Work Text:
The fact that Tim couldn’t breathe didn’t matter nearly as much as the fact that Jason looked so fucking stupid right now.
There wasn’t a single inch of him not covered in bright red glitter and even the white streak of Jason’s hair hadn’t been spared and while it honestly made for a pretty cool gradient change, it also made him look that much more ridiculous.
Jason’s arms crossed over his glitter covered chest and Tim had no doubt that his shirt was going to permanently shine in the light now, no matter how many times Jason washes it.
“Are you done?” Jason asked.
Absolutely not, though Tim didn’t exactly have the ability to say as much right now on account of the whole not breathing thing.
When Jason blew his hair from his face, it made a new explosion of glitter rain down and Tim literally had to clutch his ribs in an attempt to ease the pain as he laughed ever harder.
“Seriously,” Jason said. “Real fucking mature, Replacement. This is a dire matter, I’ll have you know. I am in my moment of need and here you are, laughing at my agony.”
“Moment of need!” Tim wheezed. “You certainly need something.”
Jason glared at him but if anything it just made Tim laugh harder.
“You look,” Tim said, needing to suck in an uneven breath. “So stupid.”
“Yeah yeah,” Jason said. “Laugh it up, pretty boy, but I hope you know that revenge will be coming for your ass and it’s not just going to be glitter.”
Tim tried to reply, he really did, but it sounded more like a weird mix of a snort and a gasp and honestly his ribs were getting to the point where it hurt more than it was actually funny.
Even Tim’s eyes were kind of hurting now, tears prickling so much that he couldn’t help but wonder if some of the glitter had gotten in them, the thought of which of course just made him laugh even more.
Tim sucked in a deep wrenching breath but it caught as another laugh overcame him.
Jason blew at his fringe again and Tim had to physically turn away from him in an attempt to get ahold of himself.
“It’s not actually that funny,” Jason said flatly.
Tim waved a hand towards him to get him to shut up and by some miracle, Jason actually did.
Focusing as much as he could, it still took an eternity before Tim was mostly able to breathe, though a few tears absolutely had broken free.
When Tim felt ready to turn back to Jason, he damn near lost it all over again because even Jason’s scars had glitter on them, shining brightly every time he shifted a little.
Tim readjusted, ribs still hurting.
“Okay,” He said. “Okay, I’m good, I’m good.”
“Really?” Jason rolled his eyes. “You telling me that you’re done?”
“I am.” Tim said, even as a giggle slipped out. “Serious time. I am so serious. The most serious.”
“You’re the most ridiculous.” Jason said.
“Hey,” Tim said. “I’m not the one covered head to toe in-”
Before Tim could dissolve back into hysterics, he forced himself to calm.
“Okay.” Tim said again.
Jason quirked a bright red glittery brow and Tim absolutely did not lose it again, he didn’t. Well, actually, he did but that was only because Jason looked so damn ridiculous.
“Tim.”
Tim laughed harder.
“Tim.” Jason said. “Seriously, Dude,”
Clutching his ribs did nothing to ease the pain as a giggle dissolved fully into a cackle.
Jason strode forward, no doubt to knock Tim upside the head, but the shifting colours beneath the light just made Tim laugh even harder.
“Tim.” Jason snapped.
Tim sobered. Except he didn’t, not really. He laughed again except this time it really did hurt more than it brought joy.
He was crying outright now but when Tim tried to turn away from Jason again, Jason grabbed onto his arm instead and forced him to stay in place. Tim looked down at the contact, wondered just how much glitter had transferred onto him now and laughed.
“Timbo.”
Jason’s voice was tight, concerned for some reason.
“The fuck is going on?”
“You’re covered in glitter.” Tim said.
“Is this Joker Toxin or some shit?”
Tim blinked at him. He laughed, loudly and so hard that it made his ribs protest, because there was even glitter in Jason’s eyebrows. Then, remembering that Jason had asked something, Tim shook his head.
“No,” He said as well, having the distinct feeling that Jason didn’t believe him for some reason.
“Are you high?” Jason demanded.
“High on glitter, maybe. Oh, wait, that’s you.”
Tim laughed at his own joke but Jason didn’t seem all too inclined to join in. In fact, there was a weird look in Jason’s face, the glitter notwithstanding.
Jason reached forward but Tim took an answering step back, trying his best to glare when Jason’s hand remained on his elbow.
“Let go.” Tim said.
“Drake,”
“I said let go.” Tim said lowly.
Tim’s voice had sounded so rough that it just made him start laughing all over again and fuck did his ribs hurt. He shrugged Jason off, actually managing it this time, and coughed.
While Jason was no longer touching him, he was still absolutely far too close for comfort, towering over Tim.
Jason reached out again but this time Tim kicked him right in the shin.
“Fuck you!” Jason snarled.
When Jason threw himself forward as if to tackle Tim, Tim easily dodged out of the way except it hadn’t been easily because his foot had caught on absolutely nothing and he pitched to the side instead.
Before Tim could fall outright he readjusted his weight, disguising the falter easily as a faint instead but Jason wasn’t fooled and all at once that damn hand was on his elbow again but this time it was holding far tighter.
