#i am def reliving shit already | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iphoenixrising · 7 years

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Anything Angsty with Tim please. Recommendations, a fic anything, just feeling angsty .... (P.S doctor!tim is everything I've ever needed and looking forward to AOB part 5! You're amazing! Good luck with your day)

Hi babe. I’m sorry I kept this for so long, but I am def aware how much you love your pain (lol) and I had this idea spinning for a while, so… Yeah. But ah, I started thinking about this what-if from the Fracture Verse and it got really long and intense really fast>.Destroyed. Basically, the Titans take on theinvaders and most the JL mentors take their sidekicks for some R&R exceptfor Red Robin, who goes back to the Tower to take care of himself and Batmanjust kind of lets him go.Well, What-If B just wasn’t having any of that? What if shit started getting so real there and just ALL THE KNOWLEDGE DROP HAPPENS THERE INSTEAD OF A YEAR LATER O_O Like, Tim has only been back from his little torture vacay and then the mind fuckery of the Insurgents and just!

So…here it is.

All-in-all, invading aliens are douche canoes.

Seriously.

Kon, Cassie, Bart, Rave, Gar, and Miguel are allin agreement with him on this one; especially after they were all trapped in anendless of loop of their worst moment, worst losses, worst failures while stuckin the alien’s most powerful weapon: the Mind Trap.

Sure, it had been his brilliant, last-ditch ideato jump ball to the wall into the trap, giving him the access to their neuralnet he needed to break the hive mentality and shut them down from the inside.

It doesn’t make anything, any of it, anybetter.

While he’s reliving Kon’s final moments, Raven’snear insanity at the hand of Trigon, Gar’s out-of-control power ripping hisbody apart, Cassie’s nearly fatal injuries, Bart’s last wishes while hecoughs up blood and bile, Miguel watching his beloved slip in a coma to hoveron the edge of death—

While he’s doing all of that, Cassie is gettinghit with a two week span of time he was tortured as Tim Drake, Kon is getting aload of life with a ruptured spleen bleeding out, Bart is feeling the contagiontaking hold to kill Batman’s sidekick, Gar is feeling the pain when he, Damian,and Dick are fighting it out after the Robin tunic was given away without hisconsent, and Miguel is feeling a whole lot of owfuck from that time theRed Hood tried giving him a second smile to worry about.

But what matters in the end? With Raven’s help,he’s able to keep part of his mind partitioned off from the alien device so hecan live through the atrocities of his team and hack the invader’s tech at thesame time—enough to put in his carefully recalibrated virus to take them thefuck down.

The trap faded around them once the virus his jackpotand breaks the neural-net connection, essentially making the invaders as potentas five-year olds throwing temper tantrums.

The following beat-down is enjoyableenough to make up for the hour spent reliving their worst moments and fears, inhaving those moments share with the rest of the team.

Well, not really.

But still, it’s a pretty sweet revenge fight.

As per usual, the JL appears out of the sky overSan Fran once the main body of fighting is pretty much over and done with.They’ve already started on clean-up with the local authorities when Superman,Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Zatanna, the Flash, Martian Manhunter, GreenArrow, and the Batman show up to take a look around at the nice pile of former mayhem.

It’s a surprise when Superman goes straight forSuperboy, eyes wide with concern, gripping the teen’s arms and asking quietlyif he’s been hurt, is he okay? Does he need to go to the fortress for somehealing time?

Wonder Woman is similarly concerned upon seeingWonder Girl wavering with some bloody patches on her elbows and ribs, but it’sthe younger hero’s eyes that really bother her. Without a word to therest of the Justice League, she takes one of her protégé’s arms around hershoulders and takes to the sky, intent on going to Paradise Island for theyounger to recuperate.

The Flash pretty much catches KF in anall-encompassing hug, blurting out how bad ass the younger speedster didon such terrible bad guys, how proud he is of what KF did here today,how they need to check him over before he collapses, and just let me feedand care for you, little bro.

Zatanna feels the sharp, aching throb of paincoming directly from Raven, the power radiating in shards of agony. As a fellow magic user, she has no qualms going directly to the youngerwoman and talking gently, almost begging her to come to New York and the quietroom set-up to negate magic and allow for healing.

Martian Manhunter, who’s known Gar for years,sees the strain, the trembling, flinching muscle, and just pulls theunresisting Beast Boy up in his arms with something spoken softly against themop of green hair, and flies off with a nod to the Bat.

Red Robin, beaten and abused, bloody andlimping, is glad the JL came for his team; the aftermath of this, the rawnessof it, the pain, would be a real bitch for them to deal with. They would needthe support and the time to come back from the slideshow of horrors they allexperienced.

He turns away from the members of his team beingtaken away by their mentors and friends, going up to Cyborg with a copy of thevirus he created to take the Insurgents down, and gave the JL membersome of the deets about the who, what, when, where, and why since, you know,invading aliens are usually part of the JL’s extensive repertoire ofass-kicking.

He finally puts the bo away now that clean-upcrews are underway and the invaders are being detained by A.R.G.U.S. Withthe job over and done with, he pulls a grapple in one bloody hand, fires it atthe convenient rooftop to take to flight. Their part is done and AmandaWaller’s people can figure out what the fuck to do with the aliens.

At least from here, he’s close enough to theTower to get half-way there without doing more damage to his ribs and theterrible concussion—

(V)

—Vash the Stampede, hitting the back of hisbrain pan. He needs antibiotics and first-aid to stop the bleeding as well aspossible other bad shit, like septic shock, from setting in (since,really, it’s ass) before he starts up adding this little sitch to theTitan’s records. Then he needs to get back on the hunt for those curiouslywell-funded labs getting Black Market equipment, and—

The slight paf of another zip line shakeshim a little in mid-air.

The shadow of the Bat is coming right up behindhim, dark cape flaring out behind the older vigilante so Red can plainly seeB’s arm already out to grab him around the middle and pretty much pull himright the hell off his own zip line.

“What the f—!?”

But they’re moving through the air, his wordslost to the rushing wind while B’s line attaches to the Batplane flyingoverhead, retracting to bring them closer to the dark silhouette in the sky.

With his back pressed up against the yellow ovaland symbol on B’s chest (and once upon a fucking time this meantsomething, didn’t it?), and that arm like iron around him, Red’s lip curls upin a sneer, shouting over the Batplane’s engine making his hurting jaw achejust that much more.

“What the hell do you need?” The unsaid can’tthis wait? Is right there.

B leans in to talk against his ear while they’restill in mid-air, probably not at all aware of the ringing so loudanyway, “I don’t need anything. Hold on.”

But through the lightheadedness, the strikes ofvertigo, the nausea rising up, Red still clenches his aching jaw and focuses onhow the hold around his gut hurting this much proves he’s pulledsomething probably important.

“Then I don’t want a ride to the Tower. I’ve gotit” Because he does. He’s had to have his own back for the better partof two years, before and after he brought B back from being lost in time andleft the Bats to figure their own shit out. He’s stayed away from their familywhen he’s in Gotham, stayed back because, well, Replacement, right?

Even if he and Jason are on better terms than ‘letme show you the pointy end of this knife,’ he’s still not even fucking goingthere.

The exit door to the Batplane slides open rightunder the cockpit. “I’m not giving you a ride to Titan’s Tower.” Is B’srumbling reply as they close in.

“Not all of us can jump from one crisis to thenext. Give me 48 hours and then you can email me with whatever intel you’reafter.” But he’s blinking behind the whiteouts, feeling sick and fuzzy, theinjuries that apparently aren’t going to just wait a minute.

“I don’t need any intel, Tim,” B snapsout, seemingly angry at something.

Red is too far into the pain game to really givea fuck about more of this little back-and-forth with his former partner.“Then what the hell do you want?” He snaps back, gripping the armaround him at the wrist, pulling his secondary grapple for, you know, justin case.

(Well, it’s not like they’re on good termsor anything—B has a Robin, so what’s this all about?)

“Stop it. You’re going to fall,” the arms getstighter with his meddling, and Red gasps out a pained noise when somethingtender is squeezed right along with it. His upper body flops over B’s arm in anattempt to curl up against the pain.

