A/N: If you ever want to find me, I'm on tumblr as maychorian. You can drop me an ask there anytime. I'm much quicker at answering asks on tumblr than comments here.

So here you go, the longest chapter yet. I hope you enjoy. I think this kind of finishes up the current arc of this story. Future chapters will probably be after time skips. I'm already thinking about a chapter for Jason, so yeah, that will probably be coming.

"Bruce, can I talk to you?" Tim's voice was soft, almost swallowed up by the cold, expansive air of the Batcave.

Bruce looked up from the computer. He'd been trying to work on a case, but in actuality he never really stopped thinking about ways to wreak vengeance on Jack Drake. There were quite a few things he could do. He had already, very spitefully, called over to Jack's new landlord in Australia and convinced him to drop Jack's lease at the last minute, so Jack would arrive at his new home only to discover that he needed to find another place to live immediately. It was a stupid and uncouth kind of revenge, and Bruce had regretted his actions the second he hung up the phone. But he didn't take it back.

He considered all kinds of actions he could take to ruin Jack financially or destroy his reputation. He could get him blacklisted in academic circles, causing Jack to lose the one thing he valued the most: his career as an archaeologist. He'd been daydreaming about that one for the last...Bruce glanced at the clock...twenty-seven minutes.

But really, it always circled around to imagining his fist crashing into Jack's stupid smug face, permanently wiping away that cruel twist to his lips, that self-pitying wrinkle of his nose.

Bruce took a deep breath and looked at Tim. He couldn't think about that now. Tim had come down to the Batcave to talk to him. Whatever it was about, it was far more important than anything else Bruce could possibly be working on.

"Of course, Tim. What can I do for you?" Bruce pushed himself away from the computer and turned his chair to face the boy. He frowned at the large circles around Tim's eyes, the pallor of his face, the weary way he slumped where he stood with his hands buried in the pockets of his jeans.

Last night, Dick had tried to drag Tim into a movie or TV marathon so he could cuddle with him on a sofa and try to soothe away all of the hurt and sadness in the kid's posture and expression. He had waggled his eyebrows at Bruce, too, telling him in no uncertain terms that he was expected to join them. But Tim had begged off, saying that he was tired and just wanted to sleep. Dick had let him go, reluctantly.

It was midmorning, now. Bruce had hoped that Tim was sleeping in, recovering from his ordeal the day before. Now he wondered if Tim had slept at all. He looked exhausted, but his hair was disheveled and stuck up on one side, so he must have at least been lying down.

Bruce stood up, not bothering to shut down the computer. "Lets go talk somewhere more comfortable. The family lounge?"

Tim blinked, then nodded slowly. Bruce walked over to join him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as he led the way to the elevator. Tim was stiff in his hold at first, but slowly relaxed as they continued to walk and Bruce did not let go.

They settled down in the family lounge, Bruce pulling Tim down to sit next to him on the sofa. Tim shifted in his grasp until Bruce let go of him and drew back. Tim pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged on the sofa and turned his body to face him, his arms wrapping around his chest in a self-protective gesture. Bruce took in how nervous and uncomfortable he looked, then scooted back a few inches to give him more space. The last thing he wanted to do was make Tim feel pressured.

Tim took a shaky breath. "Thanks for...um...for taking the time to talk to me."

"Anytime," Bruce said. "I know I have a tendency to get caught up in my work, so you might have to poke me kind of hard sometimes. But if you need to talk, anytime, about anything, I'll always be available to you."

Tim stared sideways at the floor, his cheeks flushing. It made him look peaky, a little ill. Bruce tried not frown.

"What did you want to talk about?"

Tim hesitated, then laughed awkwardly and scrubbed his hand through his hair. His eyes darted to Bruce's face, then away again. "I don't, uh... I don't know. I guess I just wanted to see if you would."

Bruce sat up straighter, unconsciously squaring his shoulders. This had been a test. Tim had come down and asked Bruce to talk to him just to see if he would let himself be interrupted, if he would pay attention to Tim and listen to his needs. He had wanted to see if Bruce would be different than his father.

Again came that phantom image of his fist slamming into Jack Drake's stupid face.

Tim hugged himself harder, rocking slightly where he sat. Bruce didn't like that at all. "I'm sorry, I... I'm wasting your time. You can go back to what you were doing. Solving crimes and saving people, right?" He offered a crooked little smile. "That's gotta be a lot more important."

