Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tim was far too young when he realizes he isn’t like other children. He soaks up knowledge like a sponge with seemingly no limit. He practices violin to perfection, devours novels and grows an insatiable interest in photography before anyone can say otherwise. 

He also found he doesn’t quite understand other children his age, even the ones he knows are well educated and constantly trained in the art of performance like himself. The only kind of children allowed at auctions and galas, of course.

He also knows other kids don’t move the way he does- aren't affected by things the way he is.

His mother and father have rules, ones that once taught are relatively easy to follow. They call them “manners” and insist he maintain them at all times. It's almost a blessing to have them because he finds he isn’t sure how to behave otherwise. He’s just barely learned to read the many expressions of his mother, just enough to know what he’s doing is right or wrong.

It only becomes a real problem during galas. This is the most time he spends around other people besides school, the most time he ever really spends with his parents. 

He finds galas to be incredibly boring, but most of all a feeling he can’t yet describe. He must fight the urge to rock back and forth, to fidget and shake his hands and body, to cover his ears from the cacophony of sounds. He has to fight to get words to leave his lips, like that part of his brain starts to malfunction. 

It's a lot. It's more than he’s used to dealing with in his own home. At least at home it is quiet, there are never too many people around for too long and if he starts shaking or fidgeting his mother reminds him it's impolite and to practice keeping quiet hands. 

He very quickly learns how to turn himself on and off like a switch.

When the switch is flipped, he is still. He doesn’t speak about his interests for longer than two sentences, he remembers to ask others polite and meaningless questions, and the most important thing- 

-his parents tell him how proud they are, how much they love him, how polite and well mannered he is, how they’re so glad he got over his childish fits.

The switch stays on most of the time.

He only starts to flip the switch off when he is alone in his room, no one to watch or listen to him. He starts to turn it off when his parents start leaving for weeks at a time, leaving the housekeeper to keep tabs on him periodically.

Tim thinks loneliness is a gift and a curse. He knows when he is independent he receives praise-he doesn’t have to question that. But he knows there is something inside him. Something festering, like a hidden wound-a pain he cannot place. 

He learns to love being alone because he has no choice otherwise. 

Between school work and the three times a day the housekeeper bothers him for a meal, he spends his time alone in his room. He scours the internet for photography tips and studies different camera models. He pours himself into researching everything he can find on Gotham’s Batman. When he’s caught with the urge to rock in his chair, despite the voice of his mother in his head, he allows himself to move. 

No one is there to tell him otherwise.

He keeps the switch off in his room, that’s one of his rules. If he is alone in his room, the switch is off. It’s his saving grace.

He doesn’t realize how much the switch takes out of him until his parents return after three weeks abroad on an expedition. They’re usually only gone for a few days at a time. The switch is almost instantaneous, it's automatic.

They ask about school, read report cards, listen to his latest piece and have dinner together before he is dismissed to his room. 

He nearly collapses on the bed, not able to move, to change from his dinner clothes to his pjs. It takes everything in him not to sob, to hold himself and rock until sleep overcomes him. He’s feeling too much, too much of whatever he’s feeling and he has to make it stop. 

Tim breaks a rule.

He flips the switch.

He changes from his pjs, turns out the lights and tucks himself into bed. 

He doesn’t think about anything, his brain plays white noise. He won’t even remember these feelings in the morning.

 He closes his eyes and sleeps.

When Tim wakes he is terrified to find he is no better off than the night before.

In a hurry he attempts to flip the switch again, his parents are home and he can’t afford to leave it off, not if he has to hear that they love him.

He can’t flip it. Already he is beginning to become overwhelmed. He knows he must shower and brush his teeth before going downstairs for breakfast. It’s a saturday which means there will be pancakes as long as Mrs.Mac is feeling well. 

He manages to brush his teeth. 

The clothes he throws on are suitable for breakfast. They are the most comfortable he could afford to wear without a comment from his mother or father about his appearance. 

He slides into his pair of house slippers and makes his way down the stairs to the kitchen. His mother and father are already seated and Mrs. Mac  starts setting up the plates and silverware. The clanking sounds irk him but he stays silent. 

“Timothy dear, Goodmorning.” It’s a prompt, he should have greeted them as he entered the room. His mother doesn’t look up from her phone, but her tone is pleasant.  There is room for recovery today. 

“Goodmorning mother, father. “ he doesn’t bother with eye contact, they’re both too involved in their phones to make note of it. 

He stared at his plate as Mrs.Mac places a healthy serving of bacon, eggs and sausage on his plate. 

It’s not pancakes.

It’s Saturday and she hasn’t made pancakes.

It shouldn’t matter but he can feel everything falling apart. He grips the sides of his seat in an attempt to keep still but squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. 

It’s not pancakes. It’s always pancakes on Saturday morning. 

“Timothy, is there something wrong?” His mother stares at him and he can’t help but feel like a deer in the headlights. 

Before he can come up with an excuse he blurts out, “it’s not pancakes.” 

His mother blinks and opens her mouth.

“Your father and I requested something more filling and less sweet. We are leaving for a flight at 3. We’ll be back in four days.” She leaves no room for conversation or questions. He knows if he begs them to stay it won’t change anything. He learned that years ago. 

“Is that a problem, Timothy?” His father’s voice is dry and sharp and he swallows thickly. 

“No father, of course not.” It’s a test, his father seems to be fond of those. He knows better now, if there’s one thing he’s great at it’s pattern recognition. 

He stares at his plate and tries his best to eat. He always has a hard time with eggs, the texture and the flavor always make his heart race for some reason. 

