Chapter Text
Bruce Wayne was, in all principle, a creature of habit. The moment the clock hit his six A.M. alarm, his whole routine started. For years, he’d gone through the same routine: listen to Alfred’s muted footsteps from above, do a few morning stretches before showering, get his usual cup of black coffee, and then go through the post-mortem of the night’s patrol.
Nowadays morning means lighting-fast showers, racing the clock before eight, and trying his best to convince Damian not to carry a sword to school.
This morning felt… slightly different. Bruce didn’t know if it was the heavy, dragging weight in his chest or the peculiar stillness of the manor; he didn't know if it was because Tim didn’t arrive for breakfast, but by the time he dropped Damian off at school—who’d stayed uncharacteristically quiet the entire drive—the unease had only deepened.
Bruce had been surprised by his absence during breakfast. Usually, his son arrived half awake, rambling about last night's mission—and waiting for Bruce to straighten his crooked tie; no matter how many times Tim tried to tie it himself, it always ended up slightly crooked. But today the kitchen had stayed unnaturally silent.
Intrigued by his sudden disappearance, Bruce turned his footsteps toward Tim’s room. Bruce was supposed to drop Tim at work too. He turned the doorknob. But instead of hearing Tim snoring in bed, he found it empty. It was seemingly untouched.
His brows furrowed. He stepped forward, taking in his surroundings. There was no sign that Tim had spent the night there.
That couldn’t be.
Tim had been with them during the night's patrol—hadn’t he? Memories of last night’s patrol flooded in. They'd all fought together, opting to leave the clean-upto the police forces to debrief in the cave.
Surely Tim was down, writing down the last detail.
Concerned, he went down the stairs. The moment he saw Tim’s empty chair at the console, his stomach sank. He hadn’t debriefed either. Time seemed to stop; empty bed, no debrief, no sight of him at breakfast. A bad feeling began to develop in his stomach. He tried to remember Tim's last words.
His mind came up blank.
He couldn’t remember. The worry increased tenfold, because the last time he saw Tim was when they were fighting. When Tim had been struggling during the fight, the odds had been against them.
They had not only been outnumbered but had also been blindsided and—
Bruce stopped in his tracks. He clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white. He wasn't someone emotions could easily override. Rationality was his second nature. For Tim to have disappeared off their radar meant that he’d overlooked something crucial.
He called the first person who came to mind.
“Bruce,” Dick’s confused voice spoke through the other line. It was clear his eldest son hadn’t been expecting the call. “Is everything alright? You’re calling before noon. Did Arkham break out again or did Damian threaten the school teacher again?”
“Have you seen Tim?” Bruce said sharply, cutting straight to the chase.
“Tim?” The hesitation bled through the line. “Wasn’t he with us like last night?”
He clicked his tongue, frustrated. “He isn’t here. When was the last time you saw him?”
An uncomfortable pause stretched across the line—too long, too heavy for his liking.
“I… I don’t remember. Why? Bruce, is there something you aren’t telling me?”
His lips pursed into a tense line. It was clear Dick had no idea what happened to Tim.
“Bruce—”
Without another word, Bruce severed the connection and ended the call. The silence felt suffocating. The vast rooms felt like they were closing in. Bruce’s grip tightened around the phone.
The cold dread that had pooled in his stomach solidified as the terrifying reality set in. Because the truth was, Tim had completely vanished. They didn’t know when they’d last seen him or heard him.
Suddenly, he had a very bad feeling.
His throat tightened. Bruce immediately dialed the only person he knew who would know where Tim was.
Oracle would know. She had Tim’s last coordinates. Together, they would pinpoint Tim’s location, and he'd make a check-in call to make sure everything was okay. Then everything would turn back to normal.
Oracle’s irritated, fresh voice crackled through the comms. “Unless the cave is on fire, it is eight in the morning. People who sleep exist, Bruce.”
“I need a tracking lock on Tim. Right now.”
A beat of silence passed, then a sudden, frantic flurry of keyboard typing. “I’m trying, but his ping isn’t showing up—-Gimme a second.”
That made his mind screech to a halt.
“What do you mean his ping isn’t showing up?” He growled with much more force than necessary. That didn’t make sense. No matter the hour, no matter the protocol, Tim’s transponder was always active. Always.
The typing abruptly stopped.
“I can’t get a ping on Tim.”
Jaw set, Bruce cut the link and sat down in front of the computer. He didn’t need a ping to hunt Tim down. One way or the other, he was going to find his son.