Chapter Text
Nothing has mattered for a long time now and all signs point to that feeling only getting worse as tethers and purpose slip away. It’s been over a year of Tim’s consciousness all but simply existing, barely tethered to the real world by his body at times, feeling as though he has little agency, losing control over his actions and unable to care about that, all while just barely grasping at fading reasons to go on.
His body has been pushing forward for him as if on its own, going through the tasks of his days and nights as if they mean something when in reality Tim can barely process a single thing going on around him when it’s simply dull monotony. When he isn’t actively on patrol or working diligently on something for Wayne Enterprises, he will discover himself doing things that he had no recollections of going through the movements of or making the choice to go through with them. None of them are ever really bad, but he’ll be at his desk, finishing up something and then suddenly find himself on the other side of the building with a cup of coffee 45 minutes later.
No one has ever mentioned anything that Tim doesn’t remember so he has to assume that everything his body does on its own is mundane and relatively normal, but he doesn’t like the idea of having no control or memory of his actions. If Tim had the energy to feel anything else, he would likely be consistently terrified. All emotion that he feels has to come from outside sources, something that he craves and is unable to obtain most of the time.
If Tim is being honest with himself, something he rarely is, the missing time isn’t what scares him. It’s the fact that he just feels too exhausted to bring himself to care. To try to do something about it. To even tell someone. He’s not sure who he would talk to, but even if he did have someone, he doubts he would say anything. Tim has always tried to prepare for the worst, ready to face difficult tasks, and just be prepared for anything. Now, even though he knows that something is wrong, he can’t even bring himself enough to think too hard about what to do until it becomes a real problem. If it becomes a real problem. He has simply decided to not worry about it until he has something to worry about. That was once so unlike him. Now it is what defines him.
The part that he tries to lie about to himself is that he kind of likes his body taking over, his consciousness just fading. He can go through tasks as if nothing is wrong, not needing to exist for a few, precious moments. He gets the benefits of living and going about his day without the downsides that are always so heavily present. It’s exactly what he wants. He doesn’t want to be conscious, but he doesn’t want to die either. He simply wants to stop existing. It feels as though it is his reason for pushing forward, getting to those points. They’re a break from reality.
Unfortunately, there are also times when he is only half dissociated. He exists outside of his body but he is conscious. Regaining control isn’t necessarily difficult but Tim just can’t help but worry that it will lead down a dangerous path for him in the future. It’s so hard to find the concentration or care to bring himself back. On top of that, it’s a pretty uncomfortable viewpoint to have, not liking seeing himself in third person.
The only thing that brings him back to full reality in states like this is pain and fear and he can’t really inflict genuine fear on himself so pain is really the only option he has most times. It doesn’t matter if it is physical or another verbal lash from people who still have the audacity to call themselves Tim’s family. People Tim doesn’t have the strength to walk away from. Well, not fully at least. He is sure that he would just disappear into nothing, no longer having anything to hold him down, if he completely removed himself from the Waynes. Even if it hurts to be around them, it hurts to think about them, it would hurt far more to completely walk away. Sometimes, it feels like they’re the only thing keeping him from disappearing as if he had never even existed. He can’t lose the only thing that is holding him down on this Earth even if it is one of the things that makes him want to leave it.
The year that Tim had spent searching for Batman had been the last time that he had been aware, at least consistently fully aware, of what was going on around him. He had a clear objective and needed to constantly push forward, keeping himself both mentally and physically occupied. He kept both his body and mind strained, only ever stopping when he absolutely needed to, never letting personal thoughts or feelings get too much a hold of him. He had a goal that he could lie to himself about where it could end in things being good again. Could end in him going home and his life getting back to what it was when things were good.
