A/N: I dunno. This sorta just happened.

I'm not sorry about the angst. Trigger warnings by the way.

Happy New Years!

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Clad in sweats and a hoodie, Tim leaned back into the large swivel chair, slouched, legs stretched out before him. His head leaned against the back of his seat, staring off towards the high ceiling, fingers slowly, cautiously, twisting the item held in between them.

He didn't have to look at it, hardly cared if it nicked the skin of his calloused fingers.

Eyes glazed over in thought, contemplating whether he should fall back into bad habits, or set the weapon down onto the table to his right.

The memory playing in his mind was screening a stronger image than the reality around him.

He knew that he was awake, and safe within the confines of his private office, but at the same time he felt so far away.

Seemingly calm, Tim remained in that position with half-lidded eyes, concentrating on his breathing as his thoughts ran rampant. The voices in his head were loud and unkind, coaxing him to act on his former instinct to quench the pain that blossomed in his chest.

But he had practiced years of controlling his emotions. He had learned how to force himself to become numb. Even after he had realized that his friends, and Bruce, were not dead, the pain of loss and feelings of dread never left him.

Tim knew it was silly, pointless, but it never left him. So the best way to deal with these emotions, was to ignore them completely. Drown them out of ones senses, become a living doll, and only worry about acting when survival demanded it.

However, before he had learned how to control his emotions, Tim had fallen into a battle with the worse phase in his depression. Risking his life was of no issue, as long as he completed the task and was certain that everyone involved was safe. If he died completing the mission, then he would accept death, knowing that in some hollow twisted way, he appeased his foster family.

He had never told Dick he felt that way when he woke up after being kicked out of a buildings window by Ra's Al Ghul. Tim didn't remember what happened after that fight. He just remembered feeling the glass shatter against his back, the way that Ra's' boot felt against the wound in his abdomen, the sensation of falling as his cowl shattered, the burning of tears provoked by pain and acceptance as he plummeted down towards Gotham's streets.

Then everything went dark.

Tim frowns as he remembers the 'final' thoughts he had in that moment, which was about making Bruce proud. Now he wonders if he could care less.

He had expected Dick to be there, during the fight with Ra's perhaps, or much later. The fact that his older 'brother' arrived just in time to catch him was only an chance prediction in his calculation.

He was fully prepared to die.

So when he woke up in the bat cave, with Dick, Alfred, Stephanie and Damian surrounding him, he had to be quick in his response when the eldest of the former Robin's asked him 'How did you know? How did you know I'd be there to save you?'

And Tim quickly, smoothly, lied. 'You're my brother Dick. You'll always be there for me.'

When he had said that, it was heartfelt, and although his tone held no malice, it was sarcastic as well.

Yes, Dick was always there, always, in the good and bad moments of Tim's life, and it was comforting, as well as infuriating.

Tim heaved a sigh, chest rising and falling with it, eyes still gazing towards the ceiling. This new private room was his office, not his bedroom. That was down the hall, immaculately clean and organized, as was the rest of his condo, purchased with the money of his parents company along with some of Wayne Enterprise. Damian had gotten on his case for purchasing luxury living with his fathers money, but as far as Tim was concerned, until Damian was of age (or unless Jason or Dick suddenly became interested in business management), the company was left under his, and Fox's, care.

The sudden opening of the door was unexpected, and caused his hands to tense on reflex, ready to attack or defend.

This only caused a slight debacle in his situation due to the sharp weapon held in between his fingers, a hiss escaping his formerly closed lips as the blade fell onto his lap, a superficial wound along the side of his left middle finger.

"Bab's has been trying to reach you, Tim! Wouldn't stop bothering me until I came to check on you." Dick sighed. Though his words were seemingly irate, his tone was exhausted and relieved at the same time.

Tim lightly glared at the older man as he waltzed into the room, discarding his domino mask, as if he were walking through the front door to his own place, completely bypassing any manners Alfred may have taught him about boundaries.

