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Chapter Text

Maybe I'm a metahuman?

21 might be too old for my powers to suddenly activate, but what else explains these full body tremors, my shaky hands, the way everything in my corner office feels slightly off kilter – besides that I must be some kind of earthquake meta?

Have I eaten today? Protein smoothie - 64g of protein, efficient, 7 hours ago. Six cups of black coffee since then. Possibly caffeine shakes?

Did I sleep? 3 ½ hours, not much time between patrol and the 8AM board meeting.

Am I sick? Temp is 98.3, slightly elevated from my base normal but nothing concerning. A little tightness in my chest, but that's been present the last few weeks - months? Nauseous again, already vomited once today, but that appears to be caused by situational circumstances (Bruce at the board meeting).

Most likely: situational circumstances, mixed with the lack of sleep and six cups of coffee. I'm fine, there's just a lot going on.

WE has acquired a smaller pharmaceutical company and I have to be heavily involved in merging it with Wayne Pharmaceutical - so a 3 week press tour, meetings with the Board to finalize details, lengthy explanations on how the merger affects both companies.

TDW has been awarded a place on Gotham Weekly’s 30 under 30, so there's a gala I have to prepare for, and a photoshoot and an interview about my accomplishments as a 21 year old in charge of a company worth billions.

And as RR, I'm investigating the suspicious death of a journalist, and figuring out which mob boss or other lowlife killed to cover a story.

Then Steph has been on my ass about keeping shit from her, which I haven't been doing. Some thoughts are my private thoughts that don't need to be vocalized - ever. Especially just to please her. But I planned a wine night for us so she'll get off my back.

And Dick texted me again, but every time I type a response, my palms get sweaty and my heart starts racing. Still trying to determine the root cause of that.

I'm fine, truly. I'm just … not handling shit as well as I should be, as well as is expected of me.

Kon keeps saying I should book a trip to Kansas – smell the fresh air, haul a hay bale, walk through the farmer's market, smile a real smile at strangers. Sounds nice, but there's too much to do and not enough time for it all. 

I'm trying to balance obligations with enjoyment, but what's enjoyment worth when everybody needs something from me? I'm being pulled in so many directions I think I might sn–

Oh fuck, not again. My left thigh is shaking and there's an iron taste in my mouth – tell-tale signs I'm about to –

I almost don't make it to the garbage can before the wave hits me. I'm on my knees, in the office where I am supposed to be an adult - the adult in the building - and instead I'm puking until all I can produce is a dry heave. 

Disgraceful, the ghost of Janet Drake's impossible fucking standards whispers in my ear.

I'm just hoping my assistant didn't hear me this time.

~

4PM and another meeting about media strategy. 

Every time I offer an opinion, Christopher, the Director of Marketing, shuts me down in that backhanded but polite corporate speak. So I've taken to sitting quietly at the head of the table, nodding along to whatever someone else suggests. Christopher encourages their suggestions, jotting down notes with an enthusiasm he's never once presented to me in the 2 years he's worked here. 

An intern - Sarah or Sasha, who's probably closer to my age than anyone else in this room – recommends we lean into a TikTok trend, a strategy I already suggested 15 minutes ago - a strategy quickly rejected by Christopher. It's treated with wide eyed enthusiasm when the intern suggests it. 

I want to slam my hand on the table and rage, I'm the President of this fucking company! I'm Bruce Wayne’s son! I'm Red Robin! I demand respect!!

But I don't push; I am Janet Drake's perfect doll, after all. 

~

7PM and I'm finally free - for today, from WE.

But I have to stop by the Cave before patrol, and suddenly the iron taste has reappeared in my mouth. Considering how little I've eaten today, I'm surprised by how much of my stomach contents have ended up outside my body in the last few hours.

I don't want to see Bruce, but I have to ask Batman a question about this murdered journalist. I have to ask him for his opinion on what to do. I have to ask him for ... help.

Incapable, redundant, an unnecessary presence, whispers the phantom words from Batman’s judgemental glances. If I can't finish this case on my own, if Batman has to pick up my slack, what use am I to the family?

Still, I will myself through the cave’s entrance, pull my legs out of the car, and shove myself towards Bruce, who's sitting at the main computer. He appears to be alone, thank God. 

“Bruce,” I can hear the shake to my voice, and quickly clear my throat to hide its wobble. Bruce doesn't turn around, doesn't acknowledge me at all 

A “tt” echoes from somewhere I can't see. Fuck.

“Father does not want to be disturbed before patrol, Drake.”

Damian emerges from the shadows, a scowl that seems to be solely reserved for me on his face. He's warmed slightly to everyone in our family, except for me. He's obviously been training, as a sheen of sweat coats his bare arms, but he looks like any al Ghul does - put together, in control, the smartest and most smug person in the room. 

“Did you hear me, Drake? Father does not want to be disturbed,” Damian repeats.

I'm tired. I'm so tired. I don't want to deal with him. I just want to talk to my da– to Bruce. I just want to talk to Bruce.

“I heard you, Damian,” I aim to keep my voice even, but it shakes on his name, “but I need to ask Bruce a question.”

Damian folds his arms to his chest and watches me. He's learned from Jason how uncomfortable being watched so openly makes me, and even though Dick has asked him to stop, Damian refuses. He wants me to know how quickly he can ruin me.

“Father. Does. Not. Want. To. Be. Disturbed.”

“Damian,” the exhaustion drips from my words, “I don't have time for this. I –”

A hand slams down on the desk, and I don't jump outwardly – because I'm a professional – but my heart hammers in my chest.

Damian smugly turns to Bruce, whose back is still to us, but who is now staring straight ahead instead of typing at the computer.

“Boys,” his voice is cold and distant, “you are both almost adults; you need to learn how to handle yourselves appropriately. I don't have time to listen to your petty squabbles.”

And with that, Bruce's full attention returns to the screen.

Damian “tt”’s once more and heads for the showers.

And I – 

Almost adults?

Almost adults?

I have been President of WE for 4 years.

I have been in Bruce's orbit holding everything together since I was 13 - for Bruce AND Batman.

I have fought and nearly died so many times.

And I'm still only almost an adult?

My entire life revolves around Bruce, revolves around this family, and in return I get ... what? 

A thought from deep within my mind rushes to the forefront:

I don't need to keep doing this. 

I can just leave.

Damian will never respect me.

Jason will always be the favorite son who tried to kill me.

Dick will always be the one who stole Robin from me.

And Bruce will always be the hero I'll never be good enough to please.

Instead of trying so hard to fit myself into this family, I can just leave. 

The thought smacks me in the face, and it opens the flood gates of my mind. Every thought I've been suppressing for almost a decade is free to fly at me at once.

I can't be in the Cave right now. I can't think here.

I can't be here. I – 

~

I've spent all night pacing the roof edge of the tallest building in my territory, barely hearing all the bats sounding off through comms or the police sirens or the loud drunks scurrying out from the bars down below. 

I've just been thinking:

Have I overstayed my welcome?

I spent my whole life wanting them to want me, but do I even want them anymore?

I am never going to be good enough for them, am I?

No matter what else I sacrifice, there will never be a good enough reward for all this suffering.

Why continue to try to be a part of a family where my presence is conditional on my constant performance?

Am I being selfish? If I really leave?

What would I do? Without Bruce's company, Bruce's family, Bruce's influence, Bruce's money, Bruce's approval?

Could I really let go of being Red Robin, of being Robin - forever?

If I walk away, what if everything works itself out?What if it doesn't matter if I leave or not? What if I was never needed anyway?

What if everything I've ever sacrificed didn't matter at all?

All my thoughts are piling up; each one pulls at my attention and tightens my chest and forces the iron taste back into my mouth. My foot slides and I almost don't catch myself.

Not on purpose or anything. An accident. 

But as I grapple through the brightening sky towards the Nest, another thought crashes into me:

Would anyone notice if I just ... let go?

Chapter Text

WE: The press tour for the pharmaceutical merger is finally over (thankfully).

Can I really just leave?

RR: The dead journalist had stumbled into a human trafficking ring led by the Maroni family. I added all my notes and analyses to the long joint file we keep on the Maronis, and Jason took it upon himself to shoot a bunch of the traffickers in the faces and rescue a handful of victims.

He, also, left a scathing note for me in the file, telling me what a half-measure my efforts were. It burned my cheeks to read his comments, and I couldn't keep the bile from rising out of my throat and onto my living room carpet.

Can I really just leave?

Finally texted Dick back and I knew within the first few messages that although Dick was typing, Bruce was speaking.

Can I really just leave?

Had a wine night with Steph, and it was just an intervention after our third glass. I'm not answering her texts quickly enough, I'm not telling her how I really feel about the breakup with Bernard, I'm holding it all in again, I'm hiding, not good enough, not good enough.

CAN I REALLY JUST LEAVE?

Damian threatened to slit my Achilles tendon last week.

CAN I REALLY JUST LEAVE??

Can't sleep. I toss and turn for hours until it's 6AM and I have to get dressed for the office.

CAN I REALLY JUST LEAVE???

Can barely keep anything down. None of my suits are fitting well anymore. Everything I put in my mouth tastes like blood and bile.

CAN I REALLY JUST LEAVE?

The thought has been screaming in my head for weeks now. It doesn't seem like a logical possibility, but it's all I can think about. Nothing else matters, nothing else makes sense. But leaving doesn't make sense either.

It's not possible, right?

I can't just leave.

There's the board, there's Bruce, there's Dick and Alfred and the family, there's Young Justice – they'd all need time to figure out what to do.

And a Wayne - or a Wayne-adjacent, like me - needs to be in charge of WE, to keep hiding our nighttime expenses in the R&D budget.

And the family would need to split up my territory, to keep a Bat presence in my part of Gotham.

It's dizzying to consider – the checklists I'd have to complete before I could actually leave.

But there's this feeling in my chest. I haven't felt it since I became Robin: it's freedom, it's possibility, it feels like flying. I can't just ignore it, can I? Is it childish? Is it selfish?

What should I do?

~

I can't ignore it, I realized after patrol tonight.

Damian called me a “dumb bitch” over comms after a Penguin henchman landed a punch to my face, and no one argued with him. The only sound in response was Steph's cackling, which felt like a stab in the chest.

I didn't respond; I just disabled my comms for the night and headed in.

My jaw is throbbing and there's a migraine blooming on the top of my brain and my eyes feel so heavy tonight and I just want someone to curl up beside me, but there's no one.

I stumble home, somehow, and my apartment is so empty and so cold. I wrap a decorative blanket around my shoulders - it's a colorful wash of deep red and orange threads that my mother brought home from Morocco. It used to lay across the couch in our apartment, in a constant state of repose.

The memory of that colorful blanket in our sterile, grey family room awakens something in my brain and, with my mother's blanket still wrapped around my shoulders and an ice pack pressed to my jaw, I end up at my parent's graves.

Would Janet Drake approve of my decision to leave WE and be a bum living off my savings? No, probably not. But I don't think she'd want me to be fucking miserable either.

Were they perfect parents? No.

But I don't think they would want me to slave my entire life away in pursuit of someone else's ambitions. I think they'd want me to find my own path, even if they wouldn't agree with my methods to getting there.

I miss my mom. Maybe she wouldn't hold me through the choked sobs I'm letting out on her grave right now, but she would know what to do. She always had a plan, and she was always so self-assured. I could fucking use that right now.

And I miss my dad. He was resilient, and fiercely protective of me, especially after he found out I was Robin. Maybe he'd pull me into his chest and let me sob in his arms.

I wish someone would.

~

2PM: I have a meeting scheduled with Lucius Fox and Bruce starting shortly.

I've puked three times today, twice in the toilet and once on the floor of my office. There's a strong migraine - a 7 on the pain scale - pulsing through my skull in the rhythm of my heartbeat. Coffee doesn't taste right and my hands will not stop shaking.

The worried glances my assistant keeps throwing my way are starting to freak me out. Why is she acting so suspicious? Does she know something?

I take a deep breath for 1, 2, 3

and hold it for 1, 2, 3

and then let it go for 1, 2, 3.

Again and again and again, but all it does is lead me closer to hyperventilating. I want to cry. There's a sharp stabbing pain in my chest, and I don't know what I'm doing at this point.

A sharp knock on my office door pulls me from my panic. They're here.

I want to run. I want to hide.

But I called this meeting. I'm leaving. I'm leaving.

I repeat the thought in my head a few more times before opening the door.

Lucius is first. He firmly shakes my hand as we exchange pleasantries.

And behind him stands Brucie Wayne, the charming CEO of Wayne Enterprises. He loudly greets me with a hug and a kiss to the cheek. I'm sure all the staff on this floor can hear his exclamations.

“Hi, Tim! How's my boy?”

I'm on unsteady feet as he pulls away from me. He's so warm, he's so strong. I can't walk away from him.

The door closes and Brucie changes. Gone is the easygoing charmer; he's replaced by the quiet, observant Bruce. He's studying me. Why did you call this meeting, Tim?

I clear my throat and glance away from him. I would love to shrivel up away from his prying stare, but I called this meeting. I'm leaving.

“Please sit,” I say, motioning to the two chairs in front of my desk.

I head to my desk and hide my shaking hands on my lap where Bruce can't see them.

Lucius sits across from me, with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap; he's considering me.

Bruce is silent and staring me down, threatening my resolve.

I take a shaky breath before I just spit it out:

“Thank you for rearranging your schedules to meet with me today. I asked you both here because I am planning to leave my position of President at Wayne Enterprises, effective in a month or so, whenever would work best for the company.”

They're both silent, in response. I can't meet their eyes anymore; I pick at the loose threads on my jacket buttons instead.

Pride over fear!, Janet Drake chastises me, and I force my eyes up to study the men in front of me.

Bruce is quiet, contemplating, but the look on his face is less mentor and more Batman, protector of Gotham. I'm expecting the low, terrifying voice to barrel out of his mouth at any minute.

Lucius lets out a “hmmm” before briefly glancing at Bruce. Bruce's eyes stay firmly on me.

“Perhaps,” Lucius begins, “another company has offered you something. LexCorp, maybe?”

