#adding tim drake to my ominous little guys list

[everyones-least-favorite-bard]

fixed.

fanart of @silk-scarlet-ribbons fic when doves cry

[bat-losers-inc]

Kintsugi: Chapter 12

Summary: Final Crisis/Red Robin AU. Dick admits Tim to a psychiatric facility after Bruce is lost in time. Jason finds him suffering at the hands of a Scarecrow-copycat and breaks him out. While safe in Jason’s apartment, Tim still struggles with panic attacks and drug withdrawal. At a loss for what to do, Jason calls Roy Harper.

Pairings: Jason Todd & Tim Drake, Jason Todd & Dick Grayson, Roy Harper & Jason Todd.

Warning: minor mention of self-harm in this chapter.

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“Okay. House rules.” Roy turned to the whiteboard and started writing with big slanting letters, “Rule number one; no drugs or alcohol inside the safehouse.”

“Now,” Roy pivoted back to Tim, who sat curled up on one end of the couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “I know this is an obvious one for the both of us, but it’s worth mentioning that Jason has also agreed to follow it as a show of solidarity. Right, Jason?”

Jason offered a thumbs up from his spot at the kitchen counter, his attention still absorbed by the computer screen before him, open to Tim’s research into Bruce’s disappearance. The lengthy document was full to the brim with images and news articles pulled from the web, scientific papers on optics, quantum mechanics and archeological sites — not to mention all of Batman’s previous research on Darkseid and his powers. It was going to take him days to read through all of it.

“Rule number two; keep it clean.”

“Yeah, we’re not trying to live a life of grime.” Tim smiled, clearly proud of himself.

Yikes, that peak dad joke knocked Jason right out of the physics of time travel and square into second-hand embarrassment. We’re really going to need to unteach him Dick’s puns.

Roy sighed, “Hang on. I just have to make an amendment.”

The expo marker squeaked loudly and Jason glanced up under his eyelashes to see him crossing out the first line. “Rule number one. No puns!”

Jason choked down a laugh and returned his gaze to his screen.

“Seriously, Roy?” said Tim, “You know, it’s going to take us all day to get through these rules if you keep—”

More marker squeaking. “Rule number three!”

“I’m still talking!”

“And now I’m talking.” Roy grinned. “Isn’t it funny how that works?”

“Jason!”

“I’m not here,” he called into the other room as he scrolled to the next page. Ooh, pictures… picture he could do. “Also, respect your elders.”

“Unbelievable,” Tim grumbled, just loud enough for Jason to hear.

“We’ll have weekly meetings every Sunday afternoon. We can use this time to talk about what’s been going well, what we’re struggling with that week, any routine changes that need to be made. Etcetera.”

Silence from Tim. That was good. At least there was the hope that he wasn’t going to fight them on every point. Reassured by that, Jason glanced back at a picture of Batman’s symbol painted on a cave wall and... let’s just say it wasn’t a case of everyday graffiti. Unless Batman had a lineage all the way back to early human civilization that Jason didn’t know about.

Jason tilted his head, squinting. “Hey, Tim? Got a question about that picture of the cave drawing in your research. C’mere.”

“Jason!” snapped Roy. “We’re clearly in the middle of something.”

“I’ll only be a sec!” He turned the laptop around as Tim slid off the couch and walked over.

“What about it?”

Jason tapped the screen with his fingernail. “There’s an annotation in this section with a number listed. What’s that for?”

Tim stared at it for a long moment.

“Oh, that?” He picked at a patch of dry skin on his elbow. “Nothing, just a contact for a consultant.”

“A consultant? Were you working on this case with someone before you got locked up?”

“No, not really. It was more of a one-off situation. He was the one who brought the cave painting to my attention in the first place and sent me the picture.”

“A one-off.. But you kept the number?” Jason eyed him.

Tim smiled tightly. “You know me. I keep a record of everything.”

“Except the name of your consultant.” Jason spun the laptop back around to face him. “Spell it for me, I’ll put it in.”

“What?” asked Tim.

“What’s the name of your consultant?”

“It doesn’t matter. Really.”

Jason’s eyebrows hiked their way into his hairline. “Your reaction is telling me otherwise.”

Anger flashed across Tim’s features. “Just leave it alone, Jason.”

Seriously? Tim couldn’t really have expected him to just ignore the glaringly obvious tension in the room. Honestly, it was like the kid didn’t know him at all.