Or, well, at least not bad. Things were only briefly good and that was the small time between when Bruce stopped trying to chase Tim off with violent outbursts and general indifference and Jason coming back, making sure that Tim knew the second Robin, Tim’s hero and idol, resented him and wanted him gone. Wanted to make him regret taking Jason’s place next to Batman. Sure, he knows that Jason was really always angry at Bruce and had asserted that, but Tim had been a much easier target. Even though things had gotten better between Jason and Tim, building an unspoken truce of sorts to keep a distance, the fact that Tim has clearly always been the black sheep, the replacement, the weakest link, hurts.
No matter what things really were like even before Bruce disappeared, nostalgia has a funny way of twisting the past. That feeling helped him forget about the past discrepancies that Bruce’s sons had committed against him over the years with both intention and malice. At that point, he just wanted to go back to feeling as though he was real and not just kinda…there. When he felt like a person as opposed to a vague semblance of a consciousness existing in a corporeal form. Where he could feel like he was worthy of even the most simple acts of kindness and affection.
He had been so sure that bringing Bruce home, proving that he hadn’t been crazy, showing his siblings that he wasn’t worthless and could make the world a little better like the rest of them, they would finally truly see him as valuable and he would finally be happy. He had deluded himself into actually thinking that he may finally be accepted as a part of the family. That succeeding in this would make him feel whole. Would make it feel like the empty part of him that he is sure is supposed to be filled with whatever makes people want to keep someone around, makes them see value in one another, would finally be filled. For the first time in his life he would feel like he isn’t missing something so vital that sometimes he isn’t sure how he is still alive.
Sometimes It feels as though he’s missing something as important to life as a heart or lungs. Somehow, even without whatever it is he is missing, he is still alive. The lack of this essential part of him just isn’t killing him like it feels as though it should. He doesn’t know what it is or how to fix it.
Nothing had changed when he got home with Bruce. Nothing. If anything, things got worse. It wasn’t that Bruce’s son’s treated him worse now that Tim has brought Bruce back, if anything, they treated him better than they ever had before. Despite it being exactly what he had wanted, it just felt so pointless and empty. He managed to convince himself that the Waynes talking to him more, spending more time with him, and making an effort to include him was a way of acting as if nothing had happened. Part of him knows that they were only trying to move past the ugly mess that had come after Bruce’s ‘death’, not bringing it up unless Tim did, but it just felt as though nothing they did mattered.
He tried talking to them a few times, but every time he did, the words would stick in his throat, choking him. He would either begin to feel anger so intense that he couldn’t see straight or feel scared, small, and helpless standing in front of them. He doesn’t know exactly what he should have done or what he wanted from anyone, but it had all just been too much. All he was able to think about was Dick pushing Tim to seek psychological help, talking to the others around him, everyone surrounding him, believing that between Bruce’s death and several personal losses preceding that including Conner and his father, had caused Tim to finally snap and lose his mind. What really made Tim snap was Dick calling Tim crazy and stripping the last thing he had of Bruce away from him.
Tim never thought that he would be Robin forever, he never wanted to be either. He just needed Robin for a little longer. He at least needed for Dick to talk to Tim about it, explain his reasoning, and at least pretend like he ever saw Tim as more than a placeholder. More than Jason’s replacement. It cuts deeper than ‘pretender’ or ‘replacement’ that Jason uses in lieu of Tim’s name, something Bruce never even pretends to correct Jason on. It’s not something that Tim has ever allowed himself to stand up for himself about. He isn’t sure why, but maybe it would somehow remove him further or make him seem like the cruel one.
Jason has been through too much and it hurts him to see Tim as Robin after his resurrection. Tim knows that really all that Jason had felt was anger and as though he had been abandoned by his family. Like he was never wanted in the first place. It’s a feeling that Tim is all too familiar with. Taking on that burden was the least that Tim could do for his hero, no matter how much his Robin hates him.
