Chapter Text
No matter who was on the team’s roster or who had recently retired, the Titan’s Tower was a place where current and past members could come together and feel at ease. Whether it be for the purpose of training, going through cases, or simply needing down time, it was meant to be a home away from home; and to many it was.
Just not to the third robin.
The Titan’s Tower had never felt like a ‘home away from home’ to the third robin as he had never felt as though he had a home in the first place outside of the tower. It could be argued that he had a space at the Wayne Mansion, his various safe houses, and of course even the Drake Manor; none of them ever felt to be his home. Tim had always envisioned that home was where one went to be surrounded by the warmth and love from others; a place where one could remove the masks they were forced to use out in public and allow their emotions to be seen freely and know that they were good enough without having to fight and scream for attention. Whether it be physically or metaphorically.
At the Wayne Mansion, Tim had earned himself a place in the supposed ‘flock’ and at the dinner table that the elder butler Alfred kept full; often the table was set with the favorite dishes for those who could be found either in one of the many rooms or down in the bat cave. Tim had earned that spot through years of hard work and sacrifice, having to prove time and time again not only to Bruce but to the others that he was worthy , only to be made to feel like an imposter. A filthy replacement that could never get out of the shadow of the second robin. Even with Jason Todd alive, he was spat at for being a replacement and tossed aside when Bruce’s biological child had been delivered to Gotham.
Perhaps at one point in time the Wayne Mansion had felt like home, or at the very least it was teased that it could be home, but it never was.
Though having been born in the Drake Manor, a mansion that held a rich history of belonging to the Drake family; Tim had never felt at home there. Even when he was young and should have been making memories playing in the many halls and out in the large gardens, he understood that the mansion was not his home. That his parents, despite them trying to act cordial towards him, did not want him. Tim knew deep down it was never because of something he had done, even at the age where he was just starting to feed himself he had tried to keep himself quiet; children should be seen, not heard. And he had tried, keeping himself as silent as possible, never asking for more than what he was given; he had kept his head down to study and stood with his head held high when his parents took him out to meet the other social elites. He was the perfect doll, his mother had been told over the years how perfect he was, how well behaved, that he would make a great businessman like his father, and yet it never received more than just a nod of acknowledgement or a tight lipped smile. Tim knew his birth had been the product of a business investment, for him to be the heir that would take over once his parents were gone, so that it always remained in the hands of a Drake. In turn, Janet lived a plush life. The issue of what to do with the baby had been easily made, Tim was raised by the nannies and maids his parents hired while they left for lavish vacations and business ventures. Much like the family heirlooms and riches, Tim was left behind to gather dust, ignored unless needed.
The Drake Manor felt like a doll house; never a home.
In a way, the third robin was envious; he knew plenty who considered the tower to be their home when the lives they led as civilians got to be too hectic. Even Nightwing had a room in the tower that he could return to when Gotham and Bludhaven got to be too much; the first robin was always eager to reminisce with others about his time in the tower and how the rooms used to be set up for the original Titan’s.
Tim knew some currently on the team had made their rooms based around what they couldn’t have at home; he knew Blue Beetle was always quick to show off how he decorated, soaking in the praise. He knew, with a sour churning in his stomach, that Kon was starting to stay at the tower more often than Smallville. Kon didn’t need to tell him that it was because of Clark visiting his parents more, Tim just knew. He couldn’t quite fault Clark for visiting his adopted parents, they were getting up there in age, and he wanted to help them when he had the time; subsequently that left Kon to become displaced, seeking refuge in the tower where he knew at least his presence was welcomed. Tim wanted to scream at the man of steel for making his best friend feel as though he were in the way, as though he did not have a right to simply exist; it was becoming harder to hold his tongue when he saw the flash of hurt in Kon’s eyes, and he wondered when it would dwindle down to the point where Kon would stop answering Clark’s calls all together.
Tim would never admit it aloud, but the tower never felt like home to him. Nowhere did, not the manor he grew up in, and especially not the Wayne family mansion. He of course had tried his best to make each place feel like ‘home’; he had decorated his rooms how he knew he would want them, allowed himself the rare comforts in his room back at his family home and in the tower, yet nothing did the trick. Even his safe houses felt more welcoming than the places he did frequent, and wasn’t that just messed up.
He lost hope long ago that he would ever find a place to call home.
Maybe there would never be a place for him.
Seated in the space designed to be a living room for the team, Tim felt irritation begin to sink its claws into his brain, wanting nothing more than to get up and leave the tower completely despite the fact he promised the team he would stay. It wasn’t that the couches weren’t comfortable, they were, the money they spent on them practically required them to be heavenly; it was just that he could not get himself to be mentally relaxed. A movie was playing loudly over the flat screen television set, one that held none of his interest, and from what he saw, not many of the other’s that were found on the other couches. It was a movie that Cassie had chosen, and as such, it was one of romance that Tim found was as entertaining as pushing back his cuticles.
He found the bowl of popcorn he held to be more interesting, a piece held between his fingers, it would be so easy to crush it if he wanted to. He glanced up from his bowl to look over at the couch closest to his own, finding that Cassie was wide eyed and dressed in her bathrobe, clearly engaged in what was happening on the screen; while Bat was practically vibrating where he sat, whispering loudly to any who would listen about what he thought would happen next, ignoring the shushes while he shoved popcorn into his mouth. For a moment Tim expected to see Kon sitting beside him, his lips pursing at seeing his usual spot empty; he had remembered seeing the other earlier with a crease in his brow and his arms crossed, all signs that something was eating away at him. He felt guilty for not noticing sooner, for not seeking him out to comfort him in the little ways he could. He scolded himself for failing to do so, he was a detective after all, Bruce would have sought Clark out if the situation had been flipped.
He waited to see if anyone was watching him, getting up from his seat when he decided that he could no longer pretend to watch the movie; he wasn’t even sure what it was about save for a woman crying nearly every twenty minutes or so. On his way past the speedster he poured what remained of his bowl into Bart’s own, smiling softly at the muffled words of thanks when Bart dug another hand into his now full bowl. It had Tim feeling pleased that he could do something small to make the other boy happy. Leaving the darkened room Tim ignored the questioning glances shot his way; he trusted his team, he did, but sometimes… sometimes it was hard to just want to be around them, to let them in after all that had happened.
