Chapter Text
“Are you kidding me? Are you honestly excusing-” Tim looked between Bruce and his brothers as he voiced out the cruel unfairness he felt bubbling up his throat.
“Tim!” Bruce's voice cut through the screaming match like a sharpened dagger.
Tim turned to look at Bruce, his mouth just barely open, his expression evident to the betrayal he felt.
Tim's face twitched as the realisation settled in, heavy and indigestible.
Bruce sighed as he pinched the bridge between his eyebrows.
He glanced at the rest of the bats, Dick and Damian, who were staring, unaware what conclusion to draw. Well, they had been there for the very end of the fight, so who could blame them?
Bruce grit his teeth before he left, walking to his office.
The older man huffed out a breath of annoyance as his feet thumped further away, his figure dissapearing through the dark and quiet corridors of Wayne manor like the ones of a shadow.
The unfairity of the situation burned more than Tim would ever like to admit.
It gnawed at a specific part of his heart that had been long gone. It was disintegrated, rotten, so full of mold Tim was physically sick every time he thought about every burden it had faced.
Tim refused to consider that the thoughts that lived on his mind and spread like a plague, feeding on every ounce of happiness and peace like a feast, were because of his choice of lifestyle.
They weren't.
They might've gotten worse because of it.
But there were many reasons that he had turned out so- so broken, faulty.
But now the thoughts were starving. Tim would have to act on the self-destructive tendencies just to satisfy their never-ending lust and cravings.
They could only be silenced, fed, by the burning and sharp pain of a blade sunken harshly against skin.
If only they could live off of sadness and despair, they would thrive.
Tim's life was full of it.
He could feel his brother’s eyes bore into his skin, trying to prickle any type of emotion and read him just so that they could know how to proceed.
Tim didn’t even give Dick the chance to take a single step forward, nor did he allow Dick to begin his pity-talk.
He grabbed his phone that sat on the kitchen island before he immediately headed towards the door.
He put on his shoes before deliberately storming out, desperately hoping that the cold and gentle wind would snap him out.
Spoiler, they definetely didn't.
His body reached his room before his consciousness managed. That's why he was suddenly sitting at the foot of his bed and not by the orchids Alfred had replanted not so long ago after an accident.
Tim scratched anxiously at the healed skin of his legs, not taking any action to repeat the same self-destructive behavior.
Bruce wasn't worth it.
Jason wasn't worth it.
Damian wasn't worth it.
His parents weren't worth it.
No one was worth it.
That's at least what he was desperately trying to convince himself to believe.
He didn't expect the blade to reach his hands so quickly.
So cowardly.
Tim was choosing the easy way out. He had accepted the fact that he wouldn't change anyone's mind.
He had, kind of, made peace with that.
It took a while.
A lot of time.
Tim only felt bad for whoever had to find him. Something in him hoped him that once he was discovered, it would be too late.
There would be no way he could be saved from the self-inflicted injuries.
In his head, something was telling him that at least one person in this family would have guilt eat them alive, and that would be Dick.
But that thought was immediately ignored.
If Dick cared, if anyone cared, they would stand up for him, not watch everything unfold like an interesting episode of a series.
After the argument, Tim had focused mostly on YJ missions, and Bruce had focused on JL missions.
Anything to avoid each other.
Alfred barely disrupted Timothy when the latter did come home, seeing the clear disdain and lack of appetite. But the older man still tried to convince Tim to eat and take care of himself.
But after a while, it was enough. That's what the rest of them thought atleast.
Jason refused to let his, although idiot, younger brother act in such a way.
Skipping meals, definitely skipping sleep.
He couldn't get a word out of Superboy, who he knew Tim was close to.
And that drove everyone even more crazy.
Jason knew that Tim was angry, or atleast, had been angry at Jason, and Bruce.
But from Jason could gather from Tim's actions, the latter wasn't avoiding him, but Bruce.
So maybe the anger stretched differently than Jason thought.