Dick scuffed at his own hair. "I was gonna check your room first to see if you were asleep. But I doubted that." He grinned. "I knew I'd find you here in your office, working through the early hours." He crossed his arms, proud with his light deductions. "So Timmy, why aren't you patrolling? It's unlike you."

Sighing, Tim managed to grab at the blade on his lap and conceal it in his grasp, turning the swivel chair to face the table at his right, back towards Dick. "I'm still looking into the new case. Don't wanna jump in there without knowing their next move." He explained, tone mundane, as if he was repeating himself. Might as well be, he thought to himself, since it was common knowledge that Tim did extensive research before dropping in on a gang.

He could practically hear Dick's awkward nodding as the turtleneck material of his suit flexed with the movement.

"So," Dick asked, footsteps approaching. "You gonna stay cooped up in here all day?" He asked as he folded his arms across the top of the chair, leaning his weight into it.

This was a common curious gesture that both of them shared whenever one or the other was typing away at the computers down in the Batcave. Maybe at some point Tim found it comforting, now it was annoying weight.

Tim nodded. "Yes." He answered, opening his laptop and staring at the screen as it quickly started up. His face scrunched, one eye half closed as one brow arched and the other furrowed, suddenly uncomfortable as Dick ruffled at the teens chin length hair.

"Come on Tim! Just tag along with me for the night. I already did my homework on my job." Dick beckoned, lifting his hand as Tim made a move to swat it away.

"No, Dick." Tim looked up over his shoulder towards the older. "Not tonight." He eyed Dick's Nightwing suit, noting the new tones. A lot had changed, much time had passed. A red and black Nightwing, reborn after taking up the cowl as the brooding Batman, only because Tim knew that he himself wasn't good enough for the role, and that Jason was, no pun intended, too bat shit crazy for the role. His light blue eyes met with Dick's darker pair, and he offered a forced small smile. "I'll tag along next time, alright?" He looked away as the screen before him asked for his pass code. "I'm too tired today."

Tim felt the chair shake lightly, but Dick didn't lean off it, just leaned back, perhaps surprised with that statement.

"Tired? That's the first time I've heard you admit it so easily." He chuckled lightly. "Usually you dope yourself up on caffeine and pass out on the floor when the jobs been done." He leaned forward. "I dunno whether I should be proud or worried."

Tim shrugged. "Don't be. It's normal. I'm only human, Dick. I need rest just like anyone else."

Dick finally let go of the seat, hands up in surrender. "Woah, calm down there. You're scaring me now with all this self-care talk. We usually have to be the ones reminding you that you're not Meta."

Shrugging again, Tim leaned forward as he typed in the code, eyes scanning the screen as leftover information popped up, but he wasn't really seeing or registering anything. "Guess I'm finally listening."

Silence followed, and for a moment, Tim wondered what kind of face Dick was making. Surely the eldest was concerned, but if worry was the expression he was wearing, then Tim definitely didn't want to see it.

To break the tension, the teen let out a loud yawn, leaning back into his chair as he stretched his arms over his head, practically sliding off as he came to a stand, shutting the laptop with his right hand as he faced Dick. "I'm gonna go get some sleep." He tilted his head to the side lightly, catching the older mans changing expressions. "Look, don't worry. Nothing's wrong. I'm not lying." He looked around the room, hands placed on his hips. "I'm genuinely alright. I just need to rest a bit is all." He returned his eyes towards Dick. "I promise I'll join you tonight, k? But right now it's almost 3 in the morning, and I don't even think coffee can save me."

Dick's somewhat scrunched face relaxed slightly as he carefully watched his brother for any signs of lying. But when he found none, the tension in his body slackened and he nodded, rubbing at the back of his own neck, as he usually did when the situation was awkward or he felt defeated. "Alright then, little bro." He turned halfway towards the door. "I'll see you tonight..?" It sounded like a question, but Tim knew it was rhetorical.

