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Febuwhump 2023 | Alternate Prompt #3 | Soft Words
Companion Piece to "drink in the jasmine and rain" for Day 1 | Touchstarved
Something is wrong with Robin.
The pair haven't worked together as long as Batman did with Dick, or even Jason, yet, but Bruce knows that something isn't right.
The boy has always been a little twitchy. Not tumbling around like Dick or prone to flinching like Jason - just, high-strung. Fueled by caffeine and curiosity and the adrenaline of an adventurous child. Now, he's ever so subtly shifting in his seat and shivering. Tim has gotten good at hiding his feelings, his pain. Whether that is from his childhood or insecurities about being Robin or taking after Bruce - or all three - Bruce isn't sure. Anyone else might miss the stiff jaw, the little wrinkles at the corner of the kid's eyes, the tiny, tense tremors. As always, Tim is doing a decent job masking them. As always, Bruce notices.
He won't confront him, though.
Not in front of Ivy. Batman won't give her the satisfaction.
He can deduce she is the culprit, after all. It can't be a coincidence that Poison Ivy created this new "cuddle pollen" - Bruce loathes the moniker - and then when they go to apprehend her, Robin is reacting like this. Especially after the kid had been the one to tackle the madwoman.
Because Batman had been too slow. Because Batman had gotten caught, by tree branches. Because, like most things, this is his fault.
He is honestly surprised Ivy isn't gloating in the backseat as they escort her to the police. Her expression, though, is practically glowing as she continues to gaze at Robin. If Tim is hesitant to admit to needing help or being hurt to Bruce, he definitely won't confess in front of the criminal responsible.
But then they are alone in the car and Tim still isn't talking.
Bruce had hoped Tim would learn to trust his partner with these things someday.
"Good capture tonight, Robin."
Bruce can see it a second later when Tim's eyes finally spark with recognition.
It takes him another half second to respond.
"Uh, yeah, thanks, B."
Bruce pauses, swallows a sigh.
The kid is so stoic, so self-sacrificing (fits right in), that sometimes it's even a little difficult for the Dark Knight to tell when Tim is not okay.
However, one of the most sure-fire ways to deducing Tim isn't alright? Is Tim telling Bruce that he is.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine."
Fine.
It's practically Tim-code for "absolutely not okay".
Robin broke his ankle, literally shattered the bone, and he was "fine". Good thing Dick is persistent or that piggyback ride Nightwing gave Robin would have had to turn into a squawking, protesting, Tim dangling over Batman's shoulder.
Tim got just about the worst case of influenza that Bruce had ever seen and he still was "fine" and tried to go on patrol to prove it. Bruce had to fake his own flu just to get the kid to stop trying to feverishly fly off in the Batwing.
After Janet Drake died and he and Tim were at the hospital with Jack, Tim had been "fine" when they left. Despite Bruce having overheard Tim admit to his unresponsive, paralyzed, father that he was afraid. Despite how readily the boy had collapsed into Bruce's arms after being told how Batman had failed his parents.
Fine.
Bruce has come to hate the word.
"Just tired."
And yeah, okay, it's definitely bad if Robin is offering up a lesser excuse because even that is a sign of weakness according to Tim.
During debrief, Batman does all of the talking once in the cave, adding notes to Ivy's file. Robin nods and answers when appropriate and spends a good amount of time subtly shuffling over toward the Batcomputer's server bank because it's always warm, like Bruce isn't noticing. Like Bruce isn't cataloguing all of the boy's symptoms in his head.
Like Bruce isn't just waiting for Tim to come clean so he can comfort him.
Tim takes a longer time than usual to change and Bruce makes quick work of the spore sample he snatched from the scene when Robin wasn't looking. The boy doesn't appear to be in any mortal danger, the pollen seeming to have had the same effects as the earlier doses. He can breathe easier when the results show that they basically are a match.
It's still not going to be a pleasant night for Tim.
And Tim is only making it worse on himself.