“I’m sure Mrs.Mac can make you pancakes tomorrow.” His mother chimes in.

No, she can't. Because tomorrow isn’t Saturday. 

“I’m sorry, what was that?” His mother asks, now paying more attention. 

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud honestly. He didn’t feel like he had much control at the moment. 

He never felt like he had control when his parents were around. 

“I just-uh I-“

“Take a breath and get it out son.” 

He takes a deep breath. 

“We always have pancakes on Saturday. Not Sunday, but Saturday. Today is Saturday and we are not having pancakes.” He feels his body move involuntarily, rocking back and forth in his chair to soothe his frantic thoughts.

“I’m sorry Timothy. I’m sure you can have pancakes next Saturday. Please try to finish what’s on your plate so we can go about our day and please be more still. We are at the breakfast table.” She dabs a napkin at her lipstick and he blinks hard, hard enough to see stars and hisses air out of his teeth. 

He can feel it happening, the swell. 

It used to happen before he learned about the switch. It would happen at galas or before school or after school. 

It’s happening now.

He groans and wraps his arms tightly around himself and rocks harder, bumping into the edge of the table making his parents look up. 

“We are at the breakfast table! We are at the breakfast table!” He exclaims repeatedly. 

“Timothy! Take a deep breath. What ever are you so upset about?” His mother has pushed back in her chair, she makes no moves to comfort her son, simply watches in expectation.

“We are at the breakfast table!” He pushes back his chair and the scrape of the wood causes him to throw his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut again.

Suddenly his mothers hands are wrapped around his wrists.

“You can’t hit yourself Timothy! We can’t have that. Take a deep breath.”  

He can’t bring himself to stop, to form words, to open his eyes, to make everything stop. 

He lets out a groan of frustration that turns into a sob the second it comes out. He’s gone deadweight in her hold, throwing himself to the floor of the dining room, smacking his head on the hardwood before his mother can stop him. 

“Timothy!” His father is lifting him up by his arms, inspecting his head as he flails. Their grips are too tight, too many hands. 

His father restrains him and carries him to his room, putting him in his bed. 

“Timothy, I thought we were past this. You’ve been such a good boy as of late.” 

“This behavior is unacceptable. It may have been passable when you were a toddler but you’re seven now. It’s time to grow up.”

He is not 7. 

He is eight and a half. 

He doesn’t say anything, just lays in bed like a corpse as his parents shut the door, hushed arguing fading into the distance. 

Chapter Text

It really shouldn’t bother him the way it was. He knew it shouldn’t.

It wasn’t like Dick was his real brother to begin with, so what say did he have in how he treated his actual little brother? His replacement . His stomach turned at the thought that paralleled the way he had been treated ever since Jason had come back into the picture. Replacement.

It wasn’t like it actually hurt his feelings anymore- he’d known from the start he was just a placeholder, a means to an end, a sacrifice. He’s known the risks, as young as he was.

That wasn’t what was bothering him.

What was bothering him was a conversation he’d had with Dick not even a few moments before this train of thought.

“He didn’t get a childhood, Tim. We have to be the ones to be there for him and give him that. We have to treat him like a kid some of the time. He’s not a robot. He’s a kid who deserves to feel like it.”

It had made him grit his teeth. He had stared at the retreating form of the younger boy-the form of yet another one of Bruce’s kids who had made an attempt on his life- while Dick practically lectured him about treating Damian more respectfully.

Tim grinned his teeth and huffed, clenching and unclenching his fists, choosing to stare at their feet rather than the older man in front of him. He had too many thoughts running through his head, too many feelings he didn’t understand.

And then Jason had to walk in.

“What’s-“ he stopped, taking in the scene before him, watching Dick in the all too familiar “lecture mode” and Tim looking like he was about to jump out of his skin.

Tim didn’t look up, just wrapped his arms tightly around himself, rocking back on his heels. Dick wavers for a moment, he hadn’t thought Tim would react so harshly and now he’s made the wrong approach.

Softly, he reaches out a hand, aiming for Tim’s now rocking shoulders.

“Tim I-“ Dick yanks his hand back quickly when the younger boy flinches like he’s been burnt, shoving himself back with such force he trips over his own feet and lands on the hardwood at their feet, letting out a hissing sound. He doesn’t look up, only scrambles back to his feet and retreats to the room he stays in when he’s at the manor.

He has to get out. Before Jason says something devastating so casually, before Dick decides he’s not worth keeping around anymore-like he already had with the new Robin.

“What the fuck did you say to him?” Jason casually strolls into the room, brushing off the devastating tension in the air, snapping Dick out of his frozen and confused state.

“I just- Damian is getting better, Tim keeps treating him like some kind of nuisance. Its messing with the team dynamic.” Dick explained. Jason nodded.

“Is that what you said, or what you meant?” Jason scratches his nose, all too familiar with Dick’s fatal flaw of thinking everyone thinks the same way he does.

 “I mean- no. I told him that Damian is a kid and we have to treat him like one sometimes. That he makes mistakes and we are responsible for...”

-“Hasn’t that kid tried to kill him like twice now?” Jason raised an eyebrow.

“He hasn’t done anything like that in months...” Dick replied, biting the inside of his cheek.

Jason looked into his older brother’s eyes, not saying a word.

“I see where this could be taken pretty badly now...” He blinks his eyes shut tightly, frustrated with himself.

“So what are you gonna do about it?” Jason questions.

“I need to apologize. Come at it from another approach. I probably also need to talk to Damian too...” he rubs the back of his neck, thinking about how much work it was to try and parent.

