Trigger 1.4
After a long night, we finally made it back to the Batcave.
Despite my injuries, I helped Helena limp to the infirmary unit first. I had one arm, while Alfred took the brunt of the work, dividing his focus between supporting her other arm, steadying her, keeping her moving and making sure her wounded leg didn't do too much work, to minimize the damage. It was a very uncomfortable and awkward series of stumbling and near falls, some of that due to my own limp, but it was effective. I helped stretch her out on the table.
"Tsk, tsk. Should've disarmed him first," I said. "He's a better fighter than your run-of-the-mill copycat vigilante, apparently."
"Funny," Helena said.
Alfred had already taken a knife to her leg, tearing off the cloth around it in strips until her blood stained calf was free, and then he moved to wash his hands. He was back less than a minute later, a dish of water and a rag in his gloved hands. He moved to wipe the area of the stab wound, cleaning off some of the blood that hadn't already dried, but the blood still kept pouring out.
I pulled off my gloves, made my way to the first aid kit. I needed some antiseptic and cotton, to tend to my injured forehead. It was throbbing, then, and I couldn't risk an infection.
"But, don't let me distract you," I said. "I believe you were just about to go into more detail about Titus?"
"Was I? I don't remember that. The blood loss must be fogging up my memory."
I started to point, to emphasize what I was about to say about her condition, then winced as pain shot up my side. I held back a grunt. The adrenaline my body had produced was beginning to wear off, and my injuries were catching up. My muscles ached all over, my head beginning to pound so hard I could barely see anymore. Helena had shielded me from the brunt of the explosion, but I'd still taken some damage. My arms had gotten burnt, and the flesh on that area had taken on an angry, red hue.
Alfred turned his head to face me and slightly raised an eyebrow. I shook my head, and he promptly returned his focus to Helena.
"This is quite unlike you, Miss Bertinelli" he said, slowly straightening Helena's leg. "And why, if I may ask, are you in Gotham?"
"Batman," Helena answered, at the same time I said, "Me".
She turned to look at me.
I smiled.
"You runt," she said, glaring at me. A second later, she sighed, taking her gaze to the ceiling as she rested her head on the platform she was on. "Well, you'd have figured it out eventually. I basically gave you all you needed back at the warehouse."
"A man named Titus is causing chaos in Hub City, and I'm guessing Helena came here to ask for help. The Question pestered her into coming," I said, explaining to Alfred, "and Batman must have agreed to go. On one condition, of course."
"That I watched after Tim," Helena finished.
"Yep."
"Ah," Alfred said, simply.
"Speaking of," I turned to Helena. "When did he say he was going to get back?"
Helena took her time to answer.
"You'll know, when I'm gone."
I raised an eyebrow at that, but chose not to question it.
Getting into the series of confrontations between them that could only barely be described as a 'relationship' wasn't the brightest idea.
"Which reminds me," I continued, "I got the blood of the guy that attacked us on my glove. I'll get to running a blood test soon. Gonna need to analyze the sample first, make sure that none of my DNA got mixed in it, before I give it to the GCPD to run through their database. Though, knowing how they feel about us, I guess it'll be faster if I just hacked into their database and did the analyzing on my own, seeing that-"
"Master Tim."
"- we have the equipment right here. That plan gives the added bonus of me not having to check for my DNA, or having to isolate what I-"
"Master Tim."
I stopped, blinking at Alfred.
"I will do the analyzing," he said, not looking at me. He was nearly done with Helena's leg, just beginning to wrap the bandages around her calf. "You will get cleaned up, dressed for the night, and go to your room. You are returning to your boarding school tomorrow, if I remember correctly, sir."
Right. That.
I glanced at my uncovered hands. My red, burned hands.
"What story will explain this away? I… guess I'll need a new chemistry set?"
"Attaboy," Helena said in her usual, slightly mocking, tone.
"Goodnight, Master Tim."
"Goodnight, Alfred," I said, and then I made my way to the Manor.
Somehow, Stephanie had managed to get my personal phone number. Again. My phone was on the bed, buzzing with texts by the time I'd gotten out of the shower and switched it on.
I made a mental note to find out how exactly she kept doing that. I had theories, definitely, but I wanted something definite.
I quickly saved her number and instantly scrolled down to the latest set of texts, toweling my hair with my free hand.
Steph:
Hey. Where hv u been
Im sure everything over there will be okay for just 1 day
Cass says hi
I sighed, loudly.
Cass. I hadn't seen her in weeks. I hadn't seen the team in weeks. Things had gotten annoyingly busy in Gotham, with the unexplained rise in organized crime in the past month. The fact that the school holidays were over wasn't helping in that regard, and I had to deal with zipping between life as Robin and life as Tim Drake at a level I just wasn't prepared to deal with.
It was all just feeling… overwhelming.
I quickly typed out a reply.
Me:
How did you get this number?
Steph:
Thank god you replied. Okay theres been talk about a masked party coming up
Masked party. That was code for an undercover operation.
Me:
Really? Good Luck, then.
Tell the guys I said hi.
And, how did you get this number?
Steph:
Youre not coming?
Me:
School.
Steph:
Youre not being serious rn
Are you out?
Me:
No, just got in. Helena's here, and she got hurt. We both did, actually. Plus, it's late. And raining.
Steph:
Haha. Goodnight.
Me:
Wait, are you out?
Several minutes went by without a reply, so I gently tossed the phone to the side, sighing again as I fell back on the bed. It felt nice, relaxing my aching body on the expensive and surprisingly soft bed covers, even as I stared at the ceiling, my mind tracing back to the last moments back at the warehouse.
