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Tim was mature.
He knew this well; it was why his Mom and Dad could leave him home alone for months, why his teachers always wrote exemplary reports about him, why Mrs.Mac never had never had to worry about him throwing tantrums. Timothy Drake was a mature and well behaved child. He could take care of himself perfectly fine, he didn't need any adults.
He liked being left alone for hours. It was hard to chase Batman and Robin when his parents were home, after all. No, not once did he ever feel lonely or angry with them. He knew better. They had work, it would be a burden to have to stay in Gotham all the time just for him. If he was any other child, it would be a problem, but he wasn't. He grew up faster than other kids. So, when he started training under Bruce, he never held his mentor's lack of anger management against him. Sure, Bruce sometimes took his anger out on him, but he was little more than a means to end. He wasn't Bruce's son. He wasn't delicate, he didn't need to be babied with soft words and gentle touch. Robin lived for Batman, not the other way around.
People just didn't understand. Of course they didn't, they didn't know Tim.
But it was okay.
--
Him and Kon had been hanging out in Titan's Tower, in the obnoxiously large living area fitted with everything a bunch of teenage superheroes could possibly need. Kon was lazily spread on the couch like butter on hot pancakes. Tim was next to him, rigid as ever. He was clacking up a storm; analyzing Joker's newest toxin. Bruce had demanded that Tim finish by tonight, so he was trying his best to finish on such short notice. Kon peeked up at him from his phone, probably watching some sort of stupid video. "Rob." Tim pointedly ignored him.
It was only when Kon grabbed him by his ankles and flew, leaving Tim suspended in mid air and his laptop nearly thrown across the room did he let out a long, unappreciative groan "what." Kon laughed "You'd think, with the way you work, that you're some underpaid salaryman in his 40s. Come on, quit being such a bore and talk to me. Why else are we sitting next to each other?" Tim was unimpressed as Kon set him down again "For the record, I was working peacefully when you came and sat down next to me," Kon grinned "Moral support." Tim rolled his eyes as he sunk deeper into the annoyingly comfy couch "And wrecked the whole quiet thing I had going on. I mean, I have to send this to Bruce in an hour!" Kon's smile wavered at that "But.. He had you on a crazy time limit yesterday. You just finished that case file last night. He already gave you a new one?" Kon said with furrowed brows. Tim shrugged, grabbing his laptop and continuing his typing "Yeah, well it is Gotham. Cases come in like crazy and Batman isn't often the most sound of mind when dealing with criminals. Nightwing isn't speaking to him either, or helping us at all." Tim chuckled, looking over at Kon, who's expression had soured with every word "So, they gotta rely on lil' ol me."
Kon pouted, crossing his arms "That isn't funny." Tim raised an eyebrow, he was feeling confused. Why did Kon look so sad, Was it something he said, his tone, his attitude? "What do you mean?" He settled on that. Kon just looked at him "I mean, B's always giving you a shit-ton of work to complete in a short amount of time, which is pretty unfair-" Tim opened his mouth to argue, but Kon raised a hand "Let me finish." Tim rolled his eyes, but relented. "Sure, the stage's yours." He snarked. Kon chose not to answer, "And the only other adult you're in contact with is currently holed up somewhere else and refuses to speak to Batman, and you by extension. Doesn't that make you feel angry?"
Tim hummed. So this is what Superboy was worried about? "Not really. I've never thought to be angry with them before. It is what it is in the end. They're not doing it because they're mad at me, specifically. I'm rarely affected badly by them." Kon's eyes just softened sadly. Tim could feel himself tensing. He hated that look. That pitying look that most certainly meant Kon thought he knew better because he was from Metroplis where the dogs shit rainbows and people get paid in sprinkles or something. He'd never understand how some Gothamite families coworkers interacted with each other. Whoop-de-fucking-do. He was gonna receive some high and mighty lecture from him, wasn't he?
Instead of the aformentioned, Kon just put his hand over Tim's, frowning. Then, he said it.
"You're allowed to be angry, Tim."
Tim's tight smile tightened. He wasn't angry at all, why didn't Kon get that? "I'm fine, Superman Junior. Really, I swear, I'm not angry at all." He believed his own words. He wasn't angry. Couldn't be angry. Because if he did, he'd simply never stop
Timothy Jackson Drake had a great many things to be angry for in his short, short life.
He didn't notice his own increasingly heavy breathing. The burning fury that lay dormant within his heart climbing it's way upwards, until his vision was filled with red. The smile fell off his face as he grit his teeth.
Kon was still looking at him.
Tim finally realized it. He was allowed to be angry, wasn't he? In the end, he wasn't a machine. He had thoughts and feelings, just like any other human being.
And any other human being would be pissed
Tim threw his laptop onto the floor, before reaching for the stupidly cheery mug on the table and chucking it at the wall. He continued his rampage, and Kon let him. Tim was a millionaire, anyway. He could pay for the damage. He ripped the curtains off the window, the shingles making a horrible sound, he threw the remote, shattered the TV, flung shit on the floor, ripped books that were filled with important cases. Anything and everything that wasn't bolted to the floor was a subject to Tim's wrath.
When he was finally done, panting and sweaty as he flung himself onto the couch, which was sans blanket and covered in stuffing, Kon patted his back.
Tim was so fucking angry.