A Bond Tethers Part III
He’s here.
The chaos that unfolds at the arrival of Batman stops him from thinking of what he was just about to do. Help her? Or use her as leverage because she’s injured? His stomach is burning.
“Shit! King, grab Ten. Jack, get your idiot brother!” Batman bounds towards the King, pulling a grey ball from his utility belt. Tim grabbed for his cape and lifted it up before the smoke bomb detonated, shielding himself and blowing it away from himself. He can see figures quickly shifting through the smoke before it clears, Batman simply staring while standing with knapsacks in hand instead of going after them.
“I thought I told you to be careful.”
“I needed to be a diversion while you were on the way. It was easy for them to find the jewel. And they’re metahuman has more power than I thought she would.”
“You didn’t follow orders… but good job. They won’t give up just once. They’ll regroup and be back. Next time, I won’t be late. The police are on their way. Get back to the batcave while I deal with Gordan.” Rolling his shoulders back, Robin surveyed the destruction around them. The poor museum still took thousands of dollars in damages with jewels scattered all over, some crushed under the weight of that big oaf, Ace.
“What took you so long?” Robin asked as he readied his bathook, taking one last look at his mentor and father.
“I was just leaving the gang a little gift. I bugged their treasury. We’ll be able to hear all of their plans and track down the buyers.”
The way your father drags you up to hang over his shoulder is neither gentile nor caring. His shoulder digs in deeply up against your open wound and you bite your tongue to not cry out into the darkness of the museum. You are powerless to make the lights turn on, and fading even faster from the shock to your system. Tears wet your barely open eyes as your family runs from the batman himself, your eyes falling closed once the cold wind of the Gotham night hit you.
You come back to the waking world with a start, your body raising only for the crippling pain to hit you. You force yourself to sit up despite the biting pain, your hand shakily raising to press against the now covered wound. You survey your surroundings, the vanity full of your favorite things, the music box he gave you because he knew of your trouble sleeping and hoped it would coax you to sweet dreams, the drawn curtains of your too big room. Home.
You’re no longer wearing the energy draining suit, instead you’re wearing a pair of soft pajama pants and a matching shirt that’s two sizes too big. You lower the hand on your wound and pull up the edge of your shirt, raising it high enough to inspect the damage. You’ve already been stitched up, but the damage isn’t pretty. All along the cut is an angry, splotchy deep bruise. You’re afraid to even touch the skin but it looks raised. Deciding not to test your luck, you slowly lower back down and rest your head against your pillow.
“Robin…” Despite the damage done, for some reason, you aren’t upset. He’d hurt you, but it had all been in the heat of the moment and had you been stronger, you could’ve reacted faster to the oncoming boomerang. Robin isn’t a killer. Batman isn’t a killer. No matter how much your parents hated them and how their efforts were always thwarted because of them, you couldn’t blame them in the slightest.
But there was something else clawing at your nerves. That sensation that you only ever got when Tim Drake was nearby. It happened then, at that moment when you saw Robin smile. A mask couldn’t stop you from forgetting the shape of his mouth, those soft lips you’d had the luxury of kissing once upon a time. And the look on his face when his weapon cut through you- you could remember only a mere moment of it but you could swear that… he’d looked pained.
But it couldn’t be him. Of course not- because if Robin was… Tim Drake… then did that mean he’d been ordered to get close to you? Had he broken up with you because he got what he wanted? Intel and information he could report back to the big bat himself? Had everything just been one big con? Tell the unapproachable, awkward girl with a personal driver that you want to be with her even if there’s no gain? Make her let her guard down? Make her feel special while you do your research and take your notes so you can use it against her family?
You hate that this is the most logical thing to you because it never made any sense why Tim Drake decided you were what he wanted. It never made any sense, none, and when you broke up, you resigned yourself to the thought that you were just not enough despite him saying “no, it’s me, not you.” That’s the oldest excuse in the book. And as much as you lack in the interpersonal connection department, you aren’t that stupid. Even through the pain and exhaustion, you can start to see pieces of a puzzle sliding into place; the picture isn’t a very pretty one.
“But he wouldn’t do that…” Right? It sounds ludicrous to your own ears but your heart is already cracking just a bit more. Even if you can’t be sure, Robin’s smile, his aura, the fact that it was just too familiar to Tim- you can’t ignore the pain in your side and in your gut screaming at you that you’re right. You bite at your lower lip but that does nothing to lessen the trembling or the tears brimming on your lower lids.
You turn your face into your pillow and sob yourself back to sleep, your gut tightening up painfully.
He never cared about me.
. t . . d .
