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Tim angst 😞 sorry

Tim Drake: Sudden Loss

About Jack Drake, Stephanie Brown, and Conner Kent

A ‘quick’ but quite long post running through some tragic deaths in Tim’s life.

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Tim Drake tragic life?

I’ve recently seen multiple takes that Tim Drake is just a dude with no tragic story. Most of them were comparing him to the other Robins while doing this. Sure he doesn’t have the same level of story of Jason todd and Damian Wayne. Not everyone’s mother can sell them to the joker or send assassins after them.

But just because he doesn’t have that extreme level of abuse, doesn’t mean he didn’t have trauma. He was a neglected child. I know, before anyone says anything, it’s not as bad as being beat. But we aren’t comparing his to others. Trauma is an individual thing and you don’t have to pass a threshold to get it. But when people invalidate his trauma, Tim Drake isn’t going to know but other people who have been neglected will and they will feel invalidated. And yes, neglect alone is traumatic. Here’s a study from Harvard.

Tim mentions multiple times things that are troublesome to the batfam that he thinks are normal. He even goes to write this letter to his father that he burns.

There was also this moment.

But remember Tim Drake is still 17. That means anything that’s gone bad in his life, contributes to his childhood trauma. And before anyone says ‘he’s basically grown’ the brain doesn’t finish developing until 25 so 17 is definitely in childhood. Source

So that means all the death he’s seen is part of his tragic backstory even though it happened as Robin. Like his dad and mom.

His friend Conner Kent/Superboy where he was distraught enough to try to clone him.

His girlfriend Stephanie Brown when she was Robin for a bit.

His friend Bart Allen/Impulse when he found out the news

When his adoptive brothers tried to kill him, both Jason Todd and Damian Wayne

When his adoptive father Bruce Wayne ’died’ and in an attempt to keep Damian Wayne from running off Dick Grayson gives the robin mantel to the kid that tries to kill Tim

Tim drake is more than a spoiled rich kid with a camera.

Also there is a neat formula for developing ptsd and worsening mental health from trauma. When a person goes through a traumatic event and has no support they are more likely to develop ptsd. Every single person in the batfam is at risk for this, especially the younger members since by the time Tim started losing people, both Bruce and Dick where ‘been there done that.’ Tim’s lack of family support from negligent parents, death of friends support system, and adoptive family that encourages ignoring trauma are a perfect storm to worsening mental health after trauma.

anyways, so far as some of tim's canon christmases go:

batman 455-456. his mom's funeral on christmas eve. technically you can say he spent this one with his parents! also, interesting timing for this. rite of passage is implied to take place over tim's summer break, but also this would mean that poor janet had to wait until december to get buried. if we place rite of passage more in winter/fall and closer to the burial, their postcard home indicates that they might be planning on coming home for the holidays. they say they'll call when they get back, which could just mean that they're planning on calling to check in with tim at boarding school upon their arrival and let him know they made it back okay (which is something my parents do when they get back from vacation too). no actual indication that they're going to immediately leave or not spend time with tim at all after they've returned. if you place this closer to the christmas where janet gets buried and assume tim is on a fall break of some sort, then you can assume they would be home for the holidays.

robin 3. tim's on christmas break. he does not spend it with his dad on account of his dad has been kidnapped. we can't actually blame jack for this one, this one wasn't actually his fault.

dcu holiday bash 3. jack and dana are stuck in chicago on account of weather, which isn't their fault, but they also chose to go away for a trip without tim right before christmas which kind of is their fault. however their intention was to be home for the holidays with tim at least so it's not like they specifically planned to do this to him. this is where i think the idea that tim was always alone from the holidays, because he does tell himself to "get used to it, boy whiner" indicating it may have happened in the past but he also says that normally on christmas he's not normally on rooftops with nothing else to do so

batman: legends of the dark knight 126. tim is shown to be at home for christmas dinner with his dad prior to returning to no man's land, so jack is home for this one.

undetermined one i cannot find the citation for but i can picture in my head. jack mentions getting tim skis for christmas recently, implied that they did celebrate the holiday together at some point.

anyways i'm going to die on the hill of there's no actual canon evidence that jack and janet chose to miss all holidays and tim's birthdays. jack is shown before his death spending holidays with tim when he could and getting him presents and such. it's basically possible (and likely) that they did at least try to time their returns home at times of the year that would prioritize important dates like this, even if they shouldn't have been traveling so much.

I reworked and added a bit more to it, but I posted an updated version on AO3. 

