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Honestly, I’m convinced the best of me is the worst of me
Believe me, I’ve tried but I just can't seem to fight
Against the tide and undertow that drags me down
So low beneath the foam I can’t feel the sun burn
It’s a slow night in Gotham. Tim is honestly contemplating just heading home – it's nearing 2 am, anyway. Maybe he can run through the bat–burger and bring Bernard a late night study snack. Yeah– that sounds like a good plan. Tim smiles to himself, unmuteing his comm.
“Hey guys–” he starts, but is quickly cut off by Red Hood’s mechanic voice changer.
“Robin.” Jason’s voice is a muffled whisper. “Need you here. We have a jumper.”
Fuck. of course. Tim groans to himself quietly. “Why me , again?”
The line goes quiet for a second. There's a bit of static, before Jason’s speaking again. “Because its your fucking boyfriend.”
Oh.
Oh shit.
“Yeah, on my way. Send me your location.” Tim demands, swinging off without a second thought. The late spring air is muggy, almost suffocating, and he can barely see through the smog and clouds. The main bridge is still running, cars zooming past fast enough to rival the flash – they stopped closing traffic where there was a jumper years ago. Something about traffic – something about a government official asking if they want to jump, why should it affect everyone else?
No wonder everyone is so eager to get out.
Tim lands with a stumble, almost tripping over himself as he comes feet to asphalt with the highway. Jason is only a few meters away, holding onto the back of a person's jacket. The jumper– blond hair and perfect hazel eyes and tanned skin is kicking, shouting, scratching at Red Hood.
Tim walks over to the duo slowly. He puts a hand up, flashes a gentle smile. His voice is quiet– muffled by the cars honking and wind rushing and water under them. “Hey, I got this.”
Bernard freezes, eyes wide and eyebrows taut and lip trembling. He looks like a deer in headlights, completely rigid as Red Hood carefully lets him go. He steps back, just a few inches, almost bumping into Red Hood. His voice warbles out a hesitant “ Tim? ”
“Robin is a lot better at this sort of stuff than I am.” Red Hood explains, almost sheepishly.
Tim steps forward slowly. Bernard steps back– away from the edge. They look at each other, frozen in this moment. Bernard doesn’t know what to say; words die in his throat.
“Look, we don’t…” Tim pauses, unsure. “We can just…”
Bernard nods, understanding. “Robin,” he says, instead. “This how you spend your Tuesday nights?”
Tim grimaces a little. He shakes his head “No, not usually. You?”
Bernard shrugs. “Just…had family dinner…got lost, I suppose.”
“And ended up on the edge of a bridge?” Tim makes a face, raised eyebrows and a small frown.
“You know…parents.” Bernard looks away.
Yeah. Tim does know. “You have a place to stay?”
Bernard shrugs again. “I…have a pair of keys to my boyfriend's house.” He hesitates, eyes scanning Tim’s face for permission.
“Would it be ok if I walked with you? Not– not that I don’t trust you but..you know…”
Bernard nods. "No, no, I totally get it. Um…" he blushes in embarrassment "I don't have a ride."
Tim smiles a little, putting a hand out. "I could take you…if you don't mind heights."
There's just a second of hesitation. Bernard turns, head stretching over his shoulder to look back at the water below them. For just a moment– a brief heart flutter of a second– Tim is sure what he’s going to do.
Bernard doesn’t jump– he doesn’t, because Robin is there and he knows Robin will catch him.
That fact scares him.
Robin does not stay after dropping Bernard off at the boat. He’s off, disappearing into the shadows and whispers. Bernard lays down in the bed, looking out a window at the waters around him. Water laps at the boat's side, rocking him gently. As he starts to drift off, another shadow joins the room. The bedsprings hiss and a soft weight is pressed against Bernard’s back. Tim wraps his arms around his boyfriend and tangles their legs together, so that every bit of them touch.
Bernard takes a slow breath. He waits for Time to say anything, but the room stays quiet. In the dark, he can still make out the glint of metal – his mothers crucifix, held in his hands. On these sort of nights, when things are bad, when he feels like he’s drowning, at least he can find some respite.
