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CW: Parentification but it's only mentioned twice
Bruce was having a good week. Very good. So good, Tim was considering giving him some sort of gift. Well, he guessed that's what this was, as he took the elevator up to Bruce's office. Well, it was as much a gift for Bruce as it was just Tim finding a reason to brag. He'd solved a cold case, a murder from six years ago. Tim was pretty certain it was manslaughter now, but it seemed aggravated, so it'd be life regardless. Tim was proud of himself. He had yet to call in the GCPD; he needed Batman's approval to do that.
But now he had the case file in his backpack, and he was stuck between two middle-aged women. They were chatting about something, and both seemed to be part of marketing. Neither of them seemed to notice him; if they did, they didn't comment. This was the third time he'd come to the WE building to visit Bruce, so now he had his own clearance badge. People probably thought he was Bruce's kid, which was… funny. Ironic, he supposed. But Dick and Jason had had badges when they were Robin, so Tim wasn't surprised he got one too.
Tim got off at the top floor, Bruce's floor. It was a huge area, but most of it was dedicated to accounting. Bruce, and sometimes Lucius, oversaw most of the accounting to make sure all the Batman-ing was still possible. Bruce's office was still reasonably sized, but it wasn't comically large like Lex Luthor's. Tim waved to the secretary as he entered Bruce's corner of the floor.
"Hi, ma'am," he said, gripping the straps of his backpack.
"Hi, Timothy," she smiled. "Are you out of school today?"
He nodded. "I had a half day."
He didn't actually go to school today; he'd skipped because he was working on this case, but adults didn't like what you said. It wasn't as if he had a test today or anything. He was pretty much free to go for the rest of the day. The only classes he was missing were the ones he was already passing, so it didn't matter.
"Is Bruce here?" He asked, pulling his backpack from his shoulders and holding it to his front.
"Yes, but he's on break right now. He has nobody to disturb him for at least ten minutes."
Tim frowned at that. He didn't know why Bruce wanted to be alone, and it wasn't a good thing when Bruce was alone, usually especially for extended periods of time. 10 minutes shouldn't be that bad. But as a precaution, Tim got ready for the worst.
"Well, he's expecting me, so can I go in?"
The receptionist looked at the door for a moment, then back at Tim. She moved her mouth to the side as if she was thinking hard. "Well. As long as you don't tell him I let you in. If he gets mad, then tell him that you came in while I was in the bathroom."
Tim smiled, "he won't get mad, ma'am. Thanks."
He walked into the large corner office. The windows were huge; they stretched the entire wall of 3 sides that were open to the world. Bruce's desk sat in the middle with couches on either side and a fireplace against the one part of the wall that wasn't covered in. Glas Bruce sat at his desk in the middle of the room on top of a red rug. He didn't look bad. He was hunched over his desk. Nothing Tim didn't haven't seen before at the back computer. As he stepped closer, he saw something on the desk. Trains, Bruce was playing with trains. He was pushing one round with his finger across a track and looked fully enveloped in it. He looked up at him for a moment. He looked almost sheepish that he'd been caught.
"Tim," he said slowly. "Is, uh, is Rhonda still out there?"
"She's in the bathroom, I think," Tim lied smoothly. "What are you doing?"
Bruce swallowed. "I'm… playing." He was blushing. Tim wasn't sure if that was endearing or not. He guessed a lot of people would pay to see Bruce Wayne actually embarrassed. "I found a train set in a closet at the manor."
Tim walked over to the desk and dropped his backpack on the floor. "Cool…"
It looked old; it was probably Bruce's when he was younger. It wasn't really what Tim expected from him. He thought Bruce liked dinosaurs more. Tim wasn't much of a trains kid either, he liked cameras. It was obvious to everyone that he liked cameras. Almost all his parents bought him were cameras; cheap ones until around the time he turned 9, when they finally got him a nice camera that he could actually use. But there is still no doubt in his mind that if anyone asked, Bruce would be able to tell them every type of train manufactured up until 1970.
“What's this one?” He asked, pointing to the train on Bruce's desk.
"Athearn HO RTR Old Time 2-6-0 Mogul," Bruce recited. He'd probably memorized the whole box.
"That's cool," Tim said.
