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“It’s okay.” Bruce says as he scoops a cupful of water over Tim’s shoulders. “It’s fine,” he says for the fifth time. Because it was ok. Tim needed to hear that it was okay no matter if Bruce had to say it a million times. Even then, he would say it one more time.
“Please,” Tim shivers, even though he was sitting in the hot water, steam wafting through the air. Tim’s shirt was soaked through, sticking to his chest and back, even through the thick material. “I know you’re mad. Please. Leave me alone, I’ll be fine.”
“Tim, you’re okay.” Bruce reassures. He pours another cup of hot water over Tim’s shoulders. This is the second time Bruce has drained the tub and filled it up with water. It’s five in the morning and the water would’ve been frigid had it been the same water he filled the tub with at three a.m.
“Bruce, please, just go back to bed. I’m okay now.”
Bruce scans over Tim’s figure. He’s still shivering, his teeth clicking together. He’s sitting with his knees bent, hugging them to his chest. His eyes are bloodshot and his cheeks have streaks of tears running down his face. Tim was very obviously not ok.
“I’m fine.” Bruce lies.
Bruce was exhausted. He ended patrol around two in the morning. Finally, he went to bed after writing a report and taking a much needed shower. He slept for a very nice twenty minutes before suddenly awakening from his deep sleep.
Now Bruce was usually a light sleeper. Anything woke him. To the taps of secret feet who dig through the pantry at four in the morning, to the sound of birds early in the morning. But tonight, Bruce fell into a deep sleep. A sleep he usually doesn’t wake up from until later in the morning, when he finally starts his day.
When Bruce was a kid, he’d always wondered how his mom was there for him in the middle of night no matter the situation. He swore his mom had a secret superpower. One where she knew when a child was in distress.
Bruce remembers the first time Dick came to him late into the night. Sticking a bony finger into his ribs and whispering, Bruce I think I’m gonna throw up. Even Batman didn’t move as fast as he did when he grabbed Dick and ran him to the bathroom.
Except now, all his kids were independent and well into their teenage years. Even his Damian, who was just thirteen years old, didn’t need Bruce or look for his approval as much anymore. Bruce thought his days of waking up at the crack of dawn were over.
It was exactly three sixteen in the morning when it happened. Bruce jolted out of his deep sleep. His heart was beating in his chest and his hands trembled. A nightmare? No, a noise. He heard a noise.
Bruce quieted his breathing as he listened with intent. The sound was odd. It didn’t sound like one of his kids sneaking down to the pantry to get a midnight snack or the sound of a toilet flushing. No, this was the sound of distress.
Bruce could honestly sleep past all the noise but not while one of his kids was in need.
He slips on his house shoes and shuffles out into the hallway. He checks the room directly across from his. A room he had chosen when Dick was young and afraid to be far away from Bruce. Even into his adulthood, he never changed the location of his room, content with being so close to his Father.
Bruce cracks the door open and all he hears is the soft snores and snuffles of Dick sleeping. With no light coming through his black out curtains, he can’t make out the shape of Dick. But the sleeping noise reassures him that his oldest child is okay.
He goes down to Damian’s room, a couple feet down from Dick’s. Damian sleeps with a diffuser in his room, one that lit up and emitted calming scents that helped with Damian’s insomnia. Through the differing colors of the light, Bruce catches the outline of Damian’s body. His hands are above his head and his legs spread open as he sleeps comfortably.
There was a time when Damian slept like a corpse. Hands over his chest and legs straight. But now, his body accepts the safety of this home and he’s able to sleep deeply. The many times Bruce has manhandled Damian and carried him to his bed reminds Bruce of how safe Damian feels to let his guard down enough to let his body finally rest.
Bruce sighs in relief. As he passes Jason’s room, his heart is a little heavy. Jason stays over every once in a while but the need for space has him with his own place. Bruce is happy that he has most of his boys tonight but he accepts the space that they need and while all of them (except Damian) have their own place now, it still jostles him when one of his boys isn't in the manor.
Tim is the final boy he has to check on when a choked sob catches his attention. He doesn’t hear it from close by so he goes to check Tim’s room. Empty.
Hm.
Bruce pads into the kitchen when he spots him. Sitting on the floor is Tim. “Hello.” Bruce says.
“Hi,” Tim doesn’t look up.
“Are you okay?” Bruce asks. He’s been getting better at emotional cues lately and this seems like a situation where someone doesn’t seem totally fine.
“Yeah,” Tim says.
Hm.
Bruce groans as he sits on the floor next to Tim. “So, is the floor comfortable?”
“It’s fine.”
Fine apparently meant Tim curled up in the corner of the kitchen, head bent into his knees and both arms around his head like he’s trying to block himself away from the world.
“Okay, so what’re we doing?” Bruce asks.
“Bruce. Go to sleep. I’m fine.”
Tim’s breathing picks up and Bruce is hesitant to reach out. Out of all his boys, Tim is the most independent. Moving out the house at sixteen and starting WE at the same time, Bruce hasn’t seen Tim in many situations where he needed help.
Every one his boys are different. Some of them appreciate touch like Dick, while others stray away from it when under stress, like Jason.