Well, if it's one thing he can do, is trash talk Bruce.
And so he tried to reconnect with Tim.
Tim didn't even flinch, didn't even react when his door slammed open.
Tim was facing the window, his body laying comfortably on his bed.
Tim didn't even say anything when his matress dipped from the pressure that was being applied to the end of the bed.
"Listen Tim" Jason's voice was tense, yet soft.
It was clear that Jason didn't want to be having this conversation, but he couldn't do otherwise. And he knew it.
Jason paused, his nose twitching as he picked up the smell of something he was unfortunately too familiar with, but Jason chose to not comment on it.
Tim was more than capable to tend to his injuries, he had made that clear many times before.
"I know saying this won't fix anything, you can't change the past, or what you-I did"
At the silence that followed, Jason gulped.
"I'm not good at this, in case it's not already clear" Jason slightly smiled.
His little joke didn't lighten up the mood one bit, so he coughed to clear his throat before he continued.
"Tim, I'm not going to try to make you understand what i did- Hell there is not a single explanation that could justify what I did. What I did to you- The threatening, the torment- it was... unfair to you, it-"
when suddenly a sharp sound cut through the silence.
It was a small noise, yet it made Jason pause.
It was clear that something fell, it was something metallic, for sure, yet so small that the sound of it hitting the floor was barely audible.
The sound came from somewhere close to Tim.
"Tim?" Jason called out, his voice soft and cautious.
"Are you okay man?"
Jason was met with silence.
Tim wasn't mad at Jason, it didn't make sense. So why wasn't the latter responding?
Tim wasn't moving, Jason wasn't even sure whether he was hearing a stable breathing rhythm.
He hadn't said a single word, not a single snark remark, anything.
Jason scrunched his nose.
"Hey man, not trying to be rude but i think there's something wrong with your stitches."
Still nothing.
"I don't have stitches" Tim muttered, his voice strained, tired.
Jason furrowed his eyebrows.
"What?" He questioned. "But I'm sure that i can smell-" Jason tensed up, before he snapped out of his trance and leaned hurriedly over Tim, searching for anything that would explain the intensifying metallic scent.
"I'm sorry" Tim didn't really mean it. Atleast not in the sense that he was sorry for his actions.
He wasn't apologetic for what he did.
Far from it.
He was sorry for having someone find him so early on.
Jason didn't stop the search, but he was certainly confused by Tim's sudden desire to talk.
"What about r- baby bird?" Jason asked, his voice as calm as he could, he gently patted Tim just to make sure that he wasn't the one bleeding.
That was until Jason got up and walked towards the other side of the bed.
Tim was, or rather, had been crying. His eyes redder than Jason had ever seen them. It was clear that his tears were wetting the pillow, and keeping his eyelashes stuck together.
Jason furrowed his eyebrows at the lack of response.
Tim let out a sigh, it sounded so calm, yet so forced, like it would be the last time the latter would ever sigh.
"Tim-" Then Jason stepped on something that scratched the floor under his boot.
Jason lifted his leg and saw a bloody razor blade.
Jason paused for half a second, but to him it felt like an eternity.
Jason's brain was loading, gears shifting and twisting into place before he immediately yanked the covers off Tim and was met with the most breathtaking sight.
The stench became slightly overbearing, but the sight infront of him was even worse.
Tim's frozen stance, his chest barely rising as his left hand laid on the bed covers, mutliple slashes on it.
The blood kept on oozing, staining the bed even further with the dark colour. The covers had reached a point of no return, the red was so intense that Jason was certain that it would never wash out, atleast not completely.
Tim’s hands laid crossed over at the wrists.
"Tim- Tim! Tim can you hear me?"
Tim blinked, his eyes were almost half closed.
"Shitshitshitshit- Shit! Tim, keep your eyes open, okay?"
Jason's hand immediately went to put pressure on Tim's left wrist, where the slashes were deeper and more in number.
