Chapter Text
He’s out the door and in his car, driving full speed to the hospital before the remote hits the carpet.
Today had been one of those rare days Bruce got to himself. Those once in a blue moon days where all his kids were accounted for but busy enough with their own interests that he’d somehow come out the other end with nothing better to do but relax on the couch.
Dick had been upstairs reading; Jason in the kitchen baking with Alfred, Steph and Damian accompanying Cass to her ballet recital and Duke out of the country with his family. Everything had been normal, calm. Too normal. Bruce should have known. Should have noticed that one of the kids had been unaccounted for. Tim had been unaccounted for.
Swerving around the corner, his grip tightened around the staring wheel, and Bruce tried to breathe through the constricting feeling in his chest.
Bruce life was always hectic, and he was fine with it. He’d signed his life away to the job many years ago and he’d made his peace with that. Gotham needed both Bruce Wayne and Batman and the Billionaire had readily given it both. But that demanding life came with its own set of sacrifices and it had made Bruce a jaded and broken man. The time he spent with his kids had practically shrunk to nothing and his family had drifted apart, no longer connected under similar goals and similar trust of warmth and love.
It was only after his death that he’d recognized his shortcomings. Only after Tim had practically dragged him from the abyss that he’d finally taken a closer look at what he’d become and actively tried to mend fences. He had started with Dick. His son who had almost broken under the pressure to live up to his name. They’d sat down and talked things out.
There had been a lot of hugs and reassuring words, but Dick had always been the forgiving one. The kind one. The son he didn’t deserve, so despite his failings, his oldest son had practically folded into his arms the moment he had voiced his apology, and slowly, ever so slowly their relationship had built up from there.
Then of course came Jason whose hatred for him boiled over the edges and burned. Burned his skin of his flesh, flesh of bones and bones of soul. But he’d persisted. Hung on tight as his second oldest trashed, screamed, punched and fought, but Bruce hadn’t let him go. Had chased him to the end of the world and told him as many times as Jason needed to hear that he loved him. He loved him so so much and “won’t you come home son”?
It took weeks, months, but eventually his second oldest did come in from the cold and while he spent most of his time solely with Alfred, the fact that he was even here; under the same roof, and actively participating in family dinners.... Bruce couldn’t ask for more.
Cassandra wasn’t home much, but the frequent phone calls with his only daughter and her uncanny ability to make things a little less awkward between him and Stephanie had made their conversations worth every second that he took to speak with her. She was so easy to talk to and the warmth in her voice... Bruce loved her and through her, he’d gotten to know Stephanie, and it was as if his family was ever so slowly starting to mend. And the hope he’d built with the others had given him the strength to finally take the last steps to fix whatever that had been broken between him and Damian.
His youngest had been different from the others. There weren’t as much history between him and Damian. Not as much disappointment and let downs. For his youngest son, he was still unblemished, untarnished. He still was a hero not a man. It was difficult to get past the image of perfection Damian had created during his death and it was hard to sit down and get to know his son. And it hurt.... it hurt seeing him treat Dick the way Bruce deep down wanted to be treated by his son, but with patience and time. Bruce has swallowed down his restlessness, his frustration and taken the time to get to know his son. Let down his guards little by little and let his boy see him for who he was and.... he’d seen it. That look. The curious tilt of the head, the spying as Damian trailed behind him; albeit trying not to be noticed, as his son got more intrigued by the man behind the mask rather than just the Batman himself, and....
If that didn’t make Bruce feel elated.
The first time Damian laughed in his presence is probably one of the best days Bruce had ever experienced in the entirety of his life. Watching his son turn beat red; tiny hands coming up to clap over his mouth as he tried and failed to hold back his uncontrollable giggles. Yes.... yes, Bruce would never forget that moment.
It would forever be ingrained in the fondest corner of his mind along with all the precious memories he’d made of his family.
Now, as he hurried to park his car, almost forgetting to turn of the engine in his stumbling haste to get to the hospital, he wondered how long it had been since he last had a conversation with Tim.
“Excuse me,” he said to the receptionist, looking mildly frazzled where he was leaning against the desk. “Can you tell me where Tim Wayne is?”
The old woman was halfway through a polite refusal when she looked up. Eyes widening and mouth falling open, she quickly scrambled to type something into her computer. “Oh,” she said. “So sorry Mr. Wayne. He’s in room 204. Right down the hall.” She pointed. Thin lips forming a hesitant smile. “Sorry for the misunderstanding. Too many unsavory people want to know your son’s location and I-”
Bruce cut her off with a head shake. “I understand. Thank you for looking out for him.”
With that he made his way down the hall, hands stuffed in his pocket and looking for all the world like a man unburdened, all the while his mind raising as to why Tim hadn’t called him the minute he was able. His son had apparently collapsed on his way out of Wayne Enterprises and had been quickly rushed off to the hospital.
