#timyummdrake

He remembers it like it’s just happened all over again – like the green glow beneath his feet still radiated heat up – like the chains still bound his wrists, feet, arms, legs and kept his body completely ridged – like the feeling of all his limbs going numb and the vaguest traces of a drug being sweat out of his system. He can remember his head pounding and his body feeling like it’s been beaten six ways to Sunday. It probably had been. He can remember the tick of the clock – and he remembers begging.  He can remember it – remember the look on Tim’s face as it scrunched up in pain and the large stream of tears started marking his little brother’s face.

He remembers that the most vividly – how his limbs shook and his body nearly convulsed with the sorrow and pain.

He remembers it every time he closes his eyes.

But not only that – he remembers it when Tim avoids him in the mornings, when he eats breakfast far too late just so he knows that Dick won’t be in the kitchen when he goes, and when Alfred delivers him lunch and dinner to his bedroom.

He remembers every minute of every second of every day. It weighs on him like a two ton block of guilt. He guesses that it’s survivor’s guilt. Maybe a bit of PTSD. He doesn’t know what goes on in his lunatic brain anymore. Lately, as he does his absolute best not to march down to Tim’s room, break down his door, and pull him into the most bone crushing hug of his life and tell him that he’s so sorry that Tim even had to make that decision, he is too busy trying not to go insane. He’s sorry he didn’t just make it for him. Make him choose Conner. Make him choose the boy’s best friend over him. They may be brothers but Dick would have died in Conner’s place in a heartbeat. He would have done it if it made Tim happier. He’d do anything to make that kid happy.

Dick was the wrong choice. He’s not the right choice. He should have picked Conner. He should’ve.

But he hadn’t.

Dick is here and Conner is six feet under and Timmy is miserable and it’s his fault.

It is all his fault.

But Tim doesn’t want to see him. And Dick’s not going to force him to. He doesn’t want to see himself either. He doesn’t want to wake up every morning knowing that Tim’s suffering and he could have fixed it. He doesn’t even want to sleep knowing that Tim’s probably in his room crying about everything – everything that had gone wrong and everything he could’ve done differently. How he could have chosen to save Conner and let Dick die and how things could have picked up and gone on as planned without all this heartache. He wouldn’t be as missed as the Kent boy. Conner had meant so much more.

He still doesn’t understand why Tim picked him. He still doesn’t. He can’t.

He can’t even think straight about it half the time. And he can’t stop thinking about it so he feels like he’s going crazy. He needs to see Wally-to make it make sense- but it’s hard to look at Wally when he knows that Tim doesn’t have anyone like Wally to turn to anymore. He feels selfish wanting to do that. He doesn’t know how to fix this mess. He’s messed up so egregiously that it can’t be fixed this time. Again. He’s done it again and he can’t fix it. It’s killing him.

Dick looks at the discarded Nighwting suit. He hasn’t touched it since the incident. He hasn’t been able to. Tim hasn’t been in his suit either. They’ve been taking a break, even if it feels so wrong to do so. Bruce is still going out, but he doesn’t force them to do anything. Not after what they’d just gone through. It’s only been a week since it happened, and the grip of misery hasn’t left the air. He sighs to himself, dragging his eyes to the window. The sky is dark – explaining the chilly air. Honestly, though, he’s not surprised. It’s always cold in Gotham. All he can see is the silhouette of the city where Bruce is no doubt traipsing about on the streets – leaving Tim and him the manor all to themselves…and a quiet Alfred.

Dick juts slides into bed, lights off, and pulls the covers up over his shoulders. Silence cloaks the room and Dick stares at his ceiling, feeling the empty hole gape open in his chest.

***

The door creaks open and Dick wakes immediately at the sound – but it’s all noise to him, just a draft. He can’t even open his eyes – not until he hears a shaky:

“Dick…?” It’s Tim. He can hear that the boy’s been crying. The way his voice wavers gives it away. Dick rubs his eyes with the heels of his palms, sitting up groggily as the heaviness of sleep clings to his body.

“Tim?” He asks softly, blinking to see the vague contour of a boy – but the lights are all off so everything just looks like a big dark blob to him. He hears the sniffles in the dark and it hurts him to know that Tim’s crying. He knows why Tim’s crying. There’s nothing else it could be. “Are you okay?” He sits up, pulling himself out of the warm sheets and out of the bed. Tim doesn’t even say anything to him, but as soon as he stands up Tim’s arms glue to his waist and his face is buried into Dick’s chest. Dick stiffens for a second because that is not what he’d expected to happen. But he ropes Tim in, enclosing the younger into his arms protectively.