Jason had to suppress a gag.
He wasn't sure if what he was doing was helping at this point.
His right arm laid on top of his left, staining and leaving a red imprint on it.
Jason froze before he suddenly turned over the right wrist and saw the same amount of slashes, just way messier, deeper.
Jason didn’t remember making the conscious decision to scoop Tim up, yet here he was, his arms locked beneath Tim’s knees and shoulder blades, lifting the younger vigilante bridal-style against his chest. Tim was terrifyingly light, his head slumping back against Jason’s collarbone like a broken doll. Thick, hot crimson dripped down Tim’s wrists, soaking straight through Jason’s sleeves and painting the dark hallway carpet with every frantic stride.
The heavy, metallic reek of blood was already drowning out the usual polished cedar and beeswax scent of Wayne Manor.
Move. Just move. Jason instructed himself.
Adrenaline surged through Jason’s veins, a roaring, deafening noise that drowned out the quiet ticking of his own brain. His heart hammered violently against his ribs. Panic was a cold knife in his gut, but the combat training took the wheel, forcing his legs into a dead sprint down the second-floor corridor.
"Come on, stay with me " Jason growled, his voice a jagged rasp. He barely contained the trembling from his voice. "Don't you dare do this. Don't you dare."
Tim didn't answer. His breathing was shallow, a faint, thready whisper against Jason’s neck.
Jason was sliding slightly on the polished hardwood before regaining his footing.
His legs moving almost automatically as his mind had one goal in mind.
Reach the medbay before Tim was too far gone.
He took the grand staircase, three steps at a time, holding Tim tightly to his chest to absorb the jarring impact of each leap.
He burst off the bottom step into the ground-floor foyer, sweeping left toward the main living room.
Dick and Damian were sitting near the fireplace. Dick had a book in his lap while Damian was re-stringing a crossbow. The moment Jason kicked open the heavy oak double doors, both of them snapped their heads up. The air left the room instantly.
"Jason-" Dick began, his grin instantly vaporizing as his eyes locked onto the sheer amount of blood coating Jason’s forearms and the limp form in his arms. Damian stood up so fast his chair screeched against the floor.
"Grandfather clock! Now!" Jason barked, his voice cracking under the sheer weight of terror. He didn't slow his pace for a fraction of a second, charging straight past them toward the study. "Get Alfred! He’s in the library!"
Dick didn't ask questions. The instant shift from relaxed brother to seasoned leader was terrifyingly fast. "Damian, go! Get Alf!" Dick yelled, already springing over the couch to sprint ahead of Jason to clear the way to the study. Damian was already a streak of motion, tearing down the hall toward the library.
Dick hit the study doors first, throwing them wide. He scrambled for the antique grandfather clock standing in the corner, his fingers shaking as he grabbed the minute hand and violently dragged it round to 10:47.
With a heavy hydraulic groan, the face of the clock swung outward, revealing the dark, reinforced steel frame of the express elevator behind it.
Jason didn't wait for the doors to fully retract. He squeezed his way into the cab, Dick sliding in right behind him, instantly hitting the sub-level override button. The doors slammed shut, and the express lift dropped like a stone, the sudden plunge pulling the stomach up into Jason’s throat.
"What happened?" Dick choked out, his eyes wide with horror as he reached out, pressing his hands firmly over the improvised pressure wraps Jason had managed to tie around Tim's wrists. "Jason, what happened?!"
"He slashed his wrists, both" Jason breathed, his chest heaving, his eyes pinned on Tim’s pale, slack face. "I went up to talk to him- Jesus Christ, Dick he’s so cold."
"He's got a pulse," Dick said, his voice trembling as his fingers pressed against Tim's neck, not even considering touching the raging red lines on Tim’s wrists to measure his pulse. "It's weak, but it's there. Hold on, Timmy. Hold on."
The elevator hit the subterranean deck with a heavy thud, and the doors slid open to the vast, echoed cavern of the Batcave.