He was pretty sure he used to have models like that. He guessed they were probably tucked away somewhere, and they were probably hand-me-downs from his dad. Tim didn't really play with trains as a kid. He didn't have many toys, and the ones he did have were all expensive ones that were more for his parents to show off than for him to play with. Like, "look what we can afford that you can't." So made sense that he'd get them.
Tim wasn't surprised he got those kinds of toys. They never interested him, and he usually just left them in their boxes after showing his parents that he was oh so very thankful. Then they disappear forever into the back of the closet, or dressers, or under the bed, sometimes in the Attic.
"Is this why you asked for a 10-minute break?" Tim asked.
"So Rhonda is out there." Bruce frowned.
Tim internally cursed himself. "Yeah, she is. She told me not to tell you in case you got mad at her."
"I'm not mad at her, it's just you. It's not as if she's jeopardized her job or anything. I'll have to talk to her, but I'm not mad." Tim nodded. "Why are you here?" Bruce continued.
Tim beamed. "I solved a cold case! A murder, but I think it looks more like human trafficking now. Anyway, it's been cold for him a few years now. I just needed you to let me know if I could show it to the Commissioner."
"Were you working on that all day? Did you not go to school?"
"Don't worry about that, B. I solved a case. That's what matters."
"School matters."
"You didn't even finish college," Tim rolled his eyes.
"Well, I did finish high school," Bruce smirked slightly.
"Whatever." Tim pulled the manila folder with the case files in it out of his backpack. "Will you please take a look at these before I leave?"
"Where are you going? If you didn't go to school today, I'm assuming you have nothing else to do until you come over."
"I mean, yeah, technically not, but I still want to go home and get some homework done. Just 'cause I didn't go today doesn't mean I want to fail," Tim shrugged.
"I suppose." Bruce took the files and set them aside. "But I have a few more minutes of my break left. Stay for a while." He started to spin the little train around the track again. "I like this train, I have a few more like it if you want to see them when you come back to the manor later. they're all very, uh… cool, for lack of a better word. My father bought them for me."
Tim frowned. He didn't like it when Bruce talked about his Thomas, or either of his parents, for that matter. He knew what usually came next. Then, like clockwork, Bruce spoke.
"Do you want to play with me, Dad?" Bruce asked.
Tim couldn't exactly say no, no matter how much he wanted to. He came here for a quick check-in with Batman, and Bruce had been doing so well.
"Sure. Tell me more about the model, if you know. You know how much I like storing information."
Bruce's eyes rolled over the train. "Hm. Well, it's a steam engine…"
Bruce started to explain about the train and all its components. The few cars that he had connected, what was used for, and when it was originally in function. Honestly, it wasn't the sort of thing Tim was very interested in, but he found himself enraptured anyway. He tucked the information away in case he ever needed it, though he doubted he would. Tim leaned against the desk, looking at the train as it spun around the tracks.
He thought, a bit absently, that he probably wouldn't have played with the toys his parents got him even if he had liked them. He did when he was really young, when he got very lonely but he grew out of that eventually, like he grew out of everything else. His parents liked that about him, they always said he was low-maintenance and mature. He never hung on to all the toys they got him for his birthdays; he's pretty sure the only reason he got them in the first place was because those were semi-public events and more people than just he and his parents would be in attendance. It wasn't as if they forbade him from playing with toys, he just didn't need or want any. More than that, it made him mature, and that's how his parents needed him.
"Have you ever watched Thomas the Train Engine?" He asked, stopping Bruce in the middle of his speech.
Bruce's expression tightened. Tim shouldn't have cut him off. "Thomas the Train Engine? I think a few episodes when I was younger."
"I watched the 3D version growing up. You probably watched the original since that came out in the 80s. Anyway, pretty much all of my train knowledge is from that, which isn't a lot, really. Friendship lessons and cooperation and all that." "Those are good," Bruce said, uninterested.
Tim tried to change the subject. "There's another good show called Dinosaur Train. I think you'd like it a lot more. It's all about teaching kids all the different types of dinosaurs and other animals from that time period. The main characters are all pteranodons, and they have a son who they adopted, who's a T-Rex. It's really good from what I remember, you might like it."
Bruce hummed. He must have noticed Tim's eyes tracking his finger, moving the train around the admittedly small track. "Do you want to add more tracks?" He asked. "I have more, they're in the box." He kicks his leg and hits something hollow under his desk.
