Chapter Text
jour·ney
[ˈdʒəːni]
noun
journey (noun) · journeys (plural noun)
- an act of travelling from one place to another:
- a long and often difficult process of personal change and development
Tim is pissed.
“It’s not my fucking fault, B! I didn’t ask the bloody goon to try and break my arm, did I?”
“That’s not the point, Robin. You were too focused on the mission objective and not on your own health and safety. You need to start prioritizing yourself.”
“Oh, as if you ever do. Mr ‘I’ll be fine, don’t worry about the broken ribs’.”
“It’s different.”
“Oh, really? How. Give me one fucking reason why me getting hurt is any different to when you do.”
“Language,” Bruce corrects absent-mindedly, still glaring at him. “It’s different, because you are my son.”
“Oh, really? Because you sure aren’t acting like it.”
At that, Batman growls. Like, actually growls. “How dare-”
“No. I’m standing by what I said, okay? Most fathers, if their son gets hurt, are worried. They don’t fucking tell their kid off for nearly breaking a bone on a mission that they ordered. Especially because most fathers would never even dream of putting their kids in harm’s way. Much less do it voluntarily.” Tim spits his words, full of rage and pain and hurt. He’s sick of taking the fall for everything that happens on a mission.
At his words, Bruce just straightens his back, jaw clenched. Without another word, he turns and stalks away into the Bat-plane. Tim just huffs and stalks off, into the forest, massaging his arm. It isn’t broken, he doesn’t think, but it’s certainly sprained, and it hurts like a bitch. Just for once in his life, Tim would like Bruce to just give him a hug and tell him it’ll all be ok soon- the way he does with Tim’s brothers. But Tim doesn’t have the same Father as his brothers do. He learned that a long time ago and it’s about bloody time he accepts it. After 10 minutes or so of moping, he turns around and heads back to the plane, scuffing his feet. He knows Bruce isn’t really mad, he’s just bad at showing his concern. Even so, it riles Tim up sometimes.
As he heads back to the landing site, Tim thinks of what he’s going to do when he gets back to the Manor. Probably a nice warm bath, first. He still has some flecks of blood on him from the fight, and it always ends up sticky and irritating. Then he’ll get Alfred to check over his arm. He really hopes he doesn’t need a cast. Then he’ll apologize to Bruce.
Yeah, that’s a good plan.
Unfortunately, Tim has to revise his plan quite quickly because the Bat-plane is… not there. Tim whips his head back and forth in an almost comical way because a plane can’t just disappear?
But it can take off.
But Bruce wouldn’t do that, right? Tim almost hopes he’s in the wrong clearing, and the plane is just in a clearing nearby but- nope, there’s the wheel-marks on the ground. Fuck. Ok, what’s the plan here Robin?
Yeah, no, he’s got nothing.
His hand automatically flies to his wrist-watch, specially fitted with a tracker and emergency button. Sure, Bruce is mad at him, but he wouldn’t just leave him. Probably.
His wrist however is, unfortunately, empty.
Oh, this is the worst. He wracks his brain, trying to remember where his watch could have ended up, and comes to the unfortunate conclusion that he left it in the Bat-Plane. Great. And he doesn’t keep his civilian phone on him during missions either.
He pats down his utility belt, going over his supplies. Some bandages, his Bo staff, a few protein bars, his water bottle, a few knives and $40. Great. With no way to get in direct contact with Bruce, Tim decides to just sit in the centre of the clearing. If he’s lucky, Bruce will feel regret in a few minutes and come back to get him. Yeah. Maybe this is just some kind of test. Tim’s been tested before. He survived his 16th birthday, he can survive this too.
He lies on his back in the field and stares into the sky, hoping to spot a little black dot growing closer. Every few minutes he thinks he sees it, but then it flaps it’s wings and Tim realises it’s just a bird. He never thought the whole ‘is it a bird, is it a plane’ thing was actually all that difficult before, but now he gets it.
It’s when the sun begins to set that Tim gives up. By his estimation, Bruce left at around 3pm, and the sunset is likely around 10pm. He isn’t coming back. Tim scarfs down one of his protein bars and tucks himself up in his cape, deciding to sleep at the edge of the glade. Surely Bruce will come for him by morning?
The night is cold, and Tim feels the ache in his damaged wrist. In fact, every part of him aches- the cold seeping into his bones like a mantra:
He isn’t coming. Get up. No one is coming to save you.
When the first tendrils of dawn begin to shine through the sky, Tim gets up. He brushes himself off, and packs up his gear: not that there is much to pack. He takes one last longing glance at the imprints of the Bat-plane in the glade and steels himself.
He knows there is a town nearby. It’s small, barely over a thousand inhabitants, but there are a few shops. He needs new clothes, he realises, and probably a bag too. He can’t go walking around in his Robin costume. That’s just asking to be killed. The rest of his money can go to food. He’ll have to get something hardy, filling. He doesn’t want to run out of it too fast. It’ll need to fill him up and keep him that way.
But why? For what? What is he planning?
These questions rattle around his brain as Tim walks to the town. It’s a relatively short walk- only about 30 minutes, and it hardly gives him enough time to ponder these questions at length. He’s a good walker, though, always has been. He likes hiking, and he has the stamina for it. He tried taking Jason and Dick once, figuring it would be a good brotherly-bonding activity to share something he loves, but they both just complained the whole way. He stopped trying to share after that.
When he reaches the town he is thrilled to find a little convenience shop selling everything he needs at relatively low prices. A bag and T-shirt only set him back $12, and there is a whole selection of food. He finds some water-purifiers, which he pockets subtly. He feels bad, but he only has a little bit of money, and without water he will literally die, so… yeah. The old man at the counter will just have to deal with it. (Tim decides to send like, a grand, to him once he gets home.) He picks up a bunch of trail mix, hoping that it’ll do what it claims and give him a bunch of energy. He stares longingly at the coffee packets, but they are way out of budget and (technically) not necessary.
To his surprise, Tim still has an extra $5 left when he’s finished picking out everything he needs. It’s then that he spots it.
Sitting on the ‘second hand books’ display at the front of the store, is a seemingly completely fresh copy of ‘The Odyssey’ by Homer. Tim has heard of the Ancient Greek epic, of course he has, but he’s never had the chance to read it. Never had the time. But it’s about a long journey to get home, and if there ever was a time to read it, it would be now. Before he can overthink it, he plops his wares down on the counter. “Just this, please.”
