Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The humidity of the Summer laid over the already heavy smog of Gotham like an oppressive blanket. It would have been fine, Tim usually just powered through it with a lot of cold energy drinks and the AC on full blast; if only his air conditioning hadn’t broken in the middle of a heat wave. He was laying on the ground in his underwear with twenty fans pointed at him but still somehow disgustingly sweaty. Tim wondered what the point of buying a premium AC was if the company still refused to send out a technician to fix it at 3 AM. Of course, he could fix it himself, but it was too hot for him to even type on his computer, much less remember mechanical engineering.

Just as he resigned himself to just drowning in his sweat before his AC started working again, the sound of his phone ringing made him jump out of his skin. Tim closed his eyes and hoped that the thing would shut up, but it kept. Fucking. Ringing. Letting out a frustrated groan, he rolled across the floor to his phone and picked up the call, ready to curse out the person calling him.

“Tim,” Bruce grunted and all his plans of righteous fury were dashed.

“Bruce,” he acknowledged, wondering about which of his fuck-ups was going to get him lectured at ass-o’clock today. A small, stupid part of him hoped that Bruce was just calling him to check-up on him like he had back when Tim was Robin. He would never admit it but he kind of missed his dad and they hadn’t really had the time to have a proper conversation after Bruce came back from the timestream.

“Come to the manor, I have a few papers for you to look at.” When he heard that, Tim deflated slightly, he kicked himself mentally for getting his hopes up.

“Okay, B,” Tim replied, his eyes slightly sweating because of the heat (he was not holding back tears, shut up). Bruce just grunted a goodbye before cutting the call.

He flopped down again for a few seconds wondering if he really had to go. The ground was rather comfortable and his skin feeling like it was about to melt kind of felt normal at this point. Would it really matter if he just took a nap for a bit? He shook his head, trying to feel more alive. Slowly, he dragged himself up and stared at the ceiling before getting ready to leave. In times like now, Tim’s life felt like a never ending marathon; one sisyphean task after another. But there was no time to dwell on it because there was always something else to do.

Tim couldn’t help but inhale sharply when he finally made his way through the Gotham traffic and into Bristol. Tall, perfectly manicured trees and towering walls surrounded both sides of his car, each house was like an ostentatious oasis to each owner. The people themselves were faker than plastic. He hadn’t visited his old neighborhood as a civilian in a while but it’s not like there were any good memories in that place.

When he finally reached the massive iron gates of Wayne manor, Tim fought as every part of him yelled to just then turn around back to his AC-less apartment and call Bruce and tell him that he came down with something. He sat staring at the gate for a few seconds to gather his courage to see the manor once more. The manor had been many things for him, it was where he had been safe, it had been his home, and it had also been where he had to be paranoid beyond belief to survive.

He took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer. Alfred’s refined accent answered.

“Who might this be at such a late time?” He asked, and damn Tim had never thought that he could get deja vu from a voice.

“Hey Alf. B wanted to see me?” Tim said, a heavy feeling in his chest weighing him down. Alfred made a small sound of acknowledgement before the huge wrought iron gates opened up into the driveway of Wayne manor.

When he finally parked in the garage, Tim slowly shuffled out, wanting nothing more than to finish whatever Bruce wanted and then run like a man demented back into his own apartment. He slipped through the many cars that lined the garage only to see Alfred waiting for him at the door into the manor.

Alfred, he noticed with a sudden pang of misery, looked older than when he had first left. His face looked more weary, his wrinkles were more prominent, and his eyes lacked the usual sharp twinkle. Other than his physical aging, Alfred was the same as he had always been; his posture was straight and stern and his butler’s suit ironed and starched perfectly.

“Master Tim, a surprise to see you here,” Alfred said crisply and Tim cringed at the clearly backhanded statement. Tim fidgeted with his fingers —a nervous habit that always seemed to emerge when he was near Bruce or Alfred. 

“I had a lot of work recently,” Tim said, knowing that it wouldn’t tide Alfred over. Instead of gracing the weak lie with a response, Alfred just raised his eyes with skepticism before sweeping out of the doorway and motioning for Tim to follow. 

They walked all the way to the heavy wooden doors of Bruce’s study in an awkward silence, but before Tim could knock on the door, Alfred stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. Confused, Tim looked over to see Alfred look as if he aged another 10 years with sadness.

