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Tim’s self esteem was shot long before he became Robin. His parents expected beyond perfection from him at all times and he bent himself over backwards for anything that even resembled praise. Bruce was less severe, more aware of the fact that Tim made mistakes, that he was a human being. But Robin was a title that held weight. Tim had a duty, a responsibility to Dick and Jason to live up to who they were, to the people he helped as Robin, to Batman. He had to be perfect, because a mistake as Robin could mean the difference between life and death for one of his teammates or a civilian.
Perfection is an impossible standard, but Tim tried so hard to reach it. It was bound to take a toll eventually.
Tim didn’t know when his problem had started. He thought it was somewhere towards the beginning of seventh grade, but his memory was hazy. Contrary to what some people might believe, he didn’t do it for attention. It started because he thought he deserved it and he wanted to be in control of something. After a while, it became a habit, a comfort when everything in his life fell apart.
Razor blades weren’t hard to get. His father was very traditional and refused to shave with an electric razor. His bathroom drawer was stocked with perfectly wrapped, fresh blades, and he wasn’t home enough to notice if some went missing. His parents weren’t home enough to notice Tim’s bandaged arms and thighs. He wore long pants and sleeves at school and no one bothered him about it. Once, some guy in his PE class asked about the scratch poking out from under the shorts of his PE uniform and Tim laughed and made up something about an angry pet cat. He finished his physical education requirements in 9th grade and never wore those stupid shorts again. He knew he had a problem, but it worked. He wasn’t letting anyone down. He was only giving himself what he deserved.
Hiding his habit from Bruce and the others was more difficult. The first couple of years after he became Robin were relatively easy. The scarring on his arms wasn’t too severe and Bruce was still lost in his grief, not fully aware of the world around him. Dick wasn’t around and they all assumed that he was going back to a house that actually had people in it. Alfred never asked questions about him wanting to keep his shorts on when he got patched up. No one questioned his request to add full sleeves and pants to the Robin suit. Young Justice rarely saw him outside of costume. If they did, he was in long sleeved civvies. If any of them ever suspected anything, they never told Tim.
As the years went by, it definitely got harder. His thighs and hips became so scarred that they didn’t bleed in the way they had before, leaving him wanting more. He cut more and more on his arms and shoulders, and covered his thighs completely. All of the bats were a bit cagey about their bodies, all of them had scars they didn’t like; so no one questioned Tim’s aversion to undressing. He was old enough to treat his own wounds. The bandages that covered his arms (infected wounds were a bitch) could be dismissed easily as cuts and scrapes acquired in the line of duty. Other scars from Robin began to mix in with his self-inflicted ones, masking them. He knew it was wrong, that it was bad, but he just… couldn’t bring himself to stop.
Leslie had found out when Tim got shot in the shoulder a couple of years ago. He had started going to her for all of his treatment. Tim was well-versed in medical privacy laws and knew that despite the nature of Leslie’s underground practice, she wouldn't tell anybody, just like she hadn’t told anyone about his spleen. She had asked him if he wanted to kill himself. Well, she had phrased it more professionally, but that was what she had meant. Tim had said no and she’d let the topic drop. It was the truth. The thing was, even though Tim wanted to hurt himself, he didn’t do it because he wanted to die. He did it because he deserved it and because he could control it.
At 18, Tim had his own apartment, one with good security that ensured no one bothered him. He had moved out of the manor when Bruce had died, and never moved back in, even when B came back. He loved his apartment. He loved the creaky wood floors and the breakfast nook with its bench cushion and the big windows that let in what little sun Gotham got. He loved the privacy too, the ability to exist freely without intrusion.
At 18, Tim was also the CEO of WE and an active vigilante and he’d had a shit day. He’d been on until 5 the night (morning?) before and then gone straight to work where he’d mixed up two reports during a board meeting. He couldn’t afford to be sloppy. Useless boy his mother’s voice hissed in his head. He really just wanted to go home and sleep for the first time in 30 hours. His hand absently scratched at his wrist through the sleeve of his dress shirt as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. It had been almost a couple of days since he’d cut. The scabbed lacerations were so itchy. He’d refresh them before he went to bed. He couldn’t keep making mistakes like this. The board members already didn’t take him seriously because of his age. He could do better.
Tim unlocked his door, pocketing his keys as he bypassed the next three layers of security before entering his apartment. He hung up his blazer and dropped his work bag by the door before heading down the hall to his bedroom to change clothes. He changed into something more comfortable than his work suit and walked into the kitchen, flicking on the light as he went.