I shake my head hard. Nope. Never.

Lucius hums in thought once more.

“If another company is attempting to poach you, we'll give you a better deal, Tim; you know that,” Lucius is offering me a way out.

Pretend I'm joking. Pretend this meeting is just a farce to renegotiate my position, my benefits, my workload.

My mouth is suddenly so dry and my brain is on lockdown - no thoughts allowed in, no words (hopefully) allowed out.

“I– I'm not going anywhere,” I stumble over my words and regret even bother saying anything at all when I'm met with Bruce's cold stare.

No, this isn't Bruce right now; this is Batman.

“So you have no plan,” Bruce asks, his voice towering over me.

It makes the blood in my veins run cold. How am I supposed to get through this conversation or through actually leaving? Maybe this was a fucking mistake??

“I have a plan,” I'm defiant, more than I probably should be given that I have no plan other than to divest myself from Bruce.

“What is it,” Bruce spits back.

I ... don't fucking know.

My mouth drops open as I speed through a catalogue of excuses or explanations, but nothing seems good enough for him.

He stares me down, and I glare at him back. A stand off between Batman and former Robin number 3.

Lucius stands, and my eyes scramble to him for an explanation and to beg. Please don't leave me alone with him, what the fuck?

“Let's revisit this next week,” Lucius says smoothly.

“Lucius,” I say his name like a prayer.

“Next week, Mr. Drake-Wayne,” his voice is firm, like he's scolding a spoiled child.

He leaves my office, closing the door quietly on his way out.

And thus, I'm alone with Batman cosplaying as Bruce.

“Bruce,” I plead. It sounds whiny to my ears; I can see Bruce clench his fist and then release it, over and over again.

“You can't just walk away with no plan, Tim,” he's annoyed now.

“I'm not walking away,” I nearly whisper, "I'll still be in Gotham. I just - -”

“You have people who rely on you, Tim. Our family, our employees, our customers. You are the face of Wayne Enterprises, as much as I am. You have responsibilities; you don't get to just walk away from it all,” he lowers his voice to a harsh whisper, “I expect better from you.”

Even though these are the words I expected from him, it hurts my heart to hear them said aloud in his actual voice.

“Bruce,” his name comes out of my mouth as a choked out sob.

Don't cry during a negotiation!, Janet Drake screams in my head.

Bruce stands. He buttons his suit jacket – corporate speak for ‘this conversation is over’.

“Come up with a plan and we'll talk about it next week.” He turns to leave and I'm left frozen at my desk.

But ... NO! No, I'm not going to fucking cave because Batman is threatening me, threatening his “son”. Fuck that. Fuck him. Fuck this.

“No!,” I yell out. The exclamation throws me out of my chair and to my feet.

Bruce turns quickly back to me, shock forming on his face before he eases his expression back to one of bored composure.

“No?”

I'm not nearly as tall as him, but I've learned over the years in this family how to tower myself over them all. I throw on the mask Janet Drake made me - the cold disregard she wore while negotiating.

“I'm leaving, Bruce. We need to figure out a plan to keep it under Wayne family control to keep you all safe in the night. There's a lot of moving parts to figure out, and I’ll help figure them all out. But I am leaving, Bruce. That's my plan.”

He lets out a deep sigh and softens his face; I can see the gears shifting in his brain.

“You're doing great work here, Tim. Profitability in Tech is up 60% since last year and the merger with Weston Pharma was an incredible success. Neither one would've been possible without you. Why would you want to walk away from all that?”

And ... I don't know what to fucking say to that.

Because it feels like I'm drowning in my own vomit? Because nothing I do is good enough - as TDW or RR? Because I give and I give and it's never fucking enough? Because every goal I achieve has him and I moving the fucking goal posts?

My mouth stammers out, “I've done this for so long, Bruce. It's time to move on.”

Not the most eloquent, of course. And my mind goes to that song ‘I think it's time for me to fly’.

Bruce watches me, and there's something in his eyes that - even after all our years together - I cannot place. He looks almost … sad.

“Is WE the only thing you're ... leaving,” he asks.

“No,” I can't meet his eyes anymore, “But I figured I'd save that for later.”

“Is it Ra’s? Did he offer you something,” he whispers, his voice almost sounds … panicked?

My eyes snap back up to him. How could he think that of me?

“Bruce, no,” I assure him. He stares at me, and it's clear he's waiting for an appropriate explanation.

It's my turn to let out a deep sigh, “I just need a change.”

I can't do this anymore.

I'm thinking of letting go of the grapple at night.

There's something unfulfilled within me.

Can't you fucking see how close to my breaking point I am, Bruce, or do you see it and you just don't fucking care??

He stares at me for what must be a few minutes, and I become painfully aware that we are two emotionally stunted men standing and staring at each other, frozen in some weird fucking stand-off because we can't be completely honest with each other.

I clear my throat and move my gaze to the puke stain on the carpet that Bruce is standing a few feet away from.

He mumbles, “We'll talk later.”

And then he's gone - out of my office and down the hall before the door even slams shut behind him.

I have no idea what I'm doing right now.

But luckily I make it to the toilet to puke this time. 

~

7PM: I want to duck under the covers in my bed, wrap myself like a caterpillar in a cocoon, and cry until there's nothing left in me.

But I can't. I told Bruce I'm leaving, and now I need to prepare WE and the family for my absence. There's so much to do.

But also what is my fucking plan? I leave it all behind and become a hermit? Or do I travel? It would be nice to see the world for pleasure, instead of business (WE or YJ-related). Maybe I'd walk along a path my parents had years ago.

Or maybe I'd start a nonprofit for Gotham youth. Or adopt a dog and go on morning runs along the Gotham River. Or learn how to cook.

I don't fucking know right now. There's not enough energy in my body for anything beyond leaving right now. I only have a little left.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and my stomach drops. No, no, no. Who the fu–

Dick🐦 7:06PM

Hey babybird!! Drop by the manor for dinner tonight please?

The knot in my stomach grows stronger and there's that iron taste and he knows.

Bruce told him and Dick probably hates me now.

The parking garage starts spinning around me and I sway towards a parked car and grip its passenger side mirror. The car's alarm starts ringing loudly, but I slide down the side of the car and curl around myself.

Get up, Timothy!!, Mom screams in my head.

I think I can see her in the distance. Or maybe it's the car's owner. Fuck.

“Mr. Drake-Wayne,” the not-Mom figure questions, “oh my God are you okay?!”

Her footsteps come rushing towards me faster. I have to get up, I have to get out.

Embarrassing, I hear Damian whisper in my ear. Which fuck you, Damian.

“Mr. Drake-Wayne?” The figure is above me now. I don't know her, but she's mid-40s, wearing a black pencil skirt and a yellowing white button down. Who is she? How does she know my name? I need to get away from her NOW.

“I'm fine,” I mumble. Slowly, I lift myself off the ground. Every muscle in my body aches and my head won't stop spinning and I can't fucking breathe.

“I'm fine,” I repeat as she reaches out a hand. I clear my throat and straighten out, feigning some modicum of composure.

“Oh okay,” she says - her voice is too high pitched for her to be telling the truth; she knows things are not okay.

I give her the most dazzling Drake-Wayne smile I can, and she uncomfortably glances away from me.

“Thank you for checking on me, but I'm okay, I promise. Have a good night,” I rush out my pleasantries and maneuver around her as best I can. I need to get to my car NOW.

The keys jingle in my shaking hands, echoing annoyingly through the parking garage. I don't know if she's behind me, but it doesn't matter as I unlock my car and sink inside it. I push the door lock down as hard as I can and curl into myself.

I could sleep here in the front seat; the cool leather lulls my shaking body into a temporary calm.

Dick's message is nagging at me. Answer me. Answer your brother.

7:26PM Can't stop by for dinner, sorry

Delay the inevitable. Hold off. I need to think of some good explanation. Why am I leaving? There's no reason good enough, is there?

What the fuck am I doing?

The edges of my vision are blurry and my skin feels like it's burning and there's sweat dripping down my skin. I can't breathe in my suit. I'm grabbing at my throat, maybe scratching at it.

I'm in pain. I ache. Everything hurts. I can't breathe. Slow, shallow breaths. I'm going to pass out.

Another buzz from my phone.

Through blurry eyes, I peer at Dick's name.

Dick🐦 7:30PM

Stop by the home office before tonight please

Three dots appear and disappear from underneath his message for what feels like fucking eternity.

Dick🐦 7:32PM

B and I need to talk to you.

And there it is. He knows and he hates me, confirmed.

He wants me to come by the Cave before patrol so he can yell at me that he took a chance on me and I'm squandering it. He wants me to know I never should have been Robin and it's a damn good thing he took it from me and gave it to somebody better. He hates me, I'm losing him forever. And Bruce will stand in the corner and nod along while Dick screams at me and Damian will smugly smile at me and I'm sure they'll let Jason beat the shit out of me for good measure.

I can't fucking breathe and I can't see and I –

Everything goes black.

~

Everything's fuzzy as I'm coming back to consciousness.

There's a dull headache behind my eyes and my stomach aches for a home cooked meal and, as hard as I try to blink away the blurriness, my vision makes everything a kaleidoscope.

And my phone is buzzing in my lap.

Dick's name and face lights up my screen. It's a photo Steph took from last Christmas - Dick's wearing a Santa hat with a stupid smile stuck to his face. I slide my finger down.

[CALL DISMISSED]

The clock says it's 8:19PM.

I just want to go home, but there's 3 unread messages from Dick.

Dick🐦 7:40PM

Will you stop by tonight please?

Tim?

Can you answer the phone please?

He's being so nice when I'm being so fucking difficult.

Tears are welling in my eyes, but I wipe furiously at my face. I'm not going to fucking cry right now or I'll never stop. I shake it all off. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm leaving.

I repeat it again and again as I start the car and head for the Manor.

The 20 minute drive happens in a blur. Muscle memory. I'm recounting every moment I've had as Robin and Red Robin because I know it'll be gone shortly.

Wearing the suit for the first time.

Vowing to make Jason proud.

Training with Lady Shiva.

Kissing Steph for the first time.

Shoving Batman backwards when he wanted to smash some guy's head in.

My dad's death.

The Red Hood beating me bloody in Titans Tower.

Finding out I didn't make Jason proud.

Meeting Cass.

Kon’s death.

Bruce's death.

Wearing the Batman suit.

Jason stabbing me with a batarang.

Damian in MY suit.

Nobody believing me about Bruce being alive.

Damian fucking with my grapple line.

Joining the League of Assassins.

Being thrown from that window.

Dick catching me.

Bruce coming home.

Training Duke.

Wearing the Red Robin cowl, then the mask.

It all feels definitively OVER as I cross the threshold into the Cave.

Bruce is at the Batcomputer, typing sporadically as he talks with Dick. Dick is draped over the back of Bruce's chair. They have an ease with each other that Bruce has never had with me. I used to feel that comfortable with Dick, but I don't anymore, not since I lost Robin.

I don't want to get out of the car. I just want to watch Bruce and Dick before it all goes to shit. I want to live in this moment - in these few seconds before the end. I want to lie to myself that I'm home a few more times before I let go.

I know I have to do this. I know I have to fucking leave. But I just want a few more minutes. Sure, I can't keep anything down, and none of my suits fit right anymore, and I can't sleep at night, and I want to feel myself falling towards the ground sometimes, and nothing I do is ever fucking good enough, BUT ... I have nothing and no one else. If I walk away from being a Wayne, then I have to just be a Drake, and there are no more Drakes except me. I don't want to be alone again. I don't trust what I'll do if I'm alone again.

A knock on my window shakes me away from the world of panic inside me. Dick smiles at me; he means it to be disarming, but he looks hesitant. He looks like he's luring me to my death.

“C’mon,” he says. It's like I'm a scared feral cat hiding under a car and he's the savior trying to coax me to safety.

I shake my head quickly. I don't want to get out. I don't want to die.

Dick sighs, “Tim, we have to talk about this.”

“Tim,” a booming voice yells from a distance.

My eyes dart to the windshield. Bruce is standing straight ahead with his arms folded to his chest. He's Batman without the cowl.

Dick leans away from the car to harshly whisper to Bruce, “I thought we agreed I would handle this.”

“Now, Tim,” Bruce says, ignoring Dick. His eyes are fixed to me.

And I feel the tears welling in my eyes again - I can't fight them off this time.

I'm leaving, I have to fucking leave, and I don't want to have to, but I do. And I'm scared and I want a dad to hold me and tell me I'm doing what's best for me and that's okay, but I'm not going to get that reassurance tonight.

I want to go home, but this is home and it's killing me.

Slowly, Dick opens my car door and I peel myself from the leather seat. During my bout of unconsciousness, I must have sweated so much it bled through my suit. Disgusting.

Dick sticks out his hand and I bat it away. I'm not a fucking baby. I'm Red Robin. I'm the third Robin. For a few more minutes, at least.

He leads me towards Bruce, who seems taller and more imposing than he did at the office. I hate when he wears his Batman face in the house. I wish he wore his “dad” face, whatever that looks like. I wish, briefly, I could be Dick or Jason or Damian or Cass, and see Bruce in his “dad” posture. But I can't see him like that, and I sure as hell never will now.

“Bruce, I –,” I stumble through his name as I realize I don't know what the fuck to say.

“You have no plan,” Bruce picks up where we left off at WE, “no idea what you're going to do, and you're leaving the rest of the family with your cases, your territory, your responsibilities at Wayne Enterprises? Is that correct, Tim?”

I nod weakly. I am leaving, yes. And everything he said is true, yes, even if I hate the way he said it.

“Do you understand how selfish you're being,” Bruce asks, condemnation and fury are mixing together in his voice.

Dick holds a hand out in front of Bruce - he's a ref calling a foul.

“It's not selfish of him to need a break,” Dick snaps back.

“He's not asking for a break, Dick; he's telling us he's leaving,” Bruce’s tone is harsh and snide. When did I turn into an Arkham prisoner escaping?

“Okay, but Bruce –”

Bruce holds a hand out to Dick, cutting him off, and Dick, despite what else he'd like to say, obeys.