He kinds of gets it now, how Bruce always chose the easy way out-the only way he probably knew how.

He still blames him for it, but he can see where it’s easier than trying to talk it all out.

Sometimes he wishes he could be that little kid on the trapeze again, how much simpler to was 

to just let go and fly, knowing someone would catch him on the other side.

Unbeknownst to them, upstairs Tim was having a little bit of a hard time.

He had figured out what this feeling was, embarrassing as it was, he’d ended up having to use that stupid feelings chart he’d shoved in the back of his notebook years before.

Tim was jealous.

Why did Damian get to be treated like a kid, while Tim was forced to behave like an adult? Why wasn’t he good enough to take for ice cream or given the same leeway when it came to his mistakes?

He fights back a groan knowing it’s also his fault. He played the part so well, masked so well just like his mother had spent years teaching him, that at this point no one could really tell who he was, how he really felt about anything.

He’s been the emotionally intelligent one when Bruce was still around, as pathetic as that sounds. He’d been the one to make sure Bruce slept and ate, with the help of Alfred of course. 

He’d been the one to make sure he didn’t go too far after Jason’s death.

He’d been the one to make sure he went to school, made sure he bathed and brushed his teeth and didn’t get hurt too badly during his childhood excursions. He’d become Robin when he was 11. A child. A baby. Not because he was chosen, like those before him, but because he forced the hand of The Batman.

So he knows it’s probably a lot of his fault that it’s gotten this bad, the growing jealousy in the pit of his stomach, something that had been growing for a long time.

 He knows what he has to do at this moment, work on calming himself down from the brink of a meltdown. He moves from pacing back and forth across his room to holding himself tightly, curling up on the soft rug at the foot of the bed. He rubs his cheek against the fabric repeatedly, soothing himself. He focuses on breathing and closes his eyes.

It’s about the heart rate and breathing, calming the thoughts and reframing them.

It’s so much harder than all the books made it seem, but at least he doesn’t slam his head against the floor like he did when he was younger. Small victories.

A knock at he door makes his heart pick back up, he swallows. Does he have a voice right now?

He doesn’t respond, but the door creaks open slightly and he opens his eyes only to be met with a much larger frame than he was expecting.

“Uhh, hey. You alright in here?” Jason coughs, trying to cover up how uncomfortable he is with the current situation.

That makes two.

“Mm.” Is all he spits out before he starts hissing through his teeth again. Squeezing himself just a little bit tighter.

“Umm, that looked like a lot. Dick can be kind of a lot sometimes. Did you uh.. did you wanna talk about it or some shit?” Jason steps into the room, trying to hide the slight amount of concern in his voice at Tim’s current state on the ground.

Tim can breathe again, at least enough to get some things off his chest. The truth is, he hadn’t had a real conversation with Jason. Just enough to get some middle ground that he wasn’t really angry anymore and was doing better and that he was truly sorry for trying to kill him.

“You were always my favorite, you know?” Tim’s voice is so faint, like he’s somewhere else completely. Jason scrunches his brows together and moves to sit across from Tim’s balled up form.

“What do you mean?” He grumbles, getting frustrated that Tim was already talking in riddles he sometimes had trouble following completely.

“Robin, I mean.” Jason sucked in a sharp breath. “I used to follow you two around the city at night with my camera. I followed Dick and Batman before that, but uh you were my favorite Robin. Always have been.” He closes his eyes, trying to replay memories that didn’t make him feel like he was drowning.

“tch- you followed us? You had to have been like-like a child.. you know how dangerous that was? How did we not spot you I-“ Jason runs a hand through his hair, trying to push down all the feelings that were stirring up inside him.

“I was never a child Jason. That’s the problem.” He groans, covering his eyes with his hands, ashamed to admit the feelings he was really feeling.

“Oh-that’s it then, that’s why you’re so upset about the way Dick treats Damian...” Jason’s voice is soft with understanding for once. It’s fucked up, but he gets it. He remembers the pit

 rage of watching Tim take his place, the jealousy that he had everything he had begged God for as he was dying the first time.

“I know it’s not right. Damian, he’s not a bad kid. I know that, at least in his heart. He’s changing and I can see that. I just-“ he grits his teeth, “ I never got to be a kid either. Bruce wasn’t- he was never Bruce with me. He was always The Batman. Before patrol, during training, after patrol. It was always Batman. I used to watch you guys go get ice cream or burgers and stuff after patrols. I used to imagine what it would be like to be in that booth.” Jason doesn’t say anything, just considers the information that’s been provided. He’s always assumed Bruce had just picked up another kid and taken him like he had with Dick and Jason.

He’d never considered anything different.

“He didn’t even let me stay at the manor, he watched me go home to an empty house. I was eleven and after a night of patrolling Gotham, he sent me home to an empty house. How was that fair?” Tim asks, eyes distant, something pooling in his stomach.

Jason grits his teeth. What the fuck Bruce?

“I was a means to an end and I knew that going in. I'm not stupid. When I approached him and forced him to make me Robin, I did it to keep him from going too far, from killing others or himself. He wasn’t right in the head after you- after what happened. Someone had to step up and it had to be me. I was the only one who’d figured out all your identities so it made sense.”

Jason almost paled at that. For a child to see Batman needed his Robin, to figure out their identities and to step into that role? He wanted to throw up. He was so tired of the whole child soldier deal Bruce had shoved down their throats.

“Look kid, I-“ Jason started, “it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. You deserved to be a kid, But the truth is you can’t go back to then and do anything different.” It wasn’t really comforting at all, but watching Tim wallow like this in regret was doing things to his chest.

