Chapter Text
The following morning, Bruce decided to check up on Tim. He was sure the other would be awake by now. They also needed to talk about last night. It was a necessary evil, but necessary nonetheless.
He walked to the guest room Tim was staying with another glass of painkillers and a glass of water, knocked on his door and waited for the other to give him a reply. The muffled groan was all Bruce needed to know that Tim was, in fact, very much awake. He turned the doorknob and walked in, closing the door as he stepped in.
As predicted, Tim looked like death warmed over. There were dark eye bags standing heavily on his pale face.
“Morning Tim,” he said softly, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He handed him the pills and the glass of water.
“Morning Mr. Wayne,” Tim miserably replied back and left the glass on the bed stand. Bruce let out a noncommittal hum.
“How are you feeling?”
“I feel as if Ivy injected me with some of her poison,” Tim whined, covering his face with a pillow. Bruce let out a chuckle at his threatrics.
“But are you feeling from last night?” Bruce arched his brows, frowning down at Tim. It was something he had wondered last night. If Tim continued feeling under the weather, they could pay a visit to Leslie’s. It would allow him the opportunity to stand aside and let Leslie give Tim a lecture about his behavior.
“Much better,” Tim said and hesitated, “Um… are we going to talk about last night?”
Bruce gave Tim a look. “Do you want to talk about last night?”
“No, but… I thought…” Tim glanced away from him, trailing off awkwardly.
“You thought what?” Bruce asked, patiently. When he realized Tim wasn’t going to speak, he said with a sigh, “Tim, I'm not going to get angry. You can ask me all the questions you want.”
“Are you going to fire me as Robin?”
“What?” He asked, taken back. Fire him out of what? Last night's mistake? Kind of boogled his sidekick would say that, Bruce found asking a scandalized, “Where did you get this idea?”
“No! No! I just… I thought,” Tim stammered back and he squirmed under his gaze. Bruce was about to ask him again, when Tim finally admitted, voice soft, “I thought you’d be angry about yesterday.”
The world stopped for a moment as the pieces of the puzzles finally clicked at once.
Oh.
Oh.
“I’m not angry…,” he started, carefully so as not to sound angry. The last thing he wanted was to scare Tim more than he already was. “I was worried and a bit disappointed.”
He took in a breath, and thought of what to say. He didn’t want to sound too harsh as Tim was a kid who could easily interpret his words wrong, but he needed to get the message across.
“You’re barely thirteen, Tim. You’re way too young to start drinking, let alone go to parties,” he said with a sigh, letting off all the things he’d been thinking since last night. “What if something had happened to you? If I hadn’t been able to come pick you? What do you think could have happened to you?”
The “And I hadn’t been there to save you?” was left implied. He paused, letting his word sink in. He needed Tim to understand that the world was dangerous, where plenty of people are happy to take advantage of others.
He took a deep breath and continued.
“I understand kids may want to have fun and all that… but there are certain limits you shouldn’t cross. Alcohol is one of them. There are many people out there who would take advantage of someone who’s inebriated. People who could hurt you,” an image of Jason flashed before his eyes and Bruce had to stop to collect himself.
He felt his throat closing but that didn’t stop him croaking out a sincere and honest, “I’d hate if something happened to you.”
The teen already looked miserable, on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”
“It’s fine. Just don’t do it again,” Bruce said with finality, and then added, remembering Tim’s words from earlier. “And as for Robin, I never planned on taking it away from you because despite last night's incident, I still think you deserve to wear it. Last night doesn’t change anything.”
“Do you mean it?” Tim whispered out and Bruce nodded. One incident with alcohol like that shouldn’t affect much, so long as Tim was careful not to allow for repeat performances.
“Yes, Tim,” he said softly. “Everyone makes mistakes. And you can call me Bruce, you know I don’t mind,” he tried for a smile, feeling already worn from this talk. “Mr. Wayne makes me feel old.”
He saw Tim debate with himself for a moment before finally, he nodded somewhat timidly. “Okay, Bruce.”
Bruce went out and gave Tim’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “C’mon, Alfred’s probably waiting for us downstairs. He’s preparing breakfast. You probably must be starving, right?”
As they went downstairs, with Tim happily chatting with him details of last night's party, the phantom band he’d been carrying around his chest had loosened.
Stepping into the kitchen, where Alfred was waiting for them with freshly made pancakes, Bruce smiled. Everything was going to be alright.