#look i know jason had other reasons for brutalizing tim but honestly the costume alone warrants an indefinite stay in arkham

[partly-functioning-liver]

A very funny side effect of superhero comics having such a long history and being the work of so many different people is that your fave has 100% done something that should have gotten them locked up in an insane asylum.

The best example of this is Jason Todd, who, the very first chance he gets after being resurrected from the dead: breaks into a high-security facility dressed in a Party City version of his old superhero outfit to beat the child who replaced him as Robin half to death (Jason was quite literally dead at the time) for the crime of replacing him, while IGNORING THE FACT THAT HE HIMSELF PREVIOUSLY REPLACED DICK GRAYSON AS ROBIN

(Dick was not dead at the time) (the level of cognitive dissonance required for this would put Two Face to shame) (please search up Jason Todd Robin costume and imagine a six foot tall man wearing that and trying to be intimidating)

#jason todd #dick grayson #red hood #batman #robin #tim drake #nightwing #look i know jason had other reasons for brutalizing tim but honestly the costume alone warrants an indefinite stay in arkham #if i was tim id never let him live that down

[badacts]

Tim Drake angst. I beg of thee.

me (manpain connoisseur) reading red robin 1: hm. not acceptable that there is zero crying in this scene

Tim is part of an exclusive club, but he’s still the odd man out.

Dick, Jason - they became Robin after loss, as a result of it or as a natural progression from it, the same way B did back in the beginning. Both the first and the second Robin were defined and delineated by their grief and their grievances, and that’s the thing that, besides family, has always tied them to Batman and his cause.

Tim was just a kid. Not a normal kid, maybe, but a kid with parents and school and wealth and certainty and self-belief. The loss came after.

And then kept coming, and coming. And now the Robins club is one member bigger, and apparently Tim’s the one paying for it.

It’s the closest he’s ever come to understanding Jason’s white-hot anger at finding himself replaced, because Tim’s blood is singing with it and he doesn’t even have the luxury of blaming the Lazurus Pit. 

Dick won’t look at him.

“You’re not my protege - you’re my equal. My ally. You’ll be okay,” he says. His voice is brusque, though not unkind. “Damian needs this. If he’s left alone, you and I both know he’ll…relapse.”

Tim swallows back bile. The worst part, the part that stops him from saying, then just don’t leave him alone, or, wow, I didn’t realise Batman handed out codenames based on the likelihood of committing murder, maybe Bruce should have given Robin back to Jason after all and it would have fixed everything, is that underneath the anger in him is something else. It’s a thin little voice that cries, I won’t be okay on my own. 

“Fine,” he says instead, icy. “So what do I do now?”

Dick finally looks at him. Tim can’t look back at him in the Bat’s suit without comparing him to a child playing dress-up. That’s not on Dick - it’s on the shadow of Bruce hanging over them both.

Dick says, “You can do whatever you want.” When Tim doesn’t reply, he goes on, “Go back to school, maybe. Or just keep on with WE - I’m sure Lucius would be delighted to have you around more. You don’t have to stay in Gotham, either.”

It sinks over Tim like a pall. “You’re trying to bench me.”

“No, that’s not…” Dick says, and then, when he realises his pause has already shown weakness, “There’s no harm in taking a break, Tim. Honestly, at this point I think it would be for the best.”

“You think I’m cracking up, Batman?” Tim asks. “I’ve been doing this for years. I’ve lost everything and still been more reliable than you ever were. And you think - what? Because I’m not convinced Bruce is dead, when no one we know ever stays dead, now’s the time to take Robin away, too?”

“I told you, this is about Damian-”

Tim’s yelling now. “So, what? You think I should hang up the cape, and you’ll replace me with a poorly-adjusted, egotistical ten-year-old who just lost his dad? Jesus, Dick! Just put him in therapy! And don’t use him an excuse!”

“It’s not an excuse!”

“But If you were hoping to keep up the tradition of ‘out with the old, in with the new’, then congratulations,” Tim says, ignoring Dick’s interjection. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s not like you waited that long before putting on the Batsuit.”

Dick’s expression pulls tight. His voice when he speaks is brutally controlled. “This isn’t about Bruce. And it isn’t about you, either.”

Abruptly, the anger dies. It’s just everything underneath it left, the deep quiet, and then beneath that silence; sickness, weakness, weeping. Tim says, flat, “Of course it isn’t.

Finally, a trace of regret slips across Dick’s face. “That’s not what I-”

“Save it for someone who’ll believe it,” Tim cuts him off, turning away. He doesn’t need to hear more thin reasoning and fake concern. He needs to go. Now.

“You’re still here, Drake?” says precisely the voice he doesn’t want to hear right now. And there’s Damian, wearing a Robin costume too updated to be a hand-me-down of any of theirs and a smile. 

“I live here.” And if Tim’s voice had been cold before, it’s arctic now. He looks back at Dick. “This is really what you want? Him in that costume?”

“Tim,” Dick says, and it’s a warning. Apparently he doesn’t want to have this conversation in front of Damian.

Damian doesn’t seem to care about that nicety any more than Tim does. “Don’t feel too torn up about it, Drake. You know it was inevitable. And besides, I’m sure Batgirl has a spare outfit you could borrow if you’re going to stick around.”

“It’s Wayne,” Tim mutters.

Damian’s issue has always been leaving well enough alone. He leans in, all smug posturing, ear tilted to Tim like he really couldn’t hear. “What was that?”

“I said,” Tim says, nice and clear this time, “My name is Tim Wayne.”

Then he has Damian on his belly on the batcave floor, arm twisted behind his back. He hisses, “You sound like your grandfather when you gloat.”

“Unhand me!” Damian grunts. It’s like trying to hold onto a furious cat, but he doesn’t have the weight to dislodge Tim. Tim keeps him restrained for one second, then two, then-

-An arm wraps around Tim’s chest, heaving him away. He’s quick to let go of Damian’s wrist before he dislocates his shoulder, and watches as Damian scrambles up onto his haunches. 

It only takes a sharp twist of his upper arms to break Dick’s hold on him. All his focus is on Damian when he says, “You’re going to have to be better than that.” If you don’t want to be the next one to be buried goes unsaid, but he may as well have yelled it by how tense Dick goes behind him.

“I let you have that,” Damian blusters. He’s lost skin on his jaw to the concrete, the blood bright where it’s beading there. “You need something to make you feel good about yourself. It’s not like you have any other reasons.”

“Shut up, Damian,” Dick says, and then, “Tim. Tim!”

Tim doesn’t stop. Not until he’s in his room, the door closed gently behind him. Alfred doesn’t approve of doors being slammed.

He also doesn’t approve of needless smashing of personal belongings, but it’s not like he’s not used to it. 

Afterwards, Tim sinks down into the debris. He’s panting. His face is wet, but it feels distant enough it could be happening to someone else.

There’s no anger left. Not a trace. No relief, no frustration, no grief. Just that little child’s voice saying, alone, alone, alone.

#tim drake #dc #batfam #red robin #my fic #prompts #hc #Anonymous #dick grayson #damian wayne #red robin: the grail 1 #three idiots who should all be in therapy