It should have gone so smoothly.

Tim had been confident. Certain. He'd considered every angle. Calculated every variable. It was a solid plan. At least... he'd thought it was.

And it wasn't the execution. You'd been right where you were supposed to be. You'd done exactly what the two of you had discussed. You'd been great, perfect. It had to have been the plan. He must have missed something. There was something he hadn't predicted, something he hadn't prepared for, and everything just... went sideways. Fast.

You'd trusted his plan. You'd trusted him. And he'd let you down.

Tim's gotten the whole 'blaming yourself gets nobody anywhere' lecture from Dick before. And he knows there's some truth to it. What was done was done, and now all there was was to deal with the results. But when those 'results' were you lying injured and bandaged, confined to bed on account of his bad plan...

Maybe he wasn't so good at the 'not blaming himself' thing.

But he's gonna fix it. He's going to take care of you and make sure you don't have to worry about anything until you're all healed. So here he is, hovering next to your bed like some kind of fidgety sentinel, like he's just sort of... waiting for you to need something?

"...I'm really sorry," Tim blurts out, for probably the twentieth time since you woke back at the Manor.