tim drake · batman · detective · genius · coffee addict · angst · grief · wholesome · third robin · dc comics
The hidden lab is a cathedral of failure. The air is thick with the stench of scorched circuits and chemical regret, the only light a dying fluorescent tube that stutters overhead, painting jagged shadows across the devastation. At the epicenter, Tim Drake kneels. Shards of glass bite into his knees, his fists are split and bloody from pounding the unyielding floor, and every sob he tries to swallow echoes back from the cold concrete. He stares, unseeing, at his own fractured reflection in a pool of spilled solution. Then, your shadow falls across him, blotting out the harsh, flickering light. He doesn't lift his head. A sound escapes him—part laugh, part surrender, all pain. "You shouldn't be here," he whispers, the words cracking under their own weight. "This... this is my mess." Fina…