He hands over his $40 dollars a bit forlornly, aware that he will have to steal if he needs anything else. Sure, it’s not like shoplifting is the most illegal thing he’s done (His whole damn job as a vigilante is illegal for fuck’s sake) but he would still rather avoid it if he can.
He leaves the convenience store, pulling on his new t-shirt, and heads down the sorry excuse for a high-street. There is no one around. He half expects tumbleweed to start flying past. He spots himself in the reflection of a shop window, and cringes a bit. There was only a few options of clothing in the store, and the one he ended up with has the words ‘alpha male’ on it, in bright pink script, then a picture of a kitten. When he bought it he thought it was funny and ironic. Now though, he just looks stupid. Especially layered over his Vigilante gear. He looks insane. He’s about to give up and just let nature take him when, to his absolute delight, he spots a sign for a library. He actually feels like bursting into tears when he reads the sign; “Free computers and Wifi”. Finally, something right in the world.
He practically runs to the doors, peeling them open so fast that they slam into the wall behind him, startling the sweet old lady at the desk. “Sorry,” He mumbles at her as he hurries over to the computers. Yeah, definitely insane.
He logs on and immediately pulls up google, feeling- foolishly- comforted by the sight. It’s almost like being home, where he spends the majority of his time researching cases online. Though, in fairness, they have much better technology in the bat cave than in this random Montana Library.
That’s the first thing he looks up; where the fuck he is. Central Montana, as it turns out. In pretty much the middle of nowhere. There are no train lines from here to Gotham, and he wouldn’t have the money to take them even if there were. He researches various modes of travel for a while before sighing and leaning back in his chair. Like some goddamned sign, out of the corner of his eye he spots his Odyssey. A difficult journey.
He could- no, that’s stupid. Isn’t it?
He searches up the distance. Converts the distance into time. Fuck. He could do it. About 26 days walk. That’s not too bad, right? Sure, Gotham’s practically the other side of the country, but that’s not exactly forever. Just under a month. He reckons his family would barely notice he’s gone before he’s back. It’s perfect.
Just to be safe, he prints off the map, messily draws on his route with a pencil he finds on the floor and tucks it into his bag. Yeah. He’s doing this.
…
The first couple of days are relatively peaceful. Tim kind of wishes he had his phone and headphones with him so he could play music while he walks, but he isn’t all that fussed. He contents himself with quiet singing. No one is around to hear him, after all, so it doesn’t really matter how off-key he is. He tried to go to singing lessons when he was a kid, but Jack Drake told him that singing lessons would make him gay. It’s a bit ironic now; and Tim kinda feels like he could’ve just gone to singing lessons anyway, given he has turned out gay despite Jack’s best efforts. So yeah, he can’t sing all that well, but it’s fun, and it makes his throat tickle in a good way; like it’s full of song somehow. He can’t describe it, really, but when he hits really low or really high notes it almost feels like eating a brownie. Like a treat.
The nights are the hardest. It gets cold out in the Montana wilderness, and he only has his cape to protect him. Sure, the cape is bullet-resistant and, like- perfectly designed to be the best vigilante cape possible, but it’s not built to be a blanket. In fact, it’s built to be as lightweight as possible, meaning it doesn’t make for a very good duvet. Regardless of the bad nights, his morale is still pretty high. Perhaps he’s just slightly manic right now; that is a very real possibility, but it feels like he’s on some kind of adventure.
The only slightly worrying thing is his trail mix. It’s depleting much faster than he thought it would. This is, in fairness, because Tim underestimated how many calories it would take to walk for, like, 12 hours a day. He’s almost finished a whole bag already. He’s also just figured out that only eating oats makes you feel pretty damn weird pretty damn quick. His feet are beginning to blister; his boots are built for climbing and kicking- not walking, so his feet are being rubbed raw. He’s hoping they’ll scab over and get calloused soon. He’s not really sure how long that’s gonna take.
He wonders if they know he’s missing yet. Tim’s kind of betting they don’t. Its not unlike him to disappear to his room for a couple of days after an argument. Even so, today is Sunday. They always have dinner as a family on a Sunday, regardless of fights and disagreements. And- shit- he is meant to be going on a date with Kon tomorrow. He winces a little bit, internally apologising. He’s sure Kon won’t mind. He’ll probably realise something else came up. It wouldn’t be the first time. With a life like theirs, date nights are few and far between. They definitely make up for it when they get them though.
Tim will just have to make the next one as perfect as possible.
As he’s ruminating on this, getting mildly distracted by the memory of Kon’s lips on his, Tim walks into a fence.
In his defence (get it, de-fence?) it’s made of wire and practically see-through. After he has extracted himself from his impromptu make out with a wire, he surveys it. It stretches left and right for about as far as the eye can see. There’s some barbed wire at the top, but he’s dealt with worse. He tucks his hands into the thin wire, and pulls himself up. His fractured wrist twinges in protest, but he ignores the pain. He’s worked through worse. The wire buckles a bit under his weight, which makes Tim chuckle. He’s the lightest person he knows, practically skin and bone, so for the wire to struggle to hold him it must clearly be a pretty bad wire. He vaults himself over the barbs, ducking over it like he’s on high-jump. He rolls out neatly on the other side; standing and brushing himself off. Then he continues to walk.
There’s a lot of that on this journey. Every time something happens (like the cockroach that landed on his face yesterday) he just keeps walking. It’s kind of fun to feel this resilient. Like nothing can stop him. He hasn’t felt like this since… well, he doesn’t think he ever has. He’s always been too anxious, too careful. Never carefree. Not like this, at least.
When he spots the first sign, he’s a bit confused. It’s a dark wood, with a notable grain, and yellow words inscribed into it. He lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t think much of it. A few miles later, he sees another one, this one boasting a trail. Hm. It’s probably better to take an actual trail, right? That way he’s less likely to be eaten by mountain lions or something. God, he’s really a city boy.
“City slicker” Kon had said, whacking him lightly on the head, while Tim just stared blankly at him. “Wait, so Bulls and Cows are the same species?”
“Of course they are? What else would they be?”
“Different animals! They have different names!”
Then Kon had kissed him on the nose, laughing all the while, and taken him through a catalogue of different farm animals (Most of which Tim was familiar with. Don’t let Kon tell you any different.)
Kon’s not here, though, so Tim just keeps walking; sticking to where he thinks the path is. Eventually, he finds himself out of the woods, in an open clearing, which is weird. He hasn’t seen unfiltered sky in days. The path turns to a board-walk as he walks over what looks like… bubbling mud? In the distance, he spots a bunch of people crowding around… something (?) and decides to go and investigate. Look, he’s always been nosy, ok? It’s how he ended up as Robin in the first place.