Not only that, but he knows that his place with Bruce has always been precarious. Batman hadn’t wanted to take on another Robin after what happened to Jason, trying to scare Tim off over and over again, not wanting him to meet a grizzly fate as well. No matter how much Tim would want to leave so often while being pushed too far with Bruce, he forced himself to stay, remembering the violent husk of a man that Batman had become without Robin. If Tim’s body had to endure the pain and fear harbored in the man’s heart instead of Gotham’s brightest symbol being tarnished by blood and violence, so be it. Tim told himself again and again that he was doing the right thing. That he was saving Batman. Maybe he was, but he also fueled so much of Jason’s anger.
Even after Jason came back, Bruce couldn’t exactly get rid of Tim considering that Tim had all but blackmailed the man into letting him become Robin. Sure, it wasn’t really blackmail considering the fact that Tim never really had any intention of sharing Batman’s identity with anyone, but it still likely had that aura to it. He really had just forced his way into Bruce’s life, the man possibly privately resting Tim for that. It’s impossible to tell. Bruce hadn’t even gotten rid of him after it became clear that Tim would either never tell anyone or that Bruce had enough on Tim to take him down too because by that point, Tim didn’t have a home to go back to and Bruce kept him out of pity like one would keep an injured kitten they found in a gutter.
Damian has never liked Tim and he has never really understood why. He didn’t expect the kid to love him or anything, but he doesn’t understand the disdain. He gets that Damian was raised as a soldier, never allowed to be a child, had to grow up so fast and was abused most of his life whether he knew it or not. Still, Damian would always refer to Tim by his surname as a reminder that he isn’t, has never been, and will never be, a true part of the family. He can only assume that Damian saw Tim as either an easy target or his primary competition and wanted to take him down.
After spending some time with the League of Assassins, Tim grew to understand Damian’s behavior more. He came from a childhood where you were either the strong who would cause harm or the weak who would be harmed. There were very few people who managed to find a place in the middle and just disappear. Even though he understands that all Damian was doing was protecting himself in a way that he was trained to do, expecting violence and cruelty at every turn, it still hurts.
Even before Bruce was lost in time, Jason’s and Tim’s relationship had improved a lot, granted, that was a low bar. It had gone from Jason attacking Tim in the Titan’s tower to the larger man largely minding his own business, only really interacting with Tim when they had a common goal in the field. Still, he can’t remember the last time that Jason had actually referred to Tim by his real name and not ‘replacement’ or ‘the pretender’. It hurts more than Tim can even express to himself. He knows that they’re accurate descriptions as to who he is, but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.
He doesn’t even know how to talk to Barbara or Stephanie after everything even though there is nothing particularly bad that had come between them. He just has no idea how to even start. The only member of his family that he has been able to be around without a formal facade is Cass. She had helped Tim find Bruce and had stayed by his side and fought with him even though she didn’t fully believe him about Bruce still being alive. Even if she had doubts, she understood that Tim believed it and he needed to go through with this and she didn’t want Tim to be alone in enemy territory more than he already had been. She kept him from shattering more than once and had been the one who had saved him from Ra’s al Ghul’s daughter, Nyssa. He doesn’t want to think about what would have happened if she wasn’t with him.
With things going well with Cass in the last month of his search for Bruce, he thought that maybe things would be okay when he got home. He further let himself believe that when Bruce had held him tight, comforting him as Tim had sobbed into the man’s chest, the first time he had let himself cry since the beginning of his mission. He really thought that even if it would be an adjustment for everyone, things would go back to how they were. Things would be okay.
Tim hadn’t even lasted a full month in the manor when he returned with Bruce. He wanted normal and he got normal. He just never anticipated how unbearable the feeling of normality would be after everything he had been put through to bring back Bruce. He didn’t even care if the others wouldn’t acknowledge what he did and sacrificed, he just wanted them to see him as worthy of being a part of the family after doing so much. After trying so hard, he just wanted them to stop treating him like an outcast. He still doesn’t know if it was all in his head or if he really had been othered when he returned home after so long.