“Yeah. You’re right.” Tim admits, tapping his fingers one after the other rhythmically. Jason stares for a moment.

“You do that a lot, ya know. The finger thing.” It’s not a question, but Tim has gotten good at reading the inflection of those around him over the years. It’s not a question , but it is.

“It's called stimming.” Tim admits, not really sure why he’s admitting his deepest secrets to Jason of all people.

But hey, it's about time someone knew more than a handful of things about him.

“Oh... Roy does that sometimes. Always says it's an autism thing.” Jason adds offhandedly. Tim stills and for the first time all night he locks eyes with Robin Jason. 

“Uh yeah, I’m autistic.” Jason’s eyes widen and Tim recoils almost instantly.

“That’s not anywhere in your file. I would know I studied the hell out of that thing. What the fuck Tim?” Jason runs a hand through his hair again and Tim doesn’t say anything.

 “Roy is always talking about that kind of stuff. It's- now that he talks about it he feels better. He does what he needs and stuff and I don’t love him any less. He’s happier now than he probably ever has been...” Jason knows he’s not the best at comforting and he didn’t think it was fair to compare one person’s struggle to another, but he also knew Roy needed accommodations to function and if Tim was hiding that...

“You know no one would have treated you any differently, right?” He tries.

“I- I just. I was taught by my parents that no one could know. That’s why it's not in my file. After my diagnosis my parents did everything they could to strike it from my records, focused on- on forcing me to act like everyone else and punishing me when I didn’t. I don’t think I even know how to be myself Jason...” he sighs and Jason swallows thickly.

Jason wasn’t autistic. Sure he’d had his fair amount of challenges, but this wasn’t one of them. 

He holds out his phone and Tim looks at him, confusion expressed in his features.

“Here. Roy’s number. I think you should have it. You won’t be a bother, I promise. He likes talking about this kind of stuff, helping people. I can’t- I don’t know what you’re going through, but he does.” He watches as Tim quickly adds the number to his personal contacts and then slides the device back into his pocket.

“Umm.. are you gonna be okay?” He asks, hoping he at least did something good here.

“Yeah, uh. I have some things I need to do, apologies to make, but umm thanks Jason for checking on me when no one else does.” Tim takes a deep breath.

“No problem Red. Just uh, take care of yourself when you can, okay?” Jason makes his way out of the room and Tim smiles.

His first real conversation with his favorite Robin.

Chapter Text

“Timothy dear, could you please go get ready for tonight's event?” Tim is only nine and a half, but he knows this is not a polite request as it is framed, but a demand. 

“Of course mother.” Tim does not complain, beg to be left at home or to wear something different, he simply moves for the stairs, body on some sort of automatic function he’s grateful for. It’s been several months since the last formal event, even longer since his parents have been home and taken him to one, but everything in the coat closet is just as he left it. He knows if he reaches in the left pocket there will be a crushed up piece of paper, a list of things to remember that he no longer needs.

He leaves it in the pocket, just in case. A safety net…

He slides into the suit jacket and finds that it still fits, which if he considered more he’d know he wasn’t growing how he was supposed to, that by this time he should well be on his way to a larger size, but instead he focuses on his reflection in the mirror.

He combs his hair, it's shorter now than he liked but the second his parents had stepped off a plane his mother had insisted he get it cut, above the ears neat and tidy. 

He misses hiding behind it, the comfort of it covering his ears and the back of his neck, now he feels exposed and on edge. 

With practices ease his finishes dressing, the last thing he needs are his cufflinks, the signature Drake embellishment wasn’t something he was allowed to keep in his room, he’d have to go to his mother’s room (not his fathers, the idea they slept in different rooms had once confused him, but it was all starting to make sense now that he was older) and ask her to give them to him. 

He wasn’t sure if it was because they were afraid he would lose them or if it was because she wanted to be the one to do it, to be able to make sure he looked perfect before they left the home for the night.

He makes his way to his mother’s room, all the way at the end of the hall (far enough if he cried as a child, she would not be bothered). 

He knocks twice.

“Come in.” When he opens the door, and his mother is across from her vanity, slipping in beautiful earrings, simply jewels she probably acquired across the world and for a moment he pauses. 

His mother is beautiful, probably the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. She was graceful and sharp and incredibly smart. 

She turns to look him up and down, “good job Timothy, you look very handsome. Come on, let’s get the cufflinks and you’ll be all set.” She smiles and Tim beams at the compliment (they were few and far between with his mother.

“Oh, before you come over here can you grab my medicine from the cabinet? The two big bottles on the end.” She fumbles with the back of an earring and he nods, heading for her bathroom and opening the cabinet with practiced focus. 

His mother took a wide variety of medications, though it wasn’t something they spoke about ever and he wasn’t to ask. He simply did as he was told. He wonders what must be wrong, but he knows they help . He’s seen her without them, the back and forth of blistering anger and the flip to adoring mother, suddenly incredibly interested in him. 

He’s not sure if the pain from her anger was worth the love she showed him hours later (it is, he thinks, worth it) but the medication seemed to mellow her out. She was less everything on them (but at least she wasn’t shaking him in anger, throwing his things and screaming at his father). 

He rolls the bottle in his hand for a moment, glancing at the door and back to his hand. 

Carbamazepine 200mg

Tim is not stupid, he’s very smart, he knows he’s very mature for his age. (people tell him this all the time). 

He opens the bottle and shoves one in his mouth before twisting the cap on and swallowing as quickly as he can, erasing the evidence of something he knows he’s not supposed to do.

