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Tim had been planning this moment for weeks. His plan had been progressing well, Bruce had started to be more affectionate and open, and responded particularly well when Tim acted familiarly in the mask. Bruce was starting to think of Tim as potential family, someone who could be a son rather than an interloper, and it had managed to improve their relationship as Batman and Robin as planned.
Now came the time for step four of his plan. The one that was the most risky, as it could trigger Bruce to backslide if he didn’t want to accept Tim as his ‘son’. Calling Bruce dad.
It had to seem accidental, a slip of the tongue, so that it would catch Bruce off guard as well as appear to surprise Tim. He would then retreat, hiding away from Bruce in embarrassment, hopefully forcing the man to fully accept Tim as a child figure in his mind so as to provide acceptable comfort. He would inevitably find Tim, they would have an emotional talk, and confirm that Tim saw Bruce as a father figure. It would finally cement his position as Robin, rejuvenate Bruce, and give more certainty to their partnership. Bruce knew how to interact with a son, and a son is what he wanted Robin to be, and Tim was finally completing that wish.
It was only a matter of waiting for the right opportunity now. And luckily for Tim, one had just presented itself.
Bruce was nagging him, something he’d started doing with more frequency. This time it was about his eating habits, which he probably should listen to, but Tim didn’t particularly care that much.
“Eating well and often is essential to maintaining your health and improving your fitness. Skipping even one meal leads to a decrease in energy and a rise in irritability and fatigue.” Bruce was following Tim upstairs after patrol, and he was quite ready to go home and collapse in bed.
“I know, Bruce. Sometimes I just forget or don’t feel like making myself anything though. Kind of hard to get excited about heating something up to eat alone.” Throwing in a line about his absent parents was always certain to get a response.
Sure enough, Bruce immediately offered, “How about you come over to the Manor for dinner more often? You know Alfred loves to have you, and I like your company as well, and it would be great to help you eat more.”
Show time.
Tim made a point of looking absent-minded, filling a glass of water for himself before answering, “Thanks, dad, I’ll think about it.”
Half a moment, then Tim’s eyes widened, and his body jerked, setting down the glass and allowing some water to splash over the rim. “I mean,” He stumbled, “I have to go Bruce! It’s late and I should really be getting to bed, good rest is essential to recovery and all.”
Tim turned and did his best to replicate a controlled flee. Bruce’s face had been shocked, confused, perhaps happy. He hadn’t had a lot of time to check, and he needed to leave for maximum effectiveness. Speed walking towards the door, Tim didn’t say anything except a rushed goodbye to Alfred as he slammed the door shut behind him and took off in a jog. Leaving Wayne Manor behind him, Tim allowed himself a triumphant grin. It hardly could have gone better, but the true test was yet to come and rested mostly on Bruce. Once he got inside his house he relaxed, able to stop focusing on maintaining the proper body language and expression. Maintaining the persona that he needed to be for Bruce had gotten easier over time, but it was still exhausting to be constantly thinking about how he was presenting himself. It was nice to just be home, to be himself with no expectations.
But the night wasn’t over yet. Tim headed upstairs to his room, falling haphazardly onto his bed without bothering to change. The lights went off, and he assumed a sort of pitiful, contemplative position. He didn’t know how long it would be before Bruce arrived, so he had to be prepared. The Tim who was Bruce’s son would lay there, overthinking things and needing reassurance of his relationship with Bruce, so Tim would lay there and wait for as long as it took.
The ceiling was off white, and his walls were a pale blue that looked gray without light. His windows were closed, but the curtains were open, revealing a pitch black sky. A digital clock sat on his bedside table, and the numbers slowly ticked upwards. How long would it take Bruce to sort out his emotions and come visit, Tim wondered. Would it even happen that night? Or maybe Bruce wouldn’t like being confronted with a potential son, didn’t want to consider Tim that way even after all of his planning to ensure that Bruce would accept him. Maybe he didn’t actually like Tim as much as he had assumed, maybe he wouldn’t come, wouldn’t want Tim even after all of the work that he had put into it.
The thought hurt. It wasn’t the real Tim that Bruce liked, he had seen that in the first few weeks and adjusted accordingly to better fit Bruce’s perception of a son. But it was still a version of himself that he had put considerable effort into creating and maintaining, into carefully crafting for the sole purpose of gaining Bruce’s affection and trust in his ability to be Robin. To have that version rejected meant that Bruce didn’t like any version of Tim, that he hadn’t helped the man enough for him to consider new relationships, that he hadn’t been good enough. If Bruce rejected his ideal Tim, then he certainly wouldn’t want to keep him around, and the real version would be hardly more than a stranger.
There was a distant knock at the front door. Tim’s heart soared in relief, and he slipped back into character. He had accidentally called Bruce dad and ran away, but Bruce had followed him. It was embarrassing, and he felt a little guilty about referring to another man as his father. Not just a slip of the tongue, but a subconscious recognition. He was nervous, heart rate picking up and skin flushing and stomach turning. Face guarded but still clearly uncertain, Tim headed downstairs to get the door.
He peaked out, hesitating for a brief second before opening the door for Bruce. There was a brief moment of uncomfortable silence as Bruce stood on the doorstep and Tim just inside.
“Tim,” Bruce finally said, sounding slightly broken. “Can I come in?”
He stuttered a little, gripping the door. “Sure.”
Tim forced himself to move his arm, to allow Bruce inside. They stood across from each other in the entryway, the gap between them more of a chasm. His parents had never been interested in the history of America, but for one birthday he had begged them to take him to the Grand Canyon. He remembered standing at the edge, no guardrails separating him from a mile drop, and feeling the massive pull of that expanse of space. There was something similar happening between him and Bruce.
Neither of them were what the other needed, but they were pulling ever closer, binary stars trapped in orbit, spiraling closer and closer until they crashed. Tim couldn’t leave this behind now, even if he wanted to. Robin was in his blood, in his sweat, in his every heartbeat. And Bruce had worked his way in there as well, trying his best to improve for Tim’s sake, because Tim had asked him to and forced him to and willingly given Bruce his own life for the sake of the Mission. The Mission was not just Bruce’s. It was Robin’s, and it was Tim’s, who had changed and morphed to fit the mold that was required to be accepted in the mask.
Bruce looked uncomfortable in the way that he always did when emotions were involved. But he was also slowly flexing his fingers, a stress tell that he only showed when he wanted to reveal his thoughts and be more open. He was trying, he was hoping for a positive outcome from this conversation, and he wanted to be more vulnerable for it. To match Tim in his distressed state most likely.
“Tim, I,” Bruce struggled with words for a second. “You’re very important to me. I’m constantly impressed by how amazing you are, and how much of a truly good and reliable person you’re turning out to be. When you first showed up at my doorstep I was skeptical, I was angry, and I was hurting. But you’ve helped me change that, you’ve helped me see the good in the world again. Having you as Robin at my side has been wonderful, and…”
Bruce paused again. “And having Tim as my son has been even better. I’m honored that you may think of me even half as highly as I think of you. I know that you have your own father, that you’re not looking for a replacement, that it was probably just a tired mistake-”
“Bruce.” Tim interrupted, “I- Of course I think of you like a father. How could I not? And I love my dad, but, you know, I can love more than one person.”
He was suddenly drawn into a tight hug, entirely wrapped up in Bruce’s strong arms and held close. Tim’s heart squeezed painfully, and he allowed himself to think, mission success. And though Bruce loved a Tim that was mostly made up, there was a bit of the real Tim in there that he also had to love. Some of this is real, Tim told himself, some of it is for me. That was enough.