Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Barbara stormed after Bruce, following him into the hospital parking lot.

“You can't just leave him in there forever!” She said not bothering to contain her anger.

Bruce whirled around, his expression unreadable. “This is the safest option,” he said. “For everyone.”

“He's your son, Bruce.” It was close to pleading. She couldn't understand how, after everything that had just happened, he could possibly want Tim to be anywhere but home. “He needs you right now; you need to take him home.”

“He's not my son anymore. Joker made sure of that.”

Barbara froze. “How can you say that? Bruce, it's still him, and if you would actually go and talk to him you would see that!”

“Were you even listening to what the doctors said? We can't save everyone; the sooner you learn that, the easier this will be.” He walked to his car after that, leaving Barbara in the parking lot, the wind whipping her hair. She stayed there for a moment, pondering her next move. She had been trying to convince Bruce to pull Tim out of the hospital for weeks now, but he wouldn't listen. She knew Tim needed help, but he also needed his family. She sighed. She had already tried the logical approach, reminding Bruce that inpatient facilities rarely did any good, that their goal was more focused toward achieving stability and docility rather than recovery. But Bruce didn't seem to think it was even possible for Tim to recover. And the emotional approach clearly wasn't working. Bruce was doing that thing again where he pushed all his emotions aside rather than facing them, whatever they may be. He had made up his mind, and he wasn’t going to change it, but Barbara was determined to make him.

Chapter Text

Tim sat on the stiff bed, waiting for Bruce to come and pick him up. A big part of him thought that Bruce wouldn't even show, but the nurse had assured him that “his father” was coming. His father. He already had a father, but the nurse didn't seem to care when he tried to correct her.

He clutched his bag to his chest, the movement causing his fingers to twitch involuntarily. He waited. And waited, trying to tune out the voice that told him no one was coming for him. It was harder than he would have liked. It was awfully convincing. Out of the whole family, Dick and Alfred were the only ones to visit him regularly. He saw Cass once or twice. But never Bruce. And then there was Barbara who felt like the only friend he had left. She seemed to take every chance she had to come see him, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. He couldn't remember most of it though. It felt like there was a thick fog over his memories and he wasn't sure if it was the Joker's fault or the doctors’. Probably both.

He stared at the wall, trying to find any discrepancy in the paint job. He hated how perfect this whole place looked. It was too neat, sterile. It made him feel like he was suffocating.

The door to his assigned room swung open, but he barely registered it.

“Timothy,” the nurse said. “Your father's here.”

“He's not my father,” he muttered. She just smiled sadly at him. He followed her out of the psych ward and onto the main floor of the hospital where he saw Bruce waiting for them. The doctor who had been treating him was also there talking with Bruce.

“There's two weeks' worth of medication in these samples,” he heard the doctor say. “But he'll need to see a psychiatrist to further manage his symptoms. We've sent in a referral already.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said. He and the doctor turned to face Tim and the nurse as they approached. “Is there anything else?” Bruce asked the doctor.

“No, that's it,” the doctor replied eyeing Tim clinically.

He hated the way everyone here looked at him, like he was some sort of rabid animal, like he was still in the docile, over-friendly stage of the disease and they were just waiting for the moment when that unnatural calm would turn violent.

Bruce thanked the doctor and nurse again, before turning to leave. Tim followed in silence, unsure of what to say, wondering if he should say anything at all. But Bruce wasn't speaking, so he kept his mouth shut.

The drive back to the manor was silent. Whatever little excitement Tim had left at the prospect of returning home was quickly dying. He wasn't sure what he expected, but a cold shoulder certainly wasn't it. Bruce seemed to be pointedly keeping his attention on the road. He barely even glanced at Tim. The closest he got to even looking in Tim's general direction was when he checked the passenger side mirror. He couldn't take the silence any longer.

“Why did you---” Tim paused, struggling to find his words. “I thought you were just going to leave me in there,” he admitted.

Bruce's hands tightened on the steering wheel. “The doctors said you were finally stable. They didn’t want to keep you in the hospital any longer.”

Oh. Of course. No ‘I missed you’ or ‘we wanted you home.’ It was just as simple as the hospital decided he was cured and Bruce was his legal guardian now and had to take him back. He didn't feel stable though. In fact, he wasn't sure if he was feeling anything. But maybe that was for the best. He didn't bother asking any more questions.

Alfred was waiting for them by the front door when they arrived at the manor.

“Welcome home, Master Tim,” Alfred said moving to place a hand on Tim's shoulder. Tim felt himself flinch away, and Alfred dropped his hand, worry flashing across his face. “Your room is ready for you if you'd like to get some rest.”

