Archive of Our Own

Truth be told, the only reason Bruce even noticed it was because he caught Tim - of all people - rolling his eyes during a weekly debriefing. He opened his mouth to scold - no, to request that he afford Nightwing more respect, when he realised that Tim wasn’t rolling his eyes at Nightwing. Instead, he was looking in a different direction, and when Bruce followed his gaze it led to Jason, slumped on the table across from Tim, rolling his eyes in return.

It was the last bit that was the most surprising, though Bruce thinks he did a pretty good job of keeping it to himself. Jason is incredibly competent, but he hates debriefings - he always has. It isn’t unusual to find him not paying attention, but he doesn’t respond well to criticism from Bruce, or Batman (he’s been told there’s a difference). Bruce would even go so far as to say that Jason always responds very badly to even a hint of a suggestion that his conduct is anything less than optimal. If Dick had rolled his eyes at Jason, Jason would have drawn his weapons, debriefing be damned. 

In comparison, rolling his eyes back at Tim feels almost like some sort of inside joke. 

Though surely he’s overthinking it. Of all his brothers - of all of Bruce’s children - Jason has made it clear that he likes Tim the least. Bruce is definitely seeing things where they don’t exist. But still his instincts tell him there’s something here worth paying attention to, though he doesn’t know why.

“B? Hey, Bruce, are you alright?” Nightwing asks, sounding like it isn’t the first time he’s tried to get Bruce’s attention. 

Bruce had trained himself out of a blush response decades ago, but he’s still glad for the cowl covering his cheeks. “Yes. My apologies, Nightwing, I was just… thinking.” 

Nightwing, to his credit, does not press, even though everyone from Alfred to Damian is looking at Bruce quizzically. He nods shortly instead of meeting any of their gazes, prompting Nightwing to continue. He’ll have to think about this later. 

-

Weeks pass and the clan remains occupied with the chaos that is Gotham. It’s no busier than usual, but Bruce feels himself tiring easily, still recovering from his involuntary jaunt through the timestream. Everyone is remarkably kind to him, giving him time and space to recover. Unfortunately, all that time gives him, well… a lot of time to think. To consider. To analyse the changes that have occurred during his absence. There are new alliances, new tensions, shifting fault lines in the geology of his family. He reminds himself that this is the best case scenario; that everyone is still alive and well, that things could have gone much worse. But he can’t help but feel there’s something he’s still missing. Something he hasn’t been told. 

The next debriefing is postponed not once but twice, and then finally takes place at three in the morning on Sunday, when by some miracle everyone is available and awake. Idly, Bruce thinks that there are probably sleep scientists out there who would pay good money to study the effects of sleep deprivation on the clan, even in Gotham, or perhaps especially in Gotham.

Bruce is first at the table but he’s pouring himself a cup of tea from a thermos on the side table when Jason walks in, followed by Tim. They sit down beside each other without exchanging a single word. As far as Bruce remembers, this is unprecedented. Even after his return, Jason and Tim have always sat apart from each other - as far apart as they possibly could, Bruce had thought. 

It’s facile to assume that anyone’s choice of seat at the table is indicative of their interpersonal relationships, but Bruce can’t help but think it means something anyway. When he first started this, all of this, so many years ago, Robin only sat apart from Batman if he was upset or if he thought Bruce was upset with him. Otherwise, Dick had been a remarkably affectionate child and remained that way well into adulthood. 

Today, Nightwing sits beside him as his undisputed right-hand man. It’s a seat that’s never been challenged, even when Bruce himself wasn’t at the head of the table. The seat on his left is reserved for Alfred, whether or not he chooses to attend a meeting. Similarly, Jason and Tim sit across from each other, as a rule. Or so he had thought. 

Now, there’s something about their body language that speaks of… ease, perhaps. Familiarity. Jason leans back in his chair and Tim remains uptight with his elbows propped on the table, but his shoulders are angled so that Jason could see his phone, if he wanted to. And it looks like he does, because he’s casually reading Tim’s phone over his shoulder, as if it isn’t a breach of Tim’s privacy. As if Tim doesn’t usually guard his phone screen with extreme prejudice. Tim glances at Jason from the corner of his eye, barely shifting his head, but Jason seems to notice immediately. He sits up and leans in, not even pretending to hide that he’s been snooping. Or whatever is the visual equivalent of eavesdropping. 

After a moment, Jason huffs a laugh and Tim flashes the tiniest grin back at him, more dimple than actual smile, and then Damian enters the room and within a fraction of a second they’re both back in their original positions and Tim is stowing his phone into one of his pockets with a blank expression on his face. 

Bruce doesn’t think Damian even noticed that he was interrupting, but he can’t stop thinking about it. Some part of him says that he should be worried. That his children are conspiring about something, and that if it was innocent there would be no reason to hide it. But even as he’s thinking it, he knows he’s overreacting. He trusts both Jason and Tim as much as he can trust anyone, and they’re both intelligent and mature adults. They don’t owe him all their secrets, even when not knowing makes him incredibly nervous. He’s old enough now to know that’s his own problem, and not theirs. 

Besides, asking them what they’d been whispering about brings to mind his old English teacher from Gotham Academy, and he’d once sworn he’d never become like her. 

He has to leave it alone, he knows. It’s nothing to worry about. It’s not his business. He knows, but… 

-

Bruce is most definitely not spying on his children when he comes across them mid-patrol a few weeks later. It’s sheer coincidence that his route crossed paths with RR’s route that night. He doesn’t even know the Red Hood’s route and there was no way he could have anticipated where his second son was going to be. But if he’d had a suspicion, well. No one could prove it. 

And he’d been right! 

They’re together, though being in the same place at the same time is hardly incriminating. Batman and Robin still patrol together sometimes when Nightwing is in Bludhaven. RR and Red Hood are allowed to patrol together too; it’s not like it’s against the rules, and anyway he’s been encouraging them to patrol in pairs since he got back. Safety in numbers, and all that. Though he’d assumed that RR would pair up with Spoiler, and the Red Hood with Black Bat. Personality-wise it makes sense, though at times like this, he’s reminded of Alfred’s fondness of the old adage about assumptions. 

