A/N: Inspiration strikes yet again when I should be doing other things. Oh well, I love updating for you guys. This is more of an intense chapter per say, so I do want to give a Trigger Warning just in case. Please let me know your thoughts if you can spare a minute!
Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics.
As Tim peered down into the water, he found himself already holding his breath. The bathtub was filled not quite to the brim, but enough for him to submerge his body in. He looked at his reflection in the water and found his hard expression staring back, the gentle ripple making his eyes waver like his confidence. This is a stupid idea, the teen thought, but reached his hand out anyway and dipped his finger into the clear liquid. Cold seeped into his skin and he quickly retracted his hand, watching as the rings of disturbance expanded in the water. A shudder went through him; completely involuntary. This is a really, really stupid idea.
Ever since the night he had fallen into the aquarium, the mere thought of cold was enough to bring on the horrific memory. A simple chill would make Tim search for a blanket, and if he ever went outside for some air he always carried a jacket over his arm. The moment his skin prickled from the sensation he would bolt for some source of warmth; a hot shower, sitting by the fireplace, an extra pair of socks; anything. He couldn't bear the reminder of what had happened, even though it came to him in the form of nightmares.
But he could fight his nightmares. He couldn't fight the fear.
That in itself was enough to anger him; Tim hated not being able to fight back. He hated that what used to be discomfort was now a trigger that sent his mind into a horrendous flashback. But he was determined, almost crazily so, to beat his trauma. There had to be a way to combat the trigger, he believed, and so he forced himself to suffer through the cold as long as he could. When he finally bundled up or gave into heat, Tim would mentally yell at himself, angry that he had given in. But it never stopped the teen from trying to hold out for long periods of time.
He sat outside on windy days without a jacket and slept in his bed without the covers. If Alfred wasn't in the kitchen, Tim would hold an ice cube in his palm until it became unbearable. That was progress, he was sure of it. But the only way he would be totally successful was if he could prove that this fear of cold was just discomfort and not detrimental to his mental health. Of course, his obsession with being free of his bonds wasn't exactly healthy…
But that wasn't exactly important.
The point was that he needed a way to get past the terrible experience. Once more he stared at his reflection in the water, feeling his knees dig into the tile floor from kneeling for so long. All he had to do was submerge himself in the cold water. If he could get past that without an incident, then Tim was sure he wouldn't be held back by his pathetic fear. Taking a deep breath he stood, acutely aware that his body was shaking with nervousness.
It'll be fine. Tim shoved his unhelpful thoughts aside abruptly. Alfred was on the other side of the manor, Bruce was at the office, Dick was at work, and Jason had left that morning to go 'check up on some things'. Damian was at school, and it wasn't like the kid was going to barge into the bathroom anyways. The teen was going to get this over with and then pretend like it had never happened at all.
Tim pulled off his shirt and pants, standing in his underwear in the bathroom. A chill from the air rolled over his skin, but he gritted his teeth and warily approached the bathtub. After a few hesitating moments he stepped in slowly, wincing at the low temperature of the water. Granted, it probably wasn't as cold as Tim's brain was making it out to be; it was most likely the trauma making it feel twenty degrees cooler. He stood for a minute, dreading his next movement, and then carefully sat down in the tub, stretching out his body.
Clenching his hands into fists, Tim forced himself to endure the cold and push back his thoughts. He was doing it, even though the water felt like it was stabbing him with tiny needles on every inch of his skin. It was just below his shoulders, waiting to swallow him up. His blue eyes went to the ceiling and that was where their focus stayed for another few minutes as Tim tightened his jaw and dug his nails into his hands. Nothing happened though, despite all of the fear that he had.
Still, he wasn't totally convinced. Tim pressed his lips together a moment, gathering his courage and forcing himself to be calm as he closed his eyes. Then he took a deep breath and held it, slipping completely under the water. It rose up around his neck and face, completely covering his ebony hair. Sound became nothing more than pressure in the teen's ears.
Not five seconds after he had gone under was he thrust into the memory.
It wasn't the memory, really, but close enough. Tim's eyes snapped open as the cold seemed to attack his bones, making his body like lead once again. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, his heart hammering in his chest. Fear crashed into him like a wave, and Tim was sure that he was sinking, going further from the surface. No, not again, he thought, the voice in his head as desperate and terrified as a child's. I can't be drowning again.
The panic hit into him harder, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He thrashed, and when he realized he was moving part of his mind seemed to wake up and realized that there were no drugs in his body. He was not trapped; this time there was a way out. And that way was up; the surface, the light. Tim acted, shoving himself upwards and grabbing a hold of the side of the tub. Something that sounded like a terrified and agonized yell left his throat, just as he heard the bathroom door slam open, hitting into the opposite wall.
"Tim—what the hell are you doing?" If he hadn't been shaking so badly, or coughing up water, Tim would have given some sort of answer. Instead he stared down at his hands, knuckles white as they gripped the tub, his body shivering intensely as he gasped for breath. Like his whole being was trying to repel the toxins—
No! There weren't any poisons in him; it was all in his head. There was a strong grip on his arms and someone yanked him out of the bathtub. Only then, as he raised his head, did Tim realize it was Jason hauling him up, his dark eyes startled. Tim pulled away and stumbled, catching a hold on the marble countertop to keep from falling forwards. He felt weak, but kept his body upwards. Jason growled, "I leave you alone for two hours and you do…whatever the hell this is!"