He barely realizes they’re up through the doorand into the cockpit while the plane glides smoothly on auto-pilot. The minuteB’s arm falls away, he can brace himself on the control panel and try tobreathe without puking.

Gloved hands turning him makes him jerk back astep as far as he can in the small space, pulling away.

“Just…just get me to the damn Tower,” ishoarse, blood on the Batplane’s floor now. Great, he’s going to probably get a rightbitching in his voicemail from Alfred explaining what a pain in the assbloodstains are to get out, Sir.

“I’m not taking you to the Tower,” Bgrowls back.

And there it is again, Batman is gripping hisbicep, pulling him closer, the whiteouts dipped down and the free hand rovingover the torn places in his suit.

“Then why the fuck am I in here, and—and stopthat. Shit!” His knees wobble, his move to pull back aborted when agloved hand presses along his left side. Bile rushes up into his throat,swallowed back down by sheer fucking willpower.

“The Titans just took on invading aliens,Tim. You need medical attention and time to recuperate. Your suit stood up tomost of it, but you’re bleeding.”

Again. There it is. B saidhis name more times in the last ten minutes than he has in the last year. What.The. Ever. Loving. Fuck. Is. Happening?

“Then—” he stutters out between panting breaths,fighting the dizziness and pending gray edges to his vision, “let me go to the fuckingTower so I can patch myself up.”

B seems to finally get that something isrotten in Denmark, and lets Red pull out of the hold. With his vision failingand go time eminent, Red fumbles back at the control panel in an attemptto slam the button that will open the door back for him to jump out of and firehis extra grapple. Then he’s going to be hitting the Medical floor in like, sixminutes tops because much longer and he’s going to be in oh shit landjust like when the Triad—

He misses on the first shot because B knocks hishand away and the exit stays closed.

“Wh-What the hell are you—?”

And sometimes, B is just that guy becausethe corresponding blow to his worst injury is such a fucking dickmove.

But it has the intended effect, showing how weakhe apparently is because his knees knock together and go out on him. He wouldhave ended up on the floor if B hadn’t swept him up like some fainting lily andkicked the co-pilot’s chair around with one foot to set him down in it.

“You’re in no shape to go back to the Tower,” Bmakes it statement punctuated with the last hit.

“…asshole…” he faintly gasps while the painmakes him clench his jaw against a noise.

“We’re going to talk when I’m not worried aboutinternal bleeding and broken bones. Since when have you been taking care ofinjuries this extensive on your own? I’m fairly sure a stipulation to joiningthe Titans was that you keep me updated when you get hurt.” B fills in, handspausing when he realizes the Red Robin’s suit design is…different. Verydifferent. The design has changed, along with the security traps (and hewonders when it happened. He should have the current designs of allhis sons’ suits, including armor schematics and the necessary details).

His Bat sense is going off about everything,more so than when Clark first picked him up from Gotham to inform him theTitans are in the fight of their lives because invading aliens managedto bypass the Watchtower’s systems.

He’d set the Batplane for follow them, alreadyworried about how Red Robin would be holding up while Clark sped them as fastas possible to San Francisco, meeting up with the other JL members on the way.

None of them had to say how worried they were,it was evident, even if you weren’t the so-called World’s GreatestDetective.

But the nagging something tugging at hisinner sense when Red shot his grapple without even a word to him isgetting stronger, is making him worry a hell of a lot more than he was even anhour ago.

He feels out the obvious injuries, even withRed’s hand weakly shoving his away.

“No internal bleeding, nothing broken. Thisconcussion is the bee’s knees thanks. A stop at the Tower to drop me offwould be just—” and yes, B, that was one of their agreements.Back when he was still Robin, when someone actually gave a fuck. Healmost comes out with that, but stutters to a halt because Batman gives nofucks about anything but flicking out a razor-sharp batarang and cuttingthe tunic right up the center, pulling away the dented, broken armor to get tothe body suit and main bleeders underneath.

“Tim, I said I’m not taking you there. No one isgoing back for the moment, and you need medical treatment, these look serious.”B already has the gloves and gauntlets off, “Batcomputer,” he turns slightlyand gets the acknowledging boop, “full body scan of Red Robin. Send results toAgent A.”

“N-No, no, not—” but his arms flop uselessly andthe six-minute window has already passed him up. It’s fail timeapparently.

Behind the whiteouts, B’s eyes narrow with thisconsistent fight. There’s something very wrong here, something wrong when hisformer Robin is fighting him tooth and nail when he’s half-loopy on blood lossand exertion. “Yes. There is no way in hell I’m leaving you in the Towerby yourself like this. Not going to happen, Tim. I am not goingto let you bleed out all over your computers.”

And B shoves his cowl back to show thoseelectric blue eyes, narrowed stubbornly when there’s my way or no waygoing down.

“Why,” he stutters when black replaces gray andhis brain fuzzes more, starts shutting down because of the impending owfuck,“the hell does it matter? I’m not your fucking responsibility anymore, right?”

He tries to sneer, tries to move, tries to snarland snap about why not a little bit of fuck-off for your day, butnothing is responding to command. Before he blacks out, though, he gets to see thelook of utter shock on Batman’s face, and well, the small surge of satisfactionat getting the drop on the Dark Knight leads him to the way—

Out

“Septic shock?” Dick gasps, utterly dumbfounded.

“Yes, Master Dick,” Alfred carefully works,aproned and gloved, cleaning the last of the ragged, raw injuries before hewould need to wrap them. The boy on the bed isn’t moving except for his chestrising and falling with slow, even breaths.

He does, however, press a button on the touchpadabove the bed in the Cave’s medical area to show the outline of a human bodywith a glaring red circle.

“It seems Master Timothy is no longer inpossession of the viscera necessary for fighting off infections.”

Bruce in only the body suit, Dick in sweats andt-shirt, and Damian without the domino all turn to Alfred.

And stare.

“You are saying he no longer has a spleen?” Damiverified, “and is thus more prone to illness?”

“That is precisely what the scans are showing,Master Damian, and I ran them several times to verify.”

The youngest Bat blinks once, blinks twice, andturns back to the unconscious form of Tim Drake lying still and silent. It wasbad enough the four of them received a nasty shock while peeling the RedRobin body suit off to reveal a mass of still-healing welts, burns, and brokenskin marring the span of Tim’s back (what the hell happened?) andthe other injuries in the process of healing, injuries that look suspiciouslylike torture on his upper body, arms, and hands; not to mention howAlfred huffs angrily at the visible curve of ribs standing out against paleskin, but finding out he also lost, you know, a semi-crucial body part sometimesince his last Bat-physical (hearing the date is the next shocker of thenight) is pretty much the last straw.

“I’m going to do some research. Let me know ifhe comes to, Alfred.” B turns away with a snarl, the muscles in his back andshoulders tight.

“I shall, Master Bruce. However, I have nointention of tying him down to the bed frame. Should I be detained with dinner,please refrain from using cuffs.”

“I’m not making any promises,” Bruce snaps back,already in his chair at the Batcomputer to start digging into the last sixmonths of Red Robin’s vigilante career and Tim Drake’s personal life.

Gingerly, Dick ruffles Damian’s hair and movesto sit on the medical bed by Tim’s hip, staring up at the closed eyes and slackfeatures. He doesn’t process Alfred taping gauze down on the current injuries,but picks up a bruised and battered hand to hold in both of his while lookingat a very obvious scar now that he knows some of what’s been going on inthe time since Tim has been back to the Manor after the Robin mantle went toDami.

(And Dick feels like a right bastardbecause he remembers coming up the stairs, thinking Tim might have been in hisold room after their thing with Ra’s people before B had been found—whenhe thought Tim might have come to his senses and come home to be RedRobin here with them…and found Tim’s room empty. His things moved out, theshelves missing his usual array of books and video games, no clothes in theclosets, no extra suits in the hidey holes, no shampoo in the shower ortoothpaste on the sink. The Flash shower curtain is gone, replaced by a genericone in most of the other guest rooms. And just turning in circles, the hardweight in his chest, the utter pain when he realized Tim never meant to comeback. He was already gone from the Cave where Alfred had patched him up,where Tim had told Dick specifically, “You’re my brother. I knew you’dcatch me.”)

