Chapter Text
It was a Thursday. Tim sat in the white waiting room on a Thursday and wondered how many seconds it would cost to get up and run home.
The decision to go to therapy wasn't an easy one. In fact Tim didn't do it because he really wanted help. The truth was ugly, pathetic, everything Tim wanted to bury deep deep down.
Unfortunately he had already arranged a meeting with a therapist of the league, so there wasn't really a going back. He had to go through this first session, no matter how many second thoughts he had.
His whole body flinched when his name was called.
Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne
The room the therapy session was in was sound proof, he noticed right away as he was ushered inside. The plants were probably there to evoke a feeling of comfort but Tim wouldn't be that naive to let his guard down just because of some pretty flowers.
No, even if he decide to come willingly here.
The woman that sat in the chair smiled at him, another thing they probably did so he was vulnerable.
"Timothy was it?" The woman gestured to the empty chair in front of her. "Make yourself at home. My name is Audrey."
Tim's eyes searched the room for listening devices as he sat down and even though he couldn't find any, a part of him still tensed.
"Nice to meet you." he smiled his Gala worthy smile, a habit his mother would be proud of.
"The pleasure is all mine." 'Audrey's smile softened a bit. "So, what brought you here?"
It was dumb. Of course she would ask that question, Tim had known that. He knew but he still didn't thought of what he really wanted to say. Some people like Dick would say he should just say what he was feeling since that would be the answer.
And people like Bruce would understand.
He shrugged. "I don't know."
'Audrey' didn't frown, that was the first thing that surprised him.
Dick would always frown when he didn't open up, he would have that condescending expression of his. "I can't help you if you don't tell me bud."
"That's alright Timothy. Is there something you want to talk about? Something that is going on in your life right now?"
You could call it that right? His life was a ongoing roller-coaster, especially the past months. People dying and coming back to life. The league of assassins. Saving Bruce. Coming back to the manor. The reunion of the Wayne family.
Dick not even looking at him. Damian wearing the R.
Life moving on.
"I'm moving." Tim's hands began to sweat, something they did very rarely.
"Out of Gotham?"
"No, just out of the manor. The apartment is closer to my work." Obviously this wasn't what she asked for, it wasn't really related to what was wrong with him. And even though he wanted to say something, to explain why he was here, it just wouldn't come out.
"That sounds like a big change Timothy. Is it difficult for you that you are moving away from your family?" 'Audrey' had a sympathetic look in her eyes.
"I don't know." Her eyes glanced down at his fidgeting hands which made him want to sink into the floor.
"Is your family helping you move?"
He took a small breath. "I'm capable of doing it alone."
"I'm sure you are." She tilted her head just slightly. "But just because you are capable doesn't mean you have to do it alone, right?"
He knew that. He knew she would say stuff like that, but she didn't understand. There was just no way he would ask them for help. Not Bruce, not Damian, not Jason and especially not Dick.
"They are busy."
He knew she didn't believe him.
"Timothy, are they often busy?"
"Tim."
'Audrey' paused, her eyes slightly widened. "What?"
He cleared his throat. "I go by Tim, not Timothy."
That wasn't the thing he wanted to correct. He wanted to tell her that they weren't really his family, that they only work together and lived together because it was convenient. That Tim Drake wasn't a Wayne, not really.
But he didn't say that.
She nodded. And then a silence stretched out, as she waited for his answer. He should answer truthfully, but it was really hard. Even if he knew the league's therapists were bound by a vow to silence, it still gnawed at his conscience to talk about the bats.
But he did arrange this session.
"They are busy people. It isn't easy to balance the night and day life. There isn't time for insignificant things."
She nodded again. "That does sound difficult Tim." A part of him relaxed at his name. "But is you moving out really an insignificant thing?"
"I-" He paused. "I didn't say that." But he did, didn't he?
"It must be hard to balance your night and day life with the moving for you. I heard you are Red Robin?"
Oh yeah, he was. But for him it was different, he had to manage. And since he wasn't Robin anymore it wasn't like Bruce would-
Never mind.
"I manage."
"Tim." she smiled softly again. "Is it difficult to move away without the help of them?"
