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Bruce stretched, finally finished with his report, only now noticing how cramped his muscles were, his bones clicking loudly. He glanced over at the clock and did a double take. It was already past 3 AM. He’d promised Alfred that he would sleep by 2 at the latest tonight, and he would not be happy when he found out Bruce had broken his word yet again. Figuring that if he was already going to face Alfred’s wrath, staying up a little later would be fine, just enough to make himself a mug of tea to wrap up the day. Without making a sound, he made his way to the kitchen, not bothering to turn the lights on, instead switching on a couple lamps.
He’d already gotten the kettle boiling when he finally noticed that there was someone else in the room with him. Bruce stiffened. Usually he wouldn’t be so careless, he must have been particularly tired tonight. Alfred’s nagging might have had its use after all. Reassuring himself that it was highly unlikely that an intruder managed to pass through the Manor’s security and mask their presence so effortlessly, he approached the figure.
The person had their back to him, sitting, unmoving at the table, shrouded so far in the shadows that it was hard to tell where the shadows ended and they began. They tilted their head very slightly towards Bruce.
“B.”
A single word and Bruce let out a breath. Tim. It was only Tim.
“What are you doing down here so late?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you have been bed an hour ago?”
“And you? Shouldn’t you be in bed like Alfred told you to do?” Tim shot back.
He’d gotten him. “Do you want a cup?” Bruce said, gesturing at the tea, not-so-subtly changing the topic.
“Yeah. Thanks Bruce. That’d be great.”
Bruce frowned. There was a note in Tim’s voice, something beyond just fatigue. It was a hollow sound. Even his normal snarky counter to Bruce’s questioning didn’t have its usual sharpness, dulled by that same…emptiness. He brought over two mugs of steaming hot tea and pulled out a chair next to Tim.
“Is everything alright chum?”
For a moment Tim didn’t move, didn’t make a sound of acknowledgement. That was the other strange thing. Tim being awake at this time wasn’t exactly an irregular occurrence. What was strange, however, was that there was no cup of coffee beside him, no laptop open as he frantically worked on reports and cases. There was only stillness, something Bruce had thought was a completely foreign concept to Tim. Perhaps it would have been cause for some celebration but there was something off about it.
The silence stretched on. Bruce didn’t push, just took a sip of his tea, letting the light fragrance of chamomile fill his mouth. Tim hadn’t drunk any of his tea. Instead, he finally opened his mouth.
“Are you ever just…tired, B,” he said quietly, staring at his mug, the words pulled out of him more breath than sound.
Somehow Bruce knew he didn’t mean physically tired. “What do you mean, Tim?”
No reply. Bruce had expected that. Already, Tim had said more than he ever would have normally, in his usual frame of mind. But he was thankful that he had dropped some hint at least that something wasn’t quite right instead of bottling it up as usual. It meant that he might feel a little safer here.
Upon closer inspection, Bruce realised that Tim didn’t look good at all. His skin was pale, stretched across his sharp cheekbones, dark circles under his arms bloomed dark blue like bruises, hair rumpled as if he had run his hand through it many times. Bruce reached out and put a hand on Tim’s cheek, brushing his thumb against his eyebags. His skin was cold. He froze mid stroke. Under his fingers he felt the barest hint of moisture, the tell tale feeling of sticky tracks where a single tear had managed to slide out, perhaps only a few minutes ago. Tim stilled under his touch, no question guessing what Bruce had just realised. Immediately he flinched backwards.
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he said, muttering the phrase under his breath again and again as he curled into himself. “There’s nothing wrong. I promise. Please. I promise nothing happened.” Words were spilling out of him, quiet, but almost incoherent. He was unravelling. Fast.
“Tim, honey, look at me. I’m not mad at you or anything. You’re allowed to cry.”
There was still no reaction and Tim’s eyes had glazed over. There was no sound in the kitchen except for Tim’s quickening breaths. Bruce slowly raised an arm, gently lying it on Tim’s shoulder. A flinch. But this time he didn’t draw back.
“Okay, sweetheart, let’s breathe together, why don’t we? Can you hear me breathing? How about you just copy along. Let’s give it a try. In, 2, 3, 4…” Bruce rattled off breathing exercises, his voice low and soft. At first, Tim showed no sign of responding but eventually Bruce could hear the way his breaths struggled to hold, to exhale, inhale, desperately attempting to imitate Bruce’s, at first stuttering but eventually evening out into slow deep breaths. Bruce withdrew his hand and looked at Tim with a small comforting smile.
