Chapter Text
Tim joined the party expecting to be dull. He hates going, but he has no choice. Being present and annoying is an inconvenience, but it’s his burden—the cost of being Timothy Drake-Wayne.
You don’t know this, but a little clock in Tim’s has been ticking for the last hour. Tick tock - tick tock
Tim has a lot of regrets.
He regrets not speaking with Kon properly before he dies. Tim knows he didn't fight hard enough to keep Robin.
He got angry at Dick but handed the suit over without much fuss. From day one, he knew his role was to be a bandaid. His position is temporary. He was a placeholder for Jason, Dick, and now Damian. His link for Bruce has always been the weakest. He just hoped his other talents would make up for what he lacked.
You know what? They say alcohol’s a depressant. Tim, he shouldn't drink. How will patrol be tonight if Red Robin falls to his death? Those thoughts don’t stop Tim from downing one cup after another. The kitchen’s relatively empty, so he has a monopoly over a large and expensive selection. He mixes, and he drinks straight, barely stopping to breathe. Timothy Drake is drinking to get drunk tonight. Tim can only remember the handful of times he’s drunk around other people.
He drank with Connor and Bart on evenings when they didn't do anything but screw around. Tim's intoxicated explanations of another conspiracy theory he believed in would make Connor and Bart smile. Their gazes were drawn to Tim as he relaxed. Those memories are painful, and they burn Tim's eyes now. It aches now because he'll never see them again. He won’t see his friends again. Timothy never had many reasons to live before he lost Robin. Now he’s searching for some reason to continue but keeps coming up blank. Then it finally hits him.
Did you know Bruce is back? He was alive, trapped but still alive.
Dick was wrong; Timothy didn't need time off and fewer responsibilities. No, he wasn't suffering from auditory and visual hallucinations. He was right, period. As of right now, Dick has not apologized for his behavior surrounding Bruce’s disappearance. Tim thinks he never will. Life is all about perspective and bias. You can justify anything, even murder. Damian can scream obscenities at everyone until he’s blue in the face. He will be forgiven. It’s not like Timothy doesn't understand a rough upbringing; his parents may not have been assassins. Jack Drake was not an easy man; even in death, Tim’s grudge is alive and well.
What’s that saying about an angry man? How they will always be in your house even when gone, and you will invite one in to replace the last. Sometimes Tim feels like he went out of his way to continue punishing himself for being alive. Jack was angry; he was sharp and calculated with his abuse. Often neglectful more than anything. However, he was traditional; he never thought it was wrong to discipline Tim when he felt the need physically.
So when Jack became absent in his last few years, Tim took it upon himself to become Robin. To train and spend hours unhealthily obsessing over crimes and mysteries to solve. Punishing himself forever, thinking he could lead an everyday life. Tim lives in survival mode; he never has otherwise. He’s young but wary and bitter. He doesn't expect the best from anyone and understands everything has strings and motives.
“God, I am way too fucking drunk to think this way.”
“What way?” Tim is surprised to see someone answer him because the kitchen is empty. Until his eyes land on a blurry figure.
“Kon, is that you? Connor, you- I c-can’t.”
Tim sways back in forth in disbelief. Now, Connor isn’t there. Tim’s hallucinating again, the kitchen is empty, and he’s emotional. As soon as he wakes up tomorrow, he is going to be pissed Connor is still dead. However, at this moment, he will take all the comfort he can get in the hallucination of his dead best friend.
“You know it's not me, Tims, but I can be for now, hey. Why are you breaking down in Nigel Ridley’s kitchen? I thought you hated the guy. Isn’t he lowkey homophobic, although a lot of that is internalized, I swear?”
That comment cracked something in Tim, and he started laughing. Immediately his depressive thoughts stopped, and he stared at where Connor stood. Connor slumped against the kitchen counter, wearing all black. He’s wearing the same outfit Tim saw him in last, in every memory, Tim has now.
“While I may not share Nigel’s views on sexuality, he’s always had the freest booze.”
“You can’t afford shitty tequila anymore?”
“Buying to drink alone is alcoholism; drinking free at a party is letting loose.”