It’s Called: Physically Saved, Mentally Dead 

Author: Annah Kitathryne 

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43706391

Junior what got you smiling like that? 🤡

We need more Joker Junior fanart because I said so, no I don’t care that it isn’t canon, I love him. Partially inspired by a reverse robins fic I read a few days back and I haven’t stopped thinking about.

I love you Helplessly. | Tim Drake X Reader

Angst No comfort.

AU: None Rating: SFW

Note: This one if meant to hurt. I hope it does but if it feels devoid of something please tell me. I tried to make it, so you'd be teary eyed at the end, and I am sorry if I didn't do that. I am not the best at writing this stuff, I'm an avid reader of angst but writer? Well, I can try. __________________________________

They say that when you're drowning there is a moment of peace.

When you wake up, you take a minute to adjust. Maybe it's like that? The peace... It might just be you adjusting to the water in your lunges? A moment of peace, when the light shines in through the curtains and you don't squint and shoo it away, but instead choose to bask in its warmth, its light.

Your drowning, basking. You think you can adjust to this light. Because he made you feel helpless. It felt amazing, like you didn't know what to do and he'd hold you so softly.

When he kissed you, it tasted like coffee. You didn't like the flavor before him.

Tim Drake was a perfect lover.

It felt like he knew you better than you knew yourself. But the best part? Well, that was when he held you.

His soft touch, holding your close. His palms felt like the sun, warm and oh so so comforting. You told him it was because he was always holding a hot cup of coffee, but you didn't think that was true either. Because even if he hadn't had coffee yet, his touch still felt like the world.

"I love you."

You said it first. You always did It first- You messed it all up. Because he didn't look at you after that. Instead, he froze, his eyes zeroing in on his laptop. "I'm sorry- I don't know-"

"No, its fine." Tim interrupted you. A conflicted look on his face. "No- Thank you for saying that. It means a lot to me"

You nodded as he kissed you, his bitter coffee taste weighted heavy on your tongue.

Were kisses meant to be this bitter?

No, that thought was just a distraction. A distraction from what your mind really didn't want to focus on. Why didn't he say it back...?

That thought kept you awake.

What you didn't know was Tim was thinking the same thing. He had been thinking about it. Within the last week there had been three times he wished he said he loved you.

It was the beginning of the week, and he was having a rough day. When he got back to his room, he found... you, a fresh mug of coffee and a pile of blankets all laid out- one even was hung up like a canopy above you.

You giggled and requested he join you in bed and he did, hugging you so tightly, he breathed in your scent and sighed stress leaving him like you repealed it.

When he was with you his brain stopped working. he didn't need to think- he only needed to be there and hold you.

He reasoned with himself, if he could kiss you like he loved you that made up for it. And he kissed you and touched you and- you were his world. He made it feel like you were and he was happy with that.

So why can't you get your mind off those three words?

Your insecurities ate at you as you began to cater to him just a bit more- hoping he'd say those words you longed needed to hear.

They say that when you're drowning there is a moment of peace.

When you wake up, you take a minute to adjust. Maybe it's like that? The peace... It might just be you adjusting to the water in your lunges? A moment of peace, when the light shines in through the curtains and you don't squint and shoo it away, but instead choose to bask in its warmth, its light.

You were drowning and sadly that moment of peace wasn't coming.

The rotting feeling inside your chest felt horrible as he yanked your head from out of the water. Your eyes burned from the tears. You voice broke and sobs wrecked your body, your chest heaving for air- because if you had air, you can plead correctly. "Please-" You couldn't catch your breath, "Please, no more, please no more- Tim- I-"

"Tsk Tsk Tsk." He shook his head with a pout. Pulling your head by its hair harshly so you'd see his waving finger. "No no no, that just won't do." He said before his laughter- that terrible sound.

A scream like none ever left your body. Your throat ached but you couldn't stop. The water muddied your tears as he shoved your face back into the all too hot water. Boiling... No one heard your screams. no one ever would. Not a single soul... accept... Him, the man doing this too you was the only one that could stop this, he was the only one to hear your screams. Muffled by the water.

He eventually left. The game ended and he left you in the corner, a ball as you laid there. Your lip quivering, eyes watering, that pain in your chest- the horrible pain you couldn't explain. Your body shook as you finally let yourself sob into the floor. Ugly, like a wet dog. You didn't know why you felt your heart break the way it did.

No one would ever find you.

Because you were dead to them.

It was your fault.

Maybe if you reached out more often, they would have realized something strange was at play with your death.

