To an Athlete Dying Young: Deleted Scenes Pt 2
Since Ao3 is down :(
Occurs after McCrispy incident of Part 1
Still unedited; feast on my under the couch cushion popcorn
“All you did was make us look like fools,” Superboy mutters. His fists clench and unclench at his sides, like he can’t decide to be angry or resigned. It’s late; Tim’s still in the suit. He practices slipping in front of the heavy bag—he’s avoiding Bruce’s room tonight. Avoiding him will convince Bruce that there’s something Tim’s ashamed of.
“When I left, what did Superman say to you?” he asks Superboy.
“That I’ll never measure up to him and I’ll be trapped in this prison block forever.”
Tim stops the bag and looks past it at Superboy.
“It was implied,” Superboy protests.
“I’m sure,” Tim says disbelievingly. “And how did he look at you?”
“The same way he always does. Like I’m a dead mouse his cat left on his doorstep.”
“You’ve got to be more specific,” Tim says. “At what angle were his eyebrows? Were his pupils dilated? How often did he blink?”
Superboy scowls.
“Did he look like he was trying to X-ray vision you?” Tim restates. “Because that’s not pity. That’s concern.” He points an expert finger at Superboy. “That’s your start.”
###
###
Bruce speaks little the next day.
But there’s a wrinkle between his eyebrows that only shows up when he’s been studying a particularly elusive case file. It deepens when Tim speaks little, too.
###
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“What are you doing?” Superboy asks.
“Finding solace in you.”
Superboy’s nose wrinkles in disgust, and he moves away from Tim.
“No,” Tim hisses, pulling on his arm. “When Batman’s at the Hall, he and Martian Manhunter play chess in the rec room—” he points to the room down the corridor— “every day before dinner. They’re set to come by any minute now. Look concerned, think about me.”
Superboy scowls.
“You just look constipated,” Tim complains. “Just—” he hears footsteps rounding the corner, and quickly morphs his expression into one of panic. Superboy’s face twists in confusion, but it’s close enough. Tim’s still holding onto Superboy’s wrist.
“Robin,” Bruce says curtly, and Tim whirls like he’s surprised. He drops Superboy’s wrist and crosses his arms.
“Batman,” he greets, making sure to look higher than Bruce’s chin, and then replays You’ve disappointed me you’ve disappointed me you’ve disappointed me until when he breathes his chest shudders with the weight of it.
Bruce walks past him into the recreation room. Martian Manhunter looks back at Tim before following him inside.
###
###
Tim is retelling Wonder Woman when he got his suit when he catches Bruce in the corner of his eye and trails off.
“Well,” he says, getting up and keeping his eyes trained on the table. “We’ll see how long I can keep it. I, uh. I just remembered I’m supposed to meet Superboy. We’re going to spar.”
He shoulders past Bruce. He walks all the way around the corner before doubling back. Bruce has disappeared, and the breakroom’s conversation is muffled and low. He edges closer until it’s just within his earshot.
“Why does your protege suddenly slink away from you like Odysseus hiding among the sheep?” Wonder Woman asks.
Bruce must sigh, because Wonder Woman’s next words are, “What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Bruce says, but the rest stumbles out like he’s been waiting for someone to ask. “He—and I—I don’t know.” Metal creaks as he must pull out a chair. “He…he avoids me. When there’s something wrong. Dick only avoided me towards the end, and Jason—” a long pause—“Jason never avoided me.”
“You cannot compare him to his predecessors,” Wonder Woman says severely.
“You think I don’t know that?” Bruce replies sharply.
Tim flattens himself against the wall, but Bruce’s voice turns muffled, like he’s talking to his hands. “I’m sorry.”
“I am not hurt,” Wonder Woman replies immediately. “Only concerned. And curious.”
“I’m terrified of him,” Bruce says. “And what I’m going to do to him.”
“So this explains why you avoid him, too.”
“I don’t avoid him.”
“Letting him walk by you while he looks at you like you’re the pit into Tartarus is avoiding him,” Wonder Woman argues. “When did this start?”
“Four days ago. After he left without my permission. We had a discussion.”
Wonder Woman says nothing.
“It was a discussion,” Bruce presses. “He—he thinks he’s ready for the streets. I told him he’s not.”
“And that was it,” Wonder Woman says after a beat.
“And that was it,” Bruce affirms.
“What were your exact words?”
“Diana.”
“I want the truth from you, Bruce.”
The chair creaks again, Tim hears the soft scrape of the weights in Bruce’s cape on the floor. “I said, ‘You’re not ready for the streets,’” he recalls tightly. “He said, ‘At least let me start shadowing you’. I said, ‘No, we’re not discussing this.’”
“Bruce.”
“I meant about shadowing me,” Bruce protests. “He revealed himself. The whole world knows he exists, now.”
“To the world, there’s always been a Robin,” Wonder Woman explains. “You’re the only one that knows the truth.”
“He disappointed me,” Bruce says.
“You have very high expectations; it’s not very hard to disappoint you. In fact, I’m sure he will disappoint you a hundred more times by the time he’s sixteen. And you’ll disappoint him two hundred times.”
“I know,” Bruce says softly.
“And he’ll still look up to you,” Wonder Woman continues. “He’ll still do his best for you. That’s love.”
“He—”
“He loves you,” Wonder Woman says firmly. “Give him time to grow into his mistakes.”
