#twoweeksofwhump

Whumpers! This is your two-week head start to the Two Weeks of Whump Challenge commencing on the 3rd of July!

[Image ID/More information under the cut]

Bruce didn't notice until it was too late.

He was too focused on the fact that Jason was alive.

He was too focused on the fact that Jason was home.

He didn't realize that Tim was busy cutting ties with everyone and everything at the manor until it was too late.

It started small, just going solo more and more often for patrols and missions.

And then skipped family dinners.

He'd bandage himself up at his house rather than the cave.

This one was concerning and the thing that finally drew Bruce's attention to the fact that Tim was withdrawing.

A few self-done stitches were things they all had, but one night he and Red Robin teamed up against Scarecrow.

Red Robin was slower than typical. Not by much, but enough that Batman noticed.

His movements were slower. Stamina decreased.

He'd been training on his own.

When had he stopped training with them?

"Two goons went this way. Scarecrow circled around back." Red Robin pointed down two different paths formed by shipping containers. He was already running after the pair of goons, so Batman took off after Scarecrow.

The scientist led him on a chase, but was no match for Batman in the end.

A few minutes later, he got confirmation from Red Robin that he'd taken out his targets.

They handed off the crooks over to the GCPD without problem and headed back to the cave.

Batman dictated the details of the arrest to Dick, who entered the information into the computer, while Alfred stitched up gash on his arm.

Tim, meanwhile, changed back into his civilian clothes and headed up to the manor, claiming to be hungry.

Batman nodded, continuing his recounting of the night's events. "Come back down after you get something to eat. You still need to give your report."

Tim nodded, pausing slightly at the base of the stairs. And then he left.

Not just the cave, but the manor as well.

Bruce didn't notice at first, but eventually went up to the kitchen to retrieve him, already planning a lecture about the importance of doing their after-mission reports.

Jason was alone in the kitchen, absently chopping vegetables beside a simmering pot while an audiobook played softly over his laptop's speaker.

"Where's Tim?"

Jason looked up and nodded to the front door. "Went home. Why?"

Bruce narrowed his eyes. "He went home?"

Jason shrugged, still chopping. "Yeah. Did something happen? He looked kinda freaked."

That was all Bruce needed to hear.

He headed for the door and made his way to Drake Manor.

The front door was wide open.

Bruce's heart dropped.

He entered and looked around, silently closing the door behind himself.

There was blood on the floor.

Just a drop, but it was enough to tell him which way Tim went.

He followed the droplets through the house.

Up the stairs.

Down the hall.

Past his bedroom.

Into a sitting room at the end of the hall.

Every light in the house was off, but the curtains to one of the windows were pulled back.

He could see Wayne manor through Alfred's topiary.

And, slightly glowing in the soft moonlight, the still form of Tim was flopped limply in the window seat.

Bruce hurried over and knelt beside him, gently brushing his hair out of his face.

Tim was pale.

He was shaking, muscles trembling, breaths coming out in small gasps.

The front of his shirt was soaked with blood.

Bruce cursed and slipped his arms behind Tim's shoulders and under his knees, lifting him carefully.

His head lolled loosely, resting against Bruce's shoulder. Bruce carried him out of the room and quickly to his bedroom.

"Tim. Wake up."

Tim's body continued to tremble, and he let out a choked whimper.

"Can you hear me? Where do you keep your first aid kit?"

Tim's eyes cracked open as he was being lowered to lay on the mattress. Bruce grabbed a nearby shirt and balled it up, pulling up Tim's shirt to press it to the slash going across his abdomen. It was only about three inches long, but still open and seeping.

"Where's your first aid kit?"

Tim didn't answer.

He didn't move.

Bruce looked back at his face and paused.

Oh, no.

He cursed under his breath and took one hand away from the shirt to grab his phone, hitting Dick's speed dial.

"Get a fear toxin antidote and bring it over to Tim's house. We're in his bedroom. He also needs stitches."