The ride back to the Wayne estate is quiet, Batman surely calculating their next move of attack while Tim found himself thinking back to that fateful moment. He’d hurt someone, horribly. All he can think about is the scar that may mar her body, about the blood that pooled along her costume, about her. Hand to hand combat and defense are different from what he’d played part in tonight. And the guilt is- is this why Batman refuses to use deadly weapons like a gun or a knife? Coupled with his fighting skills, he could’ve easily put half of their enemies six feet under by now. But he doesn’t.
The pain in his bond tattoo has yet to disappear. If anything, if he thought too much about it, the ache would amp up in pain, and for all his brains, he didn’t understand why.
Was (y/n) injured? Hurt? The emotions swirling inside of him are inescapable. He wanted to run to her right now even if it went against Bruce’s orders, even if there’s no reason for him to go besides his selfish love. But no matter how much he wants to go, Tim knows better. Why would she want to see him after he’d been so intentionally cruel to her? His words that day had been detached, unfeeling, and unwavering, but on the inside? He’d torn himself to shreds repeatedly over remembering the look on her face when he ended their relationship. Tim may be young, but even he knew that even without the tattoo marking him as hers, that in that short amount of time-
He’d fallen in love with her. Hard.
When they return to the manor via the batcave, Tim detaches himself from the pain at his core and reverts himself to his Robin persona, ready to jump at Batman’s call. They exit the sleek innards of the batmobile and Bruce silently walks over to the cave side full of computers and projections, booting up a save file.
“Good, all of the audio and video you recorded have been cataloged. I’ll go through the files tonight, you, take a shower and go to bed. There’s school in the morning.” With a nod of understanding, Tim headed for the elevator leading up to the ground floor of the manor as Batman sat down in front of the computer, his jaw clenched, words muttered only to himself.
“You’ll have to find out on your own, Tim.”
The shower is hot and uncomfortable and does nothing to stop the burning in his chest. Even when he closes his eyes, Tim can’t seem to fall asleep, too worried about the girl in the suit- and about (y/n). Later he would feel stupid for not seeing the dots connecting themselves.
t . . d
“Get up. You have to go to school.” The harsh jostling of your shoulder sends a zing of pain racing to your wound. You bite back a groan and force your watering eyes open, your mother scowling down at you. Of course she would take her anger at not procuring the Eye of Januah out on you, the one who let it get away. Of course you would be punished.
“Get up. Now.” You can feel the slick sweat against your brow and still force yourself up, your eyes smarting as you stared at her past the pain. She took a step back and looked at you expectantly, crossing her arms because you aren’t moving at her pace.
“Your uniform is already laid out. Now hurry up and go; you will not miss a day. Batman is always watching. That boomerang could’ve had some tracking agent on it so you will go as usual.” You catch yourself almost asking what about my injury? If you could barely move now, how would you function walking down the halls with a sure chance that someone will run into you? But you can see the look of disdain on your mother’s face and so, you bite your tongue yet again. She taps her foot, irritated at how slowly you have to change. A shower would take longer than she wanted and luckily you were bathed the night before. It hurts to force on so many layers but you hope that it could act as some sort of cushion against any potential hug or elbow.
“Good. There will be breakfast in the limo. Now go.” Your mother leaves the room after, not watching or waiting to see if you need any help. It mattered very little, you know that you would rather suffer in silence than ask for her helping hand.
The stairs are the most difficult but you manage to hold onto the railing to help yourself down. The estate is already empty save for you taking the last steps down to the limo waiting by pearly gates. Your driver, Philippe, is as kind as ever, and you manage a pained smile as you slide into the plush leather. The drive is quiet, the partition lowered because you like to listen to Philippe humming as he drives the familiar streets of Gotham towards Gotham Academy. Despite the pain stemming from your wound and the clenching of your stomach, you still force down the buttered toast and bottle of orange juice, the mere act of swallowing causing you acute pain. This is nothing. You will be fine; everything will be alright.
You rest a quivering hand over your uniform, atop the stitches, and close your eyes. Past the sound of the limo’s engine, you can hear commotion around you, an endless babble of noises that all drown into one another; it’s comforting compared to the silence of your bedroom. You keep your hand resting on your wound and inhale, exhale, trying to prepare yourself for what will be another awful day in a string of awful days. The only thing hurting worse than the stitches in your flesh is every beat of your heart.
It would be another day spent trying to avoid Tim Drake at all costs. You found it easier to handle your throbbing tattoo when you didn’t have to be in close proximity to him. The limo smoothly drives towards the school and your inner turmoil grew, your tender wound aching with each pothole and jostle of the limousine. When Philippe comes to a stop behind a Rolls-Royce against the sidewalk in front of Gotham Academy, you inhale once more and force your limbs to move without thinking of how much it will hurt in a few seconds. The pain increased from a throb to a full on punch but you retain your calm countenance, snatching up your bag on the way out.
