#hurt Tim Drake

[momachan]

"Robin was out alone that night when he came upon a woman in trouble. We soon realized Tim was missing. Night after night we scoured the city, running down every lead. Pressing every underworld connection. For three agonizing weeks there was nothing. Then one night we were sent an invitation."

Batman Beyond: Return Of The Joker (2001).

[the-coffeeaddict-tim-drake]

Tim Drake Fics Part 2

Pretty Boys and Identity Problems by DarnGoshit

In an effort to get over his crush on Robin, Kon pursues a relationship with a civilian Gothamite, Tim Drake.

Or, Tim accidentally Hannah Montana’s his crush... and it works?

Leap, Fall, Fly by malcyon

He tries to use his voice, “You have one of my shirts?” Tim looks at him, amused.

“Dude, I have, like, four.”

*****

Kon figures some stuff out. Tim helps.

A Minor Inconvenience by Sishal

Tim knows he shouldn't make potentially dangerous decisions on next to no sleep. Ah well, it will be fine, right?

Only A03 users can read this fic.

Another Mistake - or is it? by Sishal 

Tim makes another stupid mistake. Jason is there to pick up the pieces.

Only A03 users can read this fic

Awesome Big Brother by Sishal 

Tim is maybe infiltrating the wrong club. To be honest, he's not really sure. But he will at least try. Or, well, he would if Jason would let him.

Only A03 users can read this fic.

Tired Brothers by Sishal 

Tim is tired. Really tired. So how bad must it be that he’s the epitome of rested when compared to his brothers.

Only A03 users can read this fic.

Every Letter Counts by timbitsandpieces

Tim would much rather be taking pictures of Batman and Robin than literally anything school-related, up to and including this stupid English essay he had to do by tomorrow. He’d been putting it off, and was actually putting it off even further, when he remembered one thing. Jason Todd, aka Robin, was an English nerd. Maybe Tim could do both.

Robin landed right next to Tim, immediately scanning the surrounding area for danger. “What’s wrong, kid? Are you okay? What -”

“I’m failing English. Or, I will if you don’t help me with my homework. Please.”

“I - what?”

“My English homework. My essay’s due tomorrow. On The Outsiders. And the role of physical violence in it. You need to help me.”

All He Could Bear by Kgraces

Tim has been avoiding the Bats since he managed to save Bruce from the timestream. He needs to use the Batcomputer for a case, and he plans on leaving before Dick and Damian return from patrol. His carefully timed exit goes awry when Bruce makes an unexpected visit to the Cave.

For the first time since Bruce's return, they talk.

Bruce realizes just how much his third son is hurting and is determined to fix things.

No More Dead Robins by Kgraces for alwaysbeenhim

Tim's heart stops for fifteen minutes after flying solo gets him into trouble he can't outrun.

Jason is determined to fix things between the kid and the rest of the Bats. He won't let Tim be on his own again.

It's Called: Freefall by Kgraces

In the wake of the Widower's attack, Tim Drake has been left for dead. Badly injured and clinging to consciousness, Tim thinks he's hallucinating when he suddenly finds himself back in Gotham. He soon realizes he's not in his Gotham, but he's somehow slipped into another universe, one in which Jason Todd never died. He's expecting to be cast aside, just as he was in his own universe, but that doesn't happen.

Bruce finds a broken bird and takes him under his wing. Tim somehow finds a family, despite his worst fears.

He Knows by Ortholeine

Timothy Drake is a civilian, a normal boy. Kind of. He's normal in that he keeps secrets and has some hobbies. Those secrets and hobbies, though, are a little unique...and completely, 100% revolve around the crime-fighting family of Gotham. A good friend of the Waynes, Tim finds himself dodging his heroes' attempts to reveal their identities to him in a misguided attempt to keep the status quo. No one seems to want to let it rest, unfortunately for Timothy Drake.

We're Not Driving (How did we get here?) by TimTheToaster (tabletoptime) for ReplacementRobin

Tim stared at his phone, as if that would change what was on the screen.

Dick Grayson @FlyingDGrayson

It took some doing, and in some cases a little blackmail, but we've finally got the whole family together for a movie night! #WayneManor #movienight #familytime #schedulingisanightmare

15 minutes ago

Everybody's Heard (Bird is the Word) by TimTheToaster (tabletoptime)

5 times Batman heard other heroes talking about his wayward brother,

And 1 time they were talking about his son.

Takes a Little Time, Takes a Lotta Twine (To Get Us Back Together) by TimTheToaster (tabletoptime)

Tim was in Gotham.

Tim had pretty specifically been avoiding thinking about Dick as much as possible for the last few weeks. For the last year, really. No need to open that can of carnivorous worms.

Dick had other plans.

RedBird of Friendliness (In the Outlet by the Lightswitch) by TimTheToaster (tabletoptime)

5 times villains had something to say about Tim Drake.

And 1 time he was there to talk back.

buy the ticket, take the ride by Anonymous

Tim had always figured that if he ever woke up in Vegas sans-memory, it would be when he was older than fourteen. But there were some things he couldn’t control, and apparently whatever had happened last night that he didn’t remember was one of them.

Don't Feed the Birds (or they'll keep coming back Writer_loves_tropes

Red Hood is crossing the street one night and he's hit by a car. Tim Drake scrambles out of the passenger seat, but his Uber driver doesn't stick around to face Red Hood's wrath. Tim is 13 years old, so Hood knows he wasn't the driver, but Tim still wants to make up for what happened, so he says he owes Hood a favor. That is the beginning of an unlikely truce that turns into friendship that turns into little brother acquisition.

aka: Tim owes Red Hood a favor and through a series of back and forth favors, he gets adopted by the Red Hood and the Outlaws.

Enjoy!!

