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There was this game that Tim used to play with his parents, back when he was young. He never liked it but it's what he'd ever known, and it's how he kept them proud. And for a kid whose only world revolved around his mom and dad, that discomfort was nothing but a momentary spark. A small obstacle with a praise waiting on the other side.
The first few times were the worst. His stomach growled painfully. His eyes swelled with tears, his muscles trembled and he hid his hiccups in the pillow, so Jack and Janet wouldn't know he wasn't having fun. They gave him a day though. A single day without food to see if he could be a good boy. If he deserved that ice cream cone— not the ice cream, just the cone— after the game.
It was the best one Tim had eaten, albeit dry and brittle.
They repeated the game once or twice a week for a whole month, until the prizes became bigger and the periods became longer. If he managed two days, three, four, he'd get a proper sandwich or the toy he'd been begging them for. He couldn't have both. He had to choose, to prioritise, and more often than not the need for comfort overrode the hunger.
After all, what kid wouldn't want to see their parents happy? Picking the toy put smiles on their faces that he hadn't seen when he wanted the food. He learnt to play with his toys sitting down. He slept on the couch, so he didn't have to fight the stairs. The kitchen was also closer and sometimes, he'd stare towards the fridge, realising he hadn't opened it in months.
Habits were really, truly an odd thing. Even when he moved in with Bruce, Tim kept forgetting that he didn't need to play the game anymore. He used to count the hours and minutes and seconds to his next meal and yet now, there was a stopwatch in his head. Going up and up and up…
Alfred beat some of it out of him. Not literally but the elderly butler kept a strict schedule on when everyone ate, bringing the occasional snack if Tim missed a meal. He preferred to sleep, all things considered. Hunger couldn't get him there and besides, he'd always been too weak to do anything else.
"B, you're not serious!" He remembered Dick say. It was a private conversation between him and Bruce, and Tim was kneeling by Bruce's study because he'd heard them arguing. "He's skin and bones! You can't— You can't put him out there!"
"Which is why I said I won't." Bruce's tired voice came from further away. "He asked me. He wants to do it but I already told him it wouldn't be happening. Not in the state he's in anyway."
"Not in any state, Bruce!" Dick kept on. "What? Do you want to waste another kid's life? To turn him into a crime-fighting fanatic like yourself? He's a thirteen-year-old boy in the body of a nine year old. He barely stays on his feet before he needs to sit down and I… I can't watch this, Bruce. I can't take seeing him passed out in the hallways because he can't walk himself to the goddamn kitchen!"
"Dick." Bruce mumbled so quietly, Tim almost didn't hear him. "Please…"
Silence spread across the whole floor and Tim put a hand to his lips to suppress a sob. He knew, the only reason Bruce took him in wasn't because Tim found out their identities. It wasn't the pleads to make him a Robin; to use him to get over Jason's death. He felt pity. Because he saw him faint on a rooftop, throwing up water he couldn't hold because even that made his empty stomach hurt.
"The last thing I want is another one of my boys to die."
"Master Tim." Alfred appeared that same moment, scaring a cry out of Tim. Bruce and Dick's conversation seized and Tim looked up at the smiling butler. "Perhaps you'd enjoy a light snack with me? I made chocolate pudding and a batch of cheesy breadsticks are soon to come out of the oven."
Tim furiously wiped his cheeks, then used the wall to stand up. His knees were shaking and a familiar black screen appeared before his eyes. It took a while to dissipate and when it did, he silently followed Alfred away from the study and down the stairs.
Then the first few times were the worst again. Every bite made him nauseous. He hated fizzy drinks, spicy food, meat, sugar, anything with too much spices and everything that had too many ingredients in it. He began counting again – the hours and minutes and seconds to the next meal but not because he anticipated it. He needed the time to mentally prepare to feel like a bloated, disgusting mess.
He had to do it though. He wanted to be a Robin; to prove to Dick he was worthy. Tim felt that same exaltation from his childhood when he saw the smile his finished plates gave to Alfred. Dick kept patting him on the back if Tim accepted a midnight snack. Bruce let him stay in the Batcave and watch him work, so long they had cut fruits to keep them company.
By the time Jason rolled back around, he only saw the residue of Jack and Janet's game and the efforts the Bats put at getting him healthy. Tim liked to eat little but often. Alfred kept his meals simple, making separate batches for him that had less flavour but were filling nonetheless.
Still, he'd gotten pretty good at the whole food thing and his habits could be blamed on being a picky eater than a guy who liked to starve. That's what it used to be, anyway. Having that nice, fuzzy feeling from being high on emptiness.
"Aren't you a little skinny for a Robin, Replacement?" Jason started, catching him off-guard on a Saturday night patrol. He'd been going in and out of the house for a while now, not on the bestest of terms with Bruce but enough to keep Jason from blowing the Manor to pieces. "I thought it was just the clothes that made you look like a stick but you could use a really big burger right now."