He turned to head back into the living room but Jason caught his arm. It was slick to the touch under his fingertips. The sweating had started two days after they’d done the first taper— the first, and most mild, of his body’s reaction to doing without his usual dosage. “The fact that you don’t want to tell me means whoever it is, they’re probably bad news —”

“Hey, look at me. ” He gave Tim’s arm a shake until Tim’s gaze finally wandered the expanse of the kitchen and locked back on his own. “I can’t protect you if I don’t know who I should be protecting you from.”

Tim’s eyebrows and the hair at his temples were dark with perspiration. It added an extra intensity to the glare he leveled him with.

“You really think I would work with someone who was out to get me? I might be going crazy looking for answers, but I’m not totally stupid.”

“Of course not, but you’re not the same person you were a week ago either. You’re weaker, more distracted, more—”

Tim yanked his arm free of his fingers, his forearm streaked with bands of red where Jason had been unwilling to let go even when he felt Tim starting to pull away. “No, what ‘I am’  is late for my first NA meeting.”

Jason clamped his teeth together and tried not to grind them. Well, you sure fucked that up.

Roy stepped in before he could make a bigger ass of himself. “Tim, get changed. We’ve gotta hustle if we want to make it there by one.”

“And throw on some extra deodorant.” He added. “All the sweating’s making you smell ripe.”

As Tim took to the stairs, Roy flashed Jason a look. “How's that helicopter parenting serving you long term?”

“Oh, please, I’m the furthest thing from a helicopter parent!”

“Prove it.”

Jason shut the laptop and rubbed at his forehead. “Admit it. This mystery consultant has you concerned too.”

Roy rolled his eyes.“Yeah, a little. But, maybe it was just a one-time thing. People make choices that they’re ashamed of later. This could be Tim’s, but he’s not going to tell you until he trusts you to treat him right.”

Jason swept his arm out wide so Roy had a chance to glance around the apartment at all the little spots where Tim had already made himself at home — the rumpled blanket in the corner of the living room couch, the post-it note with Jason’s wifi password taped above his workspace, and the plate with leftover toast crumbs sitting on the counter — just to name a few. “Uh, I am. He can trust me.”

I made a fucking home for him when he felt like he couldn’t go back to his real one. What more do I have to do to prove it to him? What the hell happened to the old saying ‘actions speak louder than words?’ Apparently, Tim was the greedy sort that wanted actions and words.

Roy cut him a look like he could read Jason’s mind. “Trust goes both ways, Jason. And You’re treating him like a child.”

“He is a child!”

“I’ve only known him for a few days, but I can already see that Tim’s got more intelligence and perseverance than I ever did at his age.”

“Which is why I was being honest with him,” Jason countered. “Just like I would have with you if you were back in his position and doing something stupid.”

“There’s a difference between doing something stupid and doing something you don’t agree with.”

God, was this the kind of mental minefield that Dick had to navigate when dealing with Damian? It was tiring as fuck and endlessly confusing. He was honestly never sure if he was making the right decision. Roy wasn’t one to be tired out easily however.

“Right now that contact is just some numbers on a piece of paper. If they’re bad news Tim’s doing the hard thing and steering clear of them, even if it means forgoing easy answers about Bruce. You want to be honest about something? Be honest with yourself about that.”

Jason was still trying to think of a reply to that by the time Roy herded Tim out of the apartment. When he heard Roy’s car pulling away, he went back to cleaning the bike parts in the garage. He always did his best thinking when his hands were busy with some repetitive task. Hopefully, he could miraculously sort out his shit before Roy and Tim came back.

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Tim hadn’t realized that when Roy said they’d have to hurry, it had more to do with the fact that they were driving all the way into Old Gotham than it had to do with mid-morning traffic. When he’d made a comment about it on the way over, Roy had simply said, “I think you’ll like the group at this place. They’re good guys who aren’t afraid to call you on your bullshit.”

“Oh, is that a valued quality in NA group members?” He’d ask, mostly sarcastically.

“At times, it can be.”

Tim didn’t know what to say to that, so they drove the rest of the way in silence. By the time Roy pulled up to the curb outside the Church of St. Jude and cut the engine, Tim’s nerves were even more on edge. It could’ve had something to do with the name of the church — St. Jude was the patron saint of lost causes — it struck Tim as an odd and ominous choice that Roy would favor this place.

“Ready to go in?” Roy asked as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

Lacking an answer to such a simple question, Tim stared out the window at the church. He took in its brick facade, the small courtyard hidden behind metal fencing, and the long-limbed trees that were just starting to bud. On a warm spring day like today it had the look of a small haven amidst the terrible giant that was Gotham City.  

So, why was he so scared to leave Roy’s car?

“If you’re wondering when you’ll feel ready, the answer is probably never.”