"Sure." That was something Tim was good at and enjoyed. Physics was one of his favorite classes and the building part of that, making tracks for marbles and eggs to make sure they didn't break, was pretty close to this. Bruce leaned under the desk and took out the box, pouring the rest of the contents on to his desk. More train tracks fell out, enough that they could make the train run a lot longer. They could probably make it stretch around the whole room if they had a few more of the sets together. Tim was sure that some of them were missing because the box was huge. It was bigger than he thought it'd be.
"Where are the other tracks?" He asked.
"At home," Bruce said. "I'm sure Alfred knows where they are."
"Coolio." Tim started getting to work, attaching other pieces of the track making it decotate the desk. There was a small bridge that get out of the train to go over another part of the tracks and back down the other side. Tim added that as the centerpiece. Bruce looked on in some sort of fascination, putting in input whenever he wanted Tim to put something somewhere. When it was finished, it covered the entire expanse of the desk. Tim had taken off stacks of paper, a pencil holder, and the bird that always fell into the water that was supposed to be a perpetual motion toy. They sat safely on the floor and out of the way, and Tim started to move the train around the track again.
"This would be more fun with more tracks. You should ask Alfred to bring them here or at least take them out when you go back to the manor tonight."
"We can ask him to bring them out tonight," Bruce nods in agreement.
"And we can add more trains," Tim continued excitedly. "Also, you probably have like a whole train station or something, huh?"
Tim could feel himself getting excited at the prospect of building more tracks. A part of him felt a little too old for this and more than a little ridiculous. Playing with trains was something a much younger Tim would do. He was 15 now for God sakes. He hadn't even thought about actually playing with the tucked away toys in years, Bruce probably haven't either. Though that didn't necessarily matter because Bruce was like a child stuck in an adult's body. Bruce could do whatever he wanted.
By the time they got out of the office, Bruce had at least approved the cold case going to Gordon, which was all Tim really came there for in the first place. But now he had an actual, exciting reason to go over to the manor besides training or a Bruce crisis like he usually did. Of course, he couldn't go right away; he still had to go back to his house for at least a few hours to clean a little bit. He hadn't done any of his chores since he'd spent the whole day working on that case. Technically, he didn't have to have them done until the end of the week, when his parents were coming home, but he'd fall behind if he didn't do them each day. He shouldn't have spent an hour playing with trains with Bruce, he hadn't been very productive at all.
Bruce dropped Tim off at his house before driving off to the manor. Tim waved as he left. He supposed that had been better than usual, in line with Bruce's good week. He'd only called Tim dad once and even that seemed more like a force of habit than an actual ask for comfort. Tim was hoping it didn't become a force of habit. It'd be… scary. He didn't want to be Bruce's dad forever. It felt like an awful thing to say, he knew shouldn't say things like that.
He remembered once his mother told him, "No matter how true something is, if there's no benefit to saying it out loud, you shut the hell up." She'd said that to Tim after he'd called a lady ugly at a gala when he was little. She'd dragged him off to the side to berate him, which was better than the usual popping him in the mouth when they were at home. Tim took that lesson to heart. Either way he was pretty sure Bruce already subconsciously knew just as he did that this arrangement couldn't just last forever. It could probably last for a while but the whole point was to help Bruce get better so he wouldn't need Tim anymore.
Tim made quick work of his chores he was finished about an hour before he needed to leave. He wondered if he still had any of his old toys lying around. If he did, they'd probably be dusted over. He found a Thomas the Tank Engine, so it was Tank, not Train, toy in his in the back of his closet it was modeled after the cartoon one instead of the stop-motion show Bruce had watched. It came with its own train tracks that were much bigger and klunkier than the ones that Bruce had in his set, obviously made for younger kids. Tim was pretty sure he got this from his mom maybe a distant relative. He couldn’t remember, and there was no point in remembering anyway, since he wasn't actually going to play with it.
He left for Wayne Manor after fixing himself a snack. He was sure Alfred would have something for him when he got there, so he didn't have a real reason to eat anything, but just in case. There were a lot of just-in-cases when going to the manor. He didn't know what Bruce would expect from him once he got there. He didn't know if Bruce wanted Tim or his dad, but both were equally possible. Sometimes he wanted both at the same time. When he got there, Alfred was already at the door with a sandwich.
"Master Tim," Alfred greeted as he walked through the door.
"I was here early, you weren't expecting me," Tim said, pointing to the sandwich in Alfred's hand.
