The foremost thought in Bruce's mind was, I never should have sent Dick to Bludhaven.
He'd always been against the decision to stay, and just about every decision after that, even if Dick's choices also gave Bruce a paradoxical sense of pride. Despite what Dick repeatedly claimed, Bruce's disapproval was not a sign of distrust or disappointment, and had very little even to do with methods or ideals.
He just knew bad things would happen to Dick in that awful city.
And he'd been right.
Not that this was the time to assert that. But his boy had been beaten, he'd had his heart broken, his life was destroyed, he was forced into responsibilities he wasn't prepared for and had joyous life experiences twisted with tragedy, he'd been forced to compromise his morals to degrees Bruce probably wasn't even aware of, and now there was reason to believe Dick had been violated in one of the most personal ways.
None of it would have happened if Bruce hadn't sent Dick to investigate the bodies washing into the harbor. Or if he'd held onto his child tightly enough to pull him back after the fact. But now, it seemed that all his efforts to keep Dick safe had not only failed, but resulted in an unexpected consequence.
Yes, Bruce knew he had his own faults, that there were things he overlooked and occasionally pushed away on purpose, but his most recent conversation with Dick had his stomach crawling. He didn't always approve of Dick's actions, and he currently thought the young man was too distraught to fully act in his own best interests, but that Dick thought Bruce wanted a mindless pawn was too much to bear. How long had that thought been germinating, that Dick was expected to be an obedient soldier and nothing else? Did Dick really believe his questioning of Batman's authority made him less loved by Bruce?
Sometimes he wondered if Dick had a hearing problem, because Bruce was fairly sure he'd told Dick he was proud of him in the past, only for Dick to complain that nothing he did was ever good enough. And he was sure he'd put his heart on the line a few times to explicitly say, "I love you", but Dick acted like no such sentiment or anything like it had ever been expressed. Didn't Bruce call Dick his son, even before the adoption?
And the adoption! Didn't Dick recognize how hard it had been to ask, how terrifying and strange, to ask a grown man with a great fondness for his own parents if he would give all that to him? He hadn't known if Dick would say yes. He hadn't been sure Dick wouldn't be offended to be asked. But Bruce knew that every time Dick may have felt that he wasn't wanted, Bruce had felt unwanted himself.
Perhaps it was childish to be so insecure. But Bruce was the one who asked to take Dick in, the one who offered his person and his name and his things. It was Bruce who asked if he could finally adopt that boy and call him his own. And all those things done with the knowledge that the preferred option for Dick would be to not be with Bruce at all, but back with his parents. Bruce wanted Dick in his home all those years ago, but when Dick first crossed over the threshold of Wayne Manor, he didn't especially want to be there. It was just better than anything else under the circumstances.
Until Bruce received a letter from Dick, some time ago, where Dick wrote that while Bruce would give anything to be with his parents again, including trading away the life he had, Dick would not. Given the power, Dick would still accept the death of his parents for the new life that had opened up to him. At the time, Bruce had been horrified to read those words, unable to understand them.
He still didn't understand. But now, he could accept that maybe it wasn't a failure on his part. It wasn't that he'd shattered the boy and made him pathologically dependent, but rather, this was the nature of time and family. "Dick?" he said, and his soft voice seemed to echo like a bass drum in the quiet waiting room. The two of them had been sitting in silence for some time since the last argument, neither uttering a word.
"Yeah?" And why should they talk? They had everything to talk about, but never could get the words out right. That was the real problem, not that Dick had selective hearing, but Bruce's conflicting evidence.
"I've forgotten, but..." When criminals were charged with crimes, they were convicted based on evidence. Sometimes that evidence could only be interpreted one way, but other times, pieces of evidence could contradict each other. It could equally support two separate theories. At those times, lawyers made a case for 'reasonable doubt', and often won, because if there was a chance that the other theory was correct, it was better not to send an innocent person to jail and possibly to the death penalty.
Bruce told Dick he loved him. He also did things that could prove the opposite. If Dick were to evaluate all the pieces of evidence... "The early years... were they good?" Reasonable doubt.
But Dick smiled. Small, tired, but genuine. "The best." No doubt there. Well...
Well, what?
"Dick, if there was any time I made you feel like a possession..." Bruce said with a great deal of hesitation, "Or expendable, that's not the case at all." Dick smiled again, but it lacked the confidence it had a second ago. Back when all the evidence supported the popular theory.
"What am I to you, now?" And this was what frustrated Bruce, that Dick had to ask at all. Hadn't he said? He knew his behavior was sometimes at odds with his feelings, but for the problem to have gotten so bad...
"I took you in more for my own sake than yours," Bruce admitted. Dick's existence had saved Bruce far more than anything he'd done for the boy. An emotional construct that kept him from falling into madness. "You were someone I could confide in, someone who could understand. But you've become so much more. And I've changed, too." Jason certainly seemed to think so. But there had been good changes along the way. "You're my son. And I... love you."