Nodding, Tim smiled. "Yeah. Tonight." He assured, watching as Dick made his way towards the door, only glancing back as if to make sure Tim wasn't lying.

That's when Tim caught it, the way Dick's eyes glanced towards the table where the laptop sat.

Time seemed to slow down as Tim was vaguely aware of the item lacking in his grasp.

Dick held onto the door frame, as if keeping himself from moving any further, double took in his glace, and then stared at the item on the desk. "Tim," He muttered, eyeing the item suspiciously as he approached it. "Is that-"

Tim quickly made a move to snatch the blade from the desk and back into his grasp. "Oh, you know how it is. I usually play around with one of my weapons when I'm deep in thought." He gave a light chuckle, but by the way Dick was practically glaring at him, that excuse wasn't going to hold up, at all.

"Tim," Dick held out his hand. "Give me the weapon-"

Tim looked away, rolling his eyes. "Dick, this is ridiculous-"

"Tim." Dick repeated, tone stern. "Hand it over, now." He demanded.

At this point, fighting would perhaps work. Tim would make a move to get out of the room, leave Dick behind with his thoughts. If a physical fight broke out, Dick would easily win, but the drama that would escalate from that might change the topic if Tim got mad enough as a result.

But Tim had no time to react as the eldest grabbed at the teens wrists, squeezing the right one so hard that his grip slackened, and there sat the slightly bloody blade on a pale palm.

Dick snatched the offensive item, turning it in the light to get a better view, freezing for only a moment when he spotted the blood. "Tim, show me your arms." He ordered, without looking to the younger.

Tim turned away, ready to make his casual exit, but a firm grip on his shoulder held him back.

"I won't repeat myself, Timmy." Dick nodded towards the others arms. "Now."

Sighing in frustration, Tim turned to face the other, lips pursed into a frown as he yanked the sleeves up. "There," He spat, turning both arms. "Happy now?" He glared up at Dick, who he knew was staring at the faded, pale, long healed scars, that seemed to glimmer in the light.

Slowly, as if taking caution, Dick reached out and held both wrists with each hand, turning the arms within his grasp, as if double checking. His dark blue eyes caught sight of the small nick along the side of Tim's left middle finger. "Were you thinking about-"

"No."

"Don't lie to me." Dick immediately retorted, shaking his head lightly.

Tim shrugged. "Then don't ask me if you already know the answer to your own question."

At this, Dick practically shoved Tim's arms away as he cursed under his breath, glaring. "This isn't funny, Tim."

Tim's eyes narrowed, accusingly. "And I'm not laughing." He said, tone low and dangerous as he took a step back. He stared at the blade in Dick's hand, and for a moment he was still and silent until his thoughts reached him, and he began to nod. "Yeah," He gestured a hand towards the weapon. "Yeah, I was thinking about it. But I wasn't going to-"

"I thought I told you to get in contact with me the moment-..." Dick was practically seething, turning to slam the blade against the table as he leaned against it, back towards Tim. "The very moment these thoughts came to mind!"

The teen held out his arms. "Yeah, but I didn't-"

"And if I didn't barge in, would you have?" Dick spun around, glaring at the boy he considered his younger brother. Shaking his head, he watched as Tim opened his mouth. "Don't lie to me." He dared.

Tim stared at the older man for a few moments, arms still held out, as his thoughts raced about the current situation, about former incidents, about what he wanted and what supposedly needed to be done. A defeated sigh escaped him and his arms fell, hanging at his sides. "Yes," He answered, but upon glancing at Dick's face, he quickly added to his response. "I mean, no." He shook his head. "I dunno, maybe!"

Dick shook his head, clearly ashamed. "Dammit, Tim!"

"What?!" Tim yelled in return. "What do you want me to say?! What do you want from me?!" He took a step forward. "You're not helping by the way! You're just like him right now, and it's pissing me off!" He spat, knowing that his response, argument, was childish, but he was tired of the other man right now, and he didn't need another Batman in his life.

