Getting Better
May. 28th, 2010 02:56 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
notafraidofyouTim sat curled up on his bed, frowning at the room around him. It was his, he reminded himself. He was home. Away from the doctors and (don’t think about it) needles, and there weren’t even any (really don’t think about it) restraints on the bed in case he got out of control. He was well enough to come home, they’d said. They’d given him back to Bruce, along with a list of prescriptions and a number to call “just in case.”
In case of what, Tim didn’t know. The only people he wanted to hurt were already dead, and he was pretty sure that he didn’t want to hurt himself. Maybe it was in case he couldn’t stop laughing. That had happened a few times already, and he’d hated it. There had been needles.
There was a knock at his door, interrupting his thoughts. Before he could answer, the door opened and Dick stuck his head in the room. “Hey there. I come bearing movies, company and contraband, if you’re interested.”
He turned to look at him, blinking a few times. “Contraband?”
Dick made a show of glancing around the hall before slipping into the room and shutting the door behind him. He held up a bag, crossing over to sit next to Tim on the bed and dump it in his lap. “Candy. Potato chips. Hostess snacks. I risked life and limb getting those past Alfred.”
Tim watched him interestedly. “He’s going to disapprove at you very hard when he finds out.” He started to sift through the things on his lap. “This doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate it. I like salt and vinegar chips.”
Dick grabbed a candy bar from the pile and shrugged, leaning back against the headboard. He watched Tim out of the corner of his eye, using the candy bar as a distraction to keep from showing any outward reaction to how thin and pale Tim looked. His hair wasn’t even long enough to ruffle anymore either, after they had cut off what had been dyed green. Swallowing a large chunk of chocolate, he shrugged. “I’ll grovel and beg forgiveness. And if all else fails, I’ll remind him that this is how I’ve been forced to live without him around.”
“That might work,” Tim agreed. “He likes you. He might feel bad for you.” He sat back, holding the bag of chips and turning it over slowly in his hands.
“One can hope. Otherwise I’m claiming aliens made me do it.” He watched Tim for a while, then nudged him with his elbow. “What’s up?”
He stiffened a little, and glanced over at Dick. “What? Aliens?”
Dick frowned slightly and nodded at the bag of chips. “I was joking around. But you’re going to have crumbs instead of chips if you keep that up. What’s up?”
“Oh.” He stopped fidgeting with the bag of potato chips. “I was just thinking. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. Penny for your thoughts?”
He shrugged a little, frowning. “I thought I was supposed to be better.”
Dick looked at him thoughtfully. After a moment, he pointed out quietly, “You are better, Tim.”
“I don't feel better. I feel the same.”
“You’re a lot better than you were, kiddo.” Dick gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know it might not feel like it right now, but trust me. You are.”
He turned his head to look at him. “You're just saying that because I'm not laughing and crying at the same time anymore.”
“It’s not just anything. That’s a pretty big deal, Tim.”
He frowned and looked away again, back down at the bag of chips that he was slowly mangling between his hands. Dick was right. They'd be crumbs by the time he opened it. “Am I going to get better than this?” he asked finally. “You can... just lie to me if the answer's no, okay?”
Dick turned to face him and put a hand on his shoulder, even though he knew Tim wasn’t exactly comfortable with human contact these days. “I don’t even have to lie. You are going to get better, I promise.”
Tim glanced at the hand on his shoulder, frowning a little, and then back at Dick. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.” He waited until Tim made eye contact with him. “It’s going to take some more time, but it is going to get better. You are going to get better. I promise.”
He shifted slightly to push his shoulder a little into Dick’s hand. “What if you’re wrong?”
“When have I ever been wrong? …Not including the waffle incident.”
“What about the popcorn?”
“That was not my fault. The microwave was clearly possessed.”
“Hm.” He gave Dick a skeptical look. “You could be wrong about this.”
“I’m not,” he said firmly. “This stuff takes time, but it will get better. This is important—I am not wrong about this, and I’m not just saying it to make you feel better. I’m telling you the truth.”
He shifted again. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure. I promise.” He held his free hand up between them with a small smile. “I even pinky-swear. Give it some more time.”
He eyed Dick’s hand for a moment before reaching up and hooking pinkies with him. “All right.”
Dick grinned widely, letting Tim decide when he needed to let go. He wanted to pull him in for a hug, but he knew Tim wasn’t ready for that. So he squeezed his shoulder lightly instead. “So. Are you up for junk food and movies?”
“…What movie did you bring?” he asked, releasing Dick’s hand. He didn’t shrug away from the one on his shoulder, though.
Dick reached over to pull a few DVDs out of the bag of junk food. “I brought the good stuff. Hero, House of Flying Daggers, Fearless… Your pick.”
He considered the cases, and picked House of Flying Daggers out of Dick’s hands. “This one’s good. I like the part at the end, where it’s snowing.”
“Me too. Good choice.” Dick took the movie back and climbed out of bed again to go put the movie in, snatching the remote to start it when he returned to the bed and settled in beside Tim. He snatched the mangled bag of potato chips and replaced them with another one, grabbing himself some M&Ms. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” He scooted backward to lean against his headboard and opened the new, uncrushed bag of chips. “I’m ready.”