It was hard to say those words. Not because they weren't true, but because they sounded so out of place. Like there were some words grown men didn't say out loud. Or they were too revealing, too close to leaving something vulnerable. Perhaps they weren't even sufficient for what Bruce actually felt.
But when he said that, Dick's face shone brighter than it had in years. A light Bruce thought had gone out permanently suddenly ignited, and he resolved to try harder to say the words out loud, instead of just in his mind. "But I'd like to be more than just the man you look up to unconditionally. You're not a child anymore, and I have to accept that our relationship has changed." He should have known those wonderful years of childhood wouldn't last forever. Even so, he clung to the way things used to be, tried to recapture the magic with Jason and insisted that Dick revert to his old role when they worked together. It was doomed to failure.
The early years were wonderful, but they were past now. "Has it changed that much?" Dick asked, a small twist in his smile. "I'm still snarking, and you're still brooding..." They needed to move into the future.
"Maybe not that much has changed," Bruce agreed. "But we have a new development, now." He turned in his plastic seat, making sure he was facing Dick properly. "Reconciling with you has given me the happiest days of my life." Dick looked dumbfounded, and Bruce quickly continued. "I've always been afraid to lose you like I lost my parents, or Jason. But I wasn't prepared for you to love someone else more than me." Or for circumstances to pull Dick away from his father, some legitimate, some less so. He always thought if anything pushed Dick away, it would be himself. "I was afraid. Jealous, and I reacted badly."
Dick blinked, and spoke with an incredulous tone, "The happiest days of your life?" Interesting. The phrase 'I love you' had an effect on Dick, but giving specific examples and personal observations seemed to be even more effective.
Bruce filed that evidence away for later. "Yes. More than when you were young, even." More than Batman and Robin. More than when Bruce had a chipper and adoring Dick Grayson worshiping him like he hung the sun and the moon. To Bruce, it wasn't the early years that were the best. "But it's natural for you to seek your own independence. And natural that you would give more time and attention to your... new family. After all, when you came into my life, my priorities also shifted. Somehow, I forgot that."
Dick's stare was broken with a light snicker. "You were threatened by a baby."
"I still am." That sobered Dick up. "I hope... I have no reason to be..."
"You don't," Dick said in a rush, and Bruce felt himself relax. "When I said I wasn't yours, I just meant I didn't want you assuming you knew what I felt or what I wanted, not that blood is more important..." He trailed off when he saw Bruce understood. "It's not like this replaces you, I don't think you can quantify love like that..."
"I know, I just..." How to say this without sounding heartless or childish? "You will always be my family. And losing family members, in any sense..." It was a threat he'd never been able to face. Bruce shifted in his seat again, facing forward instead of to the person at his side. "If Mother or Father were ever hospitalized like this, I'm not sure I could handle it as gracefully as you have."
"Graceful? You realize I've been a wreck, right? Shouting at people, crying all over stuff, Alfred usually has to force-feed me crackers so I don't pass out..."
"Well, it's better than how I reacted when Two-Face hurt you." Even now, the memories were difficult to bear, compounded by all the near-misses they'd had since. "I... couldn't stay with you. Even after prioritizing our identities above your care, I couldn't risk... I couldn't stay and watch you die."
Dick had reached out a hand, but now retracted it. "RJ's not going to die," he said hoarsely. "That's not what I'm doing..." But Dick had to know, as did they all, that cancer was difficult to cure, and this particular type especially tricky. He had to know that chemotherepy was as destructive to the body as the disease itself, more so for a little baby still developing. This recent surgery was the easy part of the journey.
But Bruce still said, "Of course not. But I admire you, Dick. I couldn't be there for you, then. Even after you were stable, I didn't talk to you. Hardly saw you for weeks. I drove you to run away..." Those were awful days. In a note Dick left, he said 'Alfred doesn't need to worry about entertaining me and taking care of you, too. You don't want a partner. And you don't need a son.' The whole letter operated on the premise that Dick had no value to Bruce once he'd been fired from Robin, as if that was the only reason he'd been taken in.
And the last words he'd spoken to the boy, the words that he'd let fester for weeks and weeks before Dick finally fled the mansion in a hopeless depression? "And you didn't listen! You disobeyed a direct order! An innocent man is dead and you were nearly killed!" Justification for firing his protege and not speaking to him throughout weeks of painful physical recovery. No wonder Dick had such a poor view of himself, now.
Bruce reached an arm behind Dick's chair, slipping it over his shoulders. "I don't ever want you to stop being who you are. You're a good man, and a better friend, a better father..." He gripped that shoulder so tightly, he worried he'd leave bruises. "I just don't want to lose you."
