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This was stupid. This was inherently and completely stupid.
Tim sat on his bed with his knees curled into himself, gently rocking back and forth. His eyes were glued to the wall in front of him. The wall he assumed was there anyway– the lights were off. It was almost completely dark in his room except for the creepy red glow of his digital clock. For all he knew the wall could’ve disappeared…
Shut up , he thought to himself. That’s an irrational thought and you know it.
But it wasn’t irrational to the irrational part of his brain. His body. It just kept reminding him of the past week’s events; he had been kidnapped and trapped in a dark isolation room for days. The only human interaction was when somebody came by with just enough food and water to keep him alive– and they never stayed. Which was dumb to even hope for, since they were literally his captors, but after a while… Tim would’ve given a lot for someone to just acknowledge him.
He honestly thought the purposeful ignorance was worse than any physical torture.
Batman and the others had finally found him and gotten him out, but coming home and recovering was still… a process. He had finally graduated from crying whenever someone left him alone– god that had been embarrassing– but there was still one leftover side effect.
He was scared of the dark.
But he couldn’t be scared of the dark. For one thing, that was a stupid, childish thing to be scared of and he was basically a grown man now. For another, he literally worked with the bats . The vigilantes who only worked at night, in dark clothes, advertising themselves as nocturnal creatures of darkness. It wouldn’t exactly fit the brand for him to suddenly be scared of the dark.
What if this was what made him stop? What if he couldn’t be Red Robin anymore because he was too afraid of something this childish? He was already benched for this week “for health reasons” (said Bruce) but what if the bench was permanent?
What if this made him useless and he lost the only family he had?
Tim felt his heart rate increase and sucked in a breath, drawing his knees closer. No, no, stop, you’re fine, this isn’t a panic situation, just stop, no, no, no…
“Tim?”
He couldn’t breathe. He was all alone and it was dark and everybody had just left him like they always did, and he was going to die here alone, god, why had they left him alone? Where were they? Where was everybody? Was he not good enough for them, why didn’t people ever stay?
The bedroom light flicked on, making him flinch. It did bring him back to the present, though, specifically to Duke standing in his doorway, watching him warily.
He tried to gulp down another breath. “Oh, uh, hey Duke. Did you–” he tried again. “-- need something?”
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m uh, I’m fine.”
“You sound far from fine, man. And look it. What’s going on?”
Don’t tell him. Don’t tell him, he’ll tell Bruce, and then Bruce will think you’re too weak to be Red Robin, then you’ll be useless to them and they’ll leave you like your parents did because you weren’t strong enough–
“Tim!”
Duke was directly in front of him now, hands outstretched like he wanted to touch him but didn’t think he was allowed. He was talking in a low, soft voice, as though Tim were a spooked horse. Any other time Tim would have been a little bit insulted, but right now it felt nice. Comforting.
“Hey, hey, hey, it’s gonna be alright. You’re having a panic attack, but we’re gonna get you through it, alright? Breathe with me.”
Tim tried. Duke was using a different breathing method than the one Dick, Jason, and Bruce typically used. They used a weird 4-7-8 rhythm, whereas Duke’s was much simpler.
“One, two, three, four, hold, let go, two, three, four…”
Duke repeated the exercise over and over again, until Tim was finally breathing somewhat regularly. Even then, Tim’s eyes and mind were still unfocused, so Duke moved into asking him what he could see, hear, smell.
“You. Your sweatpants. The bedsheets. M-my socks. The wall.”
“Good, you’re doing good, Tim. Four things you can hear.”
“Your voice. My breathing. Um, the wind outside. And the rain.”
A rumble of thunder shuddered outside the manor. They both jerked upward in surprise (when had the storm rolled in?). “And that,” he added.
Eventually, Tim finally found himself again. He uncurled his knees and stretched out, wincing at the stiffness and sweat. “I’m sorry, Duke, you shouldn’t have had to see that,” he said quietly.
Duke reached out, but at Tim’s flinch he pulled back. “Tim, why are you sorry? I’m just glad I could help. You’re not exactly the first bat to have a panic attack and be found curled up in a ball,” he laughed half-heartedly.
Tim let out his own chuckle. “I know, I know, but it was just so stupid this time, you know?”
“No such thing as a stupid panic attack. Do you want to talk about it?
Tim’s voice caught in his throat. He didn’t want to. Everything in his mind was screaming to keep it inside, to brush Duke off and say it was nothing, because it totally was nothing. But he was also tired.
The words escaped from his lips like a jail break. “I was trying to go to sleep.”
He cringed, waiting for Duke to laugh or stare incredulously, but Duke didn’t. He just nodded and waited.
“I uh, haven’t been able to for a while.”
Then everything spilled over. He hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest ever, but this was worse. He couldn’t be in the dark, but he also couldn’t sleep with the lights on. Bruce and Alfred got suspicious the night they found him lying in bed with night vision goggles on. He refused to sleep with a night light (Jack Drake came to mind as a reason for this one, but he wasn’t telling anyone that). He had been up with only a handful of hours of sleep for too many days.
He was afraid of the dark. He was even more afraid of the others finding out that he was afraid of the dark.
Duke listened the whole time, absolutely nothing but understanding and sympathy on his face. Tim felt bad. Duke was such a good friend, a good brother, and he had his own life things to deal with and here Tim was spilling out all his stupid abandonment issues on him.
“Sorry.”
“No. Absolutely not. You are not apologizing for a completely normal and reasonable reaction to trauma, Tim. And no saying that it’s not trauma, ‘cause I know what it looks like too.”
Tim shut his mouth. Dammit, Duke was good.
“Look, I think you should talk to everyone else about it. They can and will help you. No one’s gonna throw you out because of this, I promise. But I also get that you’re not ready, and I won’t tell them. Can I help you tonight, though? I’ve got an idea I think will work, if you want. And you seriously need sleep, how are you even alive right now?”
Tim gave a dry laugh. “I’ve been asking myself that for ten years. I have no idea. And sure.”
“Okay. Let me know if you want me to stop, alright?”
“Okay?”
Duke closed his eyes and concentrated, and suddenly it was like the room was leaking darkness. Or something. Tim didn’t even know how to describe it. The lights weren’t on anymore, but the room wasn’t dark. It was washed out gray, like an overcast sky before a storm. Everything was still visible, but it all felt muted and warm somehow.
Duke opened his eyes. “Think you could sleep like this?”
Tim barely heard him. He was already halfway there, tilting forward as his eyelids fluttered. Luckily Duke caught him and laid him down, pulling the covers up over him.
“Mm, wait, don’t go,” Tim mumbled. The back of his mind chastised him for being so needy, but he really didn’t want to be alone again.
“I’m not leaving, I’m just going to the other side,” Duke said, crawling in to sit beside Tim. “I’ll stay until you wake up. I promise.”
Tim rolled over and grabbed Duke’s hand– wow he must be really sleep-deprived– then started to drift off. He just managed to hear Duke whisper to someone (Who? Who cared?) before finally falling asleep.