Tim tried to shake him off, he really did, but a broken laugh distracted him too much to actually get Jason off, needing to clutch onto his ribs instead.
“Sit the fuck down, Kid, something’s obviously wrong.”
Anger replaced whatever was left of Tim’s humour except instead of snapping at Jason that he needs to stop always acting like there has to be something wrong with Tim, Tim just laughed loudly.
“That’s it.” Jason declared.
With a puff of glitter that absolutely made Tim cackle, Jason wrestled Tim towards the living room.
Tim fought the entire way, even getting in a good hit or three, but by the time Jason was shoving him onto the couch Tim could only rock forward with a gasp, his ribs absolutely killing him.
Jason knelt down in front of him, a comforting hand resting on Tim’s knee, but when Jason raised a glittery hand towards Tim’s forehead, Tim knocked it away.
“You know what,” Jason said, standing instantly. “I’m not putting up with this shit. Hey! Old Man! Come collect your little shit!”
It was Tim that surged up now, clamping a hand on Jason’s mouth.
Jason, the absolute fucking asshole that he was, licked it.
Tim shoved him hard, the disgusted noise he made somehow also sounding like a disjointed laugh, but Jason had been expecting it and didn’t move a single inch.
“Old Man!” Jason called again.
“Shut up!” Tim hissed, shoving him again.
Red glitter exploded around them and Tim coughed, then laughed, then coughed again.
Tim’s legs buckled but Jason was right there to guide him back down onto the couch. Instead of shoving Jason off this time, Tim clutched onto him.
“Make it stop.” Tim choked.
“Easy, easy,” Jason said.
Tim laughed, not because it was funny that Jason was treating him like some kind of scared animal, but simply because he couldn’t stop.
Even when Tim dug his nails deeper into Jason’s arm, Jason didn’t mention it, though he did call for Bruce again.
“Report.” Bruce’s voice came all of a sudden.
Bruce sounded worried for some reason, by the couch within two strides though it couldn’t possibly have been two strides, the distance between the couch and the doorway was actually-
“Joker Toxin or some shit,” Jason said.
“No toxin.” Tim snapped back.
When the urge to laugh overcame him, he resisted it, instead going to stand and prove to Bruce that literally nothing was happening except he couldn’t stand, too busy cackling after all.
The blur that was Bruce Wayne crowded his view, Jason having at some point moved away.
No, Jason hadn’t moved away, he’d sat down on the couch beside Tim, tugging Tim up against him and rubbing his back when a particularly strong laugh overcame him.
There was glitter on the couch now and the idea of Alfred absolutely getting his revenge for it made Tim laugh again.
And again.
And again.
Tim rocked forward with a cough, his chest shuddering with every attempt to take in a full breath.
“Blood test?” Bruce asked.
When Tim went to answer, he couldn’t, but he could laugh so he did that instead.
“It’s only just started.” Jason said. “I haven’t had the chance to run any tests.”
“Okay.” Bruce said.
They were talking as if he wasn’t there at all, but the fact that they were talking so civilly at all surprised Tim more.
“Tim,”
Tim’s head shot up, realising that maybe he hadn’t been forgotten this time after all. At that revelation, Tim could only laugh as the tears started pouring down all over again.
A hand squeezed his shoulder and it took him a moment to register that it was Bruce, not Jason.
“Easy, Son,” Bruce said.
When Bruce’s hand went towards Tim’s forehead just like how Jason’s had done, Tim dodged out of the way, burrowing into Jason’s chest instead.
Jason’s glitter covered chest.
Tim pushed back against him immediately, his eyes had been stinging not from the tears so much as the god damn glitter that Tim was certain would haunt his dreams soon enough. Maybe this was Jason’s revenge, not the weird laughing episode thing but coating Tim in the same red monstrosity that Tim absolutely had no part in coating Jason with.
Well, maybe he’d had a small part in the glittery explosion of colour but right now Tim was too busy trying to get himself to breathe that he didn’t really want to think about all that had led up to this.
“Tim,” Bruce said.
But he wasn’t Tim, not really, Tim doesn’t usually laugh like this.
His eyes were stinging worse now and the laughter cut off. Tim sat there for a long moment, half braced against Jason and half leaning off the couch.
Tim coughed, hard.
“Tim,” Bruce said again.
He shook his head because he wasn’t Tim, he wasn’t. He… He wasn’t. It was something else, something familiar but wrong too.
“Bruce?” He croaked. “Bruce what’s wrong with me?”
When he managed to look up at his Dad, for some reason seeing the tight look on his face just sent him into another round of hysterics because really, Brucie looked ridiculous like that.
Tim stilled again, because he was Tim. He was Tim and he was worrying Bruce and Jason and he really shouldn’t be worrying them over nothing so he sobered except he couldn’t because Jason was covered in red just like he should be and so Tim was laughing again.
He was Tim, Tim forced himself to remember. He was Tim, not whatever else was looming at the edge of his awareness.
“Tim,” Bruce said again. “I would like to touch your forehead, just for a moment. Is that alright?”