Alfred nodded. "Master Bruce told me you should be here early. I wasn't sure when but planned make a sandwich anyway. And, boy, when you walk here from half a mile down the road I have plenty of time to see you, make my way to the kitchen and make you a sandwich."
Tim made a disgruntled sound. "Where's Bruce?"
"His office. Where he should be working, but I noticed one of his train sets missing from my closet."
"Why are they in your closet?"
"The butler's closet," he corrected. "Not necessarily mine, just my area of the house. That's where Mr. and Mrs. Wayne elected to keep most of the toy overflow so they wouldn't need to go to the attic in case Master Bruce wanted something. And I like to keep track of them because those will be worth something whenever he decides to give them away. I'm getting too old to navigate the attic."
Tim almost snorted. "No, you're not."
Alfred ignored him and continued. "It's already a mess up there. No need to put anything else valuable in the attic. I see you brought your own." Alfred nodded at the box tucked under Tim's arm.
"Oh, yeah." Tim looked down at the box. "I mean, it's not as nice as any of you guy's is, but you know. It could still be fun."
Alfred hummed, unconvinced. "Eat," he said, pushing the plate towards Tim.
Alfred and Bruce had always been a bit forceful with food. Tim had definitely bulked him up in the year that he'd known them personally, but they still acted like Tim was the overly skinny kid they first met. Tim took the sandwich from him and started towards Bruce's office.
"Well I'll see you later, Alfie. I go see what Bruce is doing." He moved past Alfred and the stairs. Alfred said something chastising behind him that he didn't listen to.
He was excited, in a way he wasn't usually when he was running down these halls. It surprised him. Playing with toys made him a little happier; he liked it. Something as simple as pushing a model train around a track was fun. He pushed into Bruce’s office, beaming. Bruce was sitting on the floor, already setting up the center, a station set that fit eight trains.
Tim or down his box by the door. "I don't think mine will work with yours; it's for younger kids, like babies."
Bruce looked up. "That's fine, I have more than enough."
Tim put his sandwich on Bruce's desk and flopped down right next to the man. "So what are we doing now? What other sets do you have, I see the station, some more bridges," he started excitedly. "Are there, like, tiny people? There should be some conductors somewhere, I think there's one in my set. You should ask out for it to bring you a sandwich too."
Tim guessed he should feel embarrassed for busting in and talking so much before Bruce could get a word in, but Bruce just nodded. "That'd be nice."
They sat there comfortably in silence working together for a few minutes. It was similar to what they did in the cave, silent non-verbal communication unless necessary. Tim took more tracks out of the box and set them up around the room, spreading the tracks across the rug. It was… nice. Tim wasn't used to this type of nice, not with Bruce. He was smiling, Bruce was smiling, and everything felt easy. He didn't feel like he had to worry about anything besides the trains. At some point, without asking, Alfred eventually came up with a second sandwich for Bruce. He watched them for a few moments, and it made Tim feel a little silly as he crawled across the floor like a toddler. But Alfred left soon after and the feeling melted away.
By the time they were done, the set filled the entire front half of the room. They started setting the trains down at the station where they sat in a circle of eight. Tim took two, a red and a green one, as started to push them around Bruce did the same in the opposite direction. They'd set up the tracks so the trains would never have to meet no matter how fast they were going, and without having them all on completely separate tracks. The goal was to get them all into a different stop than their original without having them run into one another, without stopping.
"Sucks. I wish these were electric so they could go around the track themselves," Tim said, stepping back. He walked behind the desk to grab his sandwich and took a bite.
Bruce followed a few moments after nodding in agreement. "It would be nice. I might make the game harder too if they're all moving at the same speed. But I'm sure there are some somewhere. My parents bought me a lot of trains."
"Yeah? I'm pretty sure that's the only set my parents bought me. The Thomas one. It's not like I hated or anything, it's just like for babies, like I said."
"Were you not a baby when they got you got it for you?"
"No, I was like 10. Totally grew out of it, even if I was still playing with toys at that point."
"I think Alfred bought me toys up until my 18th birthday," Bruce thought out loud.
"Lucky. My parents stopped buying me gifts when I turned 13, they said it was too old for them. I mean I was, I am, but like, it still kind of stung. My friend still get gifts," Tim huffed.
"Alfred can get you gifts too, it's not as if it's expensive."
"I mean, I don't want to take advantage of his generosity."
"It'd be my generosity. It's my money."