Tim shuffles out from the changing room. He looks wrecked. Well, he looks like a stubborn teenager hiding the fact that he is absolutely, positively, wrecked. The usual dark circles under his eyes are black holes against his chalky skin. His pupils are the size of pinpricks. Standing seems to be a struggle. Bruce is surprised he can't hear Tim's teeth grinding from across the Cave.
Bruce opens his mouth to finally confront the kid, but then Tim is charging up the stairs with energy he didn't look like he could possibly possess.
Bruce is torn between giving the boy his privacy and putting a stop to all of this right now.
Sure, it's a little silly. Sure, they might both be embarrassed by it. Sure, both of them are a bit emotionally-stunted and asking outright for human contact is practically impossible on a good day.
Tim must be in absolute agony. Bruce saw what being deprived of human contact did to the other victims. The screaming, crying, thrashing. It's a wonder the boy is holding it together at all.
He thinks back to Ivy's intrigued stare from the backseat.
Tim is killing himself just to keep this from Bruce.
He can't admit to himself that the kid's been doing that ever since his mother's death. Can't admit that he's been allowing Tim to do it.
He tries to think how Dick or Jason would have handled this. Dick was never afraid or ashamed of touch. But he was sometimes cagey about injuries or things in the field. Bruce doubts the kid would have held out on him for long, though. Demanding hugs and climbing all over the caped crusader while still both in costume. Jason, Jason definitely would have pulled a Tim. He wasn't all too great with touch, despite how much Dick tried to change that.
Jason never got the chance to get that comfortable with them.
Bruce hangs his head.
He can't make the same mistakes with Tim.
The boy isn't his son like Jason or Dick, not in any legal or symbolic sense. But he has been his son in Bruce's heart for awhile now.
By the time he gets upstairs, Tim is long gone. Bruce isn't exactly surprised.
Tim has been staying in Wayne Manor ever since the incident, but the boy still sneaks off to spend nights here and there at his old house. Sometimes, Tim actually gets past the security. Most of the time, Bruce just pretends to remain oblivious.
Bruce heads out to the garage, phone in hand.
Dick picks up halfway through the second ring.
"What's wrong?"
It hurts, a little, that something has to be wrong for Bruce to be calling his son. But then again, they don't do a whole lot of social calls. And usually any call this late between any of them is grounds for immediate concern.
"I," Bruce clears his throat, "I don't know what to do."
"Bruce?" There's a touch of alarm in Dick's voice now.
"Tim."
God, why is this so difficult? They're just words. Just emotions. Get it together.
"What happened?" The alarm is bleeding into panic.
"He isn't grieving." He tries to keep himself clinical, state the facts. "I think - he needs - help."
A sigh.
"He needs you, Bruce."
That can't be right. Bruce is no good at these things. He just proved it by letting Tim walk out of here tonight in so much pain because he was torn between respecting the teenager's privacy and not knowing how to broach the topic and a whole bunch of excuses he keeps just repeating. The same ones he's been repeating for years.
"How?"
How can I fix this? How do I help him? How can I keep trying to help these children deal with loss when mine still haunts me? How can I risk hurting yet another Robin?
"Look," Dick hums low, "I don't know Tim too well yet. I want too. But we've only just started getting to know each other. You're the one who is with him the most right now."
"I still don't know him -"
"But I bet you can read him," Dick interrupts not unkindly, "but that doesn't matter. It isn't what I said, B. You're the one who is with him the most now. So, be with him. You don't always need to talk, and that can be good because sometimes you're pretty terrible at that."
Dick chuckles and it makes Bruce's face twitch.
"I," Bruce pauses, closes his eyes.
Alfred is asleep upstairs, but he is probably punching the air in his dreams at the next confession. For a stoic Brit, the butler is always trying to get Bruce to show his emotions more. And, god forbid, actually talk about them.
"I got it wrong, with you, and - and - Jay."
"No."
There is so much conviction in his son's voice it makes Bruce almost stumble against the side of the car.
"You - you didn't get enough time, with Jason. He wanted to save his mom. He - you tried. That's more than his parents did."
Dick's voice is getting thick.
