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Winter had finally crept its way into Bludhaven. The nights were longer, the air cooler, and Tim could feel the chill resting in his bones. He knew it was purely psychological, but the cold in this city seemed to hit him more than Gotham’s ever did. Or maybe that was just the lack of padding in the skin-tight Nightwing suit. Even the word ‘aerodynamic’ set him off in pavlovian shivers.
And yet as he landed on the roof, the promise of a warm base directly below him, Tim still hesitated before the skylight. His ribs ached, and the slash on his arm was steadily bleeding out, but he couldn’t quite push himself inside. He knew exactly the lecture he was due for, but that didn’t make him dread it any less.
The decision was made for him as the window started to lift automatically. Dick was still awake then, and clearly not in the mood to be patient.
Tim dropped from the ceiling into the penthouse below. He tried to land as delicately as possible, but with his bruised ribs he couldn’t help but lean forward too much on his toes. It was a minor wobble most people wouldn’t notice.
“You’re shifting your weight too much over your ankles.”
Dick Grayson was not most people.
Tim winced as he held onto his side, trying to make it seem like a response to the injury rather than the comment.
“Sorry, reflex. Think I bruised my ribs.” He knew it was useless offering excuses, but they slipped from his lips anyway. Always trying to justify his mistakes.
Dick walked towards him, the thump of his walking stick and his left leg at odds with the silence of his right step.
“You wouldn’t have to overcompensate for the ribs if you had dodged the attack in the first place.”
Tim did his best not to sigh. Here we go again.
Dick brushed past him and went straight to the medical bay they’d set up in the corner, correctly expecting Tim to follow. As he walked the lecture continued, calm but relentless.
“You allowed your attention to be diverted by Russo, you should have seen his men coming up in your periphery. Bludhaven gang leaders never travel alone, you know this.”
It wasn’t like Gotham gang leaders traveled alone either, Tim thought as he hopped up on the medical cot. It was one of Dick’s go-to speeches, explaining to him just how different Gotham and Bludhaven were. Everything from the people to the geography to even the goddamn water supply was just oh-so alien to the average Gothamite. Or at least, that’s how Dick liked to explain it.
“You could have ended the fight a whole 30 seconds quicker if you had leapt over and taken down the ring leader when he brought out his gun, but we both know your flexibility isn’t up to that level yet. We’ll change up your training plan starting from tomorrow to make up for it.”
Tim grunted in response. The most frustrating thing was that Dick wasn’t wrong. As Robin and Red Robin, Tim was used to operating on the edges of a fight at a bo-length distance from his opponents. As Nightwing, he needed to be right at the centre of the fight, bouncing from enemy to enemy, feet barely touching the ground. Tim was taught by the best martial artists in the world that for his style of fighting, he needed one or both feet on the ground at all times. As Nightwing he was struggling to adjust.
He was about to grab a needle and thread from the nearby medkit when Dick reached out and took them instead.
“Dick…”
“What?” Dick asked him in a tone that stayed completely steady, but with eyes as hard as slate.
Tim opened his mouth. He wanted to say that the slash wasn’t in too awkward a place, that he could do it himself, but Dick would meet it as a challenge. He would ask if he thought he couldn’t do it, was incapable of doing it, and that was a question Tim didn’t want to answer. Between Dick’s partially paralyzed left arm, his fully paralyzed left leg, and the bouts of vertigo that got worse the harder he concentrated on precision tasks, Tim wanted to say that he didn’t think he couldn’t do it. He knew he couldn’t.
But Tim was tired. On top of the borderline disastrous gang bust, he’d broken up three muggings, a carjacking, and a nasty bar fight, alongside the hour of surveillance spent tucked into a dusty air vent.
He also understood the reason Dick did all this, because it was the same reason Tim refused to admit that his flexibility wasn’t up to scratch, or that he might not fully understand Bludhaven’s gang structures yet, or even that his suit was too cold. To admit fault was to admit weakness, and for a Bat, being weak was worse than being dead. You couldn’t fly with a broken wing.
He presented his arm for Dick to sew up, mentally preparing himself to restitch it in the morning.
