If someone were to ask Tim what the most stressful part of his daily life was, he would be hard-pressed to truthfully answer that. Anyone who knew him would probably assume it was the tightrope-level balancing act he had to maintain between his civilian life and his nighttime routine of being a Gotham vigilante. They might also guess it would be dealing with his family, who more often than not would rather commit various acts of violence against one another rather than properly communicate their feelings for a change. Hell, they may even guess that the stress of being a public figure was the worst. But there would all be dead wrong.
"Excuse me, Mr. Drake-Wayne?"
Tim snapped his eyes to the person speaking and resisted the urge to sigh. Meetings, really anything involving this godforsaken company, were more than enough to make him want to crawl out of his skin. He took a moment to clear his mind and focused his attention on the task at hand.
"Yes, Mr. Miller?"
Upon being given even the smallest bit of attention the man began to drone on about something or another. Truthfully, Tim didn't care at all. Most of the time, these meetings or interactions just served to add more stress to his life. As if he needed any more stress, given his daily routine. About halfway through the man's monologue Tim began to take in what he was saying and felt the need to speak up.
"I'm sorry. Not to interrupt, but it almost sounds like you're suggesting cutting funding to the rehab clinics in the East End?" While that was just a small portion of the programs Wayne Enterprises funded, Tim had been fighting tooth and nail to keep any programs they currently had without any changes for the worse. It was even worse while Bruce had been lost in time and he had initially had to step in as acting CEO. Getting anything done at that point was nearly impossible.
It was an open secret that most of the board members didn't respect him. And honestly? Tim got it. It was seen as the pinnacle of nepotism. He could handle the snide comments when they thought he wasn't in earshot, or when they blatantly knew he would hear. That had been something he had been dealing with for almost as long as he could remember. What he refused to stand was the board members treating him like a puppet, or like they could continue dismantling his efforts without him putting up a fight.
At this line of questioning, Mr. Miller launched into a hasty explanation, citing some presentation that had been given earlier that week. He finished his monologue by claiming that somehow there was too little funding available. Given how much money was set aside for the various philanthropic programs that were running concurrently, that seemed just flat-out impossible. Tim cleared his throat and tightened his grip on the disposable cup of coffee he had gotten earlier that day.
"Let me be clear. That isn't going to happen. I don't care if it's 'not in the budget.' We can make it work." Tim took a surveying glance around the board members as he made this declaration. Most seemed like they couldn't care less about what was going on, but the few who were paying attention had varying degrees of frustration or annoyance written plainly on their face. "Does anyone have any objections?" Without actually waiting for a response, he nodded. "Good. Now, unless anyone has any other complaints, I have an appointment I need to attend to." A blatant lie. But it wouldn't hurt anyone. Besides, he was already running behind on the few case files he was actively working on that week. It might do him some good to make some headway on those.
As he stood up and made his way out of the meeting room, his phone began to ring. Without breaking his stride, he retrieved the phone from his jacket pocket and glanced at the screen. Biting back a groan, he debated ignoring the call. In the end, he decided not to. It would just end up causing more stress. Taking a deep breath and shoving his feelings down, he hit the answer button.
"What Dick?"
"Hey Tim-Bit! How's one of my favorite brothers doing?" The cheerful voice that greeted Tim was nothing short of ear-grating.
"Hey Dick, I'm good. What's up, did you need something?"
A scandalized gasp met Tim's ears."Why Tim," Dick started, extending his name out. "Why would I possibly need something? Can't I call just to have a nice conversation?"
It took nearly everything Tim had not to snap at him. Because no, Dick hadn't called him 'just to talk' in such a long time. Anytime they talked, it was about Tim either doing a favor for him or he called to yell at him for messing something up. Instead of saying anything, Tim took just a single moment to shove those feelings down again. Right now, that didn't matter.
At the moment of awkward silence, Dick cleared his throat. "Well then. Since I do have you here, would you be able to do me a tiny favor? You don't need to go out of your way or anything. I just need you to drop off that project you were working on for me." Dick was careful not to let any detail slip that might draw unneeded attention. Tim knew what he was talking about. It was a case file dealing with a series of robberies at various chemical plants that had taken place over the previous month. He had been so busy he hadn't even had a chance to properly start working on that file yet.
