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It took a few days for Bruce to fully recover mentally from being ping-pong balled around time. He suspected some parts of him lagged behind.
He looked around the breakfast table at his family. Alfred was bringing in platters of waffles. Dick and Jason were roughhousing until Alfred gave them ‘the look’. Damian was meticulously cutting up something that looked suspiciously vegan. Bruce vaguely recalled being told that Damian had converted to veganism after adopting Batcow. It struck him as odd, given how bloodthirsty Damian had been to human beings in the short time he’d known the child before the Darkseid fiasco, but he supposed it was a start. Also, Batcow? What?
He vaguely recalled a lot of things. He cleared his throat for attention. “How was I retrieved?”
“Eh,” Jason said around a mouthful of waffle. “Replacement. Stubborn little bitch. He picked up on the clues you dropped.”
“Replacement?” Bruce asked, wondering if some robotic Batman A.I. had been created. He didn’t think he’d been gone that long.
“Tch, the Pretender,” Damian said with a sneer, after one of his tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth.
Bruce would really like Damian to stop doing that. Not only was it annoying, but if he did it as Robin it would be a clue to his identity… wait… “Why is Damian wearing Robin colors?”
“Oh,” Dick said while smothering his waffles in syrup, “Damian needed a reason to stay with us. He felt that he didn’t have an official place in the BatFam.” Dick ruffled Damian’s hair. “So I gave it to him.”
“Huh.” Bruce said thoughtfully. He supposed Tim was getting too old for Robin, although he was still small enough to pass for a child. He wondered what new hero persona Tim had developed- he hoped Dick hadn’t advised on costume creation. Really, Tim needed something entirely new. If he wanted to continue with a ‘fursuit’ idea, maybe something along the line of a fox. Oh! Maybe a ‘flying fox’ -a species of bat. That would be good, the gray and orange colors would be distinctive, but still easily blend into Gotham at night. Bruce had ideas to make a wing suit, a lightly powered semi-glider- it wouldn’t work with anyone heavier than Tim, or less compactly strong and quick thinking, but for Tim it would be perfect.
He wasn’t at all sure Damian was ready for Robin, though, especially as Damian had come to the table with a sword. On a scale of probable lethality, a sword was arguably worse than a gun. He’d stop that, immediately after breakfast, but he still hadn’t had his first question answered.
“Who actually was behind my retrieval?” Apparently it wasn’t anyone at the table, or they’d have claimed credit. “Wait, where’s Tim?”
“The Pretender doesn’t share meals with us,” Damian said, while slipping a waffle down to his Great Dane. Great Dane? How many pets does Damian have? Was Dick trying to compete with Ra’s to spoil the child?
Bruce shook his head. He kept getting distracted. But ‘Pretender? Replacement’? "Tell me you haven’t been treating Tim badly.” If they were calling him names, no wonder Tim didn’t want to eat with them. Poisoned words stick in your throat.
Jason shrugged. “Damian and I haven’t tried to kill him in months.” Jason tilted his head. “Of course, we haven’t seen him in months.”
Bruce put down his knife and fork. “What.”
Dick said, “Tim was really upset when you were dead. Well, when everyone thought you were dead. I wanted him to go to Metropolis for therapy to accept it. I figured while he was gone I could concentrate on teaching Damian to be Robin.”
“But the usurper was too irrational,” Damian said while petting the dog and getting fur all over his Robin suit. “He saw me as Robin, and made a disgusting emotional scene.”
Dick nodded. “I was disappointed. I thought Tim was mature enough to see it was for the best. Damian needed it. But Tim went on about how much he’d lost and how Robin was the only thing he had left, but hey, everyone knew his parents were terrible, so why should he care they died? And Bart and Kon-El were metas, so its not as if they were really people, you know?”
Bruce stared at Dick. “That’s not why I won’t allow metas in Gotham, Dick. Of course they’re people.”
Dick shrugged. “Well, anyway, Tim found one of Jason’s old costumes, the Red Robin, and went on an around the world cruise or something, once I told him I wouldn’t listen to his fantasies about you being alive.” Dick gave Bruce a shamefaced look. “I mean, we buried a body! He was embarrassing us with the superhero community, so I asked everyone to be gentle when they turned him down, when he tried to get them to listen to him.”
Bruce was really starting to feel ill. “So, you’re saying that Tim went out on his own, and saved me?”
Damian shook his head. “No, I heard he went to my grandfather, and begged for help.” Damian shrugged the same way Dick did. “Pathetic. Still, I have to admit he did destroy the Council of Spiders and devastate the League of Assassins before gathering enough evidence to retrieve you. I suppose even an idiot can be successful if they’re persistent enough.”
Bruce picked up his fork and bent it into a circle, in an effort to stay calm. “Alfred.” Bruce turned to his old father figure. “Where is Tim?”
“Presumably he is at work,” Alfred said, while bringing Bruce a fresh fork. “He had to drop out of school to take over the CEO position at Wayne Industries, of course.” Alfred tilted his head in thought. “Or he might be at Dr. Thompkins' clinic, picking up antibiotics.”
“Antibiotics? Is Tim injured?” Bruce asked.
“I wouldn’t know, Master Bruce,” Alfred said. “After complaining that someone switched his medication for sugar pills, he declined to have injuries treated in the Batcave. Not to worry, the antibiotics are prophylactic in nature, to compensate for the spleen he lost while searching for you.” Alfred tsked and swept up crumbs from the table cloth.
Bruce stared silently.
“He could also be at his Nest,” Jason said. “I thought it was kinda rude, him buying the theater where your parents were murdered, just to make a base where we aren’t allowed to visit.”
Bruce got up and looked around the table at all of them. “You know what? FUCK YOU ALL!” He pulled the tablecloth, sending the food scattering. After a yelp, the dog happily chowed down. “You are all fucking BENCHED.”
“You can’t bench me!” Dick and Jason yelled simultaneously. “I work in Bludhaven!” Dick said. “And I’m a CRIME LORD!” Jason added.
Bruce leaned forward, muscles bunched. “FUCKING WATCH ME. You are ALL going to take remedial classes in FUCKING RESPECT and HUMANITY, and BY GOD, NONE of YOU are too big for a SPANKING!”
For the first time, Damian looked frightened. Everyone looked at Bruce’s huge, hard, hands.
Silence fell except for the slobbery sounds of a Great Dane licking up pancake syrup.
Alfred cleared his throat. “Shall I get your coat, sir?”
“I don’t need it, Alfred, thank you. I’m too hot under the collar.” Bruce headed out to find his BEST GOD DAMN SON and let him know Bruce loved him.
Maybe he’d buy a Best Son coffee mug, and show Tim the wingsuit plans.
And maybe buy him a puppy. Tim deserved a puppy.