He perches on a rooftop three blocks away, long enough that his knees begin to go numb. He watches as RR pulls wrapped burritos out of his bag, and Red Hood withdraws bottles of cold soda, dripping with condensation. “Zesti,” he hears RR say, “nice.” 

“Burritos from that truck?” the Red Hood replies, waving off RR’s expression of gratitude, such as it is.  

“Yup. He’s the only one who’s still running after Ivy’s tantrum last week. Got yours with extra jalapenos.” 

“Sweet.” 

The exchange speaks of familiarity, again. Of habit; like this is something his sons have done before, not once but several times. They sit down on the edge of their own building and unwrap their burritos, and Batman - no. Bruce leaves quietly, unheeding of any criminals who might have escaped his attentions that night, thinking only of his sons and what else he might have missed. 

-

Batman and Nightwing can communicate without words. It’s a skill borne from years of working together, of developing their personalities and identities in tandem. Batman was still formless when Robin first came around; the Batman of today is only defined in contrast with Robin, and none more so than his first Robin. Tim had been right all those years ago, when he first broke into the Batcave and blackmailed Bruce with a spine made of pure steel - Batman needs Robin. 

But this is not a Batman conversation - it’s a Bruce conversation, and he knows that Dick will meet him halfway but he won’t do the work for him. Not after all these years, and it’s only right. Bruce is the parent; Dick shouldn’t have to carry his weight. 

Even knowing all of that, it’s not easy. As capable as Dick is with words and emotions, Bruce is the exact opposite. He makes an appointment, because he wants Dick to know that he respects his time, and that this isn’t a frivolous matter. He’s been thinking about it for a while now. 

Dick walks into Bruce’s office five minutes ahead of schedule, so Bruce knows he’s taking it seriously too. “Thanks for coming to meet me, chum,” Bruce says, gesturing at the seat in front of him. If this were anyone else, they’d have had a nervous breakdown by now, but Dick knows Bruce better almost than Bruce knows himself. 

He drops cheerfully into the plush seat and kicks back comfortably. “What’s up, B?” 

“Truthfully, I wanted to get your opinion on something. I know I haven’t always given you credit for it, but you’ve always been better at people than I am. I’m too suspicious, I know. I’d say I’m working on it but some part of me thinks it’s necessary for what I do. You’re different and I’m sorry I haven’t recognised the value of your insight.” Perhaps this discussion has been too long overdue, if the stunned look on Dick’s face is anything to go by. Bruce takes a moment to send silent thanks to Alfred for forcing him to write this little monologue down on a handful of flashcards. “And I’m sorry it took me so long to gather my thoughts and my courage.” What if Dick thinks Bruce is trying to butter him up for something? Oh god. “And by the way, that apology stands even if you don’t want to help me with what I’ve been thinking about.” 

“Bruce, you’re kinda freaking me out. Thank you for the recognition, but just spit it out.” Bruce notes that Dick hasn’t said anything about accepting his apology, but it’s not something he’s going to push. Dick doesn’t have to accept it if he doesn’t want to; pressing the issue will just become another thing that Bruce has to apologise for. 

“Alright, chum. It’s about your brothers.” 

“Oh god,” Dick groans. “What now?” 

Bruce shakes his head, “no, no. They haven’t done anything. I mean, they’re doing their jobs, and they’re doing well, it’s nothing bad. It’s just - well. I didn’t know that Jason and Tim are close.” 

Dick stares at him blankly. “They’re not,” he says after a beat. 

Bruce doesn’t think he’s lying, or covering for them, again not that there’s even anything to cover for. He shakes his head. “I could be wrong but I don’t think I am, and I was just wondering if you’d noticed. I think they’re actually friends.” 

“B, I know you’ve assigned them to patrol together but—”

“I haven’t,” Bruce interrupts. He continues when Dick looks at him quizzically. “I haven’t assigned them to patrol together. I would like everyone to pair up when possible, because there’s safety in numbers, but I didn’t assign partners. I thought Tim would pair up with Stephanie, and Jason with Cass. But they chose to patrol together.” 

Another moment passes and Dick’s eyes glaze over as he thinks back to all the recent interactions between his second and third brothers. “Huh. I don’t know why - I mean. Why do you think they’re close?” 

Bruce shrugs, a little awkwardly. “I don’t know if there’s any one thing, but. Body language? Would you mind just keeping an eye out, to see if you feel the same way?” 

Dick stares at him for a moment, and then nods. “Sure. But it’s not bad, right? I mean - are you worried? About them being friendly?” 

“No!” Bruce exclaims, louder than he’d intended. Both of them flinch. “Sorry, I mean. No. I’m not worried, and it’s not a bad thing. It’s just…” 

“Unexpected,” Dick says, finishing the sentence for him. “Yeah, I get it. Sure, I’ll keep an eye out. I mean, for what it’s worth I think it’s a good thing. They’re both pretty isolated, and it’s never a bad thing to have friends out there.” 

Bruce, who’d fought solo for half a decade before Robin had come into the picture, can’t help but agree. It’s different of course - even though he’d insisted on a partnership, Robin had been his child, not his friend, but the concept is the same. No man is an island. Somewhere, somehow, he knows Alfred is laughing at him. 

“Thanks, kiddo. I appreciate it.” 

Dick grins and it feels like the room is full of sunlight, and Bruce is pretty sure he knows he’s not just being thanked for this one favour. 

“Love you too, B.” 

Bruce wonders how Dick knows what he'd been trying to say. He wonders why he hadn't said it clearly, himself. 

-

Barbara is the one who eventually tells him the full story of what happened during his absence. It’s not an easy one to hear. She tells him that Dick still regrets what had happened with Tim, though he knows it had been the best of a bunch of bad options. 

