Chapter Text
It was a quarter past twelve and Bruce was getting ready to go downstairs for patrol as per usual, likely not being able to get back to the Batcave until dawn. He took a sip of his coffee—black, no sugar. Just the way he liked it—and stared at his dinner, somewhat pensive.
Despite Alfred’s rule of no devices at the table, Bruce’s traitorous eyes had been wandering back to his phone for the past couple of minutes.
He had everything ready to go; he would test Lucius’s newest upgrades on the batsuit and he knew he wouldn't be alone on patrol as Oracle was back doing round calls. But something was missing. Or rather someone was missing. His fingers ghosted over the screen, swiping to bring up his text messages.
From: Bruce
To: Tim
Meet up at nine, per schedule.
With a sigh, Bruce went back to his coffee. He had texted Tim over six hours ago. It was past midnight now and he’d yet to receive any texts. Bruce didn’t know why this exact situation bothered him, but it did.
He stared at the phone again, his brows knitting together. It just didn’t make sense because no matter the day of day, Tim always took the time to text him back. It was odd of Tim to not reply.
Bruce didn’t care that Tim wasn’t replying to that particular text, but the complete lack of response was causing him to begin spiraling, his mind conjuring worse and worse scenarios, where he was helpless to save Tim. Logically, Bruce knew Tim was likely just busy and couldn’t respond. If that was so, Bruce could patrol on his own. It was how he used to operate up until very recently, when he found a teenager in the cave declaring Batman needed a sidekick.
The Bruce from a few months would have laughed at that declaration. Taking up a partner wasn’t in his plans. Ever since… Jason, that door had long since been shut. No kid should have to put on that damned costume again. But what Bruce hadn’t envisioned was Tim not taking no for an answer and the rest was history.
“Something on your mind, Master Bruce?” Alfred’s kind voice disrupted him from his thoughts. He looked up from his cup to see Alfred staring at him with some amusement. It looked like he had been here for a while. Bruce secretly chastised for not being more aware of his surroundings.
“Nothing Alfred, it’s just…” Bruce said, but the words trail off when he hesitated for a moment, feeling very uncomfortable for what preoccupied him. He was probably overthinking this as there were a million reasons alone why Tim couldn’t reply. He was a teenager going to school, filled with who knows how many school related projects… he probably had a social life to attend to and yet…
Tim always replied.
Bruce rubbed his chest absentmindedly, trying to clear away the phantom constriction there. Embarrassingly, Bruce knew he was putting up such a fuss over such a trivial thing, but it felt like the time Jason told him he wanted to go out with some of his friends and Bruce spent the whole evening worrying about his well-being.
(Bruce couldn’t help but wonder why the situation felt so similar)
At his subsequent silence, Alfred’s brows pinch together in confusion. Bruce heard a sigh, before Alfred proceeded to walk up to him and quietly take a seat, next to him. He didn’t look annoyed. Only confused.
“Just…?” he repeated after him, coaxing him to answer.
It didn’t take much for Bruce to confess. He admitted, head down, his sin, “Tim hasn’t replied to my texts.”
Silence.
“Oh,” Alfred replied quietly. Bruce didn’t bother to add anything more. Alfred was the type of man that needed few words to see what troubles him. It was the way things have always been, even when Bruce was a small child.
He let out a pensive hum, and decided to ask him, “Does that trouble you, sir?”
“Somewhat,” Bruce replied, tersely. Despite knowing Alfred wouldn’t ever tease him about these sorts of things, voicing out your thoughts can be scary sometimes. Even more now, that the motive behind it could easily be categorized as silly.
Alfred inspected him for a moment and decided to throw the silent and unasked question out there in the open, “Are you worried about Tim?”
Five words. Five words were all enough to make his throat close instantly. He avoided Alfred’s eyes for a moment as Bruce gathered enough courage to speak. He didn’t know how to answer that. Well, he did know the answer, but he didn’t know if he could even say the words out loud. Worse. Bruce didn’t know if he deserved to worry at all.
Worrying over Jason hadn’t managed to save him.
Mouth going dry, Bruce proceeded to swallow the lump in his throat. It took a moment to compose himself, as memories of Jason threatened to overwhelm him. Once he finally got his emotions finally in check, the answer came out as a whisper, “I… I think so.”
Alfred looked at him sympathetically, “Master Bruce, Tim is a reasonable young man. Surely there must be a reason why he hasn’t texted you yet.”
“What if something happened to him?” he muttered, ashamed. And I’m not there to save him? Was left implied, under the silence.
“Then, you will worry when that happens not beforehand,” while Alfred’s tone was gentle, the message behind his words was strong. It’s something you can’t control. It made him still flinch, “Don’t let your thoughts take control of your mind. I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with Tim and he is simply busy.”
“Thanks Alfred,” he croaked out, feeling somewhat embarrassed for such… an insignificant thing. Alfred hummed.
“If I remember correctly when you were his age,” Alfred said after a while, breaking in the comfortable silence that fell between them." You were doing all sorts of things after school.”
That earned a laugh from Bruce.
“That’s quite the understatement,” he said. His adolescent years, filled with rage and bubbling frustrations, was probably the reason Alfred had gone completely gray. “I still don’t know how you put up with me.”
“You were a good kid, Bruce,” Alfred replied, the corner of his wrinkling as he smiled. He gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, loosening the tightness coiled in his chest. “Just like Tim is.”
Just like Jason was.
The corner of his mouth lifted up into a smile and he managed to choke out a soft and grateful, “Thanks.”
Strangely enough Bruce felt like he could breathe again.
***
In the end, Bruce never got to go to patrol. Instead, Bruce spent most of the night catching up with the paperwork he had been avoiding.
The monotony of paperwork had surprisingly aided in settling his nerves, losing track of time and his persistent worries for Tim.
The sudden ring of his phone startled him. He stared at the screen for a moment before realizing the contact looked familiar. It was Tim who was calling. He could feel his heart speed up. Something happened. Something bad made Tim call him. Tim only texted, never called. It didn’t take a second for the blood to rush his ears, his anxious mind coming up with plausible explanations. He felt his throat constrict a bit.
He accepted the call.
“Mr. Wayne?” He heard Tim say, despite his loud beating heart. He didn’t sound hurt. Was he captured? Kidnapped?
Was it the clown?
“Tim,” he replied, his voice sounding sharp despite how worried he actually was. “Do you know what time it is?”
“I’m sorry.”
“What happened?”
There was a moment of pause before Tim piped in, voice wrecked, “Mr. Wayne, I don’t feel so good.”
Injured. Tim was injured. That was why he didn’t tell him. Why he hadn’t text. He cursed under his breath, thinking how long he asked before wounds got infected.
“Don’t move. Stay right where you are,” Bruce said, shoving his chair backwards and heading towards the entryway. There wasn’t not much time left to spare. He had to go now. Where did he leave his keys? Damn it. Just in time when he needed them most.
“I’ll come to pick you up. Send me your location, now.”
He could have sworn he heard a sniff from the other side of the line.