"Then why...?" Dick began, then shook his head. "Never mind, I already know the answer. You push me away, because it's not losing if you throw it out first."
Bruce grimaced. "That might be part of it..." He couldn't deny, he was guilty of those behaviors. "But usually, I'm trying to keep you safe. Even if that means making you mad at me." At Dick's quizzical look, he explained, "I never told you this, but I benched Jason as Robin. I don't know why I didn't expect it, but he ran away soon after."
Dick fought a grin. "Yeah, we Robins tend to do that."
"He hopped the country, to look for his mother. Then came the Joker, and you know the rest." They shared a somber look. "It was never that he failed me, or that I was upset with him. But I let him stay angry because I thought it might give him that extra incentive not to follow me into danger. But he died anyway. And I've done the same to you, all because I was afraid of harm coming to you..." But it never worked.
"It's pretty high-handed of you," Dick said with a light scowl, "To decide that we'd rather be hurt by you than anything else. And completely wrong, by the way."
Bruce swallowed. "Yes, I'm starting to see that, now." And Dick's scowl faded. "Leslie told me she'd watched me spend my whole life turning myself into a monster. I'm afraid... that I might take just as long unlearning that behavior."
"You're not a monster," Dick said, kindly. "She didn't mean it."
"I don't care if she did," Bruce growled, remembering how furious Leslie had been at the sight of Dick after Two-Face worked him over with a baseball bat. Had that been the impetus for what happened to Stephanie? "I'm not going to be hurt by the opinion of a killer."
"You still haven't forgiven her, huh?"
"You have?" She murdered Stephanie Brown. Just to make Bruce feel guilt, to convince all his allies to give up their own masks. She'd killed a child, and dared to act like Bruce was the monster. He had enough guilt on his conscience, but he wouldn't accept blame for that. "You can dismiss the fact that she took the life of an innocent girl?" Let alone a friend.
But Dick grew quiet. "I think, sometimes, people get backed into a corner, and they'll do anything to make the nightmare stop. Even things they normally wouldn't do." He shifted uncomfortably. "What she did was awful, and nothing will bring Steph back, but I don't want to just shut the door on her. I'd like to think someone like Dr. Thompkins could find her way back."
"Hmph. I don't maintain relationships with murderers." Dick froze. And Bruce didn't know why he felt so bad about that. These were the same words he'd said to Leslie's face, the same sentiments he'd always had. "Dick?"
"Do you feel the same way about Jason?" the young man asked in a weak voice.
"Yes." And Dick's face fell all the further. "If he keeps on as he has been, with no remorse. My personal feelings don't influence justice." When Dick remained quiet, Bruce sighed. "What did I say wrong?"
"It's not you," Dick said quickly. "But if Jason did feel remorse? You wouldn't hate him then?"
"I don't hate him now. But yes, if Jason turned his back on all of this, I'd welcome him home. Whatever it took to recover or pay his debt to society, I'd make sure he got it." Dick nodded his head at that answer. Bruce was pensive for a second, then said, "You're both my sons. Nothing changes that. And if one of you makes a mistake, however serious, all you have to do is own up to it and come home, and I'll help you."
"Prove it," Dick whispered, but before Bruce could respond, the doctor came in to the waiting room.
"Mr. Grayson, would you come with me, please?"
"I gotta go," Dick muttered, ignoring Bruce's attempts to talk. "Try taking a walk or something to burn off some of that tension."
"Dick, wait," Bruce pleaded, and finally succeeded in getting his son to pause. That done, he couldn't figure out how to compress all he wanted to say and all his questions into the few seconds he had before the doctor grew impatient. So he settled with, "It's going to be fine. I mean it. Everything's going to be fine."
It felt like a lie. It wasn't something Bruce could promise, but the sort of thing he might have told Dick when he was nine and wondered if Santa was going to get confused and look for milk and cookies at the penthouse instead of the manor. Bruce wasn't even sure what "everything" encompassed.
But it brought a smile to Dick's face all the same. "Thanks." And then he disappeared around the corner.
Alfred found Master Jason in a nearby hallway. The young man was leaning against the wall and glaring at the floor, or at least Alfred assumed so. Sunglasses hid most of what wasn't already obscured by the hood of Jason's sweatshirt, so it would have been impossible to say for certain if Alfred didn't have experience conversing with people in cowls and masks.
He opted not to lean against the wall, but did stand next to Jason in quiet camaraderie. When it seemed his presence was not intrusive, he said, "It was good of you to return. Even if we don't all express it, we are very grateful for your presence here."
"Whatever," Jason muttered, and Alfred smiled. Master Jason was a stranger in many ways, but some things hadn't changed at all. "Things still going okay in there?"