If you had been a better girlfriend Tim would have found, you by now.

Maybe if they- if he knew you better?

Why had you been such a failure? Maybe if you where more well-known people would look into it.

Why?

Why did you end up here?

Why was the only thing you could hear that maniacs laugh?

That horrible cracker, filled with nothing but joy as he watched you squirm on the floor pinning you down and yelling at you as you screamed. "Calm down! Calm down!" He'd shout over and over like it was a fun game and those were just fun words!

Your only retreat was the small corner of the room. "Mom." You'd sob over and over again. "Mom please- I- help momma please."

She was the only one you can beg too.

It didn't matter that she would never be able to help you.

Your eyes burned, why did crying do that? Your chest felt empty, like someone scrapped away everything in it, scratching and cutting the sides of your heart. Gripping it and gripping it till it would pop.

The burning in your throats hurt but the only thing you could do was sob and shout.

You shouted till your throat felt like your heart. Scratched, empty yet full at the same time.

"Momma... Tim..." You sobbed, the only two names you could. "Why?" was the only thing you could cry.

"Now now, Why so serious?"

The clown crackled and laughed, that was the last thing you heard before something began beating at your back.

You'd die helplessly. It was strange, the only time you felt helpless… it was with him.

So you only smiled as the light around you- what little was let in faded.

"I... love you...Tim.”

Thinking about instead of remaking this, I should expand on it and just make this like a teaser thing. Then make a series out of it…?

Like this would be the bones but I’d add more depth and stuff as well as more character interactions and emotions just development. Expanding more on the actual “incident” depicted in this fic as well as the relationships. The series would take place after this fic with lil flashbacks and would be able to be read as a stand alone.

I’d also have the Batfam in it as well as features <3 (y/n and Jason can bond over joker murdering them! If I decide y/n should come back alive- wait do I want this to be a Tim mourns over Reader fic or dead girlfriends comes back alive how does Tim feel fic????)

I love you Helplessly. | Tim Drake X Reader

Angst No comfort.

AU: None Rating: SFW

Note: This one if meant to hurt. I hope it does but if it feels devoid of something please tell me. I tried to make it, so you'd be teary eyed at the end, and I am sorry if I didn't do that. I am not the best at writing this stuff, I'm an avid reader of angst but writer? Well, I can try. __________________________________

They say that when you're drowning there is a moment of peace.

When you wake up, you take a minute to adjust. Maybe it's like that? The peace... It might just be you adjusting to the water in your lunges? A moment of peace, when the light shines in through the curtains and you don't squint and shoo it away, but instead choose to bask in its warmth, its light.

Your drowning, basking. You think you can adjust to this light. Because he made you feel helpless. It felt amazing, like you didn't know what to do and he'd hold you so softly.

When he kissed you, it tasted like coffee. You didn't like the flavor before him.

Tim Drake was a perfect lover.

It felt like he knew you better than you knew yourself. But the best part? Well, that was when he held you.

His soft touch, holding your close. His palms felt like the sun, warm and oh so so comforting. You told him it was because he was always holding a hot cup of coffee, but you didn't think that was true either. Because even if he hadn't had coffee yet, his touch still felt like the world.

"I love you."

You said it first. You always did It first- You messed it all up. Because he didn't look at you after that. Instead, he froze, his eyes zeroing in on his laptop. "I'm sorry- I don't know-"

"No, its fine." Tim interrupted you. A conflicted look on his face. "No- Thank you for saying that. It means a lot to me"

You nodded as he kissed you, his bitter coffee taste weighted heavy on your tongue.

Were kisses meant to be this bitter?

No, that thought was just a distraction. A distraction from what your mind really didn't want to focus on. Why didn't he say it back...?

That thought kept you awake.

What you didn't know was Tim was thinking the same thing. He had been thinking about it. Within the last week there had been three times he wished he said he loved you.

It was the beginning of the week, and he was having a rough day. When he got back to his room, he found... you, a fresh mug of coffee and a pile of blankets all laid out- one even was hung up like a canopy above you.

You giggled and requested he join you in bed and he did, hugging you so tightly, he breathed in your scent and sighed stress leaving him like you repealed it.

When he was with you his brain stopped working. he didn't need to think- he only needed to be there and hold you.

He reasoned with himself, if he could kiss you like he loved you that made up for it. And he kissed you and touched you and- you were his world. He made it feel like you were and he was happy with that.

So why can't you get your mind off those three words?

