[timann] grubhub gone WRONG

[hackitudes]

[ Well, things certainly didn't go as planned. And for a guy like Tim, to whom planning is everything, that's the absolute worst. What is it about him that seems to attract danger, besides being a globetrotting billionaire vigilante detective? How is it that even when coming to Japan through official channels, literally as Tim Drake, that trouble finds him anyway? It's not like one look at him immediately tells a person he's some kind of rough-and-tumble adventurer, ready to throw hands at a moment's notice. The paparazzi has taken great pains to make Tim look like a feeble, caffeine-dependent, sleep-deprived and possibly anemic caricature of himself!

Which only compounds matters, because Tim has to admit to himself: coffee would be good right now. He becomes a bit too fixated on the notion of coffee as he clutches his abdomen, from which he'd been bleeding. Elsewhere, across his arms, chest, and legs, he sustains plenty of cuts and bruises... cuts varying all too concerningly in length and depth, bruises in surface area. The altercation itself wasn't anything surprising in his experience, but he just escaped a greater challenge than anything he'd anticipated from the cult he'd been following here out of Gotham. At least he kept a first aid kit in his utility belt-- before boarding his equivalent of the "Batplane," he really had to stitch up the wound below his ribs, wrap a bandage around it, and yet do it so hastily that he continues to bleed just a little bit if he bends forward too much.

He's in Japan. He probably looks a little more worse for wear than Ann's ever seen him... never mind that he's still in his costume.

Probably gonna be a surprise, then, when he drops out of the sky in costume, gliding down to the edge of Ann's balcony. Far above him, his plane waits - stationary in the air - cloaked by the kind of stealth Wonder Woman would appreciate in her own aircrafts. Hidden, you might say, in plane sight.

Tim looks over his shoulder and up at the sky to confirm to himself that this is indeed the case. The last thing he wants is to attract more unwanted attention. With that reassurance, at least, he steps down from the balcony railing with the intention of knocking on Ann's door. Or, more accurately, the glass sliding door separating her room from the balcony proper.

He winces, however, and clutches his stomach to blunt the sting of his wound. Turns out he can't parkour as liberally as he did before all his injuries, because even his muscles ache and sting from where he's been cut and bruised. Neither were as essential to tend to as the stomach wound: stuff he could wait for Ann's help to deal with... especially without Alfred in town. ]

I promise I'm not a burglar. That's more your department, anyway.

[ He told her he was gonna be out on a mission. What he didn't tell her was how he'd be coming back through the balcony. He's made an effort not to spook or surprise her too often anymore, but now's kind of an emergency. ]

Yeah, look.

Takeout was an ordeal.

[ Sure, Tim. Let's start with that. He's desperate for a way to take the edge off, and Ann's not even at the door yet. ]

...I also promise I'll explain. No leaving you in the dark or whatever.

[ Yet another thing he's working on. Something that clearing his palace helped with, while really only kickstarting his more sustained efforts. ]

Comments

[burglarize]

[ This was hardly the first time she had him drop by. It was the rare few, opting to meet in public first under the guise of civilian clothes – but, Ann knew he was in town somewhat so she at least had half a mind to expect him. Just... not like this. The suit she can handle, but the sudden apprehension she feels when she didn't get even a warning text her way? Something feels off when she hears a knock on the balcony door and now, more than ever, she was glad to be alone.

There were days she missed having her apartment have life – her mom nearly burning the house down or her dad catching up on a TV show... but they were too obsessed with work to stick around for long. Ann was glad they were out of town this time.

There's no real fear when she gets to the balcony's glass door – no one else was capable of making the climb but when she sees him – she nearly shatters glass with how hard she rushed him in. ]

Holy shit! Are you – !? No, stupid friggin' question, you're not okay — what – tell me what happened – wait.

[ And, yeah sorry, motormouth over here was immediately scooping his arm up carefully to lead him in? Hello, to the bathroom they go where the first aid kit is. ]

Do I need to – like call someone?! [ She's freaking out, but he doesn't need that. ] Forget explaining, just – tell me you're at least a 4 on the 'OK' scale. We can work with that.