This seemed to finally phase Dick, snapping him out of his angry spell as he visibly relaxed, the accusation hitting him hard enough to change his expression into that of one who was wrongfully insulted. "Just because I'm worried about you, doesn't make me like Batman-"

"Yeah? So you think you'll get a better response out of me by intimidating me? By glaring at me? Yelling at me?" Tim took a step forward. "So what, maybe I was gonna cut myself tonight, so what?! It's not like I was planning to kill myself!"

Dick held out his hands, taking a step forward, trying to calm the teen. "Tim-"

"No!" Tim interrupted, fury in his expression, his stance both defensive and ready to attack. "No! I'm tired of you, and everyone else budding in. I'm tired of everyone taking care of me as though I were something made out of glass! I can take care of myself! I know what I'm doing!" He yelled, and it was loud enough to keep Dick from interrupting or moving.

They both knew it was not common of Tim to lose his temper, especially with someone within the Batfamily, save for Damian. Not even Jason was victim to his wrath, despite the number of times the man had tried to kill him.

Dick looked somewhat ashamed now, though his gaze was steady, as if waiting to see if Tim was going to continue. When the teen didn't, and kept silent, glaring at the floor, Dick took a step forward, hands out, reaching. "Tim…" He started, slow, cautious, as he reached down to wrap his hands around Tim's forearms. "It's not that we don't think you're incapable of taking care of yourself. We know you're plenty smart, smarter than Bruce himself." He paused, cracking a forced smirk, hoping that would cheer the teen up, but Tim's frown remained.
"Look…" Dick sighed, gazing at the floor for a moment, before lifting his head in attempts to catch Tim's eyes. "It's not about coddling you or anything. We just care." He shrugged. "I.. Tim, we all love you. And when you do things like this, harming yourself, it scares us."

"It shouldn't." Tim's response was quick, but he didn't even look up to meet the others gaze.

Dick's grip tightened. "Well it does." His brows knotted slightly. "We can all take hits, bad wounds, and we can patch them up. But Tim, what if something happens? What if you're so far inside of your own head, full of pain, that you don't even realize that you've cut too deep?"

Tim finally raises his head to look, or rather, glare into Dick's eyes. "I'm not that careless." He spat, tugging his arms away. "And if I did accidentally cut too deep, I would know how to take care of the wound-"

"Yeah? But what if you don't care to?" Dick spat in return, almost returning the glare. "What if you end up not caring at all?"

"Jesus, Dick!" Tim yelled, head tiltimg as he faced the ceiling, his arms flailing slightly before dropping to his sides, trying to control the frustration building in his chest. He glared at the other. "I'm not suicidal! Not all self-harmer's cut with the intention to kill themselves!"

Dick crossed his arms. "Is that based on some statistics that you pulled from some psychological site based on research?" He glared as he watched the teen pace. "We're not exactly within those statistics, you realize that? We'd have to be normal to even be considered part of that research group."

Tim huffed out a laugh at that, pausing in his steps to nod towards Dick. "So what, we're hopelessly crazy suicidal freaks?"

Rolling his eyes and turning his head, Dick let his head drop along with his arms. "No, Tim, that's not what I meant, and you know it."

And the teen did. He was fully aware of what the older man meant. They weren't normal civilians with normal dreams and regular day or night jobs. The life they lived outside of their suits were their false persona. They were guises when outside of uniform. Their problems were more dramatic, dark and dangerous than that of any normal person.

When they mourned, it wasn't only for someone close, but for a hero who had saved lives, including that of their friends, so many times.

Bonds within vigilantes were much stronger than those shared with normal individuals.

So when Tim had started to self harm, it was both unusual, but not surprising. Well, it was surprising to those who found out one emotional night, after Tim had destroyed the drawing room because he was fired from his role as Robin. He wasn't careful about it, and didn't mind if anyone saw.
After being reduced to a nobody, having lost his friends, father, mentor, and title, Tim had gone down a very self-destructive and life risking path.

