Work Text:
What I Never Did Is Done
Tim breathed deeply. His eyes were burning, begging to let himself cry. He took a deep breath, then another, and another… Still, it made no difference. His heart felt heavy inside his chest.
Tim had always known it: He wasn’t made to be a piece of shit. He didn’t have it inside himself to be shitty. And every time he was, every time he allowed himself the horribly acidic yet blissful feeling of anger, he ended up hurting more than if he’d stayed quiet.
Quiet was preferable. Quiet was manageable.
Screaming always ended up being the worst decision. And he didn’t even scream.
“Taking a breath?”
Tim flinched at Bruce’s words. “I—yeah.”
Bruce’s eyes stayed on him for a few seconds more until he sat down on his bed. Tim stayed on the far corner of it, letting his misery swallow him completely.
Misery. Hah. What a fucking word.
“I thought…” Tim began, took a deep breath and continued, “I thought you were going to have dinner.”
“I did,” Bruce replied. “Only ate a bit.”
“Alfred’s not gonna like that,” Tim whispered.
“He doesn’t have to know.” Then: “Jason left.” Tim only swallowed. “He was surprised.”
“I know,” Tim muttered, stupidly.
“He asked me why I didn’t stop you. He said I never defend him,” Bruce continued.
That made Tim’s blood boil. It was like his anger had been dormant, waking up brighter and deadlier.
“I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true,” Tim countered.
Bruce looked down for a moment, “He stayed quiet.”
Tim knew what Bruce was saying. Jason didn’t fight back. Jason was stricken. Jason was hurt.
His anger dissolved once again. Now…now his body only knew sadness.
“He treats you like shit,” Tim rationalized out loud. “I can’t just stand there. I’m fucking tired of seeing him treat you like you don’t matter.”
Bruce shook his head, “Tim…”
“You don’t do anything, Bruce!” Tim spitted out, angry once again, “You don’t draw a line! You just let him take whatever he wants and use you like a fucking punching bag. You have no idea how I feel every time he does that. It—it fucking angers me! I want him to stop. I want him to stop being a piece of shit.”
“Jason—he—told me I never help him out when it’s about you.”
“Just what I fucking wanted to hear!” Tim stood up from his bed, pointing Bruce with a finger, “It’s the only thing you’ve done since he came back! What the fuck?! Is he insane?! You let him do whatever the fuck he wants! No questions asked! No speeches afterwards! And he dares to say that?!”
Tim wanted to rip his skin off. You never hold him accountable. You always forgive him. You would die for him. You would let him kill me if that was what made him happy.
“What did you say to him?” Bruce asked, unmoving and detached. He never seemed to register Tim’s words when it was about Jason.
Tim felt tired, suddenly, undoubtedly.
“I told him he’s insane. That he’s fucking shameless. That he should stop rotting in his own misery and do fucking something. Change for once.”
“You hurt him,” Bruce said once again as if Tim didn’t fucking know that.
“I know. You think I don’t know?” He fought back the tears. “I don’t like saying those kinda things to him. I don’t like it. I feel like shit.”
Bruce nodded briefly, “You know what to do.”
Tim stayed quiet. He knew that, but he didn’t even want to move. His sadness was encompassing. He wished he could feel anger instead. God knows Jason easily replaced sadness and regret with anger; why couldn’t he?
“For once,” he said, “For once Jason feels sadness instead of anger. That’s good. He needs that. He needs to learn. It’s good.”
It wasn’t. It didn’t feel good.
Of course, Bruce didn’t buy his words either.
“You can apologize,” Bruce insisted softly, “You can go, look for him.”
His chin trembled. Jason had been through so much. Jason was his brother. Jason was family.
“He never does that,” Tim barely suppressed a sob.
“It doesn’t matter,” Bruce replied gently, “You’re not like him.”
Tim looked up. He scrunched his eyes closed. Jason was such a piece of shit. He’d said and done worse things to him and to Bruce. Why was Tim supposed to be the bigger person?
Why was his chest hurting so much?
“I think I have a headache,” Tim mumbled instead.
“You can call him.”
Tim snorted.
“You can text him, you don’t need to see him,” Bruce insisted.
But what’s an apology worth when you don’t say it up front?
Why does it matter, anyway, when things are going to stay the same? Jason’s never going to stop being Jason. His anger is never going to leave him be. His bitterness is never going to disappear. Unless Jason wants it, and for years it’s been clear he doesn’t.
Bruce is always going to be his punching bag. Bruce is always going to let himself be the punching bag.
There’s really nothing Tim can do. It’s helpless. There’s nothing he hates more than being helpless.
He’ll have to live with it. Tim will have to take his love and shove it down, so he doesn’t get angry on its account.
“You should go to sleep, Bruce,” Tim finally replied. His eyes went dry all of a sudden. His heart too. “I should go.”
Bruce didn’t reply. He didn’t nod. Bruce only stood and left the room. His disappointment was as real and as visible as the moon.
Tim was left behind with his hurt, and his love, and his anger. He wondered if that was what Jason felt every day.
It didn’t matter. Tim left his old room; he left the manor all together. He knew inside his heart he’d always remember the feeling. The words. The fact he never apologized to Jason.
But Tim wasn’t like him. He wasn’t. He truly wasn’t.
He repeated those words inside his head, until he fell sleep, until he didn’t feel like crying anymore.