It was then that he realized that no matter how hard he tried, what he sacrificed, or how much he suffered, it would never be enough. He would never be enough. He moved out into his own apartment without telling anyone until the last minute, unable to be around the others consistently any longer. He couldn’t do it. Every day it felt like he was drowning, barely able to breathe. He doubted he would have survived much longer if he had stayed in the manor.
Alfred will still invite Tim to dinners and he will occasionally get a text or call from Bruce or Dick, acting as if they care or even notice his absence, inviting him over as well. Tim lies about being busy with Wayne Enterprises or tired from patrol to Alfred, sometimes he will even agree to come and then cancel at the last minute citing illness or being busy when he really just gets cold feet. He completely ignores Dick and Bruce. He has nothing to say to them. There is nothing left to say.
The only person he really sees anymore as Timothy Drake is Cass. The two will meet up for coffee or dinner, talking some, but mostly sitting in silence. Even though he knows that Cass has trouble speaking, he appreciates her silence. More than that, he appreciates her honestly. Cass is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. The only time she will lie is when her life or the lives of others depend on it. She knows when Tim can handle being pressed about something he doesn't want to talk about and when it will send him into a fit of rage.
Now, the only time he sees the rest of the people who he was once foolish enough to call family is during patrol. It’s the only time when he feels like he actually belongs anywhere. It’s the only time that he can be around them where he isn’t treated like a child and expected to act like an adult, isn’t degraded and harassed, isn’t constantly reminded that he will never be good enough. Those few hours are the only reason at this point that he can give logic to his reasoning for why he hasn’t destroyed his relationship with the Waynes. He tries to ignore the other, more dominant reason that he knows is the driving factor that if he loses them, he’ll lose everything. He won’t have anything and will disappear. That he will finally be driven into the corner where death becomes the only option. He doesn’t want to die, well, not really anyways, but sometimes it feels like there is no other way to make all of this stop hurting so much. Sometimes he just doesn’t know what else to do. That isn’t something he has ever shared with anyone and never has any intentions of doing so.
On bad days, he’ll hope that he’ll get killed during patrol. The days where he doesn’t eat at all or even goes as far to drink a little before patrol so that he’s weaker and out of it and wouldn't be able to defend himself as well if put in that position. If he’s killed in the field, at least that will be how he is remembered, no matter how pathetic it may be. He doesn’t want to be the last memory of him being that he was unable to keep pushing forward and ending his own life. He is sure that Damian would love that, talking about how Tim was even too pathetic to keep living. He would relish in it and Tim can’t give him that. At the very least, if Tim is killed in action, Bruce won’t allow his sons to mock Tim’s death. It will be a tragedy as opposed to something pitiful. He won’t just be an embarrassing topic that they would avoid at all costs in the future, trying to pretend around others that Tim had never existed.
His days have become painfully redundant but mercifully full. He gets up early in the morning before the sun rises, dresses, only ever looking in the mirror long enough to shave and make sure his suit is straight and professional looking. Making it possible to parade around as someone who is capable of taking care of himself. Someone who can bear to look at himself in the mirror without feeling either a boiling rage at the face looking back at him or nauseous at the reminder that this is what people see. He can’t point to exactly what it is, but he knows that he deeply despises his own reflection and wishes that he could be invisible and no one could see him in human form. That they couldn’t be repulsed by what they saw the moment he came into view.
Usually he’ll have drunk a full pot of coffee by the time that he arrives at Wayne Enterprises, making more as soon as he gets to his office. He knows that he isn’t sleeping enough and that coffee is getting less and less effective with how much he has drunk over the years. He’s begun switching between various energy drinks to keep him awake and alert during the day even as he can feel his body tremble. He isn’t always sure if it is because of the excessive amounts of caffeine and sugar or the fact that he’ll sometimes go a few days at a time without eating much of anything save a pack of crackers, a pop tart, chips or something he so happened to grab, not always remembering purchasing it. He’ll just find it in his hand or next to him. It’s hardly ever real food, just snacks, but still, better than nothing. It’s all he can bring himself to eat most days.