It was seemingly only obvious when Ra's had nearly killed him. And since then, Alfred and Dick were always watching him, keeping tabs on Tim via Oracle. Even Jason, sometimes, with his 'surprise' visits, was keeping an eye on the teen.

And that's when, while he was already recovering, having his formerly dead friends back, Bruce being evidently alive, and a new name, that was when everything hit the fan.

Jason hadn't said anything while there, but Tim knew that he saw. It was over breakfast, and Tim had no plans for guests. But he didn't turn down Jason, and they talked over the waffles they were scarfing down with light laughing and comments that had almost nothing to do with work and instead about anything else really, almost like normal people.

Tim had reached out to grab something at the center of the table, and his sleeve rode up just enough for Jason to see.

It wasn't intentional, and it had been so long since Tim had harmed himself that he had completely forgotten of the scars. They weren't fresh, not even scabbing, but they weren't pale enough to go unnoticed.
Jason didn't say anything, but as Tim quickly pulled away once he himself saw the ugly marks, he glanced towards Jason, who was still staring at the spot Tim had retracted from.

The older mans smile was still in place, but it had faltered, and he seemed to be lost in his thoughts for a moment before looking up at Tim with a slanted smirk.

As if nothing ever happened.

Tim had hoped he was just looking into things too much, but that expression, that moment of realization on Jason's face, was no mistake. So when Dick practically barged into Tim's condo via that balcony, steps heavy in his red and black Nightwing suit, pacing as he looked for the teen, he already knew. Jason had told Dick, and now the eldest of them was there to sort this out.

Any other time, Tim would have assumed Dick was just being his usual intrusive self, but it was evident in the way he walked, in the tenseness of his shoulders, the way his head turned, seeking out. He yelled out Tim's name, but didn't have to wait long, because the teen was leaning against the second floors banister, looking down at Dick who looked up, his surprised expression clear despite the domino mask hiding his eyes.

Dick practically raced up the stairs that day, pulling off his domino mask, explaining that Jason had told him something, and that it was best he go to Tim right away, because surely the teen knew that he had been found out.

They were scared he was going to do something drastic, or rather, melodramatic, to escape them and the reality of his secret.

But Tim had only shrugged, said it was all in the past, that he no longer resorted to that. But as if he was lying, Dick had pulled his sleeves up, wincing at the number of self harm scars that littered the teens pale arms, turning them in his grasp, as if counting.

That's when the promise was made.

'Tim, if you ever feel like doing something like this to yourself ever again, no matter where I am or what I'm doing, you call me right away, you got that? It doesn't matter if I'm miles away. But if you can't reach me, get to Oracle, hell, even Jason! Just… Just promise me you won't do anything like this to yourself… Not ever again, alright?'

Tim could still remember the way Dick's eyes looked then. Red, capillaries broken from lack of sleep, stress, extreme concern, dewy, tears building at the rims.

And now, today, they stood in Tim's office, however, this face-off wasn't timid like that night. It was a full blown lecture.

Tim sighed, shoulders relaxing as he closed his eyes, trying to control his temper. "I'm honestly tired, Dick." He motioned towards the blade on the table. "If you don't trust me, just take it and leave."

But Dick shook his head, however, he did move to grab the weapon. "You have more stashed in your uniform locker, I know that."

Shrugging, Tim walked towards the door. "Then trust that I won't use them."

"I don't." Dick responded quickly, watching the teen as he turned to face him. "I'll call O, tell her I'm off for the night. Gotham's safe with Damian and Bruce. I was just filler."

Tim's brow arched. "Dick, it's New Year's Eve. Gotham's going to need more than just Demon-Robin and Batman."

Dick shrugged. "She's got Jason and others, if the dynamic duo isn't enough." He looked down to the weapon in hand, deep in thought. "If they need me, I'll join them. With you tagging along of course." He looked up with a smirk. "After you rest."