As Dick began his trembling stitches, the lecture continued.
“You’re also not traveling fast enough through the city. Your hesitance to use the trains is bad enough, but you’re taking about a minute longer per block to travel around than you should.”
“Anything else boss?” Tim said, tone sharper than he meant it to be.
Dick stopped his stitching and looked up at him, his eyes gaining a sharpness that Tim knew meant he was coming to the edge of his temper.
“This isn’t a joke, Tim. You’re the one who wanted to take up the Nightwing mantle. If you can’t show it the respect it deserves-”
“Alright Bruce, you’ve made your point,” Tim bit out, waiting for the reaction he knew his words would bring.
Dick stared at him like he’d just been slapped in the face. Which, in fairness, might have been kinder. In the four months since Dick’s accident, Bruce had maintained complete radio silence. Comparing him to Bruce was a cutting insult at the best of times, but at that moment it was the verbal equivalent of dropping a dirty bomb.
Dick put down the needle and turned to walk steadily back towards the door.
Tim felt his bitterness immediately sour into regret. “Dick, wait, I’m so-”
“Don’t even think about talking to me until you’ve got your head out of your ass and can make it across Meryl Street in under 30 seconds.” With that, Dick left the room and slammed the door behind him.
Tim sighed and thunked his head on the back wall.
“Ouch. His mood hasn’t improved then?” A familiar voice echoed through his ear.
He picked up the needle still hanging from his arm. He tried to twist his body in a way that allowed him to reach his arm without aggravating his ribs, a feat he only barely managed.
“Hi Babs. You been listening in the whole time?”
The screen opposite him lit up with Barbara’s face, a wry look dancing across her eyes.
“Long enough, Boy Wonder.”
Tim concentrated on his stitches to avoid looking directly at the screen. “He didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. It’s my fault, I knew he was having a bad pain day today and I reacted anyway.”
“You mean the pain he’s in because he refuses to take his pain killers?”
“He says they make his head fuzzy.”
“And what’s his excuse for not taking over-the-counter paracetamol? The same as his reason for refusing to use his wheelchair I presume.”
Tim tugged his skin a bit too hard and had to hold in a wince.
“I don’t know what you expect me to say Babs. He barely accepts my help as it is, if I push him anymore he’ll just try and kick me out again, and then where would we be?”
Barbara gave him a piercing look before she sighed and looked away.
“No, I know. Mr Independent doesn’t need any assistance,” she said, managing to only let a touch of bitterness escape into her voice. “Are you still coming to Gotham tomorrow?”
Tim tied the knot off his stitch and let out a hum. “I don’t know. With all this gang mess going on I don’t know if I’ve got the time for a visit. Plus I don’t know if I can leave Dick here alone.”
“Helena’s already agreed to come down for the weekend and keep an eye on the streets while you’re gone. Bludhaven’s gangs have been scoping out Gotham’s East End, so she’s got a vested interest in seeing them contained.”
Tim raised his eyebrow at her obviously pre-planned shut down of his excuse. “And Dick’s alright with this?”
“As far as I’m aware, Dick is not the ruling lord of Bludhaven and there’s nothing much he can do to stop her.” Barbara turned to the side and started typing. “Besides, I’ll have plenty of time to convince him that it’s fine when I pop by for a visit tomorrow.”
“Barbara…” Aside from Tim, whose presence he tolerated more than welcomed, and his physiotherapist, Dick had been refusing visitors since he checked himself out of the hospital. Various friends and family had tried, but Dick just put his apartment on lockdown until they left.
Barbara knew all this as well as he did. “He needs to get out, Tim, interact with more than two people a week.”
“And what makes you think he’s going to see you?”
At that, Babs laughed. “As if he could keep me out. I’m the one who designed his security system in the first place.” She paused her typing and looked over at him. “And seriously Tim - you need a break. Go see your friends, have some of Alfred’s cooking.”
TIm got up off the medbay cot and started walking towards the door. “Fine. But if he throws an escrima stick at your head, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Barbara’s warm laughter followed him all the way down the stairs until the door shut itself behind him.