"Young Master RJ seems to have a slight fever, and there is some concern that he may develop pneumonia or bronchitis," Alfred relayed. "My information may be a little out of date, however."
Jason was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Should I be worried about this, or really worried?"
"It's certainly something to be concerned about, but I haven't heard that the situation is critical." This produced some relief in Jason, and he let out a sigh.
"Figures Dick-head's kid would be as needy as he is."
"I do not appreciate that language, Master Jason."
"Now where's the fun of being a little brother if I can't insult him?" Jason grinned, but it dropped quickly. "That's so messed up. I didn't expect any of this."
"May I ask what you did expect?"
"I don't know," Jason admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "To say hi to Bruce's parents, maybe. Not claw my way out of my own coffin." He chuckled a little. "Nice choice, by the way. Real swanky. Didn't appreciate it in the moment, but..." Alfred didn't know what to say to that, but he'd always believed that when one didn't know what to say, it was best to say nothing at all. In time, Jason continued, "When Joker kidnapped Commissioner Gordon and shot Barbara, he said we were all one bad day from going completely nuts like him."
"As I recall, the former commissioner proved that our destinies are not so completely out of our own control," Alfred reminded. "The Joker is not a tragic figure, whatever he might try to claim. He knows right from wrong, and makes his reprehensible choices anyway."
"Then why does Batman think Arkham is going to help?" Jason sneered, but appeared more frustrated than scornful. He kicked his boot against the floor a few times while Alfred considered that.
With his previous employment in Her Majesty's Service, Alfred was no stranger to taking life. But that didn't mean he approved of his charges taking up the roles of executioners. It was one thing to kill when appointed to the appropriate position and given the authority to do so, but another ethical matter entirely when one decided for themselves that they were the voice of justice. In truth, violence of any kind was a crime, and Batman was guilty of aggravated assault several times over. Saying that the ends justified the means was the sort of thing they looked down on others for.
Dr. Thompkins had taken issue with Master Bruce's penchant for involving children in his dangerous crusade, and had done the unthinkable to force him to stop. Alfred sometimes felt ashamed that he was not the one so convicted. Not that he would ever resort to the same lengths, but he could have quit at any time, and possibly should have. Or he could have reported his knowledge to the police, as he was legally obligated to do. He was proud of the good Master Bruce did for Gotham City, but that didn't mean his conscience was clear. It didn't mean he didn't feel the weight of culpability for every consequence.
They all knew right from wrong, and did wrong anyway. The only difference was that Batman and his followers did wrong to good ends. And that was usually enough for Alfred to sleep at night, but Jason was correct in observing that Batman's insistence that all life had value and that criminals could and deserved the chance to rehabilitate was only a formality when it came to the Joker. And it was Alfred's experience that when one began leaning on formalities rather than conviction, that was the time to get out of the business of life and death. Some claimed to thrive on the high stakes and excitement, but it was truly a weary life that left its affect on the soul for years to come.
Master Jason was no longer the little boy who used to steal cookies from the kitchen, but Alfred thought the young master had never looked so small. He took his sunglasses off, revealing bright but haunted blue eyes. "I had a really bad day, Alfred..." And oh, how the butler's heart broke. He reached across the small distance and gripped Jason's hand. "Do you think I'm crazy?"
"I'm sure I don't have the necessary background to diagnose that."
"You're evading."
"Yes." Best to be honest about that, at least. "I could give you my opinion, Master Jason, but as I said, I am hardly an expert. My thoughts would be prattle, at best." Jason seemed to accept that, but swallowed thickly.
"You think I'm wrong, though." Also difficult to say. In the legal sense, certainly, Master Jason had committed many felonies, but so had Master Bruce. And it was hypocritical not to admit that while Batman never killed directly, many deaths had occurred as a result of his involvement. Whether or not Jason held the moral right was a question for a higher power than Alfred.
"Do you?" Alfred was in the service of lost boys trying to become good men. He'd written that in his journal once, a document that would expose them all if it were ever discovered. Still, sometimes Alfred found his thoughts needed to find their way out into the world in some manner. After Dick had been brutally beaten by Two-Face, Alfred penned that observation, and found the sentiment repeated with every boy or girl to set foot in their cave.
Master Jason may have committed crimes, but he was so much more than a criminal. He was trying to find his way in the world, as all boys did, and Alfred knew Jason's heart and sense of compassion were just as strong as ever. "No." Perhaps that was small consolation in the face of the life taken, but it gave Alfred hope that the necessary reparations could be made. "Not that it matters to him."
There was no question who 'he' was. "Master Bruce might be rigid in his rules, but how you feel matters a great deal to him. It always has."
If Jason was affected by that, he didn't show it. "He's going to put me in Arkham. Or Blackgate, but probably Arkham. Whatever fuzzy feelings he's got, that's the only way this ends." He shook his head. "Everything's so wrong. In Gotham, in that house, in my head..."