“No… it’s not that. I know that.” Tim stared down at his lap. “It’s just…”

He struggled to find the right words, aware all the while that this was the first heart-to-heart that he and Roy were having that wasn’t within Jason’s earshot. They were venturing into uncharted territory.

Just breathe, you can talk to him.

This morning, he’d lingered quietly at the top of the stairs, like a child listening in on a conversation that they were too young for, and heard the way Roy had stood up for him. As long as it wasn’t endangering anyone, it seemed Roy was going to let him have his privacy, whether Jason liked it or not. So he knew that this conversation would be something that stayed just between them.

“What do I say to them?” he asked finally.

Roy hitched a thumb toward the church. “What, in group?”

“Yeah, I mean…” He shrugged. “Don’t you have to go around in a circle telling everyone how you started using and how long it’s been since you’ve last used?”

“It’s not mandatory, but yeah, that’s usually the way these things go.”

“Well, how am I supposed to tell them that I started using because some wanna-be villain experimented on me with fear toxin and tranquilizers?”

He threw out his hands like his frustration was something he could physically beat into submission. Instead, all he managed to do was accidentally punch the glove compartment and scrape his knuckles.

Ow. Universe 46, Tim still 0. Or at least that’s the way it felt.

Once he let one of his worries slip, it seemed he could stop it turning into a flood, his words spilling out like a tidal wave into the quiet space of Roy’s car. “ Hell, how do I tell them it’s been zero days since I last used? That I’m in fact still using. I can’t go in there and stare at a bunch of people who are actually clean and pretend to know what they’re going through, I mean—”

“Hey— hey, Tim,” Roy waved his hands. “Fuck that shit. All of it.”

“But—”

“No, I mean it. Fuck it, it means nothing to anyone in that room. Those details— the fear toxin, the mental hospital, your tapering regimen— they’re irrelevant. You think I had to dive into my shitty backstory with Green Arrow and vigilantism when recovering from heroin? Hell, no, I just told the parts of my story that mattered. You can do the same.”

Tim pressed his fingers harshly against his eyelids. “But I’m still using benzos!”

Roy laughed and tucked his long hair behind his ears, “Who told you being completely clean is a requirement for going to an NA meeting? If that was the case we wouldn’t have nearly so many attendees.”

Tim stared at him. That couldn't be right.

“I’m serious,” said Roy. “Most of us have been on and off the wagon more times than we can count. We come to the meetings anyway because it’s supposed to be the one constant lifeline that we don’t abandon. The only thing that matters to the people in there is that you’re trying to get clean.”

He leaned over the center console to look him in the eye. “Okay?”

Tim nodded, “Alright.”

Roy led the way down into the basement level of the church which served as the meeting room. It was much like Tim had pictured it. Fluorescent lighting; a scattering of folding chairs; coffee, water, and boxes of donuts laid out on the tables along one wall. A small group mingled around one of the tables, pouring steaming coffee into styrofoam cups before the meeting started. Tim instinctively tried to skirt around the group, eying a pair of metal chairs on the other side of the room. He was about to slink away when someone recognized Roy and gestured them over.

Roy glanced at Tim and jerked his head. “Let me introduce you to a few people.”

He had no choice but to follow, trailing a few paces behind Roy and hoping to hide behind his tall frame. Now he really was acting like a child. It was no wonder Jason was having mixed feelings. Get it together Drake! You’ve taken down super villains but you can handle some small talk?

“Roy!” A woman pulled Roy in for a hug, her dark curls spilling loosely over his shoulders. “How’ve you been?”

“Yeah,” The man at her shoulder smiled. “It’s been a while.”

Roy shrugged and offered a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I don’t get to Gotham nearly as much as I used to.” Tim took the last couple of steps forward, drawing the eyes of the group on him. “This is my friend, Tim. I’m gonna be sponsoring him for a bit. Tim, I’d like you to meet Rene and Dominic.”

“Nice to meet you.” He offered them a small wave, but nothing more. The last thing he wanted to do was draw more attention to himself during this meeting. It would be enough to just hang around in the background and go unnoticed while he got his footing.

It was a relief when the start of the meeting was called and everyone picked up one last donut and cup coffee before sliding into their seats. Roy pulled Tim over to sit next to his friends as a man stood up and addressed the group.

“Hi, everyone. Most of you regulars know me already, but for those of you new here my name’s Antonne Mays. I’m the group leader.”

He pulled a folded piece of notebook paper out of his back pocket and cleared his throat. “I’d like to start off with some general announcements. For those of you here by court mandate, come see me at the end of today’s meeting and I’ll validate your attendance cards. Also, Jessica can you stand up, please? Today is Jessica’s birthday so let’s raise a cup in her honor for staying strong and sticking around with us for another year!”

