his face and thumbed the tears away despite more inevitably taking their place. The blonde smiled at his boyfriend. Tim couldn't meet his eyes, though that was nothing new.
"It's okay to not know," Bernard whispered. "It's okay to just feel."
And Tim did know. He knew deep down that feeling what he needed to feel was the healthiest route for overcoming whatever it was that was causing such emotions. But he didn't want to. He didn't want to feel sad. He didn't want to feel hopeless. He didn't want to feel like the walls were closing in or the world was collapsing around him. He wanted the emotions to go away.
Instead of voicing all this, he mumbled a weak "Okay."
Bernard was unsatisfied but could tell Tim wasn't up to speaking anymore. He left it alone and instead focused on stroking his hand through Tim's hair.
Tim let the soothing motion lull him into a long, fitful sleep.
"So, how'd it go?"
Tim turned to glare at Jason from his seat on the couch, unimpressed. Jason winced and set down the book he was reading.
"So… not good?"
Tim sighed. It would do no good to take his frustration out on his brother. He'd done enough of that back when they were still on bad terms. It's funny what several apologies and a midnight rant will do for a relationship.
"Bipolar, they said," Tim stated. He glared at the floor. "It's not fair," he mumbled.
Jason gave a sigh of his own and got up. He moved to the couch Tim was on, leaving his book behind, and sat hip-to-hip with the younger man. He gently pulled Tim's head to rest on his shoulder.
"Of course it's not fair," Jason claimed. "This is you we're talking about."
Tim scowled but kept his head resting on the larger man. "What does that have to do with anything?"
Jason chuckled, the movement jostling Tim. "Well, I mean you've nearly been killed a billion times by the brat and I – and I'm sorry for that." Before Tim could chastise him for apologizing for the hundredth time, Jason continued. "You've had Robin taken from you at your lowest, then got called crazy and threatened with Arkham. You've had all of your friends die or fake their deaths or straight up disappear. You're acting CEO of a multi-billion dollar corporation and have been since you were seventeen. You had to get your GED instead of just finishing high school like a normal kid. Tim." Jason pulled back and looked Tim as close to the eyes as the other was comfortable with. "Nothing is fair when it comes to you. And that sucks. But now you have people around you that care and want to help. So let us help."
Breathe in. Breathe out.
"How could you possibly help with this?" Tim asked desperately.
Jason shrugged, disrupting Tim's head that still rested on his shoulder. "By listening. You can talk to us and we'll listen, no response needed. Dick or B might try to give you their worldly advice at first but if you tell them that you just need them to listen, they will. I will. I make no promises with Damian."
Tim giggled at that. His relationship with his younger brother was still a work in progress, but they were getting better.
"Thank you. I'm glad I have you guys."
And he meant it. He knew he was lucky to have such an amazing family. such wonderful friends. He was lucky to have the boyfriend he had and the life he lived. He was lucky to be alive given what he does at night – given what he'd gone through. And he was so, so happy that his life turned out the way it did. He wouldn’t want it any other way.