I almost want to fold. I'll tell Bruce I'm kidding and I'm good and everything’s fine and maybe a couple months from now I can fall from way up high and splat on some Gotham street and I won't have to do this anymore.

I won't have to ask “mother may I” for all my life.

But NO - I don't want to die; I just don't want to live like this.

“Explain yourself, Tim,” Bruce's voice is all gravelly and low.

I take a deep breath and wipe more tears from just under my eyes.

“I'm leaving Wayne Enterprises and I'm leaving our nighttime activities, and I'm going to ...,” I pause because I still haven't figured out how to explain it exactly, “I'm going to be free.”

They're both quiet and their faces are unreadable. Either they've become better actors, or my senses are dog shit right now.

“I want to go for walks and like adopt a dog and have ... coffee? I just – I want to ...,” I'm rambling and it makes no fucking sense.

I study Bruce: his eyes are sharp and piercing; his fists are balled against his side and he keeps flexing them, like he wants to fucking hit me; and his head is cocked to the side, like he's trying to hear me better somehow.

He's not listening, though, and Dick is staring at the floor, a tell-tale sign he thinks I'm wrong, so he's deferring to Bruce.

“Bruce, I don't want to do this anymore,” it comes out harsher and ruder than I meant it to be. I sound like such a petulant child; I sound like Damian.

I stare at the same spot on the floor that Dick is staring at, hoping to see some kind of clarification in the Cave's concrete. Bruce's eyes are on me, I can feel it; I feel my face burning from his scornful look.

“I can't do this anymore. I can't go on like this,” my voice is quieter.

Dick's eyes are on me now, too; I can see the confusion and the hurt across his features.

I take a breath - hold it for 1, 2,3 - and let it go before slowly moving my eyes up to face Bruce. He is stone; there's no understanding or confusion or hurt or joy. He's Batman staring at another criminal who refuses to conform to his point of view. I've seen him give this look to Jason often enough to know what it is: contempt. In two sentences, I've become an enemy.

“Then go,” his voice is cold when he finally speaks.

Bruce walks away, towards the staircase leading to the Manor, without another glance or comment in my direction.

My heart shatters in my chest, and I let go – of my composure, of the tears that have been building, of the belief I will ever be Bruce's son, of Red Robin, of the life I spent the last 9 years cobbling together, of my family, of everything I've held onto all these years.

I feel Dick's arms encircle me as I hit the floor, and I sob into his chest as I give the rest of my life away.

Chapter Text

CHECKLIST FOR LEAVING WE:

✔️Tell Bruce

✔️Tell Lucius 

Tell the board

Tell the team 

Public press conference 

Sign the necessary paperwork

CHECKLIST FOR LEAVING RR:

✔️Tell Bruce

✔️Tell Dick

Tell the family

Listen to Steph say “I told you so”

Tell Kon/YJ

Flag open cases to be redistributed

Go over info with Babs

Have an honest conversation with Bruce?

Give my suit back?

CHECKLIST JUST FOR ME:

Figure out what I'm doing?

|||

The last two weeks have passed in a messy blur.

Everyone at WE knows, even though it hasn't been officially announced yet; secretaries talk. I feel their eyes on me as I walk across the hallway, and people give me faint, polite smiles before they duck into doorways to keep gossiping.

Janet Drake would hate this; I should be the talk of the office for my accomplishments, not my disappointments.

And Bruce has made it clear by his calculated avoidance that this is a disappointment. Every conversation I've had with Bruce in the last two weeks has been through Dick. 

The whole family knows, too, even though I've only personally told two of them; Dick talks. He’s probably told Babs and Alfred, although neither have reached out; more than likely, both are giving me the space to bring it up to them first. Both of them are nosy and all-knowing, but they also pretend to respect my privacy better than Bruce and Dick do.

Dick wants to talk in depth about me leaving, but I've been dodging that landmine. If we don't talk about it, then I can't disappoint him, right? He keeps saying he just wants to understand, but how am I supposed to explain it to him when I can't seem to understand it myself?

All I know is there's this thing inside my chest telling me to run. The danger alarm keeps ringing in my ears and I can't figure out why. 

Am I running from this life I've built, or am I running towards something?

How do I explain that in a way they'll understand and support?

|||

We announced my departure to the board two days ago, and it was met with a tepid goodbye.

“Oh no, the nepo baby is leaving, so the OG nepo baby actually has to be the CEO again.”

Brucie Wayne assured the board that he is and will remain the CEO of his family company. He charmed them with his dashing smile and the confidence in his voice, and I melted into the background. I sunk into my chair and hid behind the large mug of decaf coffee my assistant made. It tasted like dog shit, and it matched how I felt.

A public press conference is planned for next Friday, so I have until that ticking clock above my head runs out to change my mind (Bruce & Dick's top choice, I'm sure) or to tell everyone I love and know that I’m leaving.

No fucking pressure.

I'm telling Steph and Cass tonight over dinner. 

Already expecting Steph's response: “I told you so! I knew you weren't doing well and you said you were fine, but I knew you were lying!!!!” 

And Cass will just nod along, agreeing with whatever point Steph thinks she's made. 

I already have my concession speech for Steph ready to go: “I'm sorry, you were right. Please help me figure out how to tell Young Justice.”

Because how do I tell Kon and Cassie and Bart that I'm leaving them without a leader? Are there people to take my place? Sure, yes. Cassie is a wonderful leader. And there's plenty of young heroes our age to round out the team. Am I overthinking it? Yeah, probably. But I don't want to disappoint any of them and that's what it feels like I'm doing.

Will they understand? Maybe. Probably. Fuck, if anyone understands the pressure of living in the shadow of a God-like figure it's a clone of Superman, a demi-goddess trained by Wonder Woman, and the grandson of the Flash. I just – I don't fucking know how to tell them.

I'm close to breaking, I fucking know that. But I'd like to keep everybody else knowing that to a minimum; I have a reputation to uphold, after all.

But in private? My stomach keeps gurgling and screaming in agony, and I'm so desperate for relief that I'm sipping PeptoBismal through a fucking straw.

My nerves are frayed and my body keeps shaking in distress. Is this the way it'll always be now? 

Overthinking carries me through the day, until it's 6:15 and I'm waiting impatiently in my living room for Steph and Cass. They're picking up Thai food on the way over and Steph is sending me minute-by-minute updates. 

steph 💖 6:23PM

food in hand ✌🏻

We'll be there soon 

turning onto your street now 

It's not calming my nerves. 

Sweat is gathering on my forehead and my hands are shaking and who knows if I'll be able to keep down the Thai food.

A rapid succession of knocks tell me they're here.

I'm frozen to the floor, unable to let them in. I can't do this. Telling them feels so much worse than Bruce knowing. They're going to be so disappointed in me and I can't lose them, not ever again.

“Timmyyyyyyy,” Steph yells through the door, “open up!”

My hand is around the doorknob, but I can't bring myself to turn it. To turn it means to welcome them into my suffering, to turn it means to say goodbye - possibly forever. I can't do this.

But I fucking have to.

I pull the door open and meet my fate.

Cass’ arms wrap around my shoulders as soon as she's breaches my apartment. Either Babs or Dick have already told her, and if Cass knows, then Steph…

Steph barrels through the doorway, several bags of takeout in her arms. 

When our eyes meet, she gives me a pitying glance and says, “Oh, baby.”

And there - with my arms around Cass and her hands making gentle circles on my back - I break. Tears leak out my eyes and down my cheeks and I start making the ugliest sounds. I feel too shitty to be self-conscious.

Steph's arms wrap around me from behind and I feel her press her full body weight against my back. Cass is rubbing circles on my back and Steph is whispering kind, quiet words.

“You are so strong, Tim. I'm so proud of you.”

“I'm so selfish,” I sob out, choking on my tears and spit.

Cass squeezes me tighter to her.

“You are not selfish,” Steph reassures, "You're doing what's best for you.”

“You laughed when –,” the words catch in my throat and I let out a series of painful coughs, in an effort to breathe again.

Both of them gently smooth their hands over my back to help calm me.

I don't want to be here right now. I can't explain; I don't want to have to try. Cass can normally just look at someone and know. I'm half convinced she's psychic; maybe she's reading my thoughts right now and I won't have to fucking say it.

Cass, I'm leaving it all behind and I don't know what for. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing and everybody's gonna hate me for it. I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm doing.

They move me to the couch - in an awkward crab walk that makes me briefly laugh between sobs. I slump against Steph's side when they sit me down; I can't hold myself up anymore. 

“I laughed when,” Steph prompts me.

My voice is cracking and barely there, but I still manage, “Damian called me a ‘dumb bitch’.”

Steph pets my head and I lean into the touch - it's been so long.

“I'm sorry, Tim. It was funny –”

A sob bubbles out of me, cutting her off.

Her arms squeeze around me, pressing me closer to her.

“Okay, sorry, I'm sorry” she scrambles, “it hurt you, so it wasn't funny, and I'm sorry.”

She softly kisses the crown of my head.

“I love you so much, Tim,” she whispers. 

“I love you too,” I blubber back to her.

Pathetic, Damian whispers in my mind, and that makes me sob harder.

There isn't going to be much talking tonight, I know - at least not from me. I can just be wrapped up in their embrace and be as much of a mess as I feel; I am not doing well, and I don't need to pretend I'm doing fine tonight.

They take turns allowing me to ugly sob into their necks. We've seen each other's blood and guts, so they're fine with my snot and tears falling on them. 

“It's okay” and “It'll be okay” and “Let it out, Tim” are all I hear through the chaos in my brain. 

Tonight's all caring words and gentle pets to my hair and clearing my tears with a tissue and cuddling on the sofa under too many blankets.

It's a rare comfort I allow myself - complete fucking honesty through sobbing. But it helps, at least for tonight.

|||

Work is progressively slowing down for me as I approach the end of my time here. Everything's being filtered through Lucius and Bruce, so I have barely anything to do anymore.

Overthinking is the only thing I do reliably at work now.

My knuckles are white as I grip the steering wheel on the drive home to the Nest. The pressure on my palm is the only feeling grounding me.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I plead to the audience in my car.

I clear my throat, try again. I have to get this right. I have to.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” I say, a little too jovial, a little too Brucie.

It sounds so insincere. I'm usually so much better than this, I can fake it better than this.

A call shakes me from my thoughts.

[INCOMING CALL: konnnnnnnnnnnn 

ACCEPT | DISMISS]

Fuck, I haven't called Kon in a bit - or answered his texts - or the group chat - or told them I'm fucking leaving yet. Shit.

I hit accept.

“Hi, Kon! What's up,” I try to keep my voice steady and calm, but I think I fail? He knows when I'm lying, even over the phone and from 700 miles away.

“What's going on, Rob,” Kon’s voice is demanding, like Bruce's when he's awaiting an update on a case.

Is there a case Kon asked me to help with recently? Is he expecting something from me?

“What do you mean?”

“You're leaving RR behind,” he sounds impatient and … deeply concerned, in his way.

“I – yeah, I'm sorry I didn't – How did you find out,” I stammer out. Because seriously I hadn't figured out how to tell him, how does he –

“Bruce told Clark and Diana, Clark told me, Diana told Cassie. Told us not to bother you about it right now, but like - respectfully - fuck him -” 

Kon's voice fades out.

Bruce told them? Didn't even give me the professional respect to do it myself? He thinks that little of me. He fucking hates me. I've lost Bruce forever. And Dick will follow in his dad's footsteps, won't he? I'll never talk to Dick right again. Our brotherhood is over. I ruined it. I've ruined everything.

Blinding headlights appear in my vision and a loud HONK has me swerving my car to the shoulder of the road.

“TIM?!”

Shallow breaths - in and out - rapid succession - can't stop - can't breathe - can't move. I just grip the wheel tighter with both hands.

Faintly I hear Kon say, “I'm coming to you.”

In seconds, I feel a gust of air and my door is being gently opened.

“Rob?”

And there's Kon in a too tight black tee and fitted jeans staring back at me, wide eyed and worried.

“When,” I choke out, “when did he tell them?”

“Earlier tonight. He's worried about you, Rob,” Kon says.

I let out a wet, wry laugh. Worried about me? Sure.

“I'm fine,” I reassure Kon.

Tears slide down my cheeks - my breathing is ragged and unsteady.

“Can you move over,” Kon asks gently, motioning for me to get into the passenger seat.

I roll my eyes, but do as he asks.

He gets in the front seat and turns to study me. I'm staring straight ahead with my arms crossed against my chest; I've given too much away already, I'm fine.

“What's going on, Rob,” he asks, softer than before.

I scoff, but I can feel the dam breaking - I'm going to cry again, full ugly cry.

“I just –,” the tears cut me off and I sob into my hands.

Kon reaches over the seats and rubs his hand in circles on my back. He’s whispering, “it's okay, it's okay,” in a steady and sure way.

Even in choked out sobs, I want to explain:

“It's just not working” - “I don't know what I'm doing” - “My body feels like shit” - “My brain fucking hurts” - “My stomach always hurts and is in knots” - “I'm losing my fucking mind” - “I don't want to keep doing this anymore, Kon. I hate living like this. I hate explaining myself and every choice and every thought and having to justify everything” - “But I don't want to disappoint any of you” - “I want to just drop off an edge one night so I don't have to do this anymore.”

Kon lets out a deep sigh as he squeezes my shoulder, “Oh, Rob. It's going to be okay.”

“No, it's not,” I sob into my hands. I'm lost. I'm being consumed by the anxiety spiral spinning in my brain.

Through the chaos, I hear Kon say, “I'm gonna drive us to your apartment, okay?”

I don't respond, but I hear the car start and shift into gear. I cry harder as we glide through the city. He keeps an arm outstretched towards me and I lean my shoulder into his touch. 

Everything is falling apart around me. Nothing makes fucking sense right now. Leave - don't leave - it doesn't make sense. 

I still believe in Batman's mission, but I don't know how I can be a part of that world right now. I don't know what I'm doing.

I want to spew it all out to Dick or Bruce or some other adult who will shut up and listen, but how do I explain it? I can't even explain it to Kon or Steph or Cass and they know me better than possibly anybody else.