[ejlyt]

oh my god 😭

archiveofourown.org/works/51603673

Lesson Learned

By Blacksheeperton

Teen And Up Audiences

Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Tim Drake is Not Okay, Tim Drake is Joker Jr., Hurt Tim Drake, Kidnapping, Tim Drake's Missing Spleen, Paranoia, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Joker Venom (DCU), Misunderstandings, Hurt No Comfort, Unreliable Narrator, Emotional Manipulation, Tim Drake Has Issues, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Does Not Get a Hug, Tim Drake Lies to Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake Lies, Tim Drake is So Done, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Mediocre Parent Bruce Wayne, Neighbor to Caretaker

Tim didn’t even bother hitting his distress beacon since he hadn’t even carried the thing in months, knowing damn well that no one would come. He had already learned that lesson. Don’t rely on others, especiallynot to save you.

[curious-trickster]

Tim is benched from going out as Red Robin, but somehow still sports a black eye when he gets down to the cave a few days later when Jason is around.

This is after Jason reconciled with the family (Tim, Dick and Damian bullied him and Bruce into getting over themselves and at least be civil which each other. They both still tiptoe around each other but they are fine for now).

Jason would very much like to know who the hell laid hands on Tim when he was supposed to be safe and recovering.

[ditzyredrobin]

Fix It (Fix You)

I have idea for another fic where Tim was never Robin. Who is/was Tim? That remains to be seen. How does he know Jason and Dick and how do they get together? I also don’t know. But we’re getting there. 😂

-

Jason grabs him by the chin, roughly tilting his head up to meet his gaze. A soft and embarrassingly undignified noise escaped his lips. “Why didn’t you say something? You were all chatty over the comms just an hour, so enlighten me. How, in all that time, did you fail to mention you had, oh, I don’t know, been stabbed?”

“It wasn’t that bad, I was handling it.”

Jason scoffs and looks to Dick who just looks downright disappointed. It was a pained look like someone had just kicked Haley. “Get a load’a that shit, Dickie, the guy says he was handling it. Is that really what you call bleeding out all over the damn sofa?”

“It’s not that much blood.” Tim barks back because this? Was just over dramatic, even by Jason’s standards. “I staunched the blood flow before I reached the bleeding out stage. I’m okay, really, and seriously, it’s not that much blood.”He thinks that much was worth repeating.

Maybe he’d gotten a little bit of blood on the couch? It was faux leather, a little warm water and a non abrasive rag should get it out.

Dick finally sighs and moves to stand beside Jason. He cards his fingers through Jay’s helmet hair, attempting to tame the natural curls; whether it was an attempt to calm down Jason, or himself, he wasn’t sure. “He’s right, Tim. We talked about this. You can’t keep doing this to yourself, or to us. It’s not fair to any part involved. We’re a team, remember? It’s not just you anymore.”

Tim rolled his eyes. Hard. “What do you think I’m doing? I was being a team player. You both were busy and I had it handled. If I told you, you would have freaked out and come home in the middle of the stakeout. You’ve been working that case for weeks.” Or worse, he would have distracted them, and they would have gotten hurt. “I was stable enough to tell you when there was time.”

It didn’t make sense. He was just trying to help—why didn’t the understand? They would have done the same thing if they were in his shoes. He was stable. With a Bat grade wound dressing he was just stellar.

“But there were options, Tim. You coulda called Alfie or-“

“I had it handled.” Tim repeats, cutting Jason off succinctly, because seriously. He had it. What part of it was being handled did they not understand?

By the look on Jason’s face, he couldn’t tell if Jason wanted to punch him, yell at him, or swaddle him into submission—knowing Jay, it was probably a combination of the bunch—and Dick… Dick look like he wanted to cry, clear blue eyes glassy, and crinkled in the corner like he was in physical pain.

“Timmy,” Dick’s voice is soft and soothing, and Tim flinches. He knows that tone. It’s what comes right before the “it’s not you, it’s me” conversation, or just before the torture goes from bad to worse. “We’re not trying to attack you. You’re not in trouble-“

“Speak for yourself.” Jay muttered earning a dirty look from Dick. Jason holds his gaze for a long moment before throwing up his hands. “Fine, whatever. Sorry for interrupting.”

Dick looks back at Tim, kneeling down beside him on the hardwood floor. He had removed his gauntlets and gloves at some point, Tim didn’t know when, and brushed Jason aside. His hands are warm and calloused, reaching out to cup his cheek. “You’re not in trouble,” he repeats and Jason grits his teeth. “We are worried about you. What if you hadn’t gotten the bleeding under control and we came home to you unconscious?” The or worse doesn’t need to be said. “How do you feel when you’re not given vital information on a case? When someone purposefully leaves you out of the loop.”

“I didn’t-“ Dick cuts him off.

“It feels bad, right?”

Tim wants to roll his eyes, but closes them instead, taking a breath, holding it for ten, and releasing it before answering. “I didn’t mean to keep you in the dark. It just seemed like the most logical solution at the time. I’ve handled worse on my own and I just…I wasn’t thinking.”

The dating game was new. Of course he’s dated both civilians and vigilantes alike but he was always holding back, intentionally or not. Letting someone in at your lowest, asking for help, hadn’t exactly been encouraged (or really discouraged either but that was neither here nor there) until you were suddenly in a relationship with two of Gotham’s hottest vigilantes.

“I know it’s hard but it gets easier. Jay and I are here to work with you, not against you, okay?”

Speaking of Jay, he let out a large puff of air, letting his shoulders go lax. “I didn’t mean to get pissy with you, I just want to know my boys are safe, you feel me? We had enough evidence to bring the law down on their asses hard.” There is still an anger behind his eyes but he’s reigned in the growing green. “You’re worth more than a single op.”

Tim froze his heart skittering to a stop in his chest. “I’m…what?” Because he definitely didn’t hear that right.

Dick frowned, repeating, “You’re important.” The words say heavy on Tim’s mind. “You’re important to me, to Jason, to the rest of the family. If you’re hurt, we want to you. Your well-being is more important than the op.”

No, he did hear them right and he was pissed.

“I’m not—no.” Tim snaps, trying to push himself to sitting up. How could they say that? How could they think that? His life over the millions of Gothamites?“Absolutely not. That’s not—no. Wrong. You. Are. Wrong. Both of you.”

Or, well, attempted to say because when he sat up, the world seemed to drop out from under him. His vision rippled in a technicolor haze before slumping back into waiting arms. Blood-loss, right.

