Chapter 4
Following his cemetery excursion, Tim slept like a dead man and woke up well into the morning still feeling like he hadn't slept for a hundred years.
Groaning, he blindly reached for his phone and closed his fingers around the metal edges. He rolled his thumb over the display screen as messages, emails, and alerts flashed before his eyes. The messages came from the usual suspects: Dick, Bruce, Cassie, Dick, Bart, a needlessly raunchy text from Roy, Dick again. The emails… those he could ignore. And the alerts?
Eh, the world wouldn't end today at least.
Tim's room was directly across from the library, and that's exactly where he went after he mustered up enough willpower to roll out of bed and get dressed. It was nothing like those grand libraries that were portrayed in the movies, with massive arched windows and stories-high bookshelves. Instead, the Wayne Library was smaller; more intimate. It was a single room with a center desk and a fireplace in the corner. The windows were purposely small to prevent sunlight from tarnishing the fragile pages housed within aged covers. In the corner before the fireplace was a regal chaise lounge, one that Tim had spent many a night on after reading late into the evenings.
It was Tim's favorite room in all of Wayne Manor, but he ignored it as he instead opened a linen closet just beyond the library doors. He entered a ridiculously complex code into a keypad hidden beneath the bottom shelf and pushed open the far wall, thus revealing the long and dark descending staircase behind it. It was on that morning, that Tim made the long descent down to the Batcave… and it was where he'd been ever since.
Tim had made himself comfortable in front of the massive computer mounted on the cave's far wall. So consumed with his work, the hours blurred together as mornings bled into nights into mornings again. Though Tim had initially been apprehensive, it turns out Dick had been right, and the days went by faster than he'd anticipated.
When Tim became tired or felt like his eyes burned so badly from the constant blue light, he simply rested his legs on the desk and leaned back into the desk chair for a quick nap. And it was in that rotating sleep wake cycle that he pushed his body and mind to function.
At some point, Alfred had brought Fin down in a massive bowl and set him on the oversized desk beside him. Fin's current residence was even bigger than what he'd occupied at Tim's old apartment and, after the initial trauma of his very temporary stay in a cup, he was adjusting to his new temporary living situation like royalty.
The same couldn't be said for Tim. His desk was in a state of disarray with thick files stacked precariously on top of each other, one breeze away from toppling over. Empty mugs of coffee littered desk space not otherwise occupied by records and notes.
In the background, he had both the police scanner station and Gotham's Nightly News running on the radio. Both spouted the typical grim slew of the city's petty crime reports and latest gangster dealings. At one point he'd heard a whiff of a developing story regarding a group of high school girls who'd been accosted and nearly lost their lives in Gotham City's Cemetery on Saturday night, but had pointedly tuned it out.
Instead, he focused on his continued search through CCTV footage in the Los Angeles area for the days leading up to, and after Tim's attack.
Finding Red Hoodie had initially been easy. From a security camera belonging to a family-run mart across the street from Tim's apartment, he'd watched as Hoodie took an uncanny leap from Tim's eighth floor balcony and artfully traversed from one small ledge to another as he made his gradual descent to ground level. He did so with the grace that only an acrobat could manage… or someone trained by an acrobat.
Tim had ignored the chilly tingle that ran down his neck.
From there, footage showed Hoodie running up to an unregistered black bike parked on the street and peeling off out of the CCTVs frame. Tim had ground his teeth at that part. He should have noticed the bike when he walked into his complex that day. Especially considering that Hoodie was apparently the same asshole who'd gotten a nasty jump out of Tim only a few blocks earlier.
Using CCTVs, Tim had been able to follow Hoodie a considerable distance from his apartment. He watched as the biker unhurriedly navigated the busy streets of Los Angeles, looking almost nonchalant as he did so. Like he hadn't just attacked one of the world's most renowned sidekicks in his home only minutes earlier. It was almost like Hoodie was dropping breadcrumbs, and Tim eagerly devoured them as he followed.
That suspicion was confirmed two CCTV systems later. From security camera footage belonging to a pawn shop, Tim observed Hoodie as he casually parked on a side street. It was one of the seedier sides of town, but the man didn't seem to care as he dismounted the bike, leaving the keys in the ignition as he did so, then he looked straight into the camera as he gave a salute.
Tim couldn't ignore the chill that crawled down his spine that time.