He tried not to think about it all; the sacrifices they had made, the friends and fellow capes they had lost. He refused to open the box of emotions he kept carefully chained closed in the back of his mind. It was better not to feel than to feel the pain again.
As he walked he tried not to think of the empty Drake manor that was waiting for him, his parents gone to, where was it this time, Peru?
He tried not to think about the cold air and dust, the manor more of a tomb than an actual place of residence he made himself visit to keep appearances.
No…
No!
He wouldn’t let himself dwell on such thoughts, not now!
The chilly blast of air from the vents was felt through the sweatshirt that Tim wore, it was one that was several sizes too big, having been swiped from Kon’s freshly done laundry. The sweat pants he wore were his own that he had to pull the drawstring tight to keep from slipping off. It irritated him to no end that no matter how he tried to bulk up, his body remained petite, his curves soft. His Red Robin suit had been made with padding to keep both capes and villains alike from noticing just how smaller he was compared to the other Robins. Even Damian held more weight and muscle than him and the brat was younger than him!
The halls Tim roamed were dark enough that he had to squint to see, following the one that led to the individual living spaces, knowing that at the end of the hall he would find Kons bedroom; his bedroom was right across from Tim’s own, a fact that had been a blessing more times than he could count when the other needed him in the middle of the night. Standing outside the door he could hear the muffled sound of music; with super hearing, Tim knew Kon played his music loud to keep his own thoughts from overwhelming him. It also did not hinder him from hearing the gentle knock, the occupant of the room calling him in. Tim found Kon’s room much like it always was; an absolute mess. His clothes, both freshly washed and dirty, were strewn about the floor, food wrappers and take out containers spilling out from the small waste bin by his desk, where the surface was covered in crumpled up pieces of papers, pencils and school books. On Kon’s nightstand were comic books and his laptop, the music playing loudly from where he kept his speakers in the corners of the ceiling. Tim found Kon standing by the large window that overlooked the lake and forest that surrounded the tower, his arms crossed and the side of his face resting against the glass. He watched Tim enter by gazing at the reflection on the window before he turned, his brows furrowed and his lips resting in a hard line, nearly a frown.
Once again the third robin felt anger lick at his insides; he knew from how Kon acted that he had once again been told by Clark- no doubt in a text- that he was headed to Smallville to take care of his parents. It went without saying that Kon felt that he had to stay away, not wanting to spur the man’s pity, or worse, the usual uneasiness he displayed at having his clone so close to him. Tim hated that the man couldn’t see Kon for the person he was. Sure he was a clone, but he still had his own feelings, his own personality and memories! He had friends and interests, he was his own person!
“Hey.” Kon mumbled, shrugging when Tim’s lips mimicked his own, his head shaking while he ran a hand through his hair and tugged at his black bangs; a growl slipped from the clone when he kicked his foot, kicking a can clear across the room, nearly making it into the trash. It took several tense moments before he spoke. “You know, it’s fucked up. Clark acts like being around me os so terrible- fuck, Lex acts like he cares more, and he’s a villain I actively fight! How messed up is that?! You know, Lex sent me money for my own place, last week. Told me I could live wherever I wanted, all I had to do was tell him if I wanted rent or for him to buy it for me. He does all that while Clark… he acts like I’m…”
“He acts like your existence is a stab against him.” Tim finished for him, hating how he was the one to cause Kon to wince; he hated even more the fact that he was right. He had seen for years how Kon was treated, brushed aside as though he were not worth the time of day to even be spoken to. Tim knew Kon tried to hide it, but he could still see the flicker of pain in the clone’s eyes, saw the tears he refused to allow to fall; instead he took it out on training dummies and the walls, the holes covered by posters.
Tim moved closer before he could stop himself, his hand coming to rest gently on Kon’s shoulder, pleased to see that where once Kon would have moved away, the other moved closer, pressing his side against Tim’s.
“He hates me, and I know he does. I know why, I’m not stupid! So why, why does it hurt so much? Why do I want his approval?” Kon’s voice grew low, having started off by shouting his frustration before his shoulders sagged. His bottom lip wobbled. “Why can’t I be enough, Tim?” The anger that lapped at Tim’s insides grew practically into an inferno. How many times had he thought the same exact questions as a child, craving his parents' love and attention above all else, only to be abandoned and ignored for lavish vacations and his father’s side investments in archeological digs. Tim had been promised numerous times that they would be home for his birthdays and holidays, only for them to back peddle and claim that a problem with the company had come to light and that they needed to deal with it. Tim knew early on that there was no issue with the company, his parents merely wanted to enjoy their freedom, leaving him to stay in the manor where a nanny was often absent. They mostly only came to the manor to drop off food that Tim had asked for, and in some cases when the nanny was daring, to take a necklace Janet would never miss.
Tim despised the fact that he saw the same pain he had felt for the duration of his childhood being reflected in Kon’s eyes. The anger shifted to that of sorrow for the fact that Tim knew Kon never even had a glimmer of a childhood. No one had ever given Kon the chance to see what it would feel like to be loved by a parent, even if it was simply one of the scientists who observed him since his creation in the artificial embryo. The love Kon was given now, if it could even be called that by his DNA donor, Lex Luthor, was in the form of money; and even then it always had strings attached to make Lex feel better about himself. It was never about Kon’s well being.
No one had ever taken Kon to parks or had given him gifts for his day of creation or holidays; his start in life was in a laboratory where he was observed and experimented on. Tim knew Kon at one point had been physically at least a baby that grew to be the teenager he was currently, yet all those years he was never given so much as a smile or gentle word. It had Tim’s teeth near grinding at the thought of such a sweet faced child Kon once was, being raised only knowing white washed rooms and lab coats.
Oh what Tim wouldn’t give to have the chance to give Kon the life he deserved; the childhood he had missed out on and a home. A proper home, one where he was wanted and loved; no strings attached, no being displaced because someone was visiting. Tim wanted that future for Kon more than anything.
Tim pushed past his own discomfort to wrap his arms around Kon’s shoulders, feeling how the taller male tensed before arms moved to reciprocate the hug. Kon held him tightly, careful not to crush Tim with his super strength while his face buried into Tim’s shoulder when he slouched, Kon’s body felt trembling.