It takes a minute for his hearing to come back to him and when it does, Jason was swearing up at storm. One set of hands pins him to the cushions and the other is carefully examining the stab wound, the dressing now peeled up.

“Enough of this self-sacrificing bullshit and just stay down, damnit.” Jason hisses, eying the wound. “You’re fucking lucky they were an amateur and missed anything vital.”

For as angry as he sounded, his hands were incredibly gentle, running his thumb soothingly across his skin. Back and forth and back and forth while Dick poked and prodded and disinfected. It was a foreign feeling, the sharp pain from before, now a distant thing.

Sometime in the haze, their vigilante grade tackle box of a first aid kit had found its out from under the sink and onto the coffee table. A fresh suture kit and laid out.

“Jay,” Dick gently chides. “We can—we’ll fix this. I promise, we’ll fix this.” The last part felt more directed at himself than Jason.

Jason grunted unhappily but continued to hold their significant other.

“‘m sorry,” Tim finally managed as Dick began stitching the skin back together. “I didn’t mean to. I just wanted to protect you.”

Jason grumbled again but pressed a kiss to his forehead and repeated Dick’s words from before, “We’ll fix this, Baby Bird, Dickie and I’ll fix it.”

[nana-mizu-shiki]

I'm too lazy and on a fic binge rn so just take this link, it may be unfinished but the inspired by's aren't and all are amazing.

All hurt Tim or Tim Died or Tim allegedly died, idk, pple think he died-ded-ed-ed-ed

[forgotten-daydreamer]

Not sure if I'm going to post another fic tonight, it's past 10.30 pm and I've had ten hours of class, and the same fate awaits for me tomorrow, I'm dead. We'll see if the gods of inspiration decide to bless me in a few minutes.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

Tangerines

Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, YJ98

Summary: Tim Drake's friends and family all give their accounts of events leading up to Tim's hospitalization. In their attempt to piece together the cause, they realize his hospitalization was not accidental.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne

Additional Tags: Hurt Tim Drake, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, POV Multiple, Tim Drake-centric

Chapter One: The Accident (Jason's POV)

It was my fault. I should’ve stepped in when I saw how strange Tim looked. Seeing him caught me off guard. The wind whistled around my helmet as I swung from building to building, landing wherever I pleased. It was a strangely quiet night, crime-wise. Uncharacteristically crime free as traffic bustled beneath me. I would’ve turned in early had it not been for Tim. I spotted him from the skylight, jumping off a balcony in the Hilton. He was in his pajamas. His robe flew behind him like a cape, his slippers flew off his feet, and he landed through the awning, bouncing from there to a fruit stand and finally to the ground. I didn’t see anyone come to the window after him, so I watched from a distance as he stumbled into traffic. 

My gut feeling told me something was wrong, but I didn’t listen. I watched as he ran down the street, and I followed from a distance, catching glimpses of him where I could. I should’ve made contact, but I didn’t. I stayed away, wondering where he was going and not caring about how his possible mental state. It was erratic behavior. He ran through the biting cold, grime, gunk, puddles, and piss in slippers. God, I should’ve stopped him . He swung his hands in front of his face as he ran down the sidewalk and into traffic. It took me off guard. 

I never saw it coming. Tires screeched, horns blared, and time stood still. I didn’t have time to help Tim, but I saw it all happen in slow motion in my mind. Every detail perfectly and painfully cemented forever in my mind. I saw him stop cold in his tracks, his shoulders dropped, his legs stiffened, and his eyes… I’ll never forget his eyes. The defeated acceptance written all over his face, like the lights went out behind his eyes. He was dead before the car hit him, gone before his body hit the ground. It was the same way I felt before I died. I could almost feel the defeated pains in his chest and the uncomfortable slowing of his heartbeat. 

His body bounced as it skidded across the ground. I could almost feel his bones breaking, his body bruising, skin tearing and burning, and road rash on his back, arms, and legs, and my body went cold. I never had a bond with Tim emotionally. We were brothers, but I never felt connected to him like a brother until that moment. I couldn’t scream. I felt the makings of a scream in my throat, but my body shut down. Running and shoving people out of the way to check Tim’s pulse. Blood on my hands and his pajamas. I couldn’t feel his pulse. Either it was weak, my hands were shaking, or he was dead. I did compressions and breaths until I heard him groan. I hadn’t said a word. “Oracle, I need an ambulance at my location,” I stated. 

My voice felt detached from my body. I was so used to taking life that breathing it back into someone—. Breathing life into Tim shook me to my core. I wouldn’t let anyone touch him or move him until the ambulance arrived. I didn’t hear Barbara reply. I didn’t hear anything except for Tim’s weak and short, struggling breaths. He trembled as his clothes soaked through with blood and piss and rain. I wouldn’t let him move. “Don’t try to talk… Please, just—. Just stay still.” I frantically shook my head as he whimpered breathlessly, coughing and spitting up blood. I knew he punctured something by the way he struggled and gurgled. His crimson-stained teeth, the tears streaming down his cheeks, the—. God, I can’t say anymore. I can’t think of it anymore. They took him away in the ambulance, and I went home. I couldn’t follow Tim to the ambulance in costume, so I showered and switched into civvies before getting the hospital name from Barbara. I stopped in the parking lot, finally processing the horrific events that led me there. I made a noise in the back of my throat as I planted my hand against the wall. I almost threw up from the smell of exhaust. I couldn’t distinguish Tim’s trauma from my own at that moment. If Bruce hadn’t seen me outside and grabbed me, I would’ve stayed stuck in that moment. 

Bruce touched my forearm. “What happened?” Bruce questioned.

I snapped to the present, gasping for air as I grasped at one of the many fleeting thoughts floating around in my head. “Tim,” I replied. I couldn’t say anything else. I couldn’t explain what happened without getting choked up. 

“Let’s go inside. I have to see what’s going on with him,” Bruce whispered, “Can you hold it together?” He wasn’t attacking me. I could hear the gentle change in inflection as he asked me. I didn’t have a choice, though. I had to come in with him. I was the only one who saw what happened, and I was the one who saved him. I hated that I didn’t do better, but that was beside the point. I had to see how Tim was doing. 