His older brother didn't miss a beat, grabbing a towel and throwing it over Tim's shivering body. Tim tried not to meet his gaze, but wrapped the white towel around him like a shield. Jason went over, reaching in to drain the bathtub. He hissed, "This water is freezing. Are you trying to—?"
Tim could have guessed what words he had been going to say, but Jason choked on them and then said nothing. He was silent as the water level diminished in the bathtub, and Tim slid down to the floor and leaned against the wall. His fingers gripped the towel like a lifeline, eyes staring at the tile as if it would morph into something else before him. Jason didn't breathe another sentence; he waited until the bathtub was empty and then proceeded to mop up any water on the floor.
By the time the older man had finished, Tim's shivering had been reduced to a minimum. Water droplets still clung to his skin, but he hadn't bothered to wipe it off. There was a long pause where neither of them moved, and then Jason said, "For all the intelligence you have in that brain, you're such an idiot."
Tim glanced up, and what he found made him have to process the sight twice. Jason stood looking down at him, fists clenched at his sides. But it was the look in his eyes that made Tim do a double take; Jason looked terrified. Confused, angry, but overall he was scared; the tension in his body added to the giveaway. Guilt hit the teen in the heart, as well as anger at himself. They locked eyes for the briefest of moments, and Tim dropped his head again and went back to staring at the tile.
He wasn't sure what to expect; part of him thought that Jason was going to lash out and hit him or maybe just scream some obscenities and walk out. Instead another towel was dropped onto the teen's head, and Jason crouched down and began to dry his hair. He muttered under his breath, but Jason was close enough for Tim to hear the words. "You're such a stupid Robin."
They were words of fear and anger; not just directed at the teen. Clearly Jason was upset with himself as well; it was written in the tone of his voice. Tim could have pointed out that neither of them were Robin anymore, though it was in his name. Still, they both had shared the legacy; they had all once been the boy in green, yellow, and red. So no matter what Jason meant by his words, Tim didn't dismiss them; not entirely.
He was right though; Tim had been acting like a complete fool. Jason was surprisingly gentle, rubbing the towel over his hair and then dropping it onto the floor beside them. He flicked the hair out of Tim's face, his motion one of annoyance. "You need a haircut."
Tim made a noise of acknowledgement, one of half amusement. He raised his eyes again and found Jason watching him intently. Once he knew his older brother's gaze was on him, the teen couldn't find it in his heart to look away. Jason finally said slowly, "Tim…were you…were you trying to…?"
Oh, that's what he thought I was doing. The pieces clicked together easily, and Tim felt the guilt even more. There was no doubt the whole scene looked more suspicious than it really was. "No," he said quickly. "No, I wasn't. Don't think like that."
"Don't think like that?" Jason said, his voice raising half an octave. "I come in here and all I see is you gasping like you'd been drowning—"
"I know," Tim cut him off, hearing the guilt and weakness bleed into his voice, stopping Jason from continuing. "But I wasn't, I swear. I'm sorry, Jason. I didn't mean…"
His voice faded out, and Jason took a deep breath and placed his hands on the teen's shoulders. Their grip was firm, as if to hold Tim in place. "I'm just glad that I was wrong."
"You were," Tim answered, trying to hide within the towel around his body. There was something about being in front of Jason like this that was completely unsettling; embarrassing. He hated looking vulnerable around Jason, who had endured so much in his life, who was trying to fix all his mistakes. Tim had always admired Jason; had always felt, as Robin, that he was just playing in the shadow of his predecessor.
Jason didn't acknowledge his comment. Without saying another word, the older man moved and sat beside Tim, leaning against the wall, one arm resting on his raised knee. Tim closed his eyes, and the two were quiet for a long time. Jason was the first to speak, and his voice was quieter than usual. "Trying to fight the fear, huh?"
"Guess it wasn't that hard to figure out," Tim replied and sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I can't keep hiding from it. What happens when I go back into the field? A little chill can't slow me down."
"You are a long way from returning to action," Jason pointed out. "This isn't something that you can force away, Tim. It's going to take time and a lot of practice to get past."
Tim glanced at his hands, "You think?"
"I know," Jason said, his voice so assured that the teen didn't dare to question it. Without a doubt, Jason knew trauma. He knew it inside and out, knew how to look it in the eye. "Look, we all make really dumb choices. We all know how long my list is. But you're going to get through this, in time. So quit putting yourself through all this crap. It's pointless to rush when you aren't going to get anywhere that fast."
"Right," Tim answered. Jason wasn't the best with words, unless he was spilling out his anger, but when he tried he did make good points. And really, the teen appreciated anyone who even bothered to help him out. He just hoped that Jason left public speaking up to him.
Jason gave him a light shove. "Go put some clothes on. I don't want to have to hear Damian complaining about seeing you so unsightly."
Tim gave half a smile and stood up, "That makes two of us."
He walked over to the door and had his hand on the knob when Jason said, "Hey, Tim?"
"Yeah?" The teen looked over his shoulder, Jason with his head slightly turned to look at him.
"I'm an expert on what it's like to hit rock bottom. You're too strong to even get near it. That heart of yours isn't full of rage to keep you from moving on." Jason gave him a weary smile, looking suddenly exhausted.
"Good to know," Tim replied, offering him a similar smile.
"Keep your gratitude to yourself," Jason answered before Tim could open his mouth again. "I've heard too many thankful confessions lately."
Tim made an amused sound and turned away. "At least you know that I am thankful, or you wouldn't have mentioned it."
The teen walked out the door, and though Jason didn't respond Tim was sure that he was smiling.