"With Jay, with me - you did the best you could with what you had. You weren't perfect, but that's okay because probably nobody's a perfect father." Dick swallows. "Besides, you don't need to be Tim's father. You don't need to be anything. You just need to be there."
Bruce is already in the car now, but he just sits there, the phone pressed up against his ear despite the fact that neither of them are saying anything anymore.
He thinks about choking down the emotion in his voice for the next words, but isn't that what got him here in the first place? He lets the feelings coat his voice like warm honey and is surprised when he likes how they taste in his mouth, in his heart.
"Thank you, Dick."
He goes to hang up.
"Love you too, B."
Bruce was already pressing the button to disconnect the call and he is too surprised to stop now. He fumbles the phone back into his pocket.
How many times has Dick said something similar to the silence after Bruce has already hung up?
He's going to do better.
For Tim, hiding away in absolute agony because he thinks Batman will think less of him.
For Dick, parenting his own surrogate father at 2 in the morning.
For Jason.
For himself.
Bruce gets in the car.
Tim left the front door of his parent's house unlocked.
It's not even closed all the way.
Bruce doesn't want to think about the sort of people that could have crept inside at this hour.
He hasn't been in the house before. Alfred helped Tim gather some belongings when he moved into the Manor, but Tim was adamant that it was only temporary and his dad was going to get better so they hadn't brought much.
He asked Bruce not to come.
The place is large and stately and decorated with art and artifacts from around the world. Tim pays for someone to come clean the dust and air out the main rooms, but no one is allowed in the bedrooms. Even without the few months that no one has resided here since Janet's death, Bruce can guess that this house has never much looked very lived in. The sitting room is pristine with couch cushions that bear no wear and a coffee table without a single ring or scuff. The kitchen microwave and sink and fridge have seen life, but the dining table and counters look brand new.
Bruce knows Tim's parents were distant. Knows they traveled a lot.
Knows Tim loved them all the same.
He places a hand on the end of the railing for the grand staircase, unsure if he should go about this quietly, or make his presence known, giving Tim the possible chance to bolt. He makes for the first step and -
The muffled scream doesn't sound human.
Bruce takes the stairs two at a time.
The noise that Bruce can only best describe as a wounded and dying animal is coming from the farthest door and he sprints toward it, flinging it open.
There, curled up tight under the covers, and screaming face down into a pillow, is Tim.
Or, at least, the shivering and pale shadow of his sidekick.
Somehow, he looks even worse than down in the Cave.
Bruce forces himself to pause in the doorway. He doesn't want to spook Tim. Tim, who is burrowed into the blankets of his parents' bed with the closet and dresser drawers all thrown open and Bruce can remember all to well sprawling out on the carpet in his mother and father's walk-in closet just to smell them one more time.
Bruce pads over to the bed, lowering himself slowly down onto the mattress next to the balled up boy.
Tim doesn't react. He's stopped screaming a second ago. Either he doesn't sense that it's Bruce and isn't reacting to a total stranger and possible threat, or he knows Bruce has come and is in too much pain to hide anymore. Both are worrying. He hopes it maybe, maybe, could be that Tim does know Bruce is there, and isn't moving not because he can't, but because he doesn't want to. Because he's happy or relieved.
Without speaking, Bruce brings his arm to wrap around and under Tim's shaking shoulders, resting his hand on Tim's forearm. The kid flinches ever so slightly but then sort of just melts into the touch and god if it doesn't shatter and rebuild something in Bruce's soul all at once. Bruce holds Tim's head in his other hand, cradling it closer to his own chest. When Tim nuzzles into Bruce's palm, he chokes a little. Swallowing, Bruce rests his chin against Tim's hairline.
"I'm here."
His voice is soft and thick and tastes like honey again.
"I've got you, Robin."
Robin, because he needs to know that Bruce isn't questioning the kid's place after this.
"I've got you, Tim."
Bruce doesn't say anything else.