If it hadn’t been for the news, if Bruce hadn’t been lazily shifting through the channels; too bored to put on a movie, he might have missed the incident all together.
His son was in the hospital and he hadn’t been called.
Maybe he should have asked the receptionist?
He was all his children’s emergency contact number. He should have been notified. Maybe it was an oversight on their part, or maybe Tim had refused to let them call. He was stubborn that way. Still, Bruce frowned, reading the numbers as he quickened his pace.
Not calling him would result in his boy having no one here with him in his time of need, and that was unacceptable.
Finally reaching the right room he knocked. Not waiting for an answer, he twisted the doorknob and let himself in. “Tim, kiddo how are you--” he came to an abrupt stop.
Tim wasn’t alone.
Bruce hadn’t expected him to be alone. He’d expected a doctor or a nurse or a medical staff of some kind to be there. What he hadn’t expected however, was Lucius Fox sitting by his son’s bedside chuckling about something while patting Tim’s hair.
Blinking in surprise, Bruce faltered. And it was then Tim turned around and saw him.
“Bruce!”
“Tim.” He nodded, shaking the wariness off. “Lucius.”
His son smiled up at him. It wasn’t wide, it wasn’t overly sweet but it was friendly and familiar. Still, it wasn’t the one Bruce remembered before his death—It looked foreign on the kid’s face and Tim looked so tired. So very tired, that something at the very depth of Bruce soul ached.
“What are you doing here?”
For a second Bruce thought the question had left his lips, but it didn’t. Instead his son was looking at him, still a friendly tilt to his lips but confusion crinkling at the corner of his eyes. Bruce frowned back. “I saw the news,” he said stepping closer; fingers coming to rest on the bed railings. “I heard you collapsed at the fundraiser, so I came to check on you.”
“Oh.”
The words come out airy and Tim inclines his head a little. “Wow.... thanks Bruce. That’s really nice of you! But I’m fine. The nurse called Lucius and everything seems to be fine.” Here he turns slightly to smile up at the man next to him. Said man reaching out to ruffle his hair as if it was a second nature. Bruce frown deepen. “I think I just overworked myself.” A shrug. “But the doctor said I could leave so you shouldn’t worry.”
Overworked....
Bruce hadn’t had the time to check up on his middle son and he knew the kid had been overworking himself, of course he did. Anyone who knew the younger vigilante could tell that he was taking on more work than was heavenly possible, but he’d assumed the kid could handle it. Tim had to have learned to pace himself, right?
Years of working under him and independently most have thought him something. And yet, here he was. Laying on a hospital bed. Face ashen and limbs trembling ever so slightly.
He opened his mouth to say something. To refute Tim’s ability to take care of himself, to drag him home and scold him, but just as he’d made up his mind, Lucius moved. Head tilting downward and arm coming to rest on the younger’s shoulder; squeezing it once before letting it rest there.
“We’ve talked about this Tim,” he said; voice warm but the stern scolding behind it unmistakable. And by the way Tim looked away in guilt he’d heard it too. “I know our current project is draining all of us, but you need to take a breather every once in a while, son.”
And, Bruce flinches at the last word.
It’s not even something new, there is nothing specific about the word ‘son’ that almost makes him recoil in anger. Lucius had always talked like that to all his kids. It was normal.
What wasn’t normal was Tim’s reaction to the word.
His son... his son uncoils as he hears it. Stiff muscles relaxing and face lifting into more of a sheepish smile the minute Lucius addresses him in that familial way and.... and....
Nausea almost rises up Bruce’s throat as Tim practically leans into Lucius. His old friend, running a hand through the matted hair; looking mildly amused yet exasperated. “Tim,” he says, words still stern, but Tim only hums back, pressing his face even further into the businessman’s chest.
“I know Lucius. I know.”
“Good. Now you understand that I’ll take care of everything while you take a break, right?”
Bruce expects Tim to vehemently deny the suggestion. Refuse the rest and insist that he was fine. That he can handle it. That he’s ok to continue working and‘I can handle myself Bruce. I don’t need you to worry about me.’ But again, taking Bruce by surprise, all his kid does is nod tiredly into Lucius and mutter a soft ok.
“I’m glad we’ve come to an agreement. Now,” the man says, gently pushing Tim away. “It’s about time to get you home.”
And that’s when Bruce snaps out of the stunned daze that had been keeping him trapped. The overwhelming chaos in his mind momentarily coming to a screeching halt as he raises his hand quicker than his mind can comprehend the action. “I’ll take him.”
Tim startles, but Lucius only fixes him with a smile; it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Are you sure?” His fingers are still running through Tim’s hair and Bruce’s stomach flips.
“I’m sure,” he grits out.
