Reassurance

Chikortia-Trainer1

K+

Disclaimer: I don't own Batman, Green Day or Wayne's World.

Author's note: This actually ISN'T the story I've been wanting to write. I have an idea for another story, but I just haven't figured out how to get it started yet. In the meantime, please enjoy some hackneyed fluff.

Dick's POV

I don't know what's been going on with Tim lately, but he hasn't seemed like himself. He's been quiet, and when he has spoken, it's been hauntingly monotonous. In that case, he's been more like himself, but I know better. He's dealing with something. I don't want to ask him what in front of everyone, though, but every time I think of asking him when he's alone, he's disappeared, and I can't find him.

Though I've stupidly been trying too hard to figure him out; checking the cave, his apartment, even all his secret safe houses around Gotham. If Tim didn't want to be found, which I'm sure he doesn't, he'd put himself in the most obvious (to ordinary people) of places. His room.

I'm not sure he even uses his room in Wayne Manor anymore. He might store things in it, but I don't know the last time he's slept in this house.

The doors are closed, so I knock. A stupid thing to do, since he probably wouldn't answer if he were in there, but it doesn't matter, because response or no, I open the door anyway.

"Tim?" I ask quietly. I look over and he's lying sideways on his bed, facing away from the door. His body is turned towards the window, the curtains drawn, afternoon sunlight peeking in around the edges. He's wearing plaid pajama bottoms, and his old, black Green Day shirt, from his earlier high school days. He probably only wears his band shirts to bed anyway; he's matured so much in so few years, that even when he was still going to school he tended to dress more like a preppie than a punk.

He's lying on his right side, his right arm no doubt stretched out under his pillow, and his left arm curled up in front of him.

"Timmy?" I ask again. I'm sure he heard me the first time, he's just choosing not to respond. "Are you OK? Are you…sick or something?"

"No," he says softly.

"What's the matter?" I ask, gently climbing onto his bed and lying down beside him, resting my hand on his shoulder.

"Nothing," he says.

"You just tired?" I ask. He shrugs.

"Just thinking."

"Yeah? About what?" I whisper, settling down a bit, rubbing his arm.

"Nothing," he answers. I bite down on my lip to keep from laughing. I'm pretty sure he didn't mean to say that. It was an auto-response. But I don't probe any further. If he wanted me to leave, he'd have told me to by now.

I look over at the side of his face, and I see a small, thin trail of salt over the bridge of his nose.

I want to ask him again what's bothering him, but I don't want to push. I can help heal him without words. So I just reach my arm around him and pull him close to me. The sign of whether or not he really wants this will soon reveal itself.

And it does. Within a few seconds, I feel Tim's left hand cover mine, and he holds my hand against his chest. He doesn't want me to leave. I relax at this, and sigh into his hair. I hear him take a slow, deep breath through his nose, and then exhale slowly; a sign of holding back tears.

I softly kiss his head, and breathe gently against his scalp, keeping my lips pursed. I feel his body relax against mine, and his breathing becomes even once again.

I don't exactly want him to burst into tears and tell me everything he's feeling, but I do want to know what's going on. Ever since he became Red Robin he's been drifting farther and farther away from me. I'd like to think he's forgiven me for making Damian Robin, but I don't think he ever really has.

Then again, assuming that I'm the reason for his distress is vain and egotistical of me to begin with. What makes ME so important that my first instinct is to blame myself? For all I know his depression could have NOTHING to do with me.

Maybe I'm just over thinking this. I tend to do that when Tim is in distress. I get panicky and insecure whenever he's hurting. I'm always afraid it's either because of me, or if not, it's still my responsibility to fix it. I'll never know if I'm like that because Bruce instilled such a strong sense of duty within me, or because I'm just too damn sympathetic.

Tim has fallen into a light sleep for now, which is good; any time he's not awake is time not being depressed. He is mouth-breathing, though, and it's quite audible, given that we're the only two people in this room.

But then things get weird. He starts to shiver just a bit. I instinctively hold him a little tighter, but he's still twitching, almost like a dreaming dog. I start to hear little whimpers and fragments of words, and I lean closer.

"Dam- Dami-" I hear him mutter. I think he's trying to say Damian. Yeesh. Is that what the kid dreams about?

"D'you…d- d- you lih-" and he drifts off into silence again. What was he asking? WHO was he asking?

Somehow trying to convey a message of love to him, I pull him close and kiss the back of his head again. He arches his back into me and sighs deeply. Good. I'm getting him to relax. That's a plus.

Only a few seconds later, he awakes with a gasp.

"Ah!" he cries.

"What's the matter?" I ask, hurriedly.

"Oh," he sighs.

"Timmy, what is it? You were muttering something in your sleep. What's wrong?"

"I…I…" he stutters. "Never mind."