Bruce is entirely familiar with doing the right thing and still feeling guilty about it, so he understands. He’s more concerned about what happened during Tim’s absence - both to Tim and to Gotham. Dick had done a good job of keeping things together for the most part, but even Barbara didn’t know the full details of what happened after Tim left. All she knows is that he came back significantly emaciated, and that his combat skills were significantly advanced compared to what they had previously been - and this was no understatement. Even Bruce had noticed that Tim, who had previously radiated a sense of boredom during physical fights, now seemed to enjoy it. He fought in a way that suggested he was constantly holding back, like he was looking forward to someone who could actually challenge him. 

That’s the only reason he doesn’t immediately panic when he finds Jason and Tim in the cave, in the middle of an all-out fight, no holds barred. No, literally, he sees Tim biting Jason’s fingers, and to his credit it’s an effective tactic, causing Jason to shriek and throw Tim off and away, wiping his hand against his tank top. On his part, Tim recovers quickly and stands in the corner of the mat with his hands on his hips, looking incredibly pleased with himself. 

“Dude,” Jason says, fixing Tim with a gimlet stare, “gross. That’s real gremlin shit, yuck.” 

Tim’s smug smile widens and he tips his head, as if Jason has just paid him a compliment. “Thanks, Jay.”

“If you do that again you’ll regret it.” For a split second, Bruce sees this Jason overlaid with an image of Red Hood when he first arrived (back) in Gotham, levelling dire threats against Tim, and then yet again with a thirteen year old Jason, who’d been outraged when Dick ate the last chocolate chip cookie. 

Tim quirks an eyebrow in return and - he looks so young and - there’s something about the expression that itches in the corner of his mind but he can’t exactly place it. “Really?” Tim asks archly, and Jason growls and throws his sweat damp towel at Tim, who bats it away without a thought. 

Jason stares for a moment, and then sighs, then relaxes. His body language is so easy to read it’s almost dizzying - Bruce can’t remember the last time he’d seen his second son so at ease. “C’mon, twerp. Shower time. You stink.” 

Tim grins and doesn’t protest, stripping his shirt as he heads for the shower. Jason stills for a moment and rubs one hand down his face, and then he follows Tim wordlessly. 

There’s just something about the scene that bothers Bruce, something that’s not what it seems to be, but no matter how he tries, he just can’t figure it out. It nags at him for the rest of the night and well into the next day, even though he knows this is a prime example of the unhealthy behaviour Dinah had cautioned him against. 

The problem is, Bruce has never been good at letting things be.

-

Alfred says he hasn’t noticed anything unusual about the interactions between Jason and Tim, but Bruce knows that Alfred is perfectly able and willing to lie to him if he sees fit, so it doesn’t mean much. 

Barbara poses the same problem - she’d lie to his face if she thought he was being nosy or overbearing, and he probably is but still - still…

Out of all his children, Dick is the only one who wouldn’t lie to his face. Oh, he’d refuse to tell the truth, but he wouldn’t lie. Unlike Stephanie and Duke and Damian who would lie brazenly and badly, or Tim who would lie so subtly that even Bruce only has a 50 per-cent chance of being able to tell, or Cass and Jason who would simply refuse to respond to his questions. 

And he’s already asked Dick for his thoughts, so unless he’s willing to tip the rest of the kids off on his investigation, there’s nothing left to do but wait. And he waits. 

It’s not a priority, but his curiosity burns like an ember in his mind, and when Dick finally comes to him two weeks later, the sense that he’s missing something has become so strong that it’s keeping him up at night. 

He didn’t become a detective only because of his thirst for justice. He’d always had an unbearable tendency towards nosiness. Only his mother ever found it cute. 

Dick closes the door to Bruce’s office and drops into the chair across from Bruce, in the exact same way he’d done two weeks before, and every time before that. There’s probably a dent in that chair from the way Dick sits in it, and Bruce thinks it’s just one more thing he’ll never be able to discard. 

Still, despite the curiosity bubbling in his stomach like cheese in an oven, Bruce bites his tongue and waits for Dick to speak. Dick sighs and rubs his hands across his face. “So, I tried to be subtle. Keyword - tried. I figured they’d definitely realise if I was following them around town, so instead I started talking to them individually. Like, just about casual stuff. I realised I haven’t really been hanging out with them, and that’s not ideal. They’re my brothers just as much as Little D, so.” 

Bruce doesn’t interrupt. It seems like this is something Dick needs to say, and it costs nothing to hear him out. 

“Anyway, so. I’ve been hanging out with them. I met Tim for coffee twice, and then delivered rice crispy treats to him during one patrol. Jason was a bit harder, because he doesn’t really respond to messages, but I asked Babs to track down one of his safehouses and barged in there one night on the pretext of needing medical help—”

“Pretext?” Bruce asks, despite his original intention of not interrupting. 

“Huh?” 

“Did you actually need medical help? Were you injured during patrol?” 

Dick’s eyes go wide and he glances away quickly before shrugging. That’s a yes. “Doesn’t matter.” 

“No, it does matter, Dick. Did you get it checked out? By Alfred or Leslie, or anyone?” 

Dick shrugged again. “No, I handled it. But listen, don’t interrupt - the point is, I got to chatting with Jason while I used his supplies and - you’re right. They’re definitely friends, and it’s weird.” 

“Weird?” 

“Yeah. Like they’re really close? Surprisingly? I don’t know why it’s so odd but I thought - well,” he pauses awkwardly. “They’re both pretty good at holding grudges.” Bruce is aware. “And I thought that because of the whole replacement-murder-attempt thing, that, I dunno.” 

“Yes,” Bruce agrees. He’d thought the exact same thing. 

“But they’re definitely texting all the time. Even when I was having coffee with Tim - both times - he was chatting with Jason. It wasn’t like they were having an active conversation about work or anything, it was just a constant back-and-forth. Like a conversation that doesn’t end, kind of like how I talk with Wally or Babs.” 