[hackitudes]

[ Tim's not usually one to improvise, but then again... desperate measures. With his rushed application of first aid, it's not like the clock is ticking before he bleeds out. While he frets over the notion that the pressure applied to his wound is all that he's kept him kicking so far, there hasn't been enough time to be any more thorough. Guess this is where his surprise visit comes in, stumbling in Ann's direction the moment she opens the door. She catches him before he can fall, and while he wants to thank her for it, he's unoffended to be cut off by her entirely justified distress. ]

This isn't an emergency. I've seriously had worse.

[ Maybe that's not a good thing. Tim's assessment of danger - his own sense of self-preservation - has definitely been questionable before. ]

Yeah, I think 4's accurate. Though... a 3.9 might be more realistic. My body feels heavy.

[ He's just amusing himself, being needlessly particular. And it's here, in the bathroom, that Tim watches Ann produce the first aid kit. In the meantime, though, he languidly drops the cape, the cowl, the top half of his suit. With his adrenaline wearing off, he's getting sluggish. And now, with nothing concealing his upper body save for the bandages around his stomach, a lot of the damage Tim has sustained is in plain view. Much of it, thankfully, is superficial-- some worse than others. Luckily, no damaged arteries to speak of - not even where he's been bleeding from below his chest. ]

If you need me to, I can take this off.

[ He gestures at the bandages. ]

As for explaining, well. Cultists. Ninja cultists.

Found them too late. A lot of those missing persons I was texting you about-- the ones I couldn't rescue became blood sacrifices.

To summon demons.

[ It's no wonder he's in bad shape. Not much in his utility belt's default inventory to counteract the supernatural. ]

But I escaped fine enough. Planted a tracer on one of the robes, better hope it leads me to their next hideout.

[ He winces as abdominal pain seizes him, his hand tempted to clutch the site. Before nearly doing so, he relents, knowing better than to aggravate the wound. ]

Uh, I'll come prepared.

[burglarize]

[ Desperate times call for people who give a shit about you to freak the hell out at the sight. Ann's mind is going a mile a minute – maybe she should turn on the navigation app and get him into the Metaverse? Would healing him with Carmen there even work? She isn't sure, so she abandons the thought quickly. Ann's power was her love for her friends and close ones, so when she makes it her duty to get him to the bathroom – there she goes without any issue at all really.

Kinda like when moms lift cars up to save their babies, etc. Tim is baby.

She's digging around for the first aid kit, offering an 'uh huh' and 'holy shit' in between. Ever the eloquent speaker, but he knew the type of girl she was. She wasn't stupid by any means, but Ann's on fight or flight – and the robin she's dealing with has more than some clipped wing.

By the time she opens the kit up and pulls out some basics, Ann peers up with her eyes visibly trembling, but fortunately she's not crying yet! ]

You're in over your head if this is what happens. This is... This looks pretty bad. I've never seen anything like this in the Metaverse so... I'm sorry, this is new. [ Another apology comes this time: ] I'm... sorry you didn't get there in time. I'm suspecting that's what's hurting you the most right now.

[ A light joke, probably a bad one... ]

There's always next time – but we have to do something about this – [ She'll go ahead and motion for him to take off the bandage, instead prepping some solution that says it's labeled for cleaning wounds. ] I think they say this stuff stings, so tell me when you're ready...

[hackitudes]

[ Baby indeed, Tim's feeling quite infirm needing to be helped along to the bathroom. He doesn't resent it, of course, but instead uses the time afforded by Ann's help to think of what to do next: to make use of not only the first-aid kit she keeps around, but the first-aid kit he keeps in his utility belt. He knows he'll have a hard time convincing Ann he's mended worse, so he holds his tongue... knowing all too well that generally, the wounds he's sustaining are still egregious. That doesn't change just because he does this shit on the regular. ]

Worst case scenario, you could always take me there. See what good it does to use some healing magic.

[ It's like he read her mind. Or more accurately, has been a quick study of how things are done in the Metaverse. ]

Right now, though... whatever it takes to patch me up. Please. Don't care how much it might sting.

[ Despite being the one in pain, Tim seems more invested in assuaging Ann's fears. There's a calm deliberation in his voice, like he's trying not to let himself freak out either. Like it's indeed more practical to keep things as calm as possible, in a way that ought to steady her hands and make the work of patching him up as precise as can be.

Before Tim takes off the bandages, he uses one of his feet to scoop out his utility belt from among the pile of his fallen costume. He grabs the belt with one hand and searches for the first-aid kit with the other. Upon recovering it, he simply places it on some empty space on the sink countertop. ]

Okay. We may need this for later.

