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Bruce was tired. Tim could see it in his face and the set of his shoulders as he slumped, yes slumped, against the kitchen counter. Tim himself was tired, but that wasn’t anything strange. He cracked open the top of his red bull, savoring the crisp pop and hiss of the drink for a moment. Then he held it out towards his adopted father, an offering of sorts.
To his eternal surprise, Bruce took it then lifted it to his lips and downed it in one long gulp. Tim felt a brief pang of regret. That had been his last can. There went his plan to add the drink to his coffee as an extra ‘wake-me-up’. He resigned himself to regular coffee and waited, the payoff would be worth the loss of his extra shot. It wouldn’t be long before Bruce realized what he’d just downed. He was the world’s greatest detective, and being sleep deprived didn’t stop that.
His father blinked exactly two times before his eyes widened briefly then narrowed. “Tim.”
“Yes?”
“What,” Tim held back a grin as Bruce paused to grimace, the aftertaste of the drink hitting him. “Was in that?”
Tim shrugged and motioned towards the can. “The ingredients are on the back. And don’t look at me like that, I didn’t add anything. You watched me open it.” He added as his father raised an eyebrow at him.
The point was coincided to him and Bruce turned his attention to the ingredients list. “None of this can be good for you.” He murmured down at the can.
Tim took a sip of his coffee before replying. “There’s water in it. That’s good for me. Plus, studies say that the consumption of energy drinks helps to improve performance in driving as well as athletics.”
“Hmm.” Bruce said setting the can aside. “That may be true, but you’re participating in neither right now.”
“I could be heading down to train.”
“Patrol ended four hours ago. You shouldn’t be training any time soon.”
“Then perhaps I’m about to be driving.” Tim suggested.
Bruce’s counter was immediate. “Where?”
He didn’t actually have anywhere to be. It was Sunday and his day off. He’d been playing with the idea to spend it on video games and sleeping, but other things were on his mind. There was a case Jason was working on that he’d asked for some help with, and Tim’s own projects always needed work.
The prospect of tackling any of that exhausted him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept for longer than a cat nap. And he’d given Bruce his last Red Bull.
“To the store. That was my last energy drink.” He pointed at the empty can. “I can’t get anything done on no energy.”
Bruce straightened. “I’ll go with you.” He said. He didn’t point out that Tim was holding a cup of coffee, or that he could in fact operate without energy drinks, he just accepted Tim’s reason.
Tim perked up. “Really? You don’t have anything else to do?” He didn’t want to keep Bruce from working, even if the idea of spending some time with him off patrol was tempting. So, tempting he almost didn’t ask.
Bruce shrugged. “I’m too tired to get any real work done, Red Bull and all. Maybe a trip to the store will wake me up.”
Tim nodded. It had been a long time since he and Bruce had spent time alone together as just themselves. They’d patrolled together a few times but even there they were prone to be interrupted by one of the other members of the family.
“Alright, but you can’t wear flip-flops with those socks. I won’t have you show up on people of Walmart.”
When Tim was sure Bruce was properly attired they left. They took one of Bruce’s cars over Tim’s, which Bruce claimed was ‘too small for him to fit into’. He didn’t insist on driving, instead slipping into the passenger’s seat before Tim had even caught the keys tossed to him.
It was strange being the driver with Bruce as the passenger. The man looked foreign and too big for the position he was in, even comfortably leaned back in the seat. Tim couldn’t remember driving Bruce anywhere before, not with the man willingly allowing him to drive at least.
He looked out to the road. When coming from the manor everything was far, and filled with winding streets and scenic routes. He’d hate to have to run out for eggs in the middle of cooking something there. From his apartment it was easy, two blocks over and he’d have his forgotten supplies. No wonder Alfred insisted on taking a day for grocery shopping.
Beside him Bruce was silent. It was another strange thing to have in Tim’s passenger seat. When he drove someone, it was typically one of his siblings, all of whom had the habit of talking. Except Damian. He was prone to snide comments and sulking, depending on the reason for him being in the car (and not driving himself).
Tim could understand if the silence was brooding. That was normal enough, but this was different. It was a content kind of silence that came from trust and, in Bruce’s case, a little sleep deprivation. He looked at his father’s face, relaxed was not often an expression seen on him and Tim wished he wasn’t driving so he could snap a picture. The memory would have to suffice.
The uncanny quiet of early morning roads, and the silence beside him lured Tim into relaxation as he drove. Driving on autopilot he called it, letting habit and muscle memory take the road down the street while his mind was occupied on other things. Mainly searching for a conversation topic for them.
He wasn’t chatty like Dick, but he believed that car rides were places where conversation flowed. Movies were the medium for silent companionship. He wasn’t the chatterbox his older brother was, but he never had a problem finding something to say. So why were words failing him now?
What could he talk about? The weather? Patrol last night? Why Bruce seemed so tired? He mulled the question around in his head for a moment before the blare of a car horn pulled him from his mind and back on driving. He yanked the steering wheel to the right, jerking the car out of the lane of oncoming traffic he’d drifted into. The other car blasting past them with a second screech of its horn.
