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Tim thinks that if he tries hard enough, he could turn himself completely invisible. Right about now, he sure does wish he had the ability to do just that, if only to escape the increasingly furious looks Batman keeps giving him.
He’s trying his very best to make himself entirely unnoticeable. His hands are practically strangling his seatbelt and he tries to calm himself down. The tension in the car makes that task unfairly difficult.
Tim just wishes Batman would get it over with already instead of making him wait like this. It’s almost worse than-- no. Nope. He can’t think like this anymore. It’s not worse than being tortured for two whole hours and then tied to a bomb.
He feels Batman glare at him again and Tim keeps his gaze locked on the road in front of them, just like he’s been doing the whole drive. He swears it feels like the drive back to the Batcave is taking twice as long.
Occasionally, Tim sneaks glances at Batman and notes that his posture is stiff, if slightly hunched in on himself and his hands are positively choking the life out of the steering wheel.
They’re turning onto the road leading back to the Batcave and Tim feels some of the tension in his body release. If he’s in the Cave, then he knows Alfred will stop Batman from going too far.
The car finally pulls up to a screeching halt in the Cave and it takes every single ounce of self-control Tim has to not fumble with unlocking his seatbelt and flying out of the damn car. It’s a near thing, though.
The moment Tim stumbles on unsteady legs, he feels a tight pressure in his chest lessen.
Not even driving home with his parents after they were called in by the school to discuss his failing grades was this tense.
Tim hunkers down on himself immediately, trying to be as unnoticeable as he can and scurries over towards the medbay. He hasn’t spotted Alfred yet.
“Robin,” Batman’s gravelly voice booms across the Cave.
And Tim does not let out a squeak of surprise at the rumbling voice. He’s rooted to the spot, unable to make eye contact with Bruce-- no, not Bruce. He’s talking to Batman, right now. A very very angry Batman.
The man sweeps in front of Tim and despite how much he doesn’t want to, Tim meets his eyes. ‘It’s polite to make eye contact' is a sentence that’s been drilled into his head enough times. ‘It shows that you’re paying attention.’
He considers verbally acknowledging Batman, but thinks about all the times when simply replying “yes” to his parents only made them angrier and decides it’s best to keep his mouth shut.
“Can you explain to me what the hell that was back there?” Batman asks, and it’s the most furious Tim’s ever heard him.
“I-I just thought--”
“You disobeyed me, Robin,” Batman says, cutting Tim off. “I told you to stay put. I told you to stay with Commissioner Gordon and not follow me. Yet, you went after me and nearly got yourself killed. So, I repeat. What. The hell was that?”
Batman isn’t shouting, but he doesn’t need to. Tim is blinking tears out of his eyes and has never been more grateful for the domino mask.
“I’m-- I’m sorry,” he says. “I thought you were in trouble, so I went--”
“You went after me,” Batman finishes. “Robin, at the start of your training, I told you to listen and to never question or disobey me when I give you an order. I was capable of handling myself. You were not. If I was forty seconds late, you wouldn’t be alive to have this conversation with me.”
“I understand,” Tim replies, refusing to look at anything other than the ground. “But someone said--”
“I’m not asking for excuses,” Batman hisses. “I am asking for you to follow my orders. You know the consequences. Do you think this is a joke?”
And now, that’s just an unfair thing to ask Tim. “No. No, I don’t. I’m sorry. I just--”
“You’re benched,” Batman says brusquely. “I won’t hear any arguing. You are benched until further notice.”
Tim shrinks in even further on himself and nods. If he opens his mouth to speak, he thinks he’ll just start crying.
Batman doesn’t care. He stalks away from Tim and towards the Batcomputer.
Tim thinks his feet might be glued to the floor. He can’t seem to move, only stay exactly where he is and try to get his emotions under control. He’s breathing heavily with the weight of swallowing back his sobs, which makes his bruised ribs groan in pain.