[ It's while speaking that he finally undoes his bandages, exposing not only the offending wound, but several more bruises and cuts that hardly compare. Stuff that'll heal eventually, things that'll eventually join his scar collection... but damn. He really bit off more than he could chew this time. ]

It's surreal. I didn't even see some of these cuts form. It's like the demonic forces that came at me were invisible.

[ Despite incorporeal demons being a Hollywood staple, Tim's just shocked because he's come to know so many corporeal demons. Etrigan and Kid Devil come to mind.

His astonishment doesn't distract him from the matter at hand, though. To make things easier for them both, Tim leans on the sink, his unwounded side facing it. As a result he stretches the opposite side, the one sustaining the wound, to give it as much exposure as possible. ]

Still a big nick, all things considered. Feels like more would be coming out of me if it was a real puncture.

[ Yet a steady flow of blood's leaking out of him now. Dark red. Skin was obviously penetrated, and a vein had very likely been cut. Better that than an artery. ]

I think I'll still have to stitch this, Metaverse or not. Got some in my first-aid kit.

If you've got a gauze on you, just... I don't know. Wash your hands first, then apply pressure on my wound.

Gonna need five minutes of that to stop the bleeding. Then some antiseptic, and I'll stitch myself up.

[ For him, this is all still a tad unusual. That's the reason that suddenly, he chuckles softly to himself. Like, when faced with the strangeness of this situation, he can't help but laugh... even if that might fail to reassure Ann. Despite the pain he's going through, the ridiculousness of this situation is not lost on him. Its avoidability.

Thing is, he's more used to this kind of medical talk around Alfred, or Leslie Thompkins. People who are used to seeing the likes of Bruce and Tim in such states. People who'd also lecture them on their own recklessness. Reprimanding them for how far they're willing to push themselves for the mission.

Tim just never expected to burden Ann with this. This likely won't be something any one breakfast buffet can make up for. ]

[burglarize]

[ This wasn't entirely her ballpark. She knows it, he knows it. Yet... he still came to her – trusted her and she had to make sure she could help him when he needed her most. Ann's hands are shaking, her heart thumping faster in her chest with each second that passes. The Metaverse was a fleeting thought, but she doesn't want to waste time. It makes her feel silly that it even crossed her mind. This wasn't... some Phantom Thieves Palace issue, this was real. ]

G-Got it. I don't know much, but you can help me. [ Part of her wonders why he didn't bring back-up, why he didn't... do something other than rush in? Maybe she expected the next time they saw each other, they'd be dressed down and ready to go to billiards or something! When undresses and follows up with his own kit, she feels a little better – that he can definitely help guide her. She takes a few deep breaths and forces herself to look at the wounds. Sure, her stomach churns, but it's part of the job. ] So you're going to call magic people or something... you better. How can you fight something you can't even protect yourself from?

[ It was concerning, but she's pulling out a pair of medical gloves from the kit tucked away, sliding them on uncomfortably until she realizes what comes next – the serious stuff. Sure, she still makes sure that her hands were wiped down and clean, but the gauze – ]

Okay, this doesn't look like the big bandage kind, smaller but we can double up on it. Let me – here, let me help and then we'll clean it up. Please tell me if it's too much!

[ Fortunately, if she can – she'll find something that'll work. She'll dress the wound as best as she can – where her hand hovers tentatively over it until she applies pressure with a harsh swallow. They were close like they've been in the past, but the circumstances were totally different! She's sad, mad, and worried – a mix that feels foreign like some cocktail she wasn't suppose to drink for a few more years... ]

This is the most awkward five minutes we're ever going to deal with, right?

[ Oh, Ann. You're in for a treat. ]

[hackitudes]

I just need specific wards against all that demon energy. Got the right contacts for it...

[ Much of which he can thank Bruce for, Batman having built such associations before Tim ever donned his first Robin suit. The magic community of this world is tight-knit and esoteric, so it helps to have a few Leaguers among them. Outside of that, Tim can always ask Zachary Zatara for a favor... if he can remember the dude's number. In any case, the difficulty isn't in the prospect of reaching out to any one magic user. The difficulty's in figuring out when, because as much as Tim's raring to go, he has a growing feeling Ann's not gonna let this slide. Not much he can do to stop a cult if he's too damn injured and could possibly die if he's reckless.