Unused to the car he was driving he overcompensated on his adjustment and the car slipped out of his lane and onto the dirt beside them. Before Tim could adjust the car, the hill they’d been driving above caught the car’s wheels and pulled them down. Then they were sliding with no way to stop, wet muddy dirt stealing any traction Tim could manage with the pedals. He slammed on the brakes, and spun the wheel trying to move the car out of the path of a tree.
He succeeded halfway, tearing the driver’s side rearview mirror off before the car bumped against the tree, the glass in Tim’s window breaking inward on a loose tree limb, and putting a sizable scratch in the side of the car. The back bumper caught on the tree jerking them at last to as stop. Tim threw the car into park and jerked up the emergency brake. It did little to keep the car in place, but it was comforting in its familiarity.
Bruce hadn’t said a word during the entire event. When Tim looked over at him, he found his father’s hands braced on the dash in front of him, his jaw tight.
“That—” He started. “did not seem like improved driving performance.” Bruce’s tone was dry, but not angry as he leaned back and slipped his seatbelt off.
Tim He peeled himself from the back of the seat and eyed the other man. “Don’t blame it on me. I wasn’t the one drinking the Red Bull this morning.”
Bruce gave a noncommittal grunt and swung open his door. While he stepped out, Tim tried his door and found it unmoving, instead of struggling with it he slipped out after Bruce. From the outside the car looked worse than Tim had imagined.
He walked around to find the ‘scratch’ as more of a deep grove, no wonder he hadn’t been able to open his door. The mirror was littered in pieces in a trail from a smaller tree to the car, glass and metal shards sticking out at odd angles.
“Lucky miss.” Tim whistled and turned back to Bruce. The man was frowning not at the car but at Tim. Maybe frown wasn’t the right word for it, it was more of a scowl or glower, his face dark, eyes hooded, mouth a line.
Tim gulped, suddenly realizing that he’d hit a tree with Bruce’s car. Not his, nor the Batmobile, but Bruce’s. Bruce had trusted him with his life, trusted him to drive safely, and he’d almost killed them both. Instead of focusing on the road and getting them to and from the store Tim had been worrying about a conversation.
His focus on trying to converse with his father had almost taken Bruce from the rest of his family. Tim remembered how Dick, Jason, Damian, and the others had taken Bruce’s death last time. Broken moments with his brothers came back to him, the lost look they all carried, the pain they’d shared. He couldn’t bear the thought of making them go through that again because of his own selfishness.
“B, I’m sorry. I should have been paying more attention, and staying focused on the road. Instead I was trying to come up with—” Tim cut himself off, it didn’t matter why he’d been distracted. It had been selfish of him to try and keep Bruce for himself. He never even should have let Bruce come with him on this trip, not with how tired he’d looked.
Bruce stepped towards him, and Tim resisted the urge to jerk back with guilt. His father held a hand out to brush across his face, his frown deepening. Only when Bruce touched Tim’s face did he realize something was wrong, his cheek burned under Bruce’s touch.
Tim pressed his own hand to his face and his fingers came away sticky with blood. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to tell him he needed a stitch or two. He hadn’t even felt the cut happen while he’d been trying to stop the car.
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Bruce asked.
Tim gave himself a once over and shook his head. “No, I might feel sore tomorrow, but we didn’t land that hard.” He shrugged. “You?”
Bruce shook his head. “I’m fine.” He stepped back. “Now what were you trying to come up with?”
Embarrassment flooded Tim. He shouldn’t have said anything to Bruce about his distracted thoughts. What good were his excuses? None. He’d skidded off road, he’d wrecked the car, and he’d almost killed them both. He could accept responsibility for that if only Bruce would be mad at him.
Instead the man was worried about his scratch, his words, his worries. “It’s nothing. I’m sorry again, I should have been paying more attention while I was driving.”
Bruce shook his head. “It’s my fault. I know better than to have let either of us get into a car so soon after patrol.” He sighed. “To be honest, I was looking for an excuse to spend some time with you.”
Tim didn’t bother to hide the suacrprise on his face. He shouldn’t be surprised that Bruce would want to spend time with him, they were family. Maybe it was the admittance of the fact that shocked him, or the idea that his own thoughts had been mirrored by Bruce.
His father smiled at him. “I’m afraid I’ve done a bad job of it.”
Tim shook his head. “No, you were fine. I was trying to come up with a conversation, that’s why I let the car drift.”
Bruce didn’t respond and Tim ran a hand through his hair. “We’re pretty bad at this aren’t we? We were better when you were accusing me of spiking my energy drink.”
“You’re fine. You don’t have to be like Dick you know.” Bruce told him.
Tim chuckled. “I’m going to need you to stop reading my mind.” He said and leaned against the car, his arms crossed. “I wanted to make the most of our drive. We don’t get a lot of time together anymore.”
Bruce nodded and leaned next to him a grin on his face. “We’re here now, and for a while at least.” He glanced at the car. “We can make the most of the time we’ve got.”