Kon stays with me through the night. He mumbles something about "not risking leaving you alone", but I black out on the couch pretty quickly. All the energy is drained from my body and I'm reduced to a whimpering, embarrassing mess.

I think this is what death feels like.

|||

Tonight is an all-hands Batfamily meeting.

Dick insists there are topics Bruce has on the agenda besides me, but he won't give me a solid answer on what exactly those are.

I cannot begin to describe how badly I don't want to stand in front of my siblings and friends and enemies, and talk about my upcoming departure.

I don't want to see Damian gloating.

I don't want to hear Bruce call me “selfish” again.

I don't want to watch Dick struggle to be supportive of me AND be Bruce's lieutenant in keeping everyone together.

I don't want to hear Jason say, “Couldn't replace me after all.”

I want Bruce to just tell them and leave me out of it. But I made this mess and Bruce expects me to deliver the bad news. It's my duty to announce it, not his.

The meeting is scheduled for 9PM tonight, right before patrol begins. I haven't been on patrol in a week because Bruce wants me to prepare my speech for the press conference, and rehearse it again and again until it - and this is a direct quote from Bruce (through Dick) - “sounds like you believe in why you're leaving.”

And after almost 7 days of stressing over speechwriting, I only have seven words written: “Thank you for joining us here today.” 

What else am I supposed to say?

Explain yourself, Janet Drake keeps repeating. 

But how am I supposed to explain it in a way the world will understand when I can't even explain it to my dad and my brother and my best friends and my sister?

The intercom in my office crackles to life with my assistant's voice: "Mr. Drake-Wayne, your brother is here to see you."

Without taking my head from my hands, I mumble, "Which one?"

I don't want to see any of my brothers right now, but I know which one I especially don't want to see right now.

The intercom responds, "Mr. Grayson."

Yeah, that's the one. Fuuuuuuuuck.

I take a few deep, clarifying breaths, but it doesn't stop the nausea and dread I feel wash over me.

"Send him in, please."

In the minute it takes Dick to get from my assistant to knocking on my office door, I remind myself: we are technically in a public place - I can't give him any information he can pass to Bruce about my mental state - I'M FINE, I am genuinely okay, and I don't need to be fucking babied.

I stand to welcome Dick into my office.

“Hi, Dick,” I go for jovial and friendly, “please, sit!”

He stares at me, like I'm a stranger.

“Drop the act, please, Tim; the door’s closed,” Dick chastises me gently.

That earns a deep sigh from me. And a suspicious glance from him.

“What do you want, Dick,” the exhaustion bleeds into my tone.

"B just doesn't understand why you're walking away from," he pauses for emphasis, "the company after all the good you're doing."

Of fucking course. He's not here for a brotherly chat; Batman has sent him here for a status report.

Dick stares at me. He wants answers, but I'm so exhausted from hearing this question from them AND hearing it over and over again in my head.

"Dick," I say, in an exhausted warning.

"Can you just like explain it again or...," Dick says, and I realize what he's doing - he's using kid gloves on me, he's talking to me like a victim he's trying to get information from.

Fuck him.

"I can explain it to you, Dick, but I can't understand it for you. Tell that to Bruce," I spit back.

His face changes from concerned to pissed off, a face he hasn't directed at me in a while.

"Do you think I like doing this, Tim? Do you think I like being caught in the middle?"

I lean forward, gripping the desk with my hands to hold myself up. 

"Then stop being his fucking messenger, Dick, and be my fucking brother instead," I sneer.

"I AM your brother," he yells, before calming his voice down, "We just don't understand where this is coming from."

I lean back in my chair. I want this conversation to be over already, but I don't know what Dick wants to hear besides 'nevermind, I won't leave' and that's not going to fucking happen at this point. 

"You don't have to understand. It's not about you,” I mutter.

Dick asks quietly, “Is it about Damian?”

“What,” I ask rudely, “why would this be about Damian?”

Dick shrugs, “Bruce said the two of you were bickering in the cave again and he told the two of you to grow up.”

I sigh and roll my eyes, “He called me an ‘almost adult’, Dick. After everything I've fucking done for him, I'm still ‘almost’ a fucking adult.”

“Is that why you're leaving? Because Bruce made a rude comment? I can talk to him about it,” Dick offers.

“Dick, no,” I take a deep breath, and put my knuckles in my eye sockets and press. I need to get out of this fucking conversation.

We stew in silence for a few minutes - Dick is staring at the floor (hopefully not at yesterday's puke stain) and I'm pulling at threads on my jacket, a nervous tic Janet Drake would hiss for me to stop if she were here.

Quietly, Dick's voice breaks the silence, “You're shutting everyone out, Tim; it's like when Bruce was…gone.”

He trails off and I feel his eyes on me.

“Don't,” I snarl at him, “don’t you fucking dare.”

“Tim,” he pleads, but I cut him off by holding my hand out in a bid for silence.

“I’ll see you tonight, Dick. I'm done with this conversation,” my voice is stone. I'm mimicking Batman; that's probably the only thing that'll stop Dick. 

He nods, even though his face looks sunken and his shoulders sag.

He stands and heads for the door. I busy myself by glancing at the paperwork on my desk I have yet to sign.

“I love you, baby bird,” he whispers as he leaves.

I try not to let the sadness in his voice and those words crush me. I'm not sure if I fail or not as I sink to the floor and crawl under my desk. 

Four hours until I have this exact same conversation with even more people. Shallow breaths - in, out, in, out, in, out - until the darkness from hyperventilating claims me once again.

|||

Calendar Notification:

Thursday June 19th 

Family Meeting 9PM

This week passed way too quickly. 

I feel so incredibly unprepared, but here we are: gathered around the conference table in the Cave, waiting for Bruce to start this meeting.

Cass and Steph are on either side of me, to ‘protect and support’ (Steph's words).

I brace myself as Bruce approaches the head of the table. A lump is taking up all the space in my throat and I can't take a deep breath because of a heavy weight on my chest.

“As we've discussed with you all independently, Tim is leaving his responsibilities as both the President of Wayne Enterprises and as Red Robin,” Bruce sounds incredibly uninterested in this entire endeavor, “I called this meeting to discuss any cases he's leaving unfinished that need to be redistributed and to allow anybody to say what they need to about the situation.”

No one speaks immediately. (Will this be the shortest Batfamily meeting in our history?)

Babs clears her throat, “When do you leave WE?”

I'm picking at my fingernails under the table and trying to steady my breathing without drawing everyone's attention. Cass slides her hand into mine and I raise my gaze to meet hers. She nods towards Babs.

“Umm,” my voice is hoarse from disuse, “my last day at WE will be Friday June 26th. And the press conference to announce it publicly is tomorrow at 11–”

“How is this important, Father,” Damian cuts in.

Cass squeezes my hand three times under the table, a signal Steph taught us both means 'I love you’.

I discreetly wipe the sudden tears that are threatening to fall and then squeeze Cass’ hand back.

Bruce, Dick, and Damian are bickering back and forth, but I'm not following what's being said. My heart is jackhammering in my chest; I can feel the vibration against my ribs and the rabid beating in my ears.

“Master Tim is a member of this family, Master Damian; that is why this is important,” Alfred interjects.

Damian straightens more in his chair, “Drake is being selfish, Pennyworth - plain and simple. We have a duty to protect and he's choosing himself over the needs of this city. Whatever else is happening with him is irrelevant to the rest of us.”

Silence overtakes the Cave. Maybe everyone's waiting for me to defend myself, or waiting for Bruce to correct Damian, or too stunned to speak. Whatever everyone's waiting for, it doesn't come. 

“Damian,” Steph says dumbfoundedly.

Dick leans forward and makes eye contact with Damian, “Tim isn't being selfish; it's not selfish to take a step back when things aren't working out to reassess your situation. What Tim’s doing is brave.”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes and I quickly swipe them away, hoping no one noticed. 

Dick and Damian are locked in a silent, intense debate.

“You're too soft when it comes to him, Grayson,” Damian's voice is cold, “you always have been.”

Before Dick can respond, Jason leans forward in his chair, producing the loudest creaking sound that draws everyone's attention to him.

“I think the Replacement’s making the right decision; if he can't handle this life,” Jason turns his head to me and stares, to emphasize his words, “he shouldn't be a part of it anymore.”

Jason folds his arms to his chest and leans back in his chair, never once breaking eye contact. His eyes are searing into my soul and my brain flashes back to Titans Tower. 

I shake my head to erase the memory and look away from him. I showed fear, he won - woopity-fucking-doo.

“Anything else you need to tell us about, old man, or can I get ready for patrol,” Jason sounds so bored, like he's so above us.

“That's it,” Bruce says. And he's away from the table as quickly as he can be.

Guess I was right that I was the only topic on Bruce's agenda…

Everyone else starts moving away from the table to other parts of the Cave, but I'm glued to my seat. My legs are shaking and unstable; if I stand right now, they'd all know how not okay I am. And they can't know. 

“Ya know,” Jason's voice booms from right behind me.

I jump forward in my chair, banging my knees on the table in the process.

Silently, I raise my head to meet Jason's gaze. He towers over me and his eyes are piercing through me. There doesn't appear to be a malicious expression on his face. He wouldn't hurt me in the Cave, right? Bruce wouldn't let him hurt me in the Cave, right?

Jason clears his throat before continuing, “I'm the family fuck up, Replacement.”

“Guess you'll have to make room,” I mutter.

I'm so tired. I'm not in the mood to fight with Jason about who is a bigger disappointment to Bruce. Right now, it's me. Jason couldn't keep the title of ‘family disappointment’ if he tried because he's alive again; Bruce is always going to be more happy that his son is alive than he is angry that his son is a killer. He may vocalize his disdain for the Red Hood's methods constantly, but I know Bruce, and the fact that Jason is alive and breathing and capable of being in the same room as Bruce will always be more important to him than who Jason has become. 

Me, on the other hand – I was only as welcome as I was useful, and I outran my usefulness to Bruce about twenty minutes ago. 

I almost want to congratulate Jason, and I would if I didn't think it would start a fucking brawl.

“I gotta go, Jason. I'm trying to outrun another talk with Dick,” I mumble, rushing out of my seat and far away from him.

“I’ll stall him,” I think I hear Jason say as I hightail it away from him, away from the family, away from the Cave, away from everything I know and understand.

|||

The WE lobby sure was beautified for the occasion. Silver streamers are giving high school prom more than sending off the company's President, but I wasn't part of the planning committee; I'm just the prom king, I guess.

(Wonder if it'll end like Carrie…)

Cameras flash and fifty or so reporters are waiting expectantly for some spectacle they can show their viewers or readers.

Bruce and I are waiting together in the wings. Both of us are focused on watching the crowd, and not on each other. There's no encouraging words or pat on the backs; Bruce has said all he's going to about my departure. 

Once I get on the stage and give my speech, that's it, there's no turning back. I know that. I know I could end the silent disappointment radiating off Bruce by just turning to him now and saying ‘Nevermind!’ But I can't.

What kind of life will that be if I just allow myself to stay miserable? How can he ask that of me? 

How can I keep doing that? 

I can't. As excruciating as this is, I have to leave.

I shut my eyes and take deep breaths. I just want this to be over. 

‘Visualize the outcome’ - it's advice from some Reddit post about OP quitting their family's business. What does the outcome look like for me? Sunny skies, a dog, maybe running through a park, a better sense of myself.

Tears are welling in my eyes. I just want to get there. The journey there fucking SUCKS so far; hopefully, the destination is worth all this shit.

“Mr. Wayne? Mr. Drake-Wayne?”

My eyes fly open. Lucius’ assistant is waiting expectantly for us to respond.

When neither of us do, she continues, “We're ready for you both.”

I hear Lucius welcome the reporters and Gothamites to Wayne Enterprises, and my stomach drops. It's really fucking happening now.

She walks out with Bruce following behind her, without a glance at me. Reporters shout questions upon seeing Brucie, and Lucius raises his voice to calm their outbursts.

Now, Timothy, Mother's voice echoes in my head.

Another deep breath, and then I walk out to face the wolves.

Nobody notices my entrance; they're all too focused on Brucie Wayne, the charming CEO. I join him on stage and he pulls me into an embrace that nearly knocks me off my feet. I stumble a little in front of the cameras before Bruce rights me. 

He chuckles to the crowd a little - a little inside joke to disarm the reporters; they laugh right alongside him.

“And now – Tim Drake-Wayne,” Lucius presents me. He leads the room in clapping as I approach the microphone. Bruce follows to stand right beside me.

Last chance to say I'm kidding. 

I take a deep breath. No, I'm leaving.

“Ladies and gentlemen, good morning. Thanks you - uh, Thank you for joining us here today. We called this, um, press conference to announce – uh, I'm leaving my position as President of Wayne Enterprises, effective next Friday,” I pause for a response from the audience, but I'm met with blank, expectant stares and silence.

“I, um, I've enjoyed my time here and it's-it’s a family company, so I'm gad - glad to have been welcomed so warmly here – um, yeah. I –”

A hand wraps around one of my shaking hands, and every instinct in my body is telling me FIGHT. I glance up at the hand’s owner and it's Bruce – his eyes are full of certainty and I revert back to the Robin mindset: I'll do whatever Batman says to get out of here alive.

Gently, Bruce nudges me away from the microphone. I stare up at him, wide eyed and terrified, but he's not looking at me anymore.

Brucie Wayne is giving the crowd a billion dollar smile.

“We're so proud of all the wonderful work Tim has done here. His dedication to our family business and to this beautiful city he loves is truly admirable. Each department has seen growth during his time here as President, and that allows us to take better care of Gotham and help the world.”

He gives me a fond glance - for the cameras. 

“I'm so proud of you, Tim, and I'm eternally grateful that I get to call you my son.”

There's tears – tears – in his eyes. I wonder if the cameras can see the glint in each drop. Boy, he's a hell of an actor.

I want to remind him - expose him to the crowd - about how he called me “selfish” when I told him. You're proud of me, Brucie? What a fucking joke.

