Stuff I Like

but there's something uniquely tragic about Tim being an absolutely run-of-the-mill kiddo, just an ordinary baby, slowly growing more and more jaded, paranoid and mentally ill over the course of his Robin career.

he could have led a 'normal' life. the loss of his parents would have hit him hard but he'd have his social circle to keep him afloat, money to feel financially secure. and he'd just live.

but Tim doesn't think about it at all anymore. he's knee-deep in his vigilante persona, his cases, his missions; duties and responsibilities. he's too busy to be bitter.

too busy with work, too busy with loved ones and friends' funerals, too busy missing somebody's hand by mere inches when they're willingly falling to their death and too busy drawing parallels between himself and them even before he hears the thud.

Tim doesn't think about if-onlys, doesn't even try to find the point where everything went wrong. he looks in the mirror and sees himself as he is at the moment. he doesn't comment on the fact he can see his friends taking a second glance at him sometimes as if they don't recognize him anymore.

Bruce's aware that all of his children lost their innocence far too young but with Tim... he could have stopped it before it even began. if only he were in a better place back then. if only he learned from his mistakes. if only he said no, I don't need another partner and I don't need another person to lean on and thank you, Tim, that's sweet of you but I'm alright.

If only—

Tim can hardly remember he was anyone else other than who he is. he can hardly imagine becoming anyone else other than who he is.

Bruce looks at Tim sometimes and sees a baby with toothy grin and soft locks of hair goofily framing his face; a boy so short that when Bruce looked at him he used to get a crick in his neck; one who used to laugh freely and with his whole chest.

Tim: Nah, too busy. Can't fit it into my schedule.

Dick: Cool, cool.

Dick: So, wanna go with me instead?