"You were trying to open the computer?" Kid-Tim asks as he follows Tim and Bruce back to the Batcomputer.
"Yes, but there are a few failsafes in place we had yet to navigate," Bruce says.
Kid-Tim bounces a little on his toes, a habit Bruce's Tim has only mostly grown out of, something he does when he's thinking hard.
"What are you thinking?" Tim asks knowingly.
Kid-Tim freezes. He hesitates. After a moment, he says quietly, "I can turn off most of the failsafes."
"We would be grateful for that," Bruce says.
Kid-Tim's eyebrows go up, and his mouth drops open a little. "Really?"
"We would be very grateful to you for that," Bruce says firmly, because nobody should look that surprised by being told their work is appreciated.
Kid-Tim nods, and he moves forward to the Batcomputer. He fiddles with something below the desk, then types a few things, then fiddles below the desk, then types a few more things. He steps back and stares at the Batcomputer for a moment, and he nods again. Then he types one more thing. "There! It didn't shock me that time."
"Thank you," Bruce says, moving forward toward the computer chair and seating himself. "But next time, if you need to check if something will shock you or otherwise harm you, please let me check it."
Kid-Tim steps back, his whole face wrinkled in confusion. "Why?"
"So that you don't get hurt," Tim says. "Our Batman is big on kids not getting hurt."
Kid-Tim's face is still wrinkled in heartbreaking confusion, but he nods anyway.
Bruce spends several minutes hacking away, while the pair of Tims converse quietly behind him. Bruce pays some attention to them at first, but somewhere around the time that Kid-Tim mentions he sleeps in a containment cell on the slab it has sticking out of the wall that functions as a cot "because it's the closest thing to a bed in here," Bruce has to force himself to only focus on the hacking or else he may just not-so-spontaneously combust.
"There," Bruce says when the Batcomputer screen blinks and files start to show up.
Kid-Tim cuts himself off mid-sentence. He turns toward Bruce, fully at attention. "Which of the informants were you trying to talk to?"
Bruce pauses for a moment. On one hand, in no way does he want to play into everything the other Batman has done to this child, how Kid-Tim has been forced to "help" and been hurt in the process. On the other hand, it would make things easier for everyone if they could quickly figure out what to do with the corpse as well as what to do with Talon, Tiny-Damian, and now Kid-Tim. Bruce weighs the options.
Tim, watching Bruce, makes the decision first. "If you'd be willing to help us find informants who might know about the Court of Owls, the League of Assassins, or… Did Batman work with the Justice League? Do you even have a Justice League?"
"The Justice League isn't allowed in Gotham," Kid-Tim says as if reciting a rule. "Batman only helps them when he has to."
"I'm sure," Tim mutters, scuffing one foot along the Cave floor. It leaves a streak in the grime there. Tim does it again.
"Information on the Court of Owls, the League of Assassins, or the Justice League would be helpful," Bruce says as Tim appears to go on a one-man mission to make as known his presence in the grime of this Cave as much as possible.
Kid-Tim thinks for a moment, bouncing a little on his toes again. "I've got a good one or two for the League of Assassins, and maybe one of those might have something for the Court of Owls."
"And the Justice League?" Bruce asks.
"No, sir, sorry, sir," Kid-Tim says as he leans forward a tiny bit, putting himself in arm's reach, putting himself in harm's way, Bruce realizes.
Bruce rolls the computer chair back a bit, removing the kid from arm's reach.
Kid-Tim, looking confused again, says, "But I can do the other ones right away."
"Please do," Bruce says as warmly as he can manage.
Kid-Tim steps up to the computer and begins to type.
Bruce watches him for a moment. "Do you want to use the chair?"
Without pausing typing, Kid-Tim side-eyes him. "But you're using it."
"But you can use it," Bruce says, and he stands.
Kid-Tim does stop typing then, flinching back. Almost immediately, he leans forward toward Bruce again, tilting his face so that the non-bandaged cheek is leaning toward Bruce.
Bruce tries not to think too hard about that. He steps back and away. "Please use the chair."
Kid-Tim seats himself without any further hesitation and goes back to typing.
"These are the main two I was thinking of," Kid-Tim says, a single profile with a photo of two close-together faces pulled up on the screen.
Bruce takes one look at the photo and his stomach does a roll.
"This keeps getting worse, doesn't it?" Tim says fake-cheerfully. "I hate this."
Kid-Tim's shoulders rise up by his ears. "Sorry!"
"It's not your fault," Bruce says, staring at the photo. He doesn't think he'd met Cass at that age, but she's fairly identifiable at maybe 14 or 15, looking a lot like her Bruce's-universe self at the current time. Jason, on the other hand, Bruce had known very, very well at the preteen-to-teen-type 13-or-so age he appears in the photo. Bruce has to tear his gaze away with effort.
"Yeah, it's okay," Tim says. "You don't need to be sorry. Wow."
"I'll go meet with them," Bruce says. "You can stay here, see what else you can uncover."
"You got it," Tim says. "We'll hang out."
As Bruce turns toward the vehicle bay, he sees out of the corner of his eye Kid-Tim mouthing the words "hang out" with an air of disbelief.