Bruce hovers his hand around Tim’s shoulders. “Tim, can I touch you?”
“Okay.” Tim says.
Bruce wraps one arm around Tim’s back. “Want to talk about what’s going on?”
Tim shakes his head, “Nothing to talk about.”
“Okay.” Bruce says and leaves it at that. Silence seems to make Tim crack under pressure.
“I should be able to handle this. This, this is, I’m- I’m fine.” Tim shivers under Bruce’s touch as his breaths quicken.
“Okay, we can handle it. Why don’t we just breathe.”
Bruce starts patting Tim on the back in rhythmic motions. But instead of it being soothing, Tim's breath continues to quicken and he starts to pant in panic.
“Ok, come on.” Bruce hoists Tim up by his arms, “Can you walk?”
“Bu- Bruce.” Tim spits out. He’s clutching his chest, face red, and legs shaking as he tries to suck in a breath.
“Alright, ok, I’m going to pick you up.” Bruce says as he hooks an arm under Tim’s knees and lifts.
He reaches his room and immediately deposits Tim onto the bed. “Take a deep breath. Watch me breathe in, okay.”
Tim tries to inhale but it gets caught in his throat and he chokes out a sob. His breathing immediately picks up and it’s apparent the breathing techniques Bruce uses on his other boys isn’t working.
One time, when Dick was very small, he got sick. Bruce remembers the way his nose was stuffed, his face blotchy, and ears red. Dick had panicked because of how bad his throat hurt combined with the fact he couldn’t breathe through his nose properly. Bruce tried everything on Google. A humidifier, saline spray, a wet rag. Nothing worked until Bruce remembered how his mom would boil hot water and sit Bruce next to it while the steam wafted into his nostrils.
Bruce hurries Tim to the bathroom and blasts the hot water. He strips Tim from his socks and sweatpants and slowly dips him into the water. Tim’s system seems to go into shock from the change in texture and for a second Tim gets a couple labored breaths in.
“There we go, that’s it sweetheart. Just breathe.” Bruce encourages. He finds a cup he uses to rinse his mouth out with and he quickly grabs it from the counter to scoop the water. He pours the water over Tim’s shoulders and Tim shudders.
“Feel good?” Bruce asks as he continues to collect warm water and pour it over Tim’s body.
“Mhm.”
Two hours later, two cycles of bath water, and thirty minutes of making sure Tim doesn’t turn blue from the lack of air, Tim's eyes are closed. His breathing is steady and his chest rises and falls in a measured way.
“You can leave. I’m okay. You-you’re awake because of me and-“
“Tim, it’s fine. You’re fine. I promise,” Bruce cuts off. He scoops another cupful.
“My dad.”
“Okay, I’m not sure I understand?” Bruce says.
“I saw my dad in my dreams. And he- and he- said, he said-,”
“Okay, we don’t have to talk about it but I’m here for you okay? I may not understand but I support you no matter what.”
“He always got upset if I woke him up. I was scared you would be too.”
Bruce pauses for a minute.
“When I was young, my mother was there for me in the middle of the night no matter what. Even when she spent hours cleaning up after me and wiping my tears. I was young and small and helpless. I could never understand how she always knew and why she was there for me no matter the circumstances when that was the time for her to get rest. Especially when my mother was known for sleeping through everything. You know what she didn’t sleep through?”
“You?” Tim asks, finally looking up at Bruce.
“Yes, she never slept through her kid in distress. Tim, I’m here for you. Whether that be as your guardian, or as your mentor. Whatever. I’m here to help you, Tim.”
Tim nods. “Yeah.”
“You’re never alone, okay?”
Tim hiccups and rests his head on his knees. He shivers again.
“Let’s get you into dry clothes, okay?”
Tim nods and slowly but surely he gets out of the tub. His clothes are dripping wet and the floor around him turns into a small pond. Bruce’s socks get soaked through but he doesn’t care.
“I’m going to grab some clothes for you.”
“Wait!”
Bruce turns back towards Tim.
“Can I just wear your clothes?” Tim asks.
Bruce raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Of course, chum.”
Bruce waits outside on his bed while Tim changes into the most comfortable clothes he could find. Tim opens the door and he stands in Bruce’s clothing. The sweatpants he has on are rolled up around his hip three times and the sweatshirt is hanging off his arms. (Sweater paws! Dick yells in the back of Bruce’s mind.)
“Come here.” Bruce opens his arms and Tim falls into them. “I love you, chum.”
Bruce has been trying to get better at saying it. He said it a lot when Dick was younger, and less when Jason came around, and even less when Jason was…gone.
He tightens his hold around Tim, thinking of the time when this boy was keeping him alive. Standing in his clothing, Tim looks as young as he is. Bruce forgets how young Tim is still, barely a legal adult but holding the responsibility of five adults.
“I love you.” Bruce says again.
“I love you, dad.”
Bruce rests his chin on Tim’s shoulder. “You’re never alone, okay?”
“Okay.”
Tim pulls back and hops onto Bruce’s bed. He scoots in next to Bruce and pulls the cover over himself. As Tim slowly drifts asleep, Bruce cards his fingers through his hair.
I finally understand, mother. Thank you