Compilation of Tim Drake One Shots and Other Shorts

Nightmare

Synopsis: What if... Tim Drake had a nightmare?

Warnings: Angst (as my friend described it)

Other notes: Uhhh... I really don't know. I just thought of this on a whim and I hope you enjoy it.

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Tim woke up in a cold sweat for the fifth night in a row. His eyes frantically scanning the room, his brain trying to comprehend the change in scenery, calming down to realize it was nothing more than a dream.

He lets go of the breath he did not realize he was holding. Warm fluids flowing down his cheeks, he reaches up to wipe it off. Closing his eyes, he lies back into bed visions of his dream flashing by in his head as he grips his bedsheets tighter as though the pain would chase it all away. He hears someone at the door. Undoubtedly his teammate asking if he was alright, but he ignores him. He just wants to be alone.

"I'm fine," he whispers out, knowing full well that no average human would hear him.

Footsteps leave the front of his door, signaling that the person on the other side understood and left.

His heart, still racing. His mind, whirring. His breathing, unsteady. His hands, shaking. Tim gets out of bed. There was no way he would be able to get back to sleep. He picks up a sweater off the floor, carelessly thrown on there yesterday after a hard day of trying to balance school absences and his social relations. Turning on the light, he looks to his room. Other than the unmade bed, it was clean, reminding him of the dream.

Shaking his head, as if the physical movement would get the thought out of his head, his hands find their way up onto the top of his head, shoving the sweater over his head. Fatigue still prominent in his eyes, but the fear of continuing his nightmare kept it at bay. He plopped himself down in his chair in front of the computer. Shaking his mouse, the computer screen lit up showing a place to enter his password.

'Voxpopuli,' he types in. His password, a constant reminder of the impetus behind his work, meaning the voice of the people. Not that it was an arcane word, much more common than the word lackadaisical, but it was a reminder more than anything. A reminder of the constant criticism he gets and how it cannot be ignored.

He sighs and sees what he left the day before. Finances, other information about an online grifting service, and the floor plans for the covert mission for later that night. His heart rate increases as he subconsciously remembers his dream, but he pushes the trepidation out of his mind to the best of his ability.

"Not now. Focus, Tim," Tim whispers to himself, trying to get himself back to reality.

He takes in a deep breath of air, holding it for a couple of seconds before softly releasing it.

He reviews the plan once more, making sure there would be no possible points of error in calculations.

'No, no, no. This won't work. What if some abnormal guard catches us? What if it's all a trap? What if they were already informed of our infiltration?'

Tim rests his head on his palms.

'How did he do this?' he thinks, looking at the screen through his fingers.

He covers his eyes to think.

'It all because of your stupid plan, half of us didn't make it out,' his mind started to replay his nightmare.

Clenching his jaw, he forces his hands away from his face to prevent them from clawing at it. He sighs in frustration and leans back in his chair.

'Don't make it a reality,'

'It's just a nightmare,'

'Double check, triple check everything,'

His thoughts carry him off as he closes his eyes and the sleep he's been trying to push off, pushes him off the control panel and soon he is dozing off in his chair, fast asleep. If only he stayed like that, calm, at peace, albeit slightly in an awkward position. His eyes abruptly opens.

'The grappling hook, I need to check that,' he thinks as he writes it down on a post-it.

'Double check the supplies in the utility belt,'

'The schedule. Did I remember to put it up on the board,'

His mind racing, as an attempt to squelch any thought of the horrible nightmare he had and to calm his anxious side that was thinking about all the things that could potentially go wrong.

Soon enough he had a list longer than the homework assignments he was missing from the month he missed school. The sun was supposed to be peering through the window and spread light across the floor if it wasn't for the curtains that blocked all light from entering the room. Another knock at the door.

"I'm awake, and I'm fine,"

"No, I did sleep, what do you mean?"

"I have my prepped meals in the freezer,"

"No, you can't have it,"

"Alright, I'll be out in a bit,"

Tim steps out in the oversized sweater, heading to the kitchen to get the prepped meal he arduously packed trying to get his nutrition back in order. Taking one from the freezer, he pops it into the microwave to thaw it out. While waiting he sits down at the table, resting his head on the table, with his arms to his side.

"I'm fine. Just a bit tired,"

"I'll be awake and ready for tonight's mission,"

"Yeah, I know I can but I don't need a break,"

*Beep beep*

Tim gets up and grabs his breakfast and a spoon. He tries to go straight back to his room, seeing his teammates triggering all of the scenarios of what could go wrong and the potential solutions failing. He hears their concern dripping off of his name as it leaves their mouths.

"I'm fine, just making sure the plan is impeccable,"

"What do you mean you're quitting?"

"I–I–"

Tim looks down to the ground, finding the patterning, all of the sudden, the most interesting thing in the world. His teammates ask what was different about this specific covert mission. He can't answer, knowing full well that the nightmare was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, hardly even realistic.

"If anything goes wrong, we'll wing it, like we always do," Bart says.

It pierces through the wall of fear that the nightmare built. The wall breaking down as Tim starts to cry.

"I'm so happy to be with you guys,"

——Fin.

Originally posted on Tumblr on March 15, 2019