When he reaches the group, he sees they are all standing around a… bubbling lake? Bit weird, but sure. A man at the front, seemingly wearing a pretend park-ranger outfit starts to count down from ten. Most of the group join in. For a brief moment, Tim wonders if he’s stumbled upon a cult. It would hardly be the first time (Venezuela was an experience) but he’s confused what they’re doing here.
Just as he’s about to open his mouth and ask the man nearest to him what deity they’re all worshipping, the lake erupts. Tim’s first instinct, after years of Vigilantism is ‘Bomb!’ so he ducks and covers. The lake keeps erupting. There is no bomb sound, just a loud whooshing. People are laughing and clapping, as if blowing up a lake is a normal fucking thing to do. This is a weird fucking cult.
The man next to him is clearly the biggest devotee. He claps and laughs, yelling “We love you, Old Faithful!” In a thick southern accent. Wait, Old Faithful? Tim scrutinises the man he thought was a fake park-ranger for another minute, spotting the flinthead arrow design on his chest. He scooches closer as surreptitiously as he can and… oh. Oops. The words ‘Yellowstone National Park’ reflect back at him brightly.
Tim pulls out his map. Checks it. Checks it again.
Ok, so he’s been going in the wrong direction. No biggie. He should’ve used a compass. When he gets home, he’s going to sew a bloody compass into his suit. He sits down as Old faithful slows down, exhausted and a bit morose with the knowledge he’s been walking aimlessly for the past two days. Ok, it’s not as bad as it could have been. He’s still vaguely in the forwards direction, just… a bit too far down. It’s fine. Really, it’s fine.
He sits down on the decking- well, more like falls and tucks his face into his knees.
The fake (No, wait, real) park ranger sits down slowly next to him on the decking. Belatedly, Tim realises he’s the only one left. How long has it been? “Hey there, son, are you alright?”
Tim looks up, and everything is a little bit blurry. Oh, he’s crying. “Hmm, what? Oh, ah, yeah. I just… um, I got a bit lost.”
“Well, that’s what I’m here for, sonny. Tell me, where are you trying to get to?” Tim checks his map again. The exit on the North-East side is pretty much exactly where he needs to be- should be- at this point in his schedule. His throat is suspiciously clogged, which he isn’t a fan of, so he just points at the exit he should be at. The ranger just smiles. “Do you want to walk there? I can tell you which routes to take if you do. If not,” he leans over, holding his hand over his mouth like he’s telling a secret. “I can take you in my buggy.”
He gestures with his thumb to a golf-cart-esque contraption sitting on the side of the path 10 metres or so away. “She’s much faster than she looks, I promise.”
Tim studies him for a moment. The ranger is old, probably mid-forties, with a receding hairline and crow’s-feet around his eyes. He looks kind. His legs are well-toned, presumably due to his job requiring him to walk all day, but his arms look weak. Tim reckons he could win a fight against him if he needs to.
“Alright.”
The ranger smiles, standing, and offers his hand for Tim to take. Tim, always contrarian, ignores it, standing on his own. To his credit, the ranger doesn’t seem to mind, taking it in his stride. He accompanies Tim to the buggy, climbing in on the drivers side and patting the seat across from him encouragingly. “C’mon kid. It’ll take us about an hour, and we can grab some grub on the way! It’ll be fun.”
Tim, against his vigilante instincts, gets in the buggy. There are no doors, and it goes at about 20 miles per hour. He’s jumped out of faster vehicles before.
The ranger, clearly unaware of Tim’s plotting, talks as they drive.
“So, Kid, what’s your name?”
Tim just stares blankly back at him.
“Ok, that’s fair. I’m Jim. Jim Morrison. I’ve been a ranger here for about 20 years now. Met my husband on the job. We actually have a house near the North-East entrance, so this is perfect. I’ll just head home early, get dinner started. Oh- We have a lil’ dog too, her name’s Buster, ‘cause we thought she was a boy when we got ‘er, and I think she’s out with Craig at the moment. Craig’s my husband, by the way. Anyway-”
Jim goes on like that for the majority of the journey. Eventually, Tim opens up a little bit. Sure, he gives a fake name, but he admits he has a boyfriend, much to Jim’s delight. He also talks about photography with him. Jim is apparently an avid wildlife photographer (“Part of the reason I got into the job in the first place!”). He offers to set Tim up with a disposable camera when he admits he ‘accidentally’ left his at home. “No photographer should be in a place of natural beauty without their camera” he had insisted, and handed Tim a disposable camera that he apparently keeps in his glove box for “Emergencies just like this!”
He's a nice man, Tim decides, taking a few snaps of the park as they whiz through. The only problem with a disposable camera is that he won’t know if his photos are blurry until it’s too late. Then again, that’s kind of the beauty of it. As they drive, Tim’s hope and whimsy slowly come back to him. This isn’t so bad actually. He’s seen Yellowstone now, and he’s gained a camera, all while still sticking to schedule! He never gets this type of luck, so he savours it while he can.
After about 40 minutes of driving and chatting, they pull up outside a 1950’s style diner. “Lunch!” Jim announces, happily. Tim follows him in, expecting just to sit and watch him eat, then get back to driving. However, when they reach the front, Jim turns and asks him what he’d like to eat. “Oh, um…” Tim’s voice trails off. He’s embarrassed, he realises. He’s never not had enough money for something before. “I… uh, can’t afford it.”
Jim looks at him like he’s grown another head, and Tim shrinks in on himself. “Well, why would that be a problem? I’ll get it for you, no biggie!”
Tim’s eyes widen. “Wait, really?”
“Course, son. You’re practically skin and bones! Let’s get a burger in you.”
They sit down with their (comedically large) burgers, and Tim practically salivates looking at them. He has burgers all the time in Gotham- Bat-burger being a personal favourite haunt. He hasn’t had one in at least four days, and the trail mix has been getting to him. He tries to savour it- this might be the last full meal he has for the next month- but he’s so ravenous that he just scarfs it down in a couple minutes. He’s embarrassed, until he sees that Jim has done the same. “Walking is a calorie-consuming sport, champ. Even if it doesn’t feel like it!”