"Tim." Bruce's voice went low, a little dark. He bent down and tried to catch the boy's eye, and Tim finally saw him and stared back, transfixed. "Timothy. You are important. You are important to me. You're not wasting my time. Talking to you, being with you, is never a waste of time. There is nowhere else I would rather be in this moment."

Tim stared back at him for a moment longer. Then sudden tears sprang to his eyes, and he broke off and pressed his hands to his face to hide them away. His shoulders were hunched, his posture stiff, almost tortured. "Sorry. I... I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." Bruce's fingers twitched. He was not a demonstrative man, at least not as much as Dick would like him to be. His eldest had scolded him plenty of times over the years for being too slow to show his affection, too reluctant to reach out and touch, to say the words. But right now Tim was like a beacon, flaring his desperate need for reassurance. Bruce would have to be blind not to see it.

He wanted to hug him, but he was unaccountably afraid. He had a feeling like they were teetering at the edge of a precipice, a vast gulf yawning below. He didn't want to push too far, didn't want to knock Tim over that edge.

Maybe he should get Dick. Dick would know what to do. He would be able to hug Tim and smother him with affection the way Tim so obviously needed.

But no. Tim had asked for him. He had wanted to talk to him. Bruce had to do his duty. He had see his way through, figure out how to help his new son in whatever way Tim needed.

"Tim." Bruce's voice was much softer now. He wanted to cradle the boy in his voice, if he couldn't use his arms to do so. "Timmy. What do you need from me."

Tim was still and silent, sniffing quietly behind his hands. Bruce sat there, waiting. He was used to waiting on rooftops on stakeouts for long, long hours, still as statue, watching for the right moment, for even a single piece of information that might help him break a case. He could wait that long for a child, too. For his child, most of all.

After what seemed like a long time, Tim swallowed thickly. He scrubbed at his face, then dared to lower his hands and look back at Bruce. His eyes still glistened with tears, and his expression was hesitant. But he faced Bruce bravely, even so. Bruce was so proud of him in that moment that he wanted to cheer, wanted to break out in applause. But he just sat there, waiting.

Tim opened his mouth, then paused. Bruce gave him a small smile in encouragement. He didn't move a muscle.

"I guess there is...there is one thing I'm wondering."

Bruce nodded slowly. "Go on."

"I just..." Tim stared at him so earnestly, it was like looking into the sun. "I want to know what you expect from me, I guess."

Bruce blinked. "What?"

Tim shifted nervously, but held his ground. "What do you want from me? I think... I think where things went wrong between me and my dad is that I never really understood what he wanted from me. If I had realized how important it was that I be respectful and pay attention to him, maybe I wouldn't have screwed up so bad that night. If I had known..."

Tim shook his head and looked away. "No. I should have known. I should have figured it out. I'm smarter than that. I don't know why I didn't..."

He cut himself off and looked back to Bruce. "Never mind. I just... I don't want to mess up like that ever again. So maybe if you could just...tell me? That way I'll know. What you want from me. So I won't screw it up."

Bruce was flabbergasted. His heart was beating hard in his chest, burning and aching and squeezing at the same time. "What I want from you?"

Tim nodded. "Yeah. I know I'm not...I'm not your son. You have custody of me, but you can't adopt me, not with my dad still alive and his parental rights not completely severed. I'm not even really your foster kid, since it didn't happen through the state. I'm just..."

It was Bruce's turn to stare in silence. He had no idea what to say to this.

Tim took a deep breath. "But I know that I am your...your kid. In some sense. In a way that matters to you. Mr. Kent made me understand that, yesterday. And Alfred this morning, too..."

He puffed up his cheeks and blew the air out through pursed lips, as if he was trying to purge his nervousness. "So yeah. I just, I just want to understand what you expect from me, now that I'm living with you, so I can give you that. So I can be the...the kid you want me to be."

Bruce wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to pummel Jack Drake in his stupid, smug, cruel, self-centered, child-abusing face, drop him to the ground, then kick him until he stopped moving.

More than that, though, he wanted to hold this boy. This kid, his kid, his son, no matter what the law or the world or his biological father had to say about it. He wanted to hold him and never let go, wanted to hold him tight enough to squeeze out his self-deprecation, his sadness, his misunderstanding of who he was and what he was worth.

"What I want you to be?" Bruce's voice was a mere wisp. Tim looked startled at the sound. Bruce reached out, and his hands were trembling.

Tim sat still, watching them come with his mouth hanging open and eyes wide. His arms around his chest slackened and slid down his torso. He didn't know what this was. He didn't know how to react.