“Hey, listen to me. Fuck what Clark thinks, and fuck Lex’s attempt at trying to buy your attention. You deserve so much better than the two of them, and I know you may not believe it, but I’ll keep telling you, and believing it for you until you can. This past mission, you did so well, Kon. You saved those criminals from killing themselves, you could have let them, but you didn’t. I’m so proud of you. You don’t need Clark or Lex. You have me. I- you have me, Bart and all our friends.” Tim whispered, finding the words easy to say while he stroked his fingers through Kon’s hair. He felt… how was it that he never had a child of his own, and yet he felt like a mother comforting her child? His own mother had never given him such comfort like he was currently giving Kon.
Kon was practically the same age as himself, and yet, he felt the need to hold the clone tight. To keep him away from the man of steel and the pains of the world. A more cruel side of Tim wanted to give the older kryptonian a taste of a kryptonite knuckle sandwich. The thought of being in such a maternal state of mind nearly scared Tim until it clicked; Kon was a child, a lost one. Tim had seen others take in lost children, Bruce always claimed he took in the lost and gave them a new life, but Tim knew that even the great Batman never wanted him.
Holding Kon tightly, Tim knew what he needed. He could do this for him; he could try and give Kon a home, one they could share, where they wouldn’t have to be alone. He could show Kon that he was loved and wanted.
That he was found.
“Do you want to go get a snack with me and see if we can get the others to find a different movie to watch?” Tim asked softly, his hand rubbing the broad expanse of Kon’s back.
Kon’s head shook quickly at that.
“I don’t want the others to see me like this, not Cassie, and especially not Bart.” He whispered, pulling back to look at Tim, his bottom lip bitten and his eyes quick to glance away, appearing wet and red rimmed. “Tim… I… did it hurt, when you realized your parents didn’t want you? Do they even count as my parents? All Lex did was mix his DNA with stolen- hell, Ma and Pa Kent act like they care about me more than them. I know… I know it hurts Clark to see them and I interact. Like I’m soiling them.”
The pain Tim felt was sharp in his chest, he had spoken very rarely of his parents. Whenever he did it was about their vacations and how they left him to his own devices. He knew Kon wasn’t malicious in his question, it just hurt all the same.
“Yeah, Kon, it hurt like crazy. I moved on though. I don’t need them.” The half lie felt heavy on his tongue, tasted of ash as he looked out the window, watching the water of the bay reflect the city lights.
“Tim, could you stay here with me? Just for a little while?”
Tim nodded quickly at that, fighting back the urge to step onto his tip toes to kiss Kon’s forehead. “Yeah Kon, I’m not going anywhere, let’s make your bed and see if we can get your computer to stream something.”
He wasn’t going to abandon Kon.
The flash of pain had been so fast that Tim wondered if it had been there at all when he had glanced at Bart, watching how the ginger haired hero bounced on his tiptoes, practically vibrating. Bart’s smile was too wide, the joy not reaching his eyes while the speedster looked around, his hair grayed in patches from the thick dust and ash he had run through, his suit burnt and torn on his legs and sides. The last family from the burning apartment complex had been rescued right before the collapsing of a major structural support beam; though Bart was fast, the fire had still burnt the skin on one of the child’s arms that Bart had been carrying. The fire raged on in front of both Tim and Bart, dressed as Red Robin and Impulse, their silence tense while they watched the rest of their team work, making calls over communicators to Superboy on which beams to try and support, knowing in the end though it would only give the responders a few more minutes to try and douse the flames. The building was a lost cause, Tim knew it, it was far from being up to code and the illegal drug lab in the basement only furth damaged the foundation when it had exploded.
Tim would bet money that the fire had started there and ate its way up through cheap insulation and brittle wood.
Tim listened with growing fury at the words that were tossed at the speedster; Bart had been told he was not fast enough, that he could have done more to save the people and their belongings. The glares that were shot his way were from children who followed after their parent’s attitude and from the elderly who spoke of losing their sentimental belongings. Through it all Bart appeared not to allow it to bother him, his smile still on his lips, albeit not as wide and his toes tapping the ground when he stopped bouncing. Tim noted he only stopped after being told by a paramedic that he could try and look less pleased at the sight of a burning inferno.
Tim had watched it all, and he wanted nothing more than to drop his carefully trained composure and demand to know how they could say such things. He wanted to know who gave them the right to belittle the speedster when he had just saved their children’s lives. He may not have understood what it felt like to have toys and memories burn away from a fire, but nearly all those could be replaced, a life however could not.
A microphone being shoved into his face had Tim stepping back, scowling at the lights flashing in front of him, questions asked by too many voices at the same time; the vultures of the media wanting to know who to blame and if they, the Titan’s had done enough. With a motion of his hand towards Wonder Girl, thankful when she moved to take his place while he headed to where Bart had moved to; standing out of the way and half hidden by a shadow of a nearby building. Without needing to ask, Tim’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, noting with a frown how Bart looked to him, flinching as though he were about to be scolded. Bart’s smile grew shaky and his hands nearly tore at his costume from how he pawed at himself with his anxious fidgeting.
“Listen to me, Impulse. Don’t give them another moment of your time. You did great. You did your very best and they should be damn grateful you got the children out before anything else could happen to them. Yes one has a burn on their arm, but they’re alive. Because of you. Let’s go, there’s nothing we can do further. Let’s head back to the tower; I could use a shower, and so could you. After, I could make you some hot chocolate.” Tim offered, finding himself easily slipping into the headspace he simply called Maternal, feeling his chest swell once more as the headspace was accepted. The gloved hand he rested on Bart’s shoulder gave a gentle squeeze before he let go, noting with pride that the small smile he found on Bart’s lips was genuine. AS though drawn to him Bart stepped closer to press his side against Tim’s own, the physical touch one he knew the speedster needed in order to feel grounded. Tim had theories that it was part of trauma from his time lost in the Speed Force.
Bart’s childhood had been destroyed by his time in the extra dimensional plane; his loved ones lost or having forgotten him, and those who were supposed to be guiding him now, pushed him aside and made themselves scarce; barely interacting with him even when they were around. He was just like Kon, another lost child looking for where he belonged.
“Can you make it with marshmallows and extra whipped cream?” Bart asked softly, his smile widening at the nod he was given.