Tim looks back and forth between them, lips pursed in confusion, but when neither seems to want to elaborate, he shrugs and smiles at Bruce. It’s friendly as ever albeit not as happy. Bruce relaxes under it. “Are you sure?”
The echo of the same question, this time from his son’s mouth makes Bruce stomach sink even further, but he tries not to show it. Instead grunting low and nodding. “Yes Tim. It will be no trouble at all.”
The smile turns into a grin and Tim flings the cover off himself. “Great. I’m already discharged so we can go.” Bruce silent question why he was still there if he was already discharged must be too readable, because his son shakes his head; humour dancing in his eyes. “Lucius wouldn’t let me go until he scolded me.” The words come out with an exaggerated incredulity, but the warmth coloring them are unmistakable and Bruce doesn’t like it. Doesn’t like it one it.
And for the life of him, he doesn’t know why that bothers him.
Still, “Let’s go Tim,” he says, waving the kid over with a sharp twist of his wrist while sending Lucius his signature Brucie smile. “We need to get you home.”
He tries to keep up that cheerful persona even has his muscles tense watching Tim; without hesitation lean forward to hug Lucius fox; his friend cupping his son’s face and telling him to call as soon as he’s home safe.
Even as his son, his son only affords him a tiny smile in comparison to that overly friendly display of affection and he tries to keep the mask on as Lucius reaches out for a handshake, tone light as always but smile just one the side of plastic. “I’ll be seeing you Bruce?”
Bruce nods. “Of course.” He doesn’t let them linger. Putting an arm around Tim’s shoulders and leading him out the door the second the pleasant back and forth is over. “Goodbye Lucius. Say hi to Tam for me!”
--------
They are in the car when it finally hits him.
“Tim,” he says, pulling out of the parking lot, eyeing his son. “How did Lucius know to come get you? I thought he was still on his week off. He couldn’t have seen your collapse.”
His son pauses on whatever he’s typing on his phone before looking up at him and shrugging. “I told you, the nurse called him.”
“Why?”
Something unpleasant is niggling at the back of his mind and Bruce grips the steering wheel tighter.
Tim shrugs again. Looking utterly confused. “He’s my emergency contact Bruce. I’m sure they saw his name on my medical records or something, I don’t know. It's not the first time they had to call him.”
Bruce freezes.
Sensing that something most have shifted in the air, Tim stills too.
But his son is confused. It’s so obvious that Tim doesn’t understand what has upset Bruce. Because the kid is fidgeting, fingers absentmindedly tapping at the back of his phone while his feet are wriggling on the floor. Bruce may have not spent as much time with Tim has he should have lately but he still remembers the kid’s habit, and the fact was that Tim had no idea why this new piece of information had suddenly and violently shattered Bruce’s idea of their relationship.
Breathing in deeply Bruce holds it for ten seconds before letting it out. He does that three times until his heart-rate his back to normal and his fingers don’t feel as clammy anymore.
“How many times have you ended up at the hospital since my return?” he asks, careful to keep his voice even and his eyes forward. Right now that was the safest question and Bruce desperately wanted to know everything without asking for it directly.
His son flips his phone a couple of times as he mutters nonsense under his breath. “Five times?” he finally answered, sounding unsure even of that. “Maybe seven?”
Bruce’s breath hitches. But he has to know. “And Lucius picked you up every time?”
“Yeah?”
Taking a left turn a bit too sharply than safely allowed, Bruce gritted his teeth. “You couldn’t call me?”
“No?”
Bruce tenses. “Why not?” The mild befuddlement in Tim’s voice only serves to make him even more adamant in fixing this. Them. Whatever this was.
Whatever that happened to have broken between them to the point that Tim did not even consider him as his emergency contact anymore.
“You were dead,” his son says, sounding amused. “And then you were super busy with your family so I just kept Lucius as my emergency contact.” He looks out the window and shrugs. “It made things less complicating. And...” Here he smiles faintly; a ghost of what his smile used to be but not any less genuine. “Lucius tends to freak out when I don’t call him after an accident so I thought it would be good for him to know.”
There was so much Bruce wanted to address in that answer, so much, but before he’d even had time to formulate his thought Tim spoke up again. “You missed the turn.”
Focusing back on the road, Bruce shook his head. “No I didn’t.” They were fifteen minutes away from home. Bruce wasn’t that old to have forgotten where the manor was located and he tells Tim just that, trying to lighten up the mood.
It works.
His son barking a high-pitched laughter only to slap a hand across his mouth, failing to muffle the sound.
Bruce can’t help but smile at the action.
“Don’t worry Bruce. You’re still a couple of years away from the gray hairs.”
“Just a couple?”
Tim grins. “Yes a couple. For real though Bruce. My apartment is only a couple of blocks away. You need to take the next turn coming up or we will have to take the long way back.”