He'd tried to follow Hoodie from there, but it was like he disappeared. Even having searched all CCTV footage in that area around that time stamp, Tim had had no luck. The man was gone.
After meeting that unfortunate dead end, Tim had then shifted his focus to Bruce's dossiers. Batman kept a detailed record of every single enemy he encountered during his time as Gotham's knight. His records even extended beyond his home turf. It was both a helpful and extremely annoying practice, and part of the reason why Tim's evenings following missions had long been dedicated to debriefing paperwork.
Tim hadn't known when he signed up to be a hero that a considerable portion of the job would comprise of desk work, but he couldn't say he would do anything differently. Batman's methods worked. And if Tim were to go out on his own, he'd probably be just as anal about the paperwork as Bruce. It was probably part of the reason why people referred to him as Batman's protégé detective, perhaps even surpassing the intuitive genius of Dick Grayson.
Still, whatever skills that others touted he had, it all seemed for naught in Tim's search. He combed through dossiers, using every keyword he could think of to see if it landed a match to his perp. Mask, Red Sweatshirt, Red Hoodie, Red Vest and… nothing. Whoever the guy was, he hadn't done enough, at least in Batman or the League's backyard, to earn himself a file. Which made Tim's life teeth grindingly difficult.
When all other efforts proved fruitless, Tim had finally resorted to going back to the very basics and scrolled through FBI and CIA files. He had wanted to see if the feds might have more than his own system, and while he'd seriously doubted it, it had been worth a shot.
And it was in the frustration following that failed strategy that Alfred found him.
"Master Tim,"
"What's up, Alfred?" Tim answered as his eyes remained fixed on the computer screen. The tassels from his hoodie hung loosely between his lips.
"I'm sorry to interrupt you, sir, but will you be making your way upstairs for dinner this evening?"
Dinner? Was it dinner already? Tim was pretty sure he'd only recently eaten breakfast. His eyes broke momentarily from the screen in the direction of the old man. Sure enough, on the desk sat an untouched deli sandwich plated on top of a stack of worthless CIA files.
"Nah that's okay, Alfred. Thanks though. If I get hungry, I can have that," Tim nodded towards the sandwich. It would be a waste to leave it uneaten. He reached an arm out to make a grab for it.
"This," the old butler put one finger on the plate and pulled, just far enough so that the sandwich was out of Tim's reach, "has been sitting on this table for six hours and is, therefore, a safety hazard, sir."
"Ah, never mind then," Tim waved his hand in the air noncommittedly, eyes already back on the monitor. "My bad, Alfred. Time got away from me. I can just stop by the kitchen and fix myself something if I get hungry later." Names scrolled down the computer screen. His eyes scanned the names looking for anything of value… and getting nothing.
"Indeed." The old man sounded less than impressed. "Perhaps I can convince you to come upstairs for a change of clothes, then? Ones you haven't been wearing since… Sunday?"
Tim glanced down at his watch. Did it really say Thursday? That couldn't be right.
"Shit," Tim mumbled under his breath as he glanced down at his clothes. Indeed, they were the one's he'd picked out the morning following that hellish Saturday. Why hadn't he changed out of them again? Had he forgotten? It was unlike him to be this… messy.
This time, Tim didn't look the butler's way out of embarrassment. Warmth crawled up to the tips of his ears, no doubt broadcasting his mortification. "That's uh…" Tim paused, knowing how bad this looked and not quite sure how to fix it. "That's okay, Alfred. I can do my laundry later," he pinched the fabric of his shirt," I don't want you to have to touch my clothes."
Not when he'd been marinating in them, Tim internally admonished.
"That is all well and good sir, but maybe all of that should be done before you visit your guest upstairs?"
"Guest?" The scrolling on the monitor stopped. Tim, having finally peeled his eyes off the screen, swiveled his chair in the butler's direction. His vision glittered with black spots from the computer's backlight. "Who's here?"
Alfred seemed smug about acquiring Tim's undivided attention. The corner of his mouth quirked up into an aloof smirk. "A miss Cassandra Sandsmark, sir, is waiting for you out in the garden."
"Cassie's here?!" Tim shot out of his seat for the door. Why was Cassie here? Tim knew that their recent interactions had been less frosty than they were previously, but enough for her to come visit him?
Alfred's grabbed ahold of Tim's elbow as he passed. The old man's grip was gentle but unyielding, "Perhaps, Ms. Sandsmark would be better met after a change of clothes?"