Tim eats his fries, and some of Jim’s, who claims he’s ‘too full’. Tim thinks he’s lying, but he’s too grateful to care. Eventually, they wrap up their papers and head back to the buggy. Another 20 minutes, and they’ve arrived at the North-East entrance. Jim parks the buggy outside a quaint little log cabin, grinning. “This is ma’ home. She ain’t much, but she’s pretty.” He gets out the buggy and unlocks his front door, stepping inside. Tim waits, not sure what the proper thing to do is. He can’t exactly follow Jim into his house, can he? That’s rude. Tim’s pretty sure that’s rude. “C’mon in!” Jim calls, just as Tim turns to go.
He creeps in carefully, still a bit wary. He isn’t wary of Jim, he doesn’t think. He’s been nothing but kind to Tim, and he has no reason to suspect ulterior motives. It’s the husband Tim can’t trust. He never trusts anyone until he can look them in the eyes. Eyes are the window to the soul, after all. Jim sits Tim down with a cup of coffee (Praise the Lord!) and keeps blabbering about this, that and the other. Tim finds he’s quite enjoying it, actually.
All too soon, the sun begins to set behind the blinds. Tim doesn’t want to leave, not really, their couch is so comfortable, and he’s found he quite enjoys the company, but he can’t impede on Jim any more than he already has. He tries to make his excuses and leave, but Jim just smiles. “Where are you going to sleep tonight, son?”
Tim blinks. He must have taken a second too long to respond, because Jim sighs. “That’s what I thought. Now, I sure as hell ain’t judging you. Life can be hard sometimes. But you never need to sleep on the ground when there are friends around. We have a guest bedroom, you can stay here for the night, If you want.”
Tim blinks again, unsure. He ponders it for a minute, and Jim gives him the time to do so with no judgement. In the end, his aching bones win out. A proper bed sounds pretty good right about now. “Ok.” He says quietly.
Just then, there’s a barking outside the cabin. Tim startles, the quiet moment broken, just as Jim smiles and starts towards the door. A man walks in, similar in age and stature to Jim. His hair is salt-and-pepper, similar to Bruce’s, and he has smile lines, just like Jim.
Fuck, Tim trusts him.
He should be better than this! But, well, he is trained to spot who is and isn’t trustworthy. If he gets a vibe… usually it’s just his training kicking in. So yeah. He’s getting a good vibe.
Jim kisses Craig quickly and tenderly, and Tim thinks back wistfully to Kon. Stolen kisses hanging half out his bedroom window, and quiet, lazy kisses laying side-by-side on Kon’s bed in Kansas. Craig smiles, letting a border-collie run into the room. Instantly, she jumps up onto the sofa, and begins licking Tim’s face. Great.
“Hey, Buster,” He laughs, pushing her face away gently and stroking her back. Her tail wags so aggressively that she almost topples over. Craig seems completely unperturbed by Tim being in his house- leading Tim to think this might be a habit of Jim’s- and he greets him cheerily.
Tim watches as Jim and Craig make dinner, helping out where he can. Craig insists his best form of help is distracting Buster- “She’ll eat all the bacon if you don’t!”
Half an hour later, the three of them sit around the small table in the kitchen, with Buster staring up at them greedily from Tim’s feet. They’ve got eggs, bacon, beans and toast. Conversation over dinner is easy- mostly consisting of Craig and Jim flirting jokingly with one another, and everyone trying to ignore Buster’s puppy-dog eyes. (Tim feeds her some of his bacon when Jim isn’t looking. Craig just winks at him.)
They tuck in for the night, and Tim is startled by just how… safe he feels. This is weird. He isn’t used to this. Even at home in the manor, Tim is always slightly aware of potential threats. After all, Jason and Bruce have both tried to kill him at least once. That’ll get a guy’s hackles up. In some dark, secret corner of his mind, Tim wishes he could just stay here. He’d contact Kon, and they’d all live here together. They could go hiking during the day, and sleep in the cozy log cabin at night, and they’d never have to worry about Lazarus Pits or Fear Toxin or The Joker. They could just… well, live.
But, no. Tim has a duty. To Gotham, to his people. Unlike Jason and Dick, it’s a duty he chose, so he should damn well do it.
His fractured wrist twinges in response.
Can’t I just rest?
He falls asleep before that question can be answered, warm duvet and pillows lulling him into oblivion. When he wakes, the sun is streaming through the window, and there is something cooking in the kitchen. Blearily, he makes his way out of the guest room, rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles. “Hey Kid!” Craig calls, handing over a plate of bacon sandwiches the second Tim is in range. “oof, you look tired.” Jim feels it’s important to add. Tim has to supress a scowl at that, because he is a guest, regardless of how comfortable he feels. A mug of coffee is set down kindly in front of him, and Tim barely has the wherewithal to say “Thanks” before he is slurping down the burning hot liquid, much to Craig’s amusement.
After breakfast, Jim hands Tim a bundle of things to take with him. “Really, Jim, I couldn’t.”
“Nonsense, you need these things. Take them.”
And, well, he can’t really argue with that.
Firstly (And most importantly) Jim has given a sleeping bag. Tim’s bones leap for joy. Tucked inside, Tim finds more trail mix (Oh, great) and some protein packs. They give him some matches and a torch that will set him up in good stead, and even a bar of soap and some new clothes. He thanks both of them, and pats Buster goodbye. She looks devastated that her bacon-thievery accomplice is leaving, but wags her tail when he strokes her anyway. He walks out the North-East exit of the park with a pep in his step, and a heavier pack than ever before.
It’s only that evening, when Tim tucks down by a fire, in his nice new sleeping bag with his copy of the Odyssey that he learns the word he was looking for. Xenia- an ancient Greek tradition of letting travellers into your home regardless of who they are, and letting them go with gifts.
Tim thinks it’s a pretty beautiful tradition.
…
It takes him another day and a half to make it into South Dakota. He decides to head further South, towards route 90, in the hopes he might be able to hitch-hike some of the way. At this point, the twinge in his feet is worse than the twinge in his wrist, which he doesn’t think is a good sign, so the less time spent walking the better. Also, he’s pretty sure he’s heading towards Mount Rushmore, which he’s always wanted to see. Yeah, ok, so he’s doing some sight-seeing. Sue him.
At one point, he decides to stop and try to wash in a stream he finds. This, as it turns out, is a mistake. The air around him is warm, and the sun keeps beating down, but apparently the river doesn’t care about that. When he steps in, it feels like slipping into an ice block. Not nice. He tries to submerge himself, but finds it too cold to move his body properly.
He decides against it pretty quickly.