Finally, Tim can move his body again. He slinks over to the medbay and slides onto one of the cots.
Alfred is there and immediately makes a beeline for Tim. He offers him a thin smile.
“I’m glad to see you relatively unharmed, young sir,” he says gently.
Tim offers him a watery smile in response. Alfred sighs deeply, and the lines on his face seem deeper.
“I know it is not a fair thing to ask you to be patient with him,” he says. “He was simply worried about your well-being, master Timothy.”
“He just sucks at actually expressing any kind of human emotion?” Tim finishes, keeping his voice quiet. He doesn’t want Bruce to actually hear him.
Alfred huffs and a look of frustration crosses his face. “Unfortunately.”
Alfred works in silence and Tim watches him silently. He’s tending to his arms and his legs, both of which are covered in cuts and second-degree burns from being caught up in the explosion. He carefully shifts his cape to hide his side.
Alfred finishes up and hands Tim a paper cup filled with cold water. His hands are shaking when he accepts it.
“I do wish he wouldn’t get so angry at you.”
Alfred’s voice is loud enough that Bruce definitely hears him. The man shows no sign of acknowledgment.
Tim can almost hear the words ‘he never used to get this angry at the other Robins’. It hurts a bit, but it’s not like Bruce has any obligation toward Tim.
Tim smiles, and this time he makes sure it looks more genuine. “It’s okay, Alfred! I’m just here to make sure he’s okay. It’s not like he wanted me in the first place or anything.”
Tim pointedly ignores the look Alfred gives him and instead slides off the bed with a slight wince. Alfred lets him leave and he climbs the stairs as quickly as he can.
Realistically, Tim’s aware he’ll have to come clean sooner rather than later.
He was gonna tell Bruce, he was. Right after the explosion, even. When it was still bleeding profusely, enough that Tim could only stare at his gloved hands, the palms red with blood, and panicked for half a second because wow that was a lot of blood and he’d stupidly pulled out the piece of shrapnel.
And then he’d seen the look on Batman’s face and it would only feel like adding fuel to the fire and Tim was already too tired to handle getting yelled at by Bruce and this would’ve only made it worse.
So he just keeps quiet, waits for the other shoe to drop, and then trudged up to the room he was given in the Manor and proceeded to do what Tim Drake does best: handle things on his own. Sure, yeah, he was panicking a little, but he handled it great! He cleaned the jagged cut and quickly bandaged it without getting blood on any towels or anything.
Tim’s just so tired. His ribs ache. All the bruises he gathered throughout the night throb. The bed sheets are cold and he’s out the moment his head touches his pillow.
Tim puts off going downstairs for breakfast as long as he can. Eventually, he slinks out of his room wearing the Nightwing hoodie he stole from Dick, feeling generally absolutely miserable. It doesn’t help that his wound was inflamed and warm to the touch when he woke up.
Because this means he might just have to tell Bruce he forgot to mention getting stabbed in the side by shrapnel.
Still, Tim offers Alfred a small smile and takes a seat on one of the kitchen stools.
“Where’s Bruce?” he asks, trying to sound casual.
Alfred sighs, expression unreadable. “Still in the Batcave, I believe. He hasn’t come up for breakfast and I have an inkling he’s been there all night.”
Tim hums and stabs at his eggs. He’s not really hungry; in fact, the smell of breakfast cooking is making him slightly nauseous. He doesn’t want to worry Alfred though, so he just soldiers through and shovels his breakfast in his mouth as quickly as he can.
“I’m gonna go talk to him,” he announces, not bothering to wait for a response.
Tim’s palms are sweaty as he approaches the Batcomputer where Bruce is typing away furiously. From what Tim can see on the screen, it’s a report of some kind and he silently hopes it’s not from last night.
He can’t see his expression, but from the tense hunch of his shoulders, Bruce doesn’t seem in the best of spirits. Perfect.
Tim wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans for the third time. They shake. Just slightly.