“I – I,” Tim draws in a stuttering breath. “I had a nightmare.” He mumbles into Dick’s shirt. “About Con.” Dick’s breath constricts in his chest. He feels like the words are choking him. His breath comes in a shallow draw, but he has to keep himself together for Tim. He is going to stay strong for Tim. Dick rubs Tim’s back very gently – he knows how weird about touch the boy is but he’s pretty sure this moment calls for it.

“I’m so sorry Tim.” Dick murmurs, grip tightening slightly. “I know how hard this is for you.” I know how much you wish I was him right now. Tim’s shoulders shake and he presses in closer as if it’s going to make the hurt stop. As if Dick’s going to make it all better for him. He wishes he could. He wishes he could have all Tim’s pain. He’d take it. He’d gladly bear that burden. Dick starts to feel the tears soak through his shirt and they feel like little pricks on his skin – like they’re the corporeal form of the sin he’s committing by existing right now.

“I miss him.” Tim says, and it comes out in a squeaky weak tone that he’s only heard on Tim once before.

‘What do you mean you want me to choose?’

“I know, Timmy. I know.” I’m sorry. Dick for once doesn’t know what to do. Tim is falling apart in his arms, crying over his lost friend who should be alive instead of him. He doesn’t know what to say. How to fix it. He’s lost. It’s his fault. Dick needs to fix it but he can’t. He doesn’t know how. There is no way to make it right.

Tim’s hands ball up his shirt, squeezing tight as he shakes and falls into broken sounds – sounds Dick never wanted to hear fall out of his Babybird’s lips. The sassy little kid who’d wanted to be Robin so badly it had him antsy, was no longer here. They’d broken him. Dick’s never regretted anything more than he regrets having corrupted this kid. His brother.

“I’m here for you.” Dick murmurs, squeezing him tight. “I know it’s not the same, but I’m here.”  Dick’s never been so lost. Everyone always looks up to him like he knows everything, like he can fix anything broken that they sit in front of him, like he can  take the worst of the worst and turn it around into something beautiful and pretty again. He just can’t. He can’t fix everything. And here is the moment when it comes through in the worst way. He wishes what everyone believed is true, but he can’t bring Conner back from the dead.

“P-promise me …” Tim sucks in a harsh breath – one that rattles in his lungs. “Promise you won’t leave.”

“I’d never.” He replies without missing a beat. As much as he wants to hold Tim right now, he has to push him back, drop a comforting grip onto Tim’s shoulders and look him right in his watery blue eyes that stab him right in his heart.  “I know I will never replace Conner for you, Tim, but I want you to know I’m not going anywhere.” Tim’s face is contorted – the light in his eyes diluted, tears run down his innocent face and he looks like he’s woken up in a cold sweat because his hair is sticking to his forehead. Dick is as confused as much as he is touched that Tim came to him instead of Alfred. But he’s here and he’s hurting and he’s not going to send the kid out. Dick tries his best to smile at him. “I wish I could take the pain away, Tim.” He murmurs, combing his fingers through the boy’s hair gently – brushing his bangs back away from Tim’s face. “And I wish I could tell you that it goes away after a while.” Bruce had said those same words to him once. He knows that it doesn’t really get better. Eventually one accepts the grief as a part of their person. Loss isn’t an easy thing to cope with. He’s had to do it a lot in his day and he’s still not sure if he’s done it properly or not. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t miss his parents, or Jason. Not one single day.  

Dick brushes his thumb over Tim’s cheeks, getting the tears falling fresh from Tim’s eyes. Those azure eyes lock onto his own, lips puckering because he’s trying so hard not to break again. To stay strong. Dick isn’t any better about it, but just this once he will adhere to the saying ‘do as I say, not as I do.’

“If you need to cry, Tim, it’s okay. It’s okay to cry sometimes. None of us are perfect.” Tim sniffs, viciously wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. The tears keep coming and Tim’s dreadfully silent. Dick doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to say something. What to say. He’s just sort of here, and all he can do is put his hands on Tim’s shoulders, rub his back and wipe his tears.  He feels so out of place and it doesn’t make any sense because this is his brother and he should feel like he’s supposed to be here but Tim’s always been distant at best. But Dick’s stubborn.  This is his brother, his family – and family has never been something he’s taken lightly.

Tim falls forward – letting his body go lax against Dick’s. Tim’s shoulders drop as Dick wraps him up tightly, making sure he’s not going to fall.

“I’m sorry.” The boy whispers. “I didn’t mean to come in here like this.” Dick shakes his head. That’s not right. He’s sorry. He’s sorry for being the wrong choice.