Chapter Text
Tim thinks that the start of his mental breakdown is when Bernard breaks up with him after Tim walks away from Robin.
Or maybe it was when Dick took Robin away the first time.
Or maybe it was when everyone he loved started dying when he was sixteen.
Or maybe it was when he was falling through that window Ra kicked him out of, thinking that Bruce would be proud of him for dying.
Tim supposes he has lots of reasons for losing his mind. Maybe he should have lost it sooner, actually, considering everything he’s been through. He’s been running around like a traffic light wearing tights since he was fifteen. Obviously, he can’t have come out of that without something being wrong with him.
Maybe if Tim were in therapy, he’d know.
Tim is not in therapy.
Tim is instead sitting at a bar in a club whose name he has forgotten, ignoring his phone.
Tim is old enough to drink now, not that the bartender seemed to believe him, curse his stupid babyface, but the security guard had let him in, so the bartender didn’t protest and got him his drink.
Tim doesn’t have a ton of experience drinking, but he’s trying his best. He’s tasted worse things in his life than the Vodka and Zesti he’s downing. He doesn’t even have to plug his nose to get it down like those God-awful concoctions Bruce used to make him drink for his “health”.
Tim still thinks that it was just another test that B put him through, endurance training or something. He hadn’t been able to prove it, though, and Dick was no help.
Dick has been such little help lately. It’s why Tim decided he isn’t speaking with him anymore. Well, Tim decided he wasn’t speaking to a lot of people, actually, so maybe singling out Dick is unfair.
If he were speaking to the people he loves, then they’ll probably notice that something is wrong with him and make him stop. Or maybe they wouldn’t, and that’s worse.
Tim is feeling freer than he’s felt in years, and he doesn’t want to give that feeling up yet. He’s spent so much time being responsible, he deserves to set his mind on the shelf for a bit. Tim will retrieve it at some point.
Probably.
So here he is at the club he doesn’t know the name of, after selling his houseboat to the first guy who inquired and putting all his belongings into a storage unit.
At the time, he was tempted to burn it all, but he didn’t have the permit for burning stuff in the city, so he compromised with a storage unit on the shadier side of town. Maybe it will get broken into. That’s a fun thought.
Tim doesn’t know where he’s sleeping tonight. Or if he is sleeping. Many exciting things to discover.
Tim’s phone starts to buzz. Tim stares at it and then calmly smashes it. The bartender eyes him warily.
“Bad breakup,” Tim informs him and downs his drink. “Can I get another one?”
After a moment, the bartender shrugs and makes him another.
By the fourth drink Tim has, he can probably say that he is drunk, despite never being drunk before and having no frame of reference. It sort of feels like being poisoned, actually, which makes sense in an unsettling kind of way.
Drunk Tim decides he is going to dance. Tim thinks he is an okay dancer. He can never fully get himself to relax long enough to dance with someone instead of against someone. It always kind of turns into a fight. Maybe Drunk Tim will have better luck than Sober Tim.
Worth a shot anyway. People usually dance at clubs. Tim thinks that’s right.
The dance floor isn’t super packed yet, it is still early in the night, after all, it isn’t even ten yet, but Tim doesn’t let that stop him.
Tim is unnoticeable anyway, so it doesn’t really matter if he is one of the only people dancing. It isn’t like anyone is going to remember him or like care.
He doesn’t know how long he stays on that light-up dance floor before it starts to fill up and someone grabs him.
Sober Tim would probably be more concerned. Drunk Tim thinks he can take most people, so he lets himself be led.
He dances with that guy for a while before getting bored and using his special Bat ability to vanish. The guy’s face is pretty funny when he finally notices Tim is gone. Tim laughs to himself and resumes his dancing.
A couple of more guys dance with him. Tim went to a gay club, he remembers now. He didn’t feel like dealing with straight men. Sure, some of them are bound to appear because women are here, but hey, what can you do?
This last guy seems familiar, though. Dark hair and blue eyes, which is very strange that Tim knows that because it is pretty dark in here and you can’t really make out eye color. The guy is just sort of holding Tim’s arms, and Tim is wondering why he isn’t pulling him closer. He straight-up yanked Tim out of another guy’s arms, so Tim really thought he wanted to dance with him.
The guy says something. Tim can’t hear over the music and is also pretty drunk, so most things are kind of gibberish right now.
“Tim,” the guy says. Tim thinks that might be what he said.
“That’s my name,” Tim slurs.
“I know,” the guy says (?). “What are you doing?”
“Dancing,” Tim answers, and then, seeing as this guy isn’t getting with the program, steps closer. “Duh.”
“Are you drunk?” The guy asks, or maybe demands.
Tim nods, which was a mistake. After his vision clears, he says, “I think so, I’ve never been drunk before.”
This guy is actually pretty cute now that Tim is getting a better look at him. Taller than him and built like a…. built thing….yeah, Drunk Tim is great at similes. Tim smiles and wraps his arms around the guy’s neck, and the guy lets go of his arms, startled.
“Something something Bernard,” the guy says.
Tim frowns. “That’s my ex’s name,” Tim informs the guy. “Please don’t say that name.”
“What!”
Tim decides this conversation has gone on long enough, and he leans up and kisses the guy.
For a second, there’s no response, and Tim is about to pull back, then suddenly, amazingly, the guy is kissing him back.
Finally, Tim thinks for some reason. He thinks he has wanted this for a long time. He doesn’t know why, though, considering he just met the guy.
Probably.