“I don’t have a fever.” Tim said, cackling at insinuation.
Really, it was like they always thought he had some kind of fever going on even when he was genuinely fine. Honestly, it was almost maddening, as if they expected him to drop dead at any moment just because he had lost one stupid organ.
Then again, the idea that he had a fever now was funny for some reason. So funny in fact that Tim reached out and booped Bruce right on the nose, laughing hard when some of the glitter stayed on his face.
“Make it stop.” Tim said.
“Easy, Son,”
“Make it stop.” Tim demanded.
Bruce closed his eyes then, only for a moment but it was enough to tell Tim that there wasn’t going to be an easy fix to this.
“What the fuck is going on?” Jason snapped.
“Go shower.” Bruce said. “I have Tim.”
“Hell no.” Jason said.
“Jaylad.”
Jason opened his mouth again as if to argue and Tim laughed at that too which only made Jason’s expression twist. Tim groaned, wrapping his arms tightly around his middle as if that would help to ease the pain.
“Drakeyboy.” Jason whispered.
“Go.” Tim said. “I’m, heh, I’m fine. Bruce’ll…”
Tim laughed then, loudly and hard, so hard that it made new tears run down his cheeks.
Jason shifted fully back then, his hands balled so tightly that Tim had to fight the urge to remind him to loosen them so he didn’t hurt himself.
He was still covered in glitter of course but for some reason Tim didn’t find it so funny anymore but the fact that he didn’t find any of this at all amusing just made him cackle which in turn just made his ribs fucking ache more.
“I have Tim.” Bruce said again.
Finally, Jason took a step back and another and Tim couldn’t help but be grateful as he turned his back to him.
There was a trail of glittery red that followed Jason and Tim tried his damn hardest not to laugh at the mess but he couldn’t help it.
When Tim had mostly managed to settle, he met Bruce’s eye. Bruce was still knelt in front of him, the same old set to his shoulders whenever he was genuinely concerned about something without wanting to show that he was worried.
“What’s happening?” Tim asked, his voice breaking.
Bruce didn’t answer.
“You know.” Tim accused. “You know what’s going on. Heh, ha ha, you know you bastard.”
Tim laughed again and again and he slammed a hand down onto his knee to try to distract himself but it wasn’t enough. He tried it again but Tim’s hand was caught by Bruce instead.
“I’ll explain later.” Bruce said.
Tim tried to snap his hand back but Bruce did not relent, instead rubbing small circles onto the top of it.
“Bruce.” Tim said.
“I will call Barbara.” Bruce said.
“Why?”
New tension came over Bruce then and for some fucking reason it made Tim cackle.
“I will call Barbara.” He said again. “But first, we’re going to go down to the Cave.”
We’re, as if Bruce was uncontrollably laughing too. As if Bruce had been laughing so damn hard that his body was screaming in pain. As if Bruce was so utterly terrified that he was never going to stop laughing ever again.
We’re, as if Bruce understood, as if anyone could really truly understand the mess that was Tim Drake.
Fuck, Tim Drake barely understood Tim Drake.
Bruce went to lift Tim but Tim dodged out of the way, his whole body protesting the quick movement.
“I’m good.” Tim said, managing to hold in a laugh.
“Lad,”
“Really,” Tim said. “It’s fine, I’m…”
Tim fought back against the oncoming laugh, he did, but it came out anyway.
“Please.” Tim sobbed. “Please, make it stop.”
“I will, Son,” Bruce said.
When Bruce came forward again, Tim fought against every urge to move away but he fought extra hard against the need to laugh.
Bruce lifted Tim easily enough, Tim’s nails at once digging into Bruce’s neck but the man didn’t once balk, even as Tim laughed hard and loud right next to his ear.
“Easy, easy,” Bruce murmured.
There was still glitter on Bruce’s nose and for some reason that seemed so fucking funny to Tim except it didn’t, not really, not so funny that it was worth the pain sparking in his ribs and chest and hell they rest of him too.
Burrowing his head into Bruce’s shoulder did little to suppress the sounds but it did make Bruce move just a little quicker.
A part of Tim wondered if he was bleeding, if he was dying, Bruce usually only moved so swiftly within these walls if someone was in direct danger.
It was different on the streets of Gotham; Batman moved differently to how Bruce did, though Tim knew that Bruce’s slowness in Wayne Manor had been a trained action just as much as the swift stalking that Batman does.
The slowness meant safety, it meant reassurance, it meant a calm contemplation and patience that Tim and the others might never have gotten before living here.
This quick movement instead, as Bruce all at once swept down the stairs leading to the Cave meant danger, risk, fear.
“Stay with me, Tim.”
As if Tim could escape the wrongness that was consuming him even if he wanted to. He laughed at the idea of passing out for such a stupid reason but then he wept because he really did want to pass out if it meant that the laughing would stop.
While every instinct screamed at Tim not to let himself be put onto one of the cots in the Medbay, and in fact he did hold on tighter to Bruce’s neck as if Bruce would hold him for all of eternity, Tim relented if only to curl into himself with a wrenching laugh.