He muttered a thanks before heading upstairs. When he got to his room, he found himself just standing in the doorway staring at everything. It looked mostly the same except all the clothes had been picked up off the floor and anything else he had left lying out had been put away. It was too clean. It didn't feel like his room. It didn't feel real.

He put his bag down on the floor and sat on the bed--- his bed--- and looked around some more. His phone was plugged in on the nightstand. He reached for it then stopped. He didn't want to talk to anyone right now, and if he had any missed messages, he would just feel bad for not answering them.

He laid down, staring at the wall. He felt too exposed like this. He glanced toward the open door before deciding to close it. He felt his chest tighten, his heart quickening. He opened the door again. He didn't want to be alone--- couldn't be alone--- right now. He quietly made his way back downstairs, not sure who exactly he was looking for, but almost anyone would be welcome company right now.

He heard voices from the sitting room, so he headed in that direction. The door was closed and he couldn't make out what was being said, but it sounded like Bruce and Alfred. He opened the door, and Bruce and Alfred turned to look at him and he suddenly got the feeling that he wasn't supposed to be here, that he was being talked about.

“I think I'll go prepare dinner now,” Alfred said. He gave Tim another worried look before leaving to the kitchen. Bruce followed him out, heading to a different direction down the hall, leaving Tim alone in the doorway. He felt his chest tighten again, a pressure building behind his eyes. No. He wouldn't cry. He hadn't cried since Joker was killed; he wouldn’t cry now no matter how much he desperately didn't want to be alone.

Chapter Text

Dinner was awkward and uncomfortable. It was just Tim, Bruce, and Alfred--- Cass had moved to the Hill with Steph and Barbara--- and it was all unbearably silent. Bruce had said nothing to Tim since the car ride--- he wouldn't even look at him--- and while Alfred had initially asked if Tim was feeling alright, Tim's noncommittal response caused the conversation to die rather quickly.

Tim poked at his food, his fingers twitching when he accidentally gripped his fork too tightly. He wished he were hungry. He had grown sick of the hospital food, but now he didn't have much of an appetite for anything. The mere thought of eating made him nauseous, but he didn't want to hurt Alfred's feelings either. Slowly, he forced himself to take a bite. Alfred had spent the day preparing a stew, which usually, Tim would have eaten no problem, but now, even swallowing was a chore. Still, he forced himself to eat. That is, until the nausea became too much and he had to rush to the bathroom and throw it all up.

Alfred found him gripping the cold porcelain of the toilet, and frowned, worry creeping across his face.

“Why don't you go lie down,” Alfred said. “I'll bring you some tea.”

Tim mumbled a “thanks” before heading upstairs to his room. He lay down on his bed, pulling the covers completely over himself. He lay in the darkness until he heard Alfred knock before opening the door.

Tim poked his head out from under the covers as Alfred set the tea along with a plate of crackers down on the bedside table.

“Here you are,” Alfred said. “Get some rest now.”

Tim watched him leave and almost considered asking him to stay, but Tim had already made him do so much for him. He didn't want to be any more of a burden than he already was.

He picked up the cup of tea, the warmth making his hands tingle. This time, it was his whole wrist that twitched, causing him to jerk the cup, tea spilling onto the table.

Cursing, he put the cup down and went to grab some paper towels from the bathroom. Once he had cleaned up the mess, he tried again to slowly lift the cup. The smell of ginger and lemon filled his nose, and he scrunched his face in mild disgust. He hated ginger. It was too bitter. But he knew it was supposed to help settle his stomach. But peppermint also served to settle nausea; why couldn't he have gotten peppermint? He sighed. He shouldn't be complaining. He had been drinking nothing but water and apple juice for the last several weeks. He should be grateful Alfred still even cared enough about him to make him tea.

He drank the tea then figured he should at least try to sleep; he was awfully tired. But before he could get comfortable, Bruce was opening his door.

Tim stared at him as he entered. He wasn't sure if he should be annoyed that Bruce didn't knock, or thankful that Bruce was giving him some type of attention.

“You need to take your medication,” Bruce said.

Tim felt his chest tighten again, pressure building behind his eyes.

“No,” he said.

Bruce looked momentarily shocked like he hadn't been expecting pushback, but he quickly readjusted his features and gave Tim a stern look.

“You need to take them; this isn't a choice.”

Tim shot him a glare and made no effort to move from under his covers.

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you don't take them, you're going back to the hospital."

Panic rushed through Tim's veins. He wasn't--- he wasn't serious, was he? Fuck, but Tim couldn't take that risk.

“Fine.” Tim stuck his hand out from under the covers for Bruce to place the pill in. He expected Bruce to leave after that, but instead, Bruce stared at him expectantly. “What?” Tim snapped.

“Don't use that tone with me. Take the pill.”

