Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Having fallen on patrol, and having been careless, Tim was now in the medical care of Alfred. He had been an idiot, a misstep was all it had taken for him to land himself in the medical wing of the Batcave. Having been patching himself up for months, he’d been hoping to avoid Alfred and just go straight to his room to patch himself up, but alas, Alfred had caught him. Sometimes, Alfred’s stubbornness was not a blessing, but rather a nightmare. He didn’t enjoy it, Alfred, or anyone for that matter, treating his injuries - it was uncomfortable and they wouldn’t stop if it hurt, maybe that would be because he didn’t tell them, but that’s besides the point. It meant that his scars would be visible, they would see the jagged scars that marred his body, but they couldn’t know what happened on vacation. 

He’d struggled but managed to avoid any and all  medical tools for the past year and a half. He didn’t dare take the chances of reacting poorly, of risking the secrecy of his past. He didn’t know, would he lash out? Run? Hide? Or would the sight, or mere thought of them coming near him, trigger his memories; send him hurtling back into the past and into memories he had long since tried to bury away.

When his eyes landed on the needle that Alfred had slid out of a packet, merely to take some blood from the area, make sure nothing was infected, and make sure he hadn’t contracted any of Gotham’s… delights while getting home, a cold, bitter feeling settled over Tim, causing a shiver to tremble down his spine. He wouldn’t let Alfred close, not with that needle, he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. 

He was off the table in seconds, moving away from Alfred and away from the needle. He trusted Alfred, just not enough.

“No. Don’t bring that anywhere near me.” He growled, his tone was harsh but was laced with an undertone of fear, a fear that the butler was all too familiar with. Jason had been the same when he finally came home as Red Hood, he still held the trauma that the Joker had given him, and while he disliked crowbars one hell of a lot more, Jason wasn’t a fan of needles either. However… Tim hadn’t suffered under the Joker like Jason had, and as far as Alfred was concerned hadn’t even had any poor run-ins with needles, unless Tim was suddenly a heroin user, which Alfred doubted.

“Master Tim, you know this is necessary-“ The butler had begun to speak, to try and explain. Tim cut him off. Alfred really didn’t understand, and he knew that Tim knew his blood needed to be checked, it was protocol, not just for the sake of his health. Although, the latter was certainly the more important factor. 

“Alfred, I said no.” Tim’s decision was final, and he wasn’t changing his mind anytime soon either. 

The scrape on his side hurt, it wasn’t a bad injury, well on the surface at least; a rusty stake had got it on his way down. His body was rigid, unlike his natural grace, unlike his natural agility while patrolling the streets of Gotham. Tense, rigid, and scared. Just like on vacation one and a half years ago, it was so long ago, maybe Tim should have gotten over it by now, but it felt like it was only yesterday he was there; strapped to a table, injected with god knows what. Yeah, he needed to stop thinking about it ASAP, it was getting to his head. 

His breathing was heavy and erratic, making his panic painfully evident to Alfred - although he doubted the butler needed such evidence to just know. He always just knew, it’s how he was. He always seemed to know everything, even if you didn’t want him to.

“Alfred, please don’t.” Tim whispered, his voice pleading - a tone he rarely took up nowadays (unless he was trying to convince Dick to prank Damian with him). 

“Okay Tim, I won't.” The butler’s voice had become gentle and assuring, a harsh contrast to the stony, cold walls of the cave, or the stark white of the medical area.

Alfred wasn’t sure why this was happening, why Tim was suddenly so scared, but his grandson clearly wasn’t okay. Bruce wasn’t great at comforting his kids at the best of times, so Alfred had made sure he was. He had read any and all books about it, he just wanted to be there where Bruce couldn’t. However, he had a job to do. 

He moved quickly, his footsteps gentle against the floor as he took quick long strides to close the distance. Then, he pulled the poor boy into his arms, and pulled him close, “I won’t hurt you, Tim. Ever.” He whispered, slowly and subtly taking blood from the wound without the boy even noticing. 

Tim had forgotten already that Alfred hadn’t put the needle down, but he trusted him, so why wouldn’t he believe him? He slumped into the butler’s arms, sighing softly as the arms held him tighter. His body tensed as a little pain shot through his side, but then relaxed again.

“Sh, Shh… It’s okay, Tim.”