Bruce cupped his hands around his face, holding Tim's head carefully in his hands. Tim sat stock still, barely breathing as he stared into Bruce's face.

"Tim, you are right in some ways but very, very wrong in others. Yes, you are my kid. You are my son. I don't care what anyone else says about it. You're mine, you belong to me, and I will never, ever let you go.

"But asking what I want you to be... What a question." Bruce laughed, short and dry and completely lacking in amusement. "What a clear and undeniable indictment of what your father has done to you. I can't... I can't bear it. The fact that you think that, that you believe that..."

Bruce had to stop and close his eyes, breathing slowly through his nose. He was still trembling, not just his hands but his whole body. It was rage that sparked through him, that lit up every muscle, but it had nowhere to go. Jack was not here. He was untouchable, in that way.

He could feel Tim's stillness, the short, unsteady puffs of his breath. He was frightening him. He couldn't do that.

Bruce opened his eyes and looked at the wide-eyed boy. He stroked his thumbs over his cheeks, then slowly, carefully slid his hands down to hold his shoulders instead. He needed to get this through to him. He needed Tim to understand what he was about to say.

"Being my son, being my kid... Being anyone's son, anyone's kid... You should never, never be asking who that person wants you to be or what you have to make yourself become in order to earn your guardian's respect and attention and...and love. That's not how it's supposed to work, Tim. That's not how any of this is supposed to work. You shouldn't have to earn attention. You shouldn't have to earn love. That should be given to you. Freely. Because you need it and deserve it, and for no other reason."

Tim's eyes were bright with tears again. He didn't raise his hands, didn't try to hide it. He just sat there and watched Bruce's face, fascinated, disbelieving.

"It's not what I want from you, kiddo. There's nothing I want from you except for you...for you to keep being yourself, I suppose. For you to grow and learn and become the man you want to be, the man you're supposed to be. Things I want for you, though... There are a lot of those.

"I want you to be happy. I want you to feel safe. I want you to heal from all of the abuse that your parents heaped on you, all of the misconceptions and bad habits you drove into yourself in an attempt to please people who could not be pleased. I want you to be confident and proud of yourself, because you've accomplished so much, Tim, in such a short time, and I'm so proud of you. You deserve to be proud, too, you deserve to be happy with yourself and the person you are right now, as well as the person you're becoming. I want you to stop putting yourself down and...and blaming yourself for things that are not your fault.

"That's what I want the most of all, at least right this moment. I want you to stop blaming yourself for what happened between you and your father. It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault. I understand why you feel like you screwed up, but you didn't. And I know what he said to you yesterday made it even worse, driving that poison deep into your mind, and I wish I could destroy him for that. You know what I was doing, when you came down into the cave and interrupted me?"

Tim shook his head, his expression still utterly fascinated.

Bruce chuckled, short and sharp. "I wasn't working on a case, unfortunately. I wasn't trying to solve crimes and save the innocent. I was daydreaming about punching Jack Drake in the face. I'm sorry, I wish I could give some other, more noble report, and I hope it doesn't disturb you too much to hear it, but that's the truth. I've been daydreaming about it ever since that night when I came over to talk to you and...and found you like that."

Tim closed his eyes, and tears ran down his cheeks. Bruce clenched his jaw. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. He knew that Tim still loved his father, and probably always would, no matter how little Jack deserved it.

"Tim, I'm going to hug you now, okay? Just let me know if it makes you uncomfortable."

Tim nodded jerkily. Bruce leaned forward, achingly slow and careful, ready to stop the instant Tim flinched away or showed discomfort. But he managed to pull the boy into his arms, pressing him against his chest, and he ducked his head down to bury his nose in his hair. Tim was stiff in his embrace at first, his shoulders trembling, then abruptly went limp. He all but melted into Bruce's hold, his arms hesitantly moving to circle Bruce's waist in return.

Bruce locked his jaw to keep from crying. The boy was so small in his arms. So young and vulnerable and infinitely valuable, infinitely precious. He didn't understand how anyone could hurt this sweet boy who only ever wanted to help, who only ever tried to make things better for other people.

Jack Drake was the idiot to beat all other idiots. Not only had he lost his chance to be in Tim's life, in the end he had given it up willingly. What a colossal, unbelievable, irredeemable moron.

Well, Jack's loss was Bruce's gain. Again, Bruce felt that spark of triumph in his chest, in his heart. Tim was his now, and he was never, ever giving him up.

