Dick didn't knock, simply opened the door and stepped into the room. His old room, unrecognizable in its extreme neatness. Nothing was out of its place. Nothing proclaimed it the room of a teenage boy.
Except for the boy laying on the bed, propped against the headboard, one knee cocked, too long hair hanging over his eyes as he nodded his head to the loud, clashing rock music. Wincing at the obscenities echoing from the docked iPod, Dick reached for it and hit pause, then intercepted the dirty look thrown his way.
"Turn it back on and get out."
Ignoring the nasty, clipped tone of voice, Dick closed the door and stuck his hands in his pants' pockets as he crossed to the bed. "Bruce called me. Said you got suspended from school for fighting?"
Tim shrugged his t-shirt clad shoulders and pushed his way up higher on the bed, lowering his knee and crossing both beneath him. "Yeah, so?"
"You put the kid in the hospital! You could have killed him. You know we don't fight for a reason, Tim."
"We fight all the time."
"Not in civvies. We blend in."
"I'm tired of blending," Tim snapped. "I'm tired of pretending."
"That was part of the deal, you know that."
"And I'm tired of it, Dick. Tired of being a fake. Tired of it all. At least here I can be myself."
Dick sat on the bed, swinging one leg up to face Tim as he softly said, "'Tim, I've been there. I've rebelled against the rules."
Tim snorted. "You're the golden boy. Even during the estrangements, you were the one we all strived to be."
"That was Robin and Nightwing, not Dick. Dick had problems. Dick got into trouble."
"Did you cut school? Did you punch out a classmate for no good reason?"
"No, but I had my share of problems, made plenty of mistakes, Timmy."
"But I bet you didn't do any of them on purpose."
Dick's eyes widened. "On...Why?"
"I told you, I'm tired of faking so much. I don't want to be good little Tim Drake anymore. Just let me be Robin."
"We're more than our masks, you know that."
"I don't want to be. I'm eighteen. I don't need to go to school anymore. I don't need a job. I can just be Robin. That's what I need. That's what I'm good at."
"And if you're only Robin, what happens to the Tim I love?" Dick asked softly.
"You can love Robin," was the cold response.
Agitated, Dick ran his fingers through his hair and shot the younger man a confused and upset look. "I don't want to love Robin. Dammit, Tim. You were getting better."
"I was lying."
"Yeah, I'm getting that." He rose to pace, making frustrated noises every time he spied Tim simply watching him in that incredibly disconcerting way. "How do I help you?"
"I refuse to accept that," Dick snapped.
Tim smirked. "A blow job might help."
Dick flushed. "Don't joke."
Rolling his eyes, Tim snarked back, "I wasn't. You want to help me, come here and help me."
"Sex only postpones the issues, doesn't solve them."
"There's no solving anything, so there's no reason not to have really mind-blowing sex, Dick." Licking his lips, Tim rose to his knees and tugged his shirt over his head.
Dick crossed his arms over his chest. "No."
"Fine, then get out."
Without another word, Dick left the room, closing the door quietly behind himself, wincing at the raucous music that immediately filled the silence again, and took a deep, shuddering breath before going to find Bruce.
Tim might never forgive him, but Dick was going to get him help from somewhere. Removing the blinders from Bruce was the logical place to start.
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