Sometimes, he wonders if he’ll turn to brewing his coffee with redbull or just skipping the extra steps and taking hard drugs first. He really isn’t sure. It would be funny if he isn’t almost positive that once morning he’ll discover himself doing just that, unsure how or why. Only vaguely aware that he’s exhausted, needs to get up, and completely unconcerned for his health and life.
He’s been running Wayne Enterprises for a few years now and he absolutely despises it even though he almost physically needs it. He’s pretty sure he began doing some work with it at 15. He’s 19 now and has done more and more over the years. He has hated every moment of every day about it but there is no other alternative. If he isn’t working here, he’ll be at home alone, trapped with his thoughts either sleeping or doing whatever he can to keep his thoughts quiet. It would likely largely consist of getting drunk. Even though he isn’t 21, it is far too easy to procure liquor simply by adding a 20 dollar bill for the cashier to keep. It’s not like Tim is going to complain. Anyways, there are far worse things in Gotham than underage drinking.
More importantly, if Tim isn’t running Wayne Enterprises, he won’t be useful. No matter how much he wants to not care about what the Waynes think of him, wants to never see them again, wants to scream until he’s hoarse about how much they’ve hurt him, he can’t. He can’t lose them. He can’t be cast away. Even though he knows that Bruce is only keeping Tim around because he’s useful and he wants something from him, Tim can’t bring himself to walk away. He’s already proved to himself that he can’t get people to stay because they care about him or because he can prove himself worthy. All he can do is be low maintenance and useful. Even if he isn’t loved, he’s tolerated. His parents taught him that. He wishes he had listened to them more. They weren’t kind or loving in any way, but they were right. He wishes that they weren’t right about so much.
After work, he’ll go back to his apartment, telling himself that he’ll clean or eat some real food before patrol but he hardly ever does. He’ll watch something on TV to occupy his mind, eat chips, red vines, or the separate components of a ham and cheese sandwich. On good days, he’ll eat a bit of real food and drift off in a half sleep for a little before nightfall.
As soon as it gets dark, Tim pulls on his Red Robin suit while drinking another cup of coffee or energy drink and hurries into the night, desperate for anything . Desperate for pain, for a distraction, to help someone, to make someone think for even a moment that he isn’t worthless, or to even be killed. He’s decided that whatever happens he’ll allow it. A bruised, battered, and broken body takes his mind away from the confusion and pain swirling around inside of him. It grounds him in his body and reminds him that he’s real. It exhausts him and allows him to sleep for more than three or four hours every night.
Eventually, he’ll drag himself back to his apartment, shower only about half the time and actually wash his hair about half of that, and then collapse into bed, too exhausted to dream. He needs dreamless nights. Dreams will always fill his mind with bad, or, well, worse thoughts the next day. He can only manage if he just gets barely enough to keep going.
The next day, he’ll somehow manage to drag himself out of bed again and repeat the cycle again and again.
This isn’t just during the weekdays, he does it on the weekends too. He can’t allow himself to slow down. Can’t allow himself to think or catch his breath. If he stops and confronts himself, his delicate system that allows him to keep crawling out of bed as a little more than an empty husk of a man will fall apart, trapping Tim beneath its crushing weight.
Today has been just like every other day for the past year. The year since Tim moved out and had barely spoken to the Waynes. He only speaks to most of them during patrol and they aren’t supposed to talk about personal matters which is a relief. He will talk to Bruce when he comes in to check on his company that he has barely been running for years now, that responsibility falling on Tim, and that too will revolve strictly around business, Tim refusing to speak of personal matters in the office because something about professionalism. He will then refuse to speak to Bruce at all outside of the office or during patrol. It’s another delicate system that has been working for him.