"I don't know."
She waited for him to say more. A knife was twisting itself into his neck, the scar itching there. The ugly memory of the blood sipping out seemed to manifest. It was so hard to speak. But now was the moment to say it. Why he went here. Say it Tim. Say it!
"But I guess I-" he took a deep breath. "Feel alone."
'Audrey' nodded again, writing something down for the first time. The look she gave him afterwards was more reassuring than he would have thought.
"Do you often feel alone Tim?"
Here it was. He said it. The reason he came here, a last resort to sort himself out and fix what made him so broken.
"I do." Tim couldn't help but chuckle, the knife in his throat stopped twisting. And for a second it felt like it wasn't even there.
"All the time."
---
Tim didn't move out all of the sudden.
No, he didn't even hide it.
He didn't hide his search for a new apartment, he didn't hide the way he packed his stuff and he didn't even hide when he was moving out.
It felt like no one really noticed.
He prepared for the conversation at dinner thoroughly, made sure to have arguments why it was of interest for him to move out. He especially picked an evening Bruce had a successful business meeting and Damian was at Jon's.
To make a good pitch you have to wait for a good opportunity, as his mother taught him.
That evening is still on his mind. Alfred made vegetarian curry for dinner that day. Damian was at Jon's.
Vegetarian curry.
Bruce didn't pay him any mind, he was already thinking about patrol. He ate the curry, - no the vegetarian curry - and didn't look up at Tim.
It reminded him of the days it was just Bruce, Alfred and him. When he still was Robin. And at the same time it didn't. Because back then Bruce wouldn't have had dinner with him, Bruce would have sent him home till patrol and after too.
"I want to move out." Tim still remembered the taste of Damian's presence as he swallowed. Even though he picked this day because- "I already have an apartment."
Tim remembered seeing Bruce pause. The routine of going up and down with his spoon was interrupted.
"Not moving out of Gotham, just closer to work. I can send you the address in my report." Tim remembered trying to read Bruce, and even more embarrassing, he hoped to see shock, distress, a question about why.
Any sign he cared.
But Bruce didn't show any of that, he just nodded. "Okay." he had said. "Just make sure to be available for Red Robin, okay?"
Tim wanted to vomit. To get the curry, Damian's curry out of him. Instead he just nodded. Silently hoping the day of him moving out would come faster.
When the day came there were no conversations, no word said to him. It was just a normal day for the Waynes. Or even worse. Just an insignificant day for them.
Damian smiled.
---
Tim already dreaded the upcoming patrol. He was finally home, exhausted from the session when he remembered he still had to finish the report about yesterday's patrol.
He sighed as he moved towards his table, sitting down at his laptop.
His bones ached as he sat down, his energy level being at an all time low the last few days. The screen was way too bright, illuminating the pathetic sight of energy drinks on his small table. Still he narrowed his eyes, thought about last night and wrote.
Bruce probably didn't even read his reports, only on nights he did something wrong and even then Tim suspected Bruce didn't. He wasn't even Robin anymore, so why should Batman bother?
But even as he was Robin, Batman didn't bother, did he?
It's not a crime to feel alone Tim."
He still had to finish the damn report and had to get ready for patrol and had to mentally prepare for the next session, which he arranged-
"That's not something to be ashamed about."
Fuck.
He couldn't. He couldn't do it today. No report, no patrol, not with the heaviness of the previous conversation. Couldn't see the Waynes on this day, no he couldn't look them in the eye right now.
With a sigh he opened a tab to write a new email to Bruce. He appointed the not-really-finished-but-almost-finished report and wrote a short notice of him not coming to patrol, of course everything a bit in code, so it couldn't be hacked.
He leaned back in his chair, his head buried under his hands.
It was weakness that lead him to therapy. A selfish decision to talk to someone, even though no one really wanted to listen to him. Even though he wasn't someone that deserved that kind of care. Tim knew he was pathetic, he couldn't even keep his apartment clean. But the last year the deep engulfing numbness and powerlessness became unbearable.
Death after death. Loss after loss. But now it should be okay.
It wasn't.
Tim was aware of his symptoms. Just couldn't spell it out.
