I love the idea of parentified Tim Drake.
Bruce loses Jason and isn't ready for another son. Tim sees this, he acknowledges this, and he's okay with it. He's never really been a son to his own parents so he wouldn't expect the neighbor to start taking care of him.
When Tim's parents come home, they're not mean or anything, they just don't baby him. They treat him as an equal--as someone who knows what he's doing--and that's fine, because he does.
He's been taking care of himself for as long as he could remember, so when people try to treat him like a child, it angers him more than anything. The way that they assume just because he's young he can't take care of himself.
Tim's been to galas before, though. He's talked with Bruce and the man never treated him like he was incompetent. Tim's parents would ask Tim questions about the company so that he could recite them to Bruce. It was a song and dance he was well versed in, but he didn't really mind, not when Bruce looked at him with such a fondness in his eyes, always saying, "That's really interesting. You know a lot about your parents' company. Did it take you a while to memorize it?"
And he'd shake his head and say, "No," because that was the correct response, even if it was wrong.
Even if he had flashcards about Drake industries and kept up to date with perception of the company and the stock value and who the shareholders were and what they wanted and what they were willing to do to get that.
It wasn't one bout of work. It wasn't a single night of studying to make sure he passed the test, but a lifetime memorizing information and then rememorizing it when it changed.
So when Jason died and Bruce started getting bad, Tim knew what to do.
He was used to long term projects where it would be years before he actually got to see any result. He was used to seeing adults as people who he was responsible for, though he had to admit that the responsibility had never been that big before.
When Tim showed up at Bruce's doorstep, he was young, just like both of Bruce's other sons, but his eyes lacked that sort of naïveté and childlike wonder that should have accompanied the baby fat which persisted on his cheeks.
That's what made Alfred pause at the door.
There was a kid. A black haired, blue eyed kid. He was young, like both of Bruce's sons. His lack of naïveté was something he shared with both children, only Dick's had been a fresh sort of loss, one he was still mourning, and Jason's naïveté was something long-forgotten and left to rot. It was a feeling you smelt when you left the windows closed for too long.
Still there, still somewhere, but not quite right and never able to be found, only stumbled upon in rare moments of something that could almost be called joy.
Tim's naïveté is something he left at home. He keeps it on a shelf in his bedroom, something to look at when the going gets rough, but something too fragile to be held.
Maybe that's why Alfred lets him in.
That day, Tim meets Bruce--not Brucie or Batman, just Bruce.
He meets a man who's hair's grown long, but not long enough for it to have been intentional. There's grease in his hair and bags under his eyes and you can tell that he's been biting his nails.
He's clean shaven, because that's what people can see when he wears the cowl.
Tim takes a deep breath before walking into the room.
Bruce doesn't move, but Tim doesn't doubt that the man notices him.
The room smells like alcohol--a smell he recognizes from when his own father is home, though he can't say he's ever remembered it smelling so concentrated.
"Hello," he says, when he's right in front of Bruce, "My name is Tim, and I'm here to help."
Bruce doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to.
Tim talks to him, slowly distracting the man as he brings him to the bathroom, first trying to put a toothbrush in his hand and then, when that doesn't work, brushing the man's teeth himself.
Tim draws a bath for him and grabs him a new pair of clothes, and tells him to take his bath, only leaving the room when Bruce finally stands up and starts undressing.
Tim takes care of the sheets, puts new ones on the bed, and goes to the kitchen, to find Alfred already making food.
The butler asks him if he's staying to eat but Tim just insists that he's not hungry and brings the food up to Bruce.
He knocks on the bathroom door, and when Bruce doesn't respond, he opens it.
Bruce is sitting in the bath, knees to his chest, crying, but not otherwise moving.
So Tim rolls up his sleeves and washes Bruce's hair, then keeps him company as Bruce washes himself.
Bruce finds it easier to get things done when there's someone else in the room--talking to him, giving him something else to think about.
Tim talks as he gets Bruce out of the bath and hand him a towel. He talks as Bruce dries himself off and gets dressed. He talks as Bruce eats the lunch that Alfred made him and he talks until he gets Bruce back to bed.
He leaves, voice hoarse from talking so much after living in an empty home.
