#moti hearthands

[gaoau]

Timothy Drake cannot kill himself—not through lack of want or trying. the more he thinks about it, the tighter his chest grows. it settles deep in his gut, a tangle and a knot he can't seem to repair. he will be missed, he will hurt people, he will add another case to be dusted regularly.

he doesn't want it any less.

it's not fear, he knows that much, because he's faced worse and scarier fates than death. if he can swim through a sea of rats, he can commit suicide. he could commit suicide. he can't commit suicide.

it's guilt. it's responsibility. it's the weight of everybody's livelihoods conking him in the head again and again. he's come this far—he can't let it be his fault this time. the thought of blood on anybody's knuckles in the name of his loss makes his stomach churn. he considers it for a moment and then he's feeling the bile rise up his throat. it stings his eyes with tears he can't bring himself to shed for anyone anymore.

he wonders how long it'll eat at him for. he shouldn't have done it, he knows, but he's only human. in the face of insanity, betrayal, death, and rats, he's only a boy staring down at far too many graves. he shouldn't have done it and he didn't do it.

he jumped. he knows he did. without gear, without armor, without borrowed wings on his back. it was familiar and welcoming, and he will remember it for the rest of his life, see it in dreams and nightmares on repeat. it was what he wanted, but his arms were reaching out for purchase before he could blink. a dislocated shoulder and a half-full dumpster later, he was staring up at the cloudy night sky with blurry vision.

then, he heard the squeaks and the rustling among dozens of rotting trashbags. glue traps are cruel, he thought, as much as he hates rats. (hates, he's not phobic.) it was only when he watched the critter scurry away, at the cost of a bleeding, swollen finger, that he allowed himself a moment to breathe.

he blinked once and soon he was emptying his stomach out on the concrete. he shouldn't have done it, he knew and he knows, but it would have worked. he curses and curses, because his body is faster than his brain, because Robin is stronger than Tim, because protecting Gotham means protecting himself.

Timothy Drake cannot kill himself, so he decides he will die in battle, where his blood will always wash somebody else's off the floor.