Bruce wasted time, because it was Bruce and not Batman right now, and he cupped Tim’s cheek and wiped away some of his tears.
Then Bruce was out of Tim’s field of vision and Tim panicked, making a sound that was a weird mix of a laugh and a sob because Bruce was leaving, he was leaving and he wasn’t coming back and he was never ever going to come back and Tim was alone, he was alone, he was alone and it was all his fault and Bruce was holding onto his hand and squeezing it tightly.
Tim stretched out, only enough to see Bruce’s face.
Bruce was kneeling again, one hand holding onto Tim’s hand the other carding fingers through Tim’s hair.
“Bruce?” Tim croaked.
“I’m here.” Bruce said.
Two words and Tim was crying again, two words and he knew that he was safe, that he was loved.
“Small scratch.”
Two new words and Tim was scrambling away from him and away from the auto injector that was suddenly next to his hand.
“Tim,” Bruce said.
“No.” Tim said. “No way, he he, I don’t, hah- I don’t need anything. I’m fine, I’m-”
Tim laughed hard, and again, and again, and he was whimpering and curling into himself because he just wanted it to stop, he needed it to stop.
“Tim.”
Tim shook his head, more tears pouring down his fact because he was a pathetic little shit who couldn’t handle one little needle, but he also couldn’t handle this damn laughing even though it should be easy enough to just stop.
He should be able to stop, of course he should be able to stop.
He couldn’t stop.
“Son, it’s just a small scratch and it’ll become more manageable.”
“What more manageable?” Tim demanded. “What the hell is going on, B?”
Tim’s anger couldn’t hold, not against the insistent need to laugh instead.
He hadn’t come into contact with Joker Toxin, he hadn’t. Tim hadn’t lied when Jason had asked, not this time, and yet he couldn’t help but shudder at the idea of that pathetic clown having had some part in making him feel so shit.
There was a tightness in Bruce’s jaw, one that reminded Tim of Batman.
“Let me help you.” Bruce managed after a long moment.
Tim shook his head, needing to protest even as he reached out his shaking arm.
He couldn’t look as Bruce administered the shot and in truth it didn’t hurt nearly as much as his chest did but the realisation that he had overreacted over nothing made him laugh and the realisation that he was still laughing made him cry.
And, because Timothy Jackson Drake can’t have anything fucking nice in this goddamn world, the realisation that he was crying in front of Bruce like some ridiculous kid yet again even though it wasn’t like he was actively dying this time or anything made him laugh all over again.
The auto injector disappeared just as quickly as it had come, and for some reason the bed dipped beneath him. Tim’s eyes cracked open, barely remembering that they’d closed at all.
Tim was tugged. He didn’t fight it this time, crashing into Bruce’s chest without hesitation and he was relieved when Bruce just held him tightly, a hand running up and down his spine, giving him something to focus on other than the still very present need to laugh.
Tim gripped onto Bruce’s shirt but when he cackled again, his nails instead ran down Bruce’s arm as deeply as they could. Bruce didn’t so much as grunt from the pain, simply holding Tim that bit tighter.
There was another voice now, Tim realised distantly, barley hearing them over his giggling sobs.
It wasn’t Jason, but it certainly wasn’t Barbara either because there was no way in hell Bruce had already managed to contact her.
Something was laid on him, something heavy and fuck did it make him cry harder because that was a weighted blanket, someone had bothered to bring a weighted blanket all the way down here even though Tim was hardly worth the effort.
No, of course he was worth the effort, even if he couldn’t quite manage to control himself he was still worth the effort.
The weight against his back, the warmth of Bruce’s arms, the knowledge that he was safe here no matter what was going on, it was almost enough for him to sleep except he couldn’t sleep because he was still laughing. Even after whatever Bruce had given him, Tim was still laughing.
It hadn’t worked, it hadn’t worked and now he was going to spend an eternity like this. His body hurt, his soul hurt, his mouth hurt almost as if he was grinning ear to ear even though he wasn’t, he wasn’t, he couldn’t be. He couldn’t be smiling, not when he was so terrified.
“Easy, Sweetheart.” Bruce murmured.
Tim pressed closer against his Dad, needing to know that Bruce wasn’t going to leave.
Bruce shifted and Tim panicked, digging his nails in deeper but Bruce resettled, apparently having just been trying to get more comfortable as if Bruce expected here to stay here for a long time.
Tim shuddered hard but then he laughed harder because Bruce was staying, Bruce cared about him, Bruce loved him, Bruce knew that whatever he’d given Tim, it was going to take time to kick in.
Fuck, he just wanted it to be over, he needed it to be over.
Bruce leaned down, pecking the top of Tim’s head and that only made him sob harder.
The other voice, one Tim finally distantly recognised as Duke, was back. He tried to concentrate on what Duke was saying, he really did, but everything was hurting and he shouldn’t be acting so weak in front of Duke but he simply couldn’t help it.
Tim sobbed loudly, so loud that Bruce hushed him because he had been too loud, he had been too annoying, he had always been too annoying.