Bruce isn’t sure if Dick has noticed, but all three of the names he’s cited are of his romantic interests - people he’s currently dating and people he dated in the past. He’s not sure what that means for Jason and Tim, but - surely not. 

“Do you know what they’re talking about?” Bruce asks, instead of exploring the other potential conclusion. 

“Memes,” Dick replies easily. “I looked at Tim’s phone. Lots of memes. I recognise some of them, others just go over my head. And dinner. Jason was planning to go grocery shopping when I was at his safehouse, and he said something about feeding people who don’t know how to cook. He’s not feeding me or you. Alfred, Cass, and Steph can cook. I don’t think Damian would eat something Jason cooked if it was the last meal on earth. That leaves Tim.” 

“Or Roy,” Bruce suggests, because despite his best efforts, he knows that Jason is friendly with Roy Harper. “Or Kori.” He winces when he gives the second suggestion, because he knows there’s definitely something going on between Kori and Roy, but also that there used to be something between Kori and Dick, and it’s honestly too messy and emotional for him to really understand. He empathises with his son, for sure, but he doesn’t need details to be on Dick’s side in all things. “Or he could have other friends,” he adds awkwardly. 

“Other friends,” Dick echoes, sounding equally unconvinced. “Right. Maybe. But that’s not the vibe I got, anyway. He seemed happy.” 

“Jason?” Bruce asks, because he thinks he would do anything - anything within his power to make Jason happy again. He just wishes he knew what that was, apart from murdering the Joker.

“Both of them,” Dick corrects. “They both seem well. Content. Tim’s a little harder to read, but I think that’s on me. I don’t know if he’s forgiven me for the whole Robin thing.” 

Bruce thinks Tim has forgiven his brother, but he hasn’t forgotten it, and. It’s not a pleasant or comfortable state of affairs, he knows, but it’s not unfair. He can’t force Tim to change how he feels, the same way he can’t force Jason to forgive him. All he can do is prove to Jason that he loves him, that he never stopped loving him, and hope that one day, Jason believes him. 

-

He’s staring at his computer screen one day when he hears a knock on his office door. “Come in, Cass,” he calls, because only she and Alfred ever knock before coming into his room, and he’d recognise Alfred’s knock in his sleep. 

“B,” she says softly, closing the door behind her, and he can’t help but smile at her, genuinely happy to see her. She glances at the chair across his desk, and he gestures broadly for her to sit. It’s not just that she’s a pleasant distraction from the monotony of his work, but it’s always a pleasure to see his first daughter. 

When he’d been younger and Dick had just become his ward, he’d thrown himself into research. He’d read books and online forums and even though he’d been overwhelmed and overstimulated, he’d joined as many parenting groups as he could, convinced that someone would inevitably spill the secret trick to being a Father at some point, if he just listened closely enough. Most of the parenting groups turned out to be nothing more than complaint circles and he certainly didn’t judge anyone for complaining about how hard it was to be a parent, but it didn’t help him. Still, he’d stayed long enough to hear - and dismiss - the saying that daughters were different from sons. He’d believed it to be nothing more than a sexist stereotype until he found Cass - or until Cass found him. Daughters are different from sons, and he’ll never know if it’s genetic or socialised, but that doesn’t stop him from being grateful for it. 

He knows Cass has read all of his thoughts on his face, like a novel about his feelings towards her and her siblings. It’s uncomfortable but he smiles at her anyway, and she smiles back at him and they sit there in silence for a long moment, because sometimes that’s all she wants or needs. 

“There’s a museum,” she says softly, signing the words with quick fingers at chest height. “Ballerina paintings. Could we go?” 

Bruce nods, not even asking for the date. “Of course, sweetheart. Do you want it to be a Bruce-and-Cass-only excursion, or would you like everyone else to come along?” 

Cass thinks about it, and then says, “family.” 

Yes, Bruce thinks. That would be good. 

Dick, Barbara, and Steph immediately agree to Bruce’s request when he explains that Cass had been hoping for a family outing. Apart from patrol, it’d probably be the first time that all of them go out together since he got back. Cass had apparently asked Damian to accompany her even before asking Bruce, so that’s settled. Even Alfred had agreed to tag along, and Cass is incandescent about it. Jason refuses to pick up Bruce’s calls, but he’s asked Dick to pass the message and he thinks Jason likes Cass enough to come for the family outing, so he’s not too worried. 

But when Bruce tells Cass that he’s only got Tim left, she shakes her head. “He’s busy,” she explains, and Bruce can’t help but feel a tinge of upset, both on Cass’ behalf and in general. Tim is busy and Bruce has no doubt that Tim is legitimately doing something important, or else he wouldn’t easily skip out on a gathering like this. But Cass so rarely asks for anything, and Bruce wonders if he’s overloaded Tim so much that he can’t even take a single day off to relax. 

“Let me ask, Cass. Having a family outing would be good for all of us, and I want him to be a part of it.” 

Cass tilts her head slightly and purses her lips. “Tim is a part of the family, even if he does not come to the museum.” 

That’s true, of course. Tim being a part of the family has never been conditional on anything - he’s a Wayne not because he’s a Robin, or because he’s effectively running Wayne Enterprises, or for any other reason, except that he’s Bruce’s son, and Bruce loves him. Everything else is because Bruce loves him, and not being able to come for one thing isn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things. 

But maybe the knowledge that Tim has been alone for far too long has been weighing on him. He’s talked to Alfred about it, and Dinah, and Clark too, but there’s still a large part of him that thinks - if only he’d supported Tim more, he wouldn’t have felt the need to go off on his own. If only Tim had had more of a support network, losing Robin wouldn’t have affected him so badly. And every doubt and thought in his mind is further weighed down by the feeling that he doesn’t know Tim as well as he’d like. Not anymore. 

He knows he shouldn’t, but he pushes. “Let me ask him anyway, Cass. If there’s something I can help him with, maybe if he’s got too much on his plate, I should find out. I trust him, but he’s always been too independent. I don’t think he’ll ask me for help, even if it means he’s missing out on other things.” 