Warm hands wrap around his waist tightly, holding him for a beat or two before abruptly pushing him away. Tim leans up to try to kiss him again, and is pushed back more firmly.
Tim opens his eyes to find that the guy is blinking at him, completely godsmacked. Tim must be an incredible kisser.
“Stop,” the guy says, and Tim nods. Okay, fair enough, no kissing. Tim attempts to untangle himself, but the guy doesn’t take his hands off Tim’s waist.
Tim is confused.
“You don’t want to kiss me?” Tim asks because clarity is important in these situations.
The guy nods, then shakes his head, then nods again.
Tim is receiving mixed signals, and he is too drunk to decode them properly.
“C’mon,” the guy says. “I’m taking you home.”
“To your place?” Tim asks and doesn’t protest as the guy takes his wrist and leads him towards the door.
“No,” the guy says. “Yours.”
“I don’t have a place,” Tim informs him.
The guy stops. “What?”
“I sold it,” Tim says. “For like 2K I think. I probably could have gotten more for it, but I don’t really care.”
“Where are you staying then?” The guy asks.
Tim shrugs. “Dunno.”
“Dunno?”
Tim nods. “Dunno,” he agrees.
The guy rubs his forehead and sighs. “Fine, we’ll go to my place then. I need to call Dick and tell him–”
“–Don’t call him!” Tim says, jumping onto the guy’s arm and grabbing his phone out of his hand. Drunk Tim does not know why this guy is going to call his brother, but he knows he has to stop it.
So Tim takes his phone and throws it to the ground.
“Tim!” The guy exclaims. “What the hell, man!”
“I’m not talking to Dick,” Tim says, shaking his head, which was another mistake. “Nope,” he declares with blurry vision.
“So you broke my phone?!”
Tim nods. “I can replace it,” he offers, feeling a bit bad now. “I have like at least 2K to my name.”
“At least 2K?” The guy asks. “Don’t you have more than that?”
“I probably do,” Tim says, considering. “But I think I cut all my cards in half.”
“Why!”
Tim shrugs. “Probably because I felt like it. Capitalism bad.”
The guy sighs and picks up his shattered phone. It is still working just with a busted screen, unlike Tim’s phone, which was smoking when he was done smashing it.
“I won’t call Dick,” he says. “Please don’t break my phone.”
“Deal,” Tim says and holds out a wobbly hand. The guy shakes it. Good handshake. Too bad he doesn’t want to kiss Tim.
He still wants to take him home, though.
Tim decides he is fine with that. This guy seems trustworthy and didn’t try to break Tim’s face for throwing his phone. Not that Tim would have let him do that, but the guy didn’t even try any face breaking.
That is good enough for Tim.
The guy leads Tim into an alley before lifting him bridal-style into his arms. There’s a pressure that suddenly encases Tim, too, but it feels safe like Kon’s TTK, so he doesn’t mind.
“Hang on,” the guy says, and so Tim wraps his arms around his neck. “Not like–whatever, let’s go.”
Then he takes off into the sky.
The guy can fly, apparently.
“My best friend can fly,” Tim tells the guy, just in case he thinks Tim is supposed to be impressed.
“That’s nice, Tim,” the guy says.
“It is,” Tim agrees. “I have the best friends ever.”
“Best ever, huh?” the guy asks, amused.
Tim nods firmly. “And Kon is the best bestest of them,” Tim adds.
This flusters the guy for some reason. Tim decides it isn’t important.
He coughs. “Cool…. that’s cool, I’m sure he also thinks you’re…. the best.”
Tim thinks about that. “I dunno,” he admits. “I’m forgettable.”
“What do you mean?” The guy asks.
“If I don’t remind people I’m here, they forget about me,” Tim says. “I’m like barely a person,” Tim continues, waving a hand, “so it’s chill, I get it.”
The guy doesn’t say anything.
“Just because I get it, though, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt,” Tim admits. “Isn’t alcohol supposed to make you happy?”
“Not always,” the guy says.
“I want my money back,” Tim says. “I just feel shitty now, I felt good eariler or maybe I just didn’t feel anything. It’s like hard to tell the difference sometimes.”
“How long have you felt like this?” The guy asks.
Tim hums. “Maybe six years? Seven?” He tries to tap a finger against his chin but misses and hits his lips instead. He drags them down with his pointer. “Whenever it was that everyone died on me, or maybe always. I dunno, it just sort of feels like it has always been there, I’ve just ignored it. I’m super good at ignoring things. Especially feelings things. Like Batman is better, but I’m up there.” Tim lifts a hand to prove his point.
“I…. see,” the guy says.
“You’re a good listener,” Tim compliments him. He pats his cheek. “I like you.”
“I like you too,” the guy says, awkwardly.
Well, no one is perfect.
Neither of them speaks again. Tim is too busy making sure he doesn’t throw up and shuts his eyes, which seems to help.
Eventually, they touch down somewhere, and Tim opens his eyes to a familiar balcony.
Tim turns to the guy. “My best friend lives here,” Tim tells him.
“He sure does, Tim,” the guy says, and the door swings open on its own like when Kon uses his TTK to open things.
“He must be here,” Tim says and leans his head against the stranger’s chest. “I might pass out now.”
“Have some water first,” the guy instructs, and sets Tim down on the couch that Tim helped Kon pick out.
Tim dutifully downs the water he’s given and another glass after that.
“Can I pass out now?” Tim asks the guy, hopefully.
The guy runs a hand through Tim’s hair. “Yeah, buddy, you can sleep now. I’ll watch over you.”
“Cool,” Tim says, then immediately passes the fuck out.