Your insecurities ate at you as you began to cater to him just a bit more- hoping he'd say those words you longed needed to hear.

They say that when you're drowning there is a moment of peace.

When you wake up, you take a minute to adjust. Maybe it's like that? The peace... It might just be you adjusting to the water in your lunges? A moment of peace, when the light shines in through the curtains and you don't squint and shoo it away, but instead choose to bask in its warmth, its light.

You were drowning and sadly that moment of peace wasn't coming.

The rotting feeling inside your chest felt horrible as he yanked your head from out of the water. Your eyes burned from the tears. You voice broke and sobs wrecked your body, your chest heaving for air- because if you had air, you can plead correctly. "Please-" You couldn't catch your breath, "Please, no more, please no more- Tim- I-"

"Tsk Tsk Tsk." He shook his head with a pout. Pulling your head by its hair harshly so you'd see his waving finger. "No no no, that just won't do." He said before his laughter- that terrible sound.

A scream like none ever left your body. Your throat ached but you couldn't stop. The water muddied your tears as he shoved your face back into the all too hot water. Boiling... No one heard your screams. no one ever would. Not a single soul... accept... Him, the man doing this too you was the only one that could stop this, he was the only one to hear your screams. Muffled by the water.

He eventually left. The game ended and he left you in the corner, a ball as you laid there. Your lip quivering, eyes watering, that pain in your chest- the horrible pain you couldn't explain. Your body shook as you finally let yourself sob into the floor. Ugly, like a wet dog. You didn't know why you felt your heart break the way it did.

No one would ever find you.

Because you were dead to them.

It was your fault.

Maybe if you reached out more often, they would have realized something strange was at play with your death.

If you had been a better girlfriend Tim would have found, you by now.

Maybe if they- if he knew you better?

Why had you been such a failure? Maybe if you where more well-known people would look into it.

Why?

Why did you end up here?

Why was the only thing you could hear that maniacs laugh?

That horrible cracker, filled with nothing but joy as he watched you squirm on the floor pinning you down and yelling at you as you screamed. "Calm down! Calm down!" He'd shout over and over like it was a fun game and those were just fun words!

Your only retreat was the small corner of the room. "Mom." You'd sob over and over again. "Mom please- I- help momma please."

She was the only one you can beg too.

It didn't matter that she would never be able to help you.

Your eyes burned, why did crying do that? Your chest felt empty, like someone scrapped away everything in it, scratching and cutting the sides of your heart. Gripping it and gripping it till it would pop.

The burning in your throats hurt but the only thing you could do was sob and shout.

You shouted till your throat felt like your heart. Scratched, empty yet full at the same time.

"Momma... Tim..." You sobbed, the only two names you could. "Why?" was the only thing you could cry.

"Now now, Why so serious?"

The clown crackled and laughed, that was the last thing you heard before something began beating at your back.

You'd die helplessly. It was strange, the only time you felt helpless… it was with him.

So you only smiled as the light around you- what little was let in faded.

"I... love you...Tim.”

EATING THIS UPPPP

It blows my mind the parallels that aren’t fully utilized in Tim angst fanfic

When Jason died Bruce became careless. He didn’t care about his own life. He was passively suicidal and it was because Tim forced his way in that Bruce improved at all.

But Tim wasn’t chosen by Bruce. Tim was a partner not a son, but goddamn was Tim going to pretend for as long as he could. And people hated on Tim. Tim was the perfect Robin after all. Apparently he could do not wrong, and they’re right.

Tim couldn’t do wrong because he was Batman’s partner not his son. All the other Robin’s got more leniency because they were Bruce’s son. Tim didn’t get that luxury. Tim was perfect out of necessity.

Tim was as close to being a Batman replica as could be and that’s not a good thing.

Because after Bruce “dies” Tim becomes reckless. He doesn’t care much for his life outside of finding Bruce. He’s been fired from Robin and kicked out of the family and after he brings Bruce back he doesn’t have much else to live for. Dick may have saved him from hitting the ground after he was thrown off a building, but Tim wouldn’t have cared either way.

The roles have been reversed, but who’s going to play the Robin to Tim’s Batman? Who’s going to save Tim from himself if anyone who should have noticed hasn’t?

I’m back. With more art for Banshee in a Well!!!!!

(on ao3 by @liverobinreaction / @bugbeee)

-🦇-

Firstly, my favourite dynamic in the fic was Tim & Cass

Best siblings ever, the last chapter gave me so much healing. She really was there for Tim and comforted him.