Therapy always had a bad reputation in his family. Jack always looked at people who went to therapy as dramatic or as broken. Like their struggles only became real when they went there. Jack said a Drake didn't need therapy because a Drake didn't struggle.
But Tim objectively knew that was bullshit. Of course he didn't believe people who went to therapy were less.
No, Tim didn't think badly of therapy. He knew it was a life saver for more people he could count. People who were suffering. People who were dear to him.
People like Kon.
Maybe he should call Kon.
His eyes began to struggle to open up, the eyelids being incredibly heavy. His body seemingly crying for rest. Maybe he should go to bed.
Maybe it was just him that didn't deserve therapy.
Maybe.
---
Tim's head was ringing as he heard a loud rumbling in his apartment.
While groaning he raised his head, noticing that he had fallen asleep on his table. God, his neck hurt like hell. The rumbling behind him in the kitchen grew louder.
This had to be a joke right? Being robbed on the day he had his first therapy session? Well, now he had stuff to talk about tomorrow.
Cautious, he stood up grabbing a bottle to hit with on the way, maybe not the best weapon but better than nothing. With gentle steps he approached the door of his room, slightly opening it to glance into the kitchen.
He internally groaned as he saw the red helmet.
"Jason, what are you doing here?" he opened the door all the way, yawning as he narrowed his eyes at the unusual light in his apartment.
The older vigilante turned around only to shrug and keep on going through his kitchen. "Wanted to visit you, Timbo, you didn't show up for Patrol."
Tim raised an eyebrow which Jason didn't pay any mind to. Instead he kept on glancing through Tim's new apartment.
"Since when do you visit me?"
"Since now." Jason frowned as he opened Tim's (small) fridge. "Where is your food? This is sad Timmy. Do you really just live of energy drinks?"
"It's four in the morning, Jason." Tim rubbed his head, closing his eyes in annoyance. "What do you want?"
Jason closed the fridge and now wasn't even trying to hide how he was looking around Tim's apartment. From the little table in the kitchen to the door of his bathroom. Yeah, it was small but Tim didn't really need more. And if he was honest he didn't want to talk to Jason right now.
"Where is your stuff?" Jason kept looking around as if somethings would just magically appear.
"What do you mean, it's here? My laptop is in my bedroom."
For the first time tonight Jason's eyes stilled at his and just looked at him. Now he would prefer Jason would keep looking around.
"I mean your things from the manor?"
Tim shrugged. "Sold most things. Didn't need them anymore."
Jason just kept on looking at him with that strange expression. Tim didn't understand it.
"You look like a corpse Timbo, is everythin-"
"Jason, what. do. you. want. We both know we don't really talk to each other, so why are you crashing at my place at four in the morning?" Tim couldn't keep the sigh in. "Did B set you up for this?" Or worse Dick.
Jason kept quiet, then just said: "You didn't show up for patrol."
Of course. Work.
"And I informed B prior. Even submitted my report. Everything is alright, you can tell him Red Robin isn't at risk."
Jason looked surprised, confirming Tim's suspicions of Bruce not really reading his reports and emails. Oh well, what is there left to be disappointed at?
"So, you can leave Red Hood."
At first it looked like Jason would deny, but he paused and much to Tim's surprise listened to him and took his blood red helmet off his kitchen counter.
Blood. A knife in his throat.
It kept digging deeper.
Slowly, Jason strolled towards the door but as he reached it he paused. He turned and looked at Tim with his green eyes.
Blue. They were blue. Why did he say green?
"You know..." Jason started, his hands fidgeting a bit as if it was torture to speak. Speak with Tim.
"If you ever need help moving some things from the manor, if you still have some there-" Jason paused, eyes suddenly fixated on the ground.
"I could help."
"Do you isolate yourself, Tim?"
Red Hood stared at him, waiting for an answer. What a absurd thing to think about. Him waiting for him to say something. The knife didn't allow him to really speak his mind, Red Hood should know that.
Should finally end the job.
"Thanks, but I already finished moving."
Red Hood nodded, finally stepping outside and closing the door of the titans tower behind him.
"Are you scared?"
Robin cried that morning.