Special || Batfamily

CHAPTER II

Tim's first few days at the manor are scary. He had visited it multiple times before for the few visits he had been allowed, but now that he was living there full time, it felt big. Too big. He got lost on more than a few occasions. It frightened him. There were occasions that Bruce or Alfred would find him wondering the halls late at night, confused and unsure of where to go.

Thankfully, Tim adapts in less than a month. Bruce puts as much effort as he can in juggling his responsibilities as a father, and responsibilities as a vigilante. He wants to be the father Timmy deserves.

Janet always said Tim was special, and for a while, Bruce always assumed she was referring to his intelligence. Despite his age, Tim's intelligence was near-profound. His awareness and problem solving prowess were so impressive that it was almost scary. As time passes, Bruce develops a new schedule. Batman is how he spends his nights, and during the day, when he's not parading around Gotham as Brucie, he is at home with his boy, playing board games, chess, and having pancakes twice every week, courtesy of Alfred.

One night, Tim awakens from a nightmare, terrified. The moment he springs up, there is a flash of lightning and crackle of thunder outside. It is pouring rain. The intensity of the storm seems to rise the more agitated Tim gets. The waters beneath the cliff upon which the manor is seated pick up as the winds grow stronger. He springs out of bed, wearing an oversized t-shirt that reached all the way down to his knees. He scampered silently out of his room and through the dark hall of the manor, instinctively heading towards his father's bedroom. He is distraught when he finds it empty, the bed still made. He searches the house frantically. Attic, closets, kitchen, library, study, foyer, living room. All empty. Soon, Tim is shivering violently, weeping as the rain striking the roof of the manor intensifies to bullet-like precision.

"Master Timothy?"

Tim turns abruptly, facing Alfred, clad in his own night clothes and hat, gripping a candlestick in his hand to give some light. "Young master, what is wrong? It's well past your bedtime."

As Alfred comes closer, the light from the candle shines on Tim's face, and Alfred's face softens when he sees the tears. He kneels down. "Hard time sleeping, Master Timothy?"

Tim nods, tears still pouring. "I-I can't find daddy. *hic* Where's daddy?"

Alfred sighed. "Your father has been delayed. He will be home shortly."

This seemed to calm Tim. At that moment, the rain outside lessened. Moments before, it sounded as though rocks were pelting the roof, now it was calm and soft. Alfred glanced up at the skylight, cocking an eyebrow in confusion before shrugging it off. He stands, offering Tim a hand.

"How about I get you some milk and cookies, then we get you back to bed? I promise your father will be here when you wake up in the morning."

Tim doesn't seem so sure, but he nods, sniffling and wiping away the last few tears. He takes Alfred's hand, and they do everything he suggested before Tim returned to his room to embrace sleep.

Bruce was there when he awoke.

💫💫💫

Bruce exits the kitchen, carrying two plates of eggs and bacon for him and his four year-old son while they watch Saturday morning cartoons. He halts when he sees Tim seated criss-cross on the floor, cocking his head at the television. The news is on, Batman's battle with Poison Ivy playing.