"Timmy, come on, this is clearly bothering you. Why can't you just tell me?" I whine.

"It's not important, I'll get over it," he mumbles.

"Well, I won't," I say sternly. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong. Please, Tim?"

"Dick, I want to, but it's one of those things that can't be unsaid. You know? Once I say it, it's never going to be…you know?"

"WHAT? You're just making it worse by building up suspense!" I say, trying hard not to raise my voice and accidentally push him away.

He's quiet again for a moment, and then I see a tear roll out of his eye and over the bridge of his nose.

"Dick," he begins. "…do you love Damian more than me?"

I'm stunned, but I can't let myself be for too long, or he'll think I'm stalling.

"No." I say. Inwardly, I'm laughing in my head the same way Wayne did to Garth when Garth asked him if he ever found Bugs Bunny attractive when he would put on a dress and play a girl bunny. Seriously, my internal laughter sounds exactly like that scene in Wayne's World.

"I know it's stupid and selfish to ask," he whimpers. "But I can't get it out of my mind. It keeps bugging me and-"

"Timmy," I say softly, kissing his temple. "Of course I don't love Damian more than you. How could I?"

"You seem to really enjoy spending time with him," Tim says, his dry, monotone returning. "You're always so excited to work with him. You play with him and you always…"

"Always what?"

"You always tell him how proud you are of him."

"He is important to me," I admit. Tim squints his eyes shut, squeezing out more tears.

"I hate having to ask," he said. "I hate that it bothers me. I hate being jealous, but I am. I'm totally jealous. And I know I shouldn't feel insecure and competitive with a ten-year-old, but I am. I can't help it. I hate it that he stole you from me."

"Nobody could steal me from you, Timmy," I assure him. "Nobody could ever take your place. Remember, I gave him Robin…as a leash. To keep him under control. He didn't earn it like you did. It's a shackle. It's a symbol of him being insubordinate."

"I don't think he sees it that way," Tim confesses. "To him it's like he's been knighted."

"I'm sorry," I say, resting my cheek against Tim's head.

"You don't have to keep apologizing for it," says Tim. "You didn't do anything wrong. I just can't help how I feel."

"I know. It's OK," I say. "Timmy, I love you so much. Please, please remember that. You will always be my favorite."

"You'll always be mine," he says, and even manages a smile.

"And there's nothing wrong with your feeling this way. You have nothing to feel guilty about. It's fine. You're allowed to feel however you need to."

"I thought what I brought to this family was maturity and sensibility. Not pettiness and jealousy," he grumbles.

"Tim, you put way too much pressure on yourself. And you restrict yourself. You're allowed to have normal human emotions. It's unhealthy to deny them- just ask Raven."

"Heh," he chuckles. "Well, in her case, it's a matter of life and death."

"Not so much anymore," I mumble. But we're getting off-subject. "But seriously, Tim. Don't punish yourself for feeling the way you feel. It's natural. No one expects you to be perfect."

"I know," he sniffs.

"So will you please stop hiding everything and let people help you when they want to?" I ask, playfully shaking him. "Huh?"

"I suppose," he answers, half-sarcastically.

"C'mere," I whisper, reaching further and rolling him over towards me, onto his back. He gazes up at me with sad, blue eyes, but also a small smile. "There is no one I love more than you, got it?"

He doesn't answer. He just grins at me. I lean down and kiss his forehead, and he wraps his arm around my neck.

"I love you, too."

"I'm sorry you're so sad," I say softly, resting my head on his chest and cuddling him close. I hear him laugh-exhale through his nose.

"You worry about me too much," he answers.

"That's my job," I retort. He chuckles and kinda pushes me off of him, and I rise and roll off to the side some more. Now we're both lying side-by-side on his bed, me on my side, him on his back.

"And I don't hate the kid," says Tim. "I just resent him."

"I know, Timmy."

"And I'm not sad per se," Tim tells me. "I mean, honestly, if it weren't this, it would be something else, right? I'm seventeen. Seventeen-year-olds are supposed to be moody and depressed, right?"

"Ha ha ha!" I burst out. "I don't see it that way! You shouldn't be depressed at all! I want you to be happy as often as possible."

"I'll be OK," says Tim, turning back over to face the window. "I'm just a little unmotivated right now."

"Yeah," I say. He quickly looks back over his shoulder at me.

"Unless you want to do something?"

I smile and close my eyes, and slowly shake my head.

"Naw," I whisper, curling up against him again. "This is all I want right now." And I wrap my arm around Tim again and rest my chin in the crook of his shoulder. Tim puts his hand over mine again and we just lie here peacefully. I kiss the back of his neck and he scrunches up a little because it tickles him.

"Thanks, Dick," he whispers.

"I love you, Timmy. More than anyone," I reassure him.

"You too," he sighs.

THE END
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