It’s the truth, but not the whole truth, and Bruce knows that Cass can tell, but unlike him she doesn’t push. 

-

“Tim,” Bruce says the next time he meets RR. It’s taken more time than he’d expected, and it’s discomfiting that he hadn’t thought anything of the frequency with which they crossed paths, until he actually needed to find Tim. Patrol has just ended, and Tim’s the last one in the cave, using the Batcomputer to log reports on his active investigations. 

Tim’s hands pause on the keyboard - a sign of surprise - and then he turns around and pulls his cowl off to make eye contact. “Batman,” he responds, and it’s not pleasant to realise that even his voice sounds surprised. Has it been so long since he spoke with his third son? “Is everything okay? Do you need something?” Does Tim really think that Bruce only ever talks to him when Batman needs something? 

“Yes, of course Tim. Everything is fine, and I don’t need anything. I was just thinking - it’s been a while since we spoke.” 

“Oh,” Tim says, and then goes quiet for a moment. His fingers twitch in his lap. “Uh, how are you?” he asks, and Bruce is forcibly reminded of his own awkwardness when he was Tim’s age. His own utter inability to be casual or cool with anyone except Alfred. Tim had sounded perfectly calm talking to Jason, and it’s… it’s not fair. 

“I’m doing well, thank you. How about you? How are your cases going?” 

And with that, Tim brightens up and he’s off. It doesn’t sound like he’s giving a status report to Batman, thankfully, just like there’s a lot of cases he’s been working on that he’s excited about, and some cool new projects in WE, and a modification he’s been planning for Redbird, amongst other things. He goes on for so long that Bruce’s chest begins to ache at the thought that if he hadn’t asked, Tim wouldn’t have told him any of this. 

He smiles and nods and responds in all the correct places, and he listens as Tim tells him about his life and his friends and his hobbies, and absolutely not one word about Jason. Maybe he’d been reading too much into things. That was his very own superpower, in some ways. 

When Tim finally trails off, his cheeks bright in excitement, Bruce reaches out and pats his head. If Dick were here, he’d laugh and say that Bruce is like a puppet who never learned to be a real boy, but Tim leans into it like a cat, and Bruce thinks he doesn’t do it nearly enough, if it brings Tim so much pleasure. “I’m proud of you,” he says, because he’s on a roll. 

Tim immediately takes a step back, and whatever enjoyment had been in his eyes disappears in a flash. “What’s wrong?” he asks. 

The change in tone is unexpected. “Nothing?” Bruce replies, and his uncertainty makes it sound like a question more than a statement. “Nothing’s wrong, Tim,” he tries again. 

“Seriously, B. What’s wrong? Are you sick?” 

Bruce sighs and glares at Tim, and of all things that’s what seems to make him relax. “I’m not sick,” he growls, “I’m just saying that I’m proud of you.” 

“Okay,” Tim says, still skeptical. “Why?” 

“Why am I proud of you?” Bruce asks, bracing himself because unlike his conversation with Dick, this one hasn’t been scripted. 

“I’m pretty awesome, people should be proud of me,” Tim says coolly, “but why are you saying it? What do you want?” 

“Tim,” Bruce growls in exasperation, and maybe he shouldn’t be surprised at how quickly this conversation has spun out of control but, “I’m saying it because you deserve to hear it, not because I have an ulterior motive. And I may not have said it often enough before, but recent events have shown me that life is unpredictable, and I’ll never have as much time with you kids as I want, and I’d like to tell you how I feel before it’s too late.” 

Tim visibly relaxes, partially responding to his words and partially his tone. Bruce wonders when exactly he became so emotionally constipated that a simple statement of affection could be treated with so much suspicion, and thinks it’s a miracle Dick turned out as normal as he is. The credit probably goes to Alfred. “Have you been going to therapy?” Tim asks, and Bruce clears his throat to avoid answering. He’s not sure if casual conversations with Dinah and Harley (separately, of course) count as therapy, but in his books it’s better than nothing…

Not that Tim has to know that. 

“That’s not relevant,” Bruce says, because Tim is still looking at him expectantly. “But look, I haven’t always been good to you. You know better than most people that I’m not perfect, even though I sometimes pretend to have all the answers. But you are a part of my family, and you’re important to me, and I’d like to try to make things up to you, if it’s possible.” 

Tim stares at him, his mouth open and his eyes wide, and Bruce wonders not for the first time how close he came to losing this. Not just Tim, but Dick and Barbara and Damian, and Steph, and everyone else around the periphery of this patchwork family. Near death experiences supposedly have a way of resetting your perspective, but he’s had plenty of those. It almost figures that death itself was the only thing that made him stop and think. 

“I’m sorry B, I don’t know how to respond to that. I need some time to think.” 

And that’s fair. It’s a fair and mature response, and Tim certainly didn’t learn it from his birth parents, or from him. Another credit to Alfred, Bruce thinks. 

“That’s fine. I just want to say that I love you.”

He's been practicing the phrase in front of a mirror, and he's pretty sure there's nothing too-weird going on with his face, but Tim chokes so hard that he starts coughing, and Bruce obligingly thumps him on the back a few times until he recovers. “I’m just going to go,” Tim croaks after a moment, “before you accidentally kill me.” 

Also fair. But before he forgets - “sorry, Tim, just one more thing. Cass wants to visit an art exhibition this Saturday, and we were planning on making it a family thing. Are you free?” 

Tim opens his mouth to respond, and then visibly thinks about it as if trying to confirm the date. And then he closes his mouth and purses his lips. “I’m not,” he says, sounding genuinely remorseful. “She asked me about it a while back, I think, but I’ve got something planned on Saturday and I’d planned it ages ago. I told Cass I’m sorry, but I’ll make it up to her another day.” He looks at Bruce, absorbs the disappointment on his face, and then slumps ever so slightly. “Sorry,” he adds, like he’s expecting Bruce to say something harsh in return. 