“I’m not… adept at this, but I would like to tell you anyway. My actions towards you were not optimal and I wish I’d have done better,” he said before turning around and rushing back into the depths of the manor, leaving Tim staring shocked at where Alfred had disappeared.It wasn’t like Alfred to say sorry of all things. He had never usually talked 

Tim shook off the shock and took a deep breath, gathering his courage to see Bruce ; not Batman or Brucie but Bruce himself. He knocked on the study’s door and Bruce’s deep voice called him inside.

Aside from a few new gray hairs, Bruce was the same as usual; if a little tired. He shot Tim a small smile when he came in and Tim grew slightly suspicious. Everyone was being so weird, it was disconcerting; but he was so, so fuckin tired and what of they were being weirdly nice? It didn’t really matter now, did it.

For an uncomfortable few moments, Bruce just stared at him as if he couldn’t believe that Tim was standing in front of him. He opened his mouth a few times as if he was going to say something before rethinking it.

“You wanted to see me?” Tim prompted when it became clear that Bruce wasn’t going to start talking.

“Ah, yes. I wanted your opinion on a few cases. I think you’ve looked through the files for the Mcnally, Finch, and Simmons cases right?” Bruce asked, trying to play it off casually.

Tim furrowed his eyebrows slightly and stared at Bruce suspiciously, “you called me all the way to the manor in the middle of the night for that? That could’ve been a phone call, Bruce. Tell me why you really called me.” Bruce, at the least, had the self-awareness to look embarrassed at being caught red handed.

“Alfred wanted you to stay here for a while. You haven’t visited in a while and you know how he gets. It’s getting a bit late. I’m pretty sure you have an overnight bag in your old room, right?” Bruce said awkwardly, clearly wanting Tim to leave him alone. 

His eyes started to water slightly but he held it in. He wasn’t weak , he wasn’t going to cry about such silly things. Wanting to get away from Bruce, he nodded stiffly before heading to his room. It was Tim’s fault for having such high hopes anyway.

Chapter Text

The cold morning air filled Tim’s room as he sprawled across his bed. He had been glaring at his blinking cursor for god knows how long, wishing that the email would write itself if he stared intently at it. Unfortunately for Tim, his work didn’t stop even if he was moping on the ground because of the heat. So, when he had opened up his email, just to check on it before passing the fuck out on his nice, cold sheets, he had been greeted by the sight of a boatload of emails that apparently needed his “urgent response”.

One would think the world would stop spinning if Tim was simply out sick for a day.

He had just started to reply to an email from the R & D department for a budget increase —this was the third time this year, he suspected that the head was misappropriating some company funds— when he heard the tell-tale ping of another email in his inbox. Sighing with anger and frustration, Tim quickly sent the email to R & D before going to check the new one.

Right when he was about to open the email, a knock came from outside his bedroom door. Tim deduced that it must be Bruce; he hadn’t noticed anyone walking to his room and the knock had a certain force to it. When he had first started as Robin, it had been rather disconcerting; now he was used to it. Bruce and Jason both looked like brutes but Bruce was always quiet and Jason could be quiet if he wanted to be.

There was another knock and Bruce said in his calm monotone, “Tim? Are you in there? I’m coming in.”

But before Tim could protest, Bruce had opened the door. He stared at him with wide eyes as Bruce took sight of Tim’s rather… dishevelled appearance. It was already eleven in the morning but he still had his ratty sleeping shirt and Kon’s sweatpants on, he had an horrible case of bed head, his eyebags had eyebags, and his eyes were tinged with red because of his lack of sleep; all in all, he looked rather maniacal.

Bruce closed his eyes and sighed —which was rather annoying because he had nothing to be sighing about. If he just finished all of his work, Tim wouldn’t have to pick up the slack. Unfortunately for him however, Brucie had been taking a little vacation at a ski resort in the alps. (AKA, Bruce had been out-of-world on a JL mission.) So he had been drowning in Bruce’s paperwork alongside his own. He was only broken out of his little moping/cursing Bruce session when Bruce pulled his computer out of his hands.

“Hey! Why would you do that?” Tim asked, his eyes wide with shock and annoyance. It was fine if Bruce neglected his work but making Tim neglect his as well? Isn’t he supposed to be the role model and a good influence? Tim privately thought that CPS may have to make a visit.

