Work Text:
Tell me what’s wrong with me
My body, face, my hair
Tell me all my many faults
Tell me like you care
“Timothy, do not slouch! You are a Drake, and you must hold yourself like one.” Mother’s fingers dug into Tim’s shoulder, her rebuke quiet enough that none of the other gala guests could hear her. His parents had come back for the annual Wayne Foundation Gala, returning to Gotham for the first time in eight months so that they could be seen by their fellow socialites. Tim knew what was expected of him at such events, but being alone for months had left him rusty on how to act as his parents’ perfect heir. He quickly straightened himself, forcing his smile to grow bigger. Mother looked him up and down before releasing her hold on him. Next to him, Father gushed to the Reynolds, owners of a company currently in talks with Drake Industries about a deal. “Yes, our little Timothy is quite the bright one. Set to graduate two years ahead, and just last month he was a finalist in the state robotics competition.” Never mind that his parents hadn’t bothered to attend the competition and had gotten mad at his second-place finish when they learned about it in his weekly email to them. As the conversation continued, Tim’s eyes drifted around the room past simpering socialites and deceitful drunks until they came to rest on a corner of the ballroom. With an arm slung over his brother's shoulder stood Dick and Jason, Nightwing and Robin. The two had spent most of the gala keeping to themselves, laughing at the guests, and indulging in the delicious food. Now, Mr. Wayne (Batman!) walked up to the two, reaching out to ruffle their hair despite their squawks of protest. They all looked so happy, actually happy, not gala happy. A clap to his back from Father brought him back to the people in front of him. One look at the slight frown on Father’s face let him know he had messed up. There was sure to be a discussion when they went home.
When we both know you’re cruel
And we both know you’re right
I could listen to you, like a fool all night
“Your mother and I have to go on this dig, son. We are providing for your future, the future of Drake Industries. One day, this legacy will all be yours. You understand, right, sport? Yes, of course you do, now stop these protests and act like a Drake.” And with that, his parents were out the door and off on a five-month trip. They had been home for two weeks this time, but Tim couldn’t help but feel bitter. The empty hallways loomed over him, the silence an old, unwanted friend. He knew he should be grateful, and he tried to be. He listened to his parents and hung on their every word when they spoke to him. He was thankful for the house they provided, for the food they paid for, and for the clothes he got to wear. He worked hard to be the things they told him to be. He got good grades in school, kept out of the way, and made sure that anyone who met him would say he was a delight. And yet night after night, he found himself on Gotham’s rooftops chasing after the Bats. Under the smoky moonlight, he watched as they brought hope to Gotham, shining light even in the darkest of cities. In the quiet moments, he watched as the heroes interacted amongst themselves. Watched Batman smile at a joke Robin made. Watched them buy ice cream and eat it on a rooftop. Watched as they cared for each other. He watched and he wanted.
What’s wrong with me?
How I speak?
How I fight?
What’s wrong with me?
Every muscle in his body ached, screaming at him to stay down and never get back up. He had been training for hours now with no end in sight. Batman stood over him, waiting for him to get back up, hoping he wouldn’t. Unfortunately, Tim had a job to do, so he pushed himself back up, standing on wobbling legs as he got into the correct stance. Nearly a year after Jason’s death and Batman was only just starting to reign in his agony, pulling his punches and thinking of his own safety in a fight. He hadn’t wanted Tim there, hadn’t wanted another Robin, as he had so often yelled at the boy, but Tim was used to being unwanted, so he pushed through. He took the anger and pain. The endless training left him bruised and having to use Google to figure out proper injury treatment. The long walk back to his house was one he dreaded each night, as all he wanted to do was rest. “Focus Robin, you are being sloppy,” Batman snapped, throwing a punch at Tim. He barely managed to dodge, only for his legs to be swept out from under him, and found himself once again breathless on the mats. “Unacceptable. Both Dick and Jason were miles past you at this point in their training. You wanted to be Robin, so act like it,” Batman growled, making no move to help the boy up. “I’m sorry, Batman, I’ll,” Tim tries to stutter, but is interrupted. “Don’t be sorry, just be better.” And with that, the man stormed off to the showers, leaving Tim to pick himself up. Gingerly rising, Tim hobbled over to the Batcomputer to fill out his report on that night's training report. Batman expected them to be filled out immediately, and Tim couldn’t give the man any more reasons to find fault with him. As he typed, he thought back to his nights stalking the bats on the rooftops, to the light interactions between them, the love he saw. He quickly shook his head. He shouldn’t dwell on such thoughts; he was here to save Batman, that was all.