He does, however, change into some of his new clothes. He’s grateful to be rid of his ‘Alpha Male’ kitten t-shirt, and instead just pull on a plain green Yellowstone National Park t-shirt, hoodie and green checkered pants (Courtesy of Jim and Craig). It’s the kind of thing he would probably find himself wearing on a lazy day at the Manor.
He’s starting to get a bit homesick now; the novelty of the experience has started to wear off a bit, and he’s just feeling… well, lonely. He conjures up mental images of his brothers, goofing about around him, telling jokes and making him laugh. He thinks about Alfred, his sweet teas and wise words. He doesn’t think of Bruce. He doesn’t think that would be very comforting right now. The feeling of his family surrounding him gives him a sense of security that he hasn’t felt for the past few days, and he feels content enough to tuck down early.
When the night gets dark, though, he finds himself thrown into nightmares. The Titans Tower incident. His neck cut and bleeding. The sheer joy on Jason’s face as he hurt him. The fear that his childhood hero would be the one to end his life. The horror when he realised he didn’t care.
He wakes up in a start, gasping and pressing his hand to his chest, his heart beating wildly. It’s still dark out, the fire he started having burnt down to embers and the trees hiding the light of the moon. He whips wildly around, trying to spot potential threats- eyes in the dark. He’s not expecting to actually see anything, aware that he’s probably safe here (other than potential bears and big cats) but he still scans his surroundings warily. He stiffens when he spots two greengage eyes staring at him out of the brush. His mind flickers back to Jason- eyes ablaze with green fire and hatred- and flinches back, hand automatically flying to the small white scar on his throat. The memory of the cool blade, slick with blood, slicing through his arteries like butter flicks through his mind as he struggles out of his sleeping bag, trying to get away. The eyes get closer, glowing in the dark, and he thrashes as hard as he can. He can’t do this again, he can’t. His back hits the tree behind him, and he pushes himself into it, closing his eyes. This is just a hallucination, right? He’s just going mad. Nothing new, wouldn’t be the first time. He’s just fine. Nothing is wrong.
A mass nudges his foot, moving it’s way up his leg slowly. He flinches at every second of contact, eyes squeezed shut and breath coming out so fast he’s feeling light headed. This isn’t real, this isn’t real. Eventually, the mass settles on his chest. It’s small, certainly not human, but Tim is still too scared to look. After a few moments, it begins vibrating against him. Confused, Tim cracks open his left eye, only slightly.
He’s a bit confused by what he sees. A bundle of fur, no bigger than a water bottle, curled up on his chest and purring happily. Huh. Ok, he’s a bit embarrassed now. He lets the cat stay there for a few minutes while he gets his breathing back under control, before he attempts to gently pry it off his chest. It doesn’t work. The cat clings on, digging it’s claws into Tim’s shirt and holding on for dear life. When he lets go, it goes right back to purring. Shit. Tim really hopes this thing doesn’t have, like, fleas or rabies. He shuffles back into his sleeping bag and hopes the warm thing on his chest will be gone by the morning.
It isn’t.
When he awakes, tired and bleary-eyed, the first thing he sees is a small face staring right back at him, paw outstretched to whack him. When he closes his eyes, it slaps him, causing him to re-open his eyes. This process repeats a few times before Tim sighs and sits up. The cat mews happily, mission successful. In the light, he can see it better. It has dark black fur in most places, but little white paws and chest, and is clearly just a kitten. If Tim had to hazard a guess, he would say around six or seven weeks old. Clearly not a newborn, but definitely not a full-fledged cat just yet.
It has a smushed face, as if it has run into a wall at fast speeds. Probably a Persian, but Tim isn’t sure. He had to know about cat breeds for a case a couple years back involving the Riddler, but he hasn’t had to use the information since. He decides to name it ‘Squish’. Not that he’s keeping it, he just thinks that’s a fitting name. He packs up slowly, trying to ignore Squish moving between his legs and butting her head into him gently. He thinks she’s a girl. She gives girl vibes. When he’s finished, he scratches her lightly on the head, saying goodbye, and walks away.
To his consternation, she follows.
For the whole day.
He keeps trying to shake her, taking weird paths and ducking behind trees, but she follows- never more than 20 feet behind. Tim finds himself checking back on her every 5 minutes or so, making sure she’s still following. Not that he wants her to. He doesn’t need a cat. It’s just… well, it’s nice not to feel completely alone on his journey. At one point, he looks back, and she isn’t there, and he feels a pit open up in his stomach. Damn, he must be really awful if even a cat wants to leave him. But then she pops back up from behind a rock and he breathes a sigh of relief. He scoops her up and puts her in the front pocket of his hoodie. She purrs in contentment. He sighs internally and gives in. Looks like he has a cat now. Is he turning into Bruce? Picking up strays everywhere he goes? God, he hopes not.
Even so, it’s nice to have Squish with him. She’s a warm and comforting presence against his stomach. In fact, she purrs so much that it almost feels like Tim’s getting pins and needles, or butterflies in his stomach. He strokes her gently as he walks, and chatters mindlessly to her. Partly about the walk; “Oh, there’s a root there, let’s avoid that” and “I think my blisters have blisters at this point”. But also deeper things. Things about his family. Things he doesn’t think he’s ever told another living soul, even Kon. His deepest darkest secrets. It feels great; to talk to someone who can’t ever tattle on him, and in a place where he’s certain he isn’t bugged. Or, well, he probably has at least a few bugs crawling on him, but they aren’t the listening kind.
Regardless, a listening ear (albeit a furry one) is comforting for him. That sense of loneliness from the last few days begins to fall away, dwindling just like his food and resources.
He isn’t entirely sure how to feed Squish; given his own lack of food, but he rips up some of the beef jerky that Jim gave him and feeds it to her in little pieces. He internally mourns it, as it’s the only kind of food he owns right now that isn’t fucking trail mix, but he’s going to be a good cat-dad goddamn it, so he sets all of it aside for her. Tim takes loads of photos of her eating while he feeds her, giggling quietly to himself at the way her little face scrunches up when she eats the salty jerky. He finds a feather on the ground as they settle down for the night, and they spend a good half an hour playing. Tim twitches the feather lightly, moving it around in Squish’s eyeline, then tries to pull it out of the way when she pounces. When it gets too dark for the feather to really work anymore, Tim does the same with his flashlight, before curling up around Squish’s warm body and going to sleep.
