"Master Tim," Alfred says as softly and gently as he can.
Tim's mouth slams shut. He wheezes through closed lips and cowers back on the stool, so far back Alfred would be concerned for him falling over if the boy was anything other than a trained vigilante.
"It is all right," Alfred says. "It's going to be all right."
Tim nods vigorously, still looking absolutely terrified.
Alfred considers his options as quickly as he can. "Master Tim, from what I am hearing, your parents insisted that metahumans are bad. Correct?"
"They helped me see how bad I am for being a freak," Tim says readily. "And they're helping me try to be better! Really!"
"Metahumans are not bad," Alfred says simply.
"But-" Tim begins before snapping his mouth shut again.
"But?" Alfred says.
"But they are bad," Tim says with slow confusion.
"They aren't," Alfred says. "At least, nothing about being a metahuman is innately wrong. I am certain some metahumans do things that are wrong, but that is not because they are metahumans, it's because they are human."
Tim frowns. "But they're freaks. They're bad, and they're supposed to be hated. Batman hates them."
Alfred thinks for a moment. "What about… Black Canary? I do believe Ms. Lance is a metahuman. And the Flash, and his family? The Allens are certainly metahumans. In fact, the vast majority of the Justice League's members are metahumans or similarly different. And Batman works closely with them. He considers many of them close allies and, in some cases, good friends. He does not hate them."
Tim's lower lip wobbles. "But they're freaks. They're like me. They're bad. And, and Batman doesn't like having metahumans in Gotham. He tries to keep them out."
"Batman attempts to 'keep out' metahumans primarily for their own safety. Gotham's Rogues and crooks cause plentiful danger as it is, and to have metahumans caught up in their schemes would likely increase that amount of danger. In addition, Batman refuses the assistance of the Justice League in Gotham to avoid the possibility of the criminals planning for the involvement of superheroes with abilities that Batman himself does not have," Alfred says, then he pauses. "However, if the result of that policy may be an impression that Batman doesn't tolerate metahumans, it is certainly time to adjust the policy."
Tim shakes his head in disbelief. He doesn't even seem to realize he's doing so if the distance in his gaze means anything.
It's time to change tactics. Alfred asks, "Does anyone else know you're a metahuman?"
"I've been as good as possible," Tim says earnestly. "Only Mother and Father know, nobody else, so the shame didn't get out. I haven't told anybody!"
Alfred considers that statement. "Why is being a metahuman shameful?"
"…Because it's different," Tim says. "Being a metahuman, it's not normal."
"As is being a vigilante in general," Alfred says. "As is being raised in a circus, like Master Dick was, or being left-handed, or having red hair, or, for that matter, remaining a British citizen in the United States. There are a multitude of differences in the world. Some of those differences have been pointed out, mistreated, and discriminated against in various ways, that does not make them wrong, even if they are not 'normal.' That does not make them bad."
There's so much more to say, but Alfred cuts his speech off as he notices the growing anger in his own voice and the hesitant confusion on Tim's face.
Tim leans forward a little and stares dazedly at Alfred as they lapse into silence.
"Being a metahuman is not bad, and you are not bad," Alfred says, voice gentle but firm. He considers for a moment telling Tim that his parents were the ones who were bad. He decides against it. The poor boy is clearly struggling with just what has been said so far. In addition, Alfred is not sure he could mention the Drake parents without using a considerate number of enraged curses against their names. Instead, in the interest of continuing on, Alfred says, "Would it be all right if Masters Bruce and Dick came back in?"
Tim nods immediately but with fear clear on his face.
Alfred thinks. "How about this? I am sure the two of them want to see you and help you, but I am not sure it is wise to overwhelm you at the moment."
"I won't be overwhelmed," Tim says. "They can come back. I'll be good."
"I believe you," Alfred says, although he truly only believes that Tim wants to "be good," whatever twisted meaning Tim has been forced to believe that implies. "But I would like to take this more slowly. I'd like you to pick one or the other of them to come in here."
Tim hesitates.
When the hesitation lasts more than a few seconds, Alfred prompts, "Do you have any questions?"
"I don't know," Tim says, cringing back and bowing his head again. "I, well, I thought maybe I'm supposed to get punished by Batman right away, so I learn not to be bad as much as possible and as soon as possible, but then I thought maybe I'm supposed to let Batman not have to deal me for as long as possible, let him figure out what to do, so…"
"You will not be punished or 'dealt with' in any such way," Alfred says.
Tim looks up with such disbelief that it stings in Alfred's chest.
Alfred pauses. "But if it is causing more harm than good for you to have to choose, I can make the arrangements myself."
Tim nods but still seems panicked, eyes wide and lips pressed tightly together.
Trying to decide, Alfred picks what he hopes is the least anxiety-causing option. "We will go fetch Master Dick. You two can spend time together while I talk to Master Bruce and finalize dinner. Is that all right?"
"Of course," Tim says quickly, looking worried. "Anything's all right. Everything's all right."
Alfred sighs. "Yes, everything's all right."
Or at least, with time and effort and care, everything will be all right, Alfred hopes.