"Yeah, uh, I'll get that to you later this week. With everything going on I haven't been able to get that project taken care of yet."
There was a huff on the other end of the line, and Tim braced himself to either be berated or yelled at. Like he didn't already do enough for Dick outside of working on this for him. But it didn't come.
"Alright, no biggie! God knows you do enough around here, I just appreciate you doing this at all," Dick said. Tim didn't have a response to that, so he just made a noncommittal noise.
They ended up talking for a few more minutes about nothing of major importance. Towards the end of the call, they agreed to meet up that following Sunday so Tim could drop off the case file. Tim would have preferred to have had a few more days, but at this point, he really didn't feel like he had much of a choice.
After they hung up Tim sighed and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He went to take a sip of his coffee and was disappointed to find it empty.
He'd definitely need more coffee to get through the next week. A lot more coffee.
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Tim would be the first to admit that his way of handling stress wasn't always the healthiest. He'd dealt with his fair share of frankly borderline dangerous coping mechanisms. But he had always been able to justify it to himself. When the alternative was failing or disappointing someone, what harm was it to stay up a little later than normal to finish a case? How could it hurt if he worked through lunch without stopping to make sure he could actually ensure everything was handled? He knew he could deal with everything later.
While every once in a while his habits would draw the odd comment, nothing ever really came from it. Tim knew how to act normally enough to ease most people's concerns. Although to be fair it wasn't like anyone ever normally looked hard enough to have concerns. Tim knew what he could handle and prided himself on being as independent as possible.
However, there were definitely times when Tim knew he could push himself too far if he wasn't careful.
Tim was startled at the sound of his phone ringing. He glanced around him but didn't see it at first. Papers littered his apartment. Practically every available surface was covered in wadded-up pages and files stuffed to the brim with reports or half-finished research. Empty soda cans were strewn about. Oops. He guessed he got a little too carried away again. He stood and winced as his muscles protested the sudden movement. He sifted through the pages and scrambled for the phone when he finally located it underneath a file he didn't even remember working on.
He didn't even look at the caller ID before hitting the answer button. "Hello?" Tim asked as he began to half-heartedly pick up the mess that had accumulated over the last several days.
There was static on the other end of the line for a moment. "Hello?" Tim tried again. After a few moments, the static began to clear up. "Sorry 'bout that. Signal here is absolute shit." Tim recognized the modulated voice instantly. But why the hell was Jason of all people calling him at nearly 3 in the morning? Before he even had a second to voice his thoughts, Jason continued. "Listen, I've got a lead on that case you were working on for Dickhead. Meet me down by the docks in the next hour. It'll be by the chemical processing plant that just closed down about two weeks ago. Think we've got a leg up on the next robbery but we won't if you don't get your ass down here pronto."
Tim took a second to process all this. This was… not ideal. That would be the understatement of the millennia. Even though the two of them had been on speaking terms for a while now, Tim definitely still didn't feel comfortable around him. Their past may be the past, but the scars from that time still remained.
"What about Nightwing? Wouldn't he be better for this?" Tim tried, not quite desperate to find an excuse but very quickly becoming so. His heart nearly sank at the scoff he heard on the end of the line as his last hope was thoroughly crushed.
"He's back in Bludhaven. Besides, I need someone who knows what he's doing and is at least partially familiar with this case." Tim blinked. That was about as close to a compliment as Jason had ever given him.
"Tick tock Timmy, you in or not? I could always see if Black Bat or Spoiler is available."
"I'll be there." Tim spat out before he even realized he had agreed. He took a look around his apartment and sighed. Guess his housekeeping would have to wait. Not that it mattered, he barely even lived here himself sometimes, he didn't need to worry about someone else judging him.
