Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

They discover that sometimes Tim goes mute.  When Jason tries to argue with them that he's already mute, Bruce (and Alfred) explain to him that as long he's communicating via ASL (or even writing), then he's not really mute.  

But sometimes he is.

Sometimes, Tim turns into a paler shadow of himself. 

--

Bruce wakes up one morning to a little weight on his stomach, which isn't unusual per se, but usually the little weight is asleep on him, not staring mournfully at him.

"Hey sweetheart, what's up?"  He murmurs, waiting for an explanation.

He does not get an explanation.

Instead, Tim's lower lip wobbles and his eyes fill with tears, and Bruce scrambles upright, pulling Tim against him, his hindbrain screaming that something is wrong.

"Are you alright?" Bruce asks, pressing his hands on Tim's back and arms, physically trying to evaluate him.

Tim doesn't answer.  He merely turns his face into Bruce's shoulder, his tears silently wetting Bruce's shirt.

Internally, Bruce is scrambling.  

"Sweetheart?"  

--

They end up in the kitchen.  Tim is gripping his shirt with white knuckles as if he thinks they will try and pull him away from Bruce.  Other than his sad little moue and his wet eyes, that's his only reaction. 

"Alfred?"

What's wrong with him?  Bruce doesn't let himself say.  

"Oh dear," Alfred murmurs, pulling away from his sink full of dishes and taking off his rubber gloves.  "Tim?"  

Which is telling, in and of itself.  Because Alfred always calls him Master Tim, the same as he does to everyone.

Watery blue eyes turn toward Alfred.  Slowly.  

"I think we should sit down," Alfred decides, directing them toward the table at the side of the kitchen.  

They do, and Alfred takes the chair next to them.  He reaches out to touch Tim's head, his calloused fingertips sliding around his throat and forehead, respectively, probing carefully for a moment.

"I wonder," Alfred starts to say, before quieting.  

"Yes?" Bruce presses, when he doesn't continue.

"I don't think he's sick, at least, not physically," Alfred answers slowly, face pressed into a thoughtful expression.

"Depression, maybe?" Bruce askes, catching on to Alfred's train of thought.

Alfred nods.  

"He's demonstrating a delayed reaction time, for one," Alfred says, still in that soft quiet way.  "And he's not running a temperature, and he doesn't seem to have any other obvious physical maladies."

They watch as two of Tim's fingers slide into his mouth.  

"Self soothing," Alfred adds.  

Bruce pulls out a spare handkerchief and offers it to Tim.  He always has a few nearby, knowing how Tim is.

They watch as Tim sees it and slowly (slowly) reaches out for it, before finally grasping it and pulling it to his face, rubbing it on his cheek.  

"You've gotten like this before," Alfred says, leaning back in his chair, and crossing his legs.  "Not usually quite to this extreme, mind, but in the early days after your parents--well, there were quite a few days like this."

He and Bruce eye one another solemnly. 

"I'm sor--," Bruce starts to say.

"No, my dear boy," Alfred shakes his head, cutting him off.  "I'm sorry."

--

Tim doesn't have any energy.  He sits next to (or on) Bruce for the rest of the morning, just sort of existing nearby.  They push liquids and soft foods, knowing they'll be easiest to eat--or feed, when it doesn't seem that Tim has any interest in even doing that.  Tim just sucks his two fingers and stares blankly around him, eyes not really processing anything other than his proximity to everyone else.  

Luckily, it's the summer, and Jason is home from school.  They haven't yet started sending Tim or Cass to school yet but instead have been privately tutoring them at home.  Tim, because he's been violently opposed to going back, and Cass because of her grasp of language--or lack thereof.

They decide, if only by virtue of watching his reactions to them, to stay more or less in the same room as Tim, all together.  They end up in the den, because Tim had clenched his eyes tight at the sight of the weak sunlight coming through the windows of the library.  And he had visibly shivered when Bruce had briefly gone down with him to the cave to answer an alert on the batcomputer.  

The den has the most soft surfaces in the manor, and a nearly endless supply of blankets and cushions to cuddle with.  Bruce would have offered his own bed, but he hadn't wanted to make Alfred uncomfortable. 

Alfred takes a spot near the entry way, on an armchair that is too big for his body.  It's not quite enough space for someone like Bruce to sit with him, but if one of the children wanted to, they would fit easily enough.  

Jason and Cass are there, and Fantasia is playing on the big screen.  It's currently one of Cass's favorite movies, and Bruce had suggested it partially for that reason, but also because it wouldn't take much attention to take in, should Tim feel the want to follow along.  

Tim finally uncurls after he's sandwiched between Bruce and Jason.  Cass is moving along with the music into the center of the room, and they can see Tim watching her sluggishly.  Alfred has his knitting out and is working on something that could either be a blanket or a shirt.  Bruce isn't really watching carefully enough to know.  

It is admittedly strange and a lot disconcerting to see Tim so still.  Tim is a little wiggly ball of constant input, and to see him as a passive observer strikes Bruce as deeply wrong.  

They take turns hugging him, petting him, stroking his hair, kissing his head.  All of the things.  

Cass had taken one look at him that morning and signed, "Sad," before slowly coming up and squeezing him in an enveloping hug.

After the movie is over, Alfred stands up and tells the room he'll be right back, before coming back a short time later with chicken and rice soup, and sandwiches.  And a Dick, who's trailing behind him with a smile.  

"Bruce said we were having a cuddle party," Dick says by way of greeting.  "And you know I couldn't miss out on that."

Jason rolls his eyes, but doesn't make a snappy comeback like he would normally.  Alfred had been very firm about keeping the antagonization down to a minimum, since Tim was so sensitive to their moods.

