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Batman loved Robin.
But Bruce doesn’t love Tim.
The realisation should sting more than it does, but Tim was used to the feeling by now. His parents only ever cared about what he could do for them. There’s no reason to think that Batman - or Bruce - would treat him differently.
Sometimes, Tim remembered how soft Bruce was with Jason, while he was spying on them from the rooftops. How Batman would ruffle Robin’s hair or pick him up or hug him, when they thought no one was watching. Always in a private moment. Always just the two of them. Tim supposed that it made sense; if bad guys knew Batman cared about Robin that much, they’d probably use that against them.
Bruce wasn’t like that, not anymore. The softness was gone, and in turn, Bruce became more and more violent. Tim had to haul him off criminals multiple times; Bruce left each one bloodier than the last. Someday, Tim won't get there in time, and Bruce is gonna kill somebody.
The idea was scarier than Tim wanted to admit.
Robin was meant to help Batman, but Tim felt like he was more of a burden than anything. He couldn’t seem to do anything right.
When he tried to flip like Dick or quip like Jason, all he got is a stern reprimand from Bruce and a reminder that they needed to be stealthy.
When he tried to hug Bruce, the man pulled away instantly, keeping him at an arm’s length.
When he tried to take down a mugger on his own, like he once saw Jason do, all he got in return is a knife to the gut.
At least the mugger’s intended victim managed to get away.
The stabbing happened so quickly that Tim hardly had time to react before he fell to his knees, shaking hands moving to gingerly touch where the knife’s blade entered his abdomen. The sight made him feel a little nauseous.
Half of the knife was still sticking out, and Tim could imagine how the rest of the blade was lodged inside his abdomen. The mugger didn’t even finish the job properly. Tim doesn’t know if he should be thankful or irritated.
He can’t even get stabbed right.
The thought came to Tim like a punch to the gut. Delirious from the pain and blood loss, he almost laughed at the sheer irony of it all.
Jason went out with a bang.
Tim was going to go out with a muted whimper.
Wasn’t that a cruel twist of fate?
What a sorrowful ending for the worst of the Robins…
For a moment, Tim found himself wishing that Batman wouldn’t come to save him, if only to save his own pride.
Of course, Batman found him seconds later.
Tim was all too familiar with the haunted look that appeared in Bruce’s eyes as he dropped down from the rooftop, cowl gathering around his feet. Moving to crouch down next to Tim, Bruce pressed shaking hands to Tim’s abdomen.
Sometimes, Batman looked at him like he was a ghost. It made Tim’s stomach twist in all sorts of uncomfortable ways, but he chose not to examine that feeling too closely, fearful of what it might unleash within him.
It was easier to live the terse lie that Bruce cared about him, rather than admit that he was wholly expendable; a replacement for the boy who Bruce actually cared for and had lost to traumatically.
“I’m sorry, B,” Tim slurred. “I was trying to help. I thought I could do it.”
Time had become loose and fluid. Tim was almost certain that he had blacked out for a few minutes. When he came back to himself, he was bundled up in the back of the Batmobile, Batman’s cloak wrapped around his shoulders. The Batmobile must have been on autopilot, because Bruce was sitting in the back with him, applying steady pressure to the stab wound. A wave of nausea washed over Tim as he realised that the knife was still lodged within him.
“It’s okay, Robin,” Bruce said softly, when he realised that Tim had woken up. “You’re going to be okay. We’re almost home.”
“Why didn’t you take it out? It hurts.” Tim hated how weak his voice sounded, trembling and shaking.
Bruce’s hands didn’t move. “Removing it would increase the amount of blood you’re losing. It’s better to leave it in until we’re at the med bay.”
Tim’s head was swimming, but he decided he would trust Batman to know what to do.
“You’re going to be alright. Just keep your eyes on me, Jay. That’s it, stay awake.”
“Not-” Tim winced at the shifting pain of the knife still lodged within him. “Not my name.”
“I know you think you’re too old for the nickname, but you’ll always be my Jaybird,” Bruce soothed, running his fingers through Tim’s hair. It was the most physical comfort he had gotten from Bruce, probably ever, but it still made Tim sick to his stomach.
Even now, with Tim bleeding out in his arms, all Bruce can see was Jason.
It was unfair. It was so fucking unfair.
Before Tim could realise what was happening, tears were running down his face. Soon he was sobbing into Bruce’s chest, his body angled so he could hide his face against Bruce without jostling the knife.
“I know it hurts, Jason, but you’re going to be okay,” Bruce murmured, a reassuring hand on Tim’s shoulder. “You’re such a good boy. A good Robin. A good son.”
Tim wished that was true.