Chapter Text
After 72 hours without sleep, the hallucinations start. This Tim knows, because there is a cartoony looking squid on top of the coffee-machine, and if he looks at the same spot for too long The Spiders start appearing.
The Spiders are scary, but nice. The squid? Not so much. It’s taunting him in French.
Tim is going to go to bed very, very soon. He’s been meaning to do it for about two days now, but there is something about the case he’s working on that doesn’t feel quite right. He’s been holding off resting to try to figure it out. There is a new vigilante – rogue? definitely rogue – on the loose. Apparently, he goes by The Red Hood.
Tim looks at the board he’s put up. A good old-fashioned cork board with pictures, writing, and a discouraging lack of red string. The Red Hood kills, but not just anyone. The Red Hood goes after other criminals. The Red Hood is a slippery little bitch who refuses to be caught and interrogated. And he is League trained. But not associated with the League. There must be something he is missing.
He has to find the missing piece of the puzzle. Dick is in Blüd, Bruce is still in shambles. Edgy, covered up, suppressed, and wrapped in black cloth and denial shambles, but still. Tim wants to crack this case, and he won’t rest until he does.
He wants to rest though. Almost more than anything. The only thing he wants more - and it pains him to say - is Bruce’s approval.
He’s been Robin for a while now, but still, Bruce doesn’t seem to trust him fully. It always seems like he’s hiding some things from Tim. It feels like he’s treating him like a child. Tim hates it. He isn’t a child. Sure, he might be one in the eyes of the law, but he deserves to be treated like an adult. His actions prove that. He’s smart and resourceful, and if there is something he doesn’t understand he will not rest until he does. He’s excelled in every test that Bruce has put him through, but still Bruce does not seem happy with him.
Tim gets that he forced his way in. He understands that. He might be a parasite, but he’d like to think he isn’t a very bothersome one. He doesn’t take up much room, doesn’t bother anyone, makes himself small and helpful. But to Bruce, nothing seems to be good enough.
Sometimes he wants to reach out to Dick. To try to fix whatever went down between him and Bruce. Maybe if he does that, Bruce will come to appreciate him a little bit more. But Tim has only met Dick a few times, and from the impression he got, Dick doesn’t seem to care much about him. Tim feels like a bug, splattered on a windshield. In the way, annoying, and something to wrinkle your nose at.
His mind is so far away from the case in front of him. So far from the Red Hood. His focus is entirely gone, and The Spiders are starting to appear. God, he’s tired.
He can’t afford to rest, but maybe he doesn’t have to call it rest. Maybe he can call it… taking a short break and coming back with fresh eyes. And a bit more sleep in his system.
It’s with a loud and irritated groan that he finally gives up for today. Threeday? What is it called when you haven’t slept in three days? Isn’t there a planet with days that are three Earth-days long? Probably.
“Stupid Earth. Can’t even have three-long days. Can’t have shit in Gotham,” he grumbles, standing up from the rough cave floor. He isn’t in the main batcave, he is in a smaller cave that he found while out exploring. He’s converted the space to a case-space, mostly because he was running out of space in his room. Here he only keeps case-related things, and a coffee-machine, obviously.
He has risen, limbs aching and the Robin uniform now extremely uncomfortable, and he walks out of his little cave. It is then that the newest hallucination appears.
In one of the dark tunnels, a glowing pair of eyes are staring at him. They’re a sickly shade of green, and they are trained on him like a wolf looking at its prey. Tim comes to a halt, squints a little, and then he walks away towards the batcave. After all, if he looks at the same spot for too long, The Spiders start crawling the edges of his vision. We can’t have that, now can we?
—
Tim would like to say he doesn’t stumble into the coffee-shop, but that would probably be lying. His tie feels like it is strangling him and his suit is so rumpled one would think he’d slept in it. Tim wishes he’d slept in it, but as a matter of fact, he hasn’t slept at all. Shocker, right?
But he has to finish a million different reports by tomorrow, or else he’s toast. Well, not quite, but he has to prove to Bruce that he can manage his internship at Wayne Enterprises and be Robin at the same time. He can do two things. He can .
He’s been given this internship by Bruce as a test, he knows it. And he intends to pass with flying colors. People are already saying he doesn’t deserve it. Not directly to him, but he can feel it. The lingering looks as he walks by, the silence that settles abruptly when he enters a room. They think he’s only been given this because of who he is, and that is partly true. It is. It doesn’t help that Bruce put him in an office of his own when all the other interns only have cubicles. But he’s going to prove to everyone that he deserves it. That he is worth both this, and that he is worth an actual job when the time is right.