…
The next day, Tim finds himself seeing a lot more roads and signs. He takes this to be a good thing, assuming the more civilisation the more likely he is to be close to his destination. The trees in this area are mainly deciduous. The further south he’s gotten, the less common the fir trees have been, so in theory he’s moving into a warmer climate. It doesn’t really feel like that though. He’s glad it’s spring at the moment. Only a few weeks ago and he would have probably just frozen to death in the night in his sleep. As it is, he wakes up with a few frost flakes in his hair, but none the worse for wear.
Not for the first time, he thinks longingly about how much easier his life would be if he had some kind of power. If he was a Meta, he could be home already. In fact, if he had super speed like Impulse, he could have made it back to the cave before Bruce did. Or if he could fly like Kon or Cassie, it would have only taken him a few days to make it over, rather than the month or so it’s going to take him. Honestly, he thinks quite often about how fucking useless he is in comparison to his teammates. Like, what does he have going for him? He isn’t bulletproof, he isn’t fast or strong or anything of worth. The only thing he is is resilient. He always has been, and he (hopefully) always will be. He bounces back. He doesn’t let shit get him down. He gets his neck cut open? He gets over it. He gets kidnapped and tortured by the joker? He tries his best to forget it. He gets left in the middle of nowhere to find his own way back? He fucking walks.
It feels as though if he were to stop, to let it affect him for more than a moment, then that’s like letting it win. He just needs to ignore it and keep moving. Whenever he’s left alone with his thoughts for too long, he finds himself spiralling viciously down rabbit holes; what-ifs and possibilities that make his head spin and heart hurt. So he doesn’t let that happen. He keeps himself busy. He doesn’t let anything take up too much room in his head. He makes himself useful.
So it shouldn’t be a surprise when the thought comes to him. He is walking along the edge of a paved road when it occurs to him that maybe he shouldn’t go home. Maybe all of this is useless. Maybe Bruce left because he finally realised everything that’s wrong with him, all of the reasons why he is a blight on their family. Maybe this isn’t a test, maybe Bruce just genuinely wanted to leave him. It’s not like it would be the first time; his parents sure did it often enough. Then again, they would at least leave him in a mansion, instead of the middle of a random forest in Montana. So, yeah, even if Bruce did intend to leave him, Tim is still going back to Gotham.
Part of this is spite, he’s very sure of that. He is going to make it home. Not just that, he is going to prove that he can. He’s been told over and over in his life that he is useless and worthless, and that the people around him leaving him is inevitable. So he’s learned to believe it. But maybe, if he just keeps going, maybe one day people will see just how useful he is. He only wants to be useful.
So yeah, sure. He isn’t super. He isn’t a hero, not in the way Kon is. He’s just some kid, who wormed his way into a family that didn’t want him, like a fucking cuckoo in a nest. And so of course Bruce left him. Why wouldn’t he? But Tim is going to keep fucking going, no matter what. Just like he always has.
Just like he always will.
…
As Tim walks, the roads begin to get more paved around him. There are less potholes and more signs, all saying the same thing; ‘Mount Rushmore up ahead.’ And sure, Tim did have the vague idea that he was heading in this direction, but he didn’t expect to actually end up here. His parents would never take him to Mount Rushmore, or the grand canyon, or any big monument, no matter how much he begged. They were far more interested in antique treasures from distant lands than monuments nearby. Tim gets that, sure he does, but it’s fun to be a tourist sometimes. He’s never even bothered to ask Bruce if he can see anything tourist-y, because he reckons the man would say no, and his rejection-sensitivity dysphoria can’t take that massive blow to his self-esteem, so he won’t even try. Hell, at least he’s self-aware.
After getting a few weird looks from tourists in cars- presumably confused by his moss and mud aesthetic, he decides now is the time to wear some different clothes. He’s worked out so long as he wears each set for a few days, they should basically be fresh by the next time he wears them. Practically. He goes a couple hundred metres into the forest to change; stripping his clothes and stuffing them back into his pack as quickly as he can, trying to avoid looking at the goosebumps rising on his pale skin from the cold. In fact, he tends to try and avoid looking at his skin as much as possible. It’s covered in scars; some brutal and ragged, others uniform and precise. Bruises from various missions litter his skin in bright yellow, purple and green.
He looks like a corpse.
He even remembers the first time someone said that to him, a couple of years after he became Robin. He was with Young Justice, changing after a successful mission. He’d broken a rib during the fight, and was stripping off his shirt to bandage his torso, domino mask still firmly in place. It was the first time he’d ever changed around them, and it was a big show of trust for him.
“Fuck, Rob, you look half-dead.” Kon had announced, completely unbidden.
“Oof, yeah. You’ve got that Cadaver-chic thing going for you.” Cassie had joked, looking him up and down with an appraising gaze.
He didn’t change in front of them for at least a year after that.
The hoodie he’s changed into has a zip this time, no front pocket. Squish is understandably upset at this turn of events. While she is capable of making her own way through the woods, she prefers to be carried most of the time, only getting out of his pocket for 15 minute intervals before screaming at him to pick her up again.
Before she can complain, Tim decides the best course of action is just to stuff her inside the zip-up hoodie. He does it as quickly as possible, so she doesn’t have time to freak out and hurt him or herself. As it is, after getting over the initial shock, she sits very calmly, chin resting on the zip so that she can look out at the world. Mission successful. He snaps a couple pictures of her cradled happily in his sweater, then continues on his travels, following the now-steady stream of cars towards the monument.
…
When he arrives, he’s… well, he’s in awe. It’s big. Like, really big. To be honest, he didn’t really expect much, he’s seen pictures of course, but he never expected much more than just a mountain with some faces. He isn’t all that fussed about the whole patriotic shit. He’s never really bought into the whole ‘land of the free’ bullshit, being half-Korean will do that to you, but he can appreciate the craftsmanship. He snaps a few photos; trying to find some new angles that haven’t been done before, but he quickly realises that monuments like Mt. Rushmore have been photographed from pretty much every angle. So he gives up. He sits down, letting Squish out to wander around, and pulls out his Odyssey. He’s been keeping up with it over the past week, typically reading about one chapter a night. He’s on chapter eight, and Odysseus is being welcomed by the Phaeacians. He quickly looses himself in the age-old tale, engrossed in the ancient rules and customs of Greece. It’s only when Squish comes to bap at him, that he shifts his attention back to the real world. It’s then that he gets an idea. There’s a low wall in front of him, near the car park for visitors to the mountain, and he gently picks up Squish and puts her down on it, then angles his camera so that it looks as though she is one of the presidents (he’s not sure which one.) Now that’s a unique fucking picture. Squish, clearly aware of the history being made here, tilts her chin up proudly, the very best president. The ones on the mountain were all like, super racist anyway. Squish hates everyone equally.
