"Master Tim is indeed a metahuman," Alfred says bluntly.
Bruce's eyes dart back and forth between Alfred, Tim, and the Batcomputer off to the other side of the Cave. His lips are pressed together in a thin, firm line in which Alfred can see both uncertainty and utmost concern.
Dick, on the other hand, has eyes only for Tim, and he opens his mouth as if in preparation to speak.
Placing a hand gently on Tim's shoulder and feeling him shake, Alfred cuts Dick off. "He has the ability to heal others, but that has only been discovered now. However, his ability to heal himself from the most dire of injuries has been well-known for years, both to him and to his parents."
Tim cringes beneath Alfred's hand.
Attempting to be a comfort, Alfred rubs soothingly at Tim's shoulder as he watches Bruce and Dick react.
Both of them take in Alfred's words with solemnity. He watches them connect the dots and draw up a rightly disturbing picture of the situation.
Dick is the first to speak. "Tim, your parents hurt you?"
Tim nods. "They were trying to make me be good."
Bruce's face, already dark with emotion, darkens further at Tim's statement.
Tim evidently takes that the wrong way. "They're trying! Really, they want me to be good, and I want to be good, I promise I do."
Bruce lets out a pained grunt.
Tim's shoulder disappears from under Alfred's hand. He's dropped down to the Cave floor, kneeling now. "I'm sorry!"
It's an entirely automatic reaction, Alfred realizes as his heart aches. Tim is evidently so accustomed to apologizing, so very accustomed to being blamed and to being hurt, that saying "sorry" is his first option.
Bruce makes a clear effort to clear his face and voice of any emotion that could be perceived as negative as he says with a forced smile and a gentle tone, "It's all right, Tim."
Dick is vibrating with fury, but he says too, "It's all right, Tim."
"Master Dick, if you and Master Tim would be open to it, I'd like to speak with Master Bruce for a few moments," Alfred says, turning toward Tim.
Dick frowns for the slightest moment. Then he gives a bright smile and says, "Sure! C'mon, Timmy, the floor isn't looking too cozy, and I think we need some cozy right now. Here."
Approaching Tim, Dick leans forward and extends a hand down for Tim to take.
Tim closes his eyes and doesn't move.
"Hey, Tim? Come on," Dick encourages, voice shaking slightly.
Tim cracks his eyes open. He stares at Dick's hand, then at Dick's face questioningly.
"Up and at 'em," Dick says.
Cautiously, Tim grasps Dick's hand and stands.
"Let's hang out upstairs," Dick says decisively, gently tugging Tim along with him toward the exit from the Cave to the Manor. "We can get some blankets, settle down, maybe watch a little TV or-"
Dick's forced-cheery voice fades away as he and Tim leave the Cave.
As soon as there's silence, Alfred turns to face Bruce. Again, Alfred's heart aches.
Bruce's face is pale and drawn. He stares back at Alfred with devastation written clearly across every feature. Bruce says quietly, "I didn't know."
"None of us knew," Alfred says. "I dare say Master Tim did his best to ensure that none of us could know."
"But I didn't know," Bruce says again.
"You didn't," Alfred agrees. "And there's nothing you can do about that. But you know now. What will you do about that?"
Bruce gives a slow, thoughtful nod, and begins to head toward the Batcomputer. "Tell me everything we know."
Alfred follows, beginning to explain.
By the time Alfred is upstairs again, the meal he had been preparing is useless. The vegetables have gone cold, the soup is stagnating, and the meatloaf is likely expired from sitting out too long. He considers the dishes for a moment, sighs, and tosses them all. Sandwiches will have to do, he decides.
Prepping the new version of dinner doesn't require too much time or effort. Alfred puts as much effort into it as he can, though. It prevents his mind from wandering to the dark places it wishes to go.
The sandwiches are ready soon enough. Alfred cuts some fruit to put out with them, because a single-dish meal simply will not do, even under these circumstances. Then he goes to gather everyone once the food is in the dining room.
To give Bruce as much time as possible, Alfred tracks down Dick and Tim first. Normally, he would be able to locate them rather easily by the sound of laughter or feet thumping against the floor, despite repeated warnings not to run inside. Now, however, he searches several rooms before locating them.
Dick is kneeling and sorting through a game cabinet, while Tim is seated in front of a coffee table, wrapped in at least three blankets at first glance. Tim's face is lowered and he stares down at his hands, which he has placed palms-up on the coffee table. Something about the tense posture Tim holds… It sends a warning twinge through Alfred.
"Or we've got cards, of course," Dick is saying, and he turns back toward Tim.
"Cards will have to wait for the moment," Alfred says.
"Oh, we're ready, cool," Dick says. He pops up from the floor easily and joins Alfred in the doorway. "C'mon, Tim, let's go."
Despite the blankets, Tim gives a visible shiver.
Alfred pauses. "Master Dick, would you mind fetching your father for dinner?"
Dick's face wrinkles up.
Alfred tilts his head meaningfully, intending to forestall any argument.
Dick sighs. "Yeah. I can do that."
As Dick leaves the room, Alfred enters the room. He heads directly to Tim, thinks for a moment, and then chooses not to extend a hand. Instead, he says lightly, "We are ready to eat. Would you care to join me?"
Tim stands up, bundling the blankets around him into his arms and then into a nearby basket. "Of course. Whatever you want."
Alfred gives what he hopes sounds like a neutral hum.
When they reach the dining room, Alfred begins to plate the food with care, as per usual. Not as per usual, Tim hovers by the wall, watching with wide eyes. To be fair, Alfred is watching Tim in turn.
Bruce and Dick arrive, taking their seats, but Tim remains by the wall.
"Looks good," Dick says, picking up a slice of pear and popping it in his mouth.
"As always," Bruce says. "We're ready, then?"
"Ready to eat," Alfred agrees.
Tim doesn't move from his spot by the wall.
Bruce pauses. With layered concern in his voice, he asks, "Tim? What are you doing over there?"
"Waiting," Tim says simply.
"For what?" Bruce asks.
"For you all to be done," Tim says, as if that's the obvious answer. "Freaks don't get to eat with normal people, so I'll take whatever's leftover when you're done."
For a moment, Alfred sees red. Sharply, he says, "You will sit at the table."
Tim rushes promptly to a chair. He's shivering again as he sits there, staring down at the filled plate in front of him.
Alfred takes a deep breath, sharp guilt spiking through him. He intentionally softens his tone. "I did not mean to be harsh. I only meant that it is all right, and in fact encouraged or even mandated, for you to eat with us."
Tim nods, still staring downward.
"It is all right," Alfred says again, softening his voice more so, until he's speaking gently at barely above a whisper.
Tim gives a sniffle but nods.