"Good. Remember, one hour, by the docks. Meet you there." The click at the end of the line signaled the end of the conversation. Tim let out the sigh that had been building inside of him since basically the start of that call. That went about as well as any conversation with Jason normally went. He threw the paperwork that he had been holding back onto the floor. He'd need coffee before heading out. And some food other than the protein shake he had drunk earlier that day.
Tim took a look at his phone and groaned at the sight of the clock. He didn't really have time. Besides, he doubted either would help the building headache that had started behind his right eye.
But it was fine. He'd take care of this for Jason, then he could finally get some sleep that wasn't just a few cat naps broken up by periods of binge research or another pointless board meeting that apparently was 'important to the future of Wayne Enterprises.'
He could handle this. Just a little bit more. He rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, and began getting ready to head out to settle this case once and for all.
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Gotham was a city that was never really quiet. While this was a trait common amongst most metropolitan areas, Gotham always felt like it was only one or two steps away from total mayhem.
Tim felt like the city was screaming tonight. The typical music of the city that had at this point had practically become a comforting white noise or static had now become a roar, nearly impossible to drown out.
The worst part? Tim couldn't tell if there was truly something different about the city or if he just couldn't get out of his head. Gods, he just felt like he needed a moment or two to gather his thoughts. To let everything from the past couple of weeks or quite frankly months just wash over him.
But time was a luxury he couldn't afford right now. He tried to push it from his mind as he rode his motorbike down the barren road. He was almost at the rendezvous point and needed to make sure that he wouldn't pose any kind of liability. The nerves he typically felt before a mission seemed to be muted, almost as though they were being felt under a layer of cotton. Still there, but obscured. That was good, he supposed. It was better than the alternative.
He parked his bike a block or so away and began to make the rest of the way on foot, keeping his eye out for Jason.
It took a few minutes, but he finally caught sight of him. Jason was leaning against one of the warehouses that resided by the dock. Even though Tim couldn't see his face on account of the helmet he was wearing, he could tell that Jason was pissed. Better play this safe then.
He hunched his shoulders and tried his best to look sheepish. "Hey Hood, sorry if I'm late. You know how this city is at night." Jason tilted his head slightly but didn't say anything.
Tim cleared his throat at the awkward silence but continued, wincing as a slight tremor in his voice emerged. "So, what's the plan? You said there was intel or something that might actually help us catch the person who's been raiding the chemical plants."
Another beat of silence. "Yep," Jason finally replied, the hesitation in his response doing nothing to ease Tim's worries.
Jason began to explain the plan. Apparently, he had gotten word from someone (Tim immediately figured that meant information that he had beaten out of someone who was of interest) that the robberies were being performed by an amateur group of people attempting to manufacture their own version of Scarecrow's fear toxin. How they had managed to evade capture for so long was anybody's guess.
"So," Jason started. "We found out that there would be another robbery tonight. They've gotten lucky so far, and it looks like they've gotten cocky. From what I've gathered they'll only have maybe a half dozen or so people here. Figured this would be our best bet to cut them off and maybe get some actual useful information, maybe even figure out who the hell is behind this."
Tim could begrudgingly admit that he was impressed. "Alright, better than anything Nightwing or I had managed to scrounge up. So we just go there and stake it out?"
"Precisely. As soon as they arrive we take them out, figure out who the actual ringleader is, and maybe kick a few goons' teeth in while we're at it." If Tim could see Jason's face he knew he would be grinning.
So that was that. They got into position and settled in. As much as Tim hated to admit it, doing an actual stakeout was painfully boring. They had set up to make sure they could keep an eye on the entrance of the chemical plant while remaining out of sight. There wasn't much else to look at.
They didn't talk either. There had been a few weak attempts at conversation that had ultimately died out after a couple of sentences. Tim was surprised at how much effort Jason was putting into it, but he figured Jason was just trying not to go insane from boredom like he was.
As time drifted on, his mind wandered. He kept thinking about everything that had happened recently. Not that it was all that different than his life normally was. Just the same shit in a different font.