No. No, Bruce had hushed him because Bruce didn’t want Tim to be upset, not because Bruce wanted the silence. At least, that was what Tim tried to tell himself.
The seconds dragged on into eternity and yet Bruce still held him, still ran a hand up and down his back, still stayed right with him even though Tim was so goddamn ridiculous that he was crying just because he was laughing just a little too much.
Tim’s eyes had grown heavy at some point, the rest of his body even more so, and he let himself drift. He didn’t sleep, not fully, vaguely aware of Duke settling in beside the bed as if Duke too was going to stay with him for as long as it took even though Duke shouldn’t have to waste any time on Tim.
He barely remembered Bruce coaxing him into drinking something, though he definitely remembered nearly choking on it when a laugh bubbled up from deep inside his chest.
Maybe he had fallen asleep at some point, Tim thought, because he couldn’t quite remember the last time he had laughed. He was still laid up against Bruce’s chest, Bruce’s heart beating steadily against Tim’s ear. Bruce’s breathing was even too, consistent, almost too consistent.
Bruce knew that Tim was listening, knew that Tim was depending on Bruce’s breathing to modify his own into a normal rhythm.
When Bruce murmured something, Tim took it as permission to let himself fully go again.
Tim didn’t dream, too exhausted to do anything except rest, and whether it had been minutes or hours before he was waking up again Tim found that he was still exhausted.
He didn’t want to move, almost letting himself fall back into the darkness of unconsciousness.
Tim was warm in Bruce’s arms, he was safe. But he was also awake, and he wasn’t laughing. Hell, he wasn’t even smiling anymore. Tim was exhausted, beyond exhausted, but whatever the fuck that had been happening to him seemed to have finally passed for the most part.
“Rest, Tim.” Bruce’s voice rumbled.
“Joker.” Tim croaked.
Bruce’s body went rigid against him, only for a moment before he forced himself to settle again.
A part of Tim wanted to leave the past in the past, wanted to forget that this had ever happened in the first place. The rest of him was desperate to understand, to know that this hadn’t been his fault somehow.
“Rest.” Bruce said.
Tim pushed away from Bruce’s chest.
His whole body was hurting but he didn’t care because he wasn’t giggling, he wasn’t chuckling, he wasn’t cackling, he was just hurting.
“Joker.” Tim said. “I didn’t see him on Patrol.”
“No.” Bruce said.
“He’s in Arkham.” Tim said. “He’s been in Arkham for six months.”
“Yes.” Bruce said.
Tim found that he was gripping onto Bruce’s shirt for some reason.
“Then why?” Tim demanded. “Why couldn’t I stop? What is wrong with me? Why was I, why am I like him?”
“You are not like him.” Bruce said harshly.
Tim must have flinched because all at Bruce was looking away as if he was guilty of something.
“Tim,”
Tim shifted away from Bruce. He tugged the weighted blanket up and around his shoulders, burrowing into it in the absence of the comfort of Bruce’s arms. He found that he couldn’t meet Bruce’s eye.
“You’re not like him, Sweetheart.”
That hadn’t been Bruce, but Barbara.
Tim’s breath caught, not having realised that she was sitting in her wheelchair next to his bed.
“Why are you here?” Tim asked.
He hadn’t meant it as an insult, he loved Barbara just as much as he loved all the others. But she was here for a reason and Tim had known that reason, he should have known that reason but it was at the edge of his awareness.
Tim tried to concentrate, tried to remember what could have caused his utterly terrifying laughing attack thing, but he found that he couldn’t. He really was tired, but he needed to know what was happening more.
“Barbara.”
She reached out then, not taking his hand into hers but giving him the option to close the distance between them. He didn’t, tugging the weighted blanket tighter against him. He blinked, glancing down at the fabric and realising that Duke had brought down one of Duke’s own blankets.
Duke.
Duke had been here.
For some reason, Tim hated that Duke had seen him like that.
No, it hadn’t just been for some reason. Duke’s parents had been subjected to terrible torture at the hands of joker, torture that they very well may never recover from.
But this hadn’t been the Joker, it hadn’t been, it couldn’t have been. Joker was in Arkham and just because Tim had been laughing a little bit it didn’t mean that Joker had had some part in it. Maybe Tim’s mind had just broken for some reason, god knows he’s been under enough stress throughout his life to have a full break down by this point, or maybe it had been Ivy instead, she had that many different plants she used, surely one could cause uncontrollable laughter.
Tim hadn’t fought Ivy recently either.
Another possibility was that Tim had just had a nightmare and the weird laughing fit hadn’t actually been a thing at all.
“Tim,” Barbara said.
“No.” Tim said.
“We don’t have to talk about this, not if you don’t want to.” She said.
“No.” Tim said again, shaking his head.
He needed to know, no matter what it was he needed to know.
Bruce and Barbara knew something Tim didn’t and Tim loathed being out of the loop, especially when it came to his own damn head.
Tim blinked.
“Where’s Duke?” Tim asked.
“With Jason.” Bruce said.
“Is he…” Tim swallowed roughly. “Okay?”