Of course, Tim likes to call such decisions calculated risks. And here he is reaping what he sows, stilling himself to give Ann the allowance she needs to apply the gauze and add pressure. ]

Yeah, I'll holler. [ And before he forgets-- ] Thank you.

This is a tall order, and... yeah. It means a lot.

[ Not that he has to prove how much she means to him, or vice versa. At least she doesn't have to worry about him consulting magic people to drastically alter reality and send villains from other dimensions after him! ]

There was just no time. Cults usually lay low before they do something big, and in this case... they kinda were. Caught them making a move to send victims here all the way from Gotham. I had to follow them, trace them back here, so I did.

[ He laughs at himself. Relief to be alive? Relief at the pyrrhic success? ]

At least I know their whereabouts now.

[ This is also him trying to talk away the pain brought on by that pressure, however necessary it is to stop the bleeding. ]

Here, why don't I just--

[ He reaches with a free hand to clutch the gauze, seeming to want to offer his hand in place of hers. Instead, if not a tad predictably, his hand lands on hers. He cups it gently as if to acknowledge her efforts, despite a clear lack of experience with first aid. Maybe Mementos isn't a bad idea, but right now, Tim doesn't seem to mind. Not when his hand departs from its place to tug at her forearm, gesturing to pull her in closer.

Upon doing so, Ann will find her bird-brained boyfriend leaning forward to plant a kiss on her cheek. As his unwounded side continues to lean on the sink countertop, he reaches with another hand to cup Ann's face, to prime her for yet another kiss-- this time intended for her lips. He may be injured, causing her to fear for his well-being more than ever before, but again-- to him, this is kind of another Tuesday. There's no detectable urgency in his movements, no desperation, as if his actions now are in the hopes of easing Ann's anxieties.

With no guarantees of it working, of course. Maybe Tim just wants an excuse to kiss Ann... and to keep kissing her. Because the first moment that their lips touch isn't enough. He pulls her in closer, never so abruptly as to interrupt the pressure of her hand on the gauze. His lips, now, go deeper. Press tighter. As if knowing he'd be visiting Japan gave him certain expectations. Certain wants.

So here he is trying to gratify them, to reciprocate - perhaps - some of Ann's own. Despite the obvious prevailing circumstances. ]

[burglarize]

[ He thinks he has the answers so easily, but it's all... reactionary. Adaptive. Part of her was immensely jealous as much as she was worried. He knew the next steps, but he's forgetting the middleman: he still was injured because of it. Even if she had grown a little bit into her confidence as being Panther in the metaverse, the stakes feel higher now. Feels... serious.

Maybe it was the way she viewed Tim. She grew close to him so quickly, felt as if she had to keep an eye on him when he has his own doubts. Now, she wanted to do anything she could to take any pain away. Whenever they do get some sleep, she knows the sight of Tim as he appeared on her balcony will stick with her.

But, through it all, she still tries. ]

And what if it's too big for you to handle? Where was your nearest back-up?

[ Maybe Tim wasn't even ready for that question – but it comes quickly, as if she feels nervous he didn't think that far ahead. He wasn't like Superboy, wasn't like these Gods from an island full of women – he was just, y'know, a normal guy wanting to do his best?

He keeps trying to explain and she doesn't feel like lecturing too harshly, she's too busy trying to fumble with the guaze and get it usable. The pressure was enough to give way to something, to try and do what she was told to help him. That's all she wants. Even the small gestures of his hand, of him pulling her closure – she feels awkward about it. As if he's downplaying how scary this is. Not for her, but him.

There's a gentleness she doesn't doubt, but when he kisses her – even if it always makes her heart quicken, she feels off. It's no discredit to him, she thinks, but among the embrace they share fueled on sadness, care, and respect for one another – Ann presses a bit too deeply against his wound.

She feels his body react and she pulls back, tears forming in her eyes immediately. ]

I'm sorry! I'm sorry – How much longer? [ Her voice sounded lost, still needing Tim's expertise, even if he was relying on her. ] You can't do this again... please.

[hackitudes]

[ Where was his nearest back-up, she asks? ]

Right here.

[ He gently claps her shoulder, as if the gesture will suffice to alleviate the mood-- to calm all the tension brought about by Tim's close brush with death. The reality of his profession, with all of its potential consequences, is something he confronts every day. In that way, the prospect of injury and death gets kind of trivial. But looking at the way Ann regards him with such worry, such concern, makes him realize the stakes are just as real to her. And no amount of brushing this off can change that. ]

Figured I could rely on you, which is why I'm-- augh!