"Pathetic."
My eyes still on the ceiling, I reached for the top of the desk drawer next to the bed.
"Your moves are textbook. Slow. Easily avoidable."
My fingers brushed against the handle of the knife I'd taken from the masked copycat.
"Did you bother improving yourself past anything he taught you?"
I hadn't turned on my lights, so the room was illuminated by the combined glow from my phone and the subdued light from the moon, casting eerie shadows onto the walls and the floor. Like the rest of the house, the room had the same oak floors, wooden panelling and heavy oak furniture. Alfred had offered to carpet the floors with a nice, thick rug, but I had declined. The cold, hard feeling beneath my feet served to remind me to not get too comfortable in the room.
After all, it wasn't really mine.
Exactly because of that, I'd made sure to not bring too many personal items whenever I stayed over in Wayne Manor.
I turned my head to the side.
A beautiful wooden desk rested under the large window which overlooked the front yard, directly opposite the bed. To the left sat a bookcase, bare, and a wardrobe stood opposite that, empty.
Nothing in there was really mine.
Nothing in there was mine because I had intentionally kept my things away from the room. It was my idea not to move in.
The room wasn't really mine, after all.
Logically, I shouldn't have been feeling the way I was. Bitter. Angry.
"Pathetic."
Why does what he said bother me so much, I wondered.
"Your moves are textbook."
I gripped the knife tightly.
"Slow. Easily Avoidable."
Why does-
"You runt."
I forced my eyes shut, slightly grimacing.
"That I watched over Tim."
"Pathetic."
"Goodnight, Master Tim."
Pathetic.
After everything… They still treat me like…
"Attaboy."
Like…
"I'm ridiculous," I said, to my empty room.
Breathe… Breathe…
Okay.
I got up, slid off Jason's bed, and crouched down.
Supplies. I stuck an arm under the bed and pulled my secondary utility belt from underneath the bed. I had neglected to update the inventory, so it wasn't as prepped and ready as my primary arsenal was, but it would have to do. I displayed its contents on my bed sheets and took note of what exactly I had.
After a couple of seconds, I confirmed that the mental picture I'd kept of the belt's contents the last time I touched it matched up with what was actually there: two dozen collapsible batarangs of different varieties; three bolas attached to the belt, rather than hidden in its pockets; fifteen tracers; about a dozen smoke pellets; a dozen glue bombs; an instant tightrope line launcher; two artificial gills, a laser and a taser; napalm, explosive gel, and three stun and thermite grenades.
Knowing I wasn't going to be using my stealth suit, as the explosion had ruined the fabric and left the material uncomfortable to wear, I settled for my normal Robin suit. I had a spare, under a panel on the floor in case the Batcave was unaccessible, and I was quick to throw it on.
Uncertainty gnawed at me. If I was going to look for Titus, I needed help. Helena had been tracking him for a while, and she hadn't really made any headway. What could I, someone who had just heard of him barely two hours ago, do to get a breakthrough where The Huntress hadn't?
I pressed my lips into a line. My mind was wandering towards a dangerous place.
Batman typically didn't appreciate it when I did that.
I reached for my phone. I had already decided, I knew that much. I knew I was going to do it, even before the thought fully blossomed in my head.
Did that mean I was weak? That I couldn't do it alone?
It didn't matter. I'd deal with my demons later.
Breathe in… Breathe out…
Uncertainty.
Not because I was unsure of what I wanted to do.
No. I had already made the decision. I'd been fighting Gotham's crime for two years, now, and I'd long learned that second-guessing yourself was a mistake.
I was uncertain because I didn't know how to do it. How to broach the topic to the Team.
I'd been ignoring them for months, now. If they refused me asking for help, I wouldn't have been able to force them. And, I'd been away for too long to effectively manipulate them… Not that I would have, anyway. The thing was that they were going to agree. I knew that. They knew that.
I reached for my phone, and I paused.
No second-guessing.
Heroes acted. There was a copy-cat vigilante and a terrorist group running around Batm-
"Attaboy."
Running around my city.
I needed to nip that in the bud.
I picked up my phone, pulled up Bart's number.
And then I hesitated.
I stopped, pulling my thumb away from the 'call' icon.
Was this the right call? Calling the Team?
It would pull the League's attention, and then they'd put in their input. It would wrest control away from me, introduce bigger, badder threats to the criminals in Gotham, and, eventually, Batman and Robin just wouldn't be scary enough to make as much of an impact as they used to.
I couldn't let that hap-
I gripped my phone tight, and a smile snaked its way across my lips, against my better judgement.
Uncertainty.
Now, I was uncertain. I overthought, like I always did, and now I was uncertain.
That same think screwed me up earlier, against Titus' men. I overestimated them instead of attacking, and Helena got hurt.
It was a problem.
I was sure that I would be able to fix it, just like I would be able to fix the Titus issue.
And, the man in the Red Hood.
I tried to stand up. My head hurt, and my eyelids felt heavy.
I had school tomorrow.
Titus…
Alfred said-
"You runt."
I just…
My eyes began to droop close. I was aware of it, and I could have stopped it, but I didn't.
I fell onto my bed. Jason's bed. Exhausted.
My phone rang. I ignored it.
A/N: Identity Crisis. A teenager wanting to prove himself, especially when compared to his team of super-powered demigods or his amazing predecessors. Desperate to do anything, even blatantly lying to and working himself to exhaustion. We've all been there, right?