“I imagine it was difficult seeing you like that,” Bruce conceded. “But Duke assured me that he wanted to help as much as he could. Jason’s brought him upstairs for a break after you fully fell asleep. Duke needed to know that the hysteria had ended first.”
Hysteria.
But had it been hysteria? Was hysteria still actually a thing or did Bruce simply have no other word to describe whatever state had overcome Tim?
Tim found himself swallowing again, his throat incredibly dry. Bruce held out a cup towards him.
“Slow.” Bruce said.
Tim glared at him but the moment the moisture touched his lips he found himself gulping down the water until Bruce forcibly took it away again. Tim coughed and terror struck him all at once again because what if he started laughing, he couldn’t start laughing, not again.
“Follow my breathing, Tim,” Barbara said.
Tim would have glared at her too if not desperately needing something to mirror right now if only to stop himself from hyperventilating over nothing.
They simply breathed for several long moments and Tim found himself calming.
“Is Duke okay?” Tim asked.
“He will be.” Bruce said.
Which means that while Duke may have hid being upset from Bruce, Bruce recognised just how terrible it must have been for Duke to see him like that, even if Duke had then been the one to demand that he stay by Tim’s side.
Guilt tore deeper than the pain did.
“Tim,” Barbara said. “Do you want to talk about this today? You can rest instead if you need to.”
She was giving him an out, he dimly realised, an excuse to keep whatever terrible secret they were keeping from him if only for a little longer.
They were being weird, and given the proclivities in vigilantism and crime fighting, that was saying something.
“Joker.” Tim said again. “What the hell does this have to do with Joker and why does it sound wrong when you call me Tim?”
Something crossed Barbara’s face then and new guilt swirled within him because she looked like that because of him.
But it did feel wrong to be called Tim. It was his name except it wasn’t but he wanted it to be his name at the very same time, needed it to be his name.
Robin was another name for him, but that didn’t fully click either.
Bruce’s jaw ticked.
Barbara glared at Bruce for a moment but then when her eyes flicked back to Tim instead, her expression softened.
“Tim,” She said. “When you were Robin, what do you remember about facing up against the Joker?”
He wasn’t Tim.
For some reason, it didn’t matter what sort of interactions he’d had with Joker back in his Robin days, what mattered was that he wasn’t Tim.
But he was Tim. He was Timothy Jackson Drake and he was tired and sore and loved and okay but there was something more at the edge of his existence, something that was both familiar and foreign.
Tim (Not Tim?) made a wounded noise, curling into himself.
“Try to focus,” Barbara said.
“I fought him a lot.” Tim finally managed. “I… Didn’t want Batman to have to face him.”
“Okay,” She said. “That’s good, Tim, that’s really good. One of those times you fought him, alongside Batman, do you remember that I was there too?”
He wasn’t Tim, he wasn’t.
Tim rocked forward except he wasn’t Tim he wasn’t Tim he wasn’t-
He was gripping onto his hair, pulling tight, but warm hands coaxed them away. The warm familiar hands used just enough pressure not to be painful but to be grounding instead, giving Tim (Not Tim? Robin? No, that wasn’t it either) something to focus on.
“You were Batgirl.” Tim whispered. “Back when I was Robin.”
“Yes.”
“You’re not Batgirl anymore.”
“I go by Oracle now.”
“Because of Joker. But that’s not what you’re talking about. Joker, he… He hurt Jason.”
Tim’s eyes flicked to Bruce, waiting for the now all too familiar flash of pain to cross his face except this time it seemed twisted in another way, as if something else was hurting Bruce.
Oh, it was Bruce that was holding Tim’s hands. It was nice, so nice even if Tim didn’t deserve it.
Fuck that. He deserved it. Bruce had tried to prove to him time and again that he deserved it, deserved the attention, the love, it was just that Tim’s dumb brain just couldn’t seem to fully accept that.
Tim.
Tim Tim Tim.
Robin?
No, not Robin either, it was something else, he was something else.
No he wasn’t.
Whoever he was, he bit his lip so hard that he thought he actually managed to keep it from wobbling.
“If you need to-” Bruce started.
“No.” He snapped. “I need to know.”
“It could be dangerous.” Bruce said.
“You’re the one who called Barbara,” He seethed. “Because you’re too much of a coward to tell me the truth, whatever that truth is.”
“Tim,” Bruce said.
“It’s not Tim.” He snapped. He shook his head hard and tried again. “Just… Don’t use names right now. Please?”
Bruce blinked in surprise and if things didn’t hurt so much, he might have celebrated the victory of making The Batman surprised. As it was, he just tried to focus on the texture and the weight of the blanket.
“Is there a nickname you’d like us to use instead?” Barbara asked.
It was careful, the way she asked it, as if there was a certain name she didn’t want to have to use. Whatever he said though, she would use, he was sure of it.
Fidgeting, he thought about it.
Tim.
No.
Robin.
No.
Jack Drake?
Oh hell no.
Red Robin didn’t sound right either and he must have made another pathetic sound because Barbara smiled kindly.
“How about Love?”
It was his turn to blink in surprise. It sounded so nice, so warm, so right. He nodded.