"Is there anything I can do to make things right again?" It was the only thing he could think of to say. What was happening to his boys, that they had gone so far beyond his ability to care for them?
"I don't know," Jason moaned. After a pause, he turned his head away. "I didn't mean to let you down."
"Master Jason," Alfred said firmly, feeling a rush of uncomfortable tears threatening to break through. "You only let me down when you decide to give up on yourself." And he squeezed the hand still in his grasp, the hand that trembled as much as the shoulders attached to it. "For that's what all of this is really about, isn't it?"
Jason didn't answer. But he dropped his head and shoved the sunglasses onto his face before Alfred could see him cry. He then spent the next several minutes trying to hide the water creeping from his nose and eyes.
That was fine, Alfred knew how to wait. So the two stood together in the hallway, both pretending they weren't on the verge of sobbing to every person who passed by. The sight displayed less decorum than Alfred typically preferred, but when he slid his other hand onto Jason's shoulder, the boy didn't pull away, and there was no air of propriety more important than that.
"You want to what?" Bruce sounded disbelieving, and Tim couldn't blame him. The request came out of left field, and it would take all of Tim's acting skills to make it seem plausible.
"I want to talk to Mr. Carson," Tim repeated, affecting a nervous air and deliberately not making eye contact. "Would you come with me, Bruce? It's not super personal or anything, I've just never talked to a counselor before, and... I don't know. I'd feel better if you were there. Please?" Tim tried to look vulnerable and innocent, but in the back of his mind he wondered why he'd never seen a counselor before, given his traumatic history. He thought he'd adjusted pretty well without one, but it did surprise him that no one hauled him off to a psychiatric office on principle.
Then again, people tended not to pay him a lot of attention. "Tim, if something is wrong," Bruce began, but Tim quickly jumped in.
"Nothing big, nothing work-related or anything," he reassured. "But we've got a lot of changes happening really quickly, and I think I need to talk to someone about it." He knew he'd messed up as soon as he'd said it. Bruce's face fell, and looked caught somewhere between hurt and petulant.
"You could talk to me," he said, and Tim was a little struck to realize how much Bruce meant it. It felt a little like falling backwards in time, to where talking to Bruce was actually an option. Back after Bruce's return to the cowl, after Bane, after Dick returned to Gotham, and Alfred. Before the world went to hell around them.
In hindsight, Tim realized that it hadn't actually been so long ago, those good times, it just felt like forever. "Thanks, but..." He actually felt a little guilty. Bruce looked so helpless. Unable to make Dick's problems go away, and usually unwanted when he tried, and now Tim was rejecting his help, too. "It's Carson I need for this. But I want you to come with me. I need you," he plead, and hoped it would be convincing enough.
Because he had a plan. A somewhat manipulative plan, but he thought it would benefit everyone in the long run. Something terrible had happened to Dick, or maybe a lot of terrible things. Maybe he'd done something terrible, too. Tim could form a few theories based on the evidence, but he couldn't put them into words, or even fully admit them in his own thoughts. And judging from their behavior, the adults around him were at a similar loss. Dick needed a help that no one knew how to give right now.
And Jason was in a similar position. No one knew what he went through, except that it was horrifying. And as amazing as it was to have a loved one return from the grave, something Tim still wished on stars could happen for his dad, it was still traumatizing for Jason and everyone around him. It defied nature, and loved he might be, he wasn't the same person they lost in the explosion. Everything they knew about life and the universe was in question, while a stranger with a gun obsession stood in front of them.
So that left two options. The family could learn, quickly, how to offer Bruce's sons the help they needed while simultaneously working through their own issues, or they need to seek help from a third party.
The second option seems more logical. "Please, Bruce? You don't have to say anything, I just need you there." But no one, let alone Dick or Jason, was going to look outside the bat-cult for help, not if they thought Bruce disapproved. Since Bruce's method of coping with grief was to deliberately not do so, it wasn't like they all had great examples to draw from. Maybe Bruce was genuinely afraid of therapy, since it was something more emotional and less quantifiable, or he feared giving up the protective walls he constructed keep himself safe. Maybe he worried about people getting too close to their secret identities, or maybe he'd had a bad experience. Maybe he genuinely thought it wasn't necessary.
Tim didn't know, but he did know that no one would reach out until Bruce acted comfortable with the idea, and for that to happen, someone needed to take the first step. "Please? I know Mr. Carson's not a psychologist, but even counselors just remind me of Dana's hospital..." That did it. With a sigh, Bruce agreed to accompany Tim, and the boy gave an inner cheer. As Tim said before, he wasn't planning on discussing anything deep or especially personal, but he hoped it would get Bruce used to the idea of visiting a professional, enough so that he could guide Dick and Jason there in the future.