We stopped at the front desk and the nurse said some bullshit about visiting hours and family. I wanted to yank him over the desk, but Bruce stopped me. “Jason,” Bruce whispered, “Tim Drake. I was notified that he was in an accident. I’m his adoptive father, and this is his brother. We’re in a rush to hear about his condition. It’s nothing personal.” 

The hell it wasn’t. He typed something into the computer, glancing at me as if I screwed his day up. “He’s in surgery,” the nurse answered.

“Is that all—?” Bruce took a breath to control his tone. “Is that all you know?” Bruce questioned. 

“The operating surgeon would prefer to tell you herself,” the nurse answered. 

My jaw tightened as I turned away from the desk. “Jason, take it easy—.” 

“He can tell you. He’s just being a jerk about it,” I whispered, “I could kick—.” 

“Jason, let’s sit down,” Bruce replied. 

He leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Barbara’s hacking into the hospital’s database as we speak to see if he’s in the system.” 

I followed him to the seats and shut my eyes as I tried to play everything back in my head. “Jason, what happened?” Bruce questioned. 

“I can’t say for sure, but I think Tim wanted to—.” 

Dick rushed in, and Bruce waved him over. Dick looked at me and squinted. “You were there?” Dick asked. Already accusing me . 

“I didn’t—.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t capable of—.” 

“I said I didn’t—. It’s my fault,” I confessed. I don’t know why I said it. Maybe I wanted everyone to blame me. Dick shook his head.

“No, it wasn’t. If you meant to hurt him, you wouldn’t have felt bad… Jason, what’s going on? What do you mean it’s your fault?” Dick asked. 

“Tim was off… He—. I saw him before it happened. I followed him from the Hilton… And I kept my distance, but I should’ve known he wasn’t himself. I should’ve known Tim was—.” I couldn’t say it out loud. Not yet. Not without proof. But how could I get proof of his mental state?

[taralaurel]

Febuwhump 2023 | Day #10 | Difficulty Breathing

prompts courtesy of @febuwhump

jealousy, jealousy

And then Damian is knocking a mobster back and hurling himself across the roof toward Tim, a hand outstretched and mouth wide, Tim's name on his lips. At least, Tim is pretty sure it's his own name. He can't exactly hear anything anymore.

His eyes droop.

He sways.

And then, tips over the edge.

OR

After Tim is nearly drowned, he keeps fighting because he feels fine, really - so why is it still so hard to breathe?

OR OR

Tim is saved by the two batfamily members he is pretty sure would rather see him dead.

Tim, nearly dying:

[iriswords]

Febuwhump Day 12 - Can you hear me?

You can also read this on ao3 and find the rest of my febuwhump fics here

tw: blood and injuries, self-esteem issues, implied past emotional abuse

Fandom: Batman

Words:

Tim has been caught by the Riddler and is forced to play one of his games. He talks to himself as he progresses, certain the comms don't work. On the other end of the line, the Bats hear everything.

--

Tim hates the Riddler. He used to like the man, used to find him clever and funny, even, but all past appreciation for him is now gone. He pounds against the door for what must be the dozenth time, screaming at the Riddler to let him out. As if that would get him somewhere. It is a commonly known fact that villains never do what heroes ask them. There would be no villains and heroes, otherwise. 

“That’s of no use, birdie,” says the Riddler over the speakers in the room. “We’ll proceed to the next part once you’ve calmed down a bit.”

Calmed down a bit? Tim has more than enough reasons to be angry. Not only did he let himself be captured like a fool, and by the Riddler, of all people—Tim has way too many things to do to spend any amount of time trying to solve riddles—but he also sees no way out. The Riddler placed him in a box of a room, with two locked doors. One he entered through. The other has yet to open. 

Tim slumps against the wall and lets himself slide to the ground. The Riddler left him in nothing but his suit, stripped him of anything that could have been useful to his escape. He even took the cape. On his leg, a dark stain grows slowly where Tim was stabbed earlier in the night by the Riddler’s goons. It hasn’t hit anything dangerous, but the bleeding doesn’t show any sign of stopping on its own, and Tim has nothing to stop it with. Carefully, Tim prods at his ribs, which he cracked two nights ago and told no one about. They haven’t gotten worse, but they could use some rest. Unfortunately for them, it doesn’t look like they will get it any time soon.

Tim taps against his comms to activate them. Just like the times he tried before, he gets nothing but static. 

“Red Robin to Oracle,” he tries anyway. “Can you hear me?” Silence is his only answer. “The Riddler’s got me, and I’m not in the mood for playing his games.” 

“Rude,” comes in the Riddler’s voice over the speakers. Tim ignores him. 

“Oracle? Can you hear me?” Still nothing. 

At the same moment, a pastel blue gas whirls out of the airway. Tim instinctively reaches for the rebreather in his belt and remembers he does not have his belt or his rebreather anymore. 

“What is this?” he hisses at the room, hoping the Riddler is still listening and inclined to answer him. 

“I’ve paired up with Scarecrow,” says the Riddler casually, as though this was no information worth mentioning. “He’s decided to expand his horizons and test other aspects of the human mind. As a fellow intellectual, I could only agree.” 

Tim would rather he hadn’t agreed. And what does ‘expand his horizons’ even mean? Knowing Scarecrow, it cannot be anything good. Tim holds his breath until he cannot anymore, then lets the blue gas infiltrate his lungs. It doesn’t taste like anything, so far from the acrid taste of fear toxin, like terror on your tongue warning you about what is to come. 

Tim waits for the effects, tense as a wire. They do not come. The Riddler gives no indication as to whatever toxin this is functioned or not. Instead, the second door slides slowly open. 

“You may proceed to the test,” says the Riddler, and Tim figures he might as well indulge the two villains. If they are satisfied, they could even let him go. He gets up, wincing when he puts too much weight on his injured leg and walks to the door. 