“Love,” Bruce said and it was everything. “You’re right. Joker hurt… Killed, Jason. He also hurt Barbara.”
For some reason, Love thought that Bruce might then say that Joker had hurt him too but that wasn’t right. Sure, Joker has been a pain in the ass to fight against sometimes, especially because the kind of damage he does is genuinely dangerous and often lethal compared to some of the other rogues that operated on the streets of Gotham.
But Love hasn’t been hurt by Joker.
Junior could never-
Love rocked forward. He breathed hard, half expecting it to catch in a laugh but it didn’t.
Both Bruce and Barbara gave Love a long moment to settle and it was only then that he really registered that Bruce was still on the bed with him. That realisation alone was enough to ground him fully because he was capable of anything with Bruce by his side.
Love nodded for them to go on.
“When you were Robin,” Barbara said. “Joker took you.”
He laughed then, because there was no way he’d let himself be captured by Joker. He snapped his jaw shut immediately, hating how both Bruce and Barbara had sat straight up.
“Sorry.” Love said quickly. “That wasn’t… That wasn’t whatever was going on, promise, it’s just that Joker’s, well, Joker. I’d never let him catch me, not unless it was on purpose.”
“It wasn’t on purpose, Sweetheart.” Barbara said.
Sweetheart sounded nice too, and far more right than Tim. But that was ridiculous, he was Tim. He chewed on his lip again.
“He took you.” Bruce ground out.
“For a long time.” Barbara said. “And when we found you again, well… You had been changed. Joker, and Harley, had tortured you. You held on for as long as you could, I’m sure you did Love, but what they put you through… No one could have come out of that unscathed.”
This had nothing to do with the laughing attack Love had had, this had nothing to do with anything except of course it did because Joker hadn’t tortured him, Joker had made him.
“You were scared, Love,” She continued. “You fought against it, against the conditioning, but it was strong. Incredibly strong. When we got you safely home, we consulted both Doctors and magic users. We decided that it’d be safer for your psyche if we put a block between what they’d done to you and how you were before.”
But Love was already shaking his head because no, that was wrong, all of this was wrong.
“We had no choice.” Bruce said.
“Bullshit.” Love snapped. “There’s always a choice. And you’re wrong, Joker didn’t, he, he’s my- No! No, he’s nothing to me. He’s nothing but a monster.”
“Love,” Barbara said. “Breathe, it’s okay, you’re okay. We’re right here with you.”
But they hadn’t been, they’d left him in Joker’s hands, they’d left him to die.
No, they’d did everything they could to find him, he knew that Bruce and Barbara would always do anything it took to keep him safe because they loved him and he loved them and sure Bruce could be an absolute asshole but he was also Tim’s Dad.
But he wasn’t Tim.
Hell, he wasn’t Love either.
He whined low, rocking forward again.
“The meds.” He said.
“It was part of your regimen when you were detoxing from the Joker Toxin.” Bruce said.
But the antidotes for Joker Toxin hadn’t looked like that auto injector, and none of the ones he could think of were ever administered in the hand like that. It didn’t make any sense, none of this was making any sense.
The world never makes any sense and that is profoundly hilarious and so he laughed except it caught in his throat because he didn’t want to laugh, he didn’t.
“My psyche, you’re saying that it was, that I was…”
He didn’t want to say it, say that he was broken. Sure, he’d always known it, but he had almost come to like the idea that maybe he wasn’t so messed up after all.
“You went through a lot.” Barbara said. “The human mind can only tolerate so much but you’re not broken, Love, I promise. You were just…”
“Hurt.” Bruce said.
There was something in Bruce’s voice that made his chest ache even more.
“I didn’t protect you.” Bruce said. “I thought that Joker had…”
“Changed me.” He said. “Irreparably. Maybe he had. But you had no right to wipe my memories.”
For some reason, it wasn’t anger that had risen up within him, but an almost giddy kind of amusement. Bruce had wiped his memories, even though Bruce himself always clung onto his own traumatic memories as a anchor to base his mission for a brighter world on.
“We didn’t wipe them,” Barbara said. “Just put a psychic block in place as an attempt to protect you, to bring you back to us.”
“Does Dick know?” He demanded.
It wouldn’t be the first time that Dick had hid something from him but for some reason the thought of Dick having something to do with this made him hurt all the more.
“No,” Barbara said. “At least, not really at the time. Bruce and Dick were estranged and I didn’t feel like it was fair to you to have other people know things that you didn’t.”
“Does Jason know?”
“Jason was… Gone, at the time.”
“Dead.” He said. “Jason was dead, at Joker’s hand, and you let him take me. No, you let him remake me, you let him take me back because I was always meant to be his. No, that’s not, I didn’t, Bruce I don’t mean that.”
Bruce’s fists were clenched and shaking yet he still made no move to get up off the bed because he wasn’t angry, he was mourning. Mourning Jason, mourning Barbara’s mobility, mourning Tim.
“Bruce,” He croaked. “Please, I didn’t mean that. He’s not… Joker means nothing to me.”