Tim Drake/Robin II, Dick Grayson/Nightwing
DC Animated Universe
1082 Words
Tim Drake and Dick Grayson are the property of DC comics and Warner Brothers Entertainment. No infringement intended.
In case of what, Tim didn’t know. The only people he wanted to hurt were already dead, and he was pretty sure that he didn’t want to hurt himself. Maybe it was in case he couldn’t stop laughing. That had happened a few times already, and he’d hated it. There had been needles.
There was a knock at his door, interrupting his thoughts. Before he could answer, the door opened and Dick stuck his head in the room. “Hey there. I come bearing movies, company and contraband, if you’re interested.”
He turned to look at him, blinking a few times. “Contraband?”
Dick made a show of glancing around the hall before slipping into the room and shutting the door behind him. He held up a bag, crossing over to sit next to Tim on the bed and dump it in his lap. “Candy. Potato chips. Hostess snacks. I risked life and limb getting those past Alfred.”
Tim watched him interestedly. “He’s going to disapprove at you very hard when he finds out.” He started to sift through the things on his lap. “This doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate it. I like salt and vinegar chips.”
Dick grabbed a candy bar from the pile and shrugged, leaning back against the headboard. He watched Tim out of the corner of his eye, using the candy bar as a distraction to keep from showing any outward reaction to how thin and pale Tim looked. His hair wasn’t even long enough to ruffle anymore either, after they had cut off what had been dyed green. Swallowing a large chunk of chocolate, he shrugged. “I’ll grovel and beg forgiveness. And if all else fails, I’ll remind him that this is how I’ve been forced to live without him around.”
“That might work,” Tim agreed. “He likes you. He might feel bad for you.” He sat back, holding the bag of chips and turning it over slowly in his hands.
“One can hope. Otherwise I’m claiming aliens made me do it.” He watched Tim for a while, then nudged him with his elbow. “What’s up?”
He stiffened a little, and glanced over at Dick. “What? Aliens?”
Dick frowned slightly and nodded at the bag of chips. “I was joking around. But you’re going to have crumbs instead of chips if you keep that up. What’s up?”
“Oh.” He stopped fidgeting with the bag of potato chips. “I was just thinking. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize. Penny for your thoughts?”
He shrugged a little, frowning. “I thought I was supposed to be better.”
Dick looked at him thoughtfully. After a moment, he pointed out quietly, “You are better, Tim.”
“I don't feel better. I feel the same.”
“You’re a lot better than you were, kiddo.” Dick gave him a sympathetic smile. “I know it might not feel like it right now, but trust me. You are.”
He turned his head to look at him. “You're just saying that because I'm not laughing and crying at the same time anymore.”
“It’s not just anything. That’s a pretty big deal, Tim.”
He frowned and looked away again, back down at the bag of chips that he was slowly mangling between his hands. Dick was right. They'd be crumbs by the time he opened it. “Am I going to get better than this?” he asked finally. “You can... just lie to me if the answer's no, okay?”
Dick turned to face him and put a hand on his shoulder, even though he knew Tim wasn’t exactly comfortable with human contact these days. “I don’t even have to lie. You are going to get better, I promise.”
Tim glanced at the hand on his shoulder, frowning a little, and then back at Dick. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.” He waited until Tim made eye contact with him. “It’s going to take some more time, but it is going to get better. You are going to get better. I promise.”
He shifted slightly to push his shoulder a little into Dick’s hand. “What if you’re wrong?”
“When have I ever been wrong? …Not including the waffle incident.”
“What about the popcorn?”
“That was not my fault. The microwave was clearly possessed.”
“Hm.” He gave Dick a skeptical look. “You could be wrong about this.”
“I’m not,” he said firmly. “This stuff takes time, but it will get better. This is important—I am not wrong about this, and I’m not just saying it to make you feel better. I’m telling you the truth.”
He shifted again. “You’re sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure. I promise.” He held his free hand up between them with a small smile. “I even pinky-swear. Give it some more time.”
He eyed Dick’s hand for a moment before reaching up and hooking pinkies with him. “All right.”
Dick grinned widely, letting Tim decide when he needed to let go. He wanted to pull him in for a hug, but he knew Tim wasn’t ready for that. So he squeezed his shoulder lightly instead. “So. Are you up for junk food and movies?”
“…What movie did you bring?” he asked, releasing Dick’s hand. He didn’t shrug away from the one on his shoulder, though.
Dick reached over to pull a few DVDs out of the bag of junk food. “I brought the good stuff. Hero, House of Flying Daggers, Fearless… Your pick.”
He considered the cases, and picked House of Flying Daggers out of Dick’s hands. “This one’s good. I like the part at the end, where it’s snowing.”
“Me too. Good choice.” Dick took the movie back and climbed out of bed again to go put the movie in, snatching the remote to start it when he returned to the bed and settled in beside Tim. He snatched the mangled bag of potato chips and replaced them with another one, grabbing himself some M&Ms. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” He scooted backward to lean against his headboard and opened the new, uncrushed bag of chips. “I’m ready.”
Tim Drake/Robin II, Dick Grayson/Nightwing
DC Animated Universe
1082 Words
Tim Drake and Dick Grayson are the property of DC comics and Warner Brothers Entertainment. No infringement intended.