Not when his shirt starts to go damp under Tim's face and the boy shakes with sobs. Not when Tim's fingers unclench from fists enough to curl around the man's arms hard enough to leave marks. Not when they stay that way for hours and Bruce's back starts to ache but his heart feels better than it has in a long time.
Not when Tim finally, finally, falls into a soft, peaceful sleep.
Not when Bruce does the same.
The media calls it "Cuddle Pollen" and Bruce almost takes Tim up on the kid's pleas to buy up all the newspapers and television channels in Gotham just to change that stupid name.
A group of eco-terrorists get their hands on the formula and when Robin gets another face full of the stupid spores, he still hides it from Batman.
Bruce really tries not to show the hurt. Old habits die hard and Batman is sort of the definition of that so he can't really talk.
Nightwing gets clipped by a bullet from one of Ivy's new goons that same night. It's really not that bad but he sends them home all the same. He needs to catch Ivy, but Dick will look after Tim. When Batman whispers as much to Nightwing, Dick only snorts.
"As if I didn't notice he took the hit, too. This one's my turn. I got this, B."
He really doesn't deserve Dick Grayson as his eldest son.
He is still a little sour that Tim tried to hide the hurt again, but he thinks it might have been worth it when he walks in on his two sons snoozing on his bed.
Ivy breaks out and kidnaps Robin to be her new test subject. Bruce should have remembered that glint in her gaze. She was too intrigued by his ability to curb the initial effects to not study the sidekick. Bruce spends the whole time Robin is missing trying not to lose his mind or take out his panicked anger on the rest of his family. Once Tim is safe, Bruce spends the following days bundled up on the sofa with Tim, only taking turns with Alfred, Steph, Cass, and Dick when they force him to.
The next time Tim gets hit, because Ivy stops trying to perfect the pollen and now thinks its funny, Bruce gets a text from Robin. It's sent to a group chat with the rest of the family and includes a meme of Poison Ivy that one of his kids has to explain to him. He receives a separate, private message, from Tim too.
"Really, I'm ok. Promise. I'll let u know if I need u."
Ok.
Not fine.
"Love u."
Bruce isn't fully functioning consciously when he walks down to the Cave, phone in hand.
Tim is with the Titans. And, apparently, they all got dosed. He'll be okay. They're his friends. His family. Just like Bruce and the others are now.
"You too, son."
Bruce is still staring at his phone a full minute later when Dick texts the group chat that nothing on this universe could keep him away when someone needs hugs. He also informs them that he is bringing Duke along. Duke hasn't met the Titans yet and he thinks this would be a perfect, and hilarious, introduction. Damian claims it is unwise for so many supers and vigilantes to be gathered together when so vulnerable. Bruce bets the boy is just jealous of his favorite brother going to spend quality cuddling time with anyone else. Jason texts that "for once, the brat is right and someone has to keep watch so they all don't get killed having a hug-fest".
Bruce taps into the Tower's security cameras.
The Titans are piled on the floor in a mess of pillows and blankets and limbs watching classic cartoons. Tim smirks at the camera.
Steph and Cass coo and cackle over his shoulder. Alfred shoos them, but doesn't leave himself.
Bruce watches the boy, balancing a bowl of popcorn on his lap with one arm slung over Superboy and his head slumped against Dick's shoulder, a lazy smile on his face as he stretches his legs out over Duke's back - who became a foot rest for like three people at some point. Damian is on Dick's other side and Tim tosses a piece of popcorn at the kid. Jason hangs back but ends up on the floor too, begrudgingly letting Starfire rest her head on his arm. He says he is only allowing it because it makes Dick jealous. Tim hands Dick the bowl of popcorn so Dick has ammunition against Jason. Tim laughs with his whole body as the popcorn war breaks out among them all.
He thinks of the teenager, the child, clutching a pillow and screaming, ready to suffer alone.
Het had let Bruce be there with him. For him.
And then again and again over the years.
And Bruce isn't ever going to stop, even if it's through a security camera screen.
(Poison Ivy kidnaps/tortures Tim: "one bird, two stones")
(Tim's POV: "drink in the jasmine and rain")