Note: So, I was feeling particularly down today and decided to write this to try and cheer myself up a little. I think it turned out kinda cheesy, but I’m happy with it. Word count: 397
Not tagging anyone in case of being a bother.
He smiles at you and with that, it is as if your hand moves by itself. Suddenly, Tim is leaning on your touch, humming and lifting his own hand to grab your wrist. He had told you before he liked it when you did unexpected things, and you have learned to take your chances in surprising him.
“To be honest, I was expecting you to kiss me" he says bluntly, pressing his face against your palm “Not that I’m complaining, I, um, like this kind of greeting very…” A sigh that makes your heart flutter scapes his mouth and you continue to trace spiral figures on his cheek. He closes his eyes.
He had been away for almost a whole week, with no texts other than the ones to assure you he was alright, so you tell him:
“I missed you" in a whisper.
He doesn’t open his eyes to look at you, but you are able to imagine the spark they have under his eyelids in the way small lines form at their sides “I missed you too”
“Mmhm” you say, concentrated on how his thumb starts to move up and down, slowly.
You stare at him for a while, the length of his eyelashes doesn’t do much to cover the dark, deep spots under his eyes, which makes your stomach sink with worry. You know how messed up his sleep pattern is and judging by how worn out he looks, he probably had been awake for at least forty eight hours straight, not counting the ones he spent on the plane. You decide to forget about the movie date and convince him to get to bed.
The sides of his lips curls upwards when you run your fingers throughout his dark hair, making you blush at the thought of how pretty he is. Tim opens his eyes to connect them with yours, a soft beam filling his sight as he watches your cheeks turn redder. He has a way of making your heart speed up that can’t be healthy.
He pulls you towards his chest with another smile.
“You smell so good" He murmurs in your ear, his breath sending soft waves of an emotion you can’t quite describe down your spine. He smelled good, too, but that is the last thing you think about when he says with a giggle:
Here’s some angsty Tim x Bruce family bonding! one shot no one asked for.
Inspired by Save Myself by Ed Sheeran.
I apologize in advance.
Word count: 594
Life had already abandoned the girl’s body when he jumped out of his hidding place. A second too late.
The rest of the night seems blurry in comparison with the dying blond girl, falling into a pool of her own blood, all wasted youth and brightness.
He could have save her.
Tim knees give in, and suddendly, he’s curled in his own arms and legs, cursing the indiferent, rapid beat of his heart inside his chest. The shining light of the batcomputer bothers his eyes, so he lets his gaze fall to his gloved hands.
He sees the blood.
Her blood, he thinks, and his raven hair falls over his face, failing to hide his tears, but making it hard for Bruce to read his expression.
He would normally ignore it. He would push his emotions away, bottling them up until they weren’t important. Until he could get his attention on something else that seemed to matter at least a little more than himself. But that night is different.
Alfred says nothing as Tim’s whines fill the cave, and Bruce looks at him for help. He hands the cowl to Alfred and, unsure of what to do next, he places his hand on Tim’s shaking shoulders. The fabric of the suit is cold to the touch and the boy stays still almost instantly, maybe waiting for him to say something.
“We did all we could tonight, Robin”
“Bullshit. We– I could have save her” His voice sounds husky and angry, and Bruce tightens his grip.
“We can’t save everyone”
The words sound too familiar and they leave a rusted trace in his mouth.
Maybe because they had been part of the mantra he repeated to himself every night. When thinking about Stephanie and her death body in a hospital bed. When thinking about Jason and the way his shattered body hanged lifeless in his arms. When thinking about Barbara, crippled, trapped for the rest of her life in a wheelchair. When thinking about all the people he could have saved, all the things he could have done better…
There is more tears and drowned cries for a while, before Tim speaks again, sounding broken:
“You think I don’t know that?” He pauses, taking a deep breath and pushing his hair back, his blue irises staring at Bruce’s as he furiously cleans the remaining liquid from his face with the base of his palm “It’s just… She was around her age”
And Bruce knows he isn’t talking about the girl they couldn’t save that night. He is talking about the girl they couldn’t save a while ago. His mind makes the connection almost inmediately, and he finds himself pushing his own need to cry away.
He thinks about Stephanie and the way her blond hair moved with the wind of the streets of Gotham at night, her rackety laugh echoing in his ears as she kicked and punched like it was second nature for her.
He thinks about her –about all of them– and wonders how many times would he have to find himself trapped between devil and danger, between the major good and his personal good, and if would he ever let that stop him.
Tim eyes overflow with more tears and Bruce does something he doesn’t do regularly: he acts before thinking. His arms are around Tim now, making the boy rest his head on his shoulder, acepting the contact.
Still standing with pieces of the batman costume in his hands, Alfred whispers:
“You can’t save anyone if you don’t save yourselves first”