"I'll be right there." Dick replied quickly.

Bruce hung up and returned his phone to his pocket.

Tim's eyes were wide and glassy. He was frozen, each quick breath coming out with a terrified squeak.

Bruce grit his teeth and focused on just stemming the flow of blood.

Tim's eyes flickered around, though he didn't seem to notice that anyone else was in the room with him.

Bruce had dealt with Scarecrow enough times to know that Tim was too out of it for any words of comfort to have any effect. Whatever Tim was seeing, he was on his own until Dick arrived with the antidote.

Bruce shifted his weight slightly and Tim squeezed his eyes shut, hissing in pain.

"Sorry. Sorry. Dick will be here soon."

Tim huffed out a short, bitter laugh, and brought his hands up to his head, pressing his palms to his eyes.

"Not real." He murmured to himself, coughing. "Not real. Not real. Not real."

Over and over.

Bruce gently grabbed one of his hands and tried to pull it away from his face, but as soon as he made contact, Tim reacted violently.

He gasped and smacked the hand away, trying to push himself up.

His eyes once again landed on Bruce, but this time they didn't look through him.

The instant he saw him, he kicked Bruce off, only to fall back with a strangled cry when he stressed his still open wound.

"You're okay. It's just me, Tim. Let me help." Bruce, who had stepped back to give the teen space, sat back on the bed and tried to press the shirt back to the cut.

Tim clenched his hands, opening and closing them like he tended to do when he was stressed.

"Not real." He ground out.

Tim's eyes were wide again, staring blankly right up at the ceiling.

"Not real. Not real. Not real."

Like a mantra, he whispered it over and over again, voice shaking thanks to the tremors still wracking his body.

"Not real."

Bruce thought back to patrol. Tim had to have known he'd been injured. He had to have known he'd been dosed.

Why hadn't he said anything?

"Not real."

Why hadn't he stayed at the cave?

"Not real."

Had… had he left while injured before?

"N-not real." Tim's voice broke. Tears welled in his eyes.

How many times?

How many times had he been hurt or dosed and just left to deal with it on his own?

"You're not real."

Bruce looked back at Tim's face, surprised to make eye contact.

Tim looked scared out of his mind. Tear tracks ran down his cheeks.

"Who are you?"

"It's Bruce, Tim. It's me. I'm real."

Tim started to struggle again, hands grabbing Bruce's, trying to push him away.

"Stop." Bruce pushed his hands back. "Tim, stop."

"Not real. You're not real."

"Tim, I'm real. I'm here. Let me help."

Tim shook his head, switching to trying to drag himself away. "Not real."

"Tim, you need help. Let me help."

Tim coughed again, this time falling into a coughing fit.

His hands gripped the blanket he was lying on top of, fingers twisting into the material.

Bruce moved closer and slipped an arm under his back, hoisting him up into a seated position.

"Just breathe. In and out. That's it-,"

Tim gasped and drove his elbow into Bruce's side, scrambling back until he hit the wall. He yelped and clutched his gash, collapsing on his side.

"Tim. Let me help you. Please."

Tim's eyes were screwed shut in pain, but he opened them and pressed himself against the wall, throwing a wild punch when Bruce got too close.

"Who are you?!"

"Tim, please-,"

"Get away from me!"

"Calm down! You're hurting yourself!" Bruce tried to pin down Tim by the shoulders, but that just resulted in Tim thrashing wildly and screaming.

Bruce let him go and stepped back giving him space, and, once again, Tim flattened himself against the wall.

He gasped and sobbed in fear, staring wide-eyed at Bruce.

"Tim, buddy, please." Bruce held up his hands to show that he meant no harm. "You're bleeding. Let me help."

"Not real. Not real."

"I'm real. I'm real. Tim, I'm real."

Tim's voice faded slightly, though he kept up his mantra like Bruce hadn't even spoken. He'd grown more pale, and his hands were opening and closing slower.