Working with Jason was so far proving to be… tolerable. At least he wasn't trying to talk his ear off like Dick would have already done by now, and he was less likely to lash out and attack him than Damian was. To be honest, of the three of the other Robins, Jason was the one Tim probably trusted the most. He had always followed through with what he said he was gonna do, and at least Tim usually knew where he stood with Jason, even if it wasn't in a favorable position.
Tim felt his eyes drift close for a moment and his eyes shot open. Still nothing. God, he was so tired. The ringing that had started in his ears in the silence also didn't help.
It was in that half-lucid, half-awake state that he felt Jason punch his shoulder.
"Eyes up, Red Robin, we've got company," Jason snapped. Sure enough, Tim saw a few figures creeping their way towards the plant. Looks like the intel Jason had grabbed was right, there was barely anyone here.
The two of them quickly got to work. The plan was to follow them in after a few moments and work on picking them off one at a time.
After a bit, they crept from their hiding place and made their way over to the entrance. They silently entered the plant and saw that the goons had broken into two groups. It was an easy decision to split up and tackle the groups simultaneously.
Tim followed the group that had decided to make their way upstairs to one of the R labs. As he stalked the group he began to feel his mind wander once more, but he forced himself to pay attention to the task at hand. Now wasn't the time to go off daydreaming.
He noiselessly entered the lab and approached one of the goons who was struggling to get into a locked cabinet.
"C'mon, stupid fucking thing." The goon mumbled under their breath. Tim almost took pity on them. Almost.
In a flash, the goon hit the ground. They were clutching their knee in pain from where Tim had struck them with his bo staff. Before they were able to get another word out Tim struck them again, this time a blow to the head. The goon fell silent. He didn't need everyone to be conscious just yet.
At the noise of one of their companions falling the two other criminals in the room were alerted to what was going on. Tim got to work to take them down as fast as possible. At this point he just wanted this to be done and over with.
He stalked towards the two of them at the other end of the lab, keeping his staff at arm's length. He surveyed the two men for any weapons that he might need to worry about. It didn't seem like there was anything he needed to worry about other than the knives both men carried and did the smaller of the two crooks have a baseball bat? Whatever. Tim could keep an eye on that.
The larger of the two men immediately swung at Tim, attempting to slash at him with the knife that was clutched in his hand. Tim easily blocked the blow, ducking low and swinging his staff towards the ground at his feet to knock the man off balance.
Tim had thought that would be enough to bring the man down, but he was wrong. The man regained his balance promptly and turned towards Tim again, this time forgoing the knife to just attempt to punch him as hard as possible. Tim ducked again, but this time the criminal clipped the side of Tim's head.
This was bad. Tim immediately tried to back up and give himself some space. The ringing in his ears that had been ever-present tonight seemed to become ten times louder. He needed to get out of this now.
He charged at the man, using his momentum to strike at his solar plexus. With an "oomph," the man took a few steps back and began to gasp for air, struggling to regain his breath. Before he had a chance to recover Tim struck again, this time it was enough. The man fell to the ground and was silent.
Tim took stock of himself. The ringing in his ears still subsisted and his head hurt worse than before. But other than that he was no worse for wear.
He only took a moment. But that moment was enough.
The next thing he registered was a sharp pain tearing through his right shoulder. Hot, blinding pain ratcheted down his arm. Unable to hold back a hiss of pain, Tim turned around and swore. The other goon, he'd completely forgotten about him for a moment and now he was paying the price for being so careless. The crook in question had an honest-to-god look of surprise like he hadn't believed he'd managed to land a blow. He'd yanked the blade out as soon as he had struck, leaving an open gash in his shoulder that was quickly becoming wet and warm.
Keeping his arm as still as possible, Tim switched his staff to his off-hand. He knew he either had to get the hell out of here and try to get Hood for support or try to disarm and knock the last criminal out on his own.
But the goon was in front of the only exit in the lab. He didn't have a choice.
He attempted to knock him off balance, once again swinging his staff low to the ground. It didn't work, because of fucking course it didn't. Before he could try again, try something, anything, he felt his body hit the floor before any pain had actually registered. Right. The baseball bat. He had forgotten about that after being, Y'know, stabbed. His side lit up from where the impact had been made and the ringing in his ears was so loud he was almost sure he had been deafened.