He wants to understand her, because if she won’t take the time to know him, maybe he will know her and maybe that will be enough, they can achieve the closeness he desperately wants to, even if he does all the work on his end. 

He grabs the other bottle too and brings them to his mother. She takes one of each and then puts on his cufflinks. She runs a gentle finger down his face and touches up his hair. 

“Alright Timothy, best behavior, alright? This is our first event in nearly a year back in the states. This is very important, do you understand?” he nods, ignoring the slight racing in his heart.

They meet his father at the bottom of the stairs, he’s tapping his foot like they’re running late, though Tim knows from a quick glance at the grandfather clock that they are exactly on time.

The ride to Wayne manor is rather silent and the first hour of the gala goes by without a hitch, Tim is pleasant and stays by his mother's side. He smiles for the strangers and answers their questions about school and violin. His father talks straight business and his mother adds the personal touch she’s known for. (the manipulation and the data collecting.) 

Around hour two Tim starts to feel weird. Things start getting confusing, but not in the way they do when he gets overwhelmed. It’s different..

His heart is racing in his chest, something he can’t seem to slow despite the subtle breathing techniques. Things start to move around him, just slightly, is he swaying or is the room? 

His mother is a table over, but he knows he can’t ask for help from her. Then she’d know what he did, he would embarrass her. She had insisted tonight was important.

So why did he take that stupid pill? 

She doesn’t so much as glance his way, she’s three drinks in and already starting to ignore his existence, which for right now is working in his favor. 

He suddenly feels it, the sweat building on his brow, the turning of his stomach and the shaking of his hands in front of him.

A bathroom, he needs to find a bathroom and one away from everyone here. 

He knows it's not allowed, that he can’t really go up the stairs, it’s off limits at the wayne manor, but he hopes desperately that Batman and Robin would understand really. That they wouldn’t be mad if they knew him. 

He sneaks up the stairs the second everyone is distracted, clinging to the handrail so as not to slip while everything is becoming increasingly disorienting. He finds the first bathroom on the right and rips the door open, falling to his knees and gripping the porcelain bowl for his life.

He stares at his reflection in the toilet water for a moment, closes his eyes and promptly starts vomiting everything he’s had in the past twenty four hours into the bowl.

It hurts and he’s shaking, barely able to lean over the bowl as his head spins and his heart races.

Jason Todd hates galas, it's only his second one but he hates these kinds of people. They speak intentionally pompous and flaunt their earnings carelessly. They speak to him like he’s stupid, they give backhanded compliments and expect him not to quite understand. 

Bruce insists he must attend at least some of them, that he must learn to build a facade just as he had. 

There are never any kids his age here either, tonight there’s only one toddler and his neighbor, Tim Drake. 

Tim Drake is a little odd, he admits. He doesn’t blink much and avoids looking at most people, but Jason swears the little kid is always looking at him and Bruce. 

It’s kind of creepy, but he can’t imagine the kinds of things his parents might have said about the two of them. 

He glances around, looking for the kid when he notices him looking awfully pale. Not his usual fair skin, but something sickly. He’s shaking a little too, like something is wrong and Jason’s instincts kick in immediately. He watches as the child sneaks up the stairs on unstable feet and does what Robin does best, he follows him.

Tim is three heaves in when he hears a knock at the door and panics.

“O-occupied!” he gags and starts hurling into the toilet again, tears leaking out of the corner of his eyes, praying to whoever that they leaving immediately.

“It’s me, Jason. Are you okay in there kid?” HIs voice is calm, but there’s a concerned edge and TIm groans in response.

“I’m coming in, okay?” Jason says on the other side of the door, gently opening it. 

Tim takes a break from the heaving, shaking over the white knuckled grip on the toilet and looks up at Jason, at his Robin.

“Whoa kid, you don’t look so good. What’s wrong? Did you eat something weird? Did someone give you a strange drink out there?” His larger hands are on his forehead, checking for a fever with practiced ease.

“Umm I-” he gags again and throws his head in the toilet before coming back up.

Jason moves his fingers gently to his wrist, checking his pulse. His tongue clicks and Tim knows that must mean something bad.

“Timmy, I need you to try and tell me what happened so I can help okay?” Jason grits his teeth, stress leaking into his voice. 

Jason looks into his eyes now, taking note of blown out pupils and the quivering of his lips. He swallows and bites back the memories of his mother shoving their way to the forefront of his mind.

“I took something I wasn’t supposed to..” he mumbles, leaning into Jason’s touch, suddenly so tired and worn out from all the heaving.

“Do you remember what the bottle looked like, what it might have been? Whose it was?” Jason isn’t shaking but his voice sounds a little funny, kind of distant and Tim nods.

“200 mg Carbamazepine.. My mother takes them to help with her mood swings. I just wanted.. I didn’t mean to get sick. I'm sorry. Please don’t tell her.” Tim starts crying now, gripping Jason’s suit jacket desperately, begging him not to get him in trouble. 

“Hey it’s okay kid, but that’s very dangerous. Did you know it was going to hurt you?” He needs to know if Tim is in danger of hurting himself, what kind of parent leaves their meds around enough a child can get into them (Jason knows what kind of mom does, he knows).

He also knows this is dangerous and immediately starts texting Bruce from behind the kid’s back.

“ I just wanted to understand.” Tim mumbles into his neck and Jason pales. Because he gets it, he really does. 

“Alright Tim, you’re going to be okay. I got you. But I need you to do something for me.. You need to stay awake okay? And focus on breathing. I’m going to get you help, I promise.”

