The first thing he did was to tackle Damian Wayne, with all the hard-earned knowledge that the kid might gore him with a sword pulled straight outta hammerspace. But the world is Green and that alone makes Tim wade through an eternity of nausea. Suddenly having to grapple with a Robin and hold what small weight he has on the boy over him, both of their heads now in the dry-humid-cold-warm of animal bedding in the cow's stall, doesn't help.
Tim shakes.
The worst thing about it all is that maybe both of the boys are aware that this gesture isn't for the youngest of them, but rather an educated effort to evade retaliation from someone who isn't even present in their lives. Who isn't even here.
But Tim shakes, and he thinks he can pretend that this isn't so messed up as he grabs at Damian's arm to feel less alone.
And eventually the world returns to... normal. Sure. That.
Normal.
It takes time to trek from the Farm to where so many others are gathering; Tim pointedly doesn't scan for faces he knows. (He knows the agony of not seeing who you expect to be alive, alive.) He weaves through the small crowd.
There are newer Interlopers.
Tim Drake's reputation here is nothing worth protecting and worrying over. He has a role to play but it isn't him, not even now, feeling so childishly small and grotesquely exposed. He hasn't had the opportunity to see the bodies. Doesn't need it because he can still see-- anyway. Anyway. He frowns and says, with the finality of someone who will get it done,
cw: talking blood in here
Tim shakes.
The worst thing about it all is that maybe both of the boys are aware that this gesture isn't for the youngest of them, but rather an educated effort to evade retaliation from someone who isn't even present in their lives. Who isn't even here.
But Tim shakes, and he thinks he can pretend that this isn't so messed up as he grabs at Damian's arm to feel less alone.
And eventually the world returns to... normal. Sure. That.
Normal.
It takes time to trek from the Farm to where so many others are gathering; Tim pointedly doesn't scan for faces he knows. (He knows the agony of not seeing who you expect to be alive, alive.) He weaves through the small crowd.
There are newer Interlopers.
Tim Drake's reputation here is nothing worth protecting and worrying over. He has a role to play but it isn't him, not even now, feeling so childishly small and grotesquely exposed. He hasn't had the opportunity to see the bodies. Doesn't need it because he can still see-- anyway. Anyway. He frowns and says, with the finality of someone who will get it done,
"I'm going to need some blood."