Tim sighed and turned away as he made his way out. "Just don't make a mess of the place-" He paused, surprised by the sudden grip around his forearm. He didn't hear the other approach him. Tim stayed still as his sleeve was pushed back, and ignored the sigh of relief that left Dick's lips when the older double-checked.

"I'm proud of you, Tim." He muttered, slowly pulling the sleeve down, raising his eyes to give the teen a small warm smile.

The gesture didn't effect Tim in anyway, as he pulled his arm away with a slight nod, making his way out and into the hall.

"You know I'm gonna share your bed right?" Dick called out to him as the teen made his way down the hall.

"No, you'll stay in the guestroom or not at all." Tim responded, ignoring the older who started pacing behind him. He stopped at the frame of his door, and turned, Dick coming to a somewhat clumsy halt at the sudden blockade. "Look, I'm not in the mood for all your coddling, alright?" He shrugged, looking down towards the ground as he nodded slightly. "If I feel like doing anything… Stupid…" He looked up, eyes meeting Dick's worried ones. "Then I'll come to you, alright?"

The proposition didn't seem to settle with Dick too well, as the older man stood before the teen with an uncertain expression, but he finally nodded and took a step back.

Tim offered a fake smirk, nodding in thanks, as he took a step back to further walk into his own room, gently closing the door in Dick's face.

He stood still, waiting for the sound of receding footsteps, for the shadow in the hall that he could see under the doors crack to wander away towards the guest room, before turning to face his bed.

He eyed the letter that sat on his pillow, words on the envelope smooth and as immaculate as his bedroom.

Tim was glad that Dick didn't look for him here first. The relief that washed over him nearly made him light headed as he approached his bed and snatched the note off of the pillow, turning it in his hand, as if making sure it wasn't tampered with.

A heavy sigh escaped him as he turned to sit on his bed, the note held in both hands. His light blue eyes stared off towards the dark attached bathroom before looking down towards the envelopes surface, brows flinching as he read the words.

So simple, curt, like the letter inside.

'To anyone who finds me, I'm sorry.'

Inside the envelope was a note, with words of love and apology strongly expressed. The note wasn't lengthy, but he did have the decency to explain himself if he had carried out the deed.

Now he had to burn the letter, get rid of it all together.

Tim's eyes lifted as he looked towards the door, knowing that Dick was just down the hall.

Knowing that just outside that wooden panel, outside of his nest, in the city he preserved, in the world he protected with observant eyes, were those willing to listen, to help.
It only took a visit from of them to remind him of this fact.

He screwed his eyes shut, keeping the burning tears threatening to fall from doing so.

Placing the note back on the bed he stood, walking towards the door, silent and seemingly calm, in his decision to head to where Dick was at this very moment, to, as promised, talk.

It scared him, and it felt somewhat embarrassing, the idea of admitting his weakness, his thwarted impulsive plans.

But this feeling, the fight-or-flight instinct- it meant that he was alive.

Maybe, although it felt awful, and his arms itched, and the patronizing voices in his head were too loud, maybe he would rather feel this than nothing at all.

He would rather feel the fear and embrace from loved ones, than cease.

Tim opened the door to his bedroom and stepped out into the hall.

Without a seconds hesitation, he opened his mouth, and called out to his older brother.

.

A/N- I dunno how this happened. It just did. I've been trying to write a self-harm multi-chapter fic for the Bat-verse, but never got to it. Then yesterday this started happening and I just went along with it.

So just a quick one-shot for now.

Like usual, I jumped around time, but hopefully you guys didn't get confused.

As for the title, I couldn't chose. They're all related. As for the fancy of the three, Alexithymia, is a condition where a person seems fevoid of emotions, because they're functionally unaware of their emotions. Alexithymics are also unable to appreciate the emotional motivation of others, and generally find emotions of others to be perplexing or irrational.

It wasn't an intended word, but then I read up on it and thought 'Haha, that's Tim...'

Anyways, happy new years! May 2016 be a good one, for all of us!