He sighs, shoulders rising with the move. Hedoesn’t say anything as Alfred continues to dress the injuries and Tim sleepson.

It’s not very long before a sharp intake ofbreath from the computer draws their eyes, and B is typing furiously to getmore information. Hacking into the Tower’s mainframe is child’s play,especially when he has Vic doing the hard work.

Tim’s ghost drive, however, is yielding moreresults than he anticipated.

The video file labeled Triad makes hisstomach churn.

Dick leaves Tim to sleep off the drugs andantibiotics, for his fever to slowly come down under their ministrations. Hegrins a little at Damian asleep in the chair next to the medical bed and stepsover to the computer where Bruce is looking grim, fists clenched tight on thecontrol panel.

Dick almost asks, almost, until hecatches the video playing—

And watches Tim Drake take a whip to the backwhile their former Robin is screaming.

“Oh…Oh my God,” he blinks, chest tight,nausea rising up when the footage skips and the next scene is Tim being helddown by the arms and shoulders, the remains of his business suit ripped to givea span of bloody skin for the glowing hot iron bar to be set down.

He doesn’t know when he moved or when B got tohis feet while the two of them try very hard not to be sick as Tim screamedover and over on the security footage.

They stand together, silenced by horror as theslideshow continues, as Tim is tortured over and over, as one of their ownattempt to escape, gets to the control room and tries to get a communicationout to the outside world.

By the time they have the full picture of howthose marks got there and what Tim Drake had to go through, Bruce is deep inthe Bat, anger radiating from every pore.

Tim was abducted outside Wayne Enterprises ashis daytime persona, as Tim Drake, CEO, and none of them had known a damn thingabout it.

It’s almost forty-eight hours later.

The Bats are in from patrol and upstairs to dohuman things, like sleep and eat and bathe (because the sewers of Gotham are nastyno matter how many times you’ve been down there—the sitch never gets any better).B has scrubbed down and changed in the Cave, making sure he was free ofcontaminants before coming over to check on his still-sleeping Robin. Handsaccustomed to delivering pain are absurdly gentle when he lays a palm on theback of Tim’s neck, glad to see his temperature is finally getting back tonormal, and checking the IVs as well as the bandages on Tim’s healing back andnewer injuries on his side and knee. He ruffles the too-long hair gently beforegoing up to check quickly on Alfred and the boys before planning on coming backdown to stay close to Tim, hoping he might be stable enough to wake up and talkto them.

So the Cave is empty for the moment when themachines attached to the sensor clamped on Tim’s finger and the little stickypads on his chest start to pick up slightly. Not enough to trigger analert, just enough for him to blink open his bleary eyes riding the dredges ofpainkillers and sedatives.

It’s the Bat-cocktail of owfuck.

Really, he should have known better.

The fog is clearing out while his head flops onone side to look around and see where he’s—and what’s happ—how did—?

His head flops to the other side, eyes wideningwhen he realizes the big car is parked a little past the curtain, and on theother side of him, the Batcomputer looks the same, but there’s a few morethings on the control panel.

He gets the urge to violently hurl oncethe screeching overhead signals where he’s at just in case, you know, theremight be any doubt.

The air in his chest chokes off, leaving himcoughing hard for a few seconds, enough that the pulsox beeps once in warningand he struggles to get himself under control.

The haze of painkillers is still there, but nothingshort of death is going to stop him. Instead, he uses the lead to pull thelittle machine close to him and manages to pop the casing off. A few wires and boom,he takes the sensor off his finger and the monitor keeps going. It takesmaneuvering for him to sit up enough to reach the heart monitor and do prettymuch the same.

There’s cameras everywhere, but he’s sure no onewould be watching (because why would they?) as he stands on stiff,aching legs, manages to stumble a little before righting himself.

The knee isn’t going to get better anytime soon,so he’s good to be limping around because at least that means he’s onhis feet.

The Red Robin suit they must have taken off ofhim is folded neatly on a workstation table, easy to pick up.

He feels immensely better with the body suit on(even if the pressure on still-healing injuries is about a bitch, damn);boots, gloves and gauntlets, harness and utility belt. It’s enough to rock.

A domino goes on while he nabs his somewhatstitched back together cape, but the armored tunic is totes a lost cause.

Bummer.

With the machines beeping steadily behind him,Tim leaves the tunic, makes his way further down into the Cave, favoring theleg, moves as straight-backed as possible to keep the marks on his back frompulling and getting sore all over again, as been the pattern in the last monthsince he’s been back from a certain little vacay.

(And it’s fucked how B probably saw thosemarks isn’t it? Just another check in the who gives a shit category…but,the old memorial case with Jason’s Robin suit is still there where it’s alwaysbeen—and a double-take confirms it. His first Robin suit is in a new case nextto it. Mother. Fucker does it makes his chest hurt.)

The line of just in case vehicles is inthe same place it always was. A crappy beater for Matches Malone, a van forpick-ups, an Ambulance in case shit gets real. A covered car in the backcorner that is terribly, achingly familiar, and his eyes skitter away from it,just like he did with the memorial cases.

Instead, he goes to one of the four Ducati’sserviced and ready to rock, lifts up the seat while balancing on his good leg.Keys fall into his palm, so score.

His hip only hitches slightly when he throws thebad leg over the bike so the good one can steady it, and the bruises tomorroware going to be fucking beautiful.

But for the moment, all good. He’ssitting down at least, and flips the bike on, raises the bad leg to start theengine—

When Dami drops down from the ceiling vent andlands a few feet in front of him at a crouch.

No suit, no domino, but the pose is all Robin.

A Robin in his pjs, but then, well, there’sschool and shit in the morning isn’t there?

“Drake,” a low, almost-question.

“Nice to see you too,” he smirks with oldbitterness, just waiting for it.

Dami’s eyes go from the whiteouts to the bikeand back up. “This…is not a favorable course of action,” is said morecarefully than he can remember the Demon ever being.

“What now?” Because seriously, what now?

“You have been recovering from septic shock,”the youngest informs him, still in that crazy careful tone. “Among otherinjuries. It would be best if you stayed where you could be monitored shouldyou relapse.”

Now he thinks he might be more loopy on the I’mfucked up cocktail than initially assessed. Things just aren’t…aren’tmaking sense here.

“I’m in a multiverse aren’t I?” Is a stupid butkind of valid question.

Damian, however, is not amused.

“You are a fool. This is not surprising. However,as I have been informed, your team stopped an alien invasion. That if nothingelse would merit time, Drake.”

“Telepaths that want to take over our world are assholes.Haven’t you figured that out yet?” He comes back easily, “and I have a place torecoup. It would be nice to be on my way there right about now.”

The bad leg comes down, shooting a thrill ofpain up, but fuck it. Really. He needs to get out of here before JasonTodd comes around to give him a bro fist or something else just ascrazy.

The engine purrs to life against his thighs.

Again, it’s opposite day because thatlittle brat is leaning against the handlebars, scowling and talking over theengine instead of doing things like, you know, moving.

“I would not do this if I were you.”

He blinks behind the whiteouts. “I don’t knowwhat the fuck is going on here, but this is getting to creep-tasticsproportions.” He leans over the handlebars as much as he can without someserious owfuck hitting, “you wanted me gone, Demon. Riff raff,remember? That cut zip line? You think I need a written invitation toget the fuck out?”

Dami’s eye widen a fraction before narrowing,the little asshole leaning in as well like they’re going to fight it out forsome crazy reason because this is what they all wanted butwere too chicken-shit to tell him.

“Dick’s too nice to say it, but you think hereally has to after all this time?”

“Grayson—” Dami starts, voice raised to be heardover the purring engine.

“Never wanted me either. I guess you and JasonTodd were right all along. Want to gloat about it? How about you do it overSkype so I can get back to my life?”

Dami growls, baring his teeth in a snarl, “no,you fool. Grayson has missed you unbearably in the last twoyears. He has attempted to keep track of you while you searched for Father andthen later when you re-joined the Titans. He is the one that built the case foryour Robin suit.”

