Chapter Text
My body is a temple.
My body is a temple.
His body was a temple.
Tim knew his body was a temple. He knew that.
But…how could his body be a temple when it was…damaged. Broken? No…no. Damaged.
Parts missing.
Sometimes, the thought– memories– made him nauseous.
He knew he was crashing. He could feel it, as he got more and more tired. Slower and slower. He saw it when his hands started shaking more and more. When he knocked down more cups than he picked up.
His body was a temple.
He knew it was. The concept had been drilled into his mind over and over when he was training as Robin. It was lectured into him by Alfred, trained into him by Bruce, and beaten into him by Lady Shiva.
The concept was destroyed by Ra’s Al Ghul.
Temples must be torn down to bring change, to build strength.
His work couldn’t be stopped by things as fickle as pain, sickness, exhaustion…
His body is a temple.
My body was a temple…
He stood shakily staring into his bathroom mirror, holding himself up with the sink. The dark, sunken eyes and pale, sickly skin of a stranger started back. He was a soldier. Be was the squire to the Dark Knight. He was the apprentice to the Demon's Head. He was a Holy Warrior without a crusade. There was no society to rebuild the temple anymore.
My body is a temple.
My body is a temple.
My body is a-
He started into the black space where he knew his ceiling existed, repeating the thought over and over again as he tried to force his tired mind to rest. He knew he needed to rest, to eat, to socialize…but he had things to do. When he slept, he was wasting time.
The mission came first. He needed the mission to come first.
“You need to slow down, Timmy. You need to rest. The stress and anxiety isolated you…everything’s okay now, Timmy…you need to rest…” The whispers in his ears sounded a lot like Dick.
But where was he?
Tim would wander and wander when he heard Dick whispering to him, urging him to sleep, to eat, to rest, but he could never find him. He was alone in his apartment.
Alone…
Always alone.
Sometimes he wondered if the others noticed. He saw their glances. He pretended to not notice when they gently tried to send him home, covering– taking– more and more of his patrol routes for him. Did they think he was incapable? That he couldn’t handle it? Couldn’t take care of himself?
He could. He was fine and he would show them.
So he went out, night after night, and worked day after day. Not at WE, “unfit” they said. “Dealing with a lot.” Weak.
He was not weak.
He would show them.
He solved case after case after case.
He was just as good as they were. He was smart, strong, and more than capable. He still deserved to work with them.
How could he stop when he had so much to prove? So much to do…
Rome wasn’t built in a day. Building temples took time.
Why build the temple when his stones could rebuild society?
He considered changing his mind when a crook almost took his jaw off with a tire iron.
But hey, at least he was resting.
Maybe Dick would be proud of him now.