Unfortunately, today is one of the days that Bruce has decided to try to talk to Tim once again under the guise of business interests. Tim explains profit margins, expansion plans, and projections into the next fiscal year in detail all while avoiding eye contact with the man he idolized for so long. The man he sold piece after piece of his body and soul for just to be pushed to the side again. The man who helped break him without even realizing it or meaning to.
He’s almost done with his explanation as he tries to think of some reason to get Bruce to leave when he tries to talk to Tim again. As if it isn’t too late for that. As if it hasn’t been too late for that for a while.
“Timothy,” Bruce begins quietly in a cautious voice that he never uses for business. Using Tim’s full first name which he only ever uses when something is serious. “What’s going on?” He asks, trying to search Tim’s face for anything as if it took the world's best detective to see that something is wrong with Tim’s hollow face, dull eyes, and trembling hands.
“I’m explaining the trends and projections of the company to you, Mr. Wayne. That’s what’s going on. Would you like me to start from the beginning?” He asks, wording more sarcastic and voice more cold than he had anticipated.
Large fingers brush against Tim’s bony hand in a manner that could be mistaken for affection if it came from anyone else. Tim just snatches his hand away from Bruce’s as if the touch had burned him despite feeling a deep craving to be touched, to be held, to feel like he’s safe pulled up against Bruce’s chest and cradled like he’s something precious. Tim can feel his eyes burn at the imagery flashing through his mind, blinking away the unformed tears. He can’t cry. He hasn’t in a long time no matter how much he desperately needs to. If he starts crying now, he won’t be able to stop. He can’t break after holding back for over a year in the middle of his office while in front of Bruce of all people.
“Tim, son, I know that you don’t want to discuss personal matters in the office but you won’t talk to me anywhere else. You don’t answer calls or even texts, you won’t come home for any amount of time for any reason, and you won’t talk to anyone else either. I’m worried about you.” Bruce says with more emotion in his voice than Tim has heard in a long time which isn’t much of an accomplishment in the least. “I miss you. We all miss you.”
Swallowing the lump in his throat Tim looks at a point on the wall behind Bruce. “I’m right here, Mr. Wayne, there is no reason to miss me.” He replies flatly. He can’t do this right now. Probably can’t do this ever. Listen to Bruce act like Tim is his family and like he doesn’t at least have an idea about what is wrong. So much is wrong and so much has happened right in front of Bruce. He just doesn’t care or just wants Tim to forget about it and continue to allow for people to walk all over him and then toss him aside the moment he tries to be anything other than a doormat or a tool.
Sighing, Bruce tries to reach for Tim’s hand again which he snatches back. “I would request that you refrain from touching me when not absolutely necessary, sir. I find it unprofessional and an invasion of space.” The words leave his lips even as his skin itches and almost burns for Tim to throw himself across the desk and into Bruce’s arms. To cry into his shoulder until he can’t anymore. At the same time the idea is repulsive. It makes it seem like everything that has been done to him is alright and that Tim will just forgive Bruce and the others and move on. He isn’t sure if he can forgive them. He doesn't know if he wants to. He wants to be held by someone but doesn’t want them to think anything of it. Wants to sob uncontrollably in front of them but doesn’t want them to remember. In terms of how reality works, Tim has no idea what he wants.
“If you have intentions other than discussing the functioning of your business I would appreciate it if I could get back to my job. If it concerns the company in any manner, I am willing to hear you out. If it is about personal matters, I will speak to you about them outside of business hours for both your corporation and…night job.” He affirms, knowing full well that he’ll ignore every phone call that Bruce makes and continue to live in the apartment that none of the Waynes know about. The one that he rented under a false name without anyone’s knowledge. The one that they do know about simply has some medical supplies and a bed incase Tim is nearby and can’t make it to his real apartment due to injury. He can’t risk someone dropping in for a surprise visit and seeing him broken and vulnerable.