TIm mumbles something incomprehensible and Jason just rubs his back, meeting Bruce in a dimmed corridor.

Tim can distantly hear them talking, hushes whispers and concerns but he can’t really focus.

He tries to stay awake, he really does, but he’s just so exhausted.

The voices fade and darkness takes their place.

Jason shifts Timothy to Bruce’s larger frame. Bruce takes him outside, to an ambulance specifically instructed no sirens and gets inside with Tim, giving the EMTs a breakdown, the details Jason had gathered and soon Jason and both Tim’s parents have expertly slipped outside unnoticed. 

Bruce can hear their bickering, Jack Drake’s hushed anger, blaming his wife for Tim’s ‘attention seeking behavior’ and her insistence this was not her fault, but his wreckless genetics and-

And he really can’t listen to it anymore without becoming someone else, the facade slipping. He can see the anger on his son’s face at their lack of concern for their son in the back of an ambulance where they’re hooking him up to machines and getting ready to depart.

“Thank you for everything Mr. Wayne. We appreciate the discretion, our son is troubled…please forgive us.”

“Of course, I’ll have your car dropped off at your home later tonight. Do take care.” The Drakes get into the back of the ambulance and Batman and Robin watch them leave.

“I can’t believe you just let them go like that! We should have raised hell! Made a scene about it! That’s not okay Bruce! You didn’t see him in that bathroom… the look on his face, his eyes.” Jason squints his eyes shut, gritting his teeth.

His mother lays across the bathroom tiles, arm stretched out across the floor, face pale and sickly. His tiny, shaking, seven year old hands reach for her throat, feeling the dull thrum of a pulse despite her appearance. 

“Jason, son. Look at me..” Jason comes back to the present and huffs.

“I’m going to handle this, but it’s something that needs to be done carefully. The Drakes are very calculated, very aware of the press and very concerned about their image. Attacking them in public and making assumptions like that is more trouble than help. If he really is in danger, or at the least neglected, putting more pressure on him like that could land him in even more trouble. We’ll keep an eye out and remain vigilant. Now, we need to go in there and make a good excuse for them and keep up appearances, alright.”

Jason takes a much needed breath and nods, following Bruce back into the gala and pasting a smile on his face.

While Jason saves face, Robin starts planning. 

When Tim wakes, he doesn’t open his eyes immediately. He listens first, because the last thing he remembers is the shaking, blurred images of Wayne manor. 

The beeps, the slight stinging of his inner elbow and the sound of people shuffling about..

He is in the hospital. 

He opens his eyes suddenly, he can’t be here, can’t be in the hospital.

They are going to be so mad at him, so angry. This wasn’t what he wanted, not what he was trying to do at all. Everything just fell apart so quickly.

The heart monitor starts to beep in a way it probably shouldn’t and within seconds a nurse is at his side, a warm hand on his back, telling him to take a deep breath, that he’s safe and in the hospital and everything is going to be okay. 

When he comes back to, his mother sits to the left of the bed, foot tapping wildly on the tiles, face turned in a sour expression. HIs father is nowhere in sight.

“Timothy Jackson Drake, do you have any idea what you have done?” There is no room for comfort, only a question of intent, an acknowledgement of his childish mistake.

Was it a mistake?

“I-,” he coughs, throat dry and burning, “I’m sorry mother, it was an accident. I didn’t mean to.” its not a good enough excuse, he knows the moment it leaves his lips its a mistake, but he’s still groggy and its harder to navigate her like this.

“I’m not so stupid to believe that for a moment Timothy. I thought you’d gotten over these childish cries for attention, but here we are back at square one. You’ve been so good as of late, but now I’m not so sure. Your father is incredibly disappointed in you. ( and in her, he’s angry at her like he always is ). 

“I’m sorry mother, It won’t happen again. I was being stupid.” He closes his eyes and levels his breathing, just trying to make it through the end of the conversation, when she left, he could break down.

“I’ll see it when I believe it. My room is off limits now. The door will remain locked when we’re here and especially when we aren’t. You are not to do anything like this again, do you understand?” she taps her foot again and he nods, finding it hard to respond.

“ Use your words, Timothy.” She grits through her teeth, clutching her bag tightly in her grip. 

He can feel his arm in that same grip, the bruising of skin as he’s tugged across a room, tugging at her hand, begging her to let go, that she’s hurting him.

“Of course not mother, I understand. Never again.” He grits out. 

The second she hears those words she snaps up, collecting her things. 

“They want to keep you overnight, I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon for discharge. Your father and I are leaving for the Amazon after that. We can’t put all our work on hold for you, Timothy.” 

He watches her leave, the click of her heels fading distantly and it starts to sink in how badly he messed everything up. 

He lets his head fall back into the pillow and lets the day fade between naps and a wandering mind.

When he wakes, it's quite dark, the only light is coming from the dim monitors he’s still hooked up to and the bathroom door cracks where the light seeps through. It’s just enough to illuminate someone near the window, sitting in the chair.

He holds his breath as the monitor beeps a little faster giving him away.

“Hey, its okay it’s just me…” Jason steps out of the creepy shadow and into a more lit part of the room.

Tim squints and gasps, “Robin?” he calls out, heart still racing.

“Uh-” jason coughs, “no kid, it's me, Jason, from the party last night?” He comes to his bedside and Tim almost chokes at how he almost gave away the knowledge of that secret so stupidly.

“Oh umm, hi. I’m sorry about ruining your night. I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble.” He blinks for the first time in minutes and Jason stares for a moment.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.. I was really worried about you. We all were.” He says, rubbing his hands together anxiously.

