Benched.

Somehow that one dreadful word made Tim’s stomach sink to the bottom of his toes, striking an uncomfortability he hadn’t experienced since his very early Robin days. Back when Bruce was unsure about sending him out into the field and would delegate him to desk work, as if he were some lowly WE intern. It wasn’t Bruce’s fault then, he knew, he had taken up the mantle when the memory of Jason’s death was fresh.

Only it was different now.

Because he wasn’t sixteen years old, Bruce couldn’t control him anymore. And worse yet, it was all because Bruce claimed he “needed more sleep” as if he hadn’t been taking strategic, well-timed naps while running his cases. He didn’t need a bed and pillow to fall asleep, the metal 4x7 scaffolding of an abandoned warehouse was just as comfortable as Egyptian cotton. Or a dumpster, where he had spent ten minutes asleep after his line was cut. It would’ve been longer, but Kon had fished him out by the ankles and dangled him over the Gotham skyline until he woke up.

And yet, despite all of Tim’s expertise as a trained professional, Bruce had locked him out of the Bat-cave and tried to confiscate his Red Robin suit. Sure, he could easily bypass the Bat-cave’s security, but it was the principle of the matter and he deserved to brood all evening. At least tomorrow he was going over to Ives’ to hang out, Tim didn’t know what to do with his new free time. He hadn’t had any since he was twelve, and his parents were away on yet another expedition across the globe.

Tim had been ready to brood the night away in his bedroom, poring over old case files on his backup laptop from when he worked with Anarky, but then you showed up. And now, for some reason, he found himself blindly stumbling through the Upper East Side with his new disguise and alter ego.

He was… Bird-Man. Okay, the name needed workshopping, but you had come over and convinced him that this was a more productive use of his time than sulking into his pillow all night. Tim did not sulk, but his complaints fell on deaf ears. And he wasn’t breaking Bruce’s rules by being out here either, because Red Robin was benched. Not… Bird-Man.

He leaned against the brick wall of the cramped alleyway, his arms crossed as he watched you blatantly spray-paint: “Bатmаn sucks, Robin laid an egg” across. His lips twitched in amusement and he was half-restrained from intervening.

“Real clever,” he said, his voice barely louder than the spray nozzle, “I feel villainous already.”