“So what? You're just gonna stare at me until I take them?”

When Bruce didn't answer--- he just kept watching Tim---, Tim sighed and swallowed the pill. He fucking hated this. He didn't even know what he was taking. He was sure the doctors had told him at some point, but there had been so many changes and his memory was so hazy that he really couldn't remember. He should probably figure that out, though. But he'd deal with that tomorrow, he thought. All he wanted right now was to go to sleep.

Bruce left him alone after that. Tim pulled the covers back over his head, trying and failing to sleep. He found himself just staring at the darkness, wishing his brain would turn off. He kept waiting for the door to open again, for his vacant staring to get interrupted by someone coming to check on him. But he was home now. There were no nurses to come disturb him now.

He must have drifted off eventually because he woke up with a start the next morning. It was still dark outside, but barely. Looking out the window he could see the sky was that grim, in-between gray of twilight. He looked around the room confused for a moment, until he remembered where he was. Relief seeped through him. He was home. He was home. He was home. It still didn't feel real, but at least it wasn't the hospital.

He picked up his phone, scrolling through all the missed notifications. He ended up opening Tumblr and began to mindlessly scroll, reblogging a few posts here and there. He almost dropped his phone when it started ringing. Kon. Kon was video-calling him at four in the morning.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Dude, what the fuck,” Kon said.

“I don't--- what?”

“I haven't heard from you in over a month! Why are you on Tumblr?”

He forgot Kon followed him. Why he let his IRL friends follow him, he didn't know.

“No one told you?” Tim asked.

“Told me what? Are you okay?” Tim couldn't see his face too well in the dim lighting, but he could imagine the way Kon's brow was probably creased as worry seeped into his voice.

“Oh, well, I was in the hospital,” Tim shrugged.

“Shit, are you okay?”

“Eh.”

“Why were you there? If it's okay to ask that,” Kon quickly added.

Tim shrugged again. “Eh.”

“Okay... so, you don't wanna talk about it. Got it.”

“No, I mean it’s fine. I just don't really remember what happened.” Seriously though, he had at least expected Dick to tell Kon. Or maybe Clark if Bruce had told him. But he guessed not. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. At least that meant his friends hadn't been ignoring him like he had initially thought. They just didn't know.

“You don't--- oh.” Kon sounded really worried now.

“It's probably not that bad,” Tim rushed out. God, the last thing he needed was for Kon to be worrying about him like this.

“No, Tim, that sounds bad. Do you realize how bad that sounds?”

“It's fine. I feel fine,” he lied.

Kon sighed. “Okay, if you say so.”

“Why are you up?” Tim asked.

“I just couldn't sleep,” Kon said.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Uh, yeah, so. You sound tired. You should probably get off of Tumblr and go back to sleep.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Tim said trying not to sound too disappointed.

“But maybe I can come over at some point? If you're feeling up to it?”

“That would be cool.”

They said goodbye after that. Once Kon had hung up Tim tried to go back to sleep, but he was, unfortunately, awake. He wandered downstairs and into the kitchen, looking for where Bruce was keeping his medication. Surprisingly, it wasn't that hard to find. He half expected Bruce to have kept it somewhere out of sight and out of reach, but instead, it was sitting on the counter. He picked up the prescription bottles and read the tags. One was Xanax. Okay sure. Fine. He could accept that he might be anxious. Maybe he needed that one. But the other one didn't have a brand name and he had to look it up. Aripiprazole. An antipsychotic. What the fuck. He wasn't crazy. He definitely didn't need that one. In fact, he probably didn't need the Xanax either. He had made it just fine before without any medication. Why would he need it now? He could just--- he could just throw it out and Bruce wouldn't be able to stop him. But Bruce also said that if he didn't take the medication, he would have to go back to the hospital. But if there was no medication to take... But that might give Bruce even more reason to send him back. But maybe Bruce was bluffing? Surely, Bruce didn't actually want to send him back, right? Could he actually believe that Bruce wanted him here? But fuck it.

Just as Tim was about to dump the medications into the trash, Bruce entered the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” He demanded.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "Nothing,” Tim said.

Bruce was still in the athletic wear he wore under the bat suit. He must have just gotten back in, which meant he had stayed out later than usual, which meant he was in a bad mood. Fuck.

“Don’t you dare throw those out,” Bruce said.

“Okay,” Tim said meekly. “Okay, sorry.” He put the bottles back on the counter. “I'm sorry.”

Bruce eyed him sternly before heading upstairs. Tim stayed frozen in place until he heard the shower running. Then, he picked up the pill bottles again and emptied them into the trash.