And just…what the ever-loving fuck?

“I am aware of how things were left whenI began my own time as Robin, Drake. I am aware of—”

“Get off.” Because now he’s blinking behind thewhiteout, his eyes getting hot and wet fast. “Get the fuck off.”

“No!” Damian snarls back, gripping thehandlebars tighter, like he has every intention of holding on. “I refuseto let you leave like this!”

And so, apparently it’s time to spell it out.“No one gives a shit if I’m here or not.” He shoves himselfstanding, old, buried pain rearing up from the terrible place in his brain panwhere he’d buried it all just so he could keep moving. “They let meinherit the cape because I was an asshole kid and found out theirsecret. They let me keep it because I did an alright job at keeping Bfrom fucking himself up like Robin is supposed to do. And he took me inbecause my fucking father was murdered when my identity was compromised.It’s ‘adopt an orphan syndrome,’ Damian. That’s it. I fucking Get.It. Now.”

Those eyes narrow, color rising to the youngervigilante’s face. But Tim leans down, blinking rapidly behind the whiteoutbecause he’s not going to give him or any of them that fuckingsatisfaction.

His voice is low, almost angry if it didn’tcrack, giving away more than he wants, especially to Damian. “Besides,why would they want the replacement when they’ve got the real son in thecape anyway, right? You said that, and you were right, weren’t you?”

“N-none of that—Drake…Timothy, youdon’t honestly,” and the twelve year old almost looks his age for once, “youdon’t honestly believe that.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up in a veryunfunny smirk, “I’m a detective, Damian. I don’t believe anything until I haveevidence.”

The younger Bat sputters a moment, looking oddlyshell-shocked, but he doesn’t let go, refuses to give up, “evidence? Openyour eyes, Drake. Father ordered the Justice League to attend your battleas soon as he knew, made Kent come to pick him up as he knew it would be thefastest way to get to you.”

“What part of aliens wasn’t clear? Thatis usually JL territory, we just happened to call dibs.”

Dami’s fists tighten around the handlebars, “Ihave been Robin for three years. Three years, Drake. If there isanything I have learned in that time, it is how Father would not leave any ofhis Robins behind. Not even you.”

Welp, that’s going to be a very hardeventual realization for the kid. But really, it isn’t any of his businessanymore. None of this is.

He sinks back down slowly, painfully becauseit’s time to go. “Get out of the way.”

The hair on the back of his neck, however, cutshim off, makes his straighten up again on the bike and rev up the engine. Damiisn’t moving, but is just staring at him looking like he might pull out thatwicked katanna for a little sliced n’ diced vigilante rather than dealwith his shenanigans. Not like it’s nothing new.

But the ghost sensation has drawn the brat’sattention as well, those eyes drawn over Tim’s left shoulder.

Without turning to look, he gives the standard,“thanks for the pick-up. Let me know when you need the next batch of intel.We’ll have a crime-fighting party with confetti and everything.”

The hand on his bicep is something he hadn’tanticipated, startling him to look up at Bruce’s bare face and angry eyes.

Oh shit. Batman’s not a happy camper. Time tohit the dirt.

From his other side, Dick comes out of nowhereand reaches around him to turn the bike off and take the key out of the ignition.

Oh, so that’s how it is? After all theyears he put into maintaining the bikes and cars just like everyone else—

“Like I said,” he deadpans, trying very, veryhard not to get pissed off at the snub, “thanks for the pick-up. I’ll gettogether whatever data you’re looking for when—”

“Get off the bike, Tim,” Bruce emphasizes theorder with a tug to his arm.

“Seriously?” Well, there goes the best ofintentions, “I’ll bring it back if this is a problem.”

“Not the point. Get the hell off the bike.”

He shoves himself to his feet, already planningon hitting up Kon in a quick text just to get a ride out of here as fast asfucking possible, itching to jerk his arm out of B’s hold (and dammit,he hates to do that now that Clark isn’t being an asshat extraordinaire). So helets it ride for the moment since, well, he pretty much shouldn’t be hereanyway, so the lecture is probably going to be fucking spectacular.

His hip hitches again when he swings his legback over the bike, but it’s only slightly painful this time around. Nope,there’s more pain elsewhere that has nothing to do with skin and soft,fleshy bits.

He in no way is prepared for Bruce pulling hisarm up and around those massive shoulders, bending down enough to be aboutTim’s height. The limp isn’t as bad with B supporting him with an arm aroundhis waist (under the worst of the older marks) and gripping the wrist, walkinghim right the fuck back into the depths of the Cave where Alfred is waitingwith hands properly folded behind him.

“Ah, the patient is awake,” Alfred is calm,cool, and collected as per usual. “Perhaps a stronger dose of painkillersshould have been in order.”

“Not necessary,” he fills in shortly, pullingaway from Bruce as soon as possible, a passing glance off the machines he’dreconfigured. “Thanks for patching me up, Alfred.”

The butler sighs through his nose and it’s sopainfully familiar. “Of course, Master Tim. If you would be sokind as to change clothing, the bandages will need to be checked again.”

He holds up a hand, “again, not necessary. I’mon my way out—”

Dick shoves sweats and a t-shirt in his chest,jaw clenched tight enough that a muscle is jumping there, and it’s fine,he gets it. Dick doesn’t want him there. He really doesn’t need this—

“I’m trying to be out of your hair,” hegrowls back at the former Batman and current Nightwing. “I didn’t ask tocome here. Not my bad.”

If anything, Dick’s expression gets even angrier.Angry enough that the hands holding the clothes are trembling finely until Timtakes them just to get the older vigilante to step back.

“Drake,” and it’s really saying something when Damianis the one stepping between them, trying to keep, well, whatever peacedistance can realistically bring. “This is difficult to believe, but there is agrave misunderstanding happening here.”

His eyebrows draw together, head tilted down tothe youngest, but he wisely remains silent because there’s volumes hecould say about that.

“Do you need assistance, Master Tim?” Alfredcuts in, trying to divert the brewing storm raging in Dick and Bruce’sexpressions, “I should say some of your injuries must be rather painful at thisjuncture. Your back, for example—”

“I’ve got it. Thank-you.”

“Very good, Sir. Once you have changed, I have adelightful pot of coffee and breakfast—”

But those words make his head snaparound, “coffee?”

Because yes. The answer is always yes.

Alfred hums knowingly, “indeed. I believe it isthe Sumatra brand you seem to favor?”

And dammit. Just, dammit Alfred.

In reply, he limps back to pull the curtainclosed in the sectioned-off medical area, flopping the sweats and t-shirt downon the gurney. Deep, cleansing breath, and he reverses order, taking off glovesand gauntlets, boots, utility belt and harness, cape and dom, leaving the bodysuit for last (since there’s the most owfuck of the day).

“Tim? You okay?” B’s voice is softer, floatingover the partition, his silhouette against the curtain.

“I’m fine,” he taps on his wrist computer withone arm through the t-shirt. Getting the sweats on is painful but it’s whateverreally, the knee isn’t going to get any better so no use whining about it.

Instead, he puts the wrist computer back on hisforearm and comes out a la civvies, his too-long hair probably wrecked,but with a KO of approximately two days?

He shoves the curtain back, cracking his neck,and starting to move to intercept Alfred’s approach. “Bandages are clean, soI’m good. Thanks.”

The butler tisks and gently simply steers MasterTim back to the gurney, “I will need to check your levels as well as theinjuries you are unable to see, Master Tim. You certainly cannot assessyour back unless you’ve taken to perform feats of magic?”

The others approach, watching with grave facesas the butler allows a cup and saucer inside the medical area, an excuse tokeep Tim’s hands busy so work can be done.

“My levels are f—” The smell hits like anaphrodisiac and his eyes fall half-mast just because coffee.

“Do not say ‘fine.’ For a young man without thenecessary organ to build up proper immunities, then I would dare to say yes.However, for a crime-fighting vigilante, your white cell count is woefully deficient.”

Oh. So that’s whatthis is about?

Shit.

“I’ve had enough time to adjust.” Is all hebites out as the butler gloves up, winds a stethoscope around his neck.