“Ah, just to be clear, you're cheap and in denial?”
“I am not cheap.” Tim sighs and drops his head to the ground. His back against the wall, he slides down to the floor while staring at Connor’s naked feet.
“Timothy.”
“What, Kon?”
“Tim, you are an alcoholic. You are seventeen years old and dependent on a substance. You are dependent on multiple substances. You seek them, then put yourself in socially acceptable places to do them. It’s happening often enough that your subconscious is letting your dead best friend yell at you about it. Except we weren’t just friends towards the end of it, were we-”
“Okay, stop. That's enough. What we were is not up for debate-”
“Were we anything?”
“You're being cruel, Kon.”
“I’ll stop, but I feel like a living person should be saying this to you.”
“I don’t talk to many of those anymore.”
“Yeah, you sit in your room and dwell on the past. You live in it. Have you been to my grave or talked to Clark? Or do you think I’m just out on vacation without you?’
“I KNOW YOUR DEAD, CONNOR, god please just stop it.” At this point, Tim has curled into himself. His shoulder was taunting, his body shaking, the alcohol making his stomach turn in and move around in waves.
“I know your dead because every morning I wake up and feel the sun on my face, and for a moment, I forget you're gone. I smile a little to myself. Everything feels okay. My chest doesn't hurt like I can't breathe. Then eventually, I wake up a little, and the clouds covered what little sunshine we had. I feel cold, and I remember your six feet down. I’m alone, and without you, I always will be.”
“So yes, Kon, I know you're gone.”
The apparition is staring at the spot on the floor, and Tim knows the vision is coming to an end, so he looks up. Connor is smiling with all his teeth. His eye crinkle is visible, and his body is warm. Tim smiles back with tears.
“I know, Tim, I know.”
That's the last thing he says before Tim’s concentration breaks, and the hallucination is gone. They never stay long, and he hates fighting when he sees them. However, this motivates him to leave the damn kitchen and go home. Tim stands on the dimly lit road waiting for his uber to pick him up. At this point, it's too late in the night to justify a ride to the Manor, so he settles for his loft in Gotham. It’s around three am when he enters his apartment. The moment he closes the door, he can feel something off. It’s not because he’s fucking drunk it's because he can see the back of someone’s head on his couch.
“Jason, it's three am.” Tim moves to the living room instead of his closet to change, although that’s all he wants to do now.
“Glad you know that Tim, which begs the question, why were you out at three am?” Jason’s dressed comfortably means he’s been here for a while. Weirdly, Tim’s relationship with Dick has fallen apart. Jason and Tim have reached a comfortable understanding. Their moral codes are parallel these days, with a few exceptions.
“Had a case was doing some undercover work.”
“Do you drink and work now? You’re seventeen, Timmy. I know I don’t have to explain why I’m mad. Get changed and sleep because we will talk about this in the morning.”
Tim’s mind is foggy, so he can’t understand where Jason’s anger is coming from. Tim’s emancipated. He lives on his own why does getting drunk have to do with his age?
“Jason, why are you mad?”
“I’m not mad-mad, Tim, but you are too young to be drinking, especially if you drank for a case. Where even were you?”
At this moment, Tim knew he fucked up because he drank too much and now does not have the mental capacity to keep up with his initial lie.
“Um, I was at this party, Nigel’s party. Connor and I hate Nigel. Nigel is lowkey in love with his best friend, Mike, so he’s so moody. So I went to Nigel’s mostly because of the Patron he keeps in the kitchen cabinet, but shush, that’s for his close friends.”
Jason’s face was slack with surprise. He didn't know where to start, so he just told Tim to sleep. He listened.
“Yeah, I am drained. You should sleep, too, Jason. I like sleeping because that’s where I see Kon and Bart. Well, I saw Connor earlier today, but he was mad.”
“What do you mean by tha-”
Before Jason could finish, Tim closed the door to his room and was asleep in bed. He left Jason alone with his thoughts for the night. He didn't talk to Tim long, but he had more questions than answers. He sighed and fell back on the couch, deciding to sleep there for the night. He has some work cut out for him.
“God, I’m going to need so much help tomorrow.”