Nerdybirdboy - Tumblr Posts
"Hi, Doc," Tim, or rather Robin, greeted. "I was close by so thought I should see if you were here and free." Considering the blood coating half his face, he was not there for a social visit. Sure, Alfred could patch him up to, but he couldn't exactly run around Gotham looking like the victim in a horror flick.
"Robin." Leslie sighed, fixing the boy with a look. It wasn't that she didn't want to see Tim, more that she'd rather he turn up without being covered in his own blood. Still, if he could grin at her like that then he was fit enough to be on the receiving end of a lecture. But that could wait for now.
Motioning for him to follow her through to one of the rooms at the back, Leslie held the door open for him. Hopefully it was just a superficial head wound, they always bled more than necessary. "Do I want to know what happened this time?"
"Well that's something at least." She nods, glad that who ever had hurt the boy was behind bars.
She huffed a laugh. A King movie was fairly accurate. "Take a seat on the bench." She took a moment to drag a cart over and another to dampen some gauze so she could clean off enough of the dried blood to take a look at the wound.
"So what am I looking at here? Blunt trauma? Or did they nick the skin with something? Talk me through what happened." She asked, keeping an eye out for signs of disorientation.
cont. from [x] with @docthompkins
He followed her back and went into the room when she held the door open. He wasn’t fully as bad patient as Bruce, especially when he came here by his own free will.
Tim chuckled and then winced, moving his face too much hurt. “Probably not, but the one who did this is with GCPD now.” So at least no one else would get hurt. “I think it looks worse than it is, but I know head wounds can be tricky, which is why I came here. And also to clean myself up a little. I look like I’ve been in a King movie,” he joked, even if it was kind of true.
@nerdybirdboy sent 💬 for a starter from one of my reblogged memes. (Still accepting)
"I don’t know why you thought I wasn’t going to notice, but I see right through you."
Leslie raised an eyebrow, her tone not unkind as she waited for Tim to come clean.
Tim took a deep breath. He had met Leslie before, but not like this. It was all Bruce's idea; if Tim wanted to continue as Robin, he had to talk to Leslie. Sure, he had been through a thing or two, but he didn't really think he needed therapy. He always had Dick to talk to, his brother always picked up the phone when Tim needed him. Taking another deep breath, Tim applied his Timothy mask and knocked on the door. @nerdybirdboy
Bruce was concerned, that much was clear.
Leslie was in agreement that perhaps having someone outside of the immediate family to talk to would be helpful, however on the few occasions she had met young Tim Drake in the past, he hadn't exactly been keen on the idea of therapy in general. Still, she was optimistic enough to keep an open mind. And really, the pool of qualified professionals in the know about the Wayne's was very limited. There weren't many other options.
"Hello Tim." Leslie greeted him warmly, pushing down the sense of Deja vu and stepping aside to let him past into her office. "It's good to see you again."
nerdybirdboy:
“Likewise, Dr Thompkins,” Tim replied, a pleasant smile on his lips. Ok, Timmy, you can do this. Give her enough to be happy, but not enough to let her know any of your true thoughts and feelings, then it risks going straight back to Bruce and then he’ll definitely not let you be Robin anymore.
Sitting down, he was very conscious about keeping a fairly open body language, hiding the fact that he didn’t want to be there at all. “How does this work?” Tim’s voice was calm and steady, all of it through iron will. Which was also the only reason he wasn’t fidgeting. “If you want me to talk about the accident, I’ll do that, but it really was an accident. I wanted to sleep and in my sleep deprived state I took a couple of pills too much. That’s it, there’s nothing more to tell.”
What had happened was that Tim having not been able to sleep more than a couple of hours for quite some time and when Bruce and Alfred were going to be gone for the weekend, Tim had seen it as his chance to get some good sleep. He hadn’t really thought about what he was doing and had just taken some of the pills, which had been more than a person his size should take. Not dangerously much, but not good either. Okay, maybe a little dangerous, but the risk of him dying had been very low. Thankfully, Alfred had felt something was wrong and Bruce knew to never doubt Alfred’s senses and they had turned back. Instead of going away, they had spent the weekend monitoring Tim. Once he was awake and conscious enough to speak and drink, Bruce had been very very angry. Just as angry as when he’d run off to handle those thugs that first time before he became Robin. Alfred believed Tim when he said it had been an accident, Bruce hadn’t been sure.