"Well, you know what I mean, he'd have to go out of his way to figure out what I like and then go out and buy it. It's unnecessary time spent, I could just get my own toys."
"Then it'd be a lousy gift."
Tim looked out the sliver of window that was visible through the curtains. "Oh shoot, it's getting dark."
Bruce followed his gaze. "Oh yeah, I guess we should get ready soon."
Tim took another bite of his sandwich. "And we have to clean this up still. We should probably do that first."
Bruce hummed. "Why don't we just leave it? We can play with it again later, I'll bring out the electric trains."
"Probably shouldn't 'cause you'll never go to bed. And Alfie will make us do it anyway," Tim frowned. "Let's just pick it up now."
Bruce's shoulders slumped a little as he put down his sandwich. "Let's," he sighed.
"This is fun, though," Tim said. "We should do it again. Like whenever we have enough time."
"Whenever you decide to skip school again," the man smiled.
"Well, I'll do that again soon then," Tim smiled back.
Tim rolled over in bed. It wasn't as if the mattress was uncomfortable, Tim didn't think anything in Wayne Manor could be uncomfortable. Alfred had gotten this room ready just for him. His parents would be gone for a whole two months, and though Tim could usually take care of himself, Alfred and Bruce were quick to offer him a room. This wasn't the first time Tim had slept over; sometimes patrol ran too late, and he was too tired to go home. But he'd already been here a week; his mattress shouldn't be this uncomfortable.
Tim rolled over again. He supposed he shouldn't be too uncomfortable, the way he was right now. He supposed he was happy for the free room and food he didn't have to make. But there were implied strings. Well, there always were when it came to Alfred at least, the man never did anything for nothing. Tim knew when they said it was easier for him to stay here, they meant it was easier for them. It wasn't as if Tim was on call; he kinda just showed up whenever, usually for patrol, and stayed for as long as he was needed, then he'd go home and come back the next day.
It'd been easier since patrols became more constant. Bruce had slowly been coming back into himself. Before, patrol would only be about twice a week since Bruce spent the rest of the week drinking himself stupid. Those days were hard, and they usually went the same every time. Tim would show up, six o'clock of five-thirty. He'd force some food and water down Bruce's throat, mainly to help sober him up a little before the worst part. He'd have to help Bruce bathe. Usually, it was as easy as getting the shower ready for him, and the man could do the rest himself. On the worst days, when Bruce just refused to do anything, Tim gave him a quick bird bath. He learned how from caregiver forums and online guides. Sure, most of those were for dementia patients, but it still worked. Then he'd get Bruce into bed and eat dinner with Alfred. If he had any homework, he'd finish it in the library, then go home.
On days where there was patrol, Tim would arrive, eat dinner, get changed in the cave, do warm ups, and go out with Bruce. He'd stay in Bruce's orbit, half-monitoring Bruce, half-taking down criminals. Bruce had gotten a lot less violent lately, so Tim didn't have to monitor him as hard. He hadn't even called an ambulance in a month. Then they'd go home, Tim would write his reports, then, depending on the time, do some homework and go home, or stay at the manor.
So now, even though he was uncomfortable and rolling around in bed, Tim guessed he should be happy. Bruce had been getting better; they'd gone on patrol nine out of the fourteen days in the last few weeks, and Tim probably wouldn't have to take the bus to school for the next few months. So no, Tim decided, he was not uncomfortable. There was nothing about this situation that was uncomfortable; this was good. It benefited him, Bruce, and Alfred.
Of course, his newfound, already frail, comfort was ripped away from him the second he heard the click of his doorknob turning. He propped himself up in bed, watching as Bruce's looming form appeared in his doorway. The man's shoulders were hunched, and he was looking at the ground. Tim was suddenly very tired. He fully pushed himself up.
"Bruce?"
Bruce's feet shifted. "I'm, um… I'm hungry. Alfred is asleep."
"Oh." Tim sighed. He got it. Bruce had made something for him once and only once. It was a tuna fish sandwich, and Tim had thrown it up a few hours after eating it. Bruce had years of eating his own cooking; his stomach was basically iron at that point. He'd rubbed Tim's back as he was bent over the toilet, and Tim had told him he should cook by himself again.