But to do that, he needs coffee. Sweet, bitter, black coffee. He tells the cashier such, with less adjectives and more like he’s a robot reading a manual. He stuffs some bills in the tip-jar, and turns to head towards the pick-up station. But as he turns, he finds that he doesn’t quite get anywhere. Except smack dab into biceps the size of his fucking head.
“Oh, sorry!” He says, looking up at the man he’s collided with. Tim’s vision is basically in 144p, but what he can make out is that the man is big, with black hair, and a pair of green eyes. Probably not much older than Tim himself. If he didn’t know better, he’d say the man’s eyes were glowing a sickly shade of green. But Tim does know better. Tim knows that he hasn’t slept in way too long, and he knows that normal-people eyes don’t actually glow. The hallucinations have started again. Great.
“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” The man mutters, sounding strained, and Tim wants to say he recognizes the voice. But Tim also hears his name being called from the pick-up station, so he just nods once towards what he hopes is the man’s head (the man seems to have acquired two more of them since Tim last looked…good for him.) He picks up his coffee, downs half immediately, and starts out the door with nothing on his mind but all that he has left to do before the day is over. He has the weird feeling that someone is watching him, but it’s probably nothing.
As he walks away from the shop though, he casts a glance behind him. And the man from before is staring out the window after him. There is something about him that makes Tim uneasy. Goosebumps form on his arms. But he brushes it off. The man probably recognizes him. His internship did result in a few articles with his face plastered all over the pages.
The lack of sleep, Tim guesses, or maybe a reflection in the glass, makes the man’s eyes glow that green light again. Tim decides he’ll take a powernap in his office. That’ll set him straight.
Back in the building though, Bruce is waiting for him in his office. There is a clown standing behind him that Tim is like 63% sure isn’t really there.
Tim raises his eyebrows, hopes he doesn’t look like a complete lunatic as he keeps glancing behind Bruce at the clown, and he closes the door behind him hesitantly.
“That coffee from Anita’s?” Bruce asks, wrinkling his nose, and Tim nods. Anita's isn't known for its quality.
“Cheapest one on the block,” He says, because it is, and because he doesn’t know what else to say.
Bruce tilts his head. There is a look in his eyes that Tim isn’t sure how to interpret. The clown stares at him with the same look in its eyes.
“Surely you can afford whatever coffee you’d like? This is a paid internship, after all.” Bruce still has that look in his eyes, and Tim thinks it might mean that he is amused. Great. Not only does Bruce think he’s useless, he also thinks Tim’s stupid enough to laugh at. Wonderful.
“I like it.” He shrugs, “And anyway, you’re not here to ask about coffee, are you?” He takes a sip of the coffee. Bruce’s face changes and becomes something else. Concern?
“No. I was going to ask you how you’re… How the reports are coming.” He sounds stilted. Tim wants to sigh.
“They’re coming. I’ll have them on your desk hopefully by tonight, but definitely before 9AM tomorrow.”
The clown is melting. It warps and twists into grotesque shapes.
“I know the load is heavy. If you want to I can distribute some of the work to-”
“It’s fine. I’ll get it done. Sorry for the wait, I’ll be faster next time.” The tips of Tim’s ears are burning red with shame. Does Bruce not think he can handle some measly budget reports? He should have gotten them done sooner.
“That’s not…” Bruce sighs, and Tim wants to sink into the earth. He’s done something wrong, hasn’t he? He waits for Bruce to finish the sentence, but the end never comes. Tim’s brain has no trouble filling it in though, with a million different disappointed phrases.
“Was there anything else you needed, sir?” He asks, hoping that Bruce will leave so he can start banging his head against the wall in frustration.
Bruce sighs again, with an unreadable look in his eyes. This one isn’t amusement. That, Tim knows for sure.
“No. No, that's all.” Bruce walks past him, and puts a heavy hand on his shoulder, just for a second, “Good luck, Tim,” He says. The next moment he is gone, and Tim sets an alarm on his phone for 30 minutes and sinks down on the floor. Coffee completely forgotten.
The clown is gone.
—
A week later he’s in the manor. He’s in the family wing, walking up and down the corridor.
The Red Hood has been seen more and more over in Crime Alley, and while he is causing murder and mischief wherever he goes, he’s also apparently become incredibly well liked among the people who live there. Why, Tim can’t be too sure. Whenever he tries shadowing the man, he disappears. And now Bruce has strictly forbidden him to enter Crime Alley.