“I can’t,” Bruce says. “He thinks I’m overbearing, but—I can’t bear the thought of something happening to him. I’d rather him hate me than be hurt because of me.”
Tim’s stomach flips.
“You’re so self-sacrificial,” Wonder Woman sighs. “Pandora’s box has already been opened, Bruce. There are countless evils in this world; you cannot hope to protect a boy from them all.” A pause, the clink of metal cuffs sliding across the table. “No matter how much you love him.”
It’s okay, Tim thinks frantically. It’s okay. There’s still time to fix this.
When he first clambered into the Batmobile’s passenger seat, in the stolen suit with his face stinging from a brick Two-Face threw at him, and Tim said, I’ll be your Robin and Bruce had grunted one of his we’ll see grunts, Tim never considered—he wants Bruce to like him, sure, of course.
He can’t let Bruce love him.
That’s Jason’s place, not his. And if Tim is going to—if he’s ever going to get out of this imitation game, he’s got to prove he’s not Jason Todd. He’s got to figure out why Jason Todd is Hood.
And he’s got to keep the Dark Knight in the dark.
“He wants to be by your side,” Wonder Woman continues. “I think he only avoids you because he thinks you want to avoid him.”
“But—”
“You gave him the suit. Don’t stop him from the thing you’ve trained him for.”
“But I—”
“No butts,” Wonder Woman says, with a note of amusement. “They’re inappropriate for a table.”
Bruce grunts. A moment later he mumbles, “I don’t like his choice of friends.”
Wonder Woman laughs. “They’re around the same age, in theory. You didn’t expect your protégé to be entertained by us for this fortnight, did you?”
“This could have been avoided if I let him bring his Xbox,” Bruce says morosely. His voice raises. “What if I bought a gaming station for here? Xboxs. Playstations. Wii Sports Resort. We should put it in the recreation room.”
“You can’t prevent Robin from being friends with Superboy.”
“You don’t know what MarioKart is.”
“Bruce.”
“Why him?” Bruce asks. “Tim is a good kid. He follows rules. Mostly. The clone is—is—a punk.”
“I think they make a surprising pair,” Wonder Woman admits. “But without surprises, you would never have penicillin or super glue or chocolate chip cookies.”
“I don’t want them to invent something together,” Bruce says darkly.
“That’s not up to you. But it does give me a good idea.” Wonder Woman’s voice lifts. “What if we partake in a friendly wager?”
“I don’t gamble,” Bruce says with distaste.
“Then it can be a statistical observation exercise, with risks,” Wonder Woman replies back. Without waiting for Bruce’s response, she explains, “I have instructed your protégé in proper battle technique. Why not put it to the test against me?”
“No,” Bruce says.
“Robin and Superboy both. If they make a good enough team, as I think they will, they’ll find a way to incapacitate me.”
“No,” Bruce repeats. “Diana—”
“Why not?” Wonder Woman continues firmly. “Because you do not trust Robin, or you do not trust his mind, or you do not trust his choice in allies?”
“That’s not—”
“He’ll surprise you,” Wonder Woman says.
Bruce releases a weary sigh.
“Yes,” he says finally. “I know he will.”
###
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The plane is crashing again. Jeremy sits in the copilot seat, slumped and bleeding over the controls.
Tim yanks the yoke.
###
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“Tim,” Bruce says, then coughs to cover his surprise.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Tim says flatly. The door hisses closed behind him. He slumps at the bottom of Bruce’s bed, picks up a piece of chalk.
“Goodnight,” Bruce says, softly. His arm shifts so it’s hanging off the bed. His knuckles brush the space besides Tim’s ear.
“Goodnight,” Tim says, leaning away from him. He starts sketching a very wonky shielded S. He waits a very long time for Bruce’s breathing to even, then erases it and draws out a plan.
###
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(Tim can do this).
###
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“Tim,” Bruce says, just as Tim’s about to leave. Bruce’s floor is smeared softly white. Tim’s shirt is covered in dust. It’s all over his hands, his knees. He’d worn the stick of chalk to a fingernail’s width of a wedge.
Bruce gets out of his bed. He walks over to Tim. He reaches out to touch.
Tim jerks his chin.
Bruce’s hand falls before it can find Tim’s skin.
“You didn’t sleep well,” he says flatly.
“No,” Tim says, equally expressionless. “I did not.”
He presses his chalky fingers to the back of the door, steps out into the corridor. He leaves his hand on the side of the metal door before it can separate him and Bruce.
“I am sorry,” he whispers.
“Talk with me,” Bruce says. “I—your actions disappointed me, but I’m not disappointed in you. Sometimes I forget—that you’re only—and—”
“We’re partners,” Tim says.
Bruce sighs. “Yes. We’re partners. And I don’t like it when you hide from me.”
“Old habits die hard,” Tim replies.
Bruce’s mouth turns up. Tim mimics it, then drops his hand from the door so it can slide back into place. When he hears the metal lock, the last swathe of air ghost the back of his neck. He walks stiff and purposefully back to his room. He can’t clip the cape at his shoulders. His fingers tremble. He curls them into his palms, the cape a pool of black around his feet, until the shaking stops.
By then, he has convinced himself that the ache in his bones is sleeplessness, the smallness in his stomach is pre-breakfast hunger, that the knot in his throat is righteous fury. When he latches the cape at his neck, he is Robin and nothing else.
(But Tim is terrified for Bruce, and of what Tim will do to him.)
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