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Tim clenched his teeth as he flipped over in bed for the umpteenth time that night. No matter what he tried, he couldn't get to sleep. He had tried warm, decaffeinated teas, not touching any electronics, and lying motionless for hours.
It had been going on for days, and Tim was to the point where he was ready to start squawking at even the slightest inconvenience. He knew it was ridiculous. He was, for all intents and purposes, an adult, but part of him clearly couldn't get with the program.
He flopped onto his back, letting his eyes fall open and staring at the ceiling. According to the clock on the table to the side of him, it was four in the morning. That magical hour when the early risers had not yet risen and the night owls had finally fallen asleep. The time when it was both far too early and far too late. The bane of Tim's miserable existence.
Tim pushed himself up. He wasn't getting any sleep tonight, and at this point, he was tired of even trying. It wasn't like it was doing him any good.
He walked around his room for a good few minutes before slipping out the door. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well do something productive.
He took a path he'd taken hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. Down the hall, into Bruce's study, through the clock, down the stairs, and right into the Batcave.
Tim sat down at the main desk, moving the mouse, and making the Batcomputer light up, glowing in the darkness of the cave. He had to close his eyes for a moment to let them adjust. When he opened them again, they screamed at him to stop. Tim didn't bother listening, instead electing to open up one of his most recent cases.
He must have had to read the damn file half a dozen times before any of it stuck. That fact alone had tears of frustration building up, which only infuriated Tim more.
The gist was that someone was killing people in a very gruesome way, reminiscent of Jack the Ripper's style. They didn't seem to care who the victims were or what they did, but Tim had a feeling there had to be some sort of pattern. He just hadn't found the key detail that would point it out yet.
He cross matched their living situations, the hospitals they were born at, and even the last meal they had, but nothing matched across the board.
Tim laid his head on his arms, slumping over the desk with a sigh that was pathetic sounding, even to his ears. He probably just needed fresh eyes on it. Maybe Babs could find a specific app they all had in common, or something. Tim could have done it himself, but not while his brain was doing good to work at a quarter of its usual capacity.
Fresh eyes of his own would be nice. Realistically, whatever it was he was overlooking was probably something both simple and right in front of him. That was usually how it worked with things like this.
Tim let out a snicker. He was sure whatever it was couldn't be as bad as the time Jason ran himself ragged over a case, just for Kyle Rayner to point out the common denominator was that they all lived in the same apartment building. No one was ever letting him live that down.
Actually, Tim should check that. Sure, he hadn't met the victims in their homes like Jason had, but missing that would still be embarrassing.
He forced himself to look back at the screen and type in a few commands.
After a moment, he breathed a sigh of relief. That wasn't what he missed.
Leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, Tim frowned at the Batcomputer. He forced himself to read the file again.
Still nothing.
"Son?"
Tim jumped higher than he wanted to admit. He forced himself to breathe to calm his heart, which was thumping wildly in his chest. It was a good thing Kon was likely long asleep, because otherwise he'd have been halfway to Gotham already. Tim privately found the slight invasion of privacy to be kinda sweet.
Bruce put a hand on Tim's shoulder, looking him over. "Is everything alright?"
Tim failed to force any sort of smile on his face. "Yeah, 'm okay."
Bruce clearly wasn't convinced. "Are you sure?"
"I'm fine," Tim insisted, despite the tears stubbornly welling up in his eyes. Why wouldn't they just go away? He knew good and well his eyes could drain them, that's what they'd been doing off and on all night, so why couldn't—
Tim blinked, and in direct opposition of what he wanted, he felt a warm drop roll down his cheek. He bit down on his lip, barely keeping from making a sound.
"Oh, Tim," Bruce said softly, awkwardly opening his arms and offering a hug.
The lack of sleep had to have really been getting to Tim, because before he knew it, he had practically hurdled himself from the chair and into Bruce's arms. He knew he had to be getting the shoulder of Bruce's shirt wet, but neither of them mentioned it.
Bruce murmured reassurances into Tim's hair, leading him over to a couch that had somehow found its way into the cave.
"Sorry. I'm— I'm being stupid," Tim said, pulling back to wipe away what tears he could. "It's just, no matter how hard I try, I can't go to sleep. It's been days B, days. I've already checked for pollens or toxins, but nothing showed up."
"Lay down," Bruce said, moving Tim so his head was on his lap. "I remember my mother doing this when I was little and couldn't sleep." Bruce combed his hand through Tim's hair, gently pulling out the tangles he found.
Tim doubted it would work. Nothing else had, so why would this? Still, he went along with it. If nothing else, the sound of Bruce's voice telling him a story about his childhood with the repetitive motion of his hand was calming him down. Honestly, he thought he was the most relaxed he'd been in a long time.
Tim leaned into Bruce's hand a little more. His words were starting to blur together, but Tim didn't mind it. It was nice.
He smiled to himself as he felt something be pulled over him. At least he thought he did.
Tim guessed it didn't really matter.
Still, it was nice.