It makes any remaining upset disappear. He’s upset, of course, but not at Tim. He’s almost a grown man now. Of course he has his own schedule, his own plans. And he hadn’t brushed Bruce off casually - he’d clearly thought about it. He isn’t lying - Bruce might not have been able to tell, but Cass would have, and she would have called Tim out if she wasn’t satisfied with his answer. It’s just not fair for Bruce to be upset with Tim now, for not wanting to upset his plans. 

He steps forward and bites his tongue when Tim flinches ever so slightly, but Bruce doesn’t stop. Instead he puts a hand on the top of Tim’s head, as gently as he can. “That’s alright, Tim. I’m not mad, I promise. It’s alright that you’ve got plans. I still love you.” The words come slightly easier now, less like a machine trying to express human emotions, and more... sincere. 

The look on Tim’s face is like - it’s like the sun coming up across a dark sky, rays of warmth and hope. “Thanks, B, you too.” 

-

The trip to the museum is wonderful. Bruce thinks he should conscientiously do this more often. It might be difficult for everyone to make it for every trip, after all he does have a pretty big family, but if there’s a family outing on every third weekend of the month, for example, it might make them easier bait for villains, but they’re never safer than when they’re together. Even Deathstroke himself would struggle against five or six of them at the same time. 

Tim hadn’t been in the Manor when they left, but Bruce isn’t sure if that’s because he’d stayed at his own apartment, or if it’s because he left before dawn, but either way it’s okay. He takes pictures of art installations he thinks Tim would like, and sends them to him at regular intervals. 

Jason isn’t there either, but Dick says it’s because he had a prior commitment - presumably with the Outlaws. Bruce can’t hold it against Jason, though he admits he’s a little disappointed. He’s not as sure of his welcome with Jason as he is with Tim, so he doesn’t send a series of messages, just a poster of an upcoming Austen-based exhibition in Metropolis. Jason might go on his own, or he might see it as an invitation, but it’s as casual an olive branch as Bruce knows how to extend. 

Tim isn’t home when they get back, and he doesn’t join them for dinner either. Bruce knows he’s gone for far longer stretches without seeing Tim, but he’d been hoping he’d come for dinner even though Alfred reminds him he hadn’t explicitly extended an invitation. It’s odd that he’d never noticed Tim’s absence from the Manor before, but now that he had, it was his own Baader–Meinhof phenomenon. 

He tries not to brood about it but it sits there like a stone in his chest and he wonders what he could have done differently to keep his children closer to him. Even Dick and Jason - three of his sons have effectively left home, and two of them aren’t even adults yet, and it hurts. He knows he’s the common denominator - he’s aware, but. Was he truly so difficult to live with? So stifling? 

He’s not scheduled to be on patrol tonight, so everyone else heads out while he teaches Duke how to man the comms, how to support Barbara as she monitors everyone’s movements from the Clocktower. Once, he thought it would have made sense for central command to be at the Cave, but it would be too easy for some unknown threat to take out all their systems and their equipment in one go. Barbara’s Clocktower is defensible, and there’s no one he trusts more to keep an eye on the bigger picture, except Alfred of course, but that’s not fair on him either. He’s done enough. 

Duke listens to him, bright-eyed and eager, sincerity radiating off him all the way until Bruce turns around and finds him asleep, slumped over in a way that will definitely lead to a backache in the morning. Bruce picks him up and winces when his own back twinges, and then deposits him on the couch where Dick liked to sleep, back when he was Robin, directly underneath the arms of the T-Rex. Once, he would have carried Duke up to his own bedroom and tucked him in. But these days he’s more ache than blood and tissue, and if he tries he knows he won’t be walking right for days. So he settles for covering Duke with a throw blanket and pulling his shoes off. 

And then he sits down in front of the Batcomputer and pulls up Tim’s tracking info. 

Oh, he knows. He knows what he’s doing is inappropriate, and that it’s crossing all sorts of boundaries, and that Alfred would be really upset at him for violating Tim’s privacy like this. But he’s worried. And he’s trying, but he’s not exactly normal yet. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be. He’ll ask Tim for forgiveness when he finds him, but he’s going to find him. 

Tim’s tracker shows that he’s on a private beach on the outskirts of Gotham but still under the protection of King Arthur (Curry, that is), standing completely still, only a few meters from the waterline. A chill runs down Bruce’s spine. There’s no real reason for Tim to be on a beach at this time of night, and it may be a private beach but it’s still Gotham. He hopes Tim isn’t in trouble. 

He tells himself that it’s justified to send a Bat-drone to investigate, because it’ll take him more than an hour to get there if he drives, but he doesn’t think there’s any sort of cover for him. If Tim really is in trouble, Bruce will fly there, and it won’t matter that the Batplane isn’t stealthy. He’s aware that his reasoning is a little weak, but he’s sticking with it. Truly though, it’s not just curiosity driving him, but concern. 

The drone takes around fifteen minutes to get within eyeshot, and then another thirty seconds to get within earshot. This model is pretty quiet, but its controls are a little fiddly so it takes a moment before Bruce can get the camera to turn to look at Tim. 

Tim is sitting on the ground, his knees pressed to his chest, and tucked under the arm of a bigger guy. Bruce’s brain recognises him split seconds before his eyes do - he’d know Jason from any angle, even if he was woken from a dead sleep. Also the skunk-stripe in his hair is a dead giveaway, though he still thinks it’s too cute a name for something that’s a physical manifestation of having been resurrected through a Lazarus Pit. He’s been told he can name it once he’s gone through a Pit himself, so he’d kept his opinions to himself. 

Both of them are just sitting there on the beach, facing the waves, and they’re so still that for a moment Bruce thinks the drone camera is frozen. But the waves are still crashing against the beach in the background, and the trees are still swaying in the night breeze. 