It was true though. It had really been an accident, however, accident or not, Tim shouldn’t have had sleeping pills or benzo, but he had (not anymore though). Black market medicine, so he hadn’t stolen them from Alfred or anything. Tim didn’t think he’d done anything wrong besides worrying Bruce and Alfred.
Oh he was going straight into it? Okay, she could meet him there. But Leslie really ought to slow him down first. Get him comfortable. Or more comfortable at least.
Closing the door, Leslie went about rummaging through the mini-fridge she had built into the cabinet against the wall. “Sure, we can talk about what happened if you want to Tim - do you want a drink? Snacks? I’ve got a stash of them here, you’re welcome to them anytime.”
Tim had clearly rationalised what had happened down to its finest points. Frankly, Leslie was fairly certain he was telling the truth, but even so, it was a symptom of what she feared was a much larger problem.
“So, you wanted to sleep? Okay, can I ask why you were sleep deprived in the first place? It sounds like you had a hard time getting sleep despite that - I presume that’s why you took the pills, but feel free to correct me.”
nerdybirdboy:
“Isn’t that why I’m here?” Why else would he be here? Bruce had never made him go to therapy for anything else and he’d seen and been through plenty of stuff. “No, thanks. I’m good.” He wasn’t here to have a snack, this was business. Or at least that was how he saw it. Just like cops had to see a psychologist after firing their gun, he had to see one after the accident to continue to be Robin.
“You know what we do, me and Bruce, so I have that and school, both take their time and once I’m trying to sleep… How should I describe it? I notice a lot of things, details, patterns and so on. It takes time to process it all and I can’t just shut it off and go to sleep. Sometimes I realizes things when falling asleep and need to deal with it before I can sleep. Sometimes I don’t get any sleep for days and that’s when I need help to shut off. That’s all.” Tim knew he was smart and a little different, what he didn’t know was that most people usually didn’t need to process pretty much every detail they had seen that day. “So, yes, that was why I took the pills. I had waited a little too long and lost my ability to properly judge how much I took.” He really hadn’t tried to kill himself.
Tim didn’t like this at all, but he somehow still manged to keep his body language in control and kept himself from fidgeting. This all felt like an invasion of privacy. Even though he knew he decided what to say, which was why he also didn’t mention that nightmares were part of it too.
“Details and patterns.” Leslie repeated thoughtfully, taking a seat in the plush armchair and pulling her notebook into her lap. She was going to need to keep notes for this. Things to circle back to later. Everything he was saying was important, as well as the things he wasn’t saying.
Days without sleep - that was concerning. Realising he had waited too long to take the pills. Misjudging the dosage... He had taken them before. Self-medicating. His sense of responsibility seemed to be beyond that of most fourteen year olds she had met. Not necessarily all of them, given her history of working with Batman, but it was disconcerting all the same.
Tim was sitting so still, looking a little uncomfortable but not so much that Leslie had any inclination he was going to run out on her. So she pressed onwards.
“Details and patterns of what exactly?”
nerdybirdboy:
“Everything? Like things I see mostly, but also things I hear or smell. I then connect all the details to patterns. What else would it be?” Some of Tim’s confusion bled through in his expression, clearly not fully understanding why she asked him that questions. “It’s just the usual stuff.” He shrugged. If she was going to ask such basic question, this was definitely going to be a waste of time.
“Can’t you just ask what you need to deem me sane and be done with it? I’m not suicidal, except for when in class and dying of boredom.” Yes, he was joking and he was certain Leslie understood that. “Honestly, I don’t understand why Bruce got so upset about it or why he doesn’t trust me. I’m doing much more dangerous stuff several nights a week.” There it was, a hint of irritation, just barely noticeable for the skilled observer.
“You are sane Tim. That was never in doubt.” He was annoyed. He wanted to gloss over whatever problems were there and continue on as planned. To not worry about himself and get back to being Robin. Leslie wondered how long he had been doing just that for exactly. It was too ingrained into his character to not be habbitual.
Making a note to go back to the details and patterns, she cut to the chase. “There is a difference in danger though, between fighting the villains and goons of Gotham, and self medicating and being exhausted to the point of an overdose, however accidental it may have been.” Leslie had her own opinion on the said fighting of villains and goons as well, but that wasn’t an argument she planned on having with the boy in front of her.
