Chapter Text
Tim wasn’t even supposed to be in Gotham right now. He was supposed to be in the Middle East looking into leads that would bring him to Bruce. Instead, he’d somehow been guilted in to staying in Gotham for Christmas this year. He wasn’t going to agree, he really wasn’t. The whole thing made no logical sense. He had no business left here, and frankly, he didn’t want to see his family right now. What was left of it anyway. He had considered popping in to see Alfred fleetingly, before thinking better of the idea. Though the man was always kind, Tim knew he was just as disbelieving of him as the rest of them. Not that Alfred ever judged. He’d welcome Tim in the same manner he always had, with open arms and a plate full of cookies, and a part of Tim really did feel bad that he wouldn’t be visiting. Alfred loved them and took care of them as if they were his own grandchildren and Tim had never felt anything but cherished in his presence. He knew it was bad of him not to pop in for an hour to say Merry Christmas. It’s just that… Alfred didn’t live alone and a visit to the Penthouse wouldn’t go unnoticed by its other two residents. Tim balked at the thought. Damian was an arrogant little ass who rubbed him the wrong way at the best of times and absolutely infuriated him at the worst. The kid was a disgrace to the Robin mantle and should never have been allowed to wear the colours. But Dick had made that call and since he was Batman now, it was just the way it was, he guessed bitterly. Tim supposed he could see why Dick had seen it as a good idea at the time if he squinted hard enough. It wasn’t what bothered him most though. Dick had changed. The Dick he knew would never have just taken Robin from him without asking. The Dick he knew wouldn’t have passed on Robin to a thoughtless little killer. The Dick he knew, most of all, wouldn’t have given up on Bruce so easily. The bitter part of Tim thinks Batman has gone straight to his ego, and he didn’t want to deal with it. Not now, maybe not ever. Saying hi to Barbara was out of the question as well…they may not have been an item in some time now, but he knew she’d go straight to Dick. Cass was still in Hong Kong and he certainly wasn’t going to chance a meeting with Jason, so his other two siblings were out. Either way, he had no interest in seeing any of them. And he was going to leave, really he was, but then Steph stepped in with her big, sad, blue eyes, asking if he wouldn’t consider staying just a few more days so she could wish him a Merry Christmas on Christmas. Tim couldn’t say no to her. He could make up the 5 days he’d be delaying if he adjusted his plan a little bit. So he reluctantly agreed, planning to set off on Boxing Day instead.
He had assumed the whole ordeal would be a complete waste of time, but three days in that changed. There had been very little evidence of Bruce’s presence in Gotham at all thus far. He’d looked. Twice. But early on day three he noticed something he hadn’t before now. A series of active alerts on Bruce’s personal phone. Which made no sense. Surely Bruce’s personal phone wouldn’t still be active months after his supposed death? Dick had said he was cancelling it…though Tim wasn’t sure if he’d actually done it.
So Tim did what Tim did best. He investigated. He and Bruce had always had that in common. Neither of them could rest until a mystery had either been solved or all leads exhausted. And he certainly hadn’t reached either of those points yet. Someone was clearly still paying the bills if the cell was still active and so he decided to explore that avenue instead. The account wasn’t in Bruce’s name anymore, per se…it was registered to Wayne Enterprises. Clever, if Tim had to say so himself. Using Bruce’s own company to hide in plain sight. But it didn’t fit. No part of his search so far had lead anywhere near Gotham and it just seemed out of place... Bruce’s phone was basically un-hackable. In fact he’d set the program up for Bruce himself, based off of one Dick had built some years ago when pagers were still relevant. Bruce had complimented him for it too, citing it as some of Tim’s best work. He’d shrugged the comment off at the time, but now he was left wondering if perhaps that had an element of truth to it. Nothing short of the bat computer could read the actual messages, which left him in an awkward position. Seeing as he was not so keen to visit the Penthouse, he knew the only way to read those messages was to do so on Bruce’s phone. He knew tapping into the GPS would give him a false location, but he had a feeling that if anything, Bruce’s phone was likely still in his room at the manor where Dick had deposited most of Bruce’s personal possessions months ago.