“I know, T-, Love. I know Love, you’re okay, you didn’t do anything wrong. Not back then, and definitely not now.”
“In fact,” Barbara said. “Even back then you were so brave. You broke free from Joker’s control, as much as you could have at the time. You fought to be more than him.”
“Him.” He echoed. “Joker? Or Joker Junior?”
Barbara schooled her face immediately but JJ had still seen the hitch in her breath and it made him laugh.
The whole world was nothing but a joke that demanded to be torn apart.
He tugged hard at his hair only for his hands to be guided away once more. He laughed loudly and unashamedly because he was nothing but a ball of laughs.
He laughed loudly and unashamedly and yet there were once again tears streaming down his face.
Warmth enveloped him but it wasn’t Bruce, not this time, but Barbara. She had shifted forward on her chair as far as she could go in order to hug him and that made JJ cackle because she was broken because of Dad but Joker wasn’t Dad, he wasn’t.
“It’s okay, Tim,” Barbara said softly. “It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t and it had never been because he wasn’t Tim, not anymore, he hadn’t been completely Tim for a long time even if he hadn’t realised it.
She held him as if he was worth something after all, held him while he sobbed, while he laughed, while his hands shook with the distant memory of holding a shaking prop gun that hadn’t really been just a prop after all.
Barbara had said he had fought it, fought against the conditioning, against the torture, but he couldn’t have because he had never been strong enough.
No, he was strong.
He needed to be strong.
Not just for the people of this city, not just for the team’s he worked so hard to find a place on, but for himself.
He needed, no, it was more than that, he wanted to be strong.
JJ cackled but just in the same way that he wasn’t fully Tim, he wasn’t fully JJ either. He focused instead, on the weighted blanket that had mostly slipped from his shoulders, on Barbara’s perfume, on the fact that Bruce was still right there by his side despite the fact that Bruce was probably tearing himself up right now over some misplaced guilt over what had happened all those years ago.
He cackled and he laughed but he let himself cry too, not just as a wrenching sob but because he knew that it was okay to cry within this place, with these people.
This was his family, not Harley and certainly not Joker.
He deals in facts so he focused as much as he could on each one.
He had once been Tim. Tim had not been wanted. Tim had made himself be wanted. Tim had fought to be by Bruce’s side, not just as a replacement for Jason but for himself too.
He had once been Robin. Robin had been taken. Robin had been tortured. Robin had been taken over.
He had once been JJ, forced to do things he didn't want to do.
He was all of them, and none of them all at once. He was what he made himself to be. He sucked in a deep breath, and then another. He shook, sweat beading at his brow.
“I told you this was a bad idea.” Bruce grunted.
“Give him time,” Barbara said, though her voice was tight too.
He shuddered, biting his lip so hard that he thought he might make it bleed but he focused on that sharp pain instead of the flashes of memory of electricity and acid burning through him.
He breathed, fighting back against the incessant laughter that kept trying to bubble up.
He existed, as Tim, as Robin, as Red Robin, as JJ.
He sagged into Barbara’s embrace but she took on his weight without hesitation just like she had done all those years ago.
There were footsteps distantly, echoing as if coming down the stairs. They were quick, but careful too, as if the person was frantic with worry but also trying desperately not to disturb anyone.
Tim was still leaning hard against Barbara when Jason barged in, in new definitely not red clothes.
“How’s it going, Tiny Tim?” Jason asked, just a little too loudly.
“Jason,” Barbara said. “We’re using Lo-”
He pushed himself carefully away from Barbara, though he took her hands into his own and squeezed them tightly. An affirmation that he was okay, and a years late thank you too.
“Tim’s fine.” He said. “In fact, I actually really like my name.”
Barbara’s smile was strained but genuine, her eyes glassy with unshed tears.
The tension had melted away from Bruce too and Tim reached out, squeezing his Dad’s hand as well as Barbara’s.
They had been there for him during an impossible situation, just like how they were here for him right now because he deserved attention, deserved love and not just the love of a maniacal clown that was trying to get under Batman’s skin.
Tim breathed, feeling more himself than he had for a long time. He didn’t know what had set things back in motion, especially after so long since it had all started in the first place. It might have been a bad rug reaction, it might have been one too many sleepless nights.
Whatever the case, Tim didn’t think he wanted to go back to not knowing. JJ was painful, there was no denying it. He’d been a hurt scared conditioned kid that had at the time thought he had shot Joker to death instead of killing Bruce. But JJ was still a part of him, at least as much as Robin had been.
“Fantastic, Timberlina!” Jason said. “Though I have to say, Timantha, you gave me a fucking heart attack not just with the laughing shit, but with the glitter bomb shit, so I hope you know, Drakeyboy, that I have rigged every single thing in your bedroom to explode with rainbow glitter the moment you touch it. And, somewhere else too, but you won’t know where until you set it off, Tim Tam.”
Tim rolled his eyes but then his attention caught on something in Jason’s hair.
Yep, that was definitely some red glitter still there. Tim didn’t mention it, nor did he laugh outright, but he definitely did grin because Jason looked so stupid right now.