-🦇-

Arms wrap around him, warm and familiar, a head of black hair tucking into his neck as he freezes. Cassandra has always been the strongest of them all, and he can feel it in the way she’s gripping him like he’ll disappear any moment now, body trembling and face wet from where it’s pressed against his skin.

Carefully, Tim brings his arms up to hold Cass back. She’s always cried loudly, almost out of spite for the silence beaten into her as a child. But right now, she weeps without a sound. He swallows, his own eyes burning as he buries his face into her collarbone, fingers twisting into the sweater he recognises as his own.

Neither of them says a word for a while. They just hold onto one another and try to breathe.

“I am not leaving. Not again. Not anymore.”

“Cass,” he says, voice dangerously close to cracking, but she just squeezes his wrists gently.

“It is not okay,” she whispers brokenly, but with a kindness he hates and loves in equal measure, “and that is alright.”

“Cry, stupid,” she says, voice trembling.

And Tim-

Tim breathes.

And he finally breaks.

He collapses forward into his sister, chest heaving with sobs that practically tear their way out of his throat, and it hurts more than any death he’s died before. Cass is crying with him, loud and open, but she doesn’t stop holding him, she doesn’t let him go for a second.

(God I eat up all these quotes from the fic. THE AUTHOR IS AMAZING I LOVE THEIR WRITING SO MUCH) *proceeds to ugly cry during every reread*

Timelapse:

if i bend under the weight + sun bleached flies

synopsis: tim's super! s/o gets hit with kryptonite and gets stuck under a building tags: gn! reader, blood, broken bones, needles, panic attacks part of my dc augu-whumpers series ; requests for this are open!

⋅────⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰────⋅

PREVIEW.

"Was that a crash? Damn, that was loud."

"A building collapsed in the far east. Supers is in charge of that area."

"Supers? You there? Status report. What happened?"

“Shit! Shit! Shit! They’ve been hit with Kryptonite. Vitals are unstable! Someone get there now!”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Tim cried too, tears mingling with the grime on his face. “I’m sorry, I know, I know, baby. Please! Come on, we have to get up.”

⋅────⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰────⋅

You were a super.

A near-indestructible hero with strength beyond measure. People watched in awe as you deflected bullets, halted runaway trains, and shattered barriers that would have left ordinary heroes in ruin.

To them, you were an immovable rock, impervious to life’s storms, a being untouched by doubt or weakness.

You had grown used to this. You were used to being seen as strong, so much so that you rarely had backup on missions. You were often sent out alone, expected to handle every crisis on your own. After all, you were a super. You fought solo, without regret, without asking for assistance. You believed you could bear it all.

But now, you found yourself beneath the skeletal remains of a collapsed building, the wreckage pressing down on you with a force that should have been a mere inconvenience. Dust and debris swirled around you in the dim light filtering through cracks in the rubble. The once-sturdy structure groaned and creaked as if protesting your struggle.

Normally, you would have lifted the wreckage effortlessly, but something was terribly wrong with your powers. Your hands, usually so strong, trembled as they strained against the concrete. You could feel the weight of each individual slab pressing down on you, pinning you to the ground.

Kryptonite, you thought, the realization hitting you with a force almost as crushing as the debris. The last memory you remember is being hit with a green glow.

Whimpering, you took a deep breath, strands of damp hair fell over your eyes, clinging to your sweat-soaked forehead. The burn in your side, a sharp and unfamiliar sting, pierced through the usual numbness. Your breathing came in ragged gasps, each inhale heavy with the smell of dust and despair. You had grown so accustomed to invincibility that pain felt like an unwelcome stranger. The once-mighty walls of your strength seemed to be crumbling, just like the debris around you.

There was a ringing in your ears, a harsh buzz that grew louder. You realized it was your communication link, crackling with urgency. You heaved, your head lolling to the side as you struggled to keep the building aloft. Every muscle screamed in protest, and the once-lightweight concrete now felt like it was made of lead.

"Supers? You there?"

Someone's voice echoed in your ear, Batman you think, steady and calm.

"Where are you? We need some backup here, stat."

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump in your throat. Your eyes drooped, the weight of your exhaustion pulling them down. "S… Sorry. I'm in a situation right now. I can't provide backup. Might actually need some..."

There was a pause, a brief silence that felt like an eternity.

"How serious is your situation? I don’t think anyone will be able to help you for a while. Think you can handle it?"

You could hear the detachment in his voice, the cold, clinical tone that expected you to push through just as you always had. There was no urgency, no hint of concern—just an unwavering belief that you would somehow manage.