Tim scoffed and crossed his arms. Jason's words sounded ridiculous with the voice modulator, not to mention the remark Tim had heard a thousand and one times already.
"What do they feed you then, hm? Elephant meat?" He shot back. "I'd be surprised if stores carry your size at all. At least I know I can fit in any."
Jason cackled sharpy, putting his palms on his hips. "Okay, maybe you're not such a hopeless dunce after all."
Unlike the others, Jason didn't really care if he hurt Tim's feelings or not. He wasn't mean but he didn't step on eggshells around him either. If he thought Tim was being weird with his food, he'd say it and Tim found this approach way more bearable than the rest.
"That's fucking insane." Jay exclaimed, knelt over the edge. "You seriously never had Chinese before?"
Tim shrugged. They were back on another rooftop, not as enemies but reluctant allies. Bruce had found information about a new drug ring which had formed by the border between Park Row and Crowne Hills, a dozen streets from Sheldon Park. The storage units there had been abandoned for ages – perfect for keeping the stock hidden.
It was their turn keeping an eye on them but it looked properly empty and devoid of life. When Dick was patrolling it the other night, he'd said the same thing.
"The smell is just weird." Tim replied to Jason's question. "Like it's filled with some kind of chemicals or, I don't know. It also looks wet. And super oily. I don't like that either."
"Eating with your eyes is the reason you're a hundred pounds with wet clothes, Timbird." Jay stated. Tim pushed his shoulder, making the other lose his balance.
"I've gained muscle." He said defensively. "Just because it doesn't show doesn't mean it's not there."
"Sure." Jason didn't believe him for a second, even though they both knew Tim was right. He'd been on a steady weight gain since Jason moved in with them, and he was most definitely the culprit behind it.
Now too, Tim knew exactly what Jason was about to do. He watched Red Hood pull out his grappling hook, jump off and fly out of Tim's sight. The timer in Tim's head started again. He continued scouting the place from afar – vigilant – then Jason returned twenty minutes later with a huge plastic bag he plopped between them.
"C'mon." He said. "Close your eyes, Replacement."
He looked at the bag of Chinese food with scrutiny. He shouldn't have mentioned it to Jay but Jason would've bought something anyway. He always snacked during patrols, and always made Tim try whatever he was craving. Some were huge misses, like the Korean BBQ which made him gag, and others Tim had asked Alfred to make them regularly. Looking at the Chinese though, it'd probably be the former.
"Come fucking on." Jason groaned. "I don't have all night."
"Okay, okay… Jeez." Tim took out a rope and slotted it over his mask.
Not the most comfortable blindfold but like with everything else, he'd gotten used to it. It wouldn't be the first time Jason had made him do this manoeuvre.
"Okay." He heard Jason take off his helmet. Rustling. Styrofoam screeching. Tim slightly grimaced at the smell of fried rice but he didn't have time to think when Jason took his hand and wrapped it around the plastic spoon. "Try that one first. It's the best."
With his other hand, Tim traced the bottom of the spoon and brought it to his mouth. It tasted… strange. It wasn't as oily as he'd expected but the grains were a tiny bit mushy and he could recognise the corn, mushrooms and egg it had in it. Big fan of corn and egg. The mushroom? Barely.
"Yeah? It's good, right?"
"I don't know." Tim licked a piece of rice stuck under his upper lip. "It's alright? They overcooked it though. Doesn't have much salt."
"So you're a food critic now, huh?" Jason snorted. "Whatever. Give it back."
They repeated the process until Tim had gotten a taste of everything. Surprisingly, the spring rolls were fire and the salad with soybean sprouts made his mouth water for more. He took off the rope and there was a pleased look on Jason's face who offered the two boxes to Tim.
"Are you gonna eat all of this?" Tim turned to look at the other four.
"You kidding? Of course I will." Jason pointedly took a spoonful of rice and put it in his mouth. "I'm not a pussy like you."
The edges of Tim's mouth curled as he bit on another spring roll.
Nobody showed up that night but it ended with the two of them on the couch, eating popcorn. He used to think he wasn't made for popcorn (it stuck between his teeth and the taste of butter made his tongue tingle abysmally) but a couple of months ago, Dick gave him the caramelised kind and it'd become one of Tim's safe foods – much to Alfred's dismay.
So, he was good. He liked what he had with the Bats. Liked everything about his life, though being stressed about work was almost always the reason he skipped a meal or two. Not on purpose obviously. Well, sometimes. Feeling his belly press against his pants made him lose focus and he'd rather make another cup of coffee than be distracted by his gut processing another set of spring rolls.
"Tim." Bruce called as he approached the computer station down in the cave. There were a dozen open applications on various screens, one of which played a movie and the other – music. Tim wasn't sure whether he was bouncing his leg to the action sequence or the song beat. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah?" Tim didn't look away. "Why?"
"Because you've been sitting here for the past two days, that's why."
"Oh." He checked the date. Had it really been that long? "Sorry. Just. This case has been messing with my head but I've slept, I promise."