Tim steps into a giant labyrinth, stretching over the whole ground floor of what looks to be two joint warehouses. That the Riddler even managed to pull this out without getting caught is a testimony of Gotham’s police failure—and the vigilante’s failure, too, because they definitely should have found out about this sooner—but what is done is done.

“Are you out of creativity?” asks Tim out loud. 

“Don’t judge my piece of art too quickly, birdie. You may be surprised. All you need to know is that there are no rules. But if you do something I don’t like, you’ll be punished. You’ll know the exit when you reach it.” 

Perfect. Just. Fucking. Perfect. Tim has not had nearly enough coffee to deal with this. It looks like he doesn’t have a choice. 

Before going into the labyrinth, he tries his comms again and receives no more answer. He decides to let them activated, in case they come back to life suddenly, and steps into the labyrinth. 

—

“Red Robin to Oracle,” says Red Robin, and Barbara’s attention shifts from Batman to Red Robin. “Can you hear me?”

“Clear as day,” answers Barbara. “Where are you and what’s going on? We lost your tracker.” 

“The Riddler’s got me and I’m not in the mood for playing his games.” 

Barbara snorts. “Who ever is? Do you have any useful information to make it easier for me to track you down?” 

Tim doesn’t answer her. “Oracle?” he calls. “Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you very well, Red Robin. Do you know where you are?” No answer. “Red?” Barbara sighs and switches to Batman’s line again. “B, we’ve got a problem.” 

— 

As was to be expected, the labyrinth is filled with traps and riddles. Moving walls and hidden goons waiting to take him out. Tim defeats them all, though not without sustaining further injuries. His left wrist is broken, and his leg is minutely getting worse. He leans on the walls of the labyrinth as he stumbles through it, panting, his mind sluggish from the pain. He fights back the strange urge to cry that has been rising in him for the better part of his journey in the labyrinth.

“I wonder if they’ll notice I’m gone,” he says to himself in a surprising bout of honesty. “Or how long it’s gonna take them.” No one answers him. The silence around him is suffocating. He keeps talking, the words tumbling out of his mouth without his consent. “Maybe they’ll assume I’ll get out myself.” He gives a strangled, bitter laugh. “Well, that’s not gonna happen anytime soon.”

Minutes have stretched out into hours, and each riddle takes Tim more and more time to solve. Every time, frustration builds up in him and tears burn his eyes. 

“Maybe they won’t care. Mom and dad wouldn’t have.”

— 

“Red Robin, can you hear me?” asks Oracle for the thousandth time in the past three hours, since Tim asked for help. And just like those past times, she receives no answer. Everyone is back in the Cave, ready to roam the city as soon as she gets a hint as to where Red Robin is kept. But the Riddler was clever this time, for not even she can find anything leading to Tim. She will, eventually, she knows she will, but the question is, how much time is it going to take? 

“I wonder if they’ll notice I’m gone,” echoes Red’s voice through the speakers in the Batcave. Everyone freezes. Apart from a few pained grunts, it is the first thing Tim has said in hours. “Or how long it’s gonna take them.” Barbara exchanges a confused look with Dick. Is he talking about the Riddler and his goons? Has he escaped them? 

“Maybe they’ll assume I’ll get out myself.” Barbara frowns as the words start to make sense. Over the speakers, Tim laughs darkly. “Well, that’s not gonna happen anytime soon.” 

“Is he—” starts Jason. 

“Talking about us?” finishes Babs. “Yeah, I think he is.” Silence falls over the Cave. Babs shares the sentiment. Why would Tim think they wouldn’t notice or come for him? 

“Maybe they won’t care. Mom and dad wouldn’t have.” 

By her side, Dick makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat. Uneasiness grows in Barbara’s chest. They are not supposed to listen to this. 

“Red, can you hear me?” she tries again. Tim doesn’t acknowledge her.

— 

Tim continues to talk to himself, in a desperate and not entirely controlled attempt at distracting himself from his impending doom. Pain shoots up from his leg every time his foot brushes the ground, and he nearly face-planted three times in the past minute. He rounds a corner and finds himself at a dead-end. Tim chokes on a sob. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” he cries to no one. “I just wanted a calm night. Just one fucking night away from assassination attempts and near-death experiences. Is that too much to ask?” 

The Riddler doesn’t answer him. Tim sobs harder, and he doesn’t understand why, all of a sudden, all his emotional control, so good usually, is so thoroughly shot. 

“Am I really that fucking insufferable that no one wants to keep me around?” The words fall from his mouth without his permission. “Maybe mom and dad were right when they said I was impossible to love.” Maybe everyone was right when they tried to leave. Maybe he should stop clinging to them like a pathetic leach and just remove himself so they won’t have to. Maybe, maybe, maybe—

The tears stop as abruptly as they came, Tim’s chest heaving from the remnants of sobs. He dries his tears with a shaky hand and pulls his mask back on. Whatever this episode was, he’s glad there was no one around to witness it. 

— 

“Am I really that fucking insufferable that no one wants to keep me around?” asks Tim, and Babs clenches her jaw. She doesn’t dare glance at Dick, still by her side. She knows what she’ll see. Eyes full of tears, cheeks red and wet, face distorted by sorrow. She knows he blames himself, and she also knows he isn’t entirely free of blame. But she cannot comfort him, not when she can barely swallow around the lump in her own throat. The Cave fell into an uneasy silence when Tim first started crying, the sound so unusual to all of them. Tim is all cynicism and calculated boredom. He does not cry. 

“Maybe mom and dad were right when they said I was impossible to love.” 

Dick lets out an audible sob and curls up on himself, a hand clasped tightly over his mouth. Babs risks a glance at the rest of the Cave. Bruce’s face, bare from the cowl, has twisted into a constipated expression, his way of conveying regret and sorrow. Cass hovers silently by his side, twitchy in a way she usually never is. Farther in the Cave, Jason is pacing, hands fisted in his hair. As his body turns toward her, she catches a glimpse of bright, unnaturally green eyes. Damian, for his part, is rooted to the spot near the Medbay, wide eyes fixed on the speaker. His expression is a careful mask, but Babs can see the way his hands shake slightly where they hang limply at his sides. 