Not that Tim is usually one to listen to Bruce, but after the fight they had two days ago (about Tim taking a break from his internship, because apparently Bruce thinks he can’t handle it ), Tim doesn’t want to do anything that might upset Bruce further. He knows Bruce isn’t his father, knows he doesn’t share his father’s temper. But there is something about an angry adult man that doesn’t sit completely right with Tim.
He can’t sleep.
Usually, sleep is always gnawing at the edges of his consciousness. There is always too little of it, and if he doesn’t stay focused and caffeinated, he possesses a wonderful ability to pass out almost immediately whenever he’d like. But now, he can’t sleep. Which is unheard of.
So up and down the corridor he walks. Sleepless and restless, thinking of everything that he can’t do. Everything he is not.
He knows he isn’t Bruce’s son. Knows he can never replace anyone, and that has never been his intention. He knows he will never be to Bruce what Dick is. What Jason was.
He stops outside of Jason’s room. The door is shut.
Tim knows he will never be a son to Bruce. Knows he will never be a brother to Dick. But he sometimes, in his most selfish and pitiful moments, wishes that they treated him like he belonged. But all he is, all he will ever be, is a void-filler. Someone to make sure Bruce doesn’t get himself killed, or kills someone else. It’s not like he’s been treated like a son to anyone before, Jack and Janet Drake aren’t exactly winning any parent-of-the-year awards. But being this close to it, having it within his reach yet so far away from his grasping arms, he can’t help but long for it.
Dick moved out long ago. Tim doesn’t know how to act to be a better asset to Bruce. He doesn’t know how to be better at filling the void Dick left behind. His room is all cleaned out.
But Jason’s room is right there. Right in front of him, full of untouched memories. A shrine to a life too short. He’s never been in it before. The door is always closed. It’s not that the room is explicitly off-limits, but there is a certain air around it that has made Tim stay very clear of it.
Now though. Bruce is sleeping. Alfred is sleeping. And right behind that door lies clues to how he might become better at helping Bruce.
Tim isn’t quite sure how true of a statement that is, but then again, he hasn’t slept in two days. To him, the logic is logic-ing.
He opens the door, enters, closes the door behind him. And he finds himself staring into a pair of glowing, green eyes. The room is pitch black, save for those eyes over by the far windows.
“Oh, great,” Tim mumbles, “They’ve started again. Could’ve sworn it usually takes longer.” He tries rubbing his eyes, but when he looks up again, the eyes are still there.
“What’s started again?” A voice asks. It sounds taken by surprise. Presumably, it’s the eyes that are asking him, but honestly it could be whatever. The voice is dark and rough. It would scare him, if he didn’t know it was all in his head.
“The hallucinations,” Tim sighs and looks for a light switch. Or, looks might be a strong word for what he’s doing. He’s mostly dragging his hand on the wall next to the door. The wrong wall, it seems. No light switch to be found.
“You hallucinate?” The voice asks. The eyes blink.
“Duh. You’re here aren’t you?” Tim decides not to turn on the light. Maybe this was a bad idea. He’s not going to come up with any splendid ideas if his brain is fried enough to hallucinate talking eyes.
“I’m-? You know what? Whatever. Sure. Why are you in this room?”
“Clues.” Tim drags a hand over his face and starts to realize that while this might possibly be a good idea, doing it in the middle of the night is not .
“For what?” The voice growls. The eyes shine brighter. Tim sighs. It seems like all he does these days is sigh. Maybe that’s why Bruce hates him. Bad attitude.
“I don’t know. I just want him to like me.”
“Who?”
“Actually, scratch that. I just want him to not dis like me. I get that I’m not Dick or- or Jason. I get that. I never thought I would be like them. But it’s like he doesn’t even care if I’m dead or alive, when all I care about is whether he is. I’m doing this for him, and he doesn’t even care.”
"I'm sure... he does care." The voice sounds uncomfortable. Like it doesn't know what to do, and like it would much rather be somewhere else. The light from the eyes is fading rapidly.
Cool. Not even his hallucinations can stand him.
"What do you know? You're not even real," Tim scoffs.
The eyes stare. The voice is silent. Tim sighs. Again.
“Whatever. This was stupid.”
He exits the empty and cold room. Goes to his own. Lays on his bed, where he stares at the ceiling until dawn starts sneaking through his curtains.