Bruce squeezes my shoulder affectionately – for the crowd. He keeps his hand on my back and it takes everything in me to not shove him away from me in protest.

“Wayne Enterprises is in good hands. I will remain the CEO and Lucius Fox – the great Lucius Fox,” Brucie chuckles, a charming little quirk for the audience, “will remain our COO. And WE will be waiting for Tim - after he returns from his sabbatical.”

My head whips to stare at Bruce. Sabbatical? I don't know if I'm coming back. Shouldn't that be my decision, Bruce? I want to scream, but I've fucked up enough, so I let Brucie keep going.

“Thank you to our customers, our investors, and to all of Gotham for your continued support. And join me in sending off our fantastic President, my son, Tim.”

Bruce starts clapping and the whole room joins him. They're not clapping for me; they're clapping for him. He's the King of Gotham; I'm just a pawn in his game.

Brucie is smiling widely at me, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He wants this farce to be over as much as I do.

I smile slightly and nod at the crowd.

It's over now. I'm lost in the pleasantries and faking my way through it now. Muscle memory. Janet Drake ingrained it into me so my mind doesn't need to be present for whatever my body is doing. Thanks, Mom, I guess.

After we're escorted from the stage, I feel a slight tug on my arm. I know it's Bruce, so I rip my hand from his grasp and keep walking. I don't look back to confirm; I don't care anymore. 

Nobody bothers me on the way to my office.

It's a blur until I collapse on the floor against my desk. The tie around my neck is too close to a noose, so I pull it off and fling it as far away from me as possible.

It's done. It's all done. 

I thought this would feel differently, but I'm so … numb. I feel nothing. It all means nothing. I don't get it. I thought I'd feel more free. Thought it would feel like that first time I grappled through the Gotham night sky - soaring between buildings with the wind rushing all around me.

Instead, it feels like falling. Feels like what I imagine hitting the ground from 57 stories would feel like - SPLAT.

|||

Dick 🐦11:15AM

Proud of you, baby bird 💙

konnnnnnnnnnnn 12:16PM

I'm proud of you, Rob

You got this 💪🏻

If you need me, just yell. I'll hear you

girl wonder 12:23PM

Tim, you are so brilliant and I'm so proud of you 🩷

bartt 💨 12:24PM

calllll meeeeee if u need me and I'll be thereeee

steph 💖 1:56PM

u dropped this king 👑 

i love uuuuuu

call me later tonight mkay

cass 💂🏻‍♀️💕 2:12PM

I'm proud of you, little brother. 

Let me know if you need anything 🩷

duke 💡3:03PM

I'm proud of you, Tim! Love you!

Babzz 3:15PM

Are you free tonight? I'd like to go

over the necessary information ASAP

The messages flood in and I mean to respond, but all I want to do is burrow so deeply into my bed that no one ever finds me. I want to bawl my eyes out until they bleed – well, maybe not bleeding eyes. Don't need those memories right now. 

But I also want to help the family in any way that I can right now, as an apology for my selfishness.

Am I being selfish, like Damian and Bruce said, or am I being brave, like Dick said?

I don't feel very brave at the moment, especially after that fumble during the press conference. My mother would've slapped my hand and sneered at me for such a public blunder. I want to stab at the knot in my stomach.

Babzz 3:23PM

Yes or no for tonight?

I want to get this over with - rip the fucking band-aid off.

3:25PM

Okay

Do you want me to

meet you at the library or …?

Three dots appear immediately.

Babzz 3:25PM

I'll come to your place to get your notes, etc.

Sound good?

Fuuuuuuck. I'll need to clean - the place is still a mess from my sobbing sessions with Steph and Cass, and the last thing I want is Babs reporting to Dick that I'm so mentally unstable that there's used tissues all over my apartment.

3:29PM

Okay.

How's 6?

Babzz 3:29PM

6 confirmed, see you then 

I'm too exhausted to care right now - about any of this. The energy is completely drained from my muscles and the migraine in my head - 9 on the fucking pain scale - is pulsing. 

I fling all the tissues I can find into the garbage can. Leaning down emboldens the migraine, and everything starts swaying around me. 

Fuck, I think absentmindedly as I careen onto the couch face first.

•••

A series of knocks wake me, accompanied by the steady buzzing of my phone.

The clock says 6:04PM.

“I'm here; hold on,” I yell across the living room.

I stumble off the couch frantically and rush to unlock the door.

Barbara Gordon - in all her glory - wheels into my living room and glances around. Her eyes scan the room and it reminds me of my mother’s eagle eyes - trying to find ammo to criticize me. She's definitely noticed the trash can full of used tissues, hasn't she?

I swallow the lump in my throat and clasp my shaking hands together. 

She turns to face me. She's expecting something. The information. Duh. 

“Lemme – yeah..,” I stutter out before ducking into the office for the thumb drive and packet of information I put together for her.

I thrust it towards her, “Here’s all the passwords and info and if you have any questions or – yeah. It's all here, I think. Yeah…”

She stares at me expectantly, like a TV psychiatrist waiting for her patient to fill the silence. I pick at my fingernails, trying to escape her gaze.

“How are you, Tim,” she asks so sincerely.

“You came here for info, Babs, not to –”

She sighs - her glasses are sinking lower on the bridge of her nose and she looks utterly done with me halting her interrogation.

“I came here to see if you're okay, Tim. Everyone is worried –”

“Dick is worried,” I interrupt her.

“I'm worried, too,” her voice raises, “And Cass and Steph. Duke. In his way, Damian’s worried, too.”

I cross my arms to my chest, “Damian is not worried about me, Babs.”

She shrugs, “Believe what you want. I didn't come here to fight. I came to see what I could do to help.”

To help? She's offering … help? 

I shift in my chair and open my body language, in a silent apology for my earlier outburst.

Quietly, I ask, “Help with what?”

She sighs again - like this is a question I should already know the answer to.

“Anything you need, kiddo.”

“I'm not a kid, Babs,” I sound pathetically petulant.

She snickers in response, “You'll always be a kid to me, Tim. Not a diss, just…”

Babs trails off and looks at me. She's studying me for something. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. What does she want?

She sighs to herself and pushes the glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

“Things were really messed up when you and Cass came into the family,” she shrugs, “you were our second chance, and I look at you and I realize how fucked up it was for us to put that kinda pressure on you, Tim. I just … you will always be a kiddo to me - and to Dick. And … I don't know, Tim, I just .. want to help, if you need anything.”

And I … what do I say to that? 

“Th-ank you,” my voice cracks. I'm going to bawl my fucking eyes out yet again, goddamnit.

“Breathe,” she whispers gently.

Tears slowly roll down my cheeks, as I take several deep breaths in a row.

“I don't know what I'm doing,” I shakily whisper back. 

It sucks to admit it out loud.

She reaches her hand out to me and I move closer to hold her palm in mine. She squeezes my hand three times and I laugh, in spite of my tears. 

“I'll let you in on a little secret,” she shakes her head, “no one knows what they're doing.”

Babs wipes the hair from my eyes and I close my eyes, to let the moment linger.

“If you need something, kiddo, I'm here, okay? You call me with anything and I'm there to help, okay,” her voice is so comforting, so maternal. 

I feel her wrap her arms around my shoulders as I collapse against her legs. 

“I gotcha,” she whispers. Her hands rhythmically slide down my back to soothe the choked sobbing escaping me. 

“I had to leave, but I didn't want to have to leave, and now I don't know what I'm doing,” I whimper.

My head sinks lower into my hands. I'm just so lost and I'm so fucking tired of crying. I want to stop feeling all this shit.

That's not happening tonight, though - Babs pats my head as I sob on her shoes.

|||

CHECKLIST FOR LEAVING WE:

✔️Tell Bruce

✔️Tell Lucius 

✔️Tell the board

✔️Tell the team 

✔️Public press conference 

✔️Sign the necessary paperwork

CHECKLIST FOR LEAVING RR:

✔️Tell Bruce

✔️Tell Dick

✔️Tell the family

Listen to Steph say “I told you so”

✔️Tell Kon/YJ

✔️Flag open cases to be redistributed

✔️Go over info with Babs

Have an honest conversation with Bruce?

Give my suit back?

✔️Lock my suit up in the Nest

CHECKLIST JUST FOR ME:

Figure out what I'm doing?

|||

Well, it's done. All the paperwork is signed. The world knows I'm no longer the President of Wayne Enterprises. My territory has been reassigned (Spoiler and Black Bat). I'm no longer Red Robin. I'll never be Robin again. Bruce isn't speaking to me. Dick keeps texting me, but I’m leaving him on read; what else is there to say right now? Kon calls me every few hours, and Steph keeps sending me cat memes every hour and gets impatient when I don't laugh react; guess I'm on suicide watch.

I'm okay, I guess. The adrenaline of possibility has definitely worn off, so I'm left with this cold dread and a million unsolved questions circling around in my head. 

What am I doing?

Where do I go from here?

But the one question I keep coming back to over and over again, the question that has led me to laying on my bed staring at the ceiling for hours until the light from outside dims to create a pitch black bedroom is: what THE FUCK did I just do?

Chapter Text

🎵And I used to shine bright like gold, now I'm all indigo🎵

On repeat, for hours. Until my voice is hoarse. Sometimes until I'm incoherently mumbling the lyrics into my mattress.

🎵I gave up a piece of my heart, then I turned to run🎵

I scream out the words this time, directly to the Red Robin suit hanging across the chair in the corner of my room. It's taunting me again.

Flies are buzzing around the dirty bowls full of half-eaten milk and cereal on my bedroom floor. Used tissues full of snot and tears are thrown half hazardly beside the dirty dishes. I can't will myself to toss the bowls in the sink or throw the tissues in the trash. I can't leave my bed.

The life - the energy, the strength, the desire - has vanished from my muscles. All I can manage right now is laying face down on my bed, clinging to bunched up blankets just to hold something tightly in my arms.

Dried tears stain down my cheeks, and my brain is pulsing like it's being rhythmically squeezed. There's this stabbing feeling in my chest that takes my breath away periodically; it's the pain of a thousand break-ups all at once. I've been napping for four days, but I'm barely getting any restful sleep. I've just been thinking.

The countdown on my “sabbatical” started five days ago - only 360 days until the prodigal son is expected to return. It's a ticking bomb in my hands and I have no idea how to defuse it; I'm starting to think detonation is the only likely outcome.

But detonation makes me think of Jason, which makes me think of Bruce's grief. I always believed I saved Bruce from his grief, but now I know how childish and naïve that was for me to believe. Nothing can save you from grief; grief is a circular staircase you'll walk forever. Even with Jason home in Gotham, Bruce is still on that staircase. Maybe I softened the journey by walking by Bruce's side for a few years, but I didn't demolish his staircase; I just created a staircase of my own beside his.

My thoughts dwell on what I've lost - and a little on what I've gained. I answer Steph and Kon’s texts diligently, but leave Dick's unread. I don't want to fight right now; I can't piece together an explanation for anything.

I have nothing left to give right now.

*

There's someone quietly roaming through my apartment.

Years of Robin training - and years of close proximity to a small demon hell-bent on causing my demise - has prepared my body to sense approaching threats, even in my sleep.

The hairs on my arms stand straight up, and I lurch forward, catching myself before I heave myself off the edge of my bed.

“Just me,” a familiar voice whispers through the silence. Cass.

I take some deep breaths and blow the air out onto the mattress; it's comforting to watch the ruffles and divets of the sheets shake with my breath. The controlled breathing does little to calm my heart that's hammering wildly in my chest and the stars that are gathering in my dizzy eyes.

Light footsteps pad into my room. Cass makes her presence known - she floats in with all the grace of a ballerina and shakes the large garbage bag in her hand. I acknowledge her with a glance and a single eye blink. She smiles briefly at me before getting to work.

My eyes follow Cass as she slinks through the room, collecting bowls and used tissues. She doesn't have to be here helping me reorganize my goddamn mess of a life. Tears sting my eyes; it's so kind of her, and I'm not quite sure I deserve it.

“I'm sorry,” I mumble, half into the sheet and partially to her.

Cass wanders over to my bed and leans down. Her hand brushes against my hair. It's greasy and probably leaves a gross coating on her hand, but she doesn't seem to mind, as she keeps petting my head.

“It's okay,” she whispers.

A scoff leaves me before I can catch it.

“Sorry,” for everything.

She knows without me having to finish my thought. Dick sometimes jokes we function like twins - an unspoken psychic connection. I have never leaned so heavily on that connection than I’m doing now.

Maybe one day I can return the favor in some way.

Cass returns to the monumental task of cleaning my apartment. She's left my bedroom, but her presence stays with me.

My eyes slowly close and I fall asleep to the faint sounds of her washing my dishes in the distant kitchen.

*

On Saturday morning, I flip over onto my stomach and feel around for my phone. It's lost somewhere in the sheets and blankets, but it's vibrating again.

Once I track it down - under my pillow, tangled in a sheet - I swipe through the 20+ messages from Steph, Kon, Bart, and Cassie to find one from Alfred.

Alfred Pennyworth 8:15AM

Master Timothy, will you please join us 

at the Manor for Sunday's dinner? 

I am preparing a traditional English 

roast and I would appreciate your 

attendance.

I really don't want to be at the Manor - don't want to face Bruce or Dick or … Damian, but Alfred rarely asks for anything and “appreciate your attendance” is a pretty direct request.

Fuck.

8:23AM

are u going to sundat 

dinner at the manor???

steph 💖 8:26AM

sundat??? 🤣🤣

ceo rich boy my ass 

8:27AM

Sunday**

Will you be attending Sunday 

dinner at the Manor, Miss Brown?

steph 💖 8:28AM

🙄

Now u sound lkke alfred 

And no, sir, I will not be in attendance 

why??

8:30AM

Alfie texted me, seemed 

pretty invested in me coming

I really want a buffer though…

steph 💖 8:31AM

I'll ask cass?

I have to work on my masters thesis

before … night activities…

😑

I just want my fckin degree at 

this pojnt 

why do i have to take all these

FUCKING courses and do 

all thks kther shit 😭😭

I type and delete, type and delete my response to her a few times. What is something supportive and encouraging that Steph’ll appreciate?? 