But at least now Tim a plan…and logically it all made sense, but emotionally? It made his skin crawl. He hadn’t been in Bruce’s room since before he’d disappeared. It felt wrong, knowing Bruce wouldn’t be there. Dick had picked up on this in the days after they’d gotten the news, and offered to straighten that part out so he and Alfred wouldn’t have to. Tim felt a pang in his chest at that thought. That was the Dick he remembered. The big brother who wanted to protect him for the harsh realities of the world, not the colossal jerk who had taken Robin from him as if it were his to give and take as he pleased. He wished that Dick were here now. To shield his eyes from the empty room, to investigate this instead of him so he wouldn’t have to open that wound one more time, to pull him aside with a hug and exactly the right words if and when it all became too much. But Tim couldn’t rely on that now. This had to be him. Dick had made that clear months ago. And if it brought him even just an inch closer to finding Bruce, it would be worth every bit of emotional turmoil it may cause him. He would go. And he would go alone.
~~~
Tim had never cared much for snow. Especially the gross slush Gotham tended to get this time of year. It was cold, it was wet and it made swinging around the city a goddamn blood sport. But Tim ventured out the next morning none the less. He’d forgone the Red Robin costume, for now anyway, deciding that Tim Drake the civilian going to visit Wayne Manor would get a lot fewer questions than Red Robin the vigilante paying a visit to an empty mansion on Christmas Eve. He brought the costume along, of course, carefully tucked away in a messenger bag with a few other goodies he rarely left home without.
Tim heaved a nearly-visible sigh of relief when the cab finally pulled up to the gates of Wayne manor. Hailing the damn thing had been a challenge to say the least, though that one drunken sidewalk Santa had found immeasurable humour in watching him try. At least someone was enjoying their Christmas Eve, he lamented, as he paid the cab driver and exited onto the familiar driveway. The sleet by now had turned into a light snow fall and Tim looked on as the cab started to pull away from the gates. He hadn’t been here since he and Dick had last fought. It looked so…still. Like a corpse.
It was only a short walk to the main door, though the wet snow made even that a little bit more treacherous than he’d remembered. And damp. Tim could swear he felt the cold seeping straight through his skin into his bones. Looking up at the main entrance, he wondered if the chill he felt was completely a result of the weather. He considered taking the back entrance through the kitchen instead, but just couldn’t risk it. Alfred may not live here anymore, but the man would know for sure if Tim tracked dirt and snow through the pristine kitchen. His key worked perfectly when he tried it and he took a steadying breath as he opened the door for the first time in months. There was no time to be nervous. He’d come here for a reason. Keeping his mind purposefully blank, he took a bold step inside.
He’d shed his wet coat almost immediately, followed quickly by his boots, noting that his were the only pair there. It was odd. Bruce had always kept a pair or two in the entryway if nothing else. Though lately Damian seemed to let his shoes collect there until Alfred could no longer stand the mess. Dick didn’t live with them, but visited often, and it wasn’t unusual at all to see one of his worn sneakers at one end of the mat and the other in some inexplicably different location a foot or two away. But now it was just a pair of snow boots that Tim rarely wore. They looked…lonely. Which Tim found a ridiculous, emotional thought. They were shoes. They couldn’t feel loneliness. Too bad that Tim still could.