“Are we feeling better now?”
Tim exhaled once more, hesitated before opening his mouth. “Um– I’m feeling better. Thank you. It’s just–” he paused. “Nevermind, it’s good.”
“It’s just?” Bruce pushed.
Tim squirmed a little. “Um. I’m sort of cold. But it’s just a small thing, I’ll go back to my room and turn up the heat.” He scraped back his chair but when he stepped down, his legs were trembling uncontrollably. Immediately, Bruce leapt out of his chair, catching him just in time.
“I’m so so sorry,” Tim began apologising frantically, face flushing a deep red. Bruce only adjusted his grip on him until he was carrying him bridal style. Without a word, he began carrying him up the stairs, bringing him to his room. Tim didn’t have a fever, Bruce had felt his forehead, but this wasn’t a normal sort of cold. Not when it was a rather balmy summer night. He suspected it was something similar to that tiredness Tim had mentioned earlier. Vaguely, Bruce registered that Tim had stopped squirming, accepting his hold on him, if anything, leaning into the touch instead. Even a little more relaxed, he could still feel the tautness of his muscles, tight enough that Bruce was certain that they must be aching.
Setting him down on the bed, Bruce made for the bathroom. Tim made a sound at the loss of his touch, the barest whimper of protest. Bruce turned around. “I’ll be back in just a moment, love. Just going to get a bath running. I reckon this is going to make you feel a bit better.” Tim nodded, resigned to Bruce’s fussing by now.
The bathtub full, Bruce led Tim into the bathroom, stripping until he was standing just in his boxers making his slight shivering all the more noticeable. Slowly, he lowered himself into the water, visibly relaxing at the heat from the water. He sighed. Bruce took his head in his hands, gently massaging shampoo into his hair. Tim murmured in satisfaction. He hadn’t done this since Tim was really little, and even then not often, Tim had always insisted on doing things himself, that he didn’t need help. In the quiet of the bathroom, only the occasional lap of water breaking the comfortably warm silence, finally Tim opened up.
“Bruce. I think I’m tired. Of all of this.” He paused. Bruce didn’t interrupt. “And I feel horrible because I know that Robin is a privilege, Robin is who I am, who I want to be but sometimes, sometimes it gets a bit much.” He hung his head as if expecting some sort of rebuke. When none came he continued hesitantly.
“Like I’ll be fighting one villain and the moment I finish up, there’s another alert, another robbery, another kidnapping, another planted bomb. It never ends. And sometimes I wonder what this is all for. If it is only going to repeat again, just the same way, tomorrow, what’s the point? I feel like my efforts are going nowhere, like I’m just throwing sand into a gaping void again and again, trying to fill it up. I’m just tired of it. Sometimes I get so tired I wake up and I wonder how I’m still here and I realise how easy it would be if I were just to disappear one day. If I melted into the shadows, no one would really notice,” he finished.
The tears were coming now and they weren’t stopping, flooding out as if all the pent up emotion inside of him had suddenly been let out, a stopper pulled out of a bottle. His chest heaved with sobs. Bruce rubbed his back, heartbroken.
“Oh Tim, baby. I’m so sorry I didn’t notice anything, I shouldn’t have let you shoulder so much so young. Please don’t say that about yourself. Sweetheart, you’re one of the best things that have happened to me in my life, no one could ever replace you for me. You are so important in this family I couldn’t imagine a world without you.”
He leaned over the tub and wrapped his arms around Tim, not caring that he was wet and the water was soaking right through his shirt. Tim held on to him tight, desperately, a drowning boy holding on to his only raft in the middle of an ocean. They stayed like that for a long time until Tim began to calm down again, no longer crying. He leant back, wiping at his eyes.
“Sorry,” he whispered again, unable to look at Bruce.
“Don’t apologise, it’s not a problem. I’ll be outside, change into some fresh clothes,” he said tenderly.
Tim came out dressed in pyjamas. “Come on, let’s get you to sleep. Alfred’s going to have both our heads tomorrow morning.”
Tim gratefully rolled into bed but instead of closing his eyes he looked over at Bruce again.
“Do you think- I mean I was wondering if you could maybe sleep with me tonight if that’s alright with you and of course only if you want to?” He asked quickly.
Bruce smiled. “Of course it’s alright,” he said, sliding in next to him, tucking the sheets around the both of them, Tim tucking himself into Bruce’s chest, curled up like when he was small.
In less than a minute both were sound asleep.