Bruce watches them for long moments, wondering what he’s seeing, wondering if there’s something he’s missing or if it’s even fair to draw conclusions from just a visual of the two of his boys sitting side by side on a beach. It’s an undeniably romantic pose, though, and that’s possibly the first time he’s applied the word to Jason and Tim. 

Then Tim shivers slightly and tucks himself more tightly under Jason’s arm, even though they’re already so close that their bodies are pressed together all along one side. “Cold, Timmers?” Jason asks, and doesn’t wait for Tim to answer. He shrugs off his jacket and guides Tim’s hands through the sleeves, and the angle of the drone isn’t right so Bruce isn’t sure if he’s annoyed or relieved that he can’t see the expression on Jason’s face when he looks at Tim wearing his clothes. 

“So warm,” Tim croons, and Jason huffs, pulling him back in under his arm. Tim’s arm goes around Jason’s back, and his grip looks just as tight as Jason’s. 

“Thanks for suggesting this, baby bird,” Jason says after another moment. His voice is so soft that it’s almost drowned out by the sound of the wind and the water, but Bat technology is not so easily defeated. “I always wanted to go to a beach but I’d never had the chance.” 

Had Jason never been to a beach before? Sure not, right? 

Tim turns towards Jason and offers him a tiny smile. “I’ve only been once, when a baby sitter decided that since my parents were going to fire her anyway, she might as well as have some fun with me. I loved it, and I’m glad you like it too.” 

And Tim? 

Bruce remembers taking Dick and Barbara to the beach all the time when they were younger. Mission aside, he’d regularly taken them on trips to the zoo or the beach or any number of theme parks. In hindsight, he doesn’t think he’d even taken Jason to Disney. How is that possible? Had he just forgotten to treat Jason - and all his kids after - like the children they were? 

None of it makes sense, he can’t understand why he wouldn’t have - he knows without a shadow of doubt that he loves Jason and Tim and Damian and everyone just as much as he loved Dick when he first came to live with Bruce. How had he forgotten? The shock rings in his head like a loud bell, and he doesn’t hear the next few minutes of conversation between Jason and Tim, but… 

But then Tim is curling his hand around Jason’s jaw and pulling him down into a kiss, and Jason isn’t - he’s not pushing Tim away. He’s kissing back, his hand sliding up underneath his own jacket to lie flat on Tim’s back and —

The moment Bruce realises that this isn’t a first kiss, he flees. 

Or at least, he turns the camera off and directs the drone to come back to the Manor. And then he flees to his room, sending a message to Oracle asking her if she wouldn’t mind him stepping away for tonight. He needs to think. 

-

Tim joins them for breakfast the following day. 

Bruce doesn’t know what time he got into the Manor the night before, and he doesn’t exactly want to know.

Bruce could have spoken to Dick about all of this, but the idea of outing Tim or Jason doesn’t sit right with him, even though he knows that Dick will be nothing less than delighted to know his brothers aren’t straight (like him). What Dick would say about Jason and Tim being together is another question entirely - Bruce still doesn’t know what he thinks, he can hardly predict others’ reactions. 

Dick is still half-asleep while he eats his cereal, so tired that he doesn’t even notice Duke and Damian putting bits of scrambled egg into his bowl. Or maybe he does notice, but he doesn’t care - Dick has always had a bizarre palate. But Tim is cheerful - more so than usual - when he sits down next to Cass and quizzes her about the art museum. She seems content to answer his questions in a mix of spoken words and hand-signs, and she doesn’t look like she’s concerned about him, or like she’s reading anything upsetting in his body language. 

He eats his breakfast quietly, and he knows that his silence has been noticed by Alfred at the  very least, and possibly by Tim and Cass as well. No one says anything, though, until Damian and Duke are just about to leave the table when Bruce figures he should say something about his family outing idea. 

“Boys,” he says, and both of them stop in their tracks, turning around to look at him. “Yesterday was really nice, and I’m glad that Cassandra suggested it. I was thinking - I know it won’t be easy to schedule for everyone but - maybe we should do this more often? Or regularly. If there’s anything interesting happening in Gotham or any of the surrounding cities, we can drive or fly there, to spend time as a family. I think it’d be nice. It’s not mandatory or anything, but maybe we can try?” 

It’s less eloquent than most of the speeches Brucie Wayne has ever made, but Bruce himself has never been good with words. Still, it must have been good enough. Dick and Duke are smiling at him, and Damian and Cass and Tim look content or not displeased, and the way Alfred brushes his shoulder when he walks behind him is as good as a pat on the back in approval. 

“There’s a photography exhibition coming up in Metropolis,” Tim ventures. “I’ve submitted a few pictures, but even if nothing of mine wins it might be nice.” 

Bruce smiles at him and nods. “That’s an excellent idea. Forward me the details and I’ll send out a message in the group chat.” Tim looks so quietly pleased that Bruce almost wants to pat himself on the back, now. 

That’s when it occurs to him that maybe he’s been going about this all wrong. He’s been spying on Tim because he suspected something was off - or different, if not in a bad way. He’d discovered something he’s not entirely sure how to feel about, but Tim is clearly happy about it, and if Bruce doesn’t give him an opportunity to bring it up, Tim might just take the secret with him to the grave. He made a mistake by silently obsessing over Tim’s behaviour. He made a mistake by asking Dick to investigate Tim and Jason. He made a mistake by stalking the couple by-drone last night. He’s got a chance to fix it, now. 

“Anyway, if you’ve got a moment after breakfast there’s something I’d like to discuss with you, Tim. It’s nothing bad, I promise.” The ‘nothing-bad’ assurance is something Dick had discussed with him extensively. It was the easiest way to keep his anxiety-ridden children from panic spiraling everytime Bruce asked them for a meeting. 

Tim nods and downs his second? - third cup of coffee before following Bruce out of the kitchen and into Bruce’s office. He sits down in the chair across Bruce’s desk and relaxes, which is good, because this is Bruce’s third or fourth unscripted conversation about this and he’s not sure how it’s going to go. 