“Of course, all the whipped cream and marshmallows you want. That is, if you don’t mind giving me a lift back to the tower. Superboy brought me, but it looks like he’s headed back to Smallville.” Tim withheld his laugh in order to scowl when he was scooped up to be held bridal style, noticing a photographer inching closer to them; he had an image to upheld after all, and wouldn’t it be quite the gossip fuel if he was caught being held and smiling like a dope. That was media he did not feel like having to clean up; the scandal articles between him and Superboy were bad enough.
“Just call me your chariot.” Bart beamed, taking off before Tim could tell him he would not be doing that, a ‘whoop’ of joy leaving him while he ran, feeling the wind cool and sharp on his exposed skin and the colors around them blur mesmerizingly. The hands around him squeezed tightly when he ran cleanly across the water's surface while he headed to the tower, coming to a sudden stop in the locker room they shared with the others, nearly knocking them both over on one of the benches.
“My hero.” Tim teased, working off his domino mask once he picked up the adhesive solution from his locker, a nod given when his sweatpants and shirt were suddenly on the bench, Bart having no doubt ran to his bedroom to grab them. At first Tim had been antsy at the thought of the speedster going into his room, until he had formed such a close bond with the other, knowing that though he was childish at times and was a jokester, he never betrayed Tim’s trust by entering when he wasn’t wanted.
Turning to his locker Tim stripped himself down, tossing his dirty uniform onto the bench, it would need to be cleaned and the fabric that was burned would need to be reinforced. The thought was brushed away, it would be something he would deal with later, once he no longer smelt of a bonfire and his hair wasn’t ashy from his time in the fire.
When he stepped under the hot spray of water Tim felt his muscles clench until the heat could work the tension out; he tried not to look down at the scars upon his chest and belly, the ones that littered his thighs and the bruising from past encounters with villains over the week. He tried not to think about just who gave him which; he always categorized them, keeping a mental tally of just which villain had marked him permanently. The scar on his throat tingled when he forced the thought away that not all of them were from villains.
Jason…
Deep down he knew Jason couldn’t be fully held accountable for what he had done;the second robin came back confused and manipulated from both the pit and Talia. He knew Jason felt guilty, and while their relationship was not exactly how it used to be before Jason’s death and rebirth, it was civil and the other man was making amends in his own way.
Jason was another one who had lost his childhood.
It hurt Tim to know he would never be close enough to offer Jason a home.
While he scrubbed away the scent of smoke and ash, Tim began to scrub hard with the washcloth as though it would rid him of the frustration he felt when he noticed his thoughts slipping away from him. He wanted to slap both Clark and Barry for how they ignored Kon and Bart. He wanted to give them a taste of their own bitter medicine. He knew Bart at times was a bit hyper, and even childish, it just didn’t give Barry or Wally the right to act like he was another mouth to feed and another speedster to monitor critically. Did they really think he would taint the name of the Flash clan?
Tim knew that Bart had started to stay at the tower more than his own home with the other speedsters; but the tower shouldnt be the only place he felt appreciated. Bart needed a proper home, much like Kon did.
A proper home…
Could he truly give them a proper home, away from the capes and the cruelty of the world, even if only for a little bit?
When the water ran cold Tim stepped out and wrapped himself in his towel, drying himself off before dressing in the clothes he had been given. He found that the shower across from his was still running as well as several others, spying dirty suits on the other benches. He shook his head softly with bemusement when he heard Bart call out that he wanted only the finest hot chocolate to be made. That was something he certainly could give to the speedster.
In the kitchen he found Cassie standing in her pajamas and bathrobe, her wet hair tied back in a ponytail while she stood in front of the electric kettle. Her lips pursed while her fingers drummed against the counter top of the breakfast island.
“Heard what those bastards said to Bart, it’s not fair, you know? We save their asses again and again, and what thanks do we get huh?” She shook her head, pulling out several mugs, her blue eyes narrowed. “You know it wouldn’t kill the general public to try and remember we aren’t all gods and goddesses. They act like we could have predicted that fire!”
Nodding his head Tim moved about the kitchen to grab the large container of hot chocolate mix from the cabinet, grabbing the whipped cream and marshmallows next. He could respect Cassie and her anger; despite their friendship having grown tense from their break up months ago, he still considered her a friend. When she wasn’t avoiding him that is.
He felt guilty at how he didn’t feel the same connection with her that he felt with Kon and Bart. She had a mother that loved her and a good home to return too. He knew he was jealous and it wasn’t fair to her. He simply wanted to give what she had to Kon and Bart. They deserved it just as much as she did.
“It’s a thankless job.” Tim agreed, taking the two mugs he needed, giving Bart’s mug an extra scoop of powder, pouring the water when it was offered to him. He stirred the mixture lazily before adding a handful of marshmallows to Bart’s and a mountain of whipped cream. It wasn’t much, but it was something he could at least do for the speedster. “You still heading home this weekend?”
“Yep, she wants me to focus on algebra, or maybe it was history. Don’t really care, it’s not like I use it.” She toyed with the mug in her hands, watching the marshmallows melt. “You’re heading to Boston right, for that big project of yours? Your parent’s company, yeah? It’s going to be a long drive, you sure you don’t want to take Bart’s offer to run you there?”
“No, it’s okay.The drive will help me clear my head. Been… there’s been a lot on my mind lately. A few cold cases I’m working on have had me stumped. Plus, balancing Drake and Wayne enterprises hasn’t been exactly a walk in the park.” Tim’s shoulders shrugged, giving a nod to Bart when he walked in, his hair dripping wet and his t-shirt nearly two sizes too big on him. He eagerly accepted the mug he was given, nearly dropping it when he whined about a burnt tongue. “You need to let it cool before you drink it.”
“Yeah but that’ll be forever, I want it now. It smells so good!.” Bart whined, ignoring how Cassie rolled her eyes while he moved to sit on the stool by the island. He drummed his fingers loudly on the counter top and gave a wave when she left. It wasn’t exactly a secret that Cassie and him didn’t get along well. “Can I- can I ask you something?”
“You just did.”
Bart laughed, his tongue sticking out before he sobered up. “Do you think I'm too much? I try and try, but the others just… you and Kon get me. It’s just, the others don’t. And I’ve tried so hard with Cassie. It’s like we speak two different languages. Lately Barry, well, he hasn’t returned any of my messages. Maybe I message too much? Wally says I need to stop and think about their space. But I give them space. Is it me? Am I the problem?”
