Work Text:
He’s always been good at pretending.
When he was little, he’d pretend that his parents were home and that he’d been good enough that they’d stay and talk with him. Tell him about their trip, listen to him talking about his day—well, maybe not his day, that wasn’t worth mentioning, but maybe he could tell them about the books he’s read or something. Something worthwhile.
He could pretend for days at a time that his house wasn’t empty, that he wasn’t alone. He just pretended that he missed everybody—that they’d stepped around a corner just as he entered the room, on their way to Something Important.
He could pretend that he was too grown up, that his parents were too busy and he was too old to need or even want silly, childish things like birthday parties, Christmas presents—his parents do come home sometimes for Christmas—they need to represent the family business, after all, and there are parties to attend and Connections To Make. If he’s good and behaves really really well, he gets to go to some of them, because it makes them look more like A Happy Family. “United” is the term his mom uses, while she inspects every aspect of how Tim’s representing them—is he standing up straight, are his clothes wrinkled, is his hair styled correctly? He needs to represent the Drakes, needs to be a model heir.
He could even pretend that someone comforted him whenever he woke up from nightmares, when he’s sick, when he just can’t pretend that he’s not alone. He can remember how it felt that time at the circus, when Dick Grayson gave him a hug—how warm it was, how nice it had felt, how safe and wanted he’d felt for those few seconds. When he pretends, he can pull his arms around himself, holding himself tightly, and he recalls how that felt, and sometimes it almost feels like he’s not so alone and there’s a warm body holding his cold one—that he’s not such a pain to be around, that people would actually hold him, knowing who he is.
He gets better at pretending as he grows up. When he confronts Dick, and then, later on, Bruce, he pretends that he is already Robin, pretends that he’s that confident, that sure of himself, that capable. He pretends to be Jason whenever possible, because obviously Jason was a good partner and son, that people wanted him around and loved him. People miss him. Bruce misses Jason, and Tim can see that. Tim sees how much Bruce misses Jason whenever they’re on patrol and Tim screws up; whenever he corrects Bruce for calling him by the wrong name; whenever he isn’t Jason enough.
Tim pretends to be Jason, as best he can figure out how—he stops correcting Bruce’s name slip-ups. He tries his best to not be weak or scared—well, he tries to stop showing when he’s upset. And when Tim can’t manage to be Jason, he just tries to be invisible. He pretends to be invisible, because his parents always liked that and he’s really good at being almost-invisible. He’s pretty sure that Bruce likes this too—he doesn’t snap at Tim as much when Tim acts invisible, his eyes don’t go all cold like they do whenever he remembers that it’s Tim he’s talking to, not Jason, because he doesn’t really remember that Tim is there.
He pretends that it doesn’t hurt when he goes back to the empty, cold house. He pretends that he doesn’t wish, selfishly, so selfishly, that he could stay at the Manor. He’s not Bruce’s responsibility when he’s not Robin, he’s not Bruce’s son, he’s just Batman’s partner, and he has no right to wish for anything. He pretends that he’s at the Manor though, when he’s being weak. He pretends that he’s in Wayne Manor, and he’s got his own bedroom, and that everybody else is just downstairs or in the Cave, but they’re there, still in the house.
He pretends to believe Dick when the man says that he’s happy to have Tim around. He knows that that’s a lie—his parents made it clear over the years that there’s something that Tim is or does that makes him unpleasant to have around when not necessary. All his other interactions seem to correlate this information, so either Dick is crazy or lying. Tim doesn’t want to hurt his feelings though, so he just pretends that he believes Dick whenever he says these things—“I love you”, “I’ve missed you”, “Tell me how your day was”, and such. Tim knows that he’s not interesting or important, nobody really wants to hear what he’s done or thinks. But it’s really kind of nice to pretend this time.
Tim pretends even more when his parents are kidnapped, when his mom dies and his dad is in a coma. He pretends that he’s a part of the family, that he’s really Dick’s little brother and Bruce’s son. There’s so much noise, so many people, so much attention, and he’s constantly being touched, being hugged, and he’d forgotten that people were warm and not meant to be alone, that he was the only one who is always cold and alone. He pretends that he’s really welcome here, that this isn’t just the most convenient arrangement since Tim doesn’t have any other family and he’s too young to stay alone—never mind that he’s been alone at his house almost all the time since he was five.