Bruce’s heart stops. “Your apartment?” He hadn’t even thought of his son not coming home with him.
Sure Tim hadn’t been at the manor for months, but that’s because he was busy and Bruce had so much on his hands with the rest of his kids.
Working on getting to know them and catching up with the life he’d missed. He understandable hadn’t had time for his middle son, but that didn’t mean his kid didn’t have a home with them anymore. And with him sick, surely he would want Alfred’s cooking and a nice bed to sleep in with family surrounding him on all sides? “Don’t you want to see Alfred and your siblings again?”
Tim doesn’t miss a beat. In fact he sounds very sure of himself. “Course I do Bruce. But I’m pretty tired and I don’t feel like dealing with all the noise and death threats and stuff. So please drop me off at my apartment.”
Death threats?
Was he talking about Damian?
Didn’t Tim know that Damian had become a lot more mellow ever since his return? Sure his youngest hadn’t always been the nicest to Tim, but for Tim to hold those minor strife against him and use that as an excuse to avoid the manor? Bruce frowned.
He had thought better of his Robin.
“I’m sure they miss you son,” he says, leveling his second youngest with a look. “Why don’t you come and stay for dinner at least.”
Tim is already shaking his head before he can even finish the sentence. “No can-do Bruce. I need to rest, and I’ve got other plans today so maybe another time?”
It’s one of Tim’s ‘there is no arguing with me tone’. A tone Bruce had learned not to ignore in his years of trying to get Tim out of his shell, so despite the insistent need of having his son near clawing at his throat, he resists.
Still....
“Tomorrow it is then,” he says, taking the turn as it appears. “Alfred will be delighted.”
Tim looks startled, but a blank mask quickly descends over his features and he shrugs again. “Sure Bruce. I can work with that.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up.”
“There’s really no nee-”
“Tim,” he says. “I’ll pick you up.”
His son nods and turns away to stare out the window, a tiny amused smile curling around his lips.
The rest of the drive is taken in silence and Bruce, well Bruce, no matter how many times he opens and closes his mouth is not able to say anything. He can’t manage to strike up a conversation. Can’t for the life of him even remember a topic of interest he can discuss with his kid that doesn’t revolve around work.
God, when was the last time he’d had a sit down with his middle son and just talked?
He’d talked to Dick early this morning.
A quick reminder not to forget their movie night and a hair ruffle as his son had escaped his hold and skipped up the stairs. Jason he’d talked to just an hour before he’d seen Tim on the news. Complimenting his second oldest on how great of a baker he was and as for Damian and Cass and Duke and Steph.... he could distinctly remember the many conversations he’d had with them this week. The exasperation, the annoyance, the fondness..... he remembered it all. So why couldn’t he recall the last time he and Tim talked?
How long had it been?
A huff of laughter startles him out of his chain of thoughts and he looks over. Sees that Tim is on his phone, typing away with the largest and most impish grin on his face. Bruce heart tightens.
When was the last time he’d seen Tim so happy?
‘In the hospital,’ a traitorous voice hisses in the back of his mind.‘With Lucius Fox.’ Bruce elects to ignore it. Instead coughing lightly and avert his gaze.
“Who’re you talking to?”
Tim takes a second to type something back before he chuckles again and grins up at Bruce. “It’s just Kon. Bart is doing something stupid and he doesn’t know how to handle it.”
Bruce tries to smile; it turns out more like a grimace. Tim doesn’t notice, being too busy grinning at his phone. “You’re still close then?”
“Of course,” his son scoffs, looking incredulously up at him. “Why wouldn’t we be? Just because they died doesn’t mean they aren’t my friends anymore?”
‘I died and you seem fine without me,’ Bruce wants to snap, but he doesn’t. He would not let himself stoop that low. Not when Tim was slowly slipping out of his hands and he didn’t know what to do to keep him there.
“That’s good.” he says instead; his smile a little bit more genuine this time. “I’m glad.”
“Thanks Bruce. Oh!” Bruce looks over and Tim is pointing out the window. “We’re here. Just park in that spot thanks.”
Bruce tightens his grip around the wheel and does as told. Almost holding his breath as he comes to a stop. It’s as if his body is expecting something, anything. Something that will make everything ok. Fix what was broken and bring them back to how they used to be. Bring back the Tim that needed him, the Tim that wanted to spend time with him but...
“Goodnight Bruce!” And with those few words, Tim is out the door and steadily vanishing behind cars; a last enthusiastic wave all that he leaves behind. Bruce doesn’t know for how long he sits there in the parking lot. Hands on the wheel and teeth chewing at his lips, but by the time he finally pulls out and begins the drive home, his mind has been made up.
He was going to get Tim back. Whatever it took.
He wasn’t ready to lose his son.