The anger reared its head once more, and Tim found himself glaring at his hot chocolate, counting the marshmallows that slowly melted away. “You aren’t too much, Bart. Barry is just…he gets wrapped up with the Justice League, and Wally doesn’t even take time to think about others. It’s no excuse. And Cassie… she can have her moments. Look at me, Bart. You aren’t too much. Not to me, and not to Kon.”
“I know you’re right.” Bart whispered, his eyes gazing at his mug sadly, his shoulders drooped much like Kon’s had been. “So why does it still hurt so much? I want it to stop. I don’t like this feeling.”
Tim wanted to punch the older speedsters in the face, to give them a piece of his mind. Instead, he moved closer to Bart and held him close, knowing that it was yet another thing he could give to him. He felt Bart shiver and shake, holding him tighter when he heard the sniffles and choked sobs that Bart tried to hold back.
How long had he felt this way?
How long had he held these tears back?
“Please- please don’t leave.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Bart. Kon and I? We aren’t going anywhere.”
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The rest of the time Tim had spent at the tower was used to relax, away from prying eyes while he played video games with Bart’s and allowed the speedster to regale him on what anime and manga he was currently into. He knew Bart appreciated it more than he let on. He regretted having to leave him, knowing that Gotham and his cases could not be pushed aside forever, and that the rest of the bat clan would be hounding him to take back his part of patrol. Gotham would always in a way be the focal point of his life. He just wished it felt like home; he wondered if it ever was an option for it to feel that way. No doubt it was crushed long ago and brushed away like dust in the wind. He did not look forward to checking in on his safe houses and the Drake manor.
Perhaps at one time he would have headed for the Wayne Manor; those days were far and few. No longer did he walk the halls and feel the warmth of being needed like he did when he first had taken the mantle of being a robin. Long had his memories of artificial happiness there had been torn away by the supposed true Wayne heir arriving. Or so Damian claimed, boasting that only he deserved his father’s attention. The brat had spat such venom when he learnt of Tim’s existence, digging his metaphorical claws into every soft spot Tim had unavoidably exposed. He once thought naively that Bruce and Dick would have stood up for him, claiming he did belong; he found that neither did. In fact they watched and scrutinized him rather than the demon brat. Tim was pleased that the nickname Jason had given the brat stuck; it made him proud of the other and he remembered thanking him for such a gift. Damian hated it with a fury.
Tim powered through the desire to simply stay at the tower; he forced himself to pack up what little belongings he brought back and forth and headed back to Gotham. More specifically, the Drake manor in order to pick up the suit he would need for the meeting in Boston. He knew the only reason why he was going and not Jack or Janet was due to the fact that they were back in Argentina on a vacation. Though they said it was simply to give him experience for when he took over the company once they retired. He wanted the courage to rub it in their faces that he practically ran both Drake Industries and Wayne Enterprise now. He knew their own company better than they did. He doubted they would bat an eye at the accomplishment. He was just a doll to them. He wondered if they knew that someday he would stop playing dress up and leave the doll house that was Drake manor for good.
The gates that kept the public out from the manor grounds opened slowly at his arrival, the code having been sent to the security system electronically to save him the trouble of having to put it in manually. The drive up to where the manor sat was short and paved, the manor dark and imposing much like it had always been despite the care that was put into the architecture when it was built. It was made of white granite and dark stained wood to give it the color contrast that his family adored; its many windows revealed the crimson curtains his mother had put up when she first moved in. Crimson and gold was found throughout the manor’s color scheme; whether it be curtains or rugs, even seat cushions. In a way the crimson of his suit was a tribute to her that confused him as to why he felt compelled to do so.
Tim’s eyes locked on the large fountain that sat in front of the manor, it had been built last year in the roundabout in front of their manor, a supposed birthday gift to him from his father. He knew it was in fact a gift to his mother. It was just simply a late gift Jack had forgotten to give to her. Still, Tim enjoyed the beauty of the craftsmanship, the outer rim of the marble fountain had carvings of birds and branches, and the water caught the sunlight just right to make it appear as though it were made of crystal. At one point it held Koi fish; those had been quickly removed to keep them from dying. Tim wasn’t going to let them die due to his parents' ignorance. At the sight of a light in one of the downstairs windows Tim furrowed his brows. His parents’ cars were nowhere to be seen in the garage outside the ones his father kept just to flaunt their money; nor was there an alarm to tip him off that someone had broken in. He would have been alerted the moment someone forced open the door; he kept his security measures thorough to make up for his parents’ absence.
Even if someone had broken in, there was not much he could do; he had to play the role of Timothy Jackson Drake, the shy and weak son of Jack and Janet Drake, who hasn’t stepped foot in a gym since elementary school. It would be beyond suspicious if he went in metaphorically guns blazing; he only kept his boa stick in his car for emergencies when a scuffle was unavoidable. Slipping it into his back pocket and pulling his loose shirt over it he headed from the garage to the front door, finding it locked, thankful he always kept a key on hand. He was slow to open the door, hit immediately by the scent of lavender cleaning fluid and something that smelt suspiciously like baking bread. He found the lights on in both the family sitting room and the kitchen, could hear humming coming from the kitchen and the sound of a broom brushing the floor. The dark skinned woman that moved into the doorway of the kitchen stopped at the sight of him, her eyes wide and nearly tripping over the broom in her hand.
“Oh dear, please excuse me, Master Timothy. I was not aware you would be arriving so soon!” Her street Gotham accent was thick, and the outfit she wore was one he had seen plenty of times on the maids his parents hired. A black dress that fell practically to her ankles and a starch white apron, along with cleaning gloves up to her elbows. She appeared perhaps in her late fifties if Tim had to guess by the gray in her hair; he noted how she fidgeted nervously.
The persona he played whenever a maid was found in the manor was easy enough for him to continue. He really wished his mother and father would stop hiring them, too often they came and merely dusted, trying to needle information from him in their own way that he foiled expertly. Often he contacted the company himself and ended the contracts. It’s not like it mattered to his parents, they always forgot that they even hired a maid and would return to the manor none the wiser. The dust and cobwebs were always ignored due to them being in a rush to get out and back on the road. Tim wondered at times if they even were home enough to remember what their bedroom looked like or what paintings hung in the sitting room.