Tim peeled himself out of bed and took Bruce's hand. Huge. Heavy. Why did he do that? He wanted to let go. He guided Bruce through the long halls of the manor to the kitchen. It was silent as Tim got out the things for a PB&J and Bruce sat at the island. It was silent as Bruce was served and Tim got himself a granola bar. Tim finished first, tossing the wrapper in the trash.
"Did you not finish dinner?" He hadn't actually checked with Bruce to see if he'd finished eating. He should've, it was part of his job.
"No," Bruce mumbled with his mouth full.
"You should've. You and Alfred are always on me for not getting enough calories. Why should you get to skip meals?" Tim's mom was the type to remind him that there were kids starving in Africa whenever they ate together. Unfortunately, she wasn't around enough for her reminders to matter, and now Tim's growth was considered "stunted."
"Sorry."
"You should be."
When he was done, Bruce tossed his paper towel in the trash, and Tim took his hand again. Their rooms were in the same direction, but Bruce's came first in the hallway. When Tim tried to open his door, Bruce tugged him back. With ease. Tim stumbled, bumping the back of his head into Bruce's chest.
"Let's go to your room, Dad," the man said.
Tim looked up at him with bated breath. "Why?"
Bruce swallowed and looked away. "I don't want to sleep alone."
Tim's heart stuttered to a stop. He flipped through a million thoughts before settling on a reason. It was May 26th. In exactly one month, it would be the anniversary of his parents' death. He was probably going through it. That made sense.
"Alright."
Tim, once again, decided he was not uncomfortable with this situation. He wasn't uncomfortable when Bruce crawled under his covers with him. It wasn't as if his bed was small; it was a queen, but it was so much smaller next to Bruce. Everything was. He wasn't uncomfortable when Bruce's arms wrapped around his waist and his head rested on Tim's chest. The only reason this was awkward was that Tim wasn't used to sleeping next to people. He hadn't since he was probably three. Distantly, he remembers the school assembly he had in elementary school. "If an adult ever makes you uncomfortable, tell a teacher, parent, or police officer." Tim didn't think he could tell his parents. Even if they were in the country, they probably wouldn't care.
Bruce was heavy. Tim didn't know what he expected. It made his stomach turn. Bruce was so heavy, and Tim couldn't get up until Bruce was ready. Awful. This was awful. Tim was not uncomfortable. If he wanted to get up, he'd have to disturb Bruce, and he just couldn't. And Tim was being dramatic anyway. It wasn't as if Bruce was pinning him down; only his head and arm were actually over Tim.
Tim has a distant memory of his mom from when he was younger. He had the flu and had to stay home. She held him to her chest and combed her fingers through his hair as she hummed some sort of lullaby. It was a good memory, one of his favorites. Tim reached up a hand experimentally. Bruce's hair was dry. He should probably wash it tomorrow. Either way, his fingers slipped through the locks easily. He didn't really know any lullabies either. 21 Guns was as much a lullaby as any if he didn't sing the words. That might be insensitive on Bruce's parents' almost anniversary, though. But Bruce didn't listen to Green Day, so it was probably fine.
"Dad?" Bruce's voice rumbled through Tim's body and mixed with his humming. He stopped in the second chorus.
"Yeah, chum?" He was going to throw up.
"I'm sorry, I- um… I'm sorry." Bruce pressed closer. Tim could feel Bruce's breath through his shirt. "Are you uncomfortable?"
Yes. Tim hummed as if in thought. "No. You're a little heavy, but it's like a weighted blanket."
Tim was a great liar. That was something he learned about himself very early and quickly. According to Dick, it was his parents' fault. They would lie to each other constantly. There was always a mutual understanding that they were lying, though, so Tim didn't think that was the reason. He was just a naturally talented liar. He shouldn't be proud of that, but it was very helpful in times like thi,s where the person he was lying to was pressed against his chest.
"Are you uncomfortable?" Tim continued to pet through Bruce's hair.
"No."
"Then let's go to sleep."
Tim didn't want to talk anymore. He didn't want to think about what was happening right now. He was already sick, he just… he should sleep. He couldn't, of course. He kept humming Green Day as Bruce's breath, hot breath he could feel through his shirt and that dampened his skin, evened out. Once Bruce was out, Tim was left to stare at the ceiling. He busied himself with the gothic patterns. He counted three thick, black, wooden beams that separated the room and held up the next floor. He counted the hundreds of eggs a spears that lined the hem of the ceiling and wall. Then he counted again, because he was sure he had missed a few the first time. He didn't; it was just an uneven number. There were a lot of uneven numbers in this room. Three beams, three windows, 463 eggs, and spears. There were a lot of ones too. One dresser, one vanity, one closet, one bed.
