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Summary
Tim sits on the curb, the grit from the sidewalk digging into his palm. He doesn’t mind though, it’s keeping him grounded. He cradles his left arm in his lap, trying to ignore the uncomfortable numbness.
He would have given anything to be out of Gotham right now, even if 10 year old Tim would’ve cringed at the very thought. Gotham city was his safe haven, where he went to feel the most like himself. Now, he just wanted to go home. He didn’t mean Drake Manor, a place that had always felt too cold to be a home. No, he wanted to go home. He wanted Alfred to make him hot chocolate, Dick to hold him while Jason squished them both, for Bruce to try and sneakily take pictures of them while they all watched a movie. Instead, he was sitting on the disgusting Gotham ground, probably getting some type of airborne tetanus, trying to come up with a plan.
It was hard though, when his arm was noticeably numb until he moved it, and the wind kept making his split lip sting.
Series
- Part 4 of Mentally Ill Bats