[ Yeah, he seizes up once there's pressure on the wound. The subsequent pain, a throbbing sting, compels him to pull back right when Ann does. ]

...Why I'm here.

[ Ann's expression, the way she pleads for him to just stop. No amount of theatrics can conceal him from the sobering reality of her words. He can't, like Bruce, just brush off someone he cares about and pursue the mission at his expense and others'. That level of dedication, of obsession, just isn't who Tim is anymore. He remembers that dark place, that sunken state that Ann herself lifted him out of. To find himself here, insisting on his investigation when doing so might only lead to his undoing... makes him shake his head.

In disapproval of himself. In rejection of the way he really thought this night was going to play out. Clearing his palace brought him clarity, but old habits die hard. ]

Ann.

You're right.

[ His posture slackens, in both surrender and relief. Relief brought on by the recognition of truth. ]

Last thing I want to be is the kind of person who shoulders everything alone. That's why I have friends.

I guess I still insist on flying solo sometimes because losing the people I care about still strings, more than any physical wound.

To the point I'd sooner lose myself.

[ Now, and perhaps forever more, he's gonna have a hard time forgetting Ann's expression. The desperation in her eyes, the care she expresses for his life. Fear for how far he's willing to go, how low he's willing to plummet short of dying-- all while risking death anyway. ]

I'll get others on the case. Brief them on all the details.

And I promise that's the last thing I'll do.

[ The whole time, he keeps a hand on his stomach to apply pressure to the wound. Despite the temporary setback from Ann pushing against it, the bleeding does eventually stop. When that happens, Tim replaces the bloodied gauze with a fresh one, planting it on the same spot. ]

Got the bandages? Just need to wrap up my stomach, then I should probably lie down. I kinda ache everywhere.

[burglarize]

[ The sad reality is the disconnect between them and their missions drives a wedge. Her empathy is there, her concern and her feelings – but she doesn't understand the reality of risking well-being on a regular basis. She feels like she's not even in the same league as him – she's a thief, not some superhero. That's the difference. The Metaverse has its own sense of serious risks, sure – but they work in the shadows. Behind the scenes. Tim's pursuit brought him here, bloodied and sore and she isn't sure how she feels seeing him in this state.

Fear, of course, that he'd done something that would cause serious damage. Fear that he would not be so lucky next time.

She's angry that he didn't have back-up, that she couldn't do more...

And she's sad that she feels conflicted. He didn't need that right now.

They've dealt with Palaces and dealt with the near corruption of a heart – how dangerous it can be, but Ann wishes he could see that he didn't need to do this alone. Even then, was his life worth the risk?

Her eyes can't look at him just yet when he speaks. Each word like a realization that she isn't sure if she's one part worried or one part angry he shows up after nearly throwing himself on a cross for some greater good. Ann's optimistic, she's heroic – but she tries not to be foolish. That fear bubbles up when he asks about the bandages and she waves him like some white flag.

He listens to her, not just her words but her expressions – and she's thankful. She forces a small smile when their eyes meet and she tries to shoulder it. Anything he needed, even without her experience, she does. Bandages that needed to wrap, pressure on certain points, and the company she's not sure if she's giving him during all of this... She tries. ]

If you're scared of losing people... how do you think others feel? This – this terrifies me. What if I showed up like this on your balcony, Tim...?

[ And she fumbles: ]

I'm not trying to guilt you, I'm sorry —

[hackitudes]

[ All the trying that she does means the world to him. Trying, despite the unfair position he’s put her in, making her bear witness to his near-destruction, Tim snatching himself away from oblivion’s jaws at the last second. For anyone outside of Tim’s “mission,” everything that started as Bruce’s, his death-defying antics look like suicide. Like any day, all it would take to put an end to Tim Drake is a punk with a gun who gets lucky. Worse yet, the wrong misstep on his part. The slightest accident. That’s just how vulnerable he is, how vulnerable he’s always been, despite all the training and conditioning in the world. And he knows that.

But what’s difficult to help others understand is the choice he makes to act, despite such risks. It’s clearer now that on more than a literal sense, he and Ann are worlds apart. This incident only cements that fact, as what Tim can take as so blasé is cause for Ann’s reasonable anxiety. Her panic. Maybe there’s some self-destructive satisfaction Tim takes in this, in availing himself to these risks in the first place. It’s certainly a question that hangs over the heads of many other non-powered vigilantes, and it really can’t be dodged forever.