When B’s hands plant on his hips like he iswinding up for the mother of all lectures, and Damian puts a hand toDick’s forearm to stop him from saying whatever might be ready to comeout of his mouth, Tim realizes how much of a thing this might be.

The butler, however, just frowns, “then I willpose the obvious question, Master Tim. How many episodes of septic shock haveyou experienced before now?”

His jaw clenches, eyes close briefly becausewhen he got off that fucking ship—

The pinch to his inner elbow jars him out of it(luckily) or he might still be smelling stagnant water and imagine the worldrocking under his feet.

“Twice,” and he leaves it at that, going morepale at the bits flashing through his brain pan.

Alfred removes the syringe, tapes a cotton ballto the small wound. “Twice, Sir?” is quiet, neutral.

Tim swallows, looking at the span of wallinstead of any of them, “yeah.”

“Once recently I’m afraid?” And Alfred sets theblood sample aside, easily moves a gloved hand to be under Master Tim’s stillholding the delicate saucer. The minute clattering stops when he does.

“Yeah,” hoarse, but fuck yes.

“Your back, Tim?” now Alfred’s tone is movinginto soothing, someone that can (used to be) be trusted.

Still staring at the wall, keeping himselftogether, Tim gives a short, pointed nod.

“What—” Dick steps a little closer to his side,not enough to set him off, but enough to reach out, slowly, easy, “who did thatto you, Timmy?”

His shoulders tense with the contact, and heblinks hard, shaking himself out of it, shaking himself the fuck back tothe present. He lifts the cup and takes a drink of utter heaven.

It helps to steady him, to keep his head outof the two weeks he spent being tortured as Tim Drake, CEO, and the more recentfight with dick bag aliens.

“I took care of it.”

“That doesn’t tell us anything,” Dick counters.“Timmy…you were tortured.”

And well, yes. Yes, he was.

“Yup,” is his soft admission, staring down intothe depths of his coffee while Alfred moves around behind him and the shirtinches up his spine, making his hackles rise just slightly. “I was.”

And he knows, he knows, Alfred was tryingto be careful, wasn’t trying to do anything, but the wounds, the memories, allof it was still so new and raw, that when the touch hits the wrong spot,reminds him of a burning iron bar pressed against his shoulders, he chokes andmoves without thinking.

The cup and saucer crash to the floor, and he isup, moving away, spinning in mid-air, landing at a crouch with his legand back screaming, his eyes wide, hand automatically poised in a nerve strike.And he can fight, he can fight, and he can win. He can save them thistime, save them all, and he can—

He can, he will.

Whizzing and moving, focused on not throwing up,focused on not stopping.

Bruce is gripping his face between those massivepalms from one blink to the next, and Tim realizes he must have been movingagain because they aren’t standing by the medical area anymore.

Instead, he’s pinned down on one of the big matsused for practice and training half-way across the Cave, the vinyl soft andworn-in under the arm Bruce has pinned at the wrist. His back is fucking agonybecause he’s laying down on the healing injuries. Worse, he’s shaking likefuck, the coffee in his stomach rolling with it.

“Tim! You need to stop. Just. Stop.”

But it’s just as bad because he can’t be helddown.

That…he’s not good with that, and hiships take over regardless of owfuck, bucking up enough to get Bruce offhim so he can turn over, land on all fours and gag.

“Fuck…fuck…fuck…fuck…”

He gets a million vigilante points for notthrowing up his coffee.

A. Million.

Plopping down on his ass to try getting air backinto his lungs, however, is seriously the best idea for the moment even if he’sshaky as fuck and probably embarrassed the shit out of himself.

(Regretting letting him back in now,aren’t you?)

Dick kneels in plain sight, ducking down tocatch Tim’s rapidly blinking eyes. “Hey, just me,” is meant to be soft andsoothing.

It’s not.

Instead, Tim closes his eyes again it and triesto calm himself but his brain is too fuzzy, still half-stuck on the ship, inthe mind trap, in his team’s memories—

“…something for me, Tim. Let me know you’rewith us.”

He doesn’t open his eyes so he can’t see whateverexpression is on those faces.

“Should have just…dropped me at the goddamnedTower,” he manages hoarsely, bringing his knees up to hold his heavy head.

Bruce, refusing to be diverted, gets closeenough to wrap his long fingers around Tim’s ankle slowly, carefully. “No,” heclaims slowly, mind working furiously at the flow of new and disturbinginformation, “no, Tim. I’m glad, very glad, I brought you home.”

The laugh coming out of Tim’s bent head ishalf-way to a sob (home? There hasn’t been a home in a while actually),and Bruce’s hand moves up to grip into a calf instead, sliding subtly closer onhis knees.

Dick paces right beside him, being absurdlycareful, recognizing the reactions, the instincts Bruce bred into all hisRobins to fight when you’re out of all other options. It’s knee-jerkreaction to any situation.

“You blanked out for a few minutes there, Timmy.It looked like,” he hesitates slightly from saying it even if he has plentyof experience dealing with this kind of thing, “you were having a flashback.”

“I don’t talk about it,” is the hoarse reply,the horrible panting sounds finally easing down.

“I think we’re going to try checking over yourinjuries again,” Dick gingerly touches a few fingers to Tim’s limp hand,“without trying to set you off, okay? We’ll…Timmy, we’ll be right here withyou.” His finger firm a little, squeeze Tim’s fingers before the hand jerks outof his hold, the leg moving away from Bruce.

Tim scrambles backwards on the mat, shoves tohis feet because ignoring pain is something he does like a boss, but pity?Oh, he gets all kinds of pissed off about it.

Just ask Kon. The impressive choke hold issomething the super is probably never going to forget.

“I don’t need checked over. I don’t needanything other than a way to get back to my damn Tower—” and the fuckaway from here is implied.

Because really. They can stop this moundof variable bullshit anytime now.

“I don’t need whatever in the hell this,” andhis hands flutter around for a second, “this shit is all of a sudden. I lead mydamn team, and it doesn’t effect how I work. How I’ve workedfor the last few years. I’m. Fucking. Good.”

Bruce’s mouth flattens into a grim line, staringat his third Robin, the son that took his name without qualm, the son he’d letget too far the fuck away because he felt like he didn’t belong in hisown home. And Dick might share the burden of that, the younger vigilantenearly radiating beside him facing Tim down, ready to stop him if he tries tobolt.

And Bruce doesn’t feel bad about Damian andAlfred slowly coming up behind Tim to box him in, takes a moment to beratehimself for thinking he was doing the right thing in giving Tim the spacehe thought the former Robin needed to heal. The same space Dick needed when hehad to move on from the Robin mantle.

But he’d inadvertently caused both hisformer Robins nothing but pain by giving them the space to throw their bodiesinto the Mission to try and escape the devastation, the loss.

It’s another black mark under his name, but ifanything, Bruce, the Bat, has no qualms rectifying his mistakes.

And he’s perfectly fine starting now.

“Tim,” interrupts the snarling commentary on howRed Robin isn’t fucking anything up (which is unnecessary because Brucealready knows it), and makes the injured bird abruptly pause. “Let meget this straight.”

The third Robin stops, seems to mentally re-set,like when they started up a new case and the personal lives had to be left inthe Cave before they got into the big car for the upcoming night. It’s enoughof the old Tim that Bruce takes a few cautions steps, holding up fingersto tick off so he’s got Tim’s attention on the visual.

“You were kidnapped as your daytime persona, asTim Drake, not Red Robin—”

Oh shit. Well, World’s GreatestDetective. Of course he’d find out. It happened in his city.

“—they tortured you on a ship in the middle ofthe ocean. You escaped, brought them down, and turned them in to severalbranches of authorities. Four days ago, you showed up as Red Robin when theInsurgents hit Earth’s atmosphere. You went into a fight with your team againsta psychic horde without calling for back-up. And you won. Allright so far?”

“Sounds…about right.”

Bruce hums, nods, “and…why do you thinkI would questioning how effective you are as a vigilante?”

Wait.

Tim’s mouth works but nothing comes out because,well, point.