When Bruce didn't say anything, Tim glanced up. His arms were crossed and his eyebrows were raised in the "You're not in trouble, but you better fix this before you are" kind of way, that slumped Tim's shoulders even more.
"I'll finish it and come upstairs." Tim reasoned, seeing the way Bruce glanced at the untouched tray of snacks next to them. And the one on the table behind. And the six cups of coffee Tim'd been refilling until their bottoms dried. Shit. Tim pressed his lips together, awkwardly. "That wasn't on purpose."
"Mm-hm."
"I swear," he added as if that would've saved his skin. "I really forgot."
"You always forget, Tim." Bruce sighed, reached over the keyboard and in two simultaneous clicks, he switched the screens. "How come you never forget to drink coffee?"
"In my defence," Tim turned, "the coffee machine's right there."
"So is Alfred's food." B rolled the second chair closer and sat. Took the tray and put a grape in his mouth, staring at the movie he'd put on the largest display. "What're you watching?"
"I have no idea." He admitted with a scratch behind his ear. "Dick had some interesting titles saved, so I just let it autoplay to the next."
"Is that why Dick couldn't get into his account?" Bruce offered the silverplate. Tim's fingers twitched over the plethora of fruits, cheeses and salami, then picked the ones he liked best. "He's been using Jason's because of it."
"Oh, Jay's gonna be so mad when he finds out." Tim leaned on the backrest and got another few bites. He hadn't realised how hungry he'd become until he'd gotten a taste of the (stale but otherwise good) cheese crackers. "He hates it when you mess up his historical drama recommendations with action movies."
"Mm."
They watched in silence for a while and Tim stopped looking over the plate when he saw Bruce had already eaten all that he didn't like. He gave it to Tim. Took the other tray and was mindlessly moving snack bites to Tim's when he wasn't paying attention.
Just like Jay and his blind food tests, Bruce had his own approach with Tim. He was the only one who never pushed him to eat and yet, Bruce was the most aware of what Tim wanted. Perhaps it were his detective abilities or pseudo-parent instincts, but B had this cool little trick of picking and separating whatever Tim wouldn't touch, so Tim could have the rest.
It made for some fun (and equally tabloidable) moments whenever they went to a restaurant or gala. Jason loved to read them those Gotham Gazette columns with "Bruce Wayne taking care of his children" titles and a picture of him taking the cilantro leaves off Tim's fancy salad.
To be fair, cilantro sucked in general. Basil too. Parsley. Bay leaves. Their strong taste overwhelmed everything they were put in and Tim never saw the point of making a complicated meal with too many clashing flavours.
"Have you slept with her?" Tim suddenly asked.
"With who?"
"The main actress." He pointed at the screen, at the woman who was currently crying from losing her father. "I saw some tabloids of the two of you."
Bruce tilted his head like he was trying to remember, making Tim laugh.
"Okay, nevermind. By the look on your face, you clearly have."
A pause.
"Not with her." Bruce finally said.
"Hm?"
"I haven't slept with her."
Tim moved his eyes between him and the computer, the gears in his head turning. "Okay…? That sounds like an implication for something else. His sister then? The best friend?"
At both, Bruce shook his head. Another pause. Some more snacking. Then another thought came to him.
"Is it any woman on the movie?" Bruce didn't answer and Tim's back straightened in shock. "A guy? Which one? The dad?"
"Tim." B narrowed his gaze.
"The bartender. No! The reporter," and his silence told Tim everything he needed to know. "No way. Bruce!"
"Finish your lunch, Tim." Bruce gently cut him off because of course he did. He hated when Tim and the others brought up Brucie Wayne's escapades with the elite.
"So you just... Don't discriminate, huh? Wow. And just when i thought I knew everything about you." Tim shook his head, leaning to take the biggest bite he'd had yet. When he looked at him again (licking his fingers and everything), Bruce was already smiling. "What?"
Bruce shrugged. "I'll have to ask Alfred to buy more salmon next time. You seem to enjoy it."
"That's salmon?" Tim's eyes widened and licked his tongue over the top of his mouth. "Why does it taste so good?"
"I don't know but I'm glad at least one of us likes it. No matter how many times I used to tell Alfred not to get it, he never listens."
Indeed, all of them had their own food quirks. Their own habits that'd shaped over the years. Bruce hated seafood after a food poisoning incident with expired scallops. Dick couldn't stand the smell of citruses and Jason... Well. Tim would've said Jason liked to eat anything that caught his eye but that would be a lie. If there was one thing he didn't like, that'd be garlic.
Good for him. It meant Tim and Dick could have more of Alfred's marvellous garlic bread.
And while Tim was the most extreme case, they didn't judge him. They'd accepted those timers and stopwatches he had; understood that their current was like ocean waves – forever changing and never settling on the good or bad for too long. What was truly important was that Tim fought it, a day at a time until his parents game ticked to zero.