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A virus cannot survive alone.
Tim tries, he does. He learns how to make himself microwave meals and cans of soup. He jams headphones over his ears and tries to fill the empty corridors. He tells himself that he doesn’t need help, that he’s old enough to take care of himself.
Tim lies to himself. It’s a bit of a pattern in his life.
Because the food tastes like ash on his tongue and he gags, vomiting onto the cold tile floor. The silence echoes in his ears and scrapes at his skin until he’s raw. He burns himself on the kitchen stove trying to make pasta, but the hospital would call his parents, so Tim patches himself up, teeth clenched as he sits with a First Aid Kit on the ceramic toilet lid.
The burn becomes infected. Over the next few days, Tim learns a lot about infections. When Google tells him, quite clearly, that he needs actual medical attention, he also learns how to get to the free clinic in Crime Alley. He learns how to get help. Sometimes, an infection cannot be fought alone.
(The thing about warped perceptions is that they are warped. The thoughts steal Tim’s brain for their own purposes, shifting his memories and senses into falsehoods.)
The virus’s external proteins are perfectly shaped to bind to the target cell’s receptors. Convinced that the pathogen is a helpful molecule, the cell lets it in.
Tim dresses himself in red and green and yellow and calls himself Robin. He knows that this is untrue. Dick Grayson was Robin. Jason Todd was Robin. Tim Drake is a pretender, a fake, an imposter.
Sometimes, Bruce lets him stay the night. When Tim eats breakfast in the morning at a table with real, live humans, the Manor feels so very full of life. Bruce shows up at Tim’s school to see his photographs, and Tim can barely speak with shock. Dick takes him out for ice cream and they try all the most ridiculous flavors in one melty goop. Tim has no right to any of it.
When Tim’s parents die, Bruce adopts him. Tim finds himself living at the Manor, taken into the family. Well, he knows he’s not really part of the family. Bruce adopted him out of convenience and perhaps, if Tim flatters himself, a sense of obligation. Tim is Robin. Batman has to protect Robin and make sure he can continue to do his job. It’s simple.
But Tim has been taken in under false pretenses, because he’s not Robin, not really. He doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve this home. He accepts it anyway, crawling toward the warmth he should be denied.
(The thoughts are his, but also not his. They worm their way into his consciousness, slick with oily shadows, pretending that they belong. His mind tries to fight the intruders, protests that Bruce cares, that Dick cares, that Tim belongs. But he’s not strong enough. Tim still believes the lies.)
Once inside the cell, the virus hijacks the cellular machinery for its own purposes.
Tim knows that important people are busy—his parents being the prime example. And yet, Bruce comes to most of his parent-teacher conferences. When he attends the first one, Tim is astonished. When he attends the second one, Tim is even more shocked. But when Bruce misses the third one, Tim can’t help but feel disappointed, and that’s the worst part of all.
It was never Bruce’s role to do come to these. The only thing that matters between Tim and Bruce is Robin, and Tim’s grades are good enough that they won’t interfere with the important work. Bruce isn’t his father, just his legal guardian. A simple formality. So, the weight of the disappointment crushes Tim’s chest, but the guilt for feeling upset is worse. Its blade slips between Tim’s ribs and strikes.
And then Bruce apologizes, and Tim knows. This whole situation is bizarre. Bruce—CEO of Wayne Enterprises and the literal Batman—has spent more time on Tim in the past few months than Tim’s parents have spent in his entire life. He knows there must be a reason that Bruce is wasting his time and Dick is wrapping Tim in his warm octopus-like hugs and Alfred is patching even the smallest of injuries with a kindly smile. Tim has slipped into the hole that Jason left in this family and then hijacked it for his own selfish gains.
He didn’t mean to be manipulative. He didn’t even consciously realize it. But he’s too smart for his own good—he must have taken advantage of their grief to steal their time and love and affection for himself.
Tim invents a fake uncle, but he can’t bring himself to send the email, the one from Uncle Eddie’s address asking for custody of one Timothy Jackson Drake. The files sit on his computer, unused. And Tim knows he is taking advantage, but he can’t lose what he has.
