AN: Aaand we're back in the present! For now. ;)
Bruce leans back from the Batcomputer for a moment, stretching the crick in his back and looking around. Damian, Cass, and Barbara are working at the briefing table, talking in low voices as they pour over files. Dick and Stephanie are going through the Cave's inventory of weapons and debating other supplies they'll need. Jason is over by the Batjet, or more accurately, under the Batjet, making sure it's ready. They're probably only a handful of hours from being ready to go.
Ready to go to Tim.
Closing his eyes and putting his hands on his thighs, Bruce takes several deep breaths. He needs to stay calm and focused. He can't think about the last almost two years (twenty-two months, one week, and six days). He can't. He needs to be ready.
"Master Bruce."
Bruce isn't ready. His eyes fly open and he swivels to meet Alfred's eyes.
Alfred looks weary but stern. "You have been down here for seventeen hours straight."
Bruce doesn't need to glance at a clock to know Alfred's right. To be fair, he probably wouldn't know even if he did glance at a clock; he hasn't paid much attention to the time the past few days.
"You must go rest," Alfred says.
"I can't," Bruce says.
"You must," Alfred says, then before Bruce can say anything about how important this preparation is, Alfred adds, "It will do the young master no good if you are asleep on your feet when you arrive to rescue him."
Bruce… Bruce can't really argue with that. He sighs. "All right. I'll go."
Rising from the Batcomputer chair, Bruce pauses. He looks around, double-checking on everyone. Then he heads upstairs.
Contrary to what Alfred probably wants, though, Bruce doesn't head directly to bed. Instead of turning up the stairs toward the family wing's bedrooms, he turns down the hall toward the back exits of the Manor. Bruce walks the hallway, noticing how silent it is.
It was just as silent when Tim died.
None of them could believe it at the time. Some random goon tricking Wayne Enterprises security enough to get up to Tim's office, enough to get Tim out into the hall, enough to pull Tim into a mechanical room…
Enough to blow up the mechanical room with Tim in it.
It had been unbelievable. Then it didn't need to be believed, because it was true. The evidence all came together: the witness of Tim's assistant, the camera footage in the hall, the DNA fragments in the rubble matching Tim's DNA…
Bruce had even asked Superman and Superboy if either could find Tim's heartbeat. The answer had been a regretful "no." And so it had seemed settled. Tim was dead.
Bruce stops. He was so deep in thought, he almost didn't notice he was already where he planned to go.
Slowly, Bruce settles into sitting on the grass. He crosses his legs. He rests his elbows on his knees and rests his chin on his hands.
He stares at the grave where he'd buried the concept of his third son.
"Hey, Tim," Bruce says softly. "I know you're not here. I've always known you're not here, but this is different. Before, it was because I thought… Well. Your body was destroyed, and your soul was… Wherever souls go. But now, I know you're not here, because you've been somewhere else the whole time."
Gently, Bruce brushes a hand over the top and sides of the tombstone. It's clean already, well-taken-care-of, basically pristine, but it feels nice to still smooth over it with his hand.
"Ra's al Ghul, huh?" Bruce asks. He shakes his head. "We never got to talk fully about all you did while I was lost in time. I know he factored into it, but I don't know how much. Now I'm guessing it was quite a bit."
Bruce sighs. "Tim. We've missed you. We've missed you so much. I don't know how to describe it. I didn't know I was going to have to describe it, but now I'll get to. I'll get to tell you how much we've missed you, how much we need you, how much we love you. And we're so lucky we're getting you back. We want you back so badly."
Tears start to give their signature prickling. Bruce closes his eyes and tilts his head back.
"Oh, Tim," Bruce says, feeling so many things at once and not sure what to do with them. "We're going to get you back. I know we are."
Bruce sits there for a while, until his head droops and he wakes back up fully with a jerk back of his head. He clears his throat and stands, brushing a few stray strands of grass off of his pants. "All right. I'll talk to you soon."
And as he heads back into the Manor, Bruce finds he's smiling a little.
He really will talk to Tim soon. Not to Tim's tombstone. To Tim.