“Hey, um, Bruce--”
The typing stops and the Cave is silent. It’s deafening and Tim almost considers just getting out and avoid starting up another argument. Bruce sighs.
“What is it, Tim?” he asks.
He removed his cowl at some point between last night and this morning, so his voice is just Bruce’s voice and not Batman’s growl, which actually does appease some of Tim’s nerves.
“It’s just about last night and-and the patrol,” he starts nervously.
He can feel Bruce’s mood darken like it’s a physical thing and Tim takes a nervous step back when the chair swivels and the man is fully glaring at him.
“What about it?”
Okay, yeah, that sounds a little bit too much like Batman.
“I, uh, wanted to apologize,” Tim says, shoving his hands in the pockets of the hoodie and looking down at the ground. “I know you told me to stay with the Commissioner, but someone said there was trouble where you were on the police radio, and I just-- I just wanted to help, Bruce. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m Robin. I want to help you and I can’t do that if you keep leaving me behind.”
“Tim.”
There’s a dangerous edge to Bruce’s voice and he bites the inside of his cheek. He mentally debates which would be worse-- not making eye contact, or making eye contact. Reluctantly, he drags his eyes up to meet Bruce’s. He twists his fingers in the pocket of the hoodie.
“It’s true,” he says, keeping his voice calm. “I’m your partner. You can’t keep sidelining me.”
The shadows under Bruce’s eyes are more prominent than usual. He really looks like he hasn’t slept all night.
“I’m only trying to keep you safe, Tim,” Bruce says. “Regardless of how you feel about it.”
It’s a clear dismissal, but Tim doesn’t drop it. His calm demeanor finally cracks and anger and frustration bleed through.
“I’m here to help. Sorry I keep coming after you, B. It’s really not like that’s the whole point of Robin being Batman’s partner. I am not incompetent,” he snaps. “We both know that.”
You made sure of that, hangs in the space between them.
“This isn’t about that, Tim.”
Now, Bruce’s voice is rising like he’s about to yell. Tim inhales sharply, breath choking on a disbelieving laugh.
“Then what?” There’s almost an edge of desperation to his words. “Do you just not trust me? Is that it? Or do you feel some sort of obligation to keep me safe? I’m not your responsibility and you’ve been just fine with that, so I don’t see why it’s becoming a problem now!”
Bruce’s expression is stony, lips twisted in a scowl.
“You are my responsibility, Tim. Whether you like it on not, when you put on that suit, your safety is my responsibility.
“I got stabbed by a piece of shrapnel!” Tim yells. “And you didn’t notice! You’re doing a pretty shit job at pretending to parent me!”
And then takes a few steps back when the words register. It seems like Bruce processes them at the same time as him, if the shock and horror dawning on his face is anything to go by.
“What.”
Tim feels his chest tightening and he struggles to take a breath. He can feel himself spiral into a panic. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t--”
“Tim--”
Bruce looks and sounds wrecked and it’s jarring enough that he falls silent.
“I came here to tell you,” Tim says, trying to salvage the rapidly deteriorating situation. “I didn’t tell you last night because you were already angry and it didn’t even go that deep, so it was fine, but then this morning--”
“Tim, that doesn’t matter right now.” Bruce’s voice sounds strangled. “Let’s just-- get you to the medbay and I’ll call Alfred down. You should’ve told me.”
Tim stares at Bruce, his chest tightening weirdly. It’s like someone pulled the plug and he’s watching all of his anger and exasperation swirl right down the drain until there’s nothing left.
“Yeah,” he says. “I just didn’t want to make it worse.”
Bruce doesn’t seem to know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. He helps Tim out of the hoodie and unwraps the bandages he wrapped tightly around the injury.
“I’ll get Alfred,” Bruce says, and he avoids Tim’s eyes. “We’ll talk about this later.”
After a short moment of hesitation, he ruffles Tim’s hair before going to retrieve Alfred. Tim watches him go, heart twisting in his chest.