8:37AM

You'll get through this, steph💖 

And then you'll be the 

best social worker in all the 

land … of new jersey 

steph 💖 8:39AM

I love u, tim 💗 💗 💗 

Cass is going on sunday 

Want her to pick u up??

8:40AM

THANK YOU CASS 🙏🏻

sure she can drive!!

Sunday seems clearer now: Cass and I will get there a little before dinner; we'll make awkward small talk, and I'll use Cass as a buffer; we'll eat Alfred’s delicious cooking; I'll dodge Damian’s snide comments and Bruce's apathetic glances; and then we'll head out two hours later, mostly unscathed.

8:43AM

I'll be there, Alfred.

Thank you.

Alfred Pennyworth 8:44AM

Wonderful! I look forward 

to seeing you, Master Timothy.

With a doable plan in place, I fall back against the bed. The Red Robin suit catches my eye again. Probably, I should throw it in the closet or stow it away in the Nest somewhere. I'm not going to need it anymore. 

The red suit starts to blur in my vision. A pit has formed in my stomach, and I meditate on this unsettled feeling until sleep slowly catches up to me.

*

We arrive at the Manor a little before 4. 

I'm wearing my Sunday best - a navy blue quarter zip, black trousers, and perfectly white sneakers - and I spritzed myself conservatively with a warm sandalwood cologne. The goal is to create the illusion that my life is together, but the deep, dark circles under my eyes may present a problem there.

Our siblings are gathered in the main living room when we arrive. Cass is planted firmly to my left side while we navigate the smiling faces (Dick and Duke) and the scowling one (Damian).

“Tt didn't realize you'd be joining us, Drake,” Damian remarks, “did you run out of funds for food already?”

“Damian,” Dick hisses at him.

Damian folds his arms to his chest and stares at me smugly; he's daring me to start an argument, he's daring me to prove some point of his, but I'm too tired. I have just enough energy to survive his, Bruce's, and Dick's presences, but not enough energy to argue with them.

“It's nice to see you, Damian,” I say with a practiced disregard. He narrows his eyes in response. I know he's plotting his revenge for my nonchalance, but I just can't bring myself to care right now.

I nod in greeting at Dick, who is cautiously smiling at me. He crosses the living room in a few quick steps and I let him wrap his arms around me to pull me into a crushing hug. I pat his back gingerly. 

Cass studies my face for any signs of discomfort, but I keep my face neutral; this is fine - for now. 

Dick pulls away after a minute too long hug. He ruffles my hair, and suddenly I'm 13 again and newly Robin and Dick Grayson of the Flying Graysons is looking at me like he believes in me. 

Don't cry don't cry don't cry don't cry 

Alfred appears in the doorway, “Dinner is served.”

He disappears back into the dining room just as quickly, and Damian follows him without a second glance at the rest of us. 

I duck my head away from Dick and throw on my fakest smile; it shines in his direction. Some of the tension drops from Dick's shoulders, and it makes him look so much younger.

“I'll meet you in there,” Dick says with a wink. 

He leaves the room, too, and the desire to cry my eyes out only intensifies. There goes one of my childhood heroes - he used to believe in me, and now he only pities me. I want to flee. But Alfred already saw me, and I can't disappoint him.

Cass slides her hand into mine and squeezes. I let a deep breath escape me. My eyes float closed as I take several clarifying breaths.

“You got this,” Cass whispers.

Her dedication to my care - and to trying her best to replicate Steph’s pep talks - brings tears to my eyes. I quickly wipe the corners of my eyes before any can dare to fall. 

I open my eyes to see Duke standing awkwardly across from us, awaiting some sort of permission.

“Permission to come over there, captain,” Duke says in his goofiest voice.

Cass snickers. I smile widely, even with tears in my eyes, and hold my arm out in offering. He crashes his body against mine with a little too much force; all three of us bounce a little from it, which brings a smile to my face.

Duke is holding me tightly, like he's scared if he lets go, I'll disappear. 

“We shouldn't keep Alfred waiting,” I whisper. 

Duke ruffles my hair, mirroring Dick and, instead of pulling away on instinct, I lean into the touch. Duke's on the list of people I trust to touch me right now and not hurt me. 

Cass - with her hand still wrapped firmly in mine - leads the way into the dining room. Her head is high and she's regained her regal ballerina pose. But there's something else in her posture: she looks like she's readying for a fight. 

My Robin instinct kicks in - as it has a hundred times before when following Black Bat into a fight - and I find myself itching for my bō.

But this is a simple Wayne family dinner, dear; behave, Mother's voice whispers through my mind.

We all take our seats: Bruce and Alfred sit at the heads of the table; Dick and Damian sit on either side of Bruce; Cass, who normally sits across from me, has wedged herself into the spot between Dick and I; Duke left an empty seat between himself and Damian; and Duke and I are on either side of Alfred. 

There's tension in our seating chart: Dick didn't anticipate Cass being in between us, and his disappointment and surprise is evident, but he doesn't argue with her; and Damian seems displeased it's not solely him, Bruce, Dick, and Alfred for dinner. The rest of us are an intrusion on the blood son's perfect family, apparently.

That's fine, I'm not here for Damian. I'm here for Alfred. And for a guaranteed meal that isn't cereal. 

Food spreads across the table: roast beef slices glisten on several platters; silky mashed potatoes sit next to full gravy boats; and Yorkshire puddings – my favorite part of any English roast – stand tall in all their golden beauty.

Hunger hits me, and I want desperately to take it all in immediately. But I was raised to be a gentleman by Janet Drake, and not a “dirty savage”, so I wait my turn to load dinner onto my plate. 

The roast is so tender and melts in my mouth. I forgot how comforting Alfred’s food can be when I'm eating for pleasure over fuel. I rip the Yorkshire pudding in half and watch enthralled as the insides flake apart. It tastes so good that I nearly forget my manners - and where I am.

“So, Tim,” Bruce begins - and my spine stiffens in terrified anticipation. The half-eaten Yorkshire pudding drops back onto my plate. Here it is.

“What have you been up to?”

Static fills my brain. I spent an hour practicing what to say for this exact moment and yet … 

“Resting,” I stammer out, silently cursing myself for my stupid response, “well, I mean, I've partially been resting and partially developing a course of action.”

That's what Bruce wants to hear. Dick, too. I'm not laying around wallowing in self-pity; I'm planning my next steps.

Bruce glances at me in between bites. I manage to hold his gaze this time; his face is wiped of any emotion, no relief nor skepticism. He's a terrifying blank slate.

“Such as,” he asks.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred's voice calls out through the tense air that's grown throughout the dining room, “perhaps we can keep conversation light for dinner. No business talk - either business.”

Bruce and Alfred are locked in an unspoken debate, and, as always, Bruce eventually surrenders to Alfred's wishes.

The air softens in the room, slightly. 

I bring my gaze back to the half-eaten food on my plate. There's an entire slice of roast waiting for my attention, but my stomach has turned. The worried anticipation that's coursing through my body is slowly cutting off my appetite. I know Bruce will spend dinner making light conversation, but what about after dinner? That's when Batman will strike. 

I glance over at Bruce, and his eyes are already on me. He's staring like I'm a criminal escapee from Arkham who's holding his family hostage. The small talk from my siblings swirls around me, but I can't add to any of it. 

I'm attempting to steady my breath without drawing further attention my way, but my body is trembling and the silverware on our side of the table is shaking slightly in response.

“You alright, Tim,” Bruce asks casually.

He has a forkful of mashed potatoes in his hand, but he's paused to stare me down. I have no words.

“Tt, Father, he's fine; Drake has always been far too melodramatic for his own good,” smug enjoyment dances in Damian's eyes as he remarks.

“Damian,” Dick warns.

Bruce's gaze floats to Damian. He stares tiredly at his youngest, while Damian remains steadfast in his intimidation of me.

“Enough, Damian,” Bruce chides.

“Why, Father? Is Drake too fragile right now,” Damian asks, a sardonic tone dripping from his lips.

“Damian, stop,” Dick insists.

But Damian ignores him again.

“Drake is supposed to be better than a vigilante dropout, but it's hardly surprising; you can't handle our life, just as Todd said. You've never been able to measure up,” Damian snidely remarks.

Alfred lets out a harsh, “Master Damian!”

But Damian ignores Alfred's disapproval; he's sitting smugly at his place beside Bruce.

Cass cranes her head around slowly to stare Damian down. Their eyes meet - an intense standoff brewing between the two child assassins. Neither wants to break. It's valiant, the way Cass is defending my honor; I still don't think I deserve such kindness.

Damian sighs and retreats first - and his eyes find Dick's glare instead.

“Bruce,” Dick growls, never taking his eyes off Damian.

A deep sigh escapes Bruce as his shoulders stiffen slightly.

“Damian,” Bruce says tiredly, “apologize.”

“Tt. I’d rather allow Killer Croc to drag me through the sewers than recant something you and I both know to be true, Father.”

“It's fine,” I mumble. There's no need to drag this verbal lashing out.

“Tim, it's not fine,” Dick says earnestly. He's moved his gaze to me over Cass’ head and he's staring intently. I get what he wants - me to believe him that I'm better than what Damian insists I am – but it's just not worth the hassle.

“Dick,” I beg quietly, “please.”

His face falls, and the guilt floods into me. He's trying so hard to help me and I'm being so fucking difficult. He's offering me kindness, too, just like Cass, so why am I so reluctant to accept his kindness?

Silence falls over us. The food I had been enjoying with fervor is now cold and untouched; my appetite has left with the sliver of hope for an easy family dinner.

Forks scrape against dinner plates, and mouths chew through the roasted beef, and there's stilted small talk between Bruce, Dick, and Alfred.

But I'm lost in my head. I'm being dragged through the dark, rain soaked streets of Gotham by my feet and I'm not sure how to right myself. Batman isn't here to save me - he's sitting at the head of the dining table, shooting disappointed glances in my direction. And Robin would rather see me die than leap to my aid.

My chair scrapes against the floor as I suddenly push myself from the table. Every eye is on me, but I can't meet any of them. I need to get out of here. I need to – 

“Excuse me, I need the bathroom,” I mumble before bolting from the dining table.

*

The roast somehow manages to stay in my stomach. Progress, I guess.

I drip spit into the sink a few times before I'm truly convinced. A series of rapid knocks on the bathroom door startle me. Stupid of me to think my family would respect boundaries…

“Tim,” Bruce calls from the hallway.

Fuck.

“Just a minute,” I mumble, hopefully loudly enough for Bruce to hear.

Appearances, Timothy, Janet Drake sneers.

I glance at my reflection quickly before averting my eyes. I can't fucking handle this right now. Too fragile. 

Did Bruce say that to Damian - that I'm too fragile right now? Did Dick?

“Tim,” Dick questions from behind the door.

Fuck again.

I fumble for the door and pull it open. Dick is at the front of the crowd, looking worried and pained. Bruce and Cass stand behind him, both wearing blank expressions. I can't read what their faces are trying to say right now. My head is swimming - and drowning. Can they see me kicking and fighting for my life right now?

“You okay, baby bird,” Dick asks. He moves to put his hand on my shoulder, but I flinch away from the threat of his touch. Alarmed, he pulls his hand back like I just fucking hit him.

“I'm fine,” I say firmly. Maybe too firmly. 

“Damian has been sent to his room, Tim. I apologize for his behavior,” Bruce’s tone is so stilted, like he's reading from a script - probably written by Dick and Alfred. 

“Would you like to go,” Cass signs. 

There's too much at once - Damian’s snide remarks still linger in the air around us, and Dick is obviously concerned for me, and Bruce is being held at gunpoint to be nice to me, apparently.

“Yes, please,” I sign back. 

I move to slide past Dick and Bruce, and into Cass’ protective presence, but Bruce holds a hand up.

“I’d like to talk to you in my office first, Tim,” Bruce says blankly.

Fear rushes up my spine. HELL NO.

“Bruce, not now,” Dick warns.

They stare each other down, both refusing to cave. But it's clear to me - as it always is - who's going to win. Batman always wins.

“It's fine,” I acquiesce. There's no point in fighting the will of Bruce - or Batman. Let him talk to me and then I can go. Fine. Whatever.

Bruce pulls his stony gaze away from Dick and glances my way.

“Thank you, Tim.”

Bruce turns towards the hallway; he's expecting me to follow him NOW - as any good Robin should. But my feet feel bolted to the floor.

Cass’ hand is wrapped around mine again - not quite sure when that happened - and she's squeezing it. Once (I) twice (love) three times (you). 

I squeeze back rapidly - likely more than three times. It's meant to relay “I'm okay” and “I love you”, but maybe it reads more “I'm panicking; please save me.”

Still, I part with Cass and move to follow Bruce to his study. Dick sends us off with a stern look directed to Bruce and a pitying look - which I'm sure he meant to read as concerned - to me.

Following Bruce down the hallways feels too much like I'm a lamb being led to the slaughter. He's going to put me down like a rabid dog. There's acid bubbling in my stomach and I feel sick and scared and lost. My tongue feels heavy and immobilized in my mouth. What is the right thing to say here? What does Bruce want to hear - and am I willing to actually give it to him?

Muscle memory leads me through the study door and into the chair I always sit in across from Bruce's desk. My leg is bouncing. My heart is racing. My mouth is dry. 

We settle into our chairs and sit uncomfortably in tense silence. I'm waiting for him to brandish his weapon. How will he kill me this time? Tell me he was kidding when he apologized for Damian’s behavior? Tell me what a fucking idiot I am? Remark on my fragility?

I can't stand this.

“Alfred’s dinner was –” I begin.

“I’m disappointed you –” Bruce says simultaneously.

My gaze drops down to the floor. Here it comes.

“You go ahead,” I say quietly.

Bruce sighs tiredly, “I'm disappointed you don't feel you can talk to me.”

He pauses, watching me eagle-eyed for a response. But what am I supposed to say to that?

I keep my face neutral as I pick at a thread on my quarter zip.

Bruce continues, in a softer manner than before, “You are always welcome here, Tim. The Manor is your home. And if you're having trouble, you can – Alfred, Damian, and I would be more than happy to have you come home. But you need to talk to me.”