Tim turned to grab his dinner out of the fridge when he heard a choked sound from his kitchen table. He whipped around to see Jason staring at him, eyes wide, in full uniform with the helmet resting in front of him on the table.
“What the fuck are you doing in my apartment?” Tim snapped.
“Better question Timbit, the fuck are those?” Jason said, standing and grabbing Tim’s arm before Tim could even process what he said.
Fuck. Fuck. Tim had gotten into the habit of wearing short sleeves around his apartment. His family left him alone and his arms got itchy with certain fabrics. It had been fine. God, he was so stupid. Over half a decade of this and he gets found out in his own apartment because his older brother has a penchant for breaking and entering. Okay, Tim, he thought, mitigate and distract.
“They’re just from patrol. I fucked up okay? Don’t need to rub it in my face.” Tim snatched away his arm and hid it behind his back. “Now I asked what the hell you’re doing in my apartment.”
“Fuck off replacement, you can’t seriously think I’m that dumb!” Jason said, his voice rising.
“I don’t know,” Tim said sarcastically, turning to go get a hoodie.
Jason inhaled and exhaled several times before following him. “No, No, hold on, Tim, seriously.” Jason grabbed his shoulder, trying to turn him around. “Tim, please. I know what those are. Please just talk to me. ‘m worried about you.”
Tim turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Really?” Jason nodded, his face deadly serious. Tim sighed. He really wasn’t going to get out of this. Maybe if he talked to Jason now he could convince him not to tell Bruce. He couldn’t tell Bruce, couldn’t be too weak for Robin, couldn't fail Batman. “Can I grab a hoodie before we talk about this?”
“Yeah, yeah sure. I’ll just-” Jason gestured towards Tim’s couch. Tim nodded and grabbed a hoodie off of the hooks in the hall before heading to his living room. He had thought about running but that would just increase the likelihood of Jason telling Bruce. He sat down at the opposite end of the couch from Jason, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie, avoiding Jason’s stare.
“Tim-” he started.
“It’s really not that big of a deal Jason,” Tim cut in. “I’m handling it. I’m safe, I don’t want to kill myself or whatever. Really.”
Jason sighed. “Bullshit! Tim. It really is a big deal. You’re hurting yourself. That isn’t just something I can leave alone. I’m glad you’re not suicidal, but you’re still hurting yourself. I don’t think you’re ‘handling it’ and even if you think you are, you shouldn’t have to do it alone.”
Embarrassingly, Tim felt his throat close up and his eyes blur. “‘m fine, really. I can handle it.”
Jason reached across the couch and grasped one of Tim’s hands, which had been clutching tightly at his arms. “Tim. I know asking for help is hard, clearly you didn’t want anyone to know but you need help.”
“I don’t want anyone else to know.” Tim muttered.
“Tim, buddy, your best chance at recovery-”
“No Jason. I said no. I just- I can’t take the idea of them thinking less of me. I know it makes me unfit, but I just- I can’t lose Red Robin. Bruce would take it away because I’m weak and I’d never hear the end of it from Damian and-”
“Tim, listen to me,” said Jason, tightening his grip on Tim’s hand. “I respect the fact that you don’t want to tell anybody. I do.” Jason sighed, rubbing his temple with his free hand. “Look, I’m willing to compromise with you. I won’t tell anyone if we can get a harm-reduction system going for you and you let me check in and take care of you.” Tim opened his mouth to argue but Jason cut him off. “But if you keep having trouble after we try that for a while or if you refuse to let me help, I will tell Bruce or Alf. Seriously Tim.” Tim shut his mouth, mulling it over. He didn’t want to lose the mechanism that had comforted him all these years, but he was also tired. He was just so tired.
“Okay.”
Jason’s eyes widened before he quickly schooled his expression into something more neutral. “Good. ‘Kay. You remember Casey from the shelter does for this.” The last part seemed more directed at himself than at Tim. “Okay, I need to plan this out and you look tired as fuck right now, so we can talk about this more in the morning, but for right now, I should really look at those.” He pointed at Tim's arms. “And get all of the sharps out of here,” he added, looking around.
“Oh, I- You don’t have to do that, I can deal with them fine.”