Not like this.

Not with Ann expressing the fears of a sane person, her words serving as a well-needed voice of reason. Tim’s spent so long selflessly putting himself on the line, only to be so selfless he’s selfish. Self-centered in thinking he’s important enough to carry out this kind of work alone, yet self-centered in thinking he’s unimportant enough to matter. Like he’s only another cog in the machine of Batman’s war on crime. Even on his best days, Tim’s all too easily compartmentalized himself as such. And instead of suffocating himself in such a role, he’s suffocating others.

Others like Ann. Others as important as Ann.

And that really shocks him. ]

No.

[ By now, she’s finished patching him up. Enough of him’s put together that he slowly advances out of the bathroom and towards her bed. ]

I’m sorry.

I used to worry that I took this stuff too seriously. But it’s clear I’m not taking it seriously enough.

Watching Bruce shrug off injuries and carry on despite himself… left an impression on me.

But I can’t use him as an excuse.

[ Fortunately, Ann’s not far behind when he glances back at her intently. He offers an arm, hoping she can come underneath to support him as they both walk to the bed. ]

You know I cherish the people I care about. The people I… love.

[ And there’s a more deliberate, lingering look. ]

But I’m no good to anyone dead. No good having almost made it out of a stupid risk I could have avoided.

I’m the one who should be sorry, Ann. Not you.

[ Now, he cracks something of a wistful smirk. ]

Who’d have thought you’d blow my mind again, huh?

Guess what went down at my Palace deserved a sequel.

[burglarize]

[ The truth of the matter is... there was only a few serious things in her life that she fights for. Her friends being the absolute core of what makes Ann... well, Ann. Sacrifice wasn't necessarily at the forefront of her mind, but her friends and loved ones came first. Tim had carved a place in her heart that she never even felt was needed. Love, unlike many of the girls in her age group, was a touchy subject for her. Lust and love often interchanged, terrifying her at times to be vulnerable.

She swears, that's why she's tried so hard to strengthen her heart – so maybe it would be okay sharing part of it.

But, this? It brings her back to a moment where she closes up. If anything happened to the people in her life, what would she be? A model, a poor excuse for a hero that couldn't save people? Ann can't pull a costume on and run to save the day – so she rebounds off Tim's real efforts. He fights reality, while she battles in a cognitive world where she knows they'll be the victor. Tim didn't get that luxury – not when he was tore up in front of her.

His words were a glass that shatters and sends her in a million direction. He was sincere, but she still feels conflict. He was reckless, but he did it in good intention. She was worried, but she still feels like she let him down.

But. She does what she can. She helps with anything he needs from her, getting him to the bed was the simplest task so far. ]

You don't have to do it his way. None of this has to be alone. You're not alone, even if you take me out of the equation. [ He has friends, he has trusted allies. Ann feels the stench of defeat on him, the copper of blood stinging the air. When they get to the bed and she offers him just a moment so she could draw a spare comforter – in case he bleeds out – she lays it down for him carefully. ] The apologies... don't feel good. They don't feel reassuring. What if this happens again? It was second nature for you to jump into it, to try and fix this, right?

[ Ann presses her hands into the footboard of her bed, anxiously squeezing it as she looks to him pitifully. His mention of love and his compliment does make her smilem but she has to be firm: ]

I don't want to see you like this again. I know it's selfish, part of the risk of heroics – but I don't want you doing this to yourself. You have so many people who love you and – ... we don't want to lose you. Okay? So, birdboy, you have to be more careful. The next time you show up on my balcony leaving a blood trail, I'm so kicking your ass. I'm serious!

[hackitudes]

[ It's been quite easy for Tim to get lost in his own world, in more ways than one. One way being his rich internal life, the constant meditations on his own mortality, his relationship with violence, and doing what it takes to exact justice while honoring Bruce's values: whatever Tim considers, in his mind, the best of Batman. The other way is understanding the very world he inhabits, rife with spectacular superheroics and outlandish dangers-- the kind that Ann, even in her own exploits, has never seen. For all the similarities of sneakiness and subterfuge that guide their lives, it's the substantial differences that Ann and Tim must navigate.