“I just wanted to say — that is,” Bruce stops almost as soon as he starts, tripping over his own thoughts. “I realised we haven’t really talked since I got back. Since you got me out of the time stream. And it’s not your fault, it’s mine - I’ve been a little overwhelmed, but it’s no excuse. I should have touched base with you earlier and when we talked last week I realised that I don’t know much of what’s going on in your life, and I’m really sorry for it. I know it won’t be easy to make up for, but I’d like to try, if you don’t mind.” 

Tim looks a little surprised, but before he can respond, Bruce charges on. 

“I thought you looked really surprised when I said that I’m proud of you, and I want you to know that even though I’m really bad at expressing myself, and I’m still learning how to do it effectively, I do love you Tim. You’re my child just as much as any of the others, and I will never regret that you came into my life, no matter the circumstances.” 

Now Tim looks utterly shocked, like he’s forgotten all the words he’d been planning to say. He just stares at Bruce in silence, until Bruce breaks it. “I’m sorry,” he says again. He genuinely can’t understand why he’d been so reluctant to apologise in the past. It doesn’t cost him anything, there’s no loss of pride in admitting that he had regrets for his actions or his words. And it means so much to his family, it just doesn’t make sense for him to insist that he’s never wrong. 

“Uh, wow,” Tim finally says. “Jeez, B. I don’t know what to say. Thanks for apologising, and I love you too, I guess. No—” Tim tugs at his own hair, and it’s such a familiar gesture that it takes an entire second for Bruce to realise - Jason used to do that all the time. “I don’t guess,” Tim corrects himself. “I do love you, and I’m glad I came into your life too, even though things were pretty touch-and-go for a while there. But seriously, thank you for saying sorry. And for the photography exhibition…” 

Bruce shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me for that. I’m not as in touch as I’d like to be, but I know you loved photography, and even if you don’t love it as much now as you did back then, it’s still worth a trip if you enjoy it. And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to see your submission pictures too. I’m sorry I haven’t been more supportive of your hobbies.” 

“B, please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re kind of freaking me out. Are you really okay?” 

Bruce thinks about it for a moment, and then shakes his head. “No, I’m probably not. I thought I was dead, Tim. I didn’t think I’d make it back, and I had so many regrets. I’m not okay, but I’m trying to get there. When I die, I want to go without regrets. In our line of work, nothing is certain, so it’s important for me to make sure that I don’t leave anything important unsaid. I’m not okay, but I’m working on it.” 

“You really have been going for therapy, haven’t you?” Tim asks faintly, sounding shocked. 

Bruce shrugs. “I have, and you should too, if you think - if you have anything to talk through. It’s more helpful than I thought it would be.” 

Tim presses his mouth into a thin line and doesn’t respond, so Bruce doesn’t push, but he hopes Tim will think about it. 

“And have you had this conversation with everyone else?” Tim asks after a moment. 

Bruce shakes his head. “I’m still working on it. I’ve talked a little bit with Dick and Cass, but I haven’t figured out how to get through to Damian. Duke is still pretty new, so I don’t want to scare him too badly. Steph and Jason - I’m working on it.” 

“Okay,” Tim says. “That’s good. I think this is something they need to hear. Steph and Jason, especially.” 

“I’ll be meeting Steph for dinner this week near her dorm. She said she’s been struggling with her statistics class, so I offered to pick up dinner and help her out.” 

Tim offers him a shy, pleased smile. “That’s good,” he agrees. “She’ll be happy for the help. She doesn’t like asking me for help, but I figure it’s different since you’re an adult. And,” Tim starts another sentence, but pauses as if to think about it. “I can’t promise anything, but I can ask Jason if he wants to hang out in the mansion, sometime. I’ll tell him you want to talk, but like I said, I can’t guarantee he’ll agree.” 

Bruce smiles back at Tim, and then shakes his head. “I’d be grateful if you put in a good word, of course, but it’s not your job to convince him. It’s mine, even if he doesn’t want to come to the mansion. Still, he’s welcome.” And then carefully, “you’re friends, aren’t you?” 

Tim studies him carefully, judges his intentions, and then finds them acceptable before he nods quickly. “Yeah, we are. When you went missing, I started hanging out with him. I couldn’t be in the mansion with Dick and Damian - I was pretty upset back then.” Bruce thinks he’s still upset now, but it’s not his place to demand complete honesty from Tim. That’s not what this conversation is for. “It’s not perfect yet,” Tim admits, “and sometimes it’s a little awkward, but it’s getting better, I think. But Jason and I realised we have a lot of stuff in common.” 

And that’s a little surprising to Bruce. Both Jason and Tim are highly competent, and very intelligent, but their interests and hobbies are diametrically opposed. Jason, he remembered, was into books and movies and plays. Tim is into computers and games and music. The only thing he thought they had in common was Robin, but maybe that’s where he’s erred. 

“I can’t say I expected it,” Bruce replies, “but I’m glad nonetheless. There aren’t ever enough people in our line of work that we can be close to, but every time you find someone you can trust, don’t let them go. It’s a lonely business, and I’m always glad that I’ve got you kids around to keep me sane.” 

“Sanity is debatable,” Tim teases, and Bruce can’t even deny it, “but I get your point. 

“And,” Bruce says when Tim doesn’t continue, “you know that you can tell me anything, right?” Tim’s expression is entirely blank, but his gaze is serious and his body is so still that Bruce can’t read anything from it. “Nothing will make you any less my son.” He hopes Tim understands what he’s trying to say, hopes that the suggestion that he knows more about Tim than Tim has told him doesn’t send him into a panic. 

A long moment passes before Tim finally replies. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Bruce. Love you, B.” 

“Love you too, Tim.” Repetition seems to make these particular words come easier each time, and Bruce wonders what kind of family this would be if he’d started saying them ten years ago. As Tim leaves the room, Bruce knows he’s got a long way to go - not just with Tim but with his whole family.

Still, when Jason comes to the photography exhibition, sticking beside Tim the entire time, he thinks this is a good start.