He tugged Tim back to the bed with a gentle pull, and aided him in sitting back down. “No needles.” The butler’s tone was full of assurance and comfort, placing the now red-filled needle onto the countertop, behind a conveniently placed folder. What the boy didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him, right? Turning back, he began to finish patching up Tim’s injury with practiced hands and efficient techniques. Tim had decided not to question Alfred’s sudden indifference as to whether Tim’s blood would be taken or not.

After what felt like an hour, but in reality was not much over a quarter of an hour, Tim was all cleaned up. He ran upstairs, abandoning Alfred in the cave to await the other’s inevitable return from patrol. 

He shut himself into his room and sank into his bed, into the soft linen sheets which would act as his shield for the next few hours at least. Why had he reacted like that? Alfred would probably tell Bruce, and then Bruce would try and pry answers out of him, or follow him until he can figure out what was going on. He groaned and buried his face into his shield - stupid stupid stupid. 

Tears streamed down his face and he choked out a sob - why was he crying? He didn’t know, he never knew. His shoulders shook, lips trembled; they couldn’t know, they couldn’t. If they knew, they knew that he’d been a psychopath, a killer, a criminal…. They wouldn’t think, or see, him as he is now. They would call him weak, and a liar, and they’d hate him.

He’d be useless again. They wouldn’t want him. Who would want someone as crazy as him?

                           ///

Dick had heard what happened, having listened to Alfred telling Bruce while he was ‘distracted’ by his escrima sticks. He was surprised if not concerned, Tim had a sudden fear of needles…? Had something happened that they didn’t know about? Probably - Tim was always really closed off about those sorts of things. 

Dick found Tim as soon as he was showered and changed. He gently knocked on his younger brother’s door, before pushing his way inside. The boy was wrapped in his blankets - crying. He didn’t look okay whatsoever. The blue sheets were pulled tightly, encasing his form completely, shielding him from the world around him - as if he was trying to shut the rest of them out. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling the bundle of anxiety into his arms, encasing him in what he hoped was a sense of safety and support. 

Dick’s arms were wrapped tightly, but firmly around Tim as he began to speak, “Hey Tim,” he whispered in a gentle tone. “Do you want to tell me what happened back in the cave with Alfred?” He questioned.

He wouldn’t force it out of him, but he hoped he was comfortable enough to try and give him a sense of understanding about the situation. 

Tim hiccupped, then looked up at his older brother. Dick could already tell he was trying to put together a lie, an excuse, something that wasn’t the truth. He almost sensed the lies like it was insects scrambling up Tim’s throat, tearing at his cheeks and then tumbling from the confines of his mouth. His grip tightened around him.

“Don’t lie to me Tim. You don’t have to tell me, but please don’t lie.”

The room fell silent once more. Tim didn’t utter the words he was going to squirm himself out of this with, he didn’t say anything at all. It only confirmed Dick’s suspicions, and he sighed - rubbing his hand over the boy’s back. “Tim, I don’t know what changed, or why you’re suddenly scared of needles… but i just want to help, okay? Whenever you want, you can tell me. I know the others are… a bit less approachable than me, but they’d listen too, okay?” 

The boy didn’t reply, burying his face back into the blankets and hiding, but from what exactly? Thats what Dick wanted to know. He was worried for his baby bird, he just wanted to help him, but Tim wouldn’t let him. So they both sat in silence for a while instead.

It wasn’t uncomfortable - well, only sort of. Dick didn’t push for answers, but god did he want to shake that boy just to get just an ounce of sense into him.

Eventually a soft snore sounded from within the blankets and Dick sighed. Slowly he shifted Tim back into his bed and off of his lap. He moved towards the door with silent steps, not disturbing his slumber. Turning the lights off, he left, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

Chapter Text

SO GUYS IM SORRY ITS TAKING ME SO LONG TO UPDATE
next two chapters will be out this week because im going to force myself to do it
okay byebye

Chapter Text

Never quiet, always dark. That’s how Gotham was, because when were the streets of Gotham, and their criminals, ever quiet? Tim pounced from rooftop to rooftop, ledge to ledge like a cat. He had long since tuned out the quiet chatter over the comms, the idle banter and jokes, and had become lost in his thoughts. He used to just turn the thing off, revel in the chaos of his mind rather than enduring the chaos of his brothers. Not anymore - he had once got stuck fighting off the Scarecrow’s henchmen with no way to call for backup. Bruce was not happy. 