After a while of relaxing by the mountain and watching bored families get out of their cars, pose, and get straight back in them, Tim gets back to walking; Squish trailing right behind him. He’s making relatively good time. He worked out that (on average) it should take him about 3 days to make it across each state. It’s been 7 days, and 2 states (plus him getting lost) so he takes it as a win.
When he reaches the crest of a hill, Tim sees a giant lake stretching out before him. The water is like a mirror, reflecting the sky in such a way that Tim almost can’t tell up from down. The trees bend into the water, stretching into the centre of the lake as like they’re trying to reach something. In the distance, snow-capped mountains rise into the sky, seemingly defying all logic by stretching themselves to the heavens. Everything twists and bends, colours and shapes morphing and turning into themselves. It’s beautiful. The green is a striking contrast against the blue of the lake and sky and Tim just sort of collapses against a nearby tree. He remembers distantly his English Tutor’s description of ‘the Sublime’.
“It’s something so beautiful, so painfully awe-inspiring that you can’t help but feel fear. It’s terrifying. To see something so much bigger than you, and see the beauty in the bigger picture? It’s scary. But, then again, isn’t that the beauty of it, too?”
Yeah, he can get used to this.
…
That night, he passes over the border into Iowa. There isn’t any fanfare or anything, there isn’t a single sign or noticeboard. In fact, he probably wouldn’t even know where he is if it wasn’t for him keeping a very close eye on his map, and tracing his route with his library-pencil from Montana. He isn’t making a Yellowstone mistake again.
For the next two days of walking, he doesn’t see a hint of civilisation. Not even one. Not a single sign, or even fucking chip packet. The woods get deeper, and he begins to even lose sight of the sun at points, aware that some light is filtering through the thick tree cover, but completely unaware of if it’s from the east or west. If Squish wasn’t here, Tim’s pretty sure he would have gone insane. Like, actually. This is all a bit too liminal for him. At least a few times, he’s convinced he’s walked in a circle and that he’s seeing the same freaky mushroom-shaped rock, but when he leaves a marking on it with his combat knife it doesn’t show up the next time, so he just decides he’s insane. That checks out. Every future version of himself has been insane and/or evil, so maybe this is simply the origin story. Not any of his torture or traumatic events or memories, nope. Just the Iowan woods. Yep, that checks out.
Eventually, he emerges from the deep forest, actually getting to feel the sun on his face! (He’s already not beating the vampire allegations, due to his night-dwelling habits, he needs his melanin, ok?) He follows a rather large and empty highway for a whole day, sticking to the side of the road. He sees a total of four cars over the whole day, and one truck. Clearly Iowa isn’t the hottest holiday destination.
It is hot though. He almost finds himself wishing for the blistering cold of the past week as his skin starts to burn (yet more proof he needs melanin) and he is forced to squint. The only thing for miles around is swaying fields of crops, gently waving in the breeze. Topographically, it reminds Tim of Kansas, from the times he’s been to see Kon there. Then again, that might just be because both places have a lot of corn. Actually, it’s definitely just the corn thing.
Eventually, he stumbles upon a small town with a 24 hour diner. He sees a bunch of trucks stopped outside. Clearly, this is where truckers go to eat while hauling shit through Iowa. It seems pretty nice, so far as truck stops go. It’s got what Tim would presume is a retro 50’s theme, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s pretty sure it’s all original. That’s just how things are in Iowa.
Now, let it be known that he isn’t proud of what he does next. That’s a very important part of this story.
He goes to walk in through the doors with all the confidence of the pseudo-adopted son of a billionaire, who frequently crashes his car and then just replaces it the next day. Its then that he remembers he has quite literally no money. Sure, he could offer to pay them back later, but what reasonable business would accept that deal? Especially from someone rocking the ‘I live in a cave’ look as well as Tim is currently.
He makes a snap decision when he spots the dumpsters.
Look, ok, a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. There is only so much trail mix one guy can eat before he will quite literally eat anything. This being said, he doesn’t just dig in. He has a very healthy level of caution as he opens the lid. It’s clean, clearly the owner of the diner takes good care of everything they own, even the dumpsters.
He spots a half-eaten burger, and pulls out the patty. He rips it into small chunks and feeds it to Squish, still tucked happily in his hoodie. She purrs in contentment. At least one of them is getting a good dinner.
Tim is just about to start rooting around in the trash for something vaguely palatable for himself when the side door of the diner flies open. His head snaps up, body still bent over the dumpster, looking for all intents and purposes like a racoon caught in the act of dumpster diving. Or, well, just a boy doing it. The girl who opened the door stares at him for a moment, clearly dumbstruck. Tim thinks that’s a reasonable reaction.
He retracts himself from the dumpster slowly, not breaking eye contact. He raises his hands in surrender and backs away. “Sorry, dude. I just wanted something to eat. I’ll leave if it’s an issue.” He suddenly feels a cold chill go down his spine at the thought of this girl ratting him out. Bruce cannot find out about this. “Please don’t call the police.”
The girl just nods a bit lamely, then turns back into the diner, seemingly forgetting the trash bag she’s holding. Tim is almost tempted to go back to the dumpster for a second look, but that feels like pushing his luck. Besides, his wrist is still twinging a bit from diving for Squish’s dinner. Before he has time to make up his mind, the door opens again. There’s a wrinkled old lady standing in the doorway, squinting into the dark. Yeah, Tim has to stop pushing his luck.
“Sorry, I was just leaving. I hope you have a good night!” He makes to start running, before she can call the cops, but she stops him. “No, wait! You can have some food! Come inside.” She says it more as a command than as an offer and Tim freezes, not sure if it’s safe or not. The old woman, clearly realising her tone was too harsh, softens a little “No one should go hungry, and they sure as hell shouldn’t be eating from the fucking trash. Come on, kid. We have too much food anyway.”
He's hesitant, naturally, but the woman seems kindly enough. She clearly takes no shit, and Tim appreciates that. Carefully, he makes his way into the diner, wrapping his arms around his torso, where Squish lies. Shit, he’s becoming an overprotective cat dad.
He sits awkwardly on one of the bright red leather booths when directed, casting his eyes around for a threat. He’s honestly on the verge of a panic attack, but a purring from his chest calms him down. He presses a gently kiss to Squish’s head, trying his best to show his appreciation. The girl from before sits down across from him, cocking her head as she tries to work out what he’s doing. She can’t be much older than him, probably 17- maybe even 16 still. If he had to guess, he would assume that she’s the old ladies’ granddaughter.