“You’re an intelligent young man Tim. I wouldn't dare pretend otherwise. If we apply some empathy, and consider Bruce’s point of view, is it that Bruce doesn’t trust you? Or is it that he is worried about his son and is trying to do his part as a responsible parent?”
❝ Stop laughing and just tell me how to put this on! ❞
There was no way he was going to stop laughing any time soon. "How did you manage to light the fucking batmobile on fire?!" Apparently screwing with B's stuff was a rite of passage.
“Says the one with the baby face,” Dick retorted. It was practically a ritual of his by now, whine to anyone and everyone nearby, get it out of your system, maybe guilt someone into going with you, profit. The only bearable ones were when he’d managed to talk someone into being his plus one, especially so when said plus one happened to be male and some of the more conservative crowds stayed clear of him. “If anything you should be joining me, you’re in cheek pinching range.” He definitely didn’t miss that.
@acrobatick liked for a starter.
“You’re such a baby sometimes, Dick,” Tim laughed as he fixed his own bow tie. Despite all the galas he’d been to in his life, he could never seem to get it perfect. “We all have to go and none of us like it.” He’d been to galas most of his life and he still hated them. They were boring, never ended and you had to be pleasant and polite while chitchatting about things he had no interest in. There also always seemed to be at least one older lady who pinched his cheeks, saying how cute he was, which Tim definitely didn’t like. One day, he wouldn’t look like he was twelve, a curse for any fifteen years old teenage boy.
“You can’t hide those shaking hands from me. You need to stop.”
The hallucinations hadn't even kicked in yet. He had time left until he was tired enough to be useless. "I've already agreed to sit out on patrol." He'd been stared down by Alfred when he even talked about going out, so the least he could do was stay up and man the coms. Dick moved to face Tim as to be more convincing. "Look, you don't have to worry about me, I have this handled." He had to. He was the one who was supposed to be there for Tim, not the other way around. "So, if you're not joining the others you should probably go to sleep yourself."
nerdybirdboy:
“At least I don’t sound like a baby.” Tim knew his brother’s little ritual very well. Whine at anyone close by and then be perfectly pleasant at the gala. He guessed it all was a bit different for him who had actually been born into this world, unlike Dick. Not that Tim enjoyed galas any more than his brother did. “Why do you think I’m dressed up, wearing a bow tie and all? It’s not for being in the Cave.” No unfortunately the entire family had to be at the gala. Oh yay… “Ugh, don’t remind me about it.” By the time the gala was over, Tim’s cheeks would be sore.
“Yes, which is why you should join in on the whining.” Would Tim hate him or love him if he tried to convince Wally to come even though it was last minute? If a speedster rambling at 50 miles per hour wouldn’t catch and keep everyone’s attention, nothing would. Oh, yay, bargaining. Back to the third stage of grief. “Maybe I could try to claim chicken pox again.” He’d tried doing it countless times back when he was Robin, maybe this was the day it would actually work.
“ you’re not fine. you need to rest. ”
Be that as it may Bruce had entrusted Gotham to him until he got back, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to do it justice because of some arching ribs. “I’ve got another couple hours i me.” He’d go back out to patrol once he was done wrapping himself up. Then there was the inevitable mission report he’d have to do to keep Bruce off his ass until he returned, as well as the research needed for a case Babs had asked him to take a look at, and if nothing happened between then and now he’d reconsider getting some rest.
“I’d be surprised if you could make it down the hall without collapse.”
Eh, he might make it, he might not. It remains to be seen. "Is that a challenge?" Dick is clutching on to his door with all his might. If he keeps holding on to something he probably could go all the way, otherwise he's a bit more screwed. It takes whatever energy and strenght he had left after being beaten black and blue the night before but he does make it down the hall. It’s slow and he leans agaist the wall the entire time for support, but he’s counting it. He lets out a groan when faced with the dreaded stairs that comes at the end. Dick used to love them and always did some sort of trick or flip on the way down, but when you feel half dead they fucking suck.
His eyes close and he leans his forehead against the wallpaper, hoping he doesn’t stain it with his sweat. “Made it.” The hall is over, he conquered it, problem is that he can’t possibly stop here. Bruce is away again and he’s not going to let the old man or Gotham down this time, no matter what he is going to make it to the cave.