Tim faltered, embarrassed again by all the things that Alfred wasn't saying. "Right," he said finally. "You're right. I don't know where my heads at. Sorry."
Tim tried to ignore the pinched skin between Alfred's eyebrows. The butler always did that when he was concerned. He braced himself for the old man's well-intentioned reprimand… but whatever Alfred had wanted to say, he seemed to think better of it. His hand still on Tim's elbow, he tugged on the faded red fabric of Tim's old hoodie.
"Let's start by getting this off you, sir. I think there are areas that need mending…again."
Tim nodded as he pulled the hoodie over his head. If he were honest with himself, the thing was looking a little rough again. Some of the old sweatshirt's wounds were new; like the ripped center pocket that had reopened despite Alfred's prior meticulous restitches. That was probably from his assaulter's boot when Tim's sternum had nearly cracked in half.
But other wounds were old; like the areas where the fabric was worn so thin that the soft threads nearly separated if he gently ran his thumb over them. Those signs of age had come on gradually during the sweatshirt's ten years of use… seven of which being under Tim's care.
Wordlessly Tim handed the aged red sweatshirt to Alfred. He was always thankful that the man never questioned him wearing it. It had been the last thing that Tim's predecessor had unintentionally given him before he left for his last mission. The one he didn't come back from. And in the months following, it took the combined effort of the either The Team or Dick, Bruce and Alfred to pry it off him for washing. Tim had never really stopped to question why he'd become so attached to the thing— He didn't really like thinking about that dark period at all.
And by now the hoodie had just become habit.
Tim didn't want to keep Cassie waiting, but he couldn't doubt the butler's reasoning that he probably was in dire need of a shower. Once he was finally rinsed clean and sporting a fresh set of clothes, he made his way to the garden.
Tim had to shade his eyes as he emerged from the French doors from Wayne Manor into the garden veranda. The sun, having just started to set, cast a warm orange glow over the room. Verbena, petunia, begonia, chrysanthemum blossoms and so many other flowers that Tim couldn't name, tumbled out of extravagant hanging baskets in front of frosted glass windows. The wisteria and cherry blossom trees were all flowering and dripped petals onto the red brick flooring like snow. In the center of the patio there was a fountain filled with a cacophony of water lilies, moneywort, and hyacinths. The garden was chaos, and it was beautiful… and in the center of it all stood Cassie.
Tim had to tamper down the patter of his chest as he approached her. "Hey," he said, shifting his hands into his jean pockets in a nervous gesture.
"Hey," she answered, just as unsure.
Cassie hadn't been to Wayne Manor since before their breakup. That was more than a year ago, but damn did it feel like yesterday in that moment. Tim nodded his head to a nearby garden bench under one of the purple wisterias, "Wanna sit down?"
"Sure," Cassie answered, following Tim's lead toward elaborate iron bench. The two sat on either side, so far apart that two people could squeeze between them. Tim tried not to internally agonize over how awkward he felt, but Cassie wasn't saying anything, and he didn't know how much longer he could take the silence.
"So…" he started, "What brings you to Gotham?" And oh god he could have just died on the spot from how clumsy the question sounded.
"Well," Cassie answered after a moment. She didn't seem to mind Tim's apparent nervousness, in fact she seemed just as uncomfortable as he felt, "I guess I'm here to bring you back to LA? Your concussion break ended Tuesday… and it's Thursday. And I think we all just thought you'd be back home already?"
Home. She meant with the Outsiders.
"Oh, yeah…" Tim leaned forward and clasped his hands between his knees, "about that… I think I might just stay here for a while," Tim's words came slowly as he explained, "Just crash with Alfred… and Bruce when he gets back. It's not like there's some hurry for me to rejoin the squad considering it's pretty well manned already—" Tim turned his head towards Cassie and nearly flinched at her sudden glare.
Tim watched as Cassie just scowled at him, her displeasure evident in the stiffness of her shoulders, the straightness of her back. She'd turned her body on the bench so she was facing him directly and fuck she could be intimidating when she wanted to be. Tim knew he was only one wrong sentence from the nuclear disaster that was crossed arms over chest.
"What?" Tim asked apprehensively.
"You're distancing yourself from us." Cassie answered after a moment. "You promised you wouldn't do that again when we…" She didn't say the last part, Tim knew well enough what she meant.