At the bare minimum, it was giving him something to do, something to help, an activity where he felt needed. And Tim had to give him that. It wasn't that Bruce didn't want to be helpful and compassionate. The two sought out Mr. Carson and settled awkwardly into plastic chairs, though Tim's awkwardness was largely an affectation. He actually felt pretty comfortable with Carson, the man reminded him of Dick. Or how Dick usually was, full of good humor while still giving off an aura of maturity and reliability. Tim missed that.
"I don't want you prescribing him anything," Bruce said as soon as he caught a glimpse of some papers in Carson's hands, detailing the pros and cons of various antidepressants. Bruce's tone was cold and sharp, but Carson just smiled.
"I picked this info up for a different client," he said, while slipping the papers into his folder, which he then put in his briefcase. "I've got a lot of appointments today, so the office has to come with me. But I'm not a doctor," he reminded with a grin, and Tim watched Bruce flush in embarrassment. "I can't prescribe or diagnose. Counselors just give counsel. Advice. You don't even have to take it," he directed at Tim in a conspiratorial whisper. Tim laughed, Bruce grumbled a bit, but the ice was broken. "What can I do for you?"
"Well..." Tim continued to act awkward and nervous, keeping up the ruse for Bruce. "My uncle and I aren't really close," or related, "So Bruce and Dick have been like family for years, especially since my dad... passed," Tim said. "But now we've got a new addition to the family, and everyone's scrambling. I want to help, but I'm not sure where I fit in, I guess. It's a whole new world."
"Newborns require a lot of care and attention. It's not uncommon to feel little displaced when all of that attention shifts at once."
"Displaced, that's a good word for it." Like the time Zatanna accidentally teleported them to Austria when he and Batman expected to appear in Australia. But Tim wasn't especially distraught, as much as he was trying to ease Bruce into the idea of discussing feelings aloud. "I'm usually the guy who takes charge of the situation. I'm used to fixing everybody's problems, but I can't do anything right now. It's all out of my control." He saw a small reaction in Bruce, almost imperceptible unless you knew what to look for. Good, they found common ground. "I don't know anything about babies or cancer, so I feel kind of useless."
"Some people find educating themselves about an unfamiliar situation makes it less intimidating," Carson suggested. "Do you think learning how to care for an infant would help you regain some of that control?"
"Maybe, but I don't think that's the real problem. I mean, it's not like I'd be able to cure RJ, no matter how much I learned," Tim sighed. "Everyone's so stressed out, especially Dick. And I'm trying to be there for him, for everyone, but it's exhausting! Because I can't do the one thing that would actually fix the situation." Beside him, Bruce actually nodded, before catching himself and returning to a more statuesque posture. He wanted to help, Tim could tell, he just couldn't get his usual tactics to work.
But now he knew he wasn't the only one to feel that way, and Tim expected to now have a conversation on ways they could help Dick and make the situation easier. Without having to ask for help, Bruce would receive some of the answers he was looking for, and would be gently nudged back into the mindset of focusing on Dick's feelings, instead of Bruce's own fear. And with a plan of action, Bruce wouldn't feel so useless, further putting him in a mental place free to focus on empathy.
That's how Tim wanted the conversation to go. He wasn't expecting the direction they actually took. After a moment of quiet regard, Carson asked, "Why do you need to fix the situation?"
"I, uh... Huh?" Tim stammered, a little thrown to be going so far off the expected script. "Isn't it obvious?" When he didn't get an answer, he looked to Bruce, who was similarly quiet. "RJ has cancer! He can kiss a normal childhood goodbye, assuming he even lives that long, and Dick's recovering from some trauma or something – don't glare, it's kind of obvious," he shot at Bruce, who looked a little cross that Tim was disclosing so much. "Our family has been through hell the past few years, and I know 'family' is kind of a loose term, but we're barely hanging on so this really isn't a good time to add a sick baby into the mix!" Oh, wow, hadn't he chewed Bruce out for saying the exact same thing back at the motel?
Mr. Carson smiled, but it was soft and sad, not wide and effusive. "Let me rephrase that. Why do you have to be the one to fix it?"
Tim froze, his brain in an actual stupor. "Because I'm... the only one," he pushed out, already thinking that couldn't be right. Except it was. More importantly, this was what he'd always done, what he was expected to do, whether he was Robin, Tim or any other alias. If he didn't step up to fix things, he would lose it all again.
And this time, he refused to lose. "You said yourself, RJ's health isn't something you have control over," Mr. Carson observed. "That's the domain of the doctors, if anyone's. So why are you putting so much pressure on yourself to make the world right again?"
These questions were so confusing. "It's my job.." Tim repeated, feeling like this was somehow obvious, but when he said the words aloud, they sounded wrong. Feeling bewildered, he sat back in his chair and knit his brows together. Why couldn't he come up with a better answer?