“I’m okay. The doctors said I will be fine. It really was an accident. I promise.” He swears, hand to his heart.

“I know kid, we all make mistakes. I just wanted to check on you without making a scene… can I ask you a few questions about your family, if that’s okay? I hardly know anything about you after all and I’d like to be friends. You seem like a good kid.” 

Tim is not a child, not where it counts. He knows what this is, this is a Robin interrogation, no matter how you cut it up. 

He knows he’s being manipulated, at least a little bit here, to talk about his home life, that Jason thinks something is off there and Tim is too smart to fall for it, even if he wants to.

“Sure, I don’t mind. You seem cool.” he mumbles. Jason (Robin) smiles softly.

“You can stop me whenever, okay?” Jason says and Tim nods.

“Have you ever done something like this before?”

“No.” Jason nods.

“Do you spend a lot of time with your parents? Do you guys do anything fun? GO on any vacations?” Jason crosses his legs in the chair, nonchalantly.

“Yeah! They work a lot so sometimes my house maid stays with me, but when they are home we go out to dinner and attend events and umm..” what do normal families do?, “ play boardgames sometimes.” he smiles and tries to keep his heart rate normal despite the sting of lies.

“Bruce and I play games sometimes too.” Jason adds, messing with his shoe laces. 

“Do your parents fight a lot? Bruce gets mad at me sometimes, but Alfred is always there to help us talk it through.” Jason adds.

“Hmm.” Tim thinks, deciding the best way to word this, “sometimes. Sometimes they get upset with each other and argue, but they always come back together. That’s what couples do.” He nods, adding a small smile. 

“Yeah, that’s true.” Jason says. 

“I’m getting kind of sleepy.” Tim lies, rubbing his eyes intentionally. He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up, or how much longer he can keep his cool when his favorite hero is sitting three feet away.

“Alright kid, no worries. I’ll see you around okay?” Jason ruffles his hair and for a moment, Tim feels like he’s on top of the world ( even years later, sometimes Tim will close his eyes and remember this, how it felt and try to feel it again, even if it’s a distant memory). 

“See ya.” he mumbles. 

Three days later there's an Arkham outbreak, then a serial killer and string of missing kids and then there’s word of child trafficking.

Batman and Robin think less and less of Timothy Drake and that night at Wayne manor. 

Once again, Tim fades to the background. 

Chapter Text

Sometimes Tim isn’t really sure what he’s supposed to do.

Sometimes his parents are just upset about seemingly everything and no matter what he does he somehow always makes it worse.

“Timothy, for God’s sake, will you please cut that out?” He stops the shaking of his knee under the table and tries to turn the switch back on, to check out, but not so far he can’t try to make things right.

“Sorry mother.” He mumbles and his father sighs loudly.

“It would do you some good to cease all that mumbling Timothy. Speak up and speak with your chest, you’re a Drake now act like it.” He turns the page of his journal, not even bothering to look up in his berating.

“Yes father, of course.” Tim speaks up, puffing out his chest despite how much he hates it.

He can’t stand this, the tension in the room. They’re all just sitting there, books in hand. It’s a common thing for them, to spend time together not speaking, just sitting in the same room together.

His parents had been arguing the half hour before and after a few slammed doors, they had all met in the study per usual. They had probably been fighting about Tim, not that he was always the problem, but he was usually the problem.

They were probably upset that parents were required at his next parent-teacher meeting and they would have to be late to some meeting they claimed was incredibly important.

They were also mad he hadn’t told them far enough in advance, though he knows he mentioned it the last time they were home, that he’d gently tugged on his mother’s gown to get her attention before showing her the letter that stated the date and time.

She’d patted his head and moved on with her day, easily forgetting a week later.

“Are you sure we can’t just slip them a check and head out on time?” His father suggests, completely ignoring him and not even glancing at his mother as he spoke, sounding incredibly exasperated.

“No, Jack. I will not be known as the absent parent to these people. You know they’ll take anything they can get and make a sandal out of it. We’re going to this pointless meeting, putting on smiles and then leaving. I’m done arguing about this.” His father rolls his eyes, but drops the topic and Tim scoots just a little bit closer to his mother.

When he was very small, just a baby, she would rub his arms and back when he was upset.

Hesitantly, Tim reaches out and gently rubs her back in the replication of the soothing circles she once did for him.

She jerks away suddenly as if she’d been burnt and her face twists- Tim jerks his hand back, pressing them together in his lap and puts his head down in embarrassment.

“Since when have you been so needy, Timothy?” She huffs, shaking off the feeling of contact.

“I just thought it might make you feel better, mother, I’m sorry.” He tries not to mumble this time, despite the rush of heat to his cheeks at the admittance.

“The only thing that’s going to make me feel any better at this point is a hard drink. And at this rate,” she glances at her jewel encrusted watch, scowling, “I’m not even going to have time to enjoy it. We must leave soon, dear. It’s nearly four.” She glances at her husband and he nods, both standing.

“Timothy,” his father addresses him and his head snaps up, standing and turning to face him fully, respectfully as he’s been taught, “go grab your things for this meeting. We will be leaving in five minutes.” Timothy nods and leaves promptly, going to the restroom and making sure he was presentable before they left.

The car ride to his school is silent, save for something classical on the radio playing softly in the background. He counts blue cars to calm himself, trying hard not to think about the upcoming meeting with his teacher.

