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The life of billionaire and secret vigilante detective Bruce Wayne could be divided into two segments, as sharp as the dividing line in history. Bruce Wayne in the years A. J., After Jason. In the early years After Jason, that meant quickly escalating violence. Grief spilled through his fists, painting the Rouge’s Gallery with their blood. He never crossed the line all the way, Batman still never killed, but he came close. By the rules of escalation, it would have happened one day. As Newton’s first law indicates, a Batman in motion will not be stopped unless acted on by an external source.
Enter the external source. The moment Tim Drake entered Bruce Wayne’s life, he stopped the inertia of escalating violence. Batman resisted, fought against the restraint of a new side-kick, a new son. Fought against the friction of loving someone else that threatened his way of life. That threatened to make him love and lose again, but Tim held persistence in his bones. At first for Bruce, adjusting to having the kid around was painful as it was hard. He eventually agreed to train the kid but held him at a distance. How Tim Drake slipped through the cracks of his carefully constructed wall was a mystery even the world’s greatest detective could not solve. It happened without him noticing.
Bruce sunk into his armchair by the fire. It was a rare quiet day with no responsibilities for Bruce Wayne or Batman, at least for the moment. He sat in silence for a while, his coffee forgotten beside him, doing nothing. Nothing at all.
The shatter of glass had Batman up instantly, all pretense of Bruce Wayne gone as he bounded toward the kitchen. He was ready to fight, ready to tackle the new threat. He was not ready to see Tim, on the floor desperately trying to clean up broken glass and not even noticing the growing number of cuts on his hands that left a trail of red wherever he touched. He looked up, young eyes frantic. “Bruce, I’m sorry. I’ll have it cleaned up in a second.” In three confident strides, Bruce crossed the kitchen to him, ignoring the crunch of glass under his shoes. He kneeled down and took hold of Tim’s hands to stop him. “This will need stitches,” he said, and some glass needed picked out. He scooped the kid up and headed toward the cave. Tim looked up at him, “I can walk, Bruce,” he said quietly, but the man did not respond. He held the child a bit tighter than necessary.
Bruce sat him down on the table without a word and immediately set about pulling the shards free carefully with tweezers. Tim hissed but made no other sounds of pain. He watched Bruce’s face, his own expression growing more concerned. Bruce looked at him. “It is not bad.”
“You’re angry.”
Bruce’s hand hesitated for half a second before he went back to work. “Why do you think that?”
“You weren’t talking,” Tim replied. “I’m sorry. I was hungry, and I didn’t want to bother you, with Alfred out…” Bruce met the kid’s worried eyes. “I know me being here…I’m trying not to be trouble.” The detective was slowly trying to piece together what the kid was saying, but truthfully, when it came to the minds of children—it was Alfred that was the better detective.
“You’re trying not to be trouble?” he repeated, beginning to clean the cuts now that they were free of glass.
“Yeah. I know you didn’t ask for me to be here. I’m here to help you so…”
It was starting to make sense. Bruce slowly began to stitch the worst cut. It was not terrible, so he assumed he could do it without Alfred’s help. “You’re trying not to be trouble, so I don’t change my mind about you.” When Tim did not answer, Bruce knew he had hit on the truth. Bruce stopped his work to rest a hand on the child’s head. “You can bother me. Anytime, Tim.” Both of them fell silent as Bruce finished the stitching and wrapped it. He started to help the kid off the table but hesitated, picking him up again. He carried Tim up to his room, putting him down on the bed. He saw the young mind working. “Rest. I’ll bring you something to eat.” He walked to the door and stopped. “I’m glad you came to us, Tim.” He left the kid without another word.