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Tim’s having nightmares. Correction, Tim is still having nightmares. Nightmares that are his brain taking the trauma of losing his mother and twisting it into horrific scenarios that all end with it being his fault. It’s surreal dreaming about his mother and her death. He wasn’t even in the same country when it happened. She’d died a simple death. Practically nonviolent. Poison usually is one of the more nonviolent ways to die. Depending on the poison.
He’s seen so many things happen to her, and it terrified him to close his eyes and see the images again. Ways his brain kept twisting truths and trying to convince him he could have saved her. He is—was Robin. He should have been there.
Last night it was the top of her head caved in and bloody; pieces of her skull on the ground clinging on to thin threads of skin and clumps of hair. Despite how dead her bulging eyes were and how impossible it’d have been for her to raise a hand out to him, she still did, mouth begging him. “Tim, why? Why couldn’t you save me? Didn’t you love me—“
A few hours ago when Dick had tried to get him to take a nap; it had started out fairly normal. Happy. Him and her on a picnic in the estate gardens. Talking and having a conversation they’ve never had about his photography and where his favorite spots in the city were to get his favorite landscape shots. He hadn’t been looking at her, instead, gesturing around them how he’d have set up the cameras to get good shots of them enjoying this. He’d asked her a question. He couldn’t remember it. But the gurgled answer had him snapping his gaze back to her. Those cold blue eyes wide in fear as blood gushed through her fingers which were desperately trying to cover the slit throat. Those eyes were begging him— blaming him for her death while her state of being deteriorated into a hollowed out husk of herself— much like there mummified remains she’d been proud about unearthing.
He’d woken up in a panic to which Jason offered to make more hot chocolate for him. It’d ended with more cuddles and Dick apologizing profusely. Tim had waved him off with a tight grin. He’d get sleep eventually.
And sleep he did. Now the latest nightmare he’s still reeling from, desperately trying to force air into his lungs. This time his mother hadn’t even died. No. No, as fucked up as it is, he’d have preferred it if it were ones of those dreams.
Now that he was awake; he couldn’t quite remember all the details but seeing the image of his mother laughing as he dragged away by him. To be left to let everything happen all over only this time he was faced with the impending doom of never being able to get away.
His skin was crawling and another muffled sob forced its way out of his throat. His chest hurts. He can’t breathe. He's so dizzy and nauseous, he can barely register the figures in front of him— both Jason and Dick in front of him, mouths moving. He can’t hear them. No, his brain is hooked on what his mother said in his dream.
“Honestly, Timothy.” She sneered. “ Quit crying. What’s the point of assets if you’re afraid to use them? You’re being useful to me like this. Don’t you want to prove that you can be useful to me? Be a good boy for us now.”
Bile burns in his stomach, clawing its way up his chest and he’s on his feet shoving away from Dick and Jason— stumbling, as he nearly trips over himself to get into the bathroom. He barely makes it to the toilet in time to lose what little food Jason and Dick managed to get him to eat comes pouring out of him. His stomach heaves twice more before His eyes are blurry and watery but he’s breathing again. He hiccups out another sob, moving his arm to lay on the toilet seat so he can rest his face against his flesh. The cool porcelain under his arm is grounding as his thoughts race.
He keeps mentally chanting the same things as his body continues to shake through his heaving breaths. It was just a dream. She wouldn’t do that— couldn’t, he corrected, she couldn’t. She’s dead. He’ll keep burying any doubt that his mother could possibly have done the same thing his father did, solely because she’ll never have the chance to try it and he can keep convincing himself she’d never do that. And she’d never be able to do it to him, because she’s dead. She’s dead and he’s terrified to think what might’ve happened had she survived instead of Jack. He tries to shove the thoughts away. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He closes his eyes and strains his ears into focusing on the sound of his heart pounding in his ears and his breathing.
When he finally comes back into awareness, he shifts, turning to look towards the door, muscles and ribs protesting. Both Dick and Jason were hovering by the doorway, nervously looking in but not quite looking at him. Jason had a bottle of water in his hands and Dick had a dry washcloth.
Tim cleared his throat, his mouth tasted terrible and an embarrassed flush hit his neck and face. “Sorry.” He croaked.
“Nope. None of that. You had a nightmare and got sick— it’s not something you need to apologize for.” Jason shook his head.
Dick nodded in agreement, a short chuckle escaping him. “Besides, you made it to the toilet; I can’t even tell you the number of times I just sat up and got sick on my blankets instead of attempting to make it to the toilet.”
Tim knows they’re trying to make him feel better but he knows this isn’t what they signed up for. He pushed himself away from the toilet, and up against the wall behind him. “I hate cleaning it up.” He tells them. “Usually it makes me sick again and it’s awful.”
Jason winced in sympathy. “One hundred percent agree with you there. I’m like that but with other people’s.” He shifts, as if to walk into the bathroom but decides against it. He holds up the bottle. “Feel up to some water? Even to just rinse your mouth?”
“I…” Tim hesitates before nodding. He knows Dick is in his “mother henning” mode so he might as well get it over with. “please? You guys can come in if you want… I think I’m okay now.”
That’s a bold faced lie. He’ll never be okay with the lingering thoughts that his mother might have done this to him just as well as his father had.
“It’s okay if you’re not okay.” Dick tells him as he wets the rag down, making it damp.
“Here.” Jason says as he hands him the water. “And dickhead’s right. You don’t have to be okay.”
Tim pursed his lips together, before cracking the bottle open. He quickly uses it to rinse his mouth, spitting it out into the toilet and flushing it. “I know that. My mom died. My dad literally sold me off and left. I keep having the stupidest fucking nightmares every time I try to sleep. I’m-I’m frustrated with feeling like this!” He can feel tears prickling in his eyes as he settles back into his spot against the wall. “I want to be okay again.” He whispers, voice breaking.
“Oh, Timmy,” dick exhaled softly Kneeling beside him, offering the rag. Tim didn’t take it. “It’s been less than a week. You’ve had a lot of things happening. What can we do to help?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you wanna talk about the nightmares?”
“I don’t know.”
“How about another cuddle pile and hot chocolate?” Jason offered. “We can go get things set up, while you clean yourself up and we won’t press. If you wanna talk you can, otherwise we can watch a movie or I can read to you. Sounds like a plan?”
Tim hesitated again but nodded. “Okay… cuddle pile sounds good. Not sure about the hot coco though.”
“If you decide not to have some; that just means there’s more for Jason and i.” Dick smiled at him. “Can I help clean up your face or would you rather take another shower?”
Tim wrinkled his nose. “Can I just have the rag? Pretty sure I can wash my own face and brush my teeth.”
Dick snorts but gives Tim the washcloth. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure you can. Take your time okay?”
He nods. Jason ruffles his hair before pushing himself up and Dick gives him a peck on the forehead before following Jason.
Tim doubts he’ll be taking long or getting any more sleep today, but at least they’re still willing to cuddle him. He should enjoy it while it lasts. He quickly hurries through cleaning his face and brushing his teeth.
Once he’s out of the bathroom, Dick bundles him up in blankets on the couch and curls up with him, Princess Dairy’s playing while Jason makes the coco he mentioned in the kitchen. Tim felt a small smile breaching his lips as he leaned into Dick’s warmth. He’d be okay. He knows that, but it’s nice to have people like this.
After Jason gives Dick his steaming cup, puts Tim’s on the table, and sits on Tim’s other side, Tim is out like a light. The nightmares decide to give him a break.