Carson retained his gentle smile as he spoke. "In every family, even ones without blood ties, there are unspoken rules. No one discusses or votes on them, but everyone just knows that some things are so. Maybe there's one person you always know you can go to for comfort, or the peacemaker, or someone who takes charge and makes decisions. You all know who's buttons can be pushed and which ones should never, ever be pushed. There's a system and an order that goes without saying." Tim tilted his head, thinking about this. "And then one day, something changes."
"Like a baby?"
"Yes, or any number of things. Someone does something that breaks the rules, and that leads to confusion and misunderstandings. The family's infrastructure may need to change, and some people deal with change by kicking and screaming." Ironically, Bruce was nodding as if this made perfect sense to him, while Tim still felt confused.
"What does that have to do with me?"
"Tim, who told you that it was your job to fix everyone's problems?"
"No one, it's just... what I've always done..." He looked back and forth between Bruce and Mr. Carson. "My parents weren't always around when I was little, so I learned how to handle things. After my mom died, I stepped up to be there for my dad, and I helped take care of him through some medical stuff. My girlfriend had a crisis and I helped her out, Bruce had a rough time after his son died," that earned a grumble from Bruce, "So I went next-door a lot to help them out, too..." he shrugged. "I help people. It's just what I do."
"And when did that change?"
Tim didn't remember saying anything changed, but when he thought about it... "The past couple years, some bad things happened to my friends and I wasn't there. Or when I was, they didn't want my help." He pursed his lips. "I wasn't around when my dad was killed, either. Lately I haven't been helping anyone."
"That's not true," Bruce interjected, the first comment since the conversation started.
"Do you feel your dad might have survived if you'd been present?" Carson asked, and Tim could easily interpret the frown on his face.
"I know what you're gonna say, but yeah, I do," he replied, deciding not to lie. Bruce was less than thrilled by that. "Maybe you think I can't take on a criminal by myself, but there were a lot of things I could have done if I were there. I turned away from him, and bad things happened." Not necessarily his fault, but still. "Just like I left Dick by himself, and bad things got worse. I shut out my girlfriend, and she..." Yeah, that was Stephanie's own stupid fault but Tim could have done so much to stop it from happening. "I could have made a difference. But I didn't know, I wasn't there to help."
"You broke the rules." Carson paused for second while that sink in, and Bruce grew frustrated.
"Nothing that happened is Tim's fault," he angrily declared, which would've been nice to hear, if it hadn't come from the man who used to Stephanie Brown as a chess piece to manipulate him into being Robin again. "You did nothing wrong!"
"No one's saying he did." How Carson could smile while facing Bruce Wayne's attitude was a mystery. "It may not be anyone's fault. The system, the natural order, simply changed, and that can lead people feeling confused and helpless, even assigning blame." That did describe how Tim felt a lot of the time. "One natural reaction is to push back against the change, restating their role and trying to force everything back to the way it was." Was he saying that Tim was being too controlling? "Another reaction might be to reject the family order entirely, to rebel or run away."
"Dick does that," Bruce observed, and Tim whipped his head in the man's direction so hard he got whiplash. "Things change, and he leaves it behind if he doesn't like it." He then frowned. "I'm usually the first one." Tim couldn't believe what was happening. Bruce Wayne was opening up and responding to therapy like it had been his idea, while Tim was finding his whole worldview under fire.
"Things used to be good!" he blurted out. "I liked the way things were, we worked! And then everything fell apart..." What was wrong with trying to get that life back? "This baby brought us all back together! We were going to be a family again, we were supposed to be happy!" He was starting to rant, and dropped his voice when Bruce and Carson got identical sympathetic looks. "Why isn't anybody happy?"
Carson inclined his head towards Bruce and gave an inviting smile. He had to be the only person on the side of the hospital still wearing a smile. "You want to take this?"
"Tim," Bruce haltingly offered, and it sounded similar to the voice he used when Tim's mom died, "Sometimes things change and there's no way to go back. It's a fact of life that we have to accept."
"You don't." He probably shouldn't have said that.
Bruce gave a pained look, but continued on. "Life changed. And maybe it'll never feel like it did before, but we can't control that. Expecting a little baby to somehow fix all the fights and wrongs in our lives in is unrealistic."
"Unrealistic? You're actually lecturing me on being unrealistic, Mr. I Haven't Changed My Clocks Since I Was Eight?" He couldn't believe he was having this conversation. "This is backwards! You were supposed to realize you had a problem, I just came here so you would..." Oh. The realization hit him all at once. He was moving people around like chess pieces, as manipulative and controlling as Batman. When did he turn into that?
"I'm sure there's a lot of people who need you," Carson added, "But it's a little disingenuous to force that help on them without looking at yourself first." And now Cass' Bible quote was back! How did Tim not see this for himself? If Wonder Woman were here, she would surely have something to say about hubris.