“I have no idea why you’re trying to convince mewhen I’m already well aware how incredible you are in the field. I don’tneed any other justifications. What I need to know,” and Bruce unfoldshis arms, hands loose at his sides, trying to look less intimidating so Tim’shackles won’t rise again, “is when your spleen was removed and what criminalcaused it. What I want to know is if you’ve seen anyone to help youthrough the trauma you went through on that ship. What I want to know is whyyou keep telling me you’re fine and you handle it when you are obviously notfine. No one, Tim, no one could be after all that.”

And the younger vigilante stares up at him,taller than the last time Bruce had a chance to really see him, withnarrow eyes that are already calculating his next moves. B knows it because hesees Tim’s eyes slide to Alfred and Damian, slide over to Dick before comingback to him. It’s saying something when the Bat is hovering at the fore of hismind, ready for another mad attack if Tim flips back into those flashbacks andstarts fighting by instinct.

“What I need to know is,” B counterssoftly, “why you didn’t come home when you needed to.”

When Tim stays silent, when his beaten, batteredbody gets as straight as it can, Bruce sees enough, knows enough.

He nods slowly, like he gets it, whateversilent message Tim is putting out, and returns that intense look, sees so muchhidden under the exterior that he should have picked up long before this verymoment.

“You three go upstairs. Have some downtime,” hewaves a shooing hand at Dick, Damian, and Alfred, “Tim didn’t get his coffee,and I honestly don’t need any more caffeine induced contingencies on my hands.”

“Bruce—” is Dick’s desperate attempt tostay because now he knows how much of this, how much of it isright on his head.

“Dick. Go have some downtime.”

Dami isn’t happy, is looking with his headtilted up, those dark eyes all for the scowl on Tim’s face, the sneer.

Alfred, however, steps between them, MasterTimothy and Master Bruce to break the stare down and lift a fresh cup andsaucer into the younger vigilante’s hand. It breaks the oldest man’s heart whenMaster Tim…hesitates.

But the hands are steady when the coffee istaken, and the young Master is looking carefully away from the butler, a musclein his jaw flickering.

“Thank-you,” is said softer than the rest.

“What else could I do, Master Tim? My life isdedicated to caring for my family, and that includes you.” A small pat to theyounger man’s head while the angry, defensive expression falls to wide-eyed andslack, like the younger Master is genuinely surprised. The saucer isheld tighter in busted fingers when Timothy’s spine snaps straighter and heblinks rapidly, trying to harden himself, pull his strength around him like acloak so none of them can see what abject pain he is in—how he obviouslywas very certain he no longer belonged here, with them all.

“Oh Tim,” the butler sighs sadly, gently, “thismay be untoward, so forgive me, but it is so nice to see you. As much as wehave missed, as much as you have suffered and succeeded, I am still so happy tohave you home.”

The reaction is those wide eyes, the true tellto Master Timothy’s thoughts returning to his face and immediately seeking outany deception on the butler’s part, any lies or placations, any shred ofevidence to support his previous theories.

Alfred smiles, just a small curve of his lowerlip, when the younger man’s shoulders lose a small bit of tension, just enoughto prove he found no lies here. When he can have just a hint of belief. It’sjust enough for Alfred to fit a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and squeezewith infinite gentleness before he’s herding two of his other charges up into theManor, casting a glance back at the long line of Master Bruce’s tense backbefore he and Master Dick exchange a very concerned look.

And they leave Tim and Bruce in the Cave withthe fluttering of bats, the gentle hum of working equipment, with damagedsuits, and healing bodies, with injuries and trauma.

It’s such a painful thing for Bruce, staring atTim and remembering a younger kid standing in the same place with the Rover his heart, the suit of his Robin and that crazy, wide grin in anticipationfor nightfall when they could move together.

When Tim’s team was Batman and Robin.

“None of this is necessary,” and it’s RedRobin’s voice, unshakeable and reliable. A leader. A vigilante.

And not the person Bruce wants to talk toright at this moment.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce cuts off that train ofthought, seeing past the denials and old pain, seeing past everythingTim is spitting out, the abject hurt, the theory that maybe, maybethey’d just been-been using him all this time. That he was just a kid ina cape or something just as ridiculous. “I’m sorry it got this far. I’m sorrynone of us, me or Dick or Alfred jumped in to remind you that you will alwayshave a home here, no matter what. There’s no excuse for it, Tim,absolutely none.”

The younger vigilante frowns harder, his thoughtprocesses obvious to the World’s Greatest Detective.

“Once Damian and I could realistically worktogether, Dick left out of Gotham to trail the Titans and see if he could atleast talk to you, but the team was moving fast, so he wanted to waituntil you were in town again. But, regardless, we let this go on for toolong, letting you get further and further away without checking in, withoutcoming back.”

“I didn’t need to.” Tim interjects, firming hisjaw, still staying as far inside the mask as he possibly can, trying to protecthimself.

And Bruce finally sees it.

“And you don’t have to do this,” the youngervigilante puts the cup and saucer down immediately, eyes never losing that hardedge, “at all. It’s not necessary at this point. I’m still going to be theintel guy, the IT solution. I’ll still come when you call just like I’ve alwaysdone.”

“That’s not good enough.” Bruce insistsback, arms loose by his sides, “it was never supposed to be needed over wanted,and it isn’t like that. You won’t believe me until you have evidence, I knowalready, but Tim,” and Bruce comes up on him, not the stalk of the Bat or thestride of the daytime persona, it’s all Bruce Wayne—

Dad.

He’s careful but firm, hands tilting his son’sface up a little, taking in the widening eyes of surprise, “Tim, you arealways, will always be one of my sons. Just like Dick and Jasonand Damian. That’s what you agreed to when you took on the mask. You becamemine and the Batman’s, our Robin, our partner, our son, and yes,yes this is necessary. It’s completely and totally necessary becausealong the way the important things got pushed to the wayside, and it’s so farfrom fine that I can’t even begin to list the problems here.”

And the younger vigilante has the most probablereaction Bruce can predict.

He fights.

“Bullshit,” is hoarse, angry when Tim shovesaway, steps back, “and I don’t need bullshit, Bruce. You think Idon’t get it? I was the kid that figured out your secret, you hadto keep me, to keep me quiet about it. So of fucking course you’d let mewear the R. What would I have done if you hadn’t? Just because I got goodat it doesn’t mean I don’t fucking recognize how it never should have been me.It should have been Jason and then Damian. It should have been blood,not some fucking kid you never wanted.”

And God it hurts, these things tearingout him like fucking poison, like rancid bile he can finally vomit up, to get outof him.

“And you did good. You did great, Bruce,dealing with me. You really did. You did the best you could under thecircumstances,” and fuck, yes, he means it because Bruce was there forhim when he was Robin, when Dad died, when his world was going to shittime and time again. Bruce put up with his crap more than anyone in his entire life—evenhis real Dad. “I appreciate it, all the shit from back then. You don’t—” andhis chest hitches, but he grinds his teeth, straightens his back for it, “youdon’t even know how much I needed you. How much I respect you, how muchI wanted to be your partner and friend, and you gave me that, Bruce. You didthat for me, but…but your real son has the cape now, just like italways should have been, and I understand that. This,” and his handswaffle back-and-forth while he looks away, tries to choke down the bitternessall these realizations still leave behind, “this is the way it should havehappened. This is—” not okay, never fine, not really, “how itshould be.”

But when he looks back, chances a glance, hejerks a little because Bruce’s expression is—

(Is there some fear toxin somewhere? What thehell?)

The hands at Bruce’s sides are clenching intotight fists, his forearms cording, muscles getting tight.

“How long have you felt like this?” Theoldest vigilante demands in a low, dangerous voice, “how long do youthink I’ve just been tolerating you? How could you even— Jesus,Tim.”

But really, he’s the detective, right? “Iforced my way in,” he deadpans, “you never chose me, Bruce.”

And even though he’s come a long way from thatRobin to now, he’s still not fast enough to dodge Batman.

Nope. That’s not happening.

Because Bruce is across the span separating themin a skiff of shadows, literally picking him up off his feet with an arm aroundhis waist below the healing whip marks, the other hand buried in the hair atthe back of his head, pushing his face into Bruce’s neck and shoulder (and he’sshaking, Bruce, Batman, the unstoppable, the indomitable, is shaking).