Come home?, I want to sneer. How is this home? Damian hates me, Bruce tolerates me, Dick pities me, and Alfred led me here, to my death. This isn't home. Is it? Is this how home is supposed to feel? 

“You are capable of so much, and I hate to see you waste it all,” he continues.

But also where is home if it isn't here? Who am I if I'm not a Wayne?

“Do you understand me, Tim,” he questions. He sounds so tired of my antics. 

I can't look at him, though. I'll break immediately. I nod instead - understood.

“Tim, look at me, please,” he barks.

He's so close to snapping for me to “Report”, and I feel the pull to revert back to my Robin mindset, like I did at the press conference.

But I'm so tired. I want to plead for him to just banish me and let me go. Just get it over with.

“Now, Tim,” he snaps.

You're being rude, Timothy!, Mother's voice rings out through my head.

I force my eyes to meet his scowl.

“Do you have a plan yet?”

“No,” I whisper. 

“Come home,” he insists. 

“No,” I whisper again.

We're at a stalemate: he wants control, as always; and I refuse to hand over my life to him again. I keep his gaze this time. There's nothing left for me to give you, Bruce. 

I wish I were braver right now. I wish I wouldn't stumble through my words if I said more to him. I wish he'd understand me better. I wish he'd apologize and mean it. I wish he'd understand his part in all of this. 

But I'm not brave right now. And I'd still be wrong and misunderstood, even if I got the words out perfectly. There's nothing left to say, Bruce.

“You're excused, Tim,” Bruce dismisses me without a second glance.

Muscle memory pulls me from the chair and through his office door. I have no clue if I slammed it shut or not. I have no clue when I ended up wrapped in Cass’ arms, but that's where I come back into consciousness. I hear faint yelling down the hall - Bruce and Dick’s voices mix in between a few thuds. Either they're hitting the walls or each other. I don't know. 

I don't know if I care, either. 

“Master Timothy,” Alfred's voice calls from the kitchen.

Cass trails behind me as I absentmindedly follow Alfred's warm tone and the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. 

In the kitchen, Alfred stands in all his glory: in his white button down with the sleeves rolled up his forearms and wearing a blue checkered apron. I have the sudden desire to wrap my arms around his torso and beg him to save me. 

He holds several glass containers full of roast leftovers up in offering. 

“Here is tonight's dinner for you and,” he pauses to raise a separate container full of cookies, “chocolate chip cookies for you as well.”

I want to cry.

He hands all three stacked containers to me. His hands squeeze my forearms once. It's not how Cass and Steph do it, but the sentiment is the same: “I love you.”

“If you require anything, Master Timothy - food, laundry, anything - please do let me know,” Alfred says, staring into my eyes. He wants me to know how much he means it. 

“Thank you,” I croak out.

“Anything, Master Timothy,” he repeats.

“Thanks, Alfie,” I say quietly.

He nods. I'm dismissed. 

Cass leads me to the car and straps me into my seat. I'm gripping the glass containers so hard - will they shatter under my touch?

I don't know if I want to be here anymore. Or anywhere really. Bruce wanted to put me back on the right path - on his path - but I'm more lost now than I was this morning. 

What the FUCK am I doing? 

We're far away from Wayne Manor when my mind wanders back to where my body sits. Cass has a hand resting on mine as she smoothly drives us back to my apartment. The sky is a deep, beautiful blue. Indigo.

🎵I think it's time that I went home,

And I don't understand why I always feel dead and alone,

I used to shine bright like gold🎵

*

Cass doesn't linger after escorting me to my apartment. I'm exhausted and she knows it. She crashes her body against mine in a bruising, smothering hug - whispers “I love you, little brother” - and disappears quickly after.

The roast leftovers feel heavy in my hands; I toss them quickly in the fridge so I don't have to look at them any longer. 

Dinner was as devastating as I believed it would be, but it's just another terror I've survived in the last few weeks. I don't think I'll be back to the Manor for a while, though. Maybe I should be grateful Batman took me in - or grateful they didn't kick me out entirely when Damian joined the family - or grateful when the favorite son returned, even if he did try to kill me. Maybe I should be more fucking grateful, but I don't feel gratitude right now; I feel like an open wound made of sadness and grief and anger and resentment. And I know expressing that to them - Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Damian, Jason - isn't going to do jackshit right now. All they'll do is press on that open wound until it bleeds again. I don't want to be around any of them yet.

Through my thought spiral, muscle memory kicks in and my body undresses and redresses itself. I come back to consciousness in my bedroom’s walk-in closet. 

I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror and study the stranger staring back at me:

Pale. Early 20s. Dark purple circles under his sunken eyes. Sickly looking. Waif-like. He's wearing a crumpled white shirt and plaid stick-straight pajama pants. Sad eyes. Long black hair hangs past his eyes.

I don't recognize myself in the fragile boy looking back at me.

Without Wayne Enterprises, without Bruce, without Batman and Robin - I don't know who I am now. I don't know what I want anymore. 

Over the course of just a few months, I went from knowing my path and walking it every day with solemn resignation to a wayward wanderer tumbling down the rabbit hole with no ground below in sight. I'm Tim Drake, I'm Robin - I'm always supposed to have a plan. But now I don't know what I'm doing - and I'm honestly starting to not care, either. 

A sinking feeling drags down my stomach and I feel tonight's roast clawing its way back up my esophagus. Will I ever be free of this feeling? 

Chapter Text

steph 💖💖 12:01AM

shit meant for this to send at midnighttttt

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, YOU ABSOLUTE DORK

i love you very very much

im in suit so talk fully tonighttt 😘🤪

cass 💂🏻‍♀️💓 12:03AM

Hbd 

Love you, little brother 

Babzz 12:03AM

Happy birthday, Tim!! 🎉 

See you tonight for dinner 

konnnnnnnnnnnn 12:10AM

happy birthday, rob 

girl wonder 12:11AM

HAPPY BIRTHDAY 🎉 🎉 

barttt 💨 12:10AM

happybi rthhdatyyyyyyyuu

Richard Grayson 12:13AM

HAPY BIRTHDAY, TIM!!! 

HAPPY**

Love you ❤️

JT 2:10AM

hey, meant to send this earlier 

Steph says it's tradition to no delete that delete fuck have to fucking bend myself in

No don't send

Duck

Sorry voice to text sucks sometimes 

Happy birthday, Tim 

duke💡 6:33AM

I'm probably the only one of our FREAKS to text you at a normal time ✌🏿

Happy birthday, Tim

I'm glad to have you in my life ❤️

Alfred Pennyworth 6:45AM

Happy birthday, Master Timothy.

I wish you a wonderful day and a year beyond your wildest desires. I'm greatly proud of the man you have become. 

Bruce Wayne 7:10AM

Happy birthday, Tim.

demon brat (do not engage) 7:11AM

It's your birthday.

Don't perish.

steph 💖💖 8:07AM 

baby birthday boy

Are you awake yet??

Cass says you ahvent responded to anyone yet

ru okay? 

[Missed call: steph 💖💖 8:10AM]

[Missed call: steph 💖💖 8:11AM]

[Missed call: steph 💖💖 8:13AM]

[Missed call: steph 💖💖 8:14AM]

–

steph 💖💖 8:15AM

ok your fully scaringme

cass is coming to your appt bc im at work already

plz andwer your fucking phoen tim

WHAT THE DUCJ

8:32AM

Sorry I didn't text you back or call you back

I was ASLEEP

NOT WNYMORE 

steph 💖💖 8:36AM

sorry 😁😁

thought you were dead on your birfday 🩷

Happy birfday btw

8:38AM

thanks, steph 😊

Going back to sleep for a few hours so don't FREAK OUT like an overprotective stage mom when I don't answer

Enjoy work like a real adult ✌🏻

steph 💖💖 8:39AM

I worry about you and I won't apologize for that

Sleep well, baby boy

8:40AM

yes, mommy

steph 💖💖 8:40AM

NOPE 

TOO FAR

DISOWNED 

gross gross grossss

8:42AM

oh no disowned by another parent 

how shall I survive?

steph 💖💖 8:46AM

youre deistracing meeeeeee

no wallowing on your birfday 

ily 

8:47AM

GOODNIGHT, STEPH

–

[DO NOT DISTURB: ON]

–

8:48AM

thank you for checking on me

I love you, cass 💗 

cass💂🏻‍♀️💗8:49AM

You are my little brother

You are my responsibility 

I love you too

8:55AM

see you tonight for dinner

Going dark now

–

[ALARM 11:00AM

|SNOOZE| |DISMISS|]

–

[DO NOT DISTURB: OFF]

–

Babzz 12:03AM

Happy birthday, Tim!! 🎉 

See you tonight for dinner 

11:10AM

THANK YOU!!

–

konnnnnnnnnnnn 12:10AM

happy birthday, rob 

11:11AM

thanks

not rob, though, remember?

konnnnnnnnnnnn 10:12AM

you will always be my rob 

11:15AM

cute

See you tonight

–

girl wonder 12:11AM

HAPPY BIRTHDAY 🎉 🎉 

11:11AM

THANKS!!!

–

barttt 💨 12:10AM

happybi rthhdatyyyyyyyuu

11:12AM

th ankky ouuuuu

–

Richard Grayson 12:13AM

HAPY BIRTHDAY, TIM!!! 

HAPPY**

Love you ❤️

11:14AM

Thank you.

–

duke💡 6:33AM

I'm probably the only one of our FREAKS to text you at a normal time ✌🏿

Happy birthday, Tim

I'm glad to have you in my life ❤️

11:15AM

“normal time” ??

Thanks, duek

Duke**

Glad you're in my life too

duke💡 11:22AM

😃😃

–

Alfred Pennyworth 6:45AM

Happy birthday, Master Timothy.

I wish you a wonderful day and a year beyond your wildest desires. I'm greatly proud of the man you have become. 

11:16AM

Thank you, Alfred. I hope you're well.

Alfred Pennyworth 11:22AM

Master Timothy, would you like me to prepare a meal for you tonight at the Manor?

11:26AM

No, thank you. I have other plans.

Have a good day.

Alfred Pennyworth 11:30AM

You as well, Master Timothy.

–

Bruce Wayne 7:10AM

Happy birthday, Tim. 

Read 11:17AM

–

demon brat (do not engage) 7:11AM

It's your birthday 

Don't perish 

Read 11:17AM

–

JT 2:10AM

hey, meant to send this earlier 

Steph says it's tradition to no delete that delete fuck have to fucking bend myself in

No don't send

Duck

Sorry voice to text sucks sometimes 

Happy birthday, Tim

11:20AM

Thank you, Jason.

Hope you're well

JT 12:10PM

That sounded like a B response 

You good?

12:27PM

👍🏻

–

12:27PM

why is jason texting me happy birthday?

steph 💖💖 12:36PM

bc it's your birthday?

12:37PM

but it's Jason?

steph 💖💖 12:38PM

correct 

??

we were talking about it last mightt and he said Imma text him and bam he did

I thought u were okay with Jason?

12:42PM

ig 

steph💖💖 12:43PM

ok ?

12:43PM

ok.

just didn't realize you guys talk a lot?

steph 💖💖 12:45PM

we have a lot in common 

Is that okay with u?

12:48PM

im not fighting with you on my bday

steph 💖💖 12:51PM

im literally not trying ti start a fight with u?

12:55PM

ok.

sorry

–

YOUR ORDER WITH EAST COAST CAFÉ

From East Coast Cafe 

           [email protected]

To      [email protected]

Date  July 19th, 20xx 1:07PM

We're prepping your order!

DELIVERY TIME:

July 19th, 20xx 1:52PM

x2 Everything bagel           28.99

     Toasted

     Cream cheese

     Lox

     Capers

x1 Lg Iced chai latte             8.19

     Oat milk

Subtotal: $37.18

Delivery fee: $4.50

Tip: $50.00

Taxes & Fees: $5.56

Total: $97.24

–

r/Gotham

WHERE'S RED ROBIN?? 13 hours ago

Anything_goes223

4 comments 

Has anybody seen Red Robin out recently?

hoodhottie 13 hours ago

I think Spoiler is covering his territory? Maybe he's off with his team or something?

beachbumblondie3 13 hours ago

He saved my friend’s life a couple months ago. Hope he's okay

space_spider69 12 hours ago

Who cares? Genuinely who gives a shit

           Lizardhead 8 hours ago 

           What do you mean who cares?? It's a 

           thread literally dedicated to him??

[Closed r/Gotham WHERE'S RED ROBIN??]

–

steph💖💖 1:11PM

just realized this is your song rn!!!!

22 by taylor swift

1:12PM

no thank you

steph 💖💖 1:12PM

I DONT KNKW ABOUT YOUUUU BUT IM FEELJNG TWENTRY TWOOOOOOOOO

1:14PM

you ruined that song for me last year 

–

(917) 553-6897 1:39PM

It's on the way! Your courier Yasmin has your order and will arrive in 5 minutes.

Give Yasmin a moment to drop off your order. We'll let you know when it's there.

Delivered! Grab your order at the door.

–

steph 💖💖 1:53PM

wyd

proof of life plz

1:54PM

[IMAGE ATTACHED

Tim sloppily eating his bagel,

staring at the camera with dead eyes,

wearing nothing but his boxers]

steph 💖💖 1:57PM

hot

1:58PM

👍🏻

–

CURRENTLY PLAYING: 

Bullet with Butterfly Wings

The Smashing Pumpkins 

–

Care to comment?

From Vicki Vale

           [email protected]

To      Tim Drake-Wayne 

           [email protected]

Date  July 19th, 20xx 2:22PM

Hello, Mr. Drake-Wayne:

Rumors are swirling that Mr. Bruce Wayne is planning to take credit for all of your work at Wayne Enterprises over the last 4 years, due to your obvious instability right now, so as not to scare investors. There are other rumors that Gotham Weekly is pulling their feature of you from their 30 Under 30 issue. Do you care to comment on these rumors?

Vicki Vale

Journalist

~“I'll always get to the truth.”~

–

Re: Care to comment?