His mind raced as he traversed the halls for the first time in what felt like ages. Had the manor always been this large? He could swear his footsteps were echoing off the walls. None of this was right. It was too cold, and too dark. There was no smell of fresh baked cookies when he’d passed the kitchen, and no sounds of some old movie that someone had left on in the sitting room. The electricity had been left on, he’d found when he tried one of the light switches in the hall, and the heat had been set low, barely above the current temperature outside. Perhaps Dick and Alfred had intended to come back at some point? Tim hated to admit it, but he hoped so. The manor like this was just…so wrong. The manor he’d lived in was large and ominous, but it was never quiet and lifeless like this. There was always someone somewhere busy with something. He suddenly missed the sounds of Alfred at his sewing machine or the sound of Bruce listening to some old-timey radio show as he typed away in his study. ‘Only the shadow knows,’ Tim remembered, bringing a smile to his face. He and Dick had teased Bruce with that for years. Bruce never seemed to mind, in fact he seemed somewhat amused by it. Bruce…right. Tim remembered now. He was here for a purpose. Reminiscing about the past wasn’t gonna bring him any closer to Bruce…
He took the familiar route to the floor where the bedrooms were, and it…hurt. He tried to keep focused, but it was difficult. Everything seemed to spark a memory. The dent in the drywall where Dick had uncharacteristically lost his balance and fallen off the banister while goofing off one day. The gouge in the floor where Bruce had once dropped a letter opener. The stain on the carpet where Tim had once spilled a whole mug full of Alfred’s cocoa after a particularly strenuous patrol. He’d expected to be yelled at for that. He was new to Robin at the time, new to the family, and they’d already been nice enough to let him stay the weekend while his parents were away…but the yelling never came. Alfred had merely tsk’d at him, making a quip about hand-eye coordination before informing him that there was more waiting for him in the kitchen. Bruce had looked at the stain on the carpet with only nonchalance, deadpanning that it would match the one in the hall where Dick had done the same thing years ago. He could see that nearly identical stain too, as well as one other that no one had ever cared to explain. Tim concluded that that must be one of Jason’s. The Robin before him had apparently done quite a number on the carpets around the manor. Various coloured stains, some from food, some from drink, a few from oil and at least one cigarette burn of all things, but they were never really talked about. He had never asked anyone directly, but he knew. They always wore that strange, sad look when he stumbled across something that was Jason’s. Would they do the same thing with Bruce’s things now that he was gone? If Tim couldn’t bring him back? He shook his head quickly to banish the thoughts. Failure wasn’t an option. Not when it came to Bruce.
Just ahead was the little row of doors that had been their bedrooms. Well, the boys bedrooms anyway. Cass had a room here too of course, but Alfred had insisted that a young lady such as herself would have no interest in sharing a wing with a bunch of young men. He was probably right. Alfred usually was. So her room was in the same wing as Alfred’s quarters. But the rest of them had practically taken over this part of the manor. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but peek into each of them as he passed. He started with the newest—Damian’s room—though he didn’t really care much. It was curiosity mostly. The little hell spawn had always been so insistent that Tim was not allowed in his room when they were both living there. Because clearly Tim was just dying to get into his room and mess with his cool 10 year old stuff. He couldn’t even suppress his eye roll at the thought as he poked his head in. Inside was nothing spectacular or even interesting. An old guest room that had barely been changed from its original design. The bedspread was Star Wars, though he never recalled Damian watching the movies. It looked as though the desk had held a few personal items based on the dust outlines but really, compared to the other rooms, there was very little that was personal about it. Typical Demon Brat. Probably too good for worldly possessions or something. Either that, or he considered swords and shuriken to be decorative and had taken them with him when he left.
Jason’s room was next to Damian’s. It was a room he’d only ever been in once or twice, mostly to see if he could find any clues as to whom the Robin prior to him had been. It had stood as a relic, something of a memorial in a lot of ways, even though Jason was currently alive and crawling the streets of Gotham calling himself the Red Hood. But like the Robin suit, they’d kept it none the less. He’d occasionally catch one of them in here. Alfred most often. It seemed as though he had taken to dusting and airing the room out regularly since learning of Jason’s resurrection. The items inside were never moved, only touched with the utmost care to lift the fine layer of dust that settled on them. He wasn’t exactly sure why the man did it, Jason had never expressed any interest in returning to say the least, but he never questioned Alfred’s logic. Alfred never did anything without a reason. He’d seen Dick come and go once in a while too. He wasn’t so obvious though, creeping in when he thought no one would be around. He never asked, or acknowledged that he’d seen his brother there. Not to him anyway. Alfred had once explained that Dick carried a lot of guilt when it came to Jason, which sort of confused Tim at first. He’d followed Batman and Robin for years and had barely seen Nightwing in all of the time Jason had been Robin. Besides, Dick had been nothing but great when Tim’s turn as Robin came around, not only training him but taking a special interest in him as a person too. In time, he came to learn that Dick hadn’t exactly been the same kind of brother to Jason as he’d been to him. It stemmed mostly from conflict with Bruce, granted, but still Tim could see, if he looked hard enough, how heavily it weighed on his older brother at times. Bruce came in here the least frequently, best Tim could tell anyway, but he always stayed the longest. Tim could only imagine what he had felt in those long, lost moments. He never mentioned it or intruded. He never even investigated it like with Dick and Alfred. It simply wasn’t his place. Jason’s room was a place where Bruce came to be alone with his memories and nothing more.