The move is so out of what he expected,so unpredictable, Tim’s eyes are wide, just blinking wetly, hands up toautomatically brace himself on Bruce’s biceps.

“In…in the beginning, I was terrifiedof you,” Bruce blinks back his own wet eyes against the side of Tim’s too-longhair, “I was so scared of getting another innocent kid hurt, and you were…youwere so smart and so brave. You were fearless, Tim. You were perfect forthe job, but if I got you hurt, if I got you killed, if this world losteverything you are because of me and my Mission… then there would be noredemption. And I—” and Bruce grips him tighter, breathes in slowly,presses the side of his face into Tim’s hair harder, “I couldn’t lose you too.I couldn’t lose you, Tim.”

And that. To hear that it wasn’t becauseof Jason Todd, to hear that he was valued back then for himself, has Tim’sheart give a painful throb in his chest, makes him hold on to Bruce like he wasstill that Robin.

“In the beginning, I didn’t want anotherkid in danger. I didn’t want another person’s life in my hands, I didn’twant anyone else to suffer because of my choice to do this, to be Batman, to bethe crime fighter Gotham needed. So…so you-you were partially right. Backthen, I didn’t want you involved. When you helped solve Dick’s caseand-and you gave me no choice, Tim. You proved to me you were everything Ineeded Robin to be, everything Dick was, everything Jason was, everythingDamian is learning to be. There was no way I could let you go.”

And God, to hear that, just to hearthat from Bruce.

It’s more than he ever expected.

“You’re more than just a kid in a cape.You always were. You were always the kid I needed, the kid that groundedme, the kid that was so much like me that you should have been a Waynefrom the get-go. Just like Dick and Jason. You taught me just as much as Itaught you, and even though I never wanted to overstep my boundaries, I neverwanted to try and take your Dad away from you because—” and Bruce has to pause,has to let his eyes spill over because back then? Back then when Jack was anass, was a damn terrible father, Bruce still couldn’t fight him because, “—becauseif mine had lived, even if he couldn’t understand me and what I grew into…Istill would have at least had him.”

And Tim bites down on his lip hard enough todraw blood, but it doesn’t stop his eyes from spilling over too, from his armsmoving to wrap around Bruce’s shoulders and hold the fuck on.

“But,” Bruce breathes in, rolls his eyes upwardto try and calm down, “but when you still lost him, I…There was no question,Tim. There never was. You were my son just as much as his, and there was nevera question as to where you belonged, that you have a home here. Not-nota room, not a cot in the Cave, not a locker for your gear. Your home,Tim. And I…I thought I was helping, letting you be the vigilante you needed tobe. When you brought me back and it was Damian in the R, I… I understood why,but I still missed you. I was still…upset with Dick, doing thatwithout telling you, without giving you an opportunity to have your say. I wastrying to give you time to stop hurting, to grow from it. I was trying not topush you too hard, to make it hurt worse.”

Gentle movement, Bruce walking carefully towardthe medical gurney still carrying Tim without even straining, still holding himclose, still so painfully angry at himself for how long these thingsmust have been buried in Tim’s psyche, how all of it must have pushed thisyoung man to his breaking point.

“And I…” Bruce closes his eyes briefly as ithitches, “and I failed you, Tim. I’m so sorry that I failed you as your Dad.I’m sorry you ever thought I only wanted to keep you from telling mysecret because it was never about that.”

But Tim, hanging there, limply, pain a dull redthrob in his brain pain, gripping Bruce around the shoulders tight,hides his face away from the realizations, from the things he never imagined.

Bruce folds himself down and rocks justslightly, comforting them both a little with the motion, “and you’re not goingto believe all this. Not for a while. I know you, young man, and you’regoing to need time to believe in me again, to believe in the family, andthat’s-that’s okay. That’s completely understandable. I’ll give you as muchtime as you need, but goddammit, Tim, I’m not letting you getthat far out of my sight again. I’m not ever going to let you go. Whether youlike it or not, you’re stuck with us, kid.”

He doesn’t laugh or chuckle, still in a state ofshock since he really didn’t imagine this in his future, or well ever.

After all this time, all the bad guys andterrible night, all the sacrifices and job well dones, he’d pretty much figuredit was really…over.

This is a whole lot of unexpected that his brainpan can’t handle all at once. He needs time to think about it, to review theevidence.

“Give me a chance, Tim,” is breathed gently againsthis ear, “don’t give up on me yet. Please, don’t give up on me.”

“You’re an idiot,” he finds himself saying backwith a scratchy throat, “I didn’t give up on you when the world thought youwere dead. Like I’m going to start now?”

And Bruce, B, the Batman, just breathesout in the quiet dim of the Cave, holds this almost nineteen-year-old on hislap like he used to do to Dick when the kid was on overload or he’s finallygotten Damian to just deal with it.

“When I really believe you mean that, I’ll let yougo back to Titan’s Tower.”

That does earn a snickerbecause really, Bruce?

“Can you just—” and the World’s GreatestDetective hesitates for a second, not sure how hard he wants to push whenthere’s been some progress made tonight.

“…you want to know about the spleen thing,don’t you?”

Bruce pats the uninjured leg a little and nodswith Tim’s head tucked under his chin.

Closing his eyes, Tim sighs out through hisnose. But, well, to start gathering evidence, this might just be the way tostart.

#winter answers #with horrible pain and angst #and BATDAD #tim drake #bruce wayne #dick grayson #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #the JL #the Titans #fracture #what-if #you kind of need to read it to get some of this #it's sad and slightly hopeful #hurt!tim #my fic #my writing #long post

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theboykingofhell · 7 years

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(acting anon from earlier!!) i read ur whole thing and its FILLED with rly good info ty!! im british and im looking to start getting into acting but i always shyed away from it in schools etc cause there's always be a dance side to it and :/ no ty id rather eat nails than dance ever. but im rly interested in the acting techniques n stuff u mentioned and id defo read as many posts abt it as u wanted to write :0 ty for your time!!

OK YEAH now that i actually have time and by that i mean i have no time there’s like three things i’m supposed to be doing rn but i want to stall starting them lmfao I’MMA TALK MORE ABOUT THIS RN

imma be real i cant remember all the things i mentioned in that post i wrote and i cant be bothered to go back and look so IF YOU EVER HAVE A SPECIFIC QUESTION LITERALLY ASK ME ANY TIME

oooooooooooh... yeah.. love... babe.... go to acting schools lol it’s not even JUST the fact that they literally teach you how to act but. you. need to network. god. especially since you ARE british, acting schools are very important because a lot of companies will pretty much hire you based on what school you went to. just the short amount of time i was there made this VERY obvious that it is VERY hard to get picked up by a company if you haven’t gone to school, and getting picked up by a company is how you get consistent theater work for YEEEEEEARS...!!! also, usually a school will give you a rly good chance to network by having some sort of showcase at the end where you can get in contact with a bunch of agents and the more famous the school, the more agents see your work and try and help you out!!!!

and, like... the whole dance bit is just a hurdle you’re gonna have to jump. it’s def rly important to just partipate in the classes, you don’t have to be GOOD but it gives you just that little bit of awareness over your body and your movement that you might not have had before and that’s rly important, especially on the stage!! i felt the same way about singing but, man, the more you work at it, the more mangeable it gets. and you don’t want to have this grudge on you forever because it’ll really limit your work :/

but i mean man you don’t actually have to, there’s no set way to become an actor! if you find work, you have that work, it doesn’t matter how you get there t b h. i just think it helps and the more skills you acquire, the better of a chance you have to get that work...