Tim's bed back home was a double twin; he'd had it since he was four, and it hadn't even almost gotten claustrophobic yet. The queen he was in now was somehow a hundred times smaller than the twin. Tim didn't usually consider himself claustrophobic, but he was stuck between the wall and Bruce. Tim felt impossibly small, which didn't make sense if he also felt like there wasn't enough room. He rubbed his eyes with his free hand and started counting the eggs and spears again. He was going to throw up.
Bruce shifted, and Tim almost cried. He wasn't stupid. He knew that no matter what their relationship was, this was wrong. Tim wanted to go home. He wanted his mom and dad. Tim was as much of an adult as anyone else in this house, at least that's what he told himself. But he knew he wasn't. He was fourteen. No matter how much he wished it away, no matter how long he took care of himself, no matter how many responsibilities he took on, he was still a child. He usually pushed that thought to the back of his head, because pretending to be an adult when he was already being a dad was just easier. But Tim was a child. And he couldn't change that fact, no matter how much he wanted to. And he couldn't make this okay.
He didn't have to. Who cared what was and wasn't okay? This was Batman they were talking about. Everything became warped when you were a hero, so Tim found it easier to think of everything as a number. Batman saved lives; every life was one positive point. But he needed help. Tim was helping; this was helping. It wasn't as if Tim was uncomfortable. He wasn't sacrificing his life. His presence was just a crutch. Even if this was a negative point, which it wasn't, it produced more positives in lives saved.
Tim was not uncomfortable. Even if he was, it was just because he was used to sleeping alone. It'd be selfish of him to kick Bruce out of his bed when it was so close to his parents' anniversary. It was something Tim had to accept. He was Bruce's dad now, or at least some warped version of it. It didn't matter, the technicality. He was responsible for Bruce's well being now, and this was part of that. Just like making sure he ate, stayed clean, and didn't hurt himself or others. Tim was very responsible; he always had been. Even if he was a child, he wasn't like other kids, and he wasn't uncomfortable.
-
He didn't notice he'd even fallen asleep until he woke up. He didn't dream, which didn't surprise him. He'd been having less dreams lately. Bruce was still asleep on top of him. Neither of them moved much, but Tim was a little freer. When his parents wanted him to wake up, they'd just shake his shoulder. That felt a little cruel when Bruce was going through something. Tim grumbled to himself and stared up at the three beams on the ceiling. They looked a little nicer in the sun, but not enough to be interesting. He could only hope Alfred would call them for breakfast soon. It was a Friday, so Tim had to go to school in like two hours. Alfred would definitely get him soon.
As if on cue, Alfred knocked on the door and opened it. Tim didn't know why he was holding his breath. Some sort of acknowledgement of the situation, anything to tell him he's not wrong for feeling the way he does. But Alfred's face was as neutral as it always was. When he met Tim's eyes, he simply sighed and walked over to the bed. He shook Bruce's shoulder gently. Tim swallowed before exhaling. He didn't know what he expected. Bruce probably did this with Alfred when he was younger; it was part of the whole being a dad thing.
"Master Bruce," Alfred said. "Master Dick will be arriving soon, and Master Tim needs to get ready for school."
Bruce groaned, another rumble through Tim's body. He rolled off of Tim completely, letting him finally sit up and stretch.
"Dick's coming?" Tim asked.
"Yes, he'll be staying for the weekend," Alfred answered.
That was… good. Bruce never did anything when Dick was around. Like he was scared. Tim was a little scared of being found out too; he didn't want Dick to look at him differently. With pity, disgust, indifference, and anger. Dick didn't take super long to warm up to Tim, but Tim couldn't handle a setback.
Tim waited for a few moments for Bruce to get his bearings and climb out of bed. Bruce stumbled sleepily across the room. He watched as the two men left before sagging into his mattress. If Lady Luck would permit, Tim wouldn't see Bruce for the rest of the morning. God, he sounded like his parents. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hand. He was going to throw up. His stomach churned. It wouldn't happen again. Dick was here. If Tim could just say something, Bruce would stop. He knew he would. But if Tim said anything that'd set Bruce back and the whole cycle would start over again. He couldn't do anything.