Still, these suits were meant to hold up to bullets, so a baseball bat wasn't the worst thing in the world. Still hurt though. He couldn't tell if anything was broken.
He grit his teeth and forced himself to stand, before he could think he made his move, charging at the man again. This time he didn't even get a chance to make an impact. The man grabbed him by his right arm and wrenched him to the side. Tim had to bite back a scream this time as it felt like the wound was being stretched.
God. He was just so… tired. At this point, he didn't even know what to do. He tried backing up while remaining on the ground. He was just trying to put some kind of distance between the two of them. His back hit the front of a desk in the middle of the room. His head was swimming and when he looked up at the man standing a few feet from him, his vision was blurry and he was seeing double.
Before he could think or even attempt anything else he felt himself momentarily deafened even further by the sound of a gunshot. He flinched, tilting his head down and keeping his eyes on the floor. He expected to feel some sort of pain, or even just the heat of the missed bullet if the idiot was that bad of a shot at close range. But it never came.
Instead, the goon canted to the side and fell, striking his head on the vinyl floor tiles. Then there was nothing but the sound of Tim breathing heavy and heavy boots making their way across the floor. He didn't even lift his head. He was bleeding, possibly had broken ribs, and was out of options.
He sat there for a moment. Then that moment stretched into several. After almost a full minute he raised his head. It was Hood. He honestly didn't know what to think.
"Well," Hood drawled. "I didn't expect this. C'mon Red, don't tell me you're getting sloppy on me now." Even with the voice modulator, there was something in his voice that hinted towards anger, maybe impatience? Honestly, Tim didn't care which, he wasn't in the mood for a lecture right now. He wasn't in the mood for much of anything.
That tone turned into something sharper when Tim failed to give any sort of answer. "Seriously, what was that? I've seen you take out guys like that without even breaking a sweat. Did one of them catch you off guard or something?"
Still nothing. Even if Tim answered him, he wouldn't know what to say. He honestly didn't think something as simple as being tired would be a good excuse.
Jason took a few steps closer until he was nearly standing over him.
"What the actual fuck is wrong with you?"
Silence. Tim felt his chest seize as he struggled to process the question. Too many answers to count. None of them are the right answer to this joke of a question. The muted feeling he had been experiencing since tonight had started suddenly felt like an exposed nerve. Everything felt too bright and loud. But most of all, he felt anger. He had to bite his tongue to stop from blurting out his first thoughts.
A failure of a son to two fathers, an even worse failure of a vigilante sometimes. Someone who felt like they could barely function on a normal day. Someone who always felt like they were one wrong move away from falling apart completely.
His heart began to pound and he didn't know if he could even take a full breath in if he tried. He needed to get out of here, now.
He tried to scramble back but just ended up hitting his back against the desk. He clambered to his feet and began striding forward, fully intending to walk past Hood. "Are we done here then?" He asked, the deadness in his voice shocking even him.
"Hey, no! You don't get to do that after what just happened." Hood grabbed Tim's left arm.
"Don't touch me!" Tim cried out, yanking his arm back, and was shocked that Jason actually listened. He needed out, now. He used the older vigilantes' confusion to brush past him, practically running out of the door.
He heard Jason shout behind him but he didn't care. He sprinted as best as he could out of the plant. Considering the fact that he was still dealing with an open shoulder wound and possible broken ribs, it wasn't very fast. But it was enough.
He didn't remember making it to his bike. The next thing he could remember was throwing himself onto it and taking off, welcoming the wind that felt like a shock to his system.
The ride home was blurry. He was lucky he was even able to make it home in one piece. He slipped into his apartment. Once the door was closed and he was truly alone, he let himself sink to the ground, curling in on himself. He needed to get out of the suit and tend to his shoulder as soon as possible. But that would be exhausting.
Tim felt his eyes begin to drift close and tried to fight to keep them open. But after everything that had transpired today, no not even today, these past months, he was fighting a losing battle. His eyes drifted close and he finally felt nothing.