Chapter Text
Location: The Batcave – 3 Days Later
It was quiet.
Not silent—Alfred’s gentle clinking in the kitchen carried over the Cave’s upper balcony—but quiet enough that every footstep echoed.
Tim sat on the infirmary table, bruises yellowing beneath a thick sweatshirt, bandages peeking out at the collar. His hair was damp. The white streak was more visible now, stark against the black.
He looked small . Not weak. Just… tired. Like a soldier waiting for the next war.
Across from him, Bruce sat in full silence. Not Batman. Bruce .
“I thought you were dead,” he said eventually.
Tim didn’t look up.
“You thought I was fine, ” he muttered.
That landed.
Bruce closed his eyes. “I should have—”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
“…Not enough.”
A beat passed. Then two. Jason, watching from the shadows above, winced. That one cut deep —and Tim didn’t even look angry. He looked numb.
Bruce finally stood.
He crossed to Tim and, after a long moment, sat beside him.
“You saved everyone,” he said. “You made it out of the Pit. You kept your mind.”
“I planned for it.”
“I know. But planning doesn’t account for… heart.”
Tim hesitated.
Then, voice raw: “It was always supposed to be me, Bruce. The one who could handle it. The one who never got adopted. The one who didn’t break.”
Jason flinched at that from the shadows.
Bruce said nothing.
Then he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Tim blinked . Like the words didn’t register.
“…For what?” he asked, and God, he sounded so young.
“For everything. For leaving you in that house. For letting you think you weren’t mine.”
Tim didn’t cry.
But his shoulders shook.
And after a moment, Bruce pulled him into a hug—and Tim let him.
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Meanwhile, in the kitchen…
“Master Jason,” Alfred said, without turning, “if you’re going to hover near the ceiling like a bat, you could at least offer to carry the tray.”
Jason, halfway through a protein bar, snorted.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome.”
“Quite.”
He handed down a tray of scones and tea. Jason followed Alfred’s gaze to the lower level, where Tim and Bruce sat close on the bench. The hug had ended—but they hadn’t moved apart.
“You think they’ll be okay?” Jason asked.
Alfred smiled faintly.
“Not immediately,” he said. “But we’re not aiming for perfection, Master Jason. Just healing.”
Jason swallowed hard. “Tt. Sounds fake.”
“Nevertheless, I’ll brew extra tea.”
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Later that night, they all met in the Manor den.
Steph had brought movies. Dick brought blankets. Cass brought silence, which was enough. Damian sat on the armrest of the couch, arms crossed like he didn’t care. (He absolutely did.) Jason threw popcorn at him every few minutes just to prove it.
Tim stayed on the floor, leaning back against Jason’s leg.
Not touching.
But close.
“New mission tomorrow?” Dick asked, casual.
Bruce nodded. “Recon. Then strategy.”
“Everyone?” Steph asked.
Bruce met Tim’s eyes.
“Yes,” he said. “Everyone.”