He couldn't do anything.
"It's okay," Tim whispered. "It's okay."
No point dwelling, he guessed. He pushed himself out of bed and to his dresser. Even if he was uncomfortable, he'd be leaving in two months. And if he ever was asked to stay over again, he was sure he could come up with some sort of excuse. Maybe he could get a pet or something. That was a good idea. But for now, he just had to wait the two months.
By the time Tim had showered and brushed his teeth, Dick was downstairs. He was a comforting sight, sitting there at the breakfast table and reading the Gotham Gazette.
"What are you, an old man?" Tim smiled as he slid into the chair next to him.
Dick flipped the page, smirking. "It's real interesting stuff. Did you know Bruce Wayne apparently had an affair with Harvey Dent, and that's why Two-Face stays away from the Waynes?"
"I mean, it's kinda true, they used to be, like, best friends." Tim sat on his knees and looked over Dick's shoulder. "Who wrote that?"
"Who do you think? Vicky Vale." Dick finally looked at him. "Whoa, you look like shit. Have you slept like at all this week?"
Tim blinked in surprise. He thought he looked fine, at least when he looked in the mirror earlier. "I mean… my mattress is a lot softer than I'm used to, it's kinda uncomfortable. I miss my actual bed."
"Yeah, you're right. When I first moved in, I thought I was gonna drown in all the mattresses." Dick put a hand on his shoulder. "Ask Bruce to buy you a different one."
Tim frowned. "I don't need to do all that. I'll get used to it soon."
"Do it," Dick shook him. "Take advantage."
Tim rocked with the hand. "Leggo."
"You let go."
Tim liked Dick. He imagined this is what having a brother would be like. Like having a friend, but easier because of the forced proximity. But Dick lived in a city away, so they weren't really in forced proximity. Well, they weren't really brothers anyway. Tim was kinda like, what, his grandpa? How do grandpas act, all of Tim's grandparents were dead, Alfred was kinda hopeless here, and he learned forever ago that TV wasn't a great teacher.
Bruce walked in as Tim grabbed Dick back and shook his shoulder. Tim's heart skipped. Bruce sat across from them, and Dick smiled.
"Morning, sleepy head."
"Morning."
Dick didn't notice Tim swallow as he let go. He didn't notice a lot of things, Tim thought. Some detective.
…That was mean, Dick was a great detective. He just had a little bias to his own dad, which made sense. Tim was being kinda unreasonable to expect him to notice something was wrong, at least like this, right now. He didn't even know there was a problem to investigate.
Alfred came in with the breakfast and served each of them before sitting himself. To any outsider, it would've looked like a normal family breakfast. It did to Dick. Dick didn't know a single thing. That was awful. Dick was one of the only people he never wanted to lie to. Tim looked down at his food. It looked unappetizing.
Cass is Orphan in my parentified Tim fic bc I started writing it when I was super new to her character so I lwky might go back at change her name to Batgirl because every time I go back to read a chapter it annoys me
Edit: I did it, but she's gonna stay selectively mute bc me too girl
I totally forgot to announce it here like an IDIOT, but I now offer writing comms on my ko-fi!! It's $1 for every 100 words, so check it out if you're interested!!
Tim Drake is Dick Grayson's baby, because fuck you. Yes, he will be there at his superhero meetings to support him. Yes, he will call him every fucking day to check that Tim is doing okay and ask about his day, even if Dick is swamped and busy himself. Yes, he will talk to Bruce again and work on their relationship because he will be damned if he'd not around for Tim, he met Tim first, he met Tim all those years ago on that night, and now Tim wore his suit. Yes, he will indulge all of Tim's crazy ideas that probably would give Bruce a heart attack, like stealing a Waynetech plane protoype to jump into an active warzone. Yes, he will call him "little brother" before Bruce ever has the chance to adopt him, because hello, the boy has parents. Yes, he will cross the line and beat a motherfucker to death for hurting Tim. Yes, he will disapprove and criticize each and every one of Tim's romantic partners because they're not good enough for him. Yes, he will tear Bruce a new one for putting Tim in danger, and he will train him with hellish intensity and he will always love to give him his opinion and he will always want to shelter him as much as he can, and you know why??
Because that's his boy wonder, that's his cutie patootie sweet smol little robin that he loves so much. The singular strand holding his mental health together. The light in his darkness. Don't like that?? Can't help you. Get fucked.
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