He offered the woman a smile, sheepish while he toyed with a button on his expensive sweater. “Oh it’s quite alright! I wanted to make sure I came home early enough to prepare for my trip. Mother and Father mentioned someone would be here to keep watch of the manor. How silly of me, I don’t think they offered a name!” He felt the lies slip from his lips smoothly, like honey, sickly sweet while he nodded when she gave her name. “Well Gloria, I won’t keep you from your work, the manor looks lovely already!”
He laughed the laugh he knew was just fake enough to sound like a forced child talking to an adult, shaking his head when she asked if he wanted her to prepare him something to eat. He had a pack of chocolate covered almonds in his room as well as a can of coffee he kept in his fridge on the off chance he did come back to the manor. He also needed to get upstairs, cancel her contract immediately, which he felt bad for. He would of course ensure she was paid in full. Only when she bought his story that he was exhausted did he head up the grand staircase to head to his room, sitting right across from his father’s study. Each door he passed in the long corridor was closed, Tim knew if he opened them he would find all the furniture covered by white sheets. Just another ghostly reminder that the Drake manor was lonely.
Tim was relieved when he found that his door was still locked, his key sliding in with ease and his fingers scanned when he held the door knob. He was amazed his parents never noticed that he had changed the door itself including upgrading the handle. He had done so at the tender age of nine, tired of catching maids stealing the few toys his parents had allowed him to have. Each time he had informed them of the theft they would treat him as though he were a brat, and promised to simply replace them. Most of the time they forgot their promise, leaving him to make due with what little he had. He suspected part of it was to force him to read and study more, to become the perfect pupper his parents desired him to be.
His room was kept how he liked it. Thankful to see that it was for the most part clean, knowing the last time he had been in it was when he was in a hurry to fly out to Tokyo for a Wayne meeting. His bed was still half made up with old sheets and a thick comforter, notebooks and pens scattered across the bed’s surface. His desk chair was still pushed out from where he had left it, having forgotten the time and needed to bolt to his car. The books he read for leisure were still stacked by his bed and a half finished model, given by Alfred, was still on the floor; much to his disgust he spied and smelt the rotting food that he had left in the bin.
Once he made sure the door was locked once more he made his way to the window to draw the partially opened curtains closed, making note to throw out the trash first thing in the morning. His sweater was dropped in the hamper by his closet door, followed by his pants and socks. He was thankful that his parents had given him a connecting bathroom, not wishing to run into Gloria again. Once he had finished his shower and dressed in his sleep pants and tank top, Tim headed for his laptop to cancel the contract, checking his work email that would need to be sorted later. His private emails were easier to sort through, half of them deleted without a second thought or even being opened. He shot a quick message to Tam to remind her of his time off for his meeting, reminding her to keep track of Bruce’s schedule. The gods only knew just how tired he was of trying to get the man to actively run his company.
The painful part came in the form of reading through the notes his father had left for him on why he was heading to Boston. He had not cared enough beforehand to really learn what it was he was supposed to be pitching. From what he saw Drake Industries was trying to go up the coast to expand their business, supposedly a great way to expand their influence in an already saturated medical industry up north. He had to shake his head at the thought that they truly believed Drake Industries was any different than the countless companies New England already offered. He had wished his parents would have allowed him to host a video conference rather than heading all the way to Boston; they insisted he needed the experience.
If only they realized he had been running their business for years!
He couldn’t deny the fact that the quick trip would offer him more time away from Gotham, and incidentally, Bruce. Where Tim would have once felt pride in the knowledge that Bruce was giving him more cases to take the lead on and power of CEO for the Enterprise, he now only felt exhausted. It was just another way for the man to push him aside, keeping him too busy to speak with him outside of status updates done through emails. Time away would certainly help clear his head, and even with the chill in the air from autumn’s descent on the east coast, he wouldn’t mind seeing the changing of the leaves when he got to Massachusetts.
It was another reason why he ensured that there was an extra day added to his schedule for when he was gone; he had told the rest of the bats and true to his prediction, none opposed or asked for details on where he was going. Bruce had grunted where he had been sitting in the cave, barely aware Tim was there at all if the third robin had to guess, while Damian merely sneered that his absence would be noticed only in that they would be able to get work done without him darkening their doorstep.
Tim had laughed bitterly at the brat on his way out; for all that Damian complained of his presence, Tim had in fact not been around much to even see him outside brief glances when patrol routes crossed. Tim knew he was just another shadow, a ghost of Gotham that moved throughout the night, his presence going unnoticed by the ones he protected until he was needed. The other capes ignoring his presence was not what hurt the most, however. It was when Alfred and Oracle had stopped reaching out to him.
Was he really nothing to them?
In the cruelest way possible, Damian was right, and Tim knew that. He had pushed himself into their lives and had held on tight when Bruce tried to shoo him away at first. He was a pretender, a replacement. Jason had him pegged.
Well then, at least he owned the titles, taking them and using them to fuel his advancements in the field, donning the mantle of Red Robin. That was his, and he would be damned before he allowed it to be taken away.
Tim’s hands shook, his eyes clenched tightly while he laid in bed; he tried with all his might to push the thoughts back, feeling icy claws ripping into him as the box he kept locked away in his mind shook and threatened to be opened.
He could slip away completely from the bat clan… none of them would notice until they needed him, and even then they had ways of contacting him for Red Robin business.
Where did that leave Tim Drake?
What about him?!
He saved their asses over and over again and was forgotten!
His nails dug sharply into his arms, his gasp for air loud in the silence of his room when he realized he had stopped breathing. Panic had his heart racing, he wondered if he would throw up his meager meal of chips he had eaten on the drive back to the manor.
Why was he doing this to himself…
He wanted to take care of others, so why couldn’t someone do the same for him?
On shaking legs he moved up from his bed and made it to the bathroom in time to retch into the toilet. Only when he was sure he would not throw up again did he brush his teeth once more, taking a long, hard look at himself in the mirror. He despised how pale he looked, how thin he was compared to the others.
He wanted to break the mirror.
He couldn’t.
He had to be a good boy, a good puppet for everyone..
Maybe someday he would cut his strings.
But for now?
Be a good boy, keep it together.