Belief that a super could hold their own.

You blinked away the growing tears, shifting your position slightly to alleviate the burning in your side. The ringing in your ears had subsided, replaced by the dull roar of your own heartbeat.

"O—okay. I think I can hold on for a bit." Your voice was barely more than a whisper, the words forced out through gritted teeth.

The comm-link clicked off, the abrupt silence leaving you alone with the weight of the world pressing down on you.

You struggled as you lifted the building, feeling the bones in your wrists start to give way under the pressure. A sharp, searing pain shot through your arms as the bones cracked, the sickening sound lost in the groaning of the collapsing structure.

Your palms were now raw and bleeding, cut by the jagged edges of the debris. Warm blood trickled down your arms and you heaved, throat dry.

Tears mingled with the sweat on your face, blurring your vision. You blinked them away, focusing on the task at hand. You had to hold on. You had to keep fighting. The world above depended on it.

Slowly, agonizingly, you managed to lift the building a few inches. It was a minuscule shift, but it was enough to make a difference. The weight shifted slightly, and you could see a small gap forming. With a final, desperate effort, you managed to lift the wreckage high enough to create a gap wide enough for you to fly out.

As you emerged into the open air, you collapsed onto the ground, your breathing ragged and uneven.

For now, at least, you had held on.

 ༻⊰───⋅

"Was that a crash? Damn, that was loud."

"A building collapsed in the far east. Supers is in charge of that area."

"Supers? You there? Status report. What happened?"

“Shit! Shit! Shit! They’ve been hit with kryptonite. Vitals are unstable! Someone get there now!”

There was a cold, icy feeling sinking deep into Tim's bones as he heard the announcement through his earpiece. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat feeling slower and more labored than the last.

He quickly checked his location on his communicator. The display flickered with stark, cold reality—he was indeed the nearest to the scene, but still a grueling 15 minutes away. The distance seemed to stretch into an endless expanse, each second feeling like an eternity.

Without hesitation, he sprinted to his bike, his movements driven by sheer adrenaline. The cold, numbing fear was replaced by a burning urgency as he mounted the bike and roared to life. He maneuvered through traffic with reckless speed, weaving and cutting corners as if each second lost could mean a life.

As he drove, the cold, numbing fear slowly began to ebb away, melting into a fiery, scalding anger.

"Why the fuck weren't there reinforcements?!" he shouted into the earpiece, his voice laced with frustration and desperation. "Did no one think to check the fucking area? Is everyone just sitting around with their heads up their asses?!"

The bike roared beneath him, and his driving became even more reckless. Tim leaned into every turn, the engine's growl mingling with his furious breaths. He spotted a fence ahead, a barrier that seemed to mock his urgency.

Without a second thought, he gunned the throttle, launching the bike into the air. The bike soared, crashing through the fence with a deafening crack. Concrete and debris exploded around him as he slammed into the ground on the other side. The impact jarred his bones and rattled his teeth, but he barely registered the pain.

He tore through the final stretch of the city streets, his bike a blur of metal and fury. The wreckage came into view, a twisted maze of steel and concrete.

Tim skidded to a halt, his heart pounding furiously as he dismounted. He spotted you, hunched over right beside the collapsed rubble, your blood seeping into the grass.

Tim’s heart felt as though it was being torn in two as he saw the state you were in. His rage gave way to the deep, icy fear again as he rushed forward.

With trembling hands, he carefully rolled you onto your back, his gaze sweeping over your injuries.

Your face was ghostly pale, streaked with a grimy mix of dirt and blood. Each shallow, labored breath you took seemed to cut through the air with an echo of a sob. The severity of your injuries was laid bare—cuts and bruises marred your skin, each wound a painful testament to the violence you had endured. Blood pooled around you, a dark, crimson stain against the surrounding debris, making his stomach churn with a sickening nausea.

His eyes fell to your wrists, and he was horrified by the sight of them—clearly broken, twisted at unnatural angles.

He leaned down, his voice softening with a tender, almost broken affection.

“Hi, pretty bird,” he whispered. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

“Kryptonite,” you rasp out, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“I know, I know,” he whispers back, his voice low and soothing. He reaches into his utility belt, pulling out a syringe with a green needle, filled with a bright, clear liquid. It was an antidote, a precaution he had hoped never to use.

Tim was always prepared for every situation, his mind a labyrinth of strategies and contingencies. One of the many things you loved about him. His meticulous nature meant that nothing was left to chance, and that care extended to you, his lover.