“Lead the way, Timothy.” His mother brushes his shoulder gently, encouraging him to show them the way to the front office (somewhere they hadn’t been in nearly a year and something that certainly wasn’t worth remembering).

Tim walks up to the desk, his parents behind him, seemingly supportive despite what he knew about them.

“Excuse me,” he can barely see over the front desk, peering up at the receptionist, “I have a meeting with Mrs.Goldberg at four thirty. The Drakes are here for my parent-teacher conference as requested.” He folds his hands neatly behind his back to keep from moving them around too much.

He knows his parents would make a comment about it and it's already enough as it is to just be here unusually, to have his parents so close for so long and to be at school different from his usual scheduled hours.

Everything is a little bit to the left today. Some days are just like that.

“Oh Mr. and Mrs.Drake, it's great to see you, please take a seat!” Mrs.Goldberg is a pleasant woman. She’s better than most teachers he’s had over the years. As long as he does well on tests and projects, she doesn’t force him to participate in class or interact all too much. Plus, she has a little reading nook you can sit in with a bean bag chair if you finish your work early (Tim wants one so bad, loves the cushioned seat more than anything right now).

“I just want to start off by saying that Timothy is one of my most well behaved and successful students, truly it's a pleasure teaching him.” She smiles at him and he looks away for a moment, blushing at the compliment.

“Of course, our Timothy has always been such a polite young man.” His mother smiles in a way he knows is a little twisted, a little off.

“The only real concern I have here is about his interactions with other students.” Mrs. Goldberg clasps her hands together on her table softly.

“What do you mean?” Jack speaks, crossing his legs and sitting up, more attentive now.

“Well, he doesn’t seem to quite get along with other students outside of group projects. He seems to have a little trouble making friends, connecting and understanding his peers…he’s incredibly smart and well behaved, but he does display some concerning behaviors sometimes…'' She trails off and Tim sinks into his chair, gritting his teeth.

His parents were going to be so mad. They were going to be so upset after all this.

“And to what are you referring?” His mother’s voice steels like a threat and his teacher falters for a moment.

“He displays difficulty with eye contact, struggles if the instructions aren’t clear, trouble connecting with kids his age, very quiet and reserved. In no way is this accusatory, but have you ever had Tim tested?” She asks, keeping a smile plastered on her face.

They had Tim tested years before, but quickly had taken it off his record, pretended the whole thing didn’t happen and swept it under the rug. He was supposed to have outgrown it by now. It wasn’t supposed to be something people could know about him.

It was something that was supposed to be kept a secret.

“There is nothing wrong with our son. He’s incredibly intelligent, he probably can’t connect with his peers because they simply can’t understand him or his advanced interests. Even the implication he may be slow is in bad taste and incredibly misinformed. I suggest you reconsider your position and duties as his teacher and leave the important things to us.” Janet sits forward, wrapping her sharp acrylic nails on the desk of his teacher who’s paling now, looking like she might break into a sweat.

“Of course there is nothing wrong with Tim. He’s a great kid. I just think he might benefit from some accommodations. There’s nothing wrong with that.” She tries to assert herself, defend her position, but Janet Drake never loses.

Tim learned that a long time ago.

“Perhaps Timothy is advancing too quickly for those around him, maybe he requires someone with abilities more in line with his growth. I’ve been hearing great things about that new academy on the west side of town. Perhaps we should look into transferring there, along with transferring our significant donation as well.” She tilts her head poisonously and Jack nods, non-verbally supporting her.

“I apologize, Mr. and Mrs. Drake. I didn’t mean to offend or overstep. Tim is a fantastic student and has the grades to prove it. I hope you consider letting him at least finish the year here.”

They leave quickly after that, his mother tugging him along as he looks back one last time at his teacher, distress evident in her figure.

He wonders if they really will transfer him, if he’ll ever really see her again.

“Where does that woman get off telling us how to raise our son? What to do with him?” She huffs, nearly yanking the door open as Tim shuffles inside, buckling himself into his seat as his mother checks her lipstick in the front mirror.

He’d gotten too comfortable at school he supposes. It was only a matter of time his teacher noticed he was a little off, just a little bit different. He thought maybe he was safe there, that it didn’t matter to her or she never really noticed.

He’d even wondered briefly if she had been a little bit like him, a little bit eccentric and excited about particular things and got overwhelmed sometimes and -

And whatever he thought didn’t matter now. Now he was alone again and at risk of being uprooted to some academy all the way across town and all the normalcy he’d spent the past few years acquiring was going to slip from his grasp.

“I thought you had outgrown all your urges Tim. I thought you were past this.” His father grips the steering wheel, voice far too calm for a man who seemed as though he was nothing but angry most of the time.

“I’m sorry father. I didn’t mean to act like that. I just..” how could he explain this? How could he win with them? They held every card and could see his whole hand.

“There’s no just anything Timothy Jackson. You will correct this. The way you present yourself affects how others see us, see the Drake name. You can’t run around acting and saying whatever you want. One day you are going to become the owner of all this. You can’t afford for something like this to hold you back, do you understand?” There’s a sharpness to his tone that makes him flinch and he cringes at the words leaving his father’s mouth.

“Yes sir.”

“Now, apologize to your mother for the scene in there. She stuck up for you, despite the situation.” He adds.

“I apologize, mother. It won’t happen again.” She doesn’t even acknowledge his apology (which confuses him, they always get onto him for not responding when they speak, yet do the same to him every time).

They don’t speak after that. Tim is sent to bed without dinner.

He doesn't think it's so much of a calculated punishment, more so that they were just tired of seeing him. Besides, they needed to get ready for their flight soon anyway.