That they must reconcile.

Tim's near-death experience has a way of bringing all that to the surface.

"You don't have to do it his way," she says. That'll stick with him. Might make for a good strategy against Ra's Al Ghul if he ever becomes a problem...

But anyway.

He's not surprised by how difficult it is to get Ann to trust him. To really trust him. This isn't his first rodeo of this sort, of him making excuses and justifications, promises to be better... only for none of it to pan out. Just ask Steph. Part of him's not even sure how much of this he means. He's unsure how quickly he might renege on his words as soon as he happens upon a lead, or a lead happens upon him. All he knows is that as far as conflicts go, their opposing views on the mission is one that might last. Short of dying, he may never understand how far is too far when it comes to pushing himself. For all that Bruce and Dick have taught him, this is probably a lesson someone like Ann isn't grateful for.

Doesn't take a great detective to see that, though. ]

...I don't know what I can say to ease your mind.

Because I know it's all about what I do.

[ He speaks now that he's safely nestled on the bed, from which he looks up at Ann with a troubled expression. Brows furrowed in some sort of self-conscious worry. ]

So... I'll tell you what. I am a detective. I'm all about proof.

If you need evidence to trust that I won't do this again, then so be it. The burden of proof is on me.

But for the time being, can you just... come here? Stay with me?

[ He's trying to think, now, of a way to ameliorate proceedings. A way of doing so without undermining previous words. ]

I've got a theory that cuddling makes everything hurt less. Consider this an invitation to... gather evidence.

[burglarize]

[ Figures one of the most adult conversations she's had is with someone her age. These were serious topics. Trust, fear, regret, guilt, bitterness – they all spin together into a cycle that Ann's never experienced before. Tim was her first... well, anything? It wasn't Akira, wasn't Ryuji – she goes in blind with no experience on how to handle guys and let alone, how to handle one so...

...so frustratingly selfless.

When he's settled, she listens – standing and awkwardly holding onto herself. A defensive curl that keeps her arms rooted against her own chest. He shows his vulnerability too, but they're both... just kids. They don't know anything past what they feel. Past the call to do better, to make this world something other than a stain in history. His burdens come in the form of proof, and she gives in like any girl would. It wasn't that she doesn't trust him – she gives in because she does. A standard of stubbornness that many of her friends know her for is melted away. The bed sinks when she sits down next to him, her hand reassuring against his thigh. ]

Okay. Then... I hope the proof is conclusive. [ That sounded legit, right? It was her small, horrible attempt at a detective joke. When he mentions cuddling, she winces a bit - still the grim wound a reminder on her mind. How did he even make it here...? Luck, is all she can say, honestly. ] I think you should keep your medical hypothesis to real doctors. But, alright.

[ The bed was fortunately big enough for both of them, and if it wasn't – they've made it work. All she can do is lay on her side, facing him and watching him. She's not sure by now what she's looking for. Reassurance, nah. Truth? Nah. Hope? Nah. It was something else. She wants to see the fear she has right here, maybe, so she can make sense of it. ]

... Do you remember when we stayed up almost all night the last time I was in Gotham? We were scared time would zip by. So we ordered in... hyped up on caffeine and laughs. Do you think it's okay to just rest here? We don't have to say anything if it doesn't feel right. I just... I want to just know you'll be okay.

[hackitudes]

[ Beneath the weariness of a difficult night that's taken its toll, Tim smiles with half-lidded eyes at the attempt-- Ann's stab at detective lingo. He wants to jokingly suggest a film noir marathon while he recovers, but hesitates. In this day and age that's probably a bit esoteric. Why not just stick to the doctor thing, he thinks to himself. Maybe there's better material there... ]

Trust me, real doctors would say the same thing.

[ Tim's his own worst critic. So even he knows there's a better quip out there he just hasn't found yet. But fortunately he's not wont to say something egregious enough to spoil the moment. To spoil the equilibrium they've both been searching for, desperately reaching for in the dark. Not so much the dark in this room... but the dark of things left unsaid. The dark Tim was willing to get lost in, to hide any accountability owed to Ann.

Because maybe, at it's core, that's what this comes down to. That Tim's selflessness is to a fault, but indeed-- what kind of fault? How much of his derring do is actually a self-inflicted punishment? How much of this mission is just self-flagellation... and how long has it been that? He knows he has what it takes to save lives, to stop the bad guys. None of that has been called to question. But why has he allowed himself to torture Ann like this, the way he did moments before they reached an agreement?