He could feel the way Tim was holding himself back from crying, the tension in his face pressed against Bruce's side, the awkward way he held his shoulders. He recognized it because he felt it in himself, frequently. He wished he could explain to Tim that he didn't have to hold back. That his emotion was welcome, that it would be greeted with understanding and compassion, not dismissal.

"I love you, Tim," he murmured. "I didn't want to say it before, because I thought it might be too soon. I didn't want you to feel pressured to express something you might not truly feel. That's still true, but I think you need to hear me say it. I love you so, so much, and I hate your father for not loving you enough, for not loving you the way he was supposed to. You deserve so much better. You deserve the world, and I want to give it to you."

And that was it. Bruce had run out of words, possibly for the rest of the month. He couldn't remember the last time he had expressed so much, in such a short amount of time.

Tim's shoulders shook, and Bruce felt his tears soaking into his shirt. He wrapped his arms around him a little tighter and closed his eyes. After a couple of minutes, Tim regained control of himself and pulled back slightly, sniffling. "Do you...do you really mean it?"

"Yes." The response was instant. Bruce considered briefly, then spoke again. "Which part are you questioning?" Whatever it was, he would be happy to repeat himself until Tim believed him.

Tim drew back enough to look at him, though he still sitting closer than before. His eyes were rimmed with red, his face wet with tears. Bruce reached out without thinking and rubbed his thumb over his cheek, trying to wipe it away.

Tim's lip wobbled. "Are you really proud of me?"

Bruce blinked. It seemed that he could pull up more words, after all. "Tim, I've always been proud of you. Ever since we met, since you first started training with me. You've always been such a hard worker. You're very talented, though in a different way than your predecessors. Have I not told you that before?"

He was almost certain that he had, especially after harsh workouts when Tim had given everything he had and was panting and covered with sweat. Bruce distinctly remembered clapping him on the back and telling him he had done well before sending him to take a shower. Was it a false memory, blending in with his memories of training with Dick...or Jason? He hoped not.

Tim shook his head and scrubbed his fingers over his face, leaving red streaks on his skin. "No, not Robin. I know I'm a good Robin. I know you're proud of Robin. But me. Tim Drake. Are you really proud of Tim?" His voice cracked on the last word.

Bruce was baffled. "Am I proud of Tim?" He hadn't realized there was distinction. He didn't at all like what that question implied. "Of course. More than I could possibly say."

"But... I'm not. I don't really like Tim Drake, to be honest. He's so stupid. He's a bad student. He couldn't help his girlfriend. He screws up his commitments. He can't even... Even his dad hates him."

Bruce felt chills creep across his back, listening to Tim talk about himself in the third person. And there was such loathing in his voice, such disgust. It was incredibly disturbing.

"Tim, stop," he finally interrupted, an edge of sharpness in his voice.

Tim stopped and blinked up at him, biting his lip.

"First off, I'm your dad now," Bruce said sternly. "And I love you. I love Tim Drake. I could never hate you."

Tim swallowed hard, but managed a nod.

"And yes, I am proud of you. All of you. Tim, Robin, all of it. You're amazing. You're the best...just the best kid. I don't know how else to say it. You're brave and kind and... And I can't imagine my life without you. I don't want to."

Tim's face screwed up, and the tears came again. Bruce pulled him back to his chest, and Tim went willingly.

"And you know what's the most amazing, the bravest thing you ever did?" Bruce murmured to him. "That night when you called me, after what your father did to you. I know you were scared. You didn't know what was going to happen, and you were terrified of losing everything. But you called me anyway, and I couldn't be more proud or more happy that you did. And that was all Tim Drake. Robin had nothing to do with it."

Tim turned his head and rested his ear over Bruce's heart. "It was because of my training," Tim murmured. "I knew it was wrong. I tried to justify it to myself, but I kept remembering what you had taught me, and I knew I couldn't let it go."

"Good." Bruce squeezed him tight. "I'm glad I was able to help you. I'm glad you knew it was wrong. I just wish you could convince yourself that none of it was your fault, either."

Tim nodded sluggishly and let himself be held. Bruce was content to sit there for the rest of the day if that was what Tim needed.

After what felt like a long time, yet still not long enough, Tim heaved a sigh and leaned away. Bruce let him go, though he couldn't resist reaching out to brush the rumpled hair away from Tim's face. His cheeks were flushed, though no longer tear-streaked. He looked tired, but clear-eyed and much more at peace.

