System malfunction || DC

Chapter Two

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Little Red Robin

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WARNING: MENTIONS OF SUICIDE, VIEWERS BE ADVISED

Little Red Robin sitting on a tree

Looking out beyond, the view so pretty

With a shaky sigh, a tear to his eye

He stood up and dropped

Never did he fly

Tim Drake had awoken in an unfamiliar room. His mind was hazy and lacked focus, unable to understand what he was seeing, much less why he was there. His body seemed to be floating on top of water, his ears obstructed by soft waves and his vision burned by blinding light.

He tried to recall what had occurred before he appeared here, rather than how. Tracing back events and trying to form a timeline. Slowly, he began to recall voices. A low rumble of sound that slowly expanded and pitched to make out words.

"You're on house arrest."

That's right, Bruce had put him on house arrest. Well, technically, he wasn't allowed to leave Gotham. But to someone like him who lived an alternative life as a vigilante or hero, depending on who you ask, it was like benching him on the sidelines of a big game.

For weeks, he had been struggling with his mental scope.

It was as if his entire worth was built on his intelligence, which it was, and Tim took great pride in that. But now he was stuck in a mental block, built on the foundation that his mind couldn't rest while knowing that he was slowly being alienated. Pushed away and kept at arm's length, not allowed to enter the bubbles of those he held dear.

Those he considered his true family looked at him with exhaustion and annoyance. Waving him off and excusing themselves when he tried to talk to them. They only came to him when they needed something, once they were given what they wanted, they left him alone.

He was also struggling with his sense of worth. Who was he if not the wisest? He'd been screwing up a lot recently, making errors that drove him into a corner of dysmorphia. Mistakes that made him feel pathetically useless as they were so simple. It was unlike him like he was possessed and detached from his limbs, watching helplessly as he fucked up again and again.

Crying had always been a healthy release, but for Tim, it had become a routine habit. The blue feeling washed in like an unwanted wave, knocking his sandcastles flat. Then what? Was he supposed to build it again? Wipe his hands and grab a spade and make it pretty all over again. No matter how high he built his walls, without proper structure and a plan, they could easily crumple at the next stressful situation.

He was tired with each little effort he made at rebuilding his mental fortress. His safe place, in which he found comfort in numbers and codes, No more buildings, no more castles.

He would sit at his desk for days and stare at the bright screen, unshed tears stinging his eyes as he tried to focus on the job at hand. But sometimes someone would say something or do something, brush him off or tisk in annoyance, and then he would let them fall.