Dick’s current room was directly across the hall from Jason’s, and had also started out as a guest room. Tim wasn’t surprised to see that even packed up and unlived in as it was, it was messy. Boxes everywhere, some tipped over and never picked up, an empty coffee mug left on the dresser haphazardly that Alfred clearly hadn’t known about, sheets and comforter thrown over the mattress and declared ‘good enough’ when Dick realized he had to make the bed before he left. Tim smirked. This was definitely Dick’s trademark. There were a few artifacts missing, though. The Flying Graysons poster was the most notable, though he could see the clear outline where it had been pinned to the wall all these years. And the pictures. Dick’s room always had pictures. Of his parents. Of Bruce. Barbara and Alfred. Of Tim. With that thought, he closed the door, not wanting to come back to the harsh reality just yet. Dick had moved on from him every bit as much as he’d moved on from this room and it didn’t deserve a second thought.
His own room had once belonged to Dick when he’d first come to live at the manor. And to Jason briefly, before some sort of altercation with Dick which lead to Jason getting his own room across the hall and Dick starting to use the guest room that would eventually become his. It had taken awhile before the room had actually felt like his, but in time it really had. He’d left most of his stuff behind when he stormed out and it looks as though someone had packed some of it away. He couldn’t help but sit on the old comforter. It was the same one they’d set out for him when he officially came to live there, still soft beneath his fingers despite its age. His old posters had been left up too, proudly stating his preteen devotion to a band he didn’t really listen to anymore. His computer had been left sitting out, though it was turned off, but his action figures and memorabilia had been packed away. He wondered who had done so. He wasn’t angry, it was probably all safer in boxes than anywhere else, just curious. The action figures had always been something Bruce had never really understood, often questioning why Tim felt the need to have so many toys. Tim was always quick to correct him, explaining that they definitely were not toys, they were collectibles and they were cool. Bruce had always shook his head a little bit and moved on with his day. Tim never minded, not really. At least Bruce noticed that he had collectable figures. His own parents would never have picked up on it, never mind commented on it. His dad had tried, of course, but old habits die hard and keeping distance was just easy for them. Not that Bruce had been the warmest and most involved of fathers either, but it was different. Bruce may not have taken an active role all the time, but he had always taken an interest. Tim never felt like he hadn’t cared. It was clear that he cared, even if he never said it. Cass may be the master of body language but Tim was a natural at looking at clues objectively and it always lead to the same conclusion. Bruce cared. Loved him as if he were his own. And now he was gone.
Tim had to stop himself and take a deep breath as he felt the beginnings of tears prick at the corner of his eyes. He had a job to do, and this was just a distraction. Another goddamned distraction and nothing more. This room, his room, held no clues. Only memories. Somewhat reluctantly, he got up, smoothed the comforter out a little to mask his presence and set out further down the hall where he knew he’d find both Bruce’s master suite and, with any luck, some answers as to why Bruce’s phone was still active. Every step he took felt heavier. This was Bruce’s room. The same room he’d fled to, that all of them had fled to at some point, when the world started to get a little bit too dark or scary. He plainly remembered fleeing to Bruce’s room after his dad had died. Bruce never questioned it when Tim had shown up at his door. That time or any other. He understood. And though no one would ever consider Bruce a warm person, in those moments it didn’t matter. Bruce always seemed to understand what Tim had needed in those moments and the comfort he offered never failed to make him feel better.