Jason gave him a glare that would have made lesser men shit their pants. “No. Those,” here he pointed again to Tim’s arms. “are maybe, maybe two days old. I am not leaving you to handle sharps. You’re clearly a risk to yourself.” Tim opened his mouth to protest again but Jason cut him off before he could even get a word in. “and I know you can deal with wounds fine by yourself, but I really need to check and see. I know it’s embarrassing Tim, but I want to help you get better.” Tim felt the choked sensation return to his throat, along with a vague feeling of being not entirely present in the moment. He nodded. Jason stood. “Okay, we’re gonna go into the bathroom and I’m gonna have you show me and I’ll help you put some ointment on ‘em and then you’re going to put pajamas on and get in bed while I clean up. Sound good?” Tim nodded, still trying to find his voice. Jason offered him a hand and Tim took it, allowing his brother to hoist him off the couch and lead him to the bathroom, where he quietly directed Tim to sit on top of the closed toilet as he pulled out a first aid kit and flicked on the bright overhead light.
“Alright,” he said quietly, flapping his hands in a gesture clearly telling Tim to take off his clothes. Tim pulled off his hoodie, heart racing. “Your legs too or no?” Jason asked, his tone still the gentlest Tim had ever heard it. Tim clenched his jaw and pulled off his sweats, leaving him in a t-shirt, socks, and his boxers. Jason had turned towards the sink, rummaging in the first-aid box while Tim had removed his clothes, trying to give Tim some semblance of privacy. Tim appreciated it. When Jason turned around again, his face tightened, an emotion Tim didn’t recognise flitting through his eyes. He knelt next to Tim, looking over his arms and thighs carefully. Jason gently pulled back the bandages on the few that Tim deemed bad enough to patch up. He applied bandages to the recent cuts in silence as Tim watched. “Okay. That should be good for now,” said Jason, standing up. “You should get some pajamas on and then get in bed.” Tim nodded and stood, grabbing his discarded clothes.
He followed Jason’s directions in a haze before settling in bed. He could hear Jason rummaging around throughout his apartment. After a while, Jason came into Tim’s room. “I think I’ve gotten everything, is there anything in here?” Tim nodded again, pointing towards his nightstand. Jason pulled the drawer open, sighed, and began collecting the razors Tim had collected in there before leaving the room again. Tears welled in Tim’s eyes and he wiped them away furiously. What the fuck was wrong with him. He couldn’t even keep this a secret, he had to go crying to Jason he had to be weak and insufficient and- a heavy weight dropped onto the bed next to him. He turned to see Jason, now clad in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt he must have stolen from Tim’s guest room.
“Hey baby bird. Can hear you thinking from the other room.” He patted Tim’s head, his green eyes glittering in the murky darkness of Tim’s bedroom. “‘m proud of you, you know? asking for help is fucking hard. I know it is and I’m glad you did.”
Tim blinked, leaning into the touch, letting Jason’s words soak in. He was proud. Of Tim. “I’m gonna stay tonight okay baby bird? for my peace of mind. I’m just gonna be in the guest room okay? Just down the hall. Promise.”
Tim hummed quietly to signal that he had heard Jason. Talking felt like too much. He was sleepy. “Goodnight,” murmured Jason before he got up and headed to bed.
Tim woke slowly the next morning. He blinked away the blurriness at the edge of his vision before sitting up. He could smell bacon in the kitchen. Why- oh. The events of the night before came rushing back. He looked down at his arms, the bandaids scattered across them confirming that last night did in fact, happen. Tim sat up, pulling open his bedside drawer and scanning through the mess, looking for the blades he kept buried under the pile of stuff. He couldn’t find them. He silently cursed past-Tim for being so soft, for letting Jason take this away from him. He groaned, shutting the drawer and flopping back on the bed. There was a knock on his door. “Tim?” Jason’s voice was muffled only slightly by the door.
“What?” Tim called out.
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
Jason pushed the door open and sat down next to Tim. “Hey kid.”
“Don’t ‘kid’ me, I’m eighteen.”
“No can do. At least I’m not like Dick.”
Tim thought of his oldest brother, who insisted on the most ridiculous of nicknames (last week’s “bittiest lil brother” had been a bit much). “True.”
Jason nodded solemnly. “I made breakfast. Which, by the way, I had to go out for. Your fridge is sad.” Tim’s fridge consisted mostly of meal prepped foods that he made once a week and the occasional piece of fresh fruit, though it had been nearly empty when he had opened it yesterday.
“I’ve been busy at WE.”
Jason got a pinched look on his face but didn’t say anything other than “c’mon, let’s eat.” He stood and Tim followed him into the kitchen, grabbing a hoodie off of the chair in his room as he went. As he sat down at the kitchen table, Jason placed a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him. They ate in silence for a while before Jason spoke.
“We need to talk about how this is gonna work.” Tim nodded, staring down at his eggs. “I know you don’t want to lose your independence but I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.” Jason sounded like Bruce at that moment. Tim laughed to himself internally. If he told Jason he was going to get punched. “I think me staying with you here is best, even just for the first few days. Once you get through those, I’ll back off a bit. I still need to make sure I got all of the sharp things out of here. If you ever feel the urge to hurt yourself, you call me, you understand? no matter when, you call me. We can get dinner and do a check-in once a week or so too.”