“Tim, is the whole company going to crumble if you take a two hour break to clean up and eat breakfast?” Bruce asked with his eyebrows raised; his voice took that disappointed parent tone that Tim dreaded.

“Well… no,” Tim mumbled.

“Then I’m going to confiscate your computer until you eat breakfast. Now, go change.”

Usually, TIm would argue, but a shower did sound very tempting and even if he responded to the new email, another one was going to take its place, so he gave up and groaned before pulling himself up for good measure. He didn’t want to seem like he actually listened to Bruce. No, he had chosen to do this out of his own free will.

When he finally got out of the shower and walked down to the manor’s —one of many— kitchens, his heart jumped up to his throat. If his eyes weren’t deceiving him, Bruce was in the kitchen making breakfast. Bruce was in the kitchen . Tim sent a prayer to the gods he didn’t believe in and ran into the kitchen.

“Oh my god Bruce, you’re banned from the kitchen,” Tim hissed and took that spatula from his hand.

“Well, I can make a simple omelette," Bruce said exasperated.

“I’m a little hard pressed to agree to that. I vividly remember you burning water once,” Tim said with his eyebrows raised, “I still don’t know how you did that. Anyway, why isn’t Alfred here? He certainly wouldn’t let you in the kitchen.”

“Alfred’s on his yearly vacation. Stop diverting me, just give me the spatula, Tim.”

Without even gracing that with a response, Tim carefully flipped the omelette and started adding spices into his eggs because he wasn’t a white guy with no spice tolerance. Bruce let out an affectionate laugh and shook his head.

The kitchen was weirdly silent as they ate and Tim made no move to change that. If Bruce wanted to eat with him, he should also be eating, not staring at him creepily.

“So,” Bruce started awkwardly.

“‘So’ what?”

“How is work going?” He immediately cringed after he said it.

“It’s fine, it would be better if you did your paperwork, but who am I to whine about that?” Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed as if he was annoyed at that but he looked down and focused on his food.

It was a simple breakfast, something his nutritionist recommended to him for his “athletic” lifestyle and asplenia; omelettes with some steamed broccoli and toast, but with the way Bruce was staring at his plate, you would think it was from a Michelin star restaurant.

They were washing the dishes when Bruce tried to strike up conversation again. He had tried to start it by clearing his throat incessantly. The first time he had done it, Tim had ignored him, hoping that Bruce would get the hint that he did not want to talk , but maybe that was wishful thinking on his part. By the third time, Tim had gotten annoyed.

“What?” He asked, infuriated.

“Hm?” Bruce replied as if he didn’t know exactly what he was doing.

“You’re doing that thing where you clear your throat when you want someone’s attention.”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Well, it’s not nothing if you’re being so annoying about it,” Tim said with exasperation.

“Well,” Bruce said, looking awfully interested in washing a pan, “I wanted to ask you about something.”

Tim furrowed his eyebrows, confused as to why Bruce was acting so out of character. Mentally, he started preparing himself for a clone or something that had taken the real Bruce’s face, but he motioned the clone to go on so as to not alert it that he knows.

“You know what you said a few minutes ago? That you had no right to whine about the paper work?”

“Yes?” Tim said, confused about what the clone was getting at.

“You know that you can tell me about this stuff, right? I can even take back the CEO position.” When Tim heard that Bruce wanted his position back, his heart sank.

“Oh, um, I can take my stuff out by next week and start wrapping up my work in at least two weeks. I may be able to cut that time shorter but I have a lot of unfinished things and you didn’t really inform me earlier—” Bruce cut him off, looking concerned and a little confused.

“Tim, I’m not saying that you have to leave your job, I just wanted to know if you’re feeling overwhelmed. Speaking of that, I’m getting worried for you, Chum. You’re working too hard.” Tim scoffed at that, what a hypocrite.

Bruce pulled Tim into a hug, both disregarding the soap and water. Unconsciously, Tim melted into his Dad’s arms. It had been a long time since he had hugged him. If Tim could guess, he’d say before the whole time-stream debacle, so he let himself feel comforted.

His Dad whispered soft praises into his hair, pressing kisses onto his forehead, and Tim started sobbing. His Dad didn’t stop him, he just let him sob into his shoulder.