Jason burst out of the lift, carrying Tim across the metal catwalks in a blur of motion. The bright, sterile fluorescent lights of the Medbay hummed to life as they crossed the threshold. Jason laid Tim down on the stainless-steel surgical table, his hands shaking so violently he could barely take off Tim’s jacket.
"Don't close your eyes! Can you hear me? Keep your eyes open!"
Jason yelled as he held Tim's face in-between his hands, desperate trying to keep Tim awake without giving in to the urge to shake his head like a madman.
"I'm tired" Tim muttered, his voice faint and tired.
"No no no-"
Jason shouted to the empty room, his lungs burning, the adrenaline finally giving way to a sickening, hollow wave of pure panic.
The last thing Tim heard before his eyelids shut was the chiming of the elevator. But as Jason stared down at the dark red staining his own hands, all he could do was press his palms hard over Tim's wrists, praying the younger boy would just keep his eyes open.
Tim's eyes fluttered open, his eyeballs finding it hard to adjust to the absence of light.
He immediately took notice of the tight, heavy compression bandages wrapped thick and neat around both of his wrists, immobilized to prevent any tearing of the stitches.
An IV line was taped securely to the back of his hand, dripping fluid and pain medication into his system, accompanied by the slow, steady beeping of the heart monitor keeping time in the quiet room.
Tim moved one hand to wipe his eyes, just so that he could properly open his eyes and decipher more of his surroundings.
He was in a bed, but from what he could say he wasn't in a hospital, but at the Cave's medical bay.
At the realisation that he had made it, his face scrunched up in disapproval. His eyes begun to burn, just slightly at the overwhelming feelings that seemed to hit him in waves. Tim took in a shaky breath, his heartrate quickening just slightly. The heart monitor made sure that it was clearly heard throughout the whole room.
Tim wasn't mad just at the fact that he had survivied, but for being stupid enough for his siblings to find him.
Tim's hands felt stiff, like he couldn't add strength to the tips of his fingers, to his hold of anything.
It was like Tim's hands were ones of a doll, plastic and inable to separate his fingers.
The door opened, Dick was on the other side, eyes red and black circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept for days.
He almost dropped the glass of water he was holding when he noticed Tim staring at him, open eyed.
Dick walked- ran over to Tim, setting down the glass at the counter next to Tim's bed.
"Hey- Hey Baby bird, how are you feeling?"
Tim furrowed his eyebrows looking at the face his brother was making, like he wanted to bawl his eyes out but he suppressed it.
"Am i drugged?"
Dick cracked a small smile.
"Yeah, lots of painkillers" Dick chuckled before he smiled again.
"How long have i been-"
"Almost two days" Dick responded with a slight tremble in his voice.
Tim gulped before he turned to face anywhere else other than Dick, he felt his own guilt suffocating him.
"Do you need anything, food, water, some more pillows-"
"Some water would be nice"
Before Tim even finished his sentence a glass of water was presented infront of him.
He looked up at the man offering the water and he couldn't help but uncosciously gulp at the mere look Dick was giving him.
Careful not to rip his IV and stitches, Tim reached out his arm to grab it, yet his fingers didn't fully clasp around the glass, at least not tightly enough for him to actually hold up the water. Tim's arms felt numb and weak, an annoying pressure and itching were the IV was digging in his skin.
Tim's fingers didn't clasp around the glass, at least not tightly enough for him to actually hold up the water.
Before the glass could fall and either shower Tim or shower him and then roll off the bed, Dick put his hand under the glass.
"Sorry, sorry, i forgot that you-"
Dick's breath hitched, his eyes now darting from Tim's bandages to his face.
Tim looked at Dick, his remorse evident in his eyes.
At the softness of Dick's gaze, Tim pushed his lips to a thin line, contemplating something.
Dick couldn't stop the tears that filled his eyes, he quickly wiped them.