(Every observation becomes evidence for his conclusion. Smiles are twisted into grief for a lost brother, son, grandson. Care and concern become a desire for Tim to be useful and exasperation when he falls short. Truths transform into pretty lies that dig their fingers into Tim’s skull and squeeze until his brain will explode. He waits for the other shoe to drop so long that he begins to see it hanging above him.)
Immune cells recognize the virus particles as foreign bodies. Mucus is generated to flush out the infection. A fever is the immune system attempting to kill off the pathogen with heat. Inflammation is another way to fight a disease and headaches are caused by cytokines mobilized to save the host organism. To cure an infection, the body tears itself apart.
There’s something about Tim that everyone else seems to see, and if they see it, it must be there.
Training with Bruce is harsh. In the early days, Bruce is so desperate for Tim to quit that he throws his all into making training the most unpleasant experience possible. They’re destroying themselves, each the other, but Tim needs Robin and Batman needs Robin and Gotham needs Robin, so he picks himself up and makes Bruce spar with him again. Training was tough for the others, but Tim knows it wasn’t this bad. It’s only to be expected, though—this is how a family reacts to an infection.
Tim doesn’t even exchange more than a few words with Jason, his Robin, his hero, before the fight begins. And Jason hates the Bats, but he doesn’t slit their throats. He doesn’t nearly kill them. No, Jason recognizes the infection long before he even saw it, and reacted like anyone would. It’s all about survival, and everyone knows that Tim doesn’t belong.
Damian arrives at the Manor, ten years old and stabby. Beyond a few cursory swipes, he barely attacks the other members. Tim, though, is the subject of an assassination attempt on Damian’s very first day. When he wakes up, lying in a pool of blood, he wonders how Damian knew. Even at ten, Damian’s instincts scream for him to defend his home from a virus.
And with Jason back, Dick doesn’t need a stand-in for his lost little brother. In a desperate bid to keep Damian in the family, Dick gives him Robin. And that means Dick takes Robin from Tim. The family is in chaos and Tim should stay, but instead, he leaves. Dick knew, knew in his gut that Tim didn’t belong. The body destroys itself as the cure.
(His thoughts spiral downwards, a blizzard of anxiety and self-hatred and fear. Faster, and faster, and faster. And Tim can’t catalogue them anymore, can’t keep up with the barrage. They all just combine into a gray-out of sickness that burrows deep into his heart. Tim’s mind is not his own, at war with itself. Something has to give. And something does. Everything lines up a little too well. Bernard mentions his concerns. And Tim thinks “what if?” one too many times and begins to acknowledge that he thought it.)
In an autoimmune response, the overactive immune system mistakes the host’s cells for pathogenic. A violent immune response then attacks the body’s own cells.
Tim sits in his room, staring numbly at his hands. They should be shaking, but they’re still. He should be terrified. After all, he stood frozen on that roof for a long, long time.
Swallowing, Tim picks up his phone. He dials a number. He waits.
On the second ring, Dick picks up. “Hey, Tim. What’s going on?”
Tim tries to speak, but his voice catches in his throat.
“Tim?”
And Tim breaks down.
Over the next few days, he moves back into Wayne Manor. Jason finds him in the kitchen late one night and awkwardly apologizes. Damian and Tim bond over an art show. There are no more murder attempts, unless Bruce’s “cooking” counts.
At first, Tim concludes that everyone’s being nice out of pity. He nearly storms out in disgust after two days, but Dick catches him at the bus stop. He swears that he never spoke a word about their conversation and Dick has never been a liar. Tim stays.
Slowly, he starts to feel like he isn’t a thief or a threat or a virus. Slowly, he starts to feel like he belongs.
(Sometimes, Tim’s mind lies. His thoughts turn on him, attacking his self-worth, his confidence, his identity. But it gets better. Not perfect, but better. After all, he has an entire family to help him thrive.)