He pretends when his dad wakes up. He pretends to be happy—how selfish he is to not be happy that his parent is alive. He pretends that everything is okay, that he’s not upset when his dad promises to do better and then doesn’t. He pretends that he’s totally fine when his dad starts dating Dana, when he marries her. He doesn’t need to be happy as long as his dad is. Tim doesn’t deserve anything, but he can’t stop wanting things.
He tries so hard to pretend. All the time. Pretend to be okay, pretend not to want things. He doesn’t need love, affection, companionship, attention, anything. He knows that people are better off without him around—that they’re happier and he’s just a poor substitute for the people they need. But he can’t stop wanting.
Jason comes back and he knows that Tim’s a pretender. He even calls him that—“Pretender”, like a title. It’s ironic, really. The one person Tim’s tried the most to pretend to be knows exactly what he is. And he’s not even surprised, really. In a way, Tim’s relieved—now everyone knows he’s a fake, a poor replacement, and Jason’s back, and maybe he’ll get better and Bruce will have his son back, Dick gets his brother back, Batman has to have Robin, and Jason is Robin. He doesn’t want that though. He wants to keep pretending that he’s family, because there’s nowhere else for him to go. But it’s not his place, he was just a placeholder for the better model.
He pretends to be okay when his dad dies, because he almost is—he doesn’t miss him, because dad was never home anyway. He pretends to be okay when Bart and Kon and Steph die. He’s the leader, he has to be strong for the team. Batman would do that, he did do that, so many times. He’d be disappointed to know that Tim isn’t that strong though. Tim misses his friends.
Damian shows up, and he knows that Tim’s a pretender too. He calls Tim on it—on pretending to be Robin, pretending to be Bruce’s son, pretending to be worthy of any of this. Bruce dies, Damian takes Robin, because he is superior, he is the worthy one here, he’s Bruce’s son. Dick lets Damian be Robin. Dick doesn’t pretend as much now, and Tim can’t help but feel betrayed. It’s stupid, and he knows it, but he is, just the same. Tim pretends that he’s not falling to pieces, unraveling as everything he’s pretended comes to an end and he’s left alone again, everyone realizing that he pretended to be more than Tim. Nobody wants Tim.
Tim pretends to believe himself entirely when he realizes that Bruce isn’t dead. Then he pretends even harder when Dick doesn’t believe him. If he’s wrong, then Dick is right and he is crazy. Tim doesn’t want that. He’d be an even bigger burden, and they’d feel obligated to help him, and Tim cannot justify that—he’s not worth it.
Bruce isn’t dead, and Tim thinks that maybe this means something—maybe Tim is finally okay, he’s fixed himself, and maybe Bruce will want him around now. He pretends to be okay when Damian stays Robin and Bruce doesn’t ask Tim to come home. He pretends that he’s happy to be emancipated, happy to be on his own. He didn’t fix anything, and maybe he’s more broken, because Bruce’s eyes change again whenever he walks in, on the rare occasions when he can even find Bruce.
He goes into his apartment and pretends that he’s not exhausted. He’s tired of the pretending. He’s tired of being not-Tim. But being Tim put him here, in this empty, silent apartment. He takes off his uniform, puts on pajamas, and tries to pretend like he did when he was little. But maybe he’s forgotten how to pretend, because he can’t pretend that he’s not alone and that he’s not sad. He can’t even pretend that he’s being held by someone—he’s had too many hugs since then, he was sloppy, he didn’t cherish them enough, he let himself believe that the hugs, the affection, the…all of it would last. He can’t pretend that he’s being held by a warm person, that anyone would want to hold him—he knows what that feels like now. He can’t pretend to be anyone but Tim, and Tim is alone.
Sometimes, late at night, when he’s awake from a nightmare or when he never even slept to begin with, he wishes. He wishes that he had never met Dick Grayson, had never gotten more than one hug. He wishes that he had never been allowed to pretend to be more than Tim. He wishes that Jason had not died. He wishes that maybe he’d died instead—a life for a life, his broken self for Jason, for somebody who was everything the others needed. He wishes he could have been not-Tim enough to be someone else, someone better, someone worthy of everything that he’d been allowed to have briefly, when the charade had worked.
Tim doesn’t know how to pretend anymore.