It's like he needs someone to witness him doing what he can. To show that what he's doing matters, that he matters. Even if doing all he can might kill him.

Then she asks her question. Gives him a chance to breathe like he never has. The chance to allow himself to do so. ]

Rest here...? I can do that. I should do that.

[ Speaking of which, he soon rests his hand on Ann's, hers that she planted on Tim's thigh. ]

Whatever we order in is on me.

As for saying anything, don't worry about it. I like talking to you. I like being here.

[ He's settled enough now that shifting in bed is no longer necessary. Gone, for now, is any chance of inflicting pain on himself, making one wrong move to cause discomfort. Still, he feels he has more to do to alleviate the discomfort he's placed on Ann. ]

Though for the record, this isn't what I meant by taking any excuse to see you.

[ Talk about a Monkey's Paw sort of predicament, eh? ]

We don't even need to, like, cuddle cuddle. I don't know.

It's enough just to be next to you.

[burglarize]

[ There's a lot of responsibility divided between the two of them. Ann, as well-intentioned as her heart is, is not analytical. She sees things as a clear shot – that there are hurdles to overcome. While she may not lead the tactical side or as powerful as some of her other PTs, Tim has a responsibility in the real world too. One where he plays detective as much as daredevil.

The fear of something happening to him was there, it's no question. He'd have to feel the same when Ann has told him how risky some of her adventures into Mementos and beyond had been. The only difference she didn't show up on his doorstep a bloody mess.

They're finding a compromise, a beginning point for more uncomfortable talks they both have to know will come. If this – what they share – was to work, communication has to happen. Fortunately, Ann's parents were gone for a few extra days this week which would give Tim time to test, Ann time to come to terms with her feelings, and for conversations to happen organically.

Resting was number one right now, food can come later. ]

I like you being here too and I like the rare occasions where you get to take the mask off and just... relax. If I knew this is what would do it, I'd totally bring out the whip. [ Kidding. A soft, awkward laugh follows. They're settled for now and he peps up with the comment about seeing her and the excuses that follow. ] No, I get it. ...I know things happen.

[ Her hot-headed nature comes to a low simmer, making her sigh and flop her head against his bicep if they can cuddle in the safest way imaginable. Without, y'know, impending pain. ]

This is enough for now. It doesn't need to be anything more than this until you feel better.

[hackitudes]

[ It's a good thing, then, that Tim isn't hungry. Potentially bleeding out simply hasn't stopped him from his favorite pastime of being prepared. Though clearly, figuring out which buffet to pig out in presents a very different set of stakes than, say, surviving some demonic cultists. At least in facing the repercussions of such an event, Tim and Ann have had to face each other - learning to do so in such a difficult time, when flaws such as Tim's own are thrown into relief: that detestable self-destructive side of his unending altruism. The expectation that he has to persist, despite himself, despite all the people who care about him who could lose him.

But that moral reckoning's been belabored enough, hasn't it? The lesson's been learned, though it still falls on Tim's shoulders to show his work. Prove his promises aren't empty words. At least Ann's faith is clear. Faith shown in her little jokes, in her understanding, her willingness to give him comfort just as much as to give him grief for his stubbornness. ]

You sure it's not too late for that, the whip? Bet it's worth powering through the injury for.

[ With a shit-eating grin, he's waiting to get murdered for that. ]

In my current state, [ He peers down at her, admiring the head now resting on his arm. ] this is the best thing I could ask for.

[ He cranes his neck to kiss Ann's head, lips soft against all that floof. She'll have to make an effort to look up at him to see a wistful smile tighten into something more... rigid. Laden with guilt. Tim, who does everything possible yet punishes himself for not doing enough, now punishes himself for doing too much. ]

...I'm still sorry.

[ When he speaks, his lips don't leave her. However he can, he keeps her close.

They were never detailed conversations, but he remembers. Has enough of a sense, from what Ann's told him, of what Shiho went through. The lengths in spite of herself that her own trauma drove her to, lengths that Ann had to witness. Their respective contexts were literally and figuratively worlds apart. But Tim can't help realizing that the same protective impulse that led Ann to fight for her friend is exactly what he witnessed today. Ann fought him on this, alright.

But she fought for him, too.

What else is he supposed to do with that but thank her? ]