When we broke up and decided to be friends.
"Look," Tim didn't know how to fix this, but he just knew how desperately he didn't want Cassie to be mad at him again. "It's different this time. I'm not hiding anything. I just need some time away."
"That's a lie and you know it, Tim," Cassie snapped. "Look at you," she gestured wildly at his appearance, "You look like you haven't slept in days. You're staying at Wayne Manor? I know for a fact that you'd rather be with the team any day. And Alfred! I can tell he's worried about you just by looking at him, and I don't pick up on all that body language stuff like you do!" The words couldn't tumble out of her fast enough.
"Cassie," Tim ground out, not liking the prickle of annoyance that was beginning to dance on his skin, "I'm fine. We're not together so I'm not your responsibility anymore. Leave it alone."
But she didn't stop, instead Cassie grabbed for the Tim's palm between his knees and gave it a squeeze. It was a soft gesture that contrasted with the hardened assurance in her voice. "You're not my responsibility, Tim. But you are my friend," she emphasized. "And with Connor's death and this attack… there's something you're not sharing, and it's eating you alive." She paused for a moment, then gave Tim's hand another squeeze, "I'm just trying to look out for you—"
Tim ripped his hand away, "Maybe," he spat, his scowl skewering the woman before him, "instead of focusing on me, you should be prioritizing looking out for your squad? You know, the one you're in charge of keeping alive right now?" Shit. Tim hadn't meant to say that. Why did he say that?
But it was too late. Cassie initially flinched at his words, but now all evidence of hurt had frozen over into a cold glare. Her arms crossed against her chest.
"Cassie, no. Fuck. That's not what I meant—"
But Cassie ignored his pleas as she stood up, arms still crossed, back straight. She towered over Tim from where he was sitting.
"You know I will never apologize for something I rightfully earned, Tim," her voice dripped with ice.
"I know, Cas. I swear—" Cassie held a hand up, stopping Tim mid apology.
"And you're lucky that I know you're not some selfish dick that gets threatened when his ex-girlfriend is chosen as a leader over him."
"Cas, I promise that I'd never be mad about that. I don't know why I said it. I just," Tim reached a hand for Cassie's elbow, gently trying to pull it out of that unbearable cross…
"Tim, enough…" Cassie lowered her arms but also stepped out of Tim's reach. She sounded so exhausted. "Watching you isolate yourself was hard enough as your girlfriend. I just… I didn't think it would be just as hard to watch as your friend… I can't do it."
Tim didn't have an answer to that. He just looked down at his hands despondently. In his head, I did this replayed over and over again.
"I know when I'm not wanted," Cassie's voice trailed above him. Tim couldn't look at her. He didn't want to see that look of resolved disappointment that he'd gotten so used to seeing her wear leading up to their breakup. "Fine. Stay here Tim… And don't call me. Not unless you're finally ready to stop torturing yourself by shouldering everything on your own."
Tim heard Cassie's quiet footsteps as she walked away from him. He heard the quiet click of the garden French doors opening and closing. He heard the automated sound of Wayne Manor's zeta-tube revving up and down.
Then, long after she'd gone, Tim heaved himself up like a zombie and made his way back down to the Batcave to resume his miserable, all-consuming task. And that's where he stayed late into the evening searching, searching, searching. For what he didn't exactly know…
Until there it was. The barest of mentions from a mission report from August 6th 2018 when Dick had followed Brion, Halo and Forager to Infinity Island. Dick wasn't the most comprehensive at mission reports and tended to skim on the details of his own exploits. And even then, the skirmish was so short that even Tim might not have found it worth mentioning had he been in the same position.
Engaged in a brief encounter with a Ra's al Ghul henchmen, a masked ninja wearing a red tunic, hood, and armed with a sword. Encounter interrupted by…
Tim didn't need to read on. This was it. He knew it. And suddenly he felt so utterly exhausted that he couldn't fight the impulse to slouch over the desk and rest his head on his arms. His once racing thoughts whirred to a hum as his eyelids pulled down like weights over his eyes.
"There you are," he murmured as sleep pulled him into its unrelenting grasp.
Psstt. No one tell the folks over at AO3 that you get updates a week before they do ;) Hope you enjoyed this latest TBATH update! And also, we do not tolerate Cassie slander on this page. This might be my little WonderBird loving heart talking... but she is perfection
Later lovelies, Greenie