You keep me guessing
Nanny called me loveable
Don’t believe her anymore
Tim often wondered what it was about him that repulsed people. He knew it wasn’t normal for parents to be gone so long, for a weekly email, that more often than not went unanswered, to be the only contact between them. He had asked his last nanny, Jenny, why once, and she had teared up. Jenny kneeled before him, holding his face in her hands, and said, “Remember, Tim, you are so lovable and anyone who can’t see so is an idiot.” She had pulled him into a tight hug, one only rivaled by the one he had received from Dick Grayson years ago. When his parents returned he remembered hearing yelling and then the next morning, they were telling him he was too old for a nanny. He didn’t even get to say goodbye to Jenny. When it came to Bruce, he understood a bit more. He had forced his way in and blackmailed the grieving man to make him Robin. Bruce wasn’t shy in his dislike of Tim, constantly reminding him that he was there out of necessity, not want. He did not want another son, and Tim would never be anything but an unfortunately needed Robin. Still, he held hope that maybe, maybe Bruce would turn a smile his way. Would hold him close and love him. If only he could be good enough. That hope was stroked when Bruce showed him tenderness, a ruffle of his hair or a slight smile. It was ruthlessly crushed when he heard Bruce’s soft mutter of ‘Jason’, clearly seeing a boy who was not there. Even as time passed and his predecessor's name no longer crossed Bruce’s lips in his rare moments of kindness, Tim knew they were not truly meant for him. He continued to walk home after patrol, returning to an empty house and the coldness that was his loneliness.
Now I’m listening to you
What do I do that for?
Please don’t ignore me
Mm, mm
Laying in his bed at Drake manor, bones broken and throat slit, Tim drowned in guilt and self loathing. Jason was back and he was angry. He had miraculously risen from the grave only to find that Tim had taken his place as Robin. Of course, Tim had only become Robin to help Bruce and preserve Robin’s legacy as the light to Batman’s darkness, but Jason didn’t know that. All he saw was another person running around in the colors he died in, mocking him. And so Jason came and showed Tim how unworthy he was to be a bat. Tim had already known that he was a terrible Robin, this just confirmed it. He was never as strong as Jason had been or as agile as Dick, facts that Bruce made sure to point out to him. When it came to working cases he was good, but not good enough as there would always be more to solve. He couldn’t pull a smile or a laugh from Bruce like the others could. He was simply a stopgap Robin and not even a good one at that. And despite that, he pushed forward even as he continuously fell short. He took every criticism and worked towards its solution. He knew that despite the beating he took, despite the hatred from the former Robin, he would not stop. He was Robin, and Robin was someone, and that was better than being nobody.
What’s wrong with me?
What can I do?
What’s wrong with me?
Could it be you?
Of course Bruce’s blood son found fault with him, of course. That was all Tim could think as he lay broken and bleeding next to the Batcave’s T-Rex. This thought was further strengthened in the coming weeks as the newest member of the Wayne family took delight in tormenting him. The continued attempts on his life were nothing new, reminding him of the early days of Jason’s return. Tim upped his security and increased his training, determined to stay ahead of the demon brat’s attempts. If the others won’t keep him safe then he will have to do it himself. “Interloper” and “pretender” became his new name in the manor, no one bothering to correct Damian. Tim would like to believe that he has worked hard enough, given enough of himself to the bats that they have accepted him. On some level, however, they must believe it if their only rebukes are when Tim snaps back at the boy. Tim watches them and wonders what they want, what else can he do to please them, to be one of them. He watches and thinks that maybe the answer is nothing. He pushes the thought as far down as he can.
It’s probably me
See that, you see
What’s wrong with me
Mm, mm
Bruce was gone, dead if you believed Dick, missing in time if you believed Tim. The problem was that no one believed Tim. He felt exactly as he did when he was first trying to convince the bats that Batman needed a Robin and continuously had doors slammed in his face. Of course, he had persevered and become Robin, but now he wasn’t Robin. Dick, the man who had tried to tell Tim he was his brother and that he cared, had stripped Tim of the title only to give it to his tormenter. Damian was the new Robin and Dick’s new brother, both jobs Tim had apparently failed at. Looking out the plane window, desperate to get one last look at Gotham before he was gone for who knows how long to bring Bruce back, Tim mourned. He mourned for what could have been, a family he could have had. Instead, what he got was loneliness and dismissal. Maybe when all this was done, he would finally be good enough.