He comes back the next day and does it all again.
Alfred doesn't know what he should do. He knows, of course, that Tim is young and shouldn't be taking care of someone at that age.
He also knows that Bruce is in no state to take care of himself and all of Alfred's attempts have been in vain.
Tim's talking was what got Bruce to eat his first actual meal in a week--not just popcorn and protein bars. Tim's presence is what got Bruce to bed.
Tim was what was making things better, so while Alfred knew he should put a stop to it, he couldn't quite make himself do so.
Instead, he started doing little things.
He invited Tim to stay for meals.
Invited Tim to stay the night.
It took a while, but eventually, Tim started living in the manor.
One month, there's only ghosts in the house, the next, three beating hearts.
One month, Bruce can only think of his son, the next, he's calling Tim his dad.
One day, Bruce crosses the line as Batman, and the next day, he has a Robin.
You know how things go from there, some things are lost, others are gained. Some things stay the same, others do nothing but change.
Bruce and Tim get better, but Bruce still thinks of Tim as his dad.
No one really pays it much heed, though. That's just how they are--nothing really to note.
It's Dick, though, who starts noticing something's off, because Tim never sleeps.
When Dick was first adopted, he had nightmares.
He'd remember what it was like to watch someone fall. He did not watch it from the ground, but from the balcony, holding onto a trapeze, moments away from completing his own jump.
It took him months to finally come to Bruce, tell him about his nightmares.
Though he was never told the details, he knew it was the same for Jason. He pushed Bruce away, insisted that he'd be fine on his own, but eventually started letting him in.
He never asked, but assumed it was the same for Tim. When Tim couldn't sleep, when he had nightmares, when he couldn't stand to sleep in an empty bed, he'd go to Bruce like the rest of them did.
It was a reasonable thing to assume, and it was a belief he only questioned when he got up in the middle of the night to get water.
That same night, Bruce had a nightmare. Bruce knocked on Tim's door. Bruce slept in Tim's bed.
Tim ran his hands through Bruce's hair, promising that everything would be okay until Bruce fell asleep.
Now that he knew to look for it, Dick started noticing even more. The way Tim knew Bruce's favorite food and the way Tim took care of the man's company so that Bruce had the freedom to do what he wanted. The way Bruce turned to Tim when he had a problem or wanted to be told he did something well.
It was wrong.
It was wrong and Dick was trapped because he hadn't noticed it earlier. Why didn't he notice it earlier?
Tim came to him first, asked him to become Robin again. Dick knew about Tim from the start. Dick was there for the entirety of his stay as Robin.
He was there.
So why didn't he noticed?
Jason sees him panicking on patrol and Dick just breaks.
He breaks down in his brother's arms--arms he can feel tightening around him as he tells him everything.
They talk about it a lot after that. Jason starts noticing things too.
They bring in Babs and start making a file--compiling evidence because there's always the urge to just ignore it. To acknowledge that Bruce is doing better than ever.
But that requires them to forget about Tim.
To let the boy take care of Bruce and not live his own life.
Because, now that they're looking, they can see how lonely it is.
How he doesn't have any school friends--he had to drop out to take over WE.
How he's grown apart from Young Justice--always leaving when Bruce is in trouble or needs someone to talk to, not able to bear the idea of what Bruce might do if left alone.
Because Tim knows he'll break.
Bruce needs someone to take care of him, and Tim exists to fulfill the needs of others, regardless of how much it takes from him.
So Tim goes and helps his son. He never talks about how tired he is. He has sleeping pills to fix that, and maybe he can't take them because what if Bruce has a nightmare and then he can't wake up Tim--it's unimaginable.
Dick and Jason notice, though, and they try to bring it up with him, but they're not sure how.
Not when Tim's gut reaction is just to start taking care of them, too. Easing their worries, telling them that everything's okay.
They want so bad to insist that it's not okay, that this is going to ruin Tim and he can't spend his whole life like this.
But they want even more to be held. To be granted that unconditional love and care that comes with being Tim's child.
So they try to say something--anything.
But then, Tim smiles. He opens his arms to them and asks about their days.
And they they try to tell him that not everything's okay, but Tim is smiling, and they try, but they can't say a thing.