Tim eats, but only when fed, otherwise not interested enough to feed himself.  He has started to suck on a sippy cup of slightly watered down grape juice from time to time, unprompted, which is a recent achievement, and gives Bruce hope that he might be coming out of it a little. 

The feeling is a bit stronger at dinnertime, when Alfred makes homemade gluten free pizza, and they see Tim reach slowly out for a slice after they've put some on a plate for him.  He eats it by himself, if a bit slowly, and Bruce and Alfred smile at one another over his head.  

That night, Batman stays in.  Nightwing and Robin are seen, but Batman is nowhere to be found.  Instead, he and Tim are in his bed, which isn't entirely unusual, except that Tim, after stripping off his own shirt, has crawled in under Bruce's shirt and is fast asleep, only twitching a little here and there.  One of Bruce's handkerchiefs is against his cheek, as he can see whenever he looks under his collar.  

"Should I be worried about this?"  Bruce asks Alfred when he drops in to check on them after the boys have gone out.

Alfred looks at him, his face openly fond as he takes in the sight.  

"Kangaroo care, Master Bruce.  I suggest looking it up," Alfred says.  "Where is Miss Cassandra?"  

Bruce points to the lump on the far end of his bed.  

"Good," Alfred says, smiling slightly when he realises they are all accounted for.  "I am going to retire for the night.  You know where I am."

"Okay, Alfred.  Goodnight."

"Goodnight, dear ones," Alfred answers, eyes looking over each of them in turn, even if two of them aren't looking back at him.

Later, that night, Dick and Jason join them, slightly damp and smelling of soap as they are.  Dick is wearing some of Bruce's clothes, and Bruce smiles into the darkness as he realises that he has all of his children in the bed with him.  

They can get through this.  It is enough.  

Bruce goes to sleep.

Chapter Text

It's been a few days since Tim went completely silent.  Bruce has kept him nearby since, not quite willing to let him out of his sight until he's certain that Tim is back to his usual definition of normal.  

Which is why Tim is in the Watchtower again, tiny domino mask on, sitting at a side table coloring while Batman talks to his teammates.  He's kicking his feet idly and reaching for a new colored pencil, when a shadow falls across his picture.

He looks up to see J'onn J'onzz standing over him, staring at his picture.  

"What are you doing?"  J'onn asks in his quiet measured way.

Tim glances across the room at Batman who is staring back at him with his head cocked.  The quiet question of 'are you okay' blatantly on his pseudo-father's face.

He nods and sees Batman relax and turn back to his teammates.

Tim takes a spare piece of paper out and scribbles on it.

"I don't talk.  Do you know ASL?"

"I do not.  But I could speak with you telepathically, if you would allow?"  J'onn's tone is questioning.

He nods, and gestures at the empty chair beside him.

J'onn sits and stares some more at his coloring before saying anything else.

"Did you draw it?"  J'onn says, speaking directly into Tim's mind, making him twitch in surprise.

Batman's focus is back on him, and he waves him off irritably.

"Just coloring it," he responds mentally.

He closes the coloring book and points to the artist's name on the outside.  

"I don't know if I could pronounce it even if I did speak out loud," he thinks to J'onn.

--

J'onn doesn't know anything about the small child wearing a mask, other than that he is connected to Batman in some form or fashion.  He is aware of Batman's true identity, but he hasn't researched him enough to know about whether he has reproduced.  He hadn't actually cared, and he realises the oversight now.

The small boy in front of him has a most interesting mind though.  He cannot hear the words the boy is speaking to him, but instead can only see them, read them.  It is rare--though not unheard of--for the mind he's linked with to have no audible internal voice.

"What is Batman to you, if I may ask?"  

He will not be offended if the small child tells him to go away.  He's seen the protectiveness between the two, and the others that Batman is close with.  But still.  He'd like to know, to try and understand.

"You know Batman's real face?" The boy thinks at him.

Another oddity.  Most humans have difficulty switching to thinking their thoughts at him, the messages often coming across disjointed or static filled.  Not so with this boy.

He mentally projects an image of Bruce Wayne's face back at the boy.

"My name is Timothy Wayne.  My dad calls me, 'Tim.'"

"Who is your dad?" J'onn asks, expecting to see more word text.

What he gets instead is a rush of quiet visuals, of scenes recalled with such picture perfect clarity that it leaves him breathless.

Bruce holding Tim.  Bruce laughing with Tim.  Bruce cradling Tim when he is obviously hurting.  Bruce holding his hand.  Bruce being there with Tim for scene after scene after scene.  And all overlaid with the feeling of fierce protectiveness, deep love that nearly sends him reeling at the overwhelming wave of it.  After a moment, the physical flood recedes and he opens his eyes to see Tim staring at him in concern.  

"Are you okay?" Tim thinks at him.

Feeling very out of his depth, J'onn just nods.  

Tim bites his lip and spreads his picture out toward J'onn.  

"You could color too, if you want," Tim offers mentally.

"I do not know how," J'onn admits out loud, still feeling uncertain.  

He has underestimated this child, to be certain.

Tim shrugs and smiles at him.

"That's kind of the point of coloring.  You don't have to know what you're doing."

Tim offers him a colored pencil and after a moment, he takes it.  

--

Later, Bruce asks him if he had fun and he shows his dad the picture they had completed together.  Bruce files away the knowledge that Tim had gotten along with J'onn, and decides to ask him over to the manor sometime.  Maybe J'onn could help them connect with Tim when the boy is beyond words.  

He mentally files it away as a contingency plan, not telling anyone.