From Tim Drake-Wayne

           [email protected]

To      Vicki Vale

           [email protected]

Date   July 19th, 20xx 2:24PM

Vicki-

1) The rumors are false.

2) No idea how you keep getting my personal email address.

3) Do you have literally nothing better to do than bother me? Fact checking our President or covering atrocities overseas or any real fucking journalism?

Tim Drake-Wayne 

[Email sent.]

–

2:31PM

I just fucked something up. Can you help me?

Babzz 2:35PM

What can I do?

2:35PM

Hack Vicki Vale’s email and delete a stupid fucking email I just fucking sent her like a fucking idiot 

Babzz 2:42PM

I'm not sure hacking her email will help you here, Tim.

2:43PM

I can't call Bruce

Babzz 2:43PM

You may have to

I'm sorry.

2:44PM

Please don't tell steph or Cass

Babzz 2:45PM

Tim…

2:45PM

Babs PLEASE

Babzz 2:47PM

Okay, I promise, Tim, I won't.

2:48PM

Its just lne fuckign thing after qnother today istfg

Babzz 2:48PM

What's going on, Tim?

2:49PM

I smashed my laptop last night after reading reddit threads about “where'd RR go??” And somekne else wrote “who cares?” and I keep going back to the fuckign thread even thigh I fckugn ahouldnt and id use my ther laptofp to hck but I can't fickjgn see anything rn theiugh all thesee fockinnn teqrs so nun of myf cling codess wre wrjrbjg

Aand im not doing well rn

Babzz 2:49PM

Oh, Tim

3:01PM

Please no fucking babying rn, Babzz, plz

Babzz 3:04PM

What can I do to help, kiddo?

3:05PM

Please not with the kiddo

Babzz 3:10PM

How can I help you right now, Tim?

3:11PM

Idfk

I have to text bruce and start damage control

Fuuuuuck

Babzz 3:12PM

Good luck, Tim

Text me if you need anything 

3:12PM

ty

–

FW: Re: Care to comment?

From Tim Drake-Wayne

           [email protected]

To      Bruce Wayne

           [email protected]

CC      Lucius Fox

            [email protected]

Date   July 19th, 20xx 3:19PM

Bruce -

Figured I'd forward you and Lucius this so we can do damage control since it concerns WE.

Sorry

TDW

FW:

| Re: Care to comment?

| From Tim Drake-Wayne

| [email protected]

| To Vicki Vale

| [email protected]

| Date July 19th, 20xx 2:24PM

|

| Vicki-

|

| 1) The rumors are false.

| 2) No idea how you keep getting my personal email address.

| 3) Do you have literally nothing better to do

| than bother me? Fact checking our 

| President or covering atrocities overseas or 

| any real fucking journalism?

|

| Tim Drake-Wayne 

      |

      | Care to comment?

      | From Vicki Vale

      | [email protected]

      | To Tim Drake-Wayne 

      | [email protected]

      | Date July 19th, 20xx 2:22PM

      |

      | Hello, Mr. Drake-Wayne:

      |

      | Rumors are swirling that Mr. Bruce     

      |Wayne is planning to take credit for all   

      |of your work at Wayne Enterprises over 

      |the last 4 years, due to your obvious 

      |instability right now, so as not to scare 

      |investors. There are other rumors that

      |Gotham Weekly is pulling their feature 

      |of you from their 30 Under 30 issue. Do 

      |you care to comment on these rumors?

      |

      | Vicki Vale

      | Journalist

      | 

      | ~“I'll always get to the truth.”~

–

RE: FW: Re: Care to comment?

From Bruce Wayne

           [email protected]

To      Tim Drake-Wayne

           [email protected]

CC      Lucius Fox

            [email protected]

Date   July 19th, 20xx 3:26PM

This is not good, Tim.

Bruce Wayne 

CEO, Wayne Enterprises 

–

RE: RE: FW: Re: Care to comment?

From Tim Drake-Wayne

           [email protected]

To      Bruce Wayne

           [email protected]

CC      Lucius Fox

            [email protected]

Date   July 19th, 20xx 3:27PM

Yes, Bruce, I'm aware.

Whatever you guys decide is best to do please let me know and I'll do it.

TDW 

–

Richard Grayson 3:29PM

Hey, Tim 

Give me a call when you get this, okay?

Love you ❤️

Read 3:29PM

–

[INCOMING CALL: Richard Grayson 

|ANSWER| |DISMISS|]

[CALL DISMISSED]

[NEW VOICEMAIL

|VIEW TRANSCRIPT| |DELETE|]

[VOICEMAIL DELETED]

–

[DO NOT DISTURB: ON]

–

CURRENTLY PLAYING 

the grudge

Olivia Rodrigo 

[REPEAT ON]

–

[DO NOT DISTURB: OFF]

-

Richard Grayson 3:35PM

Please call me back or call Steph 

I don't care who you call, just call one of us please

I do care, I didn't mean to phrase it like that 

steph 💖💖 3:38PM

TIMMY WHATS GOING ON??

Dick texted me and said something happened with vicki Vale & now youre not answering his calls or txts

Answer my calls at least plz

[MISSED CALL: steph💖💖 3:39PM]

[NEW VOICEMAIL

|VIEW TRANSCRIPT| |DELETE|]

[MISSED CALL: steph💖💖 3:41PM]

[NEW VOICEMAIL

|VIEW TRANSCRIPT| |DELETE|]

Babzz 3:43PM

Please answer Dick or Steph's calls.

[MISSED CALL: steph💖💖 3:44PM]

steph 💖💖 3:46PM

TIMMMMMMMMMMMMM

DIDNT WEE JJSG FCKIN DO THIS EARLIER???

RU ALSEP WGAIN??

omw to ur house

You better b there and u better b fuckjbg alive

cass 💂🏻‍♀️❤️ 3:49PM

Little brother

We are on our way 

steph 💖💖 3:58PM

TIM 

ANSWER THE DOOR NOW

YOU HWVE ALL YOUR SECURITY ONA ND I XANT GET IN

YOURE SVARING ME SO FXKN MHDCH RIGHT NKW ISTG

84621 4:00PM

Reminder: Your reservation at Dante’s Bistro is in 2 hours for 8 people.

Babzz 4:00PM

I apologize for this, but I'm hacking your security so Steph and Cass can enter your apartment. 

You're scaring all of us right now, Tim 

Re: VV

From Bruce Wayne

           [email protected]

To      Tim Drake-Wayne

           [email protected]

CC      Lucius Fox

            [email protected]

Date   July 19th, 20xx 4:04PM

Lucius spoke directly with Vicki Vale and sorted out the situation by giving her an exclusive interview with me. 

If she contacts you again, do not respond and forward it directly to Lucius, and he will handle it going forward. 

Bruce Wayne 

CEO, Wayne Enterprises

Richard Grayson 4:07PM

Tim, please answer the door for Steph & Cass

I'm on my way from Haven, I'll be there in 40 minutes

I'm not telling B about this right now, I promise you 

Barbara told me you're not answering your calls and all your security is on

steph 💖💖 4:09PM

OPEN THE DORO NOW

Babs says it's twking time to whack your security so im just standing gin the hall wondejrng if yoruee fuckjgng sead in there

Time you are my best deiend wnd id bw so lostw rithout you istf 

JT 4:11PM

Hey Steph just called me and I told her it's not my business but she said to threaten you so you'd answer the door so

If you keep making Steph cry, I'll pummel you?

She's really worried, Tim, and also Dick is really worried. He texted me to see if I'd spoken to you which I don't know why he thinks we talk but

Anyway sorry please answer the door for Steph

–

steph 💖💖 4:16PM

TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE

WHERE ARE U??

WERE IN YOUR APARTMENT BUT YOUR NOT HERE

4:19PM

I'm at my parents’ graves.

I turned my phone off so I could cry in peace

Your didn't need to send a fucking search party

Including jason fucking todd JFC

steph 💖💖 4:21PM

Dick wanted to tell Bruce so your welcome for that not fcking happendjng 

We're on our way to u

4:22PM

No please don't

steph 💖💖 4:22PM

NOPE

u scare your family u get a visit IMMEDIATELY 

plus our res is in an hor & a half anyway sooooooo

We're pulling up now

–

Babzz 4:00PM

I apologize for this, but I'm hacking your security so Steph and Cass can enter your apartment. 

You're scaring all of us right now, Tim

4:20PM

I didn't mean to scare you, I'm sorry

Steph & Cass are with me, I'm at the cemetery with my parents 

Babzz 4:23PM

I was really worried about you, kiddo 

And yes right now you're getting kiddo 

Deal with it

4:29PM

Please let Dick know he doesn't need to come to Gotham 

Babzz 4:30PM

Please let him know yourself ❤️

4:32PM

k.

–

Richard Grayson 4:07PM

Tim, please answer the door for Steph & Cass

I'm on my way from Haven, I'll be there in 40 minutes

I'm not telling B about this right now, I promise you 

Barbara told me you're not answering your calls and all your security is on

4:33PM

I was at the cemetery. Steph and Cass are with me now. All is well. No need to come up from Haven.

Also thanks for not telling B.

Richard Grayson 4:47PM

I'm already in Gotham 

At Babs’ now

Are you okay, like genuinely?

4:49PM

I'm fine, thanks.

I had a mess up earlier, it's solved now.

Richard Grayson 4:50PM

Everybody's worried about you, Tim. I'm worried about you

Read 4:50PM

–

JT 4:11PM

Hey Steph just called me and I told her it's not my business but she said to threaten you so you'd answer the door so

If you keep making Steph cry, I'll pummel you?

She's really worried, Tim, and also Dick is really worried. He texted me to see if I'd spoken to you which I don't know why he thinks we talk but

Anyway sorry please answer the door for Steph

4:46PM

I'm sorry Steph keeps bringing you into my shit. I told her to leave you alone about it

JT 4:54PM

That is not what you should be apologizing for. 

You should be apologizing for letting your family think you're fucking dead when you're just being a whiny loner hermit

4:55PM

You are not my family.

JT 4:56PM

I wasn't referring to me, Replacement.

I was referring to Steph who loves your bitchy ass even though you're the spitting fucking image of Bruce: moody, arrogant, a fucking stuck up prick who thinks he's above everyone around him

[CONTACT BLOCKED:

JT]

–

(201) XXX-XXXX 4:59PM

Real fucking mature, Replacement.

I have burners you know

5:01PM

Then I'll block all your burners too.

Goodbye, Jason.

I'm having dinner with MY family.

[CONTACT BLOCKED:

(201) XXX-XXXX]

–

konnnnnnnnnnnn 5:16PM

We're en route.

Driving so Mr. Wayne isn't annoyed with the whole meta thing.

Meeting at your apartment or the restaurant, Rob?

We'll be there in 20 minutes 

Actually 25 minutes 

Bart wants snacks first

Rob?

5:28PM

Sorry

Meet at the restaurant

See you soon 

–

duke 💡 5:44PM

I'm running late!

Be there by like 6:15 at the latest

Sorry, Tim! Order me an iced tea to start pleaseeeee

5:46PM

No problem

Steph, Cass, and I are here already

Everybody else is otw

–

konnnnnnnnnnnn 5:54PM

We're parking right now, Rob

5:56PM

We're seated in the back. Duke is gonna be a little late but the rest of us are here

Including Dick 🙄

konnnnnnnnnnnn 5:57PM

Thought he wasn't invited?

5:57PM

Long story

Just gonna let it go for now 

Don't feel like talking about it rn

konnnnnnnnnnnn 5:59PM

👍🏻

Heading in

–

[DO NOT DISTURB: ON]

–

CURRENTLY PLAYING 

22

Taylor Swift 

–

8:09PM

Thank you for coming to my birthday dinner, Babs

And for everything today

I'm sorry again for worrying you

Steph & cass are gonna come back to my apt after yj leaves

Babzz 8:12PM

I'm glad you had a good birthday dinner, Tim

Enjoy your night ❤️

–

[DO NOT DISTURB: OFF]

–

Bruce Wayne 6:17PM

I expect better of you than today's display, Tim. Just because you no longer work for WE does not mean you no longer represent us in the public eye.

Read 8:15PM

–

[DO NOT DISTURB: ON]

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11:23PM

thankkkkkk uuuuuu for clming to my biday dunner 

konnnnnnnnnnnn 11:25PM

Oh someone is a little more tipsy than he let on, huh?

You gonna be okay while the girls are gone, or should we turn around?

11:26PM

I'll be fine, promise✌🏻

konnnnnnnnnnnn 11:26PM

Suddenly sober

11:27PM

😝😝😝

–

r/Gotham

WHERE'S RED ROBIN?? 1 day ago

Anything_goes223

5 comments 

Has anybody seen Red Robin out and about recently?

hoodhottie 1 day ago

I think Spoiler is covering his territory? Maybe he's off with his team or something?

beachbumblondie3 1 day ago

He saved my friend’s life a couple months ago. Hope he's okay

space_spider69 23 hours ago

Who cares? Genuinely who gives a shit

           Lizardhead 19 hours ago 

           What do you mean who cares?? It's a 

           thread literally dedicated to him??

                   space_spider69 16 hours ago

                   Not like if Batman or Red

                   Hood or Robin were missing. RR is

                   replaceable 

[Closed r/Gotham WHERE'S RED ROBIN?]

–

[DO NOT DISTURB: OFF]

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Bruce Wayne 6:23PM

I'll give you the evening because it's your birthday, but I expect a response in the morning.

Read 11:28PM

–

CURRENTLY PLAYING 

Hurt

Nine Inch Nails

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steph 💖💖 11:34PM

CANNOT WAIT to down that bttl of prosecco sjen we get back 😍😍

11:35PM

ITS WAAITINGGGG

It's calljng to me from the fridge

steph 💖💖 11:36PM

DONT YOU DARE DRINK JT WITHOUT US!!!!

11:37PM

Im not! 

steph 💖💖 11:42PM

BETTER STAY THAG WAY!!!!

11:42PM

😘

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CURRENTLY PLAYING 

Indigo

Sam Barber feat. Avery Anna 

[REPEAT ON]