╔════════════════════════════════════════════ ║ 📚 ARTHUR-VERSE · SEASON 1 · ISSUE FILE ╠════════════════════════════════════════════ ║ 🗂️ SET: ARTHUR-VERSE · S1 ║ 🎵 TRACK: Episode 5: Throwing Bird ║ 👥 CAST: Arthur / Tim Drake / Assassins / Bernard, ugh (referenced) / Conner Kent (referenced) ╠════════════════════════════════════════════ ║ 🎬 SYNOPSIS: A ring of assassins closes on Tim Drake. He takes a hit, the rhythm ║ slips, and Arthur drops in hard. He freezes two, cages three, turns two into ║ crows, and banishes one to an IKEA aisle just because he can. ║ ║ After the fight, Arthur heals Tim fast, then spirals. If Arthur were mortal, ║ would Tim leave? Is Tim choosing him, or just trapped in a rewrite? Tim answers ║ cleanly. He chooses Arthur, but he also needs balance and another anchor outside ║ the heat, somebody to debrief with after adrenaline burns off. ║ ║ Arthur panics and turns it ugly. He snaps about Bernard, ugh, Tim’s safe civilian ║ boyfriend in canon. He calls Bernard, ugh, beige and temporary, then name-drops ║ Conner as the “better” option because jealousy loves bad math. Tim refuses the ║ spin and brings Arthur back with a throwing bird, the Robin version of a batarang. ║ He presses it to Arthur’s chest, turns weapon into bridge, and Arthur admits it. ║ He’s scared he burns too hot. Then he vanishes, and Tim finishes the ring alone. ║ ║ 🛋️ THERAPIST NOTE: Arthur wants to protect Tim, and he also wants to be chosen ║ first, always. Tim’s “another anchor” is healthy. Arthur hears it as replacement. ║ The throwing bird is Tim making the choice physical without letting it become a ║ leash. ║ ║ 🩺 FILED IMPRESSION: Attachment panic with jealousy displacement (Arthur); ║ Boundary setting with de-escalation ritual (Tim). ╚════════════════════════════════════ [Intro: Tribal, punchy, fight, percussive, dramatic] Assassins form a ring. They close and start to swing. Boots slide; Tim blocks too slow. Knees dip; his balance goes. guard slips; his rhythm low. Tim eats a heavy blow. I split the night and land. Coat blooms; I flex my hand. Two freeze; a cage drops hard. And three of them get barred. I point; then two turn crows. Blink once; the next one goes To an IKEA. aisle. Flat-pack exile; I smile. Tim coughs, “I had it,” he’s mad. “Sure, Red,” I say, “course you had.” Sirens thin; masks crack—done. He sways but stands… the fight now won [verse 1: subdued, electric pulse, introspective, music box] I heal you; light seals your side. Armor locks down; the seams are tied. I ground the current; pain drops low. If I were mortal, would you go? I’m writing this bond; it’s mine alone. I stand by myself; I guard my own. If this were real streets, would you call? Or leave me unred—no word at all? Through every reboot, I choose you. Each rewrite comes—yet I stay true. [pre-chorus: build up] I hold the charge; your pain flickers black. If I were human, would you choose me back? [chorus: Epic, Tribal, dramatic] No terms, no tricks — I stay. I fight through night and day. You reach, I’m there — I stand. Our worlds collapse — still, hand in hand. Across all time, I burn. To me, will you return? [verse 2: piano, violin] Then Tim spoke… “Our friction keeps us real. Ease fades; the work lets trust reveal. I choose you—chaos, part of it. I need some balance, just a bit.” Tim went on, the rhythm sure: “After heat, I pause, debrief. A second reed helps me find peace. One quiet anchor, one steady rail. Not anti-you; I will not fail. I choose you still; that doesn’t shift. Balance is ballast, not a gift.” [pre-chorus: build up] “It keeps the line straight; it keeps me true. I stay with you—through heat and cold, through and through” [chorus] No terms, no tricks — we stay. We fight through night and day. I reach, you’re there — we stand. Our worlds collapse — still, hand in hand. Across all time, you burn. To you, I will return. [bridge 1: Anger, powerful, accusatory] I spoke too fast and let it blast! I misjudged, I shout. You need help to stay? Without them, you’re out. That’s your only way!? Call it what you will. You joke when I’m gone. You trade me for spill. They sip, you move on. Don’t treat me as task. Just call me your choice. You’re more than my mask. Let madness have voice. Bernard, beige sweater. Your safe little past. You called that “forever”— how long DID THAT LAST!? He gave you no battle, just nodded and sighed. Conner—yes, better. He keeps you in stride. Tim cuts in, firm but low: "No! Arthur! Its not like that... Listen to what I said.” [Shortened chorus] No terms, no tricks — we stay. We fight through night and day. I reach, you’re there — we stand. Our worlds collapse — still, hand in hand- [shouted and interrupting the shortened chorus] I yelled, “STOP!!” [Bridge 2: Layered Music box harmonies, build up] Arthur says, soft but sharp, “That’s what you said— without them, you can’t stand me instead.” Tim answers, “You’re twisting it—stop that spin. Friendship is choosing, through loss and the win.” Arthur’s voice drops low through the haze. “I’m scared I burn too hot some days.” Tim takes a throwing bird, forged to defend, holds it between them, turns blade to friend [music box] He presses it gently to Arthur’s chest; their hands now joined—storm addressed. [Final Chorus: Dark Choir, Layered Vocals, EXPLOSIVE, EPIC, TRIBAL, STRONG] No terms, no tricks — I stay. (WE STAY!) I fight through night and day. You reach, I’m there — I stand. Our worlds collapse — still, hand in hand. Across all time, I burn. To me, will you return? I will return! [outro 1: Build up] Okay, don’t freak out—I edited the script. Cut the part where you bled, maybe flipped a bit. Continuity’s mad, canon’s in tears, But yeah.. you’re here… so who really cares? You’re patched, you’re perfect—go finish the play. I bend the page so you survive one more day Tim cries, “Arthur? Wait!” [outro 2: Explosive, punchy, Fight, Tribal, Percussive, dramatic] Tim blinks—Arthur’s gone. The ring of blades lives on. Masked killers close in fast. He’s circled, caught at last. They move; he’s faster still. Each strike obeys his will. One feint; the first man falls. The second hits the walls. The third trips on his friend. The fourth meets Tim’s staff’s end. A twist, a sweep, a throw— Five down in one clean flow. Six left, then none remain. The alley hums uh-gain. He breathes, adjusts his stance, Eyes flick where ghosts still dance. A smile cuts through the grime— [spoken word] “Alright, Arthur… message received this time.”