“Red,” Barbara tries once again. She cannot help the way exhaustion sips into her voice. “Can you hear me?” 

— 

Tim misses the goon who comes out of nowhere and misses the bat swung at him. He does not dodge and does not defend himself. It hits his temple full force, a skull-shattering blow that sends him sprawling to the ground. He lands on his broken wrist and the pain rips a howl from him. His vision whitens out for a moment, and he comes to panting and sobbing, cradling his injured wrist to his chest. The goon is nowhere to be found. Tim should be glad, he guesses, that they didn’t stay around to beat him up more. 

He straightens up with difficulty, dizzy from the blow, the pain, and the blood loss. His breath itches with silent, uncontrollable sobs. Tim tries to get to his feet, but his knee gives out beneath him and he falls back to the floor. He curls up against the wall of the labyrinth, all of his resolve gone. 

“Please,” he whispers to no one. He has never felt more like a child. “Please someone, just come.” 

In his head, Jane Drake scoffs disdainfully. 

— 

“I have an address,” announces Babs. Bruce, who has been anxiously pacing the Cave ever since Tim cried out in pain, turns abruptly towards her, already putting his coal back on. 

“Where,” he growls, more order than question. The second Barbara gives him the address, Bruce is gone, closely followed by his sons. 

“They’re coming, Red,” says Barbara into the comms. No one answers her. 

@febuwhump

Part 2

[froldgapp]

Tim felt thin enough an entity that he might pass right through Dick and diffuse into nothing. The funny thing was; he was aware distantly, academically, of how much he could hate himself. But he'd found ways of ignoring those shadowy feelings. He was aware too that though he laughed off the comments of cold eyes and blank face and automaton manner, that the Tim of before wouldn’t recognise the Tim of now, and that thought destabilised him in ways that terrified him to the point of madness sometimes.

Tim emotional whump? Don't mind if I do.

[momachan]

"The thing is-- what scares me most-- I'm always Robin. Ever since Batman gave me the cowl, I... That's who I see myself to be. That's who I've been for all the importants moments of my life. But in that room... it felt good to let go. To embrace the pain. Was Spoiler right? Am I punishing myself? Because, hidden under all of this is the real question-- Who am I if I'm not a Robin?"

DC Pride: The New Generation (DC Cultural Anthologies (2021). Tim Drake Special. "Sum Of Our Parts."

[the-coffeeaddict-tim-drake]

Just a Kid Next Door - Chapter 2

Bruce is finally back from being stuck in the time stream. Tim managed to save Batman and his loved ones. Now it is time for Tim to go home and rest. But the problem is that, Tim has no home. Or that's what he thinks so.

This will be a multichapter fic on how did Tim reconcile with his family. It will be full of angst, family feels and family shenanigans.

Masterlist

Here in the link to read the story in ao3.

-------------------------------CHAPTER 2---------------------------------

The first thing Bruce sees after opening his eyes is a flash of blinding light, followed by a very blurry face. The person had black hair and light eyes and was calling out his name, that too in a very panicked voice.

His first instinct was to become alert. Even in his dizzy state, he tried his best to observe and analyze his surroundings.

It took Bruce a minute to realize that the person in front of him is his son. The person is one of his kids from his brood of children.

But Bruce was not able to figure out which one though. It was maybe due to his very blurry eyesight or his very concussed head, he concluded.

One of his hand reached out to touch his son’s face. He might not be able to see clearly to find which one of his kid is in front of him, but he could definitely find out through touch.

He first touched his kid’s face and then went to feel his shoulder.

‘Mm, Too fair to be Duke, little shorter and eyes too blue to be Jason, too tall to be Damian and too built to be Tim. Oh, it must be Dick.” he finally concluded.

Bruce and Batman are two different people.

Batman is a powerful vigilante. He channels his grief and pain into protecting his city, Gotham. He’s a master of countless disciplines and he strike fear into the heart of criminals to bring them to justice.

But Bruce is first and foremost, a Father. Bruce Wayne, the Gotham’s prince (not a Prince any more though), the billionaire playboy and philanthropist is a Father. His first priority will always be his Family. His family is the most important thing to him, whether biological or chosen.

And in this moment, he was not Batman. He was just Bruce. A Father.

Bruce missed his kids so much. He still don’t know how many days or even months he had actually missed, but he’s more than glad that he is back. He is not going to let any of his kids and Alfred out of his sight for the next few days.

He then heard Dick’s voice, rough, like he’s been crying for quite some time now.

“Shit, B. You woke up. Do you- you want me to call anyone, like – like, shit …um like Clark or someone. Wait B, um…lemme”

‘Huh, he sounds very strange.’ he thought.

Suddenly he feels a hand under his head and sees a thumb and a forefinger opening his eyes wider. He then realized that he’s being checked for concussion.

“Oh, you are definitely concussed.”

“Grn” he groaned.

He reached out and embraced his kid. He don’t want to miss anymore of his time by waiting. He is going to smother all his kids with hugs until they put up a fight with him.

Dick went still for a few seconds. And then he started to weep, his whole body wracked by sobs.

As much he tries to be a good parent, Bruce is never really the one for dealing with emotions in a healthy manner. And he will never forgive himself for passing on that trait to his children, because his children rarely cried to cope up with feelings. Hence Dick’s sudden outburst threw Bruce off guard.

“Oh, I-I missed y-you so much B, please don’t ever leave us ever again. Don’t leave me al-alone, please. Everyone thought you died, Bruce.” His whole body was shaking.

Bruce’s heart ached. Each of his kid’s sob was like a dagger piercing his heart. Bruce never wished for his children to go through the same trauma he did as a kid when his parents died. And yet, here he is.

“But I didn’t be-believe them. I somehow knew you were alive. I-I never stopped searching for you”

Bruce hugged him even harder. He knew his children were smart, but he was doubtful that they would find out the minuscule clues he left and put two and two together.

But he had hoped.

He never lost hope in his family. He knew they would eventually save him.

And he is proud that he wasn’t wrong.