Just keep it together!
Tim had awoken early, having forgone his patrol the previous night; he doubted that he had been missed, his part of the city had been quiet while he was gone. His computer along with his suit were packed up, the duffel bag over his shoulder while he stuffed a slice of toast into his mouth. He was pleased to find that the maid had indeed left during the night; he was positive she would not be returning after having ended the contract abruptly. He would still change the passcode to the gate regardless. He wished he could have expressed to her that it really wasn’t anything personal, he was sure she was probably a hard worker.
The lock clicking into place was loud when Tim shut the front door to the manor, he knew it would be several weeks before he would be returning; to his credit he did remember to take out his trash, the thought causing him to laugh softly on his way to the garage. The car he chose was one of the more inconspicuous ones his parents reluctantly possessed; while he could have gotten a plane ticket, he preferred to drive. It was far better than being surrounded by others.
His fingers drummed lazily against the leather of the steering wheel, the radio station he had chosen at random was playing a morning show, the announcers far too happy considering the early hour, the recorded laugh tracks reminding him oddly of Harley.
In time it was easy to tune out once the boasting voices of the hosts gave way to music, the morning traffic already causing a near standstill on the bridge leading out of Gotham. Tim felt the urge to bash his head against the steering wheel when someone behind him slammed on their breaks and blared their horn. It caused a wave of horns to be heard that had his teeth near grinding.
If he was Red Robin he would have been able to get out of the city much faster. Instead, he had to be Timothy Drake and act as though this was an everyday occurrence.
He wondered how many times he would say that to himself before he would become a broken record. One that he would love to smash onto the sidewalk and walk away from. He laughed bitterly at the thought, sighing with relief when the traffic began to move again and in time he was able to zip off the bridge and onto the connecting highway. It was freeing in a way to watch Gotham city slip out of sight in his rearview mirror; perhaps at one point, when he had started leaving the city for days at a time, he had been nervous. Now, all he felt was relief in knowing that he was putting distance between himself and those who made it clear he wasn’t wanted. Bruce and the others had made that painfully clear.
It hurt, knowing that no matter how hard he tried, it never made a difference.
He bet the demon brat would be thrilled to know that that was what he thought.
Taking a sip from the thermos he had brought, Tim savored the expensive dark roast and stepped on the gas. He wondered idly, the same way he did late at night, what it would feel like to leave the city and never return.
Not that he could ever do that.
But if he could?
Who knew…
The city of Boston was loud and busy; nowhere near as hectic as Gotham, and Tim appreciated that he could blend in without the need of a disguise. The billboards he passed held no advertisements for the Drake or Wayne businesses, and the celebrity gossip rags he spied in passing were dedicated more so to celebrities of the fashion world. Tim was more than thankful when the woman at the receptionist desk barely looked him over while she checked him in, no doubt thinking him just another rich brat playing with his parents’ money.
He despised having to change out of his comfortable slacks and sweater for the ironed and creased pant suit he was told to wear, the material far too stiff and the rough fabric caused his skin to itch when he moved his arms. He wanted nothing more than to have just thrown on an expensive cardigan and slacks, slap on a Rolex and call it a day, but he knew if he did his parents would find out; and while it would only result in emails stating their disapproval, he had no energy to deal with them.
The lobby was near empty when he left the hotel, stepping out onto the busy sidewalk where he integrated with the flow of pedestrians. He felt the chill in the breeze nip at his cheeks and nose, felt the comforting wait of the shoulder bag he carried, one that was worth more than he wanted to admit, while he navigated through the city. He bypassed the idea of taking a cab, having made record time getting to the city, allowing himself to take in the sights while he headed to one of the many skyscrapers where his meeting would be held. The looks he received were ones he was well accustomed to in Gotham; he was sure no one knew who he was, it was due to how he was dressed, far nicer than even some of the older business men he passed.
When he checked the address once more he steeled himself for what he knew would be long and mentally grueling hours of a meeting when only one or two would have sufficed. When he entered the building he found the eyes of the security guards locked onto him, their brows raised when he passed; Tim remained calm and composed, reminding himself of the role he needed to play. He was confident, he was young and eager to please, just how his parents taught him to be.
When he approached the receptionist at her circular desk, he found that the lobby was empty of all else; and when she caught sight of him, she gave him a smile. A smile that was far too wide and revealed too many dazzling white teeth; her hair was pulled into a tight bun, not a lock out of place and her makeup immaculate, much like the pencil skirt and woman’s blazer she wore. When she looked at him, Tim recognized the look of disbelief before it vanished; she had been trained well.
“You must be Timothy Drake! Wonderful, excellent, we are very pleased you could make it here to speak with us today. Please, allow me a moment to let the board of directors know that you are on your way up. If you head over to the elevator on your right, you can head on up to floor twenty five. Gretchen, such a nice woman, will be more than happy to bring you the rest of the way.” Her smile widened almost impossibly so, reminding Tim too much of the Joker’s victims, and her voice practically echoing in the otherwise silent lobby. It was easy enough to find the elevators as they were the only ones to be found, and when he passed the security guard that stood by them, he barely glanced up from his phone, hitting the button to call the lift down
He smiled at the camera he spotted in the corner of the elevator and angled his face away to let his smile fall, his foot tapping with irritation when the chime sounded for each floor the lift passed. The music the elevator passed reminded him of something from an old cartoon, sad and haunting when he knew they had thought it would be cheerful for the listeners. Tim watched his reflection in the chrome of the walls, it was eerie to him just how young he appeared when he already felt so old. He wondered if this was how Ra’s felt when he looked in the mirror, still containing some of his youthfulness while living long past the expectancy of any man. The thought was brushed away in time for the doors to open.
He found Gretchen waiting for him, and much like the receptionist in the lobby her smile was too wide and bright while she led him down a hallway that held glass windows to reveal large conference rooms. The one he was brought to had the shades down, the door opened for him by a guard that stood watch. The conference room he walked into was a sight that he had grown quite used to while working for Wayne Enterprise, save for the skyline the windows overlooked showing different buildings. The long table, polished to a shine already held papers and folders he had faxed to the company days prior, the leather seats pushed in each holding the stereotypical older man, dressed in rich suits with pinched expressions and disgust at having to be in a meeting with one so young in their eyes. Before Tim could greet them one noted snidely that his father should have been there, not him, and Tim knew just from that, that it would be a long meeting.
