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Summary
After a year and a half of Tim alone with his own pain, he wakes up to the feeling of his fingertips on fire.
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Tim was always holding his breath. Waiting. Filled with anticipation.
He'd spent most of his childhood that way, alone in Drake Manor hoping his parents would come home soon, crouched behind air conditioning units on top of buildings for the bats to fly by, sitting at a school desk watching the clock more sharply than paying attention to a teacher, clipping film to clothesline to dry and hoping he'd gotten a good shot. So Tim had made a game of it. He'd try to hold his breath for as long as he could while completing a task, just to see how far he could get.
It was easy for simple things, like doing dishes or math problems. It was much, much harder for others. But some things? Some things it made exquisite.
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Maybe it wasn’t all Jason’s fault, but Tim didn’t really care. He’d pinned it on the other man years ago, had been barely fourteen with a school uniform sweater on and dirt digging into his knees as he collapsed at a simple white tombstone in the middle of the day, crying, a single yellow tulip he’d cut from the flowerbed outside his classroom clutched in his hand.
“This is your fucking fault, Jason,” he’d whispered. He’d stopped Batman from punching some guys’ faces in again, last night, and it wasn’t fair. He’d never visited this grave before, hadn’t known it had existed here before that night at two am when he’d looked it up, unable to sleep, and that was unfair too. “You hear me? B shouldn’t be like this. You should be alive and I should still be taking fucking pictures of Gotham at night and Dick should be in Bludhaven or at the Manor and not in fucking California.”
Tim’s hands had trembled. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he’d said.
Well. Tim had an idea of how to fix it now.
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Summary
"You're so fucking stubborn," Hood says. "It's infuriating."
Red bristles, but fighting's like foreplay when he's got this much adrenaline. "Yeah?" He taunts. Can't help himself.
Hood's grip around his wrist tightens, and it only serves to remind Red how fucking strong he is. Red's pulse somehow gets even faster, beating in his ears so loudly that he isn't sure how Hood doesn't hear it.
"Yeah," Hood agrees. Tim's watching his mouth as it forms the words. "It drives me fuckin' crazy, babybird."