(i RLY suggest lamda, it’s a hard school get into but it’s one of the best if not the best and also the education is beautiful and ALSO lamda-trained actors get the most consistent work because the uk just nuts all over itself about lamda-trained actors)

BUT YEAH. ACTING TECHNIQUES. GONNA FINALLY ADD A CUT LOL

i’m only gonna talk about these vaguely cuz tbh i’m not as ~studied~ as i should be because i’ve been far too lazy until now to actually sit down and read acting textbooks but HERE’S THE GIST....

stanislavsky is like... pretty much the most well-known most taught acting technique. so many of the other techniques you learn BUILDS on his work. there’s a huge range of shit that he’s got to offer because his and later similar teachings are SO focused on realism (which tbh is a very new thing in acting), but some of the most important is stuff like emotional recall and objective work aaaaand character building by using yourSELF and projecting it onto the character. it’s a very psychological form of acting and it’s... MY BASIS but not actually my fave!

now, a lot of parts of it is very useful. emotional recall, for one, is SUPER nice. it’s a very good way to build that vulnerability up, tear down a lot of walls and explore how to summon emotions up....

my first exercise with stanislavsky, i remember them making us lie down and pretty much meditate, and then you listened as the teacher described a bunch of things: your favorite beach as a child and what it felt like, all these sensory memories about the smells and tastes and sights of the beach. and then it moved on to the night of your first kiss, your first love, and then your first loss. a nice basic range of basic emotions, and then you build on that.

stanislavsky (and stuff like uta hagan who wrote a RLY great book that i havent finished reading yet but it’s a GREAT way to rly build on the technique) rly encourages taking yourself and putting it into the character. SO!!!! if your character is going through their first break-up, summon the feelings and memories of your first break-up and push that into your lines, so on and so forth.

the big criticism with stanislavsky and all the techniques like them is that it COULD be very unhealthy for you... considering it’s all about reliving and reliving old memories. and i agree, i mean, one of my favorite plays and one of my monologues of choice for auditions is from a play where the main character is kidnapped and raped, and i’ve been kidnapped and raped before so i am CONSTANTLY and purposely triggering myself just to perform that monologue well. THAT AIN’T RIGHT! helps tho!

(stuff like method acting falls under stanislavsky and his successors strasberg and stella adler, so....! you can see why not everyone fucks with it)

MY criticism about stanislavsky, which is why it doesn’t work as much for me, is that it’s very VERY heavily text-based. uhhh THIS IS LONG ALREADY SO SOMEONE SEND AN ASK ABOUT OBJECTIVES AND I’LL EXPLAIN but they want you to do a lot in the moment that makes it very distracting if you don’t have this process pinned down and that’s AGGRAVATING FOR ME ANYWAY

chekov is another technique that’s interesting, again not a fave but VERY helpful. this one builds character more from the outside in, it’s all about like... a lot of very subtle details that you can add to the background to add color to your performances. a lot of it is about atmospheres, attitudes, body language, and how that affects your character and how your character is thinking through the scene. it’s VERY reactionary and very fun because you don’t have to think NEARLY as much.

pretty much you form... gestures, or moods for your characters, and instead of perfoming an ‘action’ (stanislavsky thingy, i’ll explain that in another post i guess), you’re using this ‘gesture’ to explain yourself. it is far FAR more abstract than stanislavsky, which is a lot more technique and exact, and it’s very vague, which does make it very hard for people. it also doesn’t stress realism like stanislavsky and company does, so it’s not as popular at the moment!

meisner technique is my second favorite technique and kind of hard to explain because i haven’t rly gotten a comprehensive course in it yet besides a few workshops and activities, but it’s a technique that stresses STRESSES ‘listening’. that’s something you hear a lot as an actor, it’s one of the hardest things to really get but it’s also, truly, the essence of good acting. you can’t be a good actor if you don’t listen, because if you don’t listen, you’re not in the moment, and if you’re not IN the moment, you’re just... reciting lines!!!

it’s so hard to explain so i’mma link a cute video i just found because it shows a lot of variety and also shows the actors messing up a lot and it’s cute omfg

it focuses a lot of repetition (either of the same one line for each person or they’re both doing the same line back and forth) which forces the actor to not think about what’s being said but how it’s being said. you’re stuck in the moment because you KNOW what you’re gonna say, you don’t have to worry about saying anything else, all you gotta worry about is what the other person does and how you’re gonna react to it. if they suddenly start screaming in your face UHH YOU’RE GONNA SCREAM BACK HOW DARE YOU? and it’s automatic and SO natural and that’s why i love it, because you don’t have to THINK through it. you don’t rly think through your life like they make you do in other techniques, so i adore the ability to not have to do that on stage.

however i’ve never gotten far enough in the technique to find out how to apply it to a set script but it might just be about building that openness to just... DO and BE and let whatever happens happens, which is NICE

LAST THING THAT I’LL TALK ABOUT IS FUCKING GROTOWSKI YE S. ok so a lot of techniques overlap, so by this i’m also talking about lecoq and peter brook’s acting techniques. it’s all physical theatre which is all about the GROTEQUE and like UGH there’s so many fascinating things honestly just google ‘theatre of cruelty’ because it’s FASCINATING

the emphasis is... not rly on realism altho the acting i’ve seen come out of it is the most realistic i’ve seen? it’s rly gritty and about accessing the most... EXTREME of emotions, it’s about rly grasping human nature and twisting it and bringing it on stage. peter brook especially (who has a book called the empty stage or something like that that i got to read) stresses that... theatre shouldn’t be about costumes and sets and whatever, it should be just about the actor, and that you can do a PERFECTLY GOOD show with a completely empty stage, with just the actor in the center.

it also has an emphasis on YANKING the audience into the show and being very interactive and like... nothing’s held back, it should be hard to watch, THEATRE SHOULD BE CATHARTIC AND FUCKED UP AND YES.

so physical theatre involves pulling emotions from the body through your movement. life isn’t just about the mind, after all, your body holds emotions through it, there’s chemicals and hormones and what your body does on its own and against other bodies and just. again, hard to explain so HERE’S SOME COOL VIDS THAT SHOWS DIFFERENT TECHNIQUES AND COMPARES THEM ALL

i lied there’s one more technique i wanna mention: it’s called alba emoting! it, again, builds on the idea that trying to access emotions through the brain is UNHEALTHY AND DANGEROUS and that you can, instead, try and access it through the body! how???? cuz emotions are PHYSICAL. you feel sadness and anger and love and whatnot in your gut and chest and through your head and all through every nerve in your body, right????? so why not try and mimic that for the stage???

it’s SUPER COOL because! what you do with alba emoting is: affix yourself a certain way. it involves certain body postures or positions, certain expressions sometimes... EVERY time it depends upon a different breathing pattern... and all you gotta do is do it. and your body doesn’t know better, it gets tricked into it...!

so, if i were to alba emote fear... it’s hard to describe through text rather than do it but this one might be the clearest one... part of the positioning is to have your hands up in front of you, as if you’re trying to ward someone off or shield yourself. you have your mouth open, you have your eyes stuck to the floor in a submissive sort of way, (there’s more that i cant describe but then) you start to make yourself hyperventilate by taking short, quick breaths through your mouth. after a few seconds of this, your body just starts SHOOTING adrenaline through you because it starts thinking WHOA SOMETHING BAD’S HAPPENING I’M AFRAID?FUCKFUCKFUCK

and that continues until you stop! you can stop at any time and then just go. you get left with a ‘residue’ (which is very chekov in nature in that it ‘colors’ your performance) where you can just act and do the lines and do your actions (stanislavsky) without worrying about needing to push any fear into yourself because it’s THERE, it’s PRESENT and whatever happens in the scene will either alliviate it or make it worse!!!

it’s a BEAUTIFUL way to prepare for a scene right before you go on stage too omg. last semester we were doing julius ceasar, and there was a scene where i had to play a servant who just witnessed a murder and just. go in and beg for my life and the life of my master. so i did the fear emote, and then my friend (playing my master at the moment) decided to talk to me in character and give me the order to throw myself in front of the murderers and LMFAO by the time i ran on there i was like fucking in tears i was so terrified HA

THERE ARE SO MANY MORE TOO IT’S SO FUN YOU JUST GOTTA GO AND SEE WHAT WORKS FOR YOU WHOO!!!!!! HOPE THIS WAS FUN AND HELPFUL YES

#ACTING TAG #GOD THIS TOOK LIKE A HALF HOUR LOL #I WANTED TO PROCRASTINATE BUT NOT T H A T MUCH SO I'LL ANSWER THE SECOND HALF OF YOUR ASK LATER #Anonymous #ask tag

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