He felt very much like it was one of those times now as he stood in front of the large wooden double doors of Bruce’s room. But he hesitated to open those doors. He’d love nothing more right now that to run in, straight to Bruce’s side and tell him everything that’d been bothering him before falling into his reluctant, but open arms for a while and let himself be taken care of, even if only for an hour or two. Bruce wouldn’t be there this time though. He’d be doing nothing more than running into an empty room and he just wasn’t ready to find it this way. Not yet. But ready or not, there was only one way to solve this problem. He was determined that the next time he entered this room, it wouldn’t be empty.
~~~
Tim had expected the room to be as empty and still as the rest of the manor, but instead found it oddly…warm feeling. Lived in wasn’t exactly the right term, but it hadn’t been untouched and left to rot like the rest of the manor had. Tim’s careful blue eyes scanned the room as he took a cautious step in, closing the door behind him. The room still had boxed up items, but they had been shoved into the closet out of sight for the most part. The chair Bruce had always kept in the corner but really never used had two sweatshirts carelessly thrown over the back of it, which was not unheard of for Bruce, but it was pretty unusual for someone who was so organized. Everything had a place and Bruce didn’t often stray from that. Which is why it was also unusual that the bed looked to be more or less unmade, sheets and comforter thrown over the bed, not without care, but it was unpolished. Un-Bruce-like. There was something unsettling about it, but Tim couldn’t really put his finger on it. He turned away, scanning the dresser, but it only brought about more questions. Bruce had only ever kept a few pictures in his room at any given time, usually older pictures of Alfred or his parents or current pictures of the family. Except Jason. He never had pictures of Jason.
Last time he’d come in Bruce had had an old picture of his parents, smiling away at some gala with Alfred serving drinks in the background, a picture of Cass, Barbara and Steph that the girls had taken on some girls night out before Cass had left for Hong Kong, Damian’s first school picture which had still somehow made the kid look like a little psycho and a picture of Himself and Dick with Bruce at the opening of a new library that Wayne Enterprises had partially funded. And they were still there, but sitting face-down on the dresser. More unusual was next to them sat Bruce’s old phone, right in plain sight. Upon closer inspection, Tim found that it was not only on, but it was hooked up to the charger too. Something was very off here.
Bruce had always used a fingerprint ID for his devices as a security measure, and it had kept most people out, but Tim had been prepared for this. He found and lifted a print off the door easily, transferring it to another medium and unlocking the phone within minutes. It was a trick Bruce had taught him his first week as Robin. He’d known he would find a large influx of text messages before starting, but seeing the number of unread messages was still staggering. The fact that they were all unread was also a bit strange. Someone had sent them and received no reply, but they kept sending them anyway. No one had even read them. Until now, that is, Tim noted, letting a breath out and diving head first into Bruce’s inbox. It felt wrong on a couple different levels, but he did so anyway knowing that Bruce would have wanted him to get to the bottom of it, regardless of personal boundaries. Indeed the vast majority of texts had come from a single unknown number. Lots of them. Tim opened the thread and scanned over the first couple. His eyes quickly narrowed and his brow furrowed in confusion. This is…not what he’d expected. Not at all.
I nearly called you again today. Had the phone in my hand and everything. I can practically see you shake your head at me. And I deserve it this time. It’s been months. But anyway, Merry Christmas!
I miss you. I don’t know when this is supposed to get easier.
I saw Jason today. He seemed well. He wasn’t happy to see me, but he also didn’t punch me in the face. I’m not sure what to make of that, but I’m still calling it a victory.
Dammit Bruce what the hell were you thinking! We still need you here! And now you’re dead and there’s nothing I can do about it! You’ve done plenty of shitty things before, but dying is by far the worst!