"You're still bleeding. Tim, you've lost a lot of blood."

Tim shook his head, eyelids only opening about halfway. "You're not real."

"I am."

Tim shook his head again. "Not real. You're never real."

"Tim, I am real. And you need help. Let me help you."

"No. Y-you're not real."

Bruce leaned in closer, and Tim pushed himself back into the wall again, burying his face in the blankets in fear when he realized he had nowhere to go.

"I'm real-,”

"You're never real!" Tim shouted. "You've never been real." He broke off into sobs, body shaking. "... Why can't you be real..?" He choked out.

Bruce's heart broke. "Timmy, I'm real. I'm real. Why do you think I'm not real?" It was so hard to not reach out to comfort him.

"You're never real. Cause… cause I'm not real. Not really."

Tim was just mumbling to himself at this point. Bruce wasn't sure he was even aware that there was anyone else in the room.

"You made it clear. Not real. I'm… I'm not allowed to be real. Just a stand in. Just a stand in."

Bruce felt his stomach clench.

"Not… not one of yours."

He reached out a hand, stopping just before he made contact with Tim.

"Why… would you be here..?" Tim's voice was fading again.

"Tim…"

"Played my part." Tim drew in a shaking breath. "Did my job."

"Tim, can you hear me?"

"Not… not needed anymore."

"Of course you are."

Tim shook his head. "Y' got… family back t'gether." He coughed, eyes going glassy.

"You're part of that family, too."

Tim exhaled softly. "U-used to… hope. Pretend." He shook his head. "Stupid."

Bruce heard the front door slam and running footsteps. Dick appeared in the doorway, carrying a medical bag.

"How is he?"

Bruce was frozen.

Tim was unconscious.

He was still shaking.

All Bruce could do was stand and move out of the way so Dick could inject him with the antidote.

Tim had hallucinated him before, hadn't he?

He'd had to wake up to the realization that Bruce helping him had just all been in his head.

But… Tim knew he was part of the family, right?

His fears… his reaction… that had just been fear toxin, right?

"Timmy, if you can hear me, I need to roll you over, okay?" Dick held his brother's hand, checking his pulse.

But… he'd been pulling away lately.

He'd been distancing himself.

'Played my part. Did my job.'

Words, his own this time, suddenly came back to him, like unlocking a memory.

'Don't you forget your place here! Don't think you can get cocky or comfortable. You have no place to tell me what's best for me. You are here to do a job, and that's it. You may be Robin, but that doesn't make you my son.'

Bruce closed his eyes and sank down to sit, leaning back against the bed.

He felt sick.

He knew he hadn't been the best man after Jason's funeral, but he…

He hadn't wanted Tim to get too close.

Because…

Because he'd made that mistake before.

He'd let Jason get too close, and it had nearly killed him when that boy had died.

He couldn't go through that again.

He couldn't risk another kid like that.

But he realized now.

Tom may have been cutting his ties, distancing himself, now that Jason was back.

TWO WEEKS OF WHUMP day 12:

Prompt: "Coffin"

Freistatt (2014)

Fandom: Spider-verse

Summary: After a late night villain attack, Jefferson and Miles meets unexpectedly in the building.

  Miles looked at the time, 1am. "Why can't villains attack the city at more convenient times?" he muttered to himself. Grabbing his suit he slipped his PJs off. Ganke stirred as Miles opened the window.

Day 1th - Poker, Shock Collar, Ashes - @promptsforyourwhumpfic

TW mentions of burning

"We had a deal."

Ro told it to Braithe and Soren, explained to Digger and kept telling unstoppably to himself since the moment when Jene stayed with the Blue and he with books, saved by a miracle, returned to Brad.

No one blamed him out loud. Ro didn't knew if someone blamed him in their thoughts but he said these words again during a sortie with Braithe and Soren, when they saw a mark of a pole on the ground and ashes before it.