“When did you get so good at this?” Tim asked, taken aback by Jason’s speech.
“Kids in Crime Alley are prone to.. this. One of the shelters I help has a crisis plan that’s basically what I just told you.”
“Wow, plagiarism.”
“Fuck off.” Jason finished his bacon and set down his fork. “But does that sound okay to you? I know you value your space and I don’t want to intrude on that.”
“Yeah, I guess.” They were quiet as Jason cleared their plates and washed them before handing them to Tim, who dried them and put them away. As Tim put the last dish away, Jason spoke.
“Okay, first you’re going to tell me if I missed any little stash of sharps you have lying around, and then I’m gonna take the other stuff and then swing by my place and grab a bag.”
“Okay,” said Tim, who felt a bit lost, even standing in the middle of his own kitchen. “Timbit?” Jason waved a hand in front of Tim’s face, causing him to blink. Jason looked at him expectantly.
“Oh!” Tim exclaimed. “Uhhh… they were all in the top drawer in my bathroom and in my nightstand. That was it.” Jason nodded, turning and grabbing a box Tim hadn’t noticed before heading towards the door. “Go watch some TV or something. I’ll be back.”
Tim settled on the couch, but instead of following Jason’s instructions, he opened his laptop. After shooting off an email to his PA apologizing for his absence (due to “personal reasons”) and finishing some WE paperwork, he switched tabs to an open case file. About halfway through his third paragraph describing the new intel he’d discovered in the past week, there was a tap on the window of the living room. Jason sat on the fire escape, all 6’2” of him crouched in a squat, waving at Tim. Tim sighed, setting aside his laptop before letting Jason in.
“You could just knock and use the door like a normal person.”
“No fun!” Jason exclaimed, setting his bag down and flopping onto Tim’s couch. “Now, what’cha watchin’?” Realising the TV screen was blank and Tim still hadn’t answered, Jason turned to him, his gaze catching on Tim’s still open laptop. “You aren’t seriously doing work right now?”
Tim looked at his feet, scratching the back of his neck. “No?”
Jason groaned, diving across the couch to poke Tim’s laptop shut before returning to his spot and grabbing a blanket off of the arm of the couch. He patted the space next to him. “C'mon, we’re gonna watch some brainless reality TV.”
“What if I don’t wanna watch brainless reality TV?” Tim said, just to be contrary.
“Sucks to be you then.”
“‘My house, my rules’ isn’t sacred anymore,” huffed Tim, scooting next to Jason and pulling the blanket off of his lap as Jason turned the TV on. The banter between them was refreshing in its normality. It comforted Tim, even distracted him a bit from why Jason was there.
They spent most of the day watching awful daytime TV with running commentary from both of them. At about 2:15, Tim’s phone, which he’d forgotten on the coffee table last night, rang. Tim managed to pick up the call just before it went to voicemail.
“Tim?” It was Bruce.
“Yeah? What’s up? I haven’t finished that case file but I can have it done by tonight.” He could feel Jason’s eyes boring into the back of his head.
“No, it’s not that, I was wondering where you were. Lucius called me and told me that you weren’t at work today.”
Nosy bastard. “I’m fine, was just really tired, I haven’t slept in a couple of days between patrol and work.” Tim could work with half-truths. In fact, he was quite good at them.
Bruce hummed. “Well, I’m glad you’re getting some rest. I’ll leave you to it.”
He hung up and Tim slumped against the arm of the couch. He buried his face in his hand, inhaling deeply.
“Tim?” Jason’s voice was much closer than he expected.
“See?” Tim choked out. “I have to be perfect, be above average, people only care about the work I do and it has to be perfect.” He looked up at Jason, eyes filled with tears.
“No no no Tim, that’s not true,” Jason said, grabbing Tim’s shoulders and looking him in the eye. “You’re allowed to make mistakes and you’re so much more than work, so much more than WE and Robin. You’re allowed to be just Tim, you’re allowed to be a normal eighteen year old and fuck up and disappoint your parents. You’re allowed.” Tim sagged into Jason’s arms, his shoulders shaking. Jason floundered a little but as Tim began to withdraw, worried about intruding, Jason clutched onto him, pulling him into a real hug. Tim broke, sobbing against his brother’s chest.
“‘m so tired. I don’t know why I’m acting like this, ‘s stupid.”