His hand was steady as he moved to insert the needle, but when you thrashed in pain, he realized too late that the entry had been rougher than he intended.

The sharp intake of breath you took, the wince that crossed your face—these were things he had rarely seen, and he realized just how fragile you were in this moment.

Tim had always relied on your metahuman durability, knowing that you could handle whatever force he threw your way, trusting in your strength without a second thought.

Then you screamed and cried, your sobs echoing through the night. The pain was unbearable, a relentless pressure squeezing you from every angle. Tim’s face crumpled in horror and panic, his usually calm demeanor cracking under the weight of your suffering.

He administered the antidote with trembling hands, his movements hurried yet tender. The needle was pulled away with a gentleness that belied his growing panic.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out, moving to comfort you. “I didn’t mean for it to hurt. Please, just hold on. I’m right here.”

His hands were unsteady as he brushed the sweat and tears from your face, touch as gentle as he could manage despite his own mounting panic.

Tim was losing his grip. The sight of you, so vulnerable and hurting, was terrifying and so, so, so unfamiliar, driving him to a near hysterical state.

The antidote began to take effect, the green glow from the syringe slowly dissipating as it worked to counteract the kryptonite’s effects. But Tim’s relief was fleeting. The urgency of the situation pressed down on him, and he realized with a jolt that he needed to get you to a safer location.

“Come on, pretty bird, I need to get you up,” he said, his voice quivering with desperation.

Each attempt to lift you was met with new waves of agony, your screams slicing through the air like a jagged blade. Your cries were heart-wrenching, each one a brutal slash against his soul, unraveling him with every tortured note. The dark, red stains seeped into his heart, a reminder of how he was failing you.

Tim cried too, tears mingling with the grime on his face. “I’m sorry, I know, I know, baby. Please! Come on, we have to get up.”

With a desperate heave, he dragged you into his arms. You shuddered violently, your body wracked with ragged, sputtering sobs. Tim's heart squeezed with each gasping breath you took, and then, with a final, shuddering exhale, you fainted, your body going limp against him.

Panic surged through Tim like a tidal wave. His breath came in frantic bursts as he cradled you, trying to stay calm despite the overwhelming fear clawing at him. His hand fumbled for his comm device, his movements erratic and desperate.

He knew he had the skills—both medical and analytical—to assess your situation and manage it. His training had equipped him with the ability to stabilize injuries, evaluate critical conditions, and make quick decisions under pressure. But now, those skills felt useless against the crushing weight of his fear.

“Someone, please!” he screamed into the device, throat raw. "Help me!"

 ༻⊰───⋅

Tim!!! The silly :)

Explanation and a little fic under the cut ⬇

So, initially, i was thinking of this as Tim in a casket of his making, him thinking even if he died no one would be there for the funeral and therefore it would be his responsibility to lay himself down on his bed of roses, attend his funeral, live as lonely as he thought he was. And so, dying alone.

But!! I actually really like the Immortal!Tim Aus so it could also be that.

Imagine this: [Death and apathy to death TW]

Tim discovered he was immortal at a younger age than most, neglected toddlers have a high death rate, so he died as a baby. He doesnt remember much, if not for the one and only scar on his neck, easily hidden by his hair. He assumes he broke his neck, falling out of something, but no one was there to tell him how he died, so he will never know. With that, started the deaths. Never any scarring from them, if not for the first one, but he died a lot.

When he turned into Robin, he didn't think to hide that. Sure, Batman has a "no metas" rule, but he has no activated meta gene. He is not a meta. He is just... unusual. So he died. A lot. He always came back, but he thought at least someone noticed it. If only for a bit, anyone noticed his heartbeat stopping.

If he had asked any of the supers he met, they would've told him his heart stopped all the time and they thought he had a mechanism for that, to throw them off his tail, like Batman did. He didn't though, never thought to ask, and so it happened.

The Incident, so to speak. It was another patrol day, going to the docks to bust a drug smuggling, meeting up with Nightwing for some paired patrol for a few hours and go back home. However, they got caught in an ambush, close to the last hours of patrol, just some goons. But, Tim hadn't died in a couple weeks, as he hadn't slept for the same time. And, usually, death takes the same effect as sleeping, if less peaceful. He thought of resting after his shift, actually.

So, really, when the goon, gun in hand, positioned himself to shoot Tim in the head, he didn't think to dodge. His only thought was "Huh, that's an easier way". So he got shot. In front of Nightwing.

