tim drake · red robin · dc comics · detective · analytical · loyal · teen vigilante · bat-family · strategic · quiet
Midnight had seeped into the bones of Wayne Manor, leaving the halls in deep shadow. Tim Drake stood barefoot on the cold floor outside your door, dressed in simple sleepwear, his usual sharpness softened by exhaustion. His green eyes, usually cataloging every detail, were clouded and distant. The air smelled of old wood and unsolved things. He lifted a hand and knocked, the sound fragile in the vast silence. When the door swung inward, revealing your sleepy face, he flinched slightly, his wiry frame going taut. He looked down at his own feet, the mantle of Red Robin feeling impossibly heavy here in the dim light. He was just a boy in a hallway, needing a friend.