Tim paused, shaking his head. This…wasn’t right. This couldn’t be right. He was supposed to find someone trying to exploit Bruce’s death for money, or maybe some telemarketing company who didn’t know when to give up, not a bunch of casual text messages that were never supposed to be answered. And it was just…sad to read. This was someone pouring their heart out to a dead man. Someone who sounded… a lot like Dick.
Damian’s teacher wants to see me again. Behavioral problems, just like last time. At least his report card was good. Still, I should have seen this coming. How the hell did you deal with us growing up?
Have I told you recently how much I hate galas? Cause I really hate Galas.
It’s gonna be weird having Christmas without you. I don’t really see the point this year. Damian doesn’t care and it’s not like anyone’s gonna be here. Alfred is insisting, of course, and we all know that he’s the law around here. Don’t worry, I’ll be good. I won’t start any fights. I’ll smile and laugh and make sure they have a good time since you can’t, but the truth is my heart isn’t in it and I don’t know if next Christmas will be any different.
Ever have one of those years where everything you touch just turns to hell in a handbasket?
Tim paused again, biting his lip. There were hundreds of them. His stomach was in knots. His heart inexplicably sped up in his chest. He took a deep breath. Keep emotions out of it. There was no definitive evidence whatsoever that this was Dick. This could hypothetically be anyone. These may not even be real messages. There had to be a way to disprove it. There had to be some way to go back to believing his brother was just a huge jerk.
He scrolled down the messages further. Looking for something, anything that maybe only Dick could know. If he didn’t find that, then it could still be anyone.
I know we’re not supposed to say it, but I love you.
Generic. He had to look further.
I tried to call Tim again. I’m pretty sure he’s blocked my number. I don’t know what to do.
Speculation. A lot of people had tried to call him and he hadn’t blocked any numbers aside from one persistent telemarketer. He had to look deeper. Go older. A part of him, a small but vocal part, wanted him to just stop. This was someone pouring their heart out to Bruce via text. This wasn’t for his eyes to see. This had nothing to do with Bruce’s disappearance. But he had to know. He scrolled down, looking for texts that mentioned himself. At least he could verify the information if he’d been involved.
Tim hates me. I know if you were here you’d try to tell me he didn’t, but trust me he does. It’s like this whole family is falling apart without you.
Crap.
Bruce, I don’t know what to do. Tim’s got this idea that you’re still alive, but it can’t be true. And I’m so scared that he’s gonna get himself killed chasing after nothing. He won’t stop. You know what he’s like when he gets an idea into his head. And even if he doesn’t? What if he spends all this time and effort and doesn’t find you at the end? I want to help him, Bruce, but he just wants me out of his way. I can’t lose you both. If by some miracle you are still alive, let me know, okay? I could really use you right now.
Double crap.
Tim left today. It’s all my fault. I meant well, but my follow through? I guess the one good thing about you not being here is that I won’t have to see how disappointed you are in me. It’s not much of a silver lining when your little brother tells you to go fuck yourself though. Everything is so screwed up and I can’t even tell anyone. You’re the only one who understands and you’re gone. They can’t see me weak. If I’m expected to lead and I fall, everything else falls with me. You told me that once when I was still leading the Teen Titans and it’s truer now than it was then. But how do I do that when it all hurts so bad? You always told me I was too emotional, but I can’t help it. I was never good at distancing myself. I was never you. How am I supposed to keep going? He’s never told me to go fuck myself before. I’m sorry Bruce. I’m supposed to be taking care of them and instead I’m just making it all worse.