Chapter Text

Tim awoke the next morning to a pounding headache. He checked his phone; it was well into the morning, which meant Bruce should already have left for work. While it was probably safe for him to go downstairs, he waited in his room until his hunger turned to nausea. He didn't particularly feel like starving himself at this point in time, so he carefully made his way downstairs to the kitchen.

But Alfred was waiting for him downstairs.

“Do you care to explain why we found your medication in the trash this morning?”

Tim shrugged. He didn't exactly have it in him to lie to Alfred outright--- it didn't bring the same satisfaction as lying to Bruce--- but he still didn't feel like making this easy for anyone.

Alfred's look turned stern.

Tim stared back, swallowing.

Alfred sighed. “You were given that medication because you need it; it can't help you if it's in the trash.”

He didn't need it; he wasn't crazy. Maybe if he could just convince Alfred that he was fine, Alfred would talk Bruce out of making him take the medication.

“I feel fine without it,” Tim said. Okay, so maybe now he was lying to Alfred, but this was something he had to do. He felt his lips twitch slightly.

“You don't look fine,” Alfred said. “And you've only been awake for thirty minutes.”

“Okay...?”

“That's not enough time to properly evaluate how you're feeling, and you look ill.”

Tim made a face.

“Master Bruce is picking up some samples of the medication for you.”

“Why isn't he at work?”

“He took the day off so he could take you to your appointment.”

“What appointment?” Why hadn't anyone told him about it? He had been back for one day, and he already had some sort of appointment? He had just spent weeks dealing with doctors; couldn’t he get a break?

“You have an appointment with Dr. Thompkins this afternoon.”

Tim groaned. “I'm not going,” he said.

“And why not?” Alfred sighed.

“Because I don't want to. I don't need to see any more doctors.”

“Tim,” Alfred said sternly. “You have to go to your appointments, and you have to take your medication, otherwise you will have to go back to the hospital.”

Tim's chest tightened at the words. “Why?”

Alfred sighed again. He was doing that a lot. “It's a matter of your safety,” he said.

“Alfred, I'm fine,” Tim said. He left before Alfred could say anything else. So much for trying to get Alfred on his side. He grabbed a roll of crackers from the kitchen before heading back upstairs to his room, locking the door behind him. While he still wasn't keen on being left alone, he didn't exactly want Bruce or Alfred as company right now. Not if they were convinced he was crazy and needed to be on medication. And certainly not if they were going to keep threatening to send him back to the hospital.

He sat on the floor, eating the crackers until the nausea subsided, if only a little. His head still hurt, and his brain was still foggy. He was hoping that the brain fog would have gone away once he stopped taking the medication, but it seemed he was wrong. If anything, it was worse now.

He listened for the sound of the front door opening, or any sign that Bruce would be home soon. When he heard nothing, he grabbed his shoes and made his way to the window. He opened it, removed the screen, and began to climb out of it. He didn't have his utility belt, but there was a large tree close enough to the window that he would be able to climb down. He just had to make it to one of the branches from the window. Easy. He had done this plenty of times before.

Once he made it to the tree, he quickly climbed down and began to make his way into the main part of the city. He wasn't exactly sure where he was headed--- he was wandering, really. But he soon found himself in the Hill. He supposed he could visit Barbara, Cass, and Steph then. If he knew their address. Which he didn't, but that was an easy fix. Taking out his phone, he figured he could just hack the trackers in their suits. Which he did.

He found their loft apartment and knocked on the door.

No response.

He knocked again.

Still no response.

Fine, he would just go in through the window and wait for them to get back.

Once he was inside, he sat on the floor by the couch and scrolled through Tumblr.

About fifteen minutes later, he heard voices outside the door. Cass, Steph, and Barbara entered the apartment and paused when they saw him.

“Uh, hey?” Steph said. “Why are you in our house?”

“Avoiding Bruce,” he shrugged.

“Are you okay?” Cass asked. “You look... bad.”

He winced. “Thanks, Cass.”

“Did something happen?” Barbara asked, kneeling to sit next to him.

“Well, Bruce and Alfred have both threatened to send me back to the hospital.”

“What? Why?” Barbara's brow creased with worry.

He shrugged.

“Does anyone know you're here?” she asked.

He shrugged again.

As if on cue, Tim's phone started buzzing. It was Bruce. Fuck. He declined the call.

“Tim,” Barbara said slowly. “I think you need to go home.”

“Wait, why?” He could feel the panic rising in his chest.

“Alfred and Bruce are probably worried about you, and don't you have an appointment later today? You don't want to have to miss that.”

Why did everyone but him seem to know about his fucking appointments.

“I'll walk with you, okay,” Barbara said, offering a hand to pull Tim up. Reluctantly, he accepted. Cass and Steph watched quietly as they left, though he saw Steph give Cass a ‘yikes’ look. Great.