"I'd like to flip the script, if that's okay," Bruce said.

Tim looked up at him, blinking slowly. His face was curious, but not apprehensive, a questioning tilt to his mouth.

Bruce smiled. "What do you expect from me? I'm your parent now, and I want to give you everything need. What can I do to make you feel happier and more comfortable here?"

Tim looked embarrassed. "You don't...you don't have to change anything. It's already... Living here, with you, is already more than I ever asked for."

"I know. You never ask for anything for yourself. But it's okay, you know. It's okay to want things. It's okay to ask for them. I want to give things to you. I want you to have everything you need and want."

Tim wrapped his arms around his chest, but it seemed more thoughtful now, not self-protective. "I don't know. I can't think of anything."

Bruce chucked his chin. "Come on. There must be something. Ask your boon, up to half my kingdom."

He kept his voice light, joking, but he meant it. He'd already set up a meeting with his lawyers to write Tim into his will, since he assumed Jack would disinherit him formally as soon as he had a chance. And anyway, he was still contemplating the best way to leave Jack completely destitute, so he might not even have anything to leave to Tim.

He half-expected Tim to ask for a new computer, or new equipment for their night life. Maybe a sports car he could drive as Tim Drake, instead of Robin. Tim had always had a deep love for things that went fast.

But after contemplating the offer for a few moments, Tim met Bruce's eyes, forthright and certain. "I think I need to go to therapy."

Bruce blinked. That was the last thing he would have expected. "Okay..." he said slowly. He had tried therapy a few times himself, during his more serious tries at being "normal" before he fed himself entirely to the Batman persona. It had never seemed to work for him, maybe because he could never be completely honest about his issues.

He had nothing against therapy, certainly. He knew it worked for some people. And he had bitterly regretted not forcing Jason to go, in the end. He'd always given in to the boy's angry declarations that he was fine, he wasn't broken, he didn't need it. Even though he clearly had.

But here was Tim, who sadly had far too much in common with Jason, in the end. Though they had grown up in very different demographics, different social classes, they had both suffered parental abuse and the hardship of being alone. Bruce would be a fool to overlook that, or to discourage Tim's efforts to get healthy.

"Okay," he said more enthusiastically, with a proud smile. "I will definitely make sure that happens. It's very wise of you to be willing to do that. But there has to be something else you want."

Tim shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Really, Bruce. I have everything I could want right here."

And well, that was adorable. Bruce sorely wanted to crush the kid to his chest again. Instead he poked Tim's stomach, making him squeal and double over, arms flaring out. "What about a sports car, huh? Are you sure you don't want a nice, fast car? Maybe in shiny red?"

He tickled Tim's side, reveling in his startled laughter, then pretended to reconsider. "Actually, maybe Dick needs a new car, I could ask him instead..."

"No, no!" Tim laughed breathlessly and grabbed Bruce's hand with both of his to make him stop tickling him. "I changed my mind! I want a car!"

Bruce grinned devilishly and tickled him with his other hand instead. "Are you sure? Shopping is going to be such a pain. We're going to have to look at all sorts of models, go on test drives, look into the features, sign a bunch of paperwork..." He sighed in pretended exasperation. "I'm sure you have much better things to do with your weekend."

Tim kept trying to fend him off and failing, until he finally collapsed against the back of the sofa, laughing helplessly. "No, I do, I do! I want to go shopping with you!"

Bruce backed off, smiling so wide it hurt a little. It felt good, after all of the pain and heartache of the last few weeks, to see Tim giggling like the child he should be. "Are you sure? This is going to be a car for Tim Drake, not Robin. Robin is not allowed."

Tim sobered, leaning limply against the back of the sofa. He was still smiling, though more softly, and his eyes were bright. "Yeah, I'd like that. I really would."

Bruce put his arm around his shoulders and pulled him to his feet, and they left the lounge walking side by side. Bruce and Tim. Tim and Bruce.

They found Dick in the hallway, loitering around with a gentle smile on his face and the evidence of tears in his eyes. Bruce knew he'd been listening in, and Tim was no doubt smart enough to see it, too.

But Tim just gave him a happy smile. "Hi, Dick! Wanna go car shopping with us?"

Dick's grin broadened, and he ruffled Tim's hair so hard that he squeaked in protest and hid behind Bruce to get away from him. "Yeah, little brother," he said, with a brief, proud smile at Bruce, too. "I'd like that a lot."

So they went, and for a few hours, they left everything else behind.