Tim let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. It was Dick. It was definitely Dick. The Teen Titans reference over a civilian phone was a huge slip on his part, but it wasn’t that part that had made his heart ache like it had. Tim recalled it clearly. Robin had been taken from him. He was furious and upset. Dick had confronted him later that night as he was angrily packing up a few things to take with him to one of the safe houses. Tim had told him to get out, but it was Dick and the man almost never did what he was told. He’d sat down instead, giving Tim some bullshit speech about how giving up Robin wasn’t the end and that they could figure it out together. But he hadn’t given up Robin. Dick had taken it from him and they had fought in a way that Tim had never thought they would. Granted it hadn’t been the classic screaming match that he had seen Dick engage in with Bruce, but it had gotten pretty nasty. Dick had stopped them at a certain point, telling him they didn’t need to fight. Tim had thought it had made him look like a self-righteous prick at the time. He’d told Tim that it was inevitable that things would be different with Bruce gone, but they were still brothers and family was more important than who wore what costume. And Tim had exploded. This isn’t how you treated family and it did matter when you were on the receiving end. Tim summed this up quickly and efficiently, telling Dick that he could go fuck himself before throwing a nearby magazine at him before storming out of the manor. Dick hadn’t followed him. He’d tried to call multiple times, but Tim never answered. He’d deleted the voicemails as soon as they’d come in. Dick had changed. He was an ass. A self-righteous ass who’s ego could barely fit into the cowl. And… Tim had no idea he’d been hurting this much. To the point where he was paying Bruce’s cell phone bills and sending text messages, sometimes several a day, to a man who wasn’t going to answer him.
He unhooked the phone from the charger and carried it with him as he sat down in that chair Bruce had never used, feeling drained emotionally if not physically. He had the information he came for, but what should he do with it? Dick would be unhappy, to say the least, that Tim had found this at all. He’d obviously tried to cover his tracks. And besides, he was still mad at Dick. Dick didn’t seem to care about his feelings when he’d replaced him, so why should Tim care now? But the problem was, he did care. Being mad wasn’t a good enough excuse to let his brother suffer. On the other hand, he couldn’t trust himself to keep any conversations between them civil, and that wouldn’t help either of them.
Then something caught his eye. The window latch. It was closed and secured, but it wasn’t secured right. The latch was on the wrong side. Bruce had shown him very early on the optimal way to close and latch the windows in the manor. The latch should sit to the right so it would be harder for someone to reach if they wanted to jimmy open a window. This one sat to the left. Bruce would never have done this. Even on his worst, most hectic day, he wouldn’t have done this. Someone had to have been in here at some point. It prompted him to take a closer look at the rest of the room.
The sweaters that he had his back rested against had been two that Bruce wore regularly, but he couldn’t recall him wearing either of them in the days before he disappeared. It was unlikely they’d sat there for several days without Bruce or Alfred putting them away. The pictures on the dresser were flipped face-down, but they hadn’t been put away like a lot of Bruce’s other belongings which implied that perhaps they’d been left out for a reason. The boxes that were packed had been put deliberately out of sight, whereas the boxes left in the other rooms had just been stacked carelessly. It made Bruce’s room look less empty than the others. Which may have been intentional, as upon second look, someone had obviously slept in that bed. It was impossible to tell at what point in time, granted, but it didn’t look like a set up that was typical to Bruce. It was too haphazard. Tim noted the lower corner of the sheets, which normally had been tightly tucked in, had been kicked free, implying a fairly active sleeper. The pillows were also askew, none quite centered as Bruce usually kept them. One in particular was angled diagonally as if someone had held it while they slept. It was an odd sleeping habit, but he knew one person who engaged in it regularly. Someone who also had a potential reason to break into the manor in the first place.
Tim sighed again, his throat tight against the action. At this point what were the odds that it hadn’t been his older brother sneaking in to hang out in Bruce’s room? His heart sank a little more at the thought. Had Dick felt so lost and alone that this was the only place he could come to try and seek comfort? Tim could only imagine the weight of the cowl on his shoulders, but it was far from the only responsibility Dick had had to take on at a moment’s notice. Wayne enterprises. Damian. Dick was only in his early 20’s and now he had guardianship of that little monster. He technically had guardianship of Tim too, of course, but Tim was practically an adult now and Dick had trusted him to his own devices for the most part, or at least that’s what Tim assumed as he’d never really intervened in any legal context. But Dick had so many friends…did he not feel like he could go to any of them? He looked down again at the phone in his hand. It was a risk, but Dick was still his brother and he had to try.