“Have a good day, (y/n)!” Phillippe is the only one who’s ever said that to you. With one hand clutching tightly at your bag, you press your free hand atop your uniform where the wound throbs and continue to walk your way up the weathered stone. Students loiter about as you pass by, the bell still 15 minutes from ringing. Your Bond tattoo prickles and stings, but you ignore it as you enter the building, glad that most students don’t show up this early. Drifting down the main hall, you keep your head lowered as you pass other early students, a group or so laughing among themselves as you passed by. You’d always wanted that form of camaraderie with someone, anyone, but your family had dug their claws into you deeply- your mother said friends are worthless but followers are not. Friends will let you down but if you rule over someone, they will bow to you forever. Lovers are useless unless they have power, prestige- it was all so exhausting.
You should have seen their manipulation for what it was but it was too late. So many years being the odd child separated or sitting outside of the circle made you an even more awkward teen and it didn’t help that your powers were unstable at the drop of a pin. But being with Tim- being around him and his assortment of friends brought a calm to you that you had never felt before. You could control your impulses better, let out laughs you once held back, smile when you felt the urge. His friends had also been kind to you, to the point where you could only quietly respond to their questions, simply content to sit by Tim’s side while the conversation flowed around you. And when you and Tim were alone again, you could speak your mind easily, goof off to your hearts content, and he’d have to listen to your hiccup filled laughter.
“Hey, (y/n), wait up!” The call of your name made you flinch and pause in your step, the pain in your abdomen digging deeper. Wally West was Tim’s self proclaimed best friend and an overly friendly individual. He could talk faster than anyone else you knew and he talked a lot and often dominated conversation. You’d always found it rather hard to deal with him, even with Tim in the mix, so dealing with him now, alone, was something you hadn’t anticipated.
“Ah- hi?” You respond as you turned your head to look back, Wally suddenly by your side. You pretend you didn’t see the burst of speed he probably didn’t realize he used to get to you, content to keep superhero identities to yourself.
“Sorry, did I surprise you? I know, I know, I gotta work on how I approach people. Tim always says that’s why people don’t like being grouped up with me- well, that and the fact that once I start talking, I can’t seem to stop. It’s just so easy to keep going and going and- oh, shit. I’m doing it right now, aren’t I?” He paused, giving you the chance to respond as the both of you began to walk together. You try not to let it show that the mention of Tim hurts you; you don’t even know why Wally decided to talk to you. Wasn’t it customary for your ex’s friends to also exile you from their established group?
“Yeah, you’re going full speed, Wally. Um- not that I haven’t… appreciated this, but is there something you needed?” It’s hard to speak past the lump in your throat but you force the words out as best you can. It was harder to verbalize “you know me and Tim broke up, right?” or to ask if he knew it was coming. It wouldn’t be fair to put Wally in the middle when he didn’t owe you an explanation of any kind- but one would’ve been nice even if it did little to ease the loss.
“Oh! I’m sorry- I’m not really good at this but I just wanted to say… we’re still friends, you know? Just because- well- you were there- and- yes, friends. Me, I’m your friend. So don’t think we can’t talk anymore even though it’s usually me doing the talking. Shit- if I don’t hand in this report, Mr. Brennan is going to kill me! Bye, (y/n)!” He spoke quickly again before turning in the opposite direction and running a little too quickly away. Wally’s declaration was a surprise, but did not go unnappreciated. You needed that form of kindness now, when everything else around you was crumbling away.
You make a left at the end of the hall, keeping your bag tightly pressed to your abdomen as you entered the library. Classes wouldn’t start for another thirty minutes, which gave you plenty of time to simply be alone. The librarian gives you a friendly wave and you respond with a small smile in kind, her presence familiar and nice since you always found your way to the library one way or another. Before you realize it, you’ve dropped your bag onto the ground beside the familiar bean bag propped against the wall under the window. Carefully lowering yourself into the plush, you wince from how you bend before straightening back up and closing your eyes.
You could’ve gone anywhere else in the school, but being in this little nook still felt right, even if you’d shared it with him; there was nowhere else on campus that felt as safe. Foolishly, you let your feelings wander to your Bond, or what remained of it. The pain of knowing this Bond was meaningless almost hurt more than the tear in your flesh.
And then you remember that Robin is most likely Tim. Tim hid his identity from you and could have used your love for him to Batman’s advantage. Tim smiled at you, kissed you, touched you all with the knowledge that you were a villain. He’d hurt you so much in such a short amount of tiem that you were having a hard time making sense of it all. All you could firmly come to terms with is that you would have much more than emotional baggage from this when your stitches eventually healed to a scar.
Before you realize it, your body grew too comfortable in the plush material and you find yourself falling asleep willingly in an attempt at escaping your reality.