So he kept it on. Discussions of the needle incident were being avoided for nearly a week. If anyone, Dick or Bruce, or even Alfred, mentioned it he’d just leave. Without a word, like it had never happened at all. But in reality, he knew, he knew that one day they would find out, find out that his vacation had gone south. Very, very south.

Tim hadn’t been paying attention, hadn’t heard the warning from Damian, hadn’t seen that as he jumped, he was colliding with a powerline. Only did he notice when the cable bent with his weight and then flung him back with an extra load of wattage that went soaring through his body. He convulsed in the air as gravity hit him like a freight train, powerful and unyielding. Tim plummeted, his body seizing with electricity, hitting every nerve. Images flashed before him, memories, nightmares, the past… His vacation. He felt it before it happened, inactive chemicals dragging themselves from the pits of hell and back to life and messing with his brain, playing with his mind. They were going to find out, he was scared. They were- He- He- Ha.

His body hit the floor with a sickening crack, but he hadn’t even passed out. No, he laid there, in the middle of an alleyway laughing . Laughing like a maniac, or maybe, more specifically, like the Joker. He slapped his hand over his mouth, struggling to contain it. Pain! God he missed this pain, the thrilling feeling of pain . He was back. J would be so happy! Plans, plans oh he needed to make plans! He needed to get J out of Arkham, he needed to fix his bones, maybe a few shots will do. Then, he needed to blow shit up.

Rolling onto his front was a pain, but Junior didn’t care. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees and stumbled up to his feet, ignoring the pain that shot up his leg as he did so. He giggled again, chest heaving as blood dribbled down his forehead. God, he shouldn’t be standing - he didn't care! 

            ///

Damian, in all his good nature - the very little there is, or cares to give - had warned Drake before he had jumped. He had not expected for his warning to fall upon deaf ears, Drake was an idiot. Damian fringed as Tim’s body hit the powerline, but was quickly overcome with concern. Crazy, right? But it looked like it may actually hurt. He moved towards where Tim would inevitably land before he had even started to fall, before Drake had started to seize.

He was moments too late, Drake had slammed to the floor, and blood began to pool instantly. His eyes widened, this can’t be happening. 

“Father– We need you here-” He started, tone urgent. But then, Drake started to laugh, to squeal like a child on Christmas, or so he was told. Then the teen started to stand. Damian wanted to slap Drake. “Sit the hell back down-” He growled, moving closer. 

He froze about a meter away, Drake was grinning like an idiot. Only one idiot smiled like that. He was going to be sick, very sick. Drake– Tim– His brother was Joker Junior.

                                    ///

Bruce moved through the night, cape bellowing behind him as the dark knight ran with the stealth of a leopard hunting his prey. Except he wasn’t hunting his prey, he was trying to find his sons. It had been a relatively quiet night, a few petty crimes here and there that he brought to a stop, but nothing crazy, nothing like this. The way Damian had spoken, almost cried for his help. He had sounded so distressed. 

He too had frozen when he saw Tim, meters away from Damian and laughing like a madman and bleeding like a corpse, or what should be a corpse.

Tranquilise him. That was his first thought , but how could he tranquilise his own son?

                                    ///

Tim tried to move again, tried to face Batsy and itty bitty Robin. He failed, the pain from twisting his body like that caused him to cry out, and burst into yet another fit of laughter. Jesus! This was amazing- So much pain, so much laughter. J would be proud. The electric shock had left him paralysed, held captive with no physical barrier - only good ol’ pain.

Suppose it had been expected, JJ had altered his biology, but had not made him invincible. Which reminded him of J’s promise to try, he had to take him up on that later. He sighed and hardened his gaze into his usual, manic, shit-eating grin. The smile was fake, always was, probably always would be. His pain gritted to cope with the pain, he enjoyed it, sort of, but it still fuckin’ hurt. His limbs still refused to move, he had stopped laughing, he was at their mercy.

JJ’s body gave out, crumbling back into a heap on the floor. Yet his smile remained, god only knew what J would do if he found out he didn’t smile for Batman.  

He barely felt being lifted up, couldn’t even fathom who it was. Only the floor was flying away, that's all he could see and a weak grunt escaped him. He was tired, so tired. Maybe this was too much pain, too much blood even for him. He didn’t know, couldn’t figure out before his consciousness slipped from his grasp.