Ro sat on the ground, ran his fingers through the ashes. They, him and Jene, they knew what they were getting themselves into. Saving books was more important than saving themselves. But no matter who would have survived - Jene, him, or the books - in the end there is only ashes.

Two Weeks Of Whump Challenge Day 9. Branding

Tim reached over and behind his head, grabbing his shirt by the back of his collar and pulling it off. He tossed it towards the laundry basket and flopped face down on the bed, ready to drift off to sleep.

Until something poked him.

"Your pants, too." Conner reminded.

"Mm. Nng. Leave me 'lone." Tim grunted in response.

"Tim, baby, this isn't up for debate. You've got mud, blood and… what I hope is rainwater, caked everywhere."

"Vigilante aesthetic."

"No."

Tim huffed, but pushed himself up anyway. "Fine." He stumbled to his dresser and grabbed out a pair of sweatpants to change into.

"I'm so sorry for insisting you at least change out of your uniform before getting into… bed."

Conner finished his sentence softly, and Tim turned to see what had caught his boyfriend's attention.

"What."

"Who's 'JJ'?"

Tim froze, and he could swear he felt his heart stop.

'My dear son, JJ! Now doesn't that just have a nice ring to it?'

'Sure does, Puddin'!'

Their voices echoed in his mind, accompanied by phantom pains.

The feeling of the electrical shocks.

The prick of needles.

The far-too-tight cuffs keeping him from fighting back or defending himself.

He was back there.

No!

He was here!

He'd gotten out.

He'd survived.

He'd beaten them.

They were gone.

… Right?

"... What?" He finally managed.

"Your leg. You've got a tattoo that says 'JJ'. I was just wondering, cause I've never heard you mention them. Were they an ex?" Conner got up and came over, face concerned. He must have seen Tim's reaction to his question.

Tim didn't know what to say.

How long..?

He had been rid of them.

"W-what..?" He couldn't breathe.

They were…

They were gone.

"Tim? Are you okay?"

Tim closed his eyes.

Everything was… way too much right now.

He felt sick.

Dizzy.

Sounds were too loud.

He was too close.

Tim stumbled back, falling against the dresser.

'There's a good lad. Now why don't you help your daddy with a little something?'

Hands pulled at his hair.

His own?

He didn't care.

"Tim!"

'Ah, ah, ah! That's not your name anymore, is it? Naaah. You look more like a Junior.'

"Get away from me."

He felt himself slide down to his knees, heard… someone screaming.

Who was screaming?

Him?

"I'm here. Baby, I'm right here. I've got you."

'Now that I've got you, my boy,' His voice echoed in Tim's head, 'Killing Batsy will be a piece of cake!'

He wanted to go home.

He wanted his family.

But he couldn't move.

He couldn't move!

Something was restraining him!

"Stop! Tim, baby, please! You're going to hurt yourself!"

He had to get free.

He had to.

They were going to kill him.

They were going to use him to kill Batman.

He felt a prick in his neck and redoubled his efforts to free himself.

He couldn't do this again.

He didn't want to lose himself again.

"Shh. Shh. You're going to be okay. You're going to be okay. Just give it a minute."

He felt himself relax against his will.

He…

He had to fight.

He… had to get free.

He couldn't give in…

But whatever he'd been injected with didn't give him a choice.

His mind started to clear and he found himself lying on his back, head and shoulders resting in Conner's lap.

"You're okay. You're okay, baby. I'm so sorry. Bruce is on his way. Just relax."

Conner…

He looked scared.

The room began to grow dark, but Tim reached up, shakily.

Conner looked scared, but Tim's brain was in too much of a fog to figure out why.

His fingers brushed a tear away from his boyfriend's cheek before falling limply back down, resting across his own chest.

Conner grabbed it and held it. "You're okay, sweetheart." He whispered.

TWO WEEKS OF WHUMP day 4:

Prompt: "Gas mask"