But, at the time, he still thought they knew. They knew he died and came back, that the "Dead Robins Club" that he was not invited to was a joke, because they could count the amount of times they died and Tim couldn't. That they knew him.

He wakes up gasping. Not an unusual reaction. Whats unusual about this is that it's dark and he can feel petals beneath him. And that there is little oxygen and he just wasted most by gasping for air.

His next few deaths are asphyxiation. His next many deaths are asphyxiation too, this time with lungs full of dirt.

He doesnt know how much time he spends alive, nor how much time he spends dead. He just knows, far too many deaths passed when he gets out of his grave. So many deaths in fact, he learns a new thing about this ability of his. Dying repeatedly for a long time makes his healing factor only heal the cause of his death. He notes that as he finds his fingertips and fingernails bleeding. He will have to fix that in his next death.

He guesses he can finally join the Dead Robins Club. Having to crawl out of his own grave seems like a good enough reason. Still, his clothes are soiled and torn and he bets the autopsy scars have faded by now. So, all he has to do is fix his grave and prepare a new identity. After that, he can go look for another name Jason used before for him to steal into his new persona.

Would he tell the others he was alive? Maybe eventually, not in the same way Jason did though. But he does feel a bit of joy just thinking ways he could mess with them. It's their fault anyway, for thinking he could stay dead.

Tim!!! The silly :)

Explanation and a little fic under the cut ⬇

So, initially, i was thinking of this as Tim in a casket of his making, him thinking even if he died no one would be there for the funeral and therefore it would be his responsibility to lay himself down on his bed of roses, attend his funeral, live as lonely as he thought he was. And so, dying alone.

But!! I actually really like the Immortal!Tim Aus so it could also be that.

Imagine this: [Death and apathy to death TW]

Tim discovered he was immortal at a younger age than most, neglected toddlers have a high death rate, so he died as a baby. He doesnt remember much, if not for the one and only scar on his neck, easily hidden by his hair. He assumes he broke his neck, falling out of something, but no one was there to tell him how he died, so he will never know. With that, started the deaths. Never any scarring from them, if not for the first one, but he died a lot.

When he turned into Robin, he didn't think to hide that. Sure, Batman has a "no metas" rule, but he has no activated meta gene. He is not a meta. He is just... unusual. So he died. A lot. He always came back, but he thought at least someone noticed it. If only for a bit, anyone noticed his heartbeat stopping.

If he had asked any of the supers he met, they would've told him his heart stopped all the time and they thought he had a mechanism for that, to throw them off his tail, like Batman did. He didn't though, never thought to ask, and so it happened.

The Incident, so to speak. It was another patrol day, going to the docks to bust a drug smuggling, meeting up with Nightwing for some paired patrol for a few hours and go back home. However, they got caught in an ambush, close to the last hours of patrol, just some goons. But, Tim hadn't died in a couple weeks, as he hadn't slept for the same time. And, usually, death takes the same effect as sleeping, if less peaceful. He thought of resting after his shift, actually.

So, really, when the goon, gun in hand, positioned himself to shoot Tim in the head, he didn't think to dodge. His only thought was "Huh, that's an easier way". So he got shot. In front of Nightwing.

But, at the time, he still thought they knew. They knew he died and came back, that the "Dead Robins Club" that he was not invited to was a joke, because they could count the amount of times they died and Tim couldn't. That they knew him.

He wakes up gasping. Not an unusual reaction. Whats unusual about this is that it's dark and he can feel petals beneath him. And that there is little oxygen and he just wasted most by gasping for air.

His next few deaths are asphyxiation. His next many deaths are asphyxiation too, this time with lungs full of dirt.

He doesnt know how much time he spends alive, nor how much time he spends dead. He just knows, far too many deaths passed when he gets out of his grave. So many deaths in fact, he learns a new thing about this ability of his. Dying repeatedly for a long time makes his healing factor only heal the cause of his death. He notes that as he finds his fingertips and fingernails bleeding. He will have to fix that in his next death.

He guesses he can finally join the Dead Robins Club. Having to crawl out of his own grave seems like a good enough reason. Still, his clothes are soiled and torn and he bets the autopsy scars have faded by now. So, all he has to do is fix his grave and prepare a new identity. After that, he can go look for another name Jason used before for him to steal into his new persona.

Would he tell the others he was alive? Maybe eventually, not in the same way Jason did though. But he does feel a bit of joy just thinking ways he could mess with them. It's their fault anyway, for thinking he could stay dead.