“Cut the shit, Tim.” Bruce says with more force than before, almost making Tim flinch. “You’re exhausted. You may as well have black eyes with how dark your eyes are right now. You’re jittery, likely living off of caffeine, and you won’t talk to anyone through any medium. I know for a fact that you work both here and your night job seven days a week, injury and illness be damned. You used to be so calculated and logical about everything that you did. What happened? What’s going on?” Bruce asks, sounding like he really doesn’t know. Like watching Tim break over the years had been so forgettable. Like he didn’t contribute.
Tim digs his fingernails into his wrist hard enough to draw blood, pain bringing him back into his body as anger tries to force him out of it. Bubbling anger rising in this throat, choking him, making him want to lunge at the man in front of him. He’s done so well at keeping the delicate balance that he has created from shattering. Not allowing emotion to get the best of him and not allowing anyone to see past the thin walls he’s constructed around himself. It’s not like anyone cares enough about him to look closer. He doesn't need to try that hard. Just can’t give a blatant invitation to come snooping.
“What do you want, Mr Wayne?” Tim asks in a cold voice, closing his eyes as they burn, refusing to cry. He can’t cry.
“Are you going to be willing to talk to me at all? Tell me anything about what is happening with you right now?”
Tim just shakes his head in response, not trusting himself enough to talk more than absolutely necessary.
Sighing, Bruce continues. “Today is Friday, a little past noon. You’re aware, yes?”
“I am fully aware of the time and date, Mr. Wayne.” Tim replies curtly even though he isn’t. Every day feels the same. He comes in everyday so it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t take any breaks so the time doesn’t matter either. He ignores the clock unless he has a meeting, then he’ll set an alarm on his phone. Other than that, he works until his alarm goes off to signify the end of the work day. After that, he’ll make his way home and nap, eat, or stare blankly at the television before patrol.
“You have been doing an excellent job at running this company for the past few years Tim,” Bruce begins, choosing his words carefully.
Tim can feel his stomach drop, sure that he is about to be fired. He can’t be. It isn’t like how it would be for normal people where they would be terrified about paying bills and rent. It would be about being unable to fill his time with such a perfect distraction. If he isn’t working here, he can’t stop unwanted thoughts from entering his mind. He won’t be able to stop himself from feeling unwanted and worthless. Will begin to be backed into that dark corner where the only way out is death. He can’t be with those thoughts all day every day. He won’t survive it. He really won’t.
“I would like you to go home early today. Go home now.” Bruce says, allowing for Tim to relax. At least he isn’t being fired. “And I would like for you to take the weekend off. You need to rest, son. You aren’t well.”
Tension shoots back through Tim at that. Better than being fired, but he can’t be left to his own thoughts for a full weekend. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s shaking his head. “No. Please, Mr. Wayne, I…I need to be here.” He explains, trying to keep the fear coming from not being distracted out of his voice. He is completely unsure how to express his need for it without being called insane again. Even though it had never been a threat, part of him had been sure that he would wake up in Arkham one morning, Dick drugging him and leaving him there. Even though every logical part of him knew that even if Dick did forcefully institutionalize him, something that was already unlikely, it would be in a normal institution, not one for the criminally insane, he still could feel the overwhelming fear of the possibility.
“Son, you may have been running this place for a while, but I am still your superior. This isn’t a request and it isn’t up for debate. I want you to rest. Come home with me, Tim. Please, just for the weekend or even just for the night. Hell, just for dinner. Anything. Please come home.” Bruce practically pleads. If Tim weren’t so angry, he might even feel sorry for the man.
Standing abruptly, Tim grabs the few things that he brought to work. His computer, thermal coffee cup, now empty, and his phone. “I will see you on Monday, Mr. Wayne.” Tim says as coldly as he can without yelling or crying before brushing past Bruce and hurrying down the hall. He can hear Bruce yelling after him, but Tim ignores him, only responding by walking faster.