Dick was now quiet, but Bruce can still feel him crying.

“It’s okay chum, don’t worry. I’m here and I’m not going to leave you alone, sweetheart. Never.” said Bruce, his voice sounding foreign to himself.

“Y-Yeah?”

“Hm-mm, I’m going to bore you all with my facts about dinosaurs. You are going to love every minute of it.” He chided.

Dick let out a hearty chuckle. Bruce was glad to have elevated the mood.

They were occupied by comfortable silence for the next few minutes, Bruce lying on the med bay bed with Dick’s head on his chest and his arms embracing the boy. He felt dizzy, and his eyes started to droop due to his tiredness.

“You are my son, Dick. I’m never going to leave you alone. Never.” He murmured, before falling into deep slumber.

What he failed to notice before going to sleep was, Tim going very still, almost still like a rock.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rain pounded the streets of Gotham. The flooded sewers and subways forced the residents to walk in the rain, soaking wet. The Bat Signal almost invisible due to the cloudburst.

Gotham is a busy city. Social workers working days to fix the city, young CEOs and entrepreneurs walking hurriedly in the crack of dawn and the elites from the nicer parts of the town attending Galas after Galas to keep up their appearances and earn fortunes.

But the City is extremely busy at nights though. Stealth bodies clad in darker shades of Kevlar and spandex can be seen jumping from building to building, fighting rouges and lurking in the shadows, protecting the city.

But nights like these makes it extremely difficult to do their job. Along with the rain came the criminals.

Gotham is a busy City. Not even the dangerous calamities stopped the rogues in the slightest.

That’s why the Batman and the newest Robin can be seen launching their fists and using their acrobatic skills to fight the Penguin and his men

“You cannot catch me, Batman” Oswald snickered. He used his bladed Umbrella to fight against Batman

The Robin was using his Katana to block the blows while performing various impressive fighting techniques thought by the league to fight the Penguin’s men. They stood no chance against the young warrior.

Batman leaped from rooftop to rooftop while throwing his Batrangs at The Penguin, which he was able to block with his shield like umbrella.

The sound of bullet being fired dominated the swishing sounds of cape and the men’s grunts of pain. Many lost their stance and put down their weapon due to the sudden gunshot. Batman used this distraction to jump on Oswald and knock him down.

From out of the shadows emerged a built figure, clad in dark grey Kevlar, brown leather jacket and a very contrasting red helmet which hid the vigilante's entire face, pointing one of his many guns to the sky. The red Bat symbol on his chest glimmering due to droplets of rain.

“I thought you stopped killing” gruffed Batman.

“Aw, you’re welcome, Goldie. I will save you at any given chance. And, don’t be narcissistic. It’s a rubber bullet. And I did not shoot anyone by the way.” The Red Hood replied, sarcasm dripping from his tone.

“tt, you did nothing Hood.” Robin came and stood next to the Batman after tying up the men for the officers.

“Be grateful, Gremlin”

“tt” Robin tutted, shaking his head.

“What are you doing here anyways, Hood?  I thought Crime alley is your area.” Batman asked, wiping off the blood from his lips.

“Surprise, seems like our cases are connected after all. I had an intel that Penguin and Black mask are working on some shady stuff together”

“Oh” came out of Dick’s mouth.

Their conversation was interrupted by sudden swoosh of wind. This alerted the three to jump into their fighting stance.

“Fucking hell, Superman. You could have warned us it was just you.” Said Red Hood, relaxing.

“Sorry, but I have an important news.” Replied Superman, eyeing the three of them carefully.

“Batman is back. We saved him from time stream. Wonder Woman and Flash managed to bring him back to the Batcave.”

[2danesand1cat]

Bruce Wayne calling any of his children sweetheart.

Especially if they are hurt or crying or otherwise distraught.

That’s it. That’s the post.

[abisalli]

There was always a certain shift that happened in Batman whenever he talked to kids that were hurt or scared. He would speak more softly, maybe even kneel down in front of them to personally assure them that they were safe now.

My first piece for this year's @batfam-big-bang! This is a scene from the incredible fic by @fullmetalninjabunny called 'Soft Words Left Unspoken' which you can find here <- 🦇 I had a blast working on this! Thank you so much for having me and also thank you to the mods for a great event <3

Image ID:

An image of Tim Drake as Robin and Bruce Wayne as Batman inside the Batcave. Both characters have their masks off. Tim is sitting on top of a medical bed and is looking to the side with tears streaming down his face. Bruce kneels down in front of him, looking troubled. He is holding Tim’s Mask in his right hand. In the foreground are four boxed captions with the following text, “It wasn’t Batman who was there anymore, but Bruce Wayne. Not the vigilante that had lost a protégé, but the man who has lost his son.”

[ditzyredrobin]

Basic Instincts

AIless Whumptober Day 25

“How could you?!”

-

“Damn it, Replacement! How the fuck could you?” The door to the bathroom was kicked open with enough force to hit the wall behind it, effectively rattling Tim out of the static coating his brain. Hood’s voice was cold and tinny coming through the helmet's voice synthesizers.

Tim let out a throaty growl, baring his teeth the vigilante, wishing his hands would move enough to throw a whirlybird and effectively andr get the fuck out of here. But everything was leaden, his fingers were stuck, the needle pierced through the gash, mid suture.

Everything had begun to fuzz out around the edges, whether that be from blood loss, sleep dep, or because he couldn’t remember the last time he ate. Any combination all worked out to the same solution: a bad patrol. His body hadn’t seemed to get the memo that he needed to have this taken care of yesterday and get the hell out of dodge.

Tim had managed to cut away enough of his suit to expose the gash on his thigh, it was long and deep, and on hell of a bleeder (Sheet metal and explosions don’t tend to mix).

Hood’s sudden intrusion just kicked his brain back in gear.

Hood snarled a throaty growl back and stepped into the bathroom, giving absolutely zero shits.

In a few, long strides, Hood was across the bathroom, heavy boots squelching as in a grotesque pool of blood puddled on the stark white linoleum. The room was drenched in the stench of pennies and distressed omega.

