Hacking The Mask

That’s right, Tim. Six months. Not a couple weeks. Not one or two months. Six.

[The fingers tangled at the base of Tim’s hairline circle just a bit tighter. Dick’s opposite hand dives down to find and capture one of the teen’s wrists, ripping the painfully familiar touch away from his body and pressing it down against the mattress.]

I know you waited for me, and I’m sorry that it took me so long to realize it. But I was always there for you, even when we weren’t together. And when we were, I would never have left you like that. Never.

[Fueled by months of hurting, Dick narrows his eyes and presses forward—just an inch, just enough to remind them both how closely fitted they are.]

Six months without contact? Without seeing your face? That’s warrant for a long more than a break up. What else was I supposed to do?

Maybe what I did was wrong— I know that! But at least what I felt for you was real. [His face scrunches together in an angry way, crumpling in on itself as he looks up at Dick from his position on the bed. His eyes are tired.]  I spent every minute of every hour of every day thinking about you while I was gone— and for a long time before that, too! 

We’d just moved in together. I was committed to you. You don’t think I spent every second trying to figure out where you went once you were gone?

[The aged look on Tim’s face wears at Dick, but he can’t seem to reel himself in. He’s bitter, his words are acidic, and even though he feels guilty with each accusation, they just keep coming.]

If it had been you? I’ll tell you what would have happened if it had been you.

After a few weeks, you would have worried. You would have searched, frantically, everywhere. After a few months, your heart would have broken. You would have blamed yourself. You would have felt more alone than you had in years. You would have asked yourself what you did wrong, and what you could have done to change it.

And then you would have sought for something, anything, to try and take your mind off the fact that the person you loved abandoned you without a word.

Tim’s eyes slide away from his brother’s unfocused and glazed as he stares at in inscrutable point in the distance. He’s right. Everything Dick has said so far—Tim left Dick. At the time, maybe, he thought it was his only choice; the only way to find out what had happened to Jason was to use the one connection the two of them had shared.

Ra’s. And the League.

Tim knew Dick wouldn’t understand, he wouldn’t let Tim leave on his own—He’d beg and plead and refuse to let Tim go, at any means necessary. He wasn’t just a little brother to Dick anymore; Tim knew that. He knew the strength of their bond, he knew that the (very likely) possibility of his death at Ra’s hands would destroy Dick. Which was why—Tim thought, humorlessly—he did what he felt was necessary to keep that hurt away from the one person who mattered most.]

That’s right, Tim. Six months. Not a couple weeks. Not one or two months. Six.

[The fingers tangled at the base of Tim’s hairline circle just a bit tighter. Dick’s opposite hand dives down to find and capture one of the teen’s wrists, ripping the painfully familiar touch away from his body and pressing it down against the mattress.]

I know you waited for me, and I’m sorry that it took me so long to realize it. But I was always there for you, even when we weren’t together. And when we were, I would never have left you like that. Never.

[Fueled by months of hurting, Dick narrows his eyes and presses forward—just an inch, just enough to remind them both how closely fitted they are.]

Six months without contact? Without seeing your face? That’s warrant for a long more than a break up. What else was I supposed to do?

Maybe what I did was wrong-- I know that! But at least what I felt for you was real. [His face scrunches together in an angry way, crumpling in on itself as he looks up at Dick from his position on the bed. His eyes are tired.]  I spent every minute of every hour of every day thinking about you while I was gone-- and for a long time before that, too! 

Now the reality of it had returned full force.

His head is tipped back and despite himself, a soft noise leaves his throat in response to the tightly curled fingers against his scalp. Each confession is worse than the last, each word hits harder and digs deeper  and leaves him feeling clawed apart and hollowed out. The last sentence is the perfect ringer, the trap door opening below his feet so that the noose can go taught. He feels strangled.]

Tim, is that. [Appropriately, his voice gives out. It’s a struggle to find it again, and during his search he lifts his hands up from Tim’s thighs and drags them over his upper body. One settles against the side of his neck, and one dips into his hairline.]

Is that really what you—?

[Lowering his head again, Dick struggles to keep himself composed enough to think. He desperately wants the anger back, because it’s so much more bearable than the suffocating, bottomless feeling that he’s left with now. So he tries, really tries to coax a glare back onto his face.]

I might not have been everything you thought I’d be. Maybe I failed you. But you’re the one who left.

I didn't let shit fall apart. 

[He finds breath in the anger that fuels his blood, heats his insides with a new power that he's never felt before. Tim shakes in Dick's arms, clutching and grabbing at whatever skin he can reach, too blinded to care anymore.] 

I waited for you for nine years-- nine fucking years-- for you to notice me. 

[There's a dark edge in Tim's voice now, lower, coming deeper from his rib cage-- he growls at Dick.]

Do you think I don't regret leaving you, Dick? Because I do. Of course I do-- [He sucks in a sharp breath, the crease between his brows growing deeper with each confession. They're finally at the heart of the issue.] But I leave for six months, and you've already moved on? Just like that, you're over it-- you're ready to start anew with someone else? [Tim is spitting venom now, hissing his words.]

Or hear your name.

Wow, anger issues much?

Or hear your name.

Now it was all rushing in, consuming, overbearing, and Dick had no outlet through which to express it but his physicality. Hands dip underneath Tim’s thighs and lift, thrusting his back against the headboard of the bed. Sliding between his legs and pinning him there, Dick throws a palm against the cheap wood beside Tim’s head.]

Yes. [He growls in answer—but just as quickly as the acid leaves his tongue, it washes back down to burn away his esophagus and eat at his organs. Dick’s face crumbles along with his insides, and he hangs his head, the slam of pain making him feel feeble and useless.] No. No, of course I don’t. I could never—

But I hate what you did.

He barks out a dry laugh, desperate and fake, even to his own ears.]

How does it feel to be left behind? To have to chase someone for once. 

[He draws a thick handful of Dick's hair between his fingers and grips it hard, pulling his neck back at an angle as he presses searing kisses to the underside of his jaw-- he doesn't want to look at Dick when he says this.] 

You'll always want this, always want me-- [Tim tastes bile in the back of his throat, swallowing hard around a gruesome smile.] You'll spend years hoping that you can impress me just enough to earn a second glance, for me to acknowledge your prowess, for me fuck you like I fuck every other pair of legs in this god damn town. 

[He takes in a ragged breath of air and chokes on a dry sob, his legs tightening around Dick's hips in a vice grip.] And when you finally get a taste of it, when you finally have it, I'll take it from you. And I'll give it to somebody else. 

There are too many feelings he’s still holding inside to make this anything but enormously stupid. He’s hurt, he’s angry, he’s scared. He blames Tim for it, and then he blames himself for it. He tries to convince himself he’s over it, but how does someone ever truly get over something like that—get over someone like Tim? So without another word, Dick leans back in. 

Briefly, Tim pulls back, taking in greedy gulps of air in the scant space between them, his eyes having to cross just to meet Dick’s glazed stare. A shiver runs down  Tim’s spine at the look of raw emotion he find there, hurt and betrayal and greed—this is something Tim will always have. The reward of such a meticulous sort of dedication to your partner, the kind Tim has always harbored for Dick, always, is the plethora of raw emotion he gets in return. They know everything about each other—every tick, every fear, every desire, Tim knows it. And Dick knows, too.

That is something that nobody but Tim will ever have.]

You hate me, [he mumbles against the swollen line of Dick’s bottom lip, sinking his teeth into the flesh there, watching a pair of true blue eyes go glossy.] don’t you? You should.