Bruce had a rueful twist to his lips. "It's been my experience today that Dick is more appreciative of genuine friendship than attempts to force or manipulate him somewhere. Even if it's for his own good," he finished with a bit of a huff. But Carson agreed with him.
"I think that's true of most people."
"So what do I do? Nothing?" Tim complained, and both men shook their heads.
"No, Tim, it's wonderful that you care so much about the people around you. And you strike me as someone very capable, a good man to have in a crisis. But what if this time, you didn't take that role?"
"Huh?" If not him, who? What if no one did? Was he supposed to expect other people to pull themselves together just because he didn't feel like it?
"What would happen if this one time, you let someone else step up, let the others rally around you?"
"But... Dick's got a new baby and stuff, he needs help more than I do." And Jason, someone had to figure him out.
"What if it wasn't a case of either or?" Carson pressed. "What would it take for you to let go?"
The idea was terrifying... "I don't want to," Tim finally admitted. It was easier to be the leader, and know what was happening next. Easier to accept blame when something went wrong, than to accept that bad things could break through all the barriers you trusted in. "Focusing on other people means I don't have to focus on myself." It was weird to have this conversation with Bruce in the room. He never thought he'd tell anyone, let alone Batman. There were some things you just didn't share with the cowl, whether the man was wearing it or not.
Still, something was coaxing the words out of him. "...My stepmom, she kinda had a psychotic break when Dad died. She's in Bludhaven now, and the treatment's great, but I don't think she'll ever get better." He shifted in his chair, clenching his hands. "I don't want to fall apart like that. It's scarier than dying. But being in charge, even behind the scenes, it proves I'm still functional. Rational." Somehow, it sounded a little less rational out loud, but Tim dreaded that some day he might self-reflect and find himself losing his mind, just like Dana.
Bruce looked heartbroken and horrified by the revelation, and even Carson's smile was sad. "I can't tell you why some things trigger mental illness in one person but not another," the social worker said, "Or why some people find it easier to recover than others. But I know that if you surround yourself with people you don't trust to hold you up, then no amount of control or competency will save you from falling when tragedy strikes. And it comes for all of us, Tim," he gently said. "All of us are going to have the one Bad Day above all bad days. You need to trust that other people can save themselves sometimes, and that they're going to come and save you."
"It's not that I don't trust them," Tim hesitated. He was about to say more, then stopped. He wasn't sure how to admit it with Bruce sitting right there.
"The side of you that needs help isn't inferior," Carson said. "In fact, you might find yourself more effective at helping your friends when you embrace it." Bruce frowned to hear that, visibly puzzled, and Tim mulled the idea over in his mind a little.
"I think I'm just scared," he finally admitted, and received an encouraging smile in return.
"Then it's the perfect time to reach out, isn't it?"
After the conversation finished, and Tim went on his way, Bruce stopped Mr. Carson. "Thank you for your insight."
"Well, it's my job," the man modestly said. There was a pause, filled only by that ever-present smile. Finally, "Is there anything I can do for you?"
Bruce hesitated, then plunged forward. "I'm no stranger to loss and tragedy. As the world is already aware," he grimaced, and Carson responded with a wry smirk. Bruce Wayne's entire life was on display, the press knew more of his trauma than the man was comfortable with. But he was still untouchable, the head of a company, head of the family, head of a crime-fighting mission. "I'm used to being in control of a situation. When that status quo is threatened, I can react.. badly."
"Well, you're not alone there," Carson chuckled, which made Bruce feel a little better about revealing such information.
A part of him still thought the whole thing was a mistake. "Fear and anger can be turned into motivating forces," Bruce said, thinking of all his training to be Batman. For that reason, he never wanted to let go of his pain. What if he lost his drive, his vengeance, his commitment to the mission? Or worse, what if letting the pain fade meant the memories of his parents would fade also? "But recently, I have noticed a disturbing pattern of taking that anger or fear out on the people I love."
It was a personal thing to admit, and could have terrible results if Carson decided to share it. The tabloids were always hungry for any hint that Bruce was mortal, and weren't satisfied with the juvenile antics that 'Brucie' readily supplied them with. Even now that Dick was grown and Jason was buried, a suggestion that he'd been a violent or inappropriate guardian was still gold. Everyone had an article visualizing a battered and broken child, just waiting for a breath of proof to publish alongside it.
But the fact that Bruce had struck Dick out of anger on occasion outweighed everything the press could say. That Jason found his former guardian so angry and volatile that Bruce was beyond recognition deserved action. "I would like to stop this behavior." And recognizing the problem meant nothing if it didn't lead to change.
So, Bruce voiced the hardest question he'd ever had to ask. "What would you recommend I do?"