"Should i-" Dick's voice trembled terribly, so he paused for a few seconds to cough before trying again.
"Do you want me to do it for you?"
"What?"
"The water"
Tim grit his teeth before he finally nodded.
Tim felt like a person that was incapable of even taking care of himself.
Maybe he was.
It wasn't something new.
And it hurt.
Even before he did this.
The fact that he had his brothers and Alfred (never Bruce) check up on him regularly just to make sure that he was eating and sleeping.
It was humbling.
He had been taking care of himself ever since he could remember.
His parents would leave him alone for weeks, sometimes for months. He had a babysitter up until he turned 6, after that, he was expected to take care of everything, the house, his health, his school work.
But now, he was only dealing with WE and being a vigilante and he's 20, he's supposed to have energy, appetite for life.
In case you haven't noticed, he didn't have either.
Maybe he had given up after saving Bruce from the time stream.
Maybe he had given up after Ra's had thrown him out the window, left to die.
Tim still remembered the air rushing through his fingertips, his cape acting like a deceleration (επιβραδυντικό).
The air, numbing cold and the height of the building seemed never ending.
He remembered Dick catching him.
He was still yet to be convinced that Tim knew that he would be saved.
And maybe this incident, that had Tim on a bed, wrists wrapped with bandages and the iv replacing the blood he lost, had made Dick's opinion, final.
Tim wasn't a mind reader, he couldn't read body language just as good as Cass, but he was sure that Dick wouldn't be buying the 'I knew i would be saved' anytime soon.
Tim guessed that he would be monitored 24/7, even without Bruce's order (Tim doubted that Bruce would care enough for that).
Tim grit his teeth at the realisation that he would be cared for, watched over, like something fragile that needed protection from breaking, once more.
Dick lowered the glass when he saw Tim's expression.
"The others?"
"Damian's with Jason and Alfred"
Tim nodded.
Then Dick continued.
"They're baking you a cake" Dick chuckled, his eyes welling up with tears once again.
Tim didn't know how to feel about that.
He knew how much Alfred didn't want others to be in his kitchen.
How can he be so unwanted and at the same time needed enough, or maybe pitied enough to be baked something?
It was clear that no one in the manor needed him.
"Bruce?"
"Justice League"
Tim guessed so.
"Does he-"
"We were all trying to bring you back so we didn't have time to-..." Once Dicks began cracking he paused, realising how his words might've sounded.
"No, no he doesn't"
Tim nodded in acknowledgement.
It was clear Dick wanted to hold his younger brother, but he didn't know where to touch, where it hurt- He wasn't even sure whether Tim even wanted to be hugged right now.
There was a soft knock on the door, too soft to belong to anyone in this manor.
Tim was even more surprised when the door opened and he saw Jason opening the door carefully, slowly.
"How are you doing?" Jason asked hesitantly taking a step forwards into the room.
When did Dick even notify the others that he was awake?
What was Tim even suposed to answer to that?
Angry: Why the fuck did you save me? You shouldn't have intervened.
Guilty: Why did you have to find me like that? Why did I do that without analysing who would find me and when? (At least more properly)
Sad: Why am I still here?
Hopeful: Why does it seem like you actually love me?
Indignation: Why are you tormenting me? Making me believe that you love me?
If you care so much about me, why couldn't you have said something earlier?
Did you have to find me with my veins slashed so you can show me love? Even pretend love?
It didn't make any sense for this to be anything other than pretend or pity love.
Tim had done everything in his power to satisfy everyone in this family.
Yet every time he was met with a knife against his neck, his friends and family thinking he's mentally unstable, kicked and broken for merely trying to bring out a grown man out of depression.
"Tired. A bit tired" He shortened every single one of his thoughts to a single word. Tired. He was tired n every single aspect he could think of.
Jason nodded in acknowledgement.
“Does anything…” The rest of the sentence was implied.
Tim looked down at his bandaged hands.
“They… Only a bit weak, not hurting”