The people around him raised their styrofoam cups of coffee and tapped on them enthusiastically with their plastic stirrers. For a moment the room was filled with whistles and cheers before subsiding back into order. Tim shifted restlessly in his seat as the meeting went on, his attention going in and out of focus as the announcements transitioned into a round-robin discussion.

Roy bumped his foot with his own. “Pay attention.”

Tim nodded. He was trying to pay attention to the accounts from the other members but recently he’d been having trouble focusing on much of anything.

Focus, Tim. He rubbed at his thighs and rolled his shoulders. Just relax and breathe.

He closed his eyes and let his hands rest loosely against his legs, focusing his attention on drawing a deep breath in and then out. In and out.

“Will you relax and stop fidgeting? You're gonna drive me insane with that.” Roy hissed in his ear.

Tim opened his eyes, ready to shoot Roy a glare. “I’m not—”

His fingers were trembling, creating a spasmodic tattoo against the fabric of his jeans. He clenched his hand tight into a fist hard enough to feel his fingernails in the soft skin of his palms and sucked in a breath. It was just another symptom of the tapering.

It’s fine. You’ll be fine.

A hand covered his clenched fist from wrist to knuckles and applied gentle pressure. Tim looked up at Roy and read the unsaid apology that was written all over his freckled face.

He pulled his hand free and crossed his arms, stuffing his treacherous fingers in the crook of his elbow where no one could see them tremble. The minutes ticked on and Tim was only half listening now, the current speaker’s voice a dull white noise compared to his own thoughts. The trembling came and went in waves but Tim’s fingers lingered near his arms, circling the rough pattern along the skin of his inner arms. The bruising had faded but the raised skin from the needle marks still remained. Roy and Jason had told him he should be prepared for that and it really shouldn’t have mattered so much. It’s just a few more scars. Still, he couldn’t pull his eyes away this morning when he caught sight of himself in the mirror — the pearlescent marks peaking out right under the hem of his t-shirt sleeves.

They know. They all know just from looking at you. Sometimes that feeling was so strong it made him just want to pick up a hot poker and press it to his skin… to burn a brand big enough for those little scars to disappear into.

“I hope you’re not thinking those track marks are an excuse for you to slack off while you’re here. Because I’ll let you in on a little secret, kid; those are nothing special around here.”

Tim jerked his head up to find Antonne and half of the circle staring him in the face. “No- I wasn’t—”

“Mmhmm,” Antonne nodded, his fingers working diligently to roll up his shirt sleeves. When he’d cuffed them above his elbows, he held out his bare arms under the fluorescents. He traced one finger along his inner elbow, where tiny scars stood out in a dark mauve against the darker brown of his skin. “Look, I got them too. As does Antonio, Katey, and even your sponsor, Roy.”

“I’m just not used to them,” Tim said in his own defense. “They’re just so… public.”

Roy leaned forward in his seat, his hair spilling over in a red tangle that hid his expression from Tim’s view. “Sorry, Antonne. He’s new, this is his first meeting.”

Antonne waved away Roy’s explanation. “Ah, I see. So you’re still at the stage where you think those scars will define what others think of you.”

Tim shrugged. “Well, yeah… I mean, scars are permanent.”

That got a full-body laugh out of Antonne.

Tim stared at him confused. “Is something funny?”

“If you don’t like them so much, wear long sleeves, cover them up with concealer, hell you can even turn them into some hipster geometrical nonsense tattoo like Antonio did for all I care.”

“People are always going to stare, it’s in their nature,” Roy said before extending his left arm across Tim’s leg.

On the outside of his bicep was his Wyvern tattoo, a large winged beast with a reptilian tail that zig-zagged all the way down his bicep before ending at his elbow in an arrow-shaped point. But as he rotated his arm, Tim saw that the inside of his elbow was marked not with ink but with old track marks. He’s never even noticed them, his eyes always drawn to the colorful black and green ink, forever trying to figure out it’s meaning. “But, you can choose what they see when they look at you. Got it?

Tim’s hands dropped back into his lap. He felt a strange mixture of relief and humiliation all at once. “Yeah.”  

“And here’s another pro-tip, on the house.” Antonne leaned forward in his chair. “The best way to change what people think of you… is to participate in group discussion.”

 His face heated up as laughter erupted around the circle. Thankfully, it all seemed good-natured based on the smiles that some of the other members directed at him and the way Roy gave his hair a quick ruffle.

“What’s your name, kid?” Antonne asked.

Tim sat up straighter in his chair. “Tim.”

“Alright, Tim. Next meeting, you’re speaking first.”