Tim leans closer, puts his head against Bernards, closing his eyes and just feeling the soft feeling of Bernard's hair. His voice is quiet, sleepy, mumbling “I love you.”
All he can mutter is an “I’m sorry” because really, whoever can love something like him must really be a basket case. . Hes so…hes so fucked up . How could anyone love him? His own parents don't. Not even God can.
The chaos monsters loved him.
Tim reaches down and grabs onto Bernard’s hand and squeezes it. “Please don’t apologize.” His voice is a mere whisper, so unlike the growl of Batman or the soft nothing of Robin. It's… it's Tim Drake, holding him in his arms. Loving him.
Robin is a hero. He loves broken things.
Bernard hums a little. There's this feeling swelling in his chest. Hurt and fear and that deep, tarpit-like feeling that he needs to disappear. Tim should be out, being a hero. Saving people. Instead, Bernard is just dragging him down into the dark. It's not fair to anyone else. What has he done to even deserve being saved?
So, Bernard inches away, just a skosh. He untangles their limbs and moves to the cold shadowed area of the small bed. Tim reaches out, for just a moment.
“ Bernard.. ” Tim’s voice trembles. It's a whisper, shaking and empty and cold. He sounds broken, almost. This breath hitches like he wants to say more, but doesn’t.
“I’m sorry.” Bernard says again.
He’s hurting Tim. All he does is hurt and hurt and hurt.
Bernard is crying now. It's pitiful. Heavy, ugly tears and snot and quiet whimpers. His breathing burns in his chest, makes everything feel heavy and hurt.
He wants to feel that hurt. He wants to drown in it.
Bernard wants to feel something in the worst kind of way. He wants to be teetering off that edge, again. He wants highschool – mixing his moms pills and his dads booze just to numb down the glares everyone gave him, to mute the whispered fucking faggot. I bet his dad beats the shit out of him– thats why he wears those dumb fucking sunglasses.
He wants that pounding hangover headache, the feeling of a shitty lover’s fist connecting with his jaw and spitting on him. He wants water in his lungs or a knife in his chest. He wants to hurt.
He can practically feel Tim’s hesitation. “Can I…can I hold you?”
Bernard shakes his head no. He wants the cold. He emptiness. It's all he deserves. And Tim lays there on the other side of the bed, because he’s good, because he understands what it's like to feel suffocated by touch. And Bernard– Bernard doesn’t understand it– doesn’t understand Tim.
Tim would hurt him, if he asked nicely. Tim would do anything to make someone happy.
Maybe that's how Tim hurts. Maybe it's that selflessness, that aching need to help others, that will be his ruin. It's not pain pills and vodka and ritual sacrifice – it’s being a hero. That's how he hurts.
There are things Bernard has picked up about Tim, in their time together. Him being Robin was one of them– but there are others. Tim doesn't like to be under someone, he likes to kiss, not be kissed. He doesnt fuck. Not– not that he’s bad he just doesn’t like it. It makes him fidgety and anxious and–
He knows Tim would let him fuck him if he asked. He would smile and kiss him and his hands would shake
but he would still say yes and he’d feed on that fear and that hurt.
Bernard wouldn’t. He could never, he knows that. He just wants that guilt. That pain. He wants to imagine hurting in all those horrible ways. He wants to remember the way these things feel, to tuck them away for a worse night. He wants to remember the taste of liquor and the way his mothers cigarette feels between his lips– the soft high of a handful of pills and the vomiting stomach churning blue and red ambulance lights and morning after hell– hands pulling at his hair as he gives locker room blowjobs because it's the only touch he deserves.
Tomorrow morning he’ll wake up next to his boyfriend who will kiss him gently and hold him so lovingly. He’ll go to college and not talk to his parents and that will be ok. He’ll play videogames in his dorm and hang out with friends and things will be normal. For tonight, though, he’ll let himself stew in that hurt.
It's all he really deserves. It's the only real thing in his life.