“No kid, it’s not stupid. A lot has happened in the last couple of days and I think you’ve been overworking yourself for a really long time. Your emotions are gonna be all over the place and that’s okay.”
Tim sniffled before lifting his head to look Jason in the eye. He seemed earnest, truthful. Jason released his hold on Tim and guided him back to where they had been sitting, turning the TV back on and reducing the volume slightly. Tim slumped to the side, his eyelids growing heavy as he eventually fell asleep.
The next week was odd to say the least. Tim had gotten very used to living alone, so Jason’s presence, while not entirely unwelcome, was mildly unsettling at times. He had been really annoyed when he had tried to make dinner the second night Jason was there and had discovered that not only had Jason taken his razors, he’d also taken his knife block. Like the whole thing. Tim thought it was overkill, Jason disagreed, they fought over it and ended up ordering takeout. On the third day, Tim burst into the guest room, causing Jason to jump.
“I need to shave,” he said, pointing annoyedly to his face.
“Do you? You’re just a baby.”
“Fuck off.” There was a pause. “Please Jason.”
“Fine.”
They went down to the corner store and bought one single-use, shitty plastic razor. Jason sat on the edge of the tub and watched Tim like a hawk as Tim carefully shaved in the mirror, his eyes boring into him more intensely than Kon’s laser vision. After Tim was successfully stubble free, Jason held a hand out and made a grabbing motion. Tim reluctantly placed the razor in his hand. He knew Jason wouldn’t hesitate to make good on his threat to tell Bruce.
“Thank you.” Jason walked out of the bathroom and Tim heard a crunch and the sound of the trash can in his kitchen opening and closing. He wandered out into the kitchen after washing his hands to find Jason rummaging through his cabinets.
The rest of that first week was peppered with interactions like that one. Tim was taken aback by just how gentle Jason was. He wasn’t used to that. He didn’t even treat himself like that. When asked about it, Jason responded that Tim was “just a kid who needed a bit of love and extra support,” and that it was “his job to do that.”
Tim made it about a month and a half after Jason found out before he called. Not wanting Bruce or any other members of his family to find out was a hell of a motivation, he’d learned. He had had another shit day at work and one of the major shareholders calling him “an incompetent child” had really been the cherry on top. Tim had driven home in a daze and only came back to himself when he was already in his bathroom, drawer open, razor blades nowhere to be found. Fuck.
The thing was, Tim did want to get better. He knew that it was a bad coping mechanism. He’d done some research online about how to help with self-harm recovery and implemented some of the strategies. He didn’t want to keep hurting himself, he had just continued for so long because he didn’t know how to stop.
Jason had told him to call. Tim sank to the floor, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 7pm. Jason would still be home, not out on patrol yet. Tim navigated to his contact and hit “call.”
“Tim?” Jason’s voice was tinny as it filtered through his phone speaker. “What’s up?”
“I-” Tim didn’t know what to say. Some crusty middle aged dude called me incompetent and I want to fucking slice and dice myself open? “You told me to call if I was thinking about hurting myself.”
“Oh shit ok, where are you?”
That was not the response Tim had been expecting for some reason. Jason was still finding ways to surprise him. “‘m at home. I had kinda zoned out and by the time I was aware of things again, I was digging around in y’know.. the drawer.”
Jason’s sigh was audible over the phone. “Okay, but there’s not anything in there, so you didn’t hurt yourself.”
“Yeah. Sorry for calling, it’s stupid. I didn’t even do anything.” Tim moved to hang up, insecurity clawing at his stomach like a rabid dog.
“No no no!” Jason said, his voice almost frantic. “Not stupid, I’m glad you called. I’ll be there in like ten minutes.”
“I don’t think you really need to-”
“No Timbit, I think I do.”
Jason stayed on the phone as he rode over. Tim still hadn’t moved from his spot on the bathroom floor when Jason entered his apartment. He had given the other man keys and a passcode when he’d lived there for that week. Jason crouched next to Tim.
“‘m proud of you, thank you for calling me.” he murmured. “Let’s get you into something more comfy than this.”
Jason led Tim to his room and handed him a hanger for his work suit and a soft sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants before leaving Tim to change. After Tim did so, he followed the sound of Jason moving around the apartment into the kitchen, where he was putting together what appeared to be hot chocolate.
“You’re being so… you’re coddling me. Why? I don’t deserve-” here, Tim gestured wildly to Jason in his kitchen and just generally. “I don’t deserve this.”
“What have you done not to?”
Tim was quiet for a moment. “I wasn’t good enough.”
Jason sighed, stirring the milk on the stove for a moment. “You did your best Timbit,” he said finally. “That’s enough.”