With a smile on his lips Tim gave a polite nod, mentioning his father’s absence being unavoidable while he opened his briefcase and took out his own computer to hook up, and his papers. The mask of Timothy Jackson Drake firmly in place.
“Thank you all for taking time out of your busy schedules to have me today. I represent Drake Industries and am honored to be the one to offer you and yours an offer of a lifetime.”
Four hours. Four goddamn hours he had stood in front of those men and answered their questions, giving a presentation on materials he had only read up on the night before. He knew he had bullshit enough to have them eating out of the palm of his hand, he knew his parents would be proud of him for enthralling them into seeing the benefits without them weighing the cons. He smiled the full duration of the meeting, his cheeks aching and his jaw sore. Much to his silent distress the board had forgone breaks in order to ensure the meeting only took one day. After much back and forth he had them signing the deal by the end of it, an email immediately sent to his parents to inform them of a success he knew they wouldn’t congratulate him on.
It was after all expected that he would succeed the first time. The perfect little doll.
He felt immediate relief when he made it back to the hotel, having hailed a cab, and was able to finally shuck the suit off. He didn’t care if it would be wrinkled, he was done with it. While Tim sat on the bed, one much more plush than he was used to, he found himself itching to head out into the city. He wanted to blend in with the pedestrians, to see the sights; the problem came in the form of his clothes. Anyone who saw him would know he wasn’t from around the area, they would see him as a rich boy with far too much money to spend, and a possible easy target to scam.
Even in his cardigan and slacks he knew he stood out, which was why he found himself roaming through one of the stores that boasted of comfortable clothing that were still chic and cheap. His eyes looked to the clothing in the men’s section and found none of them held his attention. He was drawn to a red dress in the women's section, the style screaming to him that it would work perfectly for his alias known as Caroline Hill. The heels nearby where black and went nearly up to his knees, a pair he knew would complete the outfit along with a black clutch purse. His eyes darted to make sure none were paying attention to him when he swiped what he needed in his size, heading quickly to the counter where he played the role of a nervous boyfriend wanting to buy his girlfriend something nice for the night on the town.
Silent excitement thrummed through him, his hair was nowhere near as long as his wig back home, but it had grown out to a little past his shoulders. With his bag clutched to his chest he headed for the nearest unisex bathroom in a cafe, having bought an overpriced coffee in order to be allowed access. Once the door was shut and locked he allowed himself to relax and slip on the dress and heels; he smoothed out his hair and did what he could to darken his lips by biting them sharply and patting his cheeks to make them appear blushed. No one batted any eye when he stepped out of the bathroom, his clothes left under the sink. He didn’t care what happened to them, let someone else take them, he had plenty at home.
Tim- no, Caroline walked the city with ease, smiling happily at the children he passed, and winked at the men he saw watching him. The hotdog he bought was greasy and overpriced and he found himself near moaning at the flavor. Tim Drake didn’t eat street food without getting questioned, but Caroline could, and she ate another one before buying a can of pop, giving the worker an extra twenty for a tip on her way, listening to the satisfying click of her heels.
There was a museum she wanted to see and a sunset she was informed was breathtaking if she stood on the docks by the aquarium. It sounded like a perfect day before she would go see what the clubs had to offer.
New Hampshire had called his name, Tim found when he awoke, his headache easily taken care of by a tall glass of water and an Advil, his dress from the night before slipped back on. Caroline wanted to go to New Hampshire and see the leaves, and she wouldn’t stick out as much as Timothy Drake if she decided to stop by the capitol to explore. She heard from some visiting locals that the bistro’s had some damn good sandwiches and soup. She didn’t mind the idea of going out of her way to try one.
The lobby was busy when she went to drop off her key, the receptionist from the day before was replaced by a man who didn’t look up from his computer screen when she dropped the key off. Her car was pulled around by the valet and her nails, painted a cherry red by a woman at the bar, tapped against the steering wheel while she listened to the radio, finding one station that played pop music that made her shoulders move as though to dance along with the melody.
Out of all Tim’s aliases, Caroline telt the most natural to slip into; she was pretty, witty and sexy. She was fresh out of medical school and had a badge showing she worked for the Gotham General Hospital, fake of course, yet it worked to give her the access she needed.
When she eventually made it to the capital, her excitement grew at the sight of brightly colored leaves and the fall decorations that were seen on the shops that lined the streets. A retail office was what caught her attention when she walked by, drawing her back to watch the screens in the window that displayed the homes both in the city and countryside that were for sale. Each one looked charming in her opinion, houses that were perfect for families with lush green lawns and picket fences, some painted white while some were lined by hedges. One that caught her eye the most was a small two storied home with both a front yard and back, located in a small cul de sac, or so the advertisement boasted.
It looked… It looked like a home that would be perfect for a family of four; a place where one could go to laugh and play, where pictures of the family could be found in the living room and lining up the staircase wall. The picture changed far too quickly for her liking, her heart skipping beat at the thought that it could be the perfect home for her and the two lost boys she loved so dearly.
“It’s the dream, ain’t it, sister?”
Caroline turned her head to see another woman standing beside her, the woman’s eyes on the window displays.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said, ain’t it the dream? You know, having kids to fill that home with, a loving husband. Women dream of that. ‘Least I do.” The woman took out a cigarette and shrugged when Caroline said she didn’t have a light. “Sister just got married, paid in cash for one of these places, lucky bitch. But hey, you’re pretty, bet you’ll find someone, yeah?”
“I- yes I suppose so.” Caroline mumbled, watching the woman leave as though she hadn’t said anything, her eyes looking once more to the display that showed her dream home. Her belly churned at the realization that the more she thought about it, the more she wanted to snatch it up and make it her own. It was a desire that out weighed the one of being robin; far more than the one to belong to the bat clan.
She wanted so much she could scream.
Her feet were moving before she knew it, the door being opened and a bell chiming as a voice called out to her.
“Welcome, what brings you in today?”
“I- I think I want to look at the house shown in picture twelve.”
“A woman who made up her mind, I love that. You’re in luck, just had it listed this morning. Newly renovated too.”
Maybe she would regret it later, but Caroline nodded her head eagerly and approached the counter.
“I have to have it.”