“What’ve you got there?” She asks, curiosity bleeding into her voice. She inclines her head towards Tim’s torso, where he’s still cradling Squish. Reluctantly, he removes his arms and shows her the little ball of fur that is his cat. “Oh my gosh!” She squeals, clapping her hands together in delight. “Oh, he’s so cute! What’s his name?”
“She, actually. Her name is Squish.” He feels a bit foolish saying it out loud, but… well, he did choose the name, so he’s got to stick with it now. “Because, well, you know… it looks like she squished her face as a baby.”
The girl reaches out as if to stroke her, but Tim instinctively pulls away. “Oh, um, she gets scared around new people. She might scratch you.” This is, of course, a lie. Squish is (if anything) far too affectionate to new people. Hell, she let Tim adopt her after only a day. The girl doesn’t need to know that though.
The girl nods like she understands, but Squish (the traitor) decides to take that moment to wriggle out of his hold and wander over to her and start nudging her inquisitively. Tim just sighs. “Aw, I think she likes me!”
The girl plays with Squish for a few minutes, while telling Tim about herself. Her name is Maybelle, and she works at the diner. Tim was right, the old lady is her grandma, and she owns the diner. Has for nearly 60 years, apparently, which Tim is very impressed by. A heavenly smell begins to drift from the kitchens, and before he knows what’s happening, the old lady is placing mounds of food in front of his face. A mound of fries, a milkshake and a chicken burger grace the table in front of him, along with a little bowl of actual cat food, which he assumes is for Squish, not him. The old lady introduces herself as Ethel, and slides into the booth across from Tim, smiling gently. “Eat up, dear. No use letting it get cold.”
He thanks her profusely and digs in, enjoying the warmth of the food slowly filling him up from the inside. They don’t question him at first, just letting him eat, but once it’s clear he isn’t about to keel over Ethel begins to gently ask him some questions.
“What are you doing out here, son?”
“Oh, um, just walking.”
“Yeah? Where are you headed?”
“Gotham. I have a place there. I just need to get back.”
“And where are you walking from?”
“Montana.”
“Can I ask why you were in Montana?”
“Family trip?” It comes out less certain than Tim would’ve hoped, but he can’t exactly tell Ethel the truth.
“Why couldn’t your family take you home?”
“We had an argument. My dad got mad. I think he wanted to prove a point by driving off, but now I’ve got to walk home.”
“Wait,” Maybelle interrupts. “Your dad left you to walk to Gotham?”
“I mean yeah? It’s really not that bad.”
Ethel and Maybelle exchange looks and oh fuck- he’s seen those looks before. It’s the same look that Dick and Bruce and eventually Jason would exchange whenever he talked about his life with the Drake’s. It’s the ‘We need to call CPS’ look.
The second he’s eaten, he makes his excuses to leave. They try to get him to stay, offering him a place for the night, but he knows they’re going to call CPS the minute he’s not looking. It’s better for all of them that he just leaves. As he’s forcefully exiting the restaurant, Squish tucked tightly to his chest, Ethel’s withered hand shoots out to grab his arm. “Wait-”
Despite his better judgement, Tim turns to her. “I know this isn’t ideal, but please, let us help you. Even just a little bit. Here;” She pulls out a stack of 20’s, thumbing through them and pulling out a few. “Take these. There’s a train from the next town over, it will take you across the whole of Illinois. Please, just… let me help you.”
Tim doesn’t want to accept her charity. She seems like a kind old lady, and it’s not like he’s poor. He’s a millionaire, for fuck’s sake! This should be going to someone else, someone who actually deserves it, but… well, he does need it. He’ll pay her back later.
“Fine… I- thank you.”
“No problem my boy. Please, be safe.”
He walks out into the night, confused. Why are so many complete strangers willing to help him on his journey? This isn’t how the world works, right? Or has Gotham just clouded his judgement of people. That’s a very real possibility.
…
The train through Illinois is empty. Like, straight up. Tim tries moving through the carriages, to see if any of the other ones have occupants, but he’s completely alone, which is… yeah, disconcerting for sure. It’s almost definitely because of the hour. The train left at 5:30 AM, so he’s pretty sure he is the only person travelling across the whole of Illinois at such a ridiculous time. He sits with his knees drawn up to his chest at one of the table seats, letting Squish roam freely around the train car. She can’t open doors, she’ll be fine. He leans against the window and lets the gentle morning light filter in, flickering it’s warmth over his face.
He thinks of Kon, only able to survive thanks to the warmth of the sun. What a life that would be.
There are a lot of things that are different about Kon; things that Tim could never hope to understand. He’s tried, of course he has, but there are some things that Kon can’t explain. Like his hearing; being able to hear every sound for miles. Tim can’t imagine anything worse. Tim’s own hearing is pretty fucked, due to being close to so many explosions at such a young age. He can barely hear the rain outside his window at night- he can’t imagine hearing the buzzing of every single fly in Kansas. He sometimes wonders how Kon isn’t insane. Not that Tim would be able to tell because let’s be real- the most insane of the two is them is Tim, for sure.
He still hasn’t talked to Kon about the cloning. He’s not sure how he’ll take it, and it’s not like it worked anyway, so it doesn’t matter, right?
When you live in a world of vigilantes and aliens, magic and murder, relationships are going to get messy. He’s known this ever since he signed up to be Robin, but some days he just wishes they could be a normal teen couple. He wishes their biggest worries could be what to wear to prom, instead of whether or not to tell the other about his multiple cloning attempts during the others temporary death.
He bashes his head against the window a couple of times, clearing his thoughts. This isn’t important right now. He just needs to keep going, then he’ll be home, and he can worry about it.
Except- Well, he isn’t going to worry about it when he gets home, is he? Something else will come up, some new case or Arkham breakout. There is always something stopping him from just reflecting. He always has to keep going, to get to the next finishing point. When does it end?
Will it ever?
Will Tim ever just… stop?
Squish comes and buries her face into his neck, purring gently. He doesn’t even realise he’s crying until little droplets fall onto her black fur. He wipes them off gently, and hold her in his arms while he cries silently. When the train pulls into the station, he will dry his eyes and keep going, keep walking and trying until his inevitable violent death. But for now? For now the sun is dappling on his face, and his cat is holding him, and the rock of the train beneath him is soothing all wounds. Tim cries, and it doesn’t feel shameful- not like it usually does- it feels cathartic. Freeing.
Maybe this trip isn’t so bad after all.