The first time he doesn't have to lie about where an injury came from, Tim almost laughs, and then, he almost cries. He misses flying over Gotham, the way his boots feel against the rooftops, and how it felt just leaning against the gargoyles for long periods of time. He wants to go back to being Robin, and yet knows that he can't. That's not his life anymore...it can't be his life any more. He just wants so badly for someone to tell him that it's not a mistake. Tim can't help but feel as though he just chose one family over another, and he can't stop himself from thinking that maybe he chose the wrong one. He can't tell his father that if he really loved him, then he wouldn't be making Tim choose between everything he loves and everything he doesn't know how to be, no matter how often the thought runs through his head.
Intellectually, Tim knows that this isn't how his father sees it, and that his need to protect his son is the very thing that's driving him in this decision. However, emotionally, Tim can't help but hate him a little for this. Robin was the best thing in his life, and he gave it up for a man who really only started spending time with his son because he caught a glimpse of his own mortality. Tim doesn't like thinking about it that way, but even he can't ignore the obviousness of it all. He can't help but ponder what his life would be like if his parents had never been kidnapped, and he can't honestly decide if it would be better or worse-and he wonders if that makes him a terrible person.
It's not like that matters, because his father is convinced that he's a terrible person just because of all of the lying, even if his father still doesn't know exactly how often Tim lied. Sometimes that makes Tim want to break out into hysterical laughter, because the lying never really bothered him as much as it should have. He only really lied when he had to, or when it was just easier than telling the truth. Tim doesn't think that he'll ever stop lying-not completely anyway. He's not even sure that it's something that he's capable of, and maybe that should trouble him, too, but it doesn't. Tim's fairly certain that the main problem his father has with all of this is the fact that he was forced to realize how much he didn't know his son. And the only thing that worries Tim about that is the fact that he's pretty sure that his father doesn't want to get to know him.
As long as Tim goes to school, comes home, and acts like a normal teenager, his father is happy. Tim is almost positive that his father has no intention of even trying to have a relationship beyond that. It hurts, but it's not as though Tim can really blame him. After all, Tim Drake was always a flimsy shell of a person. Robin was the one everyone wanted to get to know-the worthwhile one out of the two-and now, Robin is someone else entirely. Tim wants to kick himself for not putting more effort into the Tim Drake side of his life-especially since it's the only thing that he's left with. It would be so much easier to deal with if he didn't miss all the aspects of Robin so much.
After all, he didn't realize how much of Tim Drake was infused with Robin until he lost that part. He still can't stop himself from walking into a room and cataloging where everything is, and how many potential weapons he has in case something happens. He never even fully realized that he was doing it before, because, before he had weapons on him at all times and didn't feel so naked. Before he was keeping up with his training, and never worried about simple mistakes. Before he was confident in his own ability to be a weapon. Now? Now, he constantly worries about slipping up because he's out of practice-which only makes him miss the others more. They didn't mind that Tim Drake was just another facet of Robin. They actually wanted him around, and not because of their own fears, but because they genuinely like him. Tim tries not to think like that, but he's never been good at not thinking...not planning...not...being everything that Robin is.
Tim looks out his window, and remembers the feel of Nightwing's hand on his shoulder, right before they both jump into the middle of a gang fight. He remembers the way Dick hugged him, and it makes Tim want to curl in on himself, because he doesn't get hugs anymore. Hell, his father won't even look at him anymore-not without the disappointment, distrust, and skepticism that's always in his eyes now when he so much as glances at Tim. He understands his father's position. If he didn't he wouldn't have quit being Robin. He just can't help feeling like this would all be so much easier if his father didn't care about him. Hell, it'd be easier if Tim didn't care about his father. He honestly thinks that it'd be so much better if they just hated each other.
Tim does curl in on himself after that thought, because even he can't ignore how screwed up he is. He wants his mask and his cape more than anything right now. He wants to drown in the solidarity of it, and just wrap himself in the feeling of actually knowing what he's doing. Tim nearly laughs out loud at himself at that thought, because being Robin shouldn't be easier than being a normal teenager, and yet, it so very much is for him. The worst part is, Tim can't even contact his friends or second family, because just talking to them would make putting back on the mask far too tempting. It'd be so easy to just forget all of his well thought-out reasons for giving up Robin with just a single word from one of them, so he's been skillfully avoiding his email. It's been going well, too...except for all of the ways that it isn't, because just thinking of his friends makes him want to throw his laptop in the Gotham River, and yet cling to it-all at the same time.
He misses Barbara right now, because if he told her that he was having such thoughts, she'd yell at him for abusing technology, and he'd laugh a real laugh, and they would drink soda together, and everything would be okay-or at least as close to okay as any of their lives gets. He hasn't had the heart to see if she already removed him from her systems, and a large part of him really doesn't want to find out, either. Tim doesn't want to just forget everything he did and everyone he met as Robin, and yet sometimes he feels like that would be the best thing for him. He wonders if the others will just forget him. He knows it's a silly thought to have, because all of the Bats are the very definition of never forgetting. He doesn't want to miss them, doesn't want to need them, but Tim can't deny that he does. There's an ache in his chest every time his mind drifts off to one of them, as it so often does.
He can't explain this to his father-can't make the man understand why he did what he did-why he needed to do what he did. Robin isn't something that he was born to do. It's something that he made himself into, and he wishes that he could make his father see what that really means. He always had dreams/thoughts/nightmares of what it would be like if his father found out about Robin, and yet none of those could ever compare to the reality of it. Tim berates himself for ever believing that his father would be proud of him. He knows now that that's just not a possibility-not when his father was confronted with all of the lies Tim told and all of times Tim manipulated each and every person around him. He can't help but wish that, just this once, his delusions could have been reality, though, because the thought that Robin will always be seen, at least to his father, as a mistake that he made makes Tim more miserable than the disappointment and hurt in his father's eyes.
Tim doesn't know how he's going to deal with that for...however long that lasts. He can only hope it won't be forever, although he doesn't have a whole lot of hope. He doesn't know how to deal with anything right now. Everything is so screwed up and complicated, and none of it is anything that Tim was ever prepared to handle. He doesn't have anyone to talk to about this. Normally, he'd go to Dick when everything became overwhelming in his life, but that's not an option anymore. It's not as though there's really anyone else he could go to, even if he wanted to. Tim wants to be a good son and a decent person, but he fears that, in order for him to survive and be happy, he'd have to give up on the desire to be a good son. He doesn't want to hurt his father any more than he already has, but Tim doesn't think he's been left with much of a choice.
He knows himself well enough to know that if he's left on his own too long, Tim will self destruct; and he knows that the only people who've ever really been able to help him in those moments are the very people he's not supposed to see anymore. Tim doesn't know how to tell his father that the only people who make him feel real, alive, and wanted are the only people he refuses to allow Tim to be around. He's suddenly back to thinking that he gave up the better family for the wrong reasons again, and Tim hates himself so much for it. He knows that everyone would be appalled if they knew how he was feeling. After all, unlike the others he has a father-a father who loves him. It should be enough.
The End