Tim pressed himself as far as he could into the crevice between the toilet and the wall.

Hood towered over him dark and looming, breathing heavy like he’d just run a marathon, and Tim’s heart roared in his chest. Even through his helmet, his gaze felt predatory, stalking him as he moved, taking in the sitch.

The helmet masked Hood’s scent, setting Tim on edge when he couldn’t get a read on the vigilante. Still, he could feel the rage radiating off of him.

This was bad—very, very bad.

He couldn’t see his eyes but he dared to venture, if he could, they would be toxic green.

“Baby bird, we had a whole fucking talk about this bullshit not all that long ago. Remember? Where you promised we were done with alla this shit?” Hood crouched down in front of him looking like he was ready to yank Timmy out of his hiding spot. Tim was not going to let that happen—Tim managed, by the grace of whatever being may or may not exist, to get his arm to work enough to release a whirlybird from his gauntlet at Hood.

Hood swore, dodging just before getting a face full of throwing disk. ”What the fuck?” He sounded exponentially more pissed. Shit.

Tim doesn’t respond, doesn’t think, just acts, glancing from Hood to the door, formulating a plan. He was effectively caught between a rock and a hard place with a body working on 5% but damnit he wasn’t going out without a fight.

Glaring at Hood, Tim made the tension ease out of his shoulders, his hands going limp at his side.

“I’m not here to hurt cha. I just wanna help, okay?”

No, not okay.

Hood held out a hand to help Tim out of his, effectively taking the bait.

With flawless acting, Tim takes his hand, using it to leverage his way out, squeezing past Hood. In less than a blink, Tim contorts, maneuvering his aching body in a low dive out the door. Tim grit his teeth when he the maneuver pulled on his half done stitches, but he didn’t have time to linger.

Hood followed him into the bedroom, cursing and swearing. “What the fuck?” He sounded pissed.

He spun around delivering a flying kick that Hood ducks, sending pain radiating through his thigh. Black spots cover his vision but he can’t stop, he has to fight, this is not going to be another tower incident.

Hood is on the offense, blocking each of Tim’s blows, a blocked uppercut, another blocked kick. For as hard as he tried, his moves didn’t work and Tim could feel himself running out of steam.

Things came to a head when Tim’s leg finally gave out in him, the tendons unstable and shaking under his weight. His knees buckled and Hood was there to catch him.

Tim flinched, expecting a hit that never came.

“Stop moving dammit.” Hood hissed instead, lowering him to the dark hardwood floors. Tim struggled weakly in his grip without making much headway. His hands were firm but gentle, holding a hand to his shoulder effectively pining him in place like it was nothing.

“Let me go.” Tim snarled, breathing heavy. Tim weakly tried to wriggle but Hood was having none of it. He had a churning feeling in his stomach and the pain in his thigh was back tenfold. His body refused to cooperate but he was not going to give up.

He was not going to lay down and take another beating from the Red Hood.

Hood pressed harder, ignoring him. “Why are you fighting me? I’m not going to hurt you.”

(Yeah, right, likely story)

Tim bared his teeth, repeating. “Let me go.” it was more forceful this time. His vision was growing darker, the harder he fought. His fingertips were cold and numb and he couldn’t feel his toes.

The masked vigilante ignored him, pressing his free hand to the side of his helmet to activate the comm. “Hood to O, I found him and he’s bleedin’ bad.” Hood used his free hand to palpate the hash and Tim screamed, harsh and broken. Anything other words were lost to the agony, his vision growing dark.

There was muffled swearing and Hood put his weight into the injury and Tim lost his ability to breath.

Darkness dragged him down.

-

Tim came to slowly with all the haziness and heaviness that came with being on the good stuff. His aches are a distant thing, there in the distance buzzing like a housefly. Annoying but disregardable.

His thoughts are sluggish, slipping away like sand through his fingers. He hummed, leaning back in the warm, soft things supporting all of his aches and pains supported by soft things. He can smell his pack.

The pack nest.

It takes a couple of tries to peel his eyes open, lashes crusted over with sleep but when he finally does, everything swims in front of him. It feels wrong, his stomach churning. He closes his eyes again.

He couldn’t help it, a small, desperate keen escaped, calling for his pack.

There is a flurry of movement and the solid heat cushion his head responds with a chesty rumble. It takes a moment to recognize the scent of their pack alpha, herbaceous, musky, radiating safe.

There were a handful of other scents surrounding him and hands on him checking him over.

“You’re safe, baby bird.” A sweet baritone crooned, running fingers through his hair. He smelled clean, of mint and tea tree and alpha. Dick.

On the other side he caught whiffs of sweet and spicy and camellias—Cass.

And…and gunmetal and brimstone and the underlying honeyed scent of omega—Jason.

Jason, shit. Hood.

Tim sat up quickly, or tried to, but was held in place by a firm hand on his chest and the disgruntled grunt of the pack alpha. There were more hands shushing him, holding him in place.

He keened again calling for their omega—the man he had tried to fight back in his safe house.

There was muttered cursing and shuffling and grumbles of disapproval before Jason’s scent became stronger, the pack nest dipping beside him. Dick’s nimble fingers in his hair were exchanged for Jason’s, larger and stronger.

“Easy, baby bird, I gotcha.” Tim could have cried.

Tim cracked an eye open again and things swam a little less, meeting Jason’s look of concern. “I’m sorry,” the younger boy said hoarsely. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Jason sighed, carding his fingers through his hair. His expression softened the younger omega. “I know, sweets. It was an accident wasn’t it?”

Tim swallows hard, and nods, trying to ignore the prickling in his eyes. ”I didn’t mean to do it.”

He had been running on basic instincts, the what had once been. It had been almost two years since Bruce was back and things had begun to settle into place.

Jason wasn’t the enemy. Jason was pack—he was his mate. The penthouse was their home.

He was shushed again, warm gun-calloused fingers detangling from his hair, finding and cupping his cheek. Tim leaned into his touch. “It’s alright, we can about it talk later.” He promised, running his thumb along his cheek bone. “Sleep now.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58879633