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When the cowl was on, Batman had a miraculous talent of telling scared civilians and kids exactly what they needed to hear. The soothing comforts that everything was going to be okay, that they were safe and strong and so incredibly brave. Maybe it was the business side of himself. Maybe he saw this as transactional, and if he could sweep an entire boardroom of stubborn executives off their feet, then he could convince this petrified six-year-old he was not going to perish on this ledge tonight. Perhaps this was the true Bruce Wayne, a kind and gentle man who’s simply been hurt too many times, and the cowl is the only time he truly feels safe enough to let himself slip. But the issue lies in that very facade. When the cape comes off at the end of the night, when it is simply a grieving, overtired father and detective, it would have to be a clear day in Gotham before you got any compliment out of the man. Sometimes, sometimes if you were really impressive, you could get a slight smile out of him too. But most of the time, it was just half-hearted grunts or perhaps a lack of commentary at all that Tim grew to understand was the closest to praise he was ever going to get.
Normally he could accept this; the man was hurting and frustrated; that’s the whole reason Drake was there, but tonight it just stung a little too deep. The pair had been weapons sparring for a while, getting the new robin used to the additional weight of his staff and ensuring he wasn’t overcompensating accuracy for control, and Tim had nailed a pretty good hit into the man’s side. Sending him doubling over just a tad. Tim looked up excitedly, expecting a “good job," a half-pleased grin, or a simple "good," something to validate the progress. But instead all he got was a huff, a step up from a grunt, and a simple command that they were done for tonight. To go wash up before stalking off in silence.
No.
No, this wasn’t done.
He did a good job; he wanted to hear it.
He stupidly, selfishly, wanted to hear it rather than some passive noise he was supposed to accept like it was a buffet of acknowledgement.
“That’s it?”
“What’s it?” Bruce responded calmly, not turning to look at him.
“You have nothing else to say to me? That last hit was the first real contact I got all night; that has to be worth something.”
“You did what you were supposed to; you struck accurately without fumbling and not readjusting your grip forward; what more do you need?” His words were hollow, like it was common sense that his success is praise in and of itself, his expression equally blank as he turned back. “Now go wash up and set your suit on the table for repairs. I noticed some of the side seams getting loose.”
“No. I want to hear you say it. Say I did good.” Tim pressed, eyes narrowing defiantly. Objectively, this was a pointless issue to press; he wasn’t exactly the master of encouragement when Dick was robin, only getting a little better with Jason. But there was always room for improvement, and this emotionally constipated detective was going to do better tonight than just noises. Why exactly Tim needed it right now he didn’t know, but he did, and he wasn’t going to leave without it.
Dry and tense, Bruce only parroted, “I’ve said everything I needed to. Now go.”. “Unless you want to spend the next two days hand-sorting files alone.”
“Why can you say it and mean it to a random kid but not me?” Tim spat under his breath, unfortunately loud enough as he turned heel to head off to the showers. A hard, angry knot consumed his throat that he was going to push down until the shower steam could cover up the impending consequences.
“Leave the staff with your uniform. You won’t need it. Meet Gordon at his office at 9am. Don’t be late. I will see you on Thursday.” His voice echoed throughout the even more hollow cave walls. A hell froze over would have been more comforting right now. “I will not tolerate this attitude, period. Now go.”
Tim could vaguely hear the batcave interior entrance open over the shower stream, although he wasn’t paying that much attention to anything anyway. It was shower self-loathing time, and considering he just got benched for wanting a crumb of validation, he was pretty content in his sulking. Judging by the cadence, he guessed it was Dick who’d sauntered in. The conversation started out civil, broken bits about patrol yesterday, then it got tense before ending in an all-out screaming match and Dick’s voice getting closer to the showers as he spat off “FOR A CEO YOU’RE REAL FUCKING DENSE SOMETIMES BRUCE.”.
Tim had to fight every nerve in his body not to cower into the corner and sob. All this because he just wanted Bruce to acknowledge him a little bit. He should’ve just kept his stupid, overgrown mouth shut. Bruce was right. The satisfaction should’ve been enough. He was being greedy and selfish and should’ve just done what he was told.
“Timmy..?” The older vigilante's voice is now soft and tender. “Are you in here..? I’m so sorry if I scared you. Bruce is an overzealous dick sometimes, but I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”
"Yeah, I’m here. ”
“Good :) How about you finish up and we go get some batburger and just talk..?”
“Only if you’re paying,” Tim quipped back, forcing himself to sound half-normal, although he was unsure how much of that excitement he was actually faking. Food did sound really good right now. Better than what he was currently doing, at least.
The warm early morning air felt amazing on his neck as the newest vigilante overlooked the city. A bag crinkled between his legs with a mouth full of nuggets as he snorted to one of Dick’s horrible jokes. Almost forgetting why he was upset in the first place.
Almost
“What more do you need?”
Those dreaded words coiled around his mind like a snake, threatening to squeeze the life out of it till it went limp and could be consumed without remorse. He should’ve stayed quiet. He was always better when he stayed quiet. He was pathetic and should have stayed quiet. Only pathetic people need praise for wiping their own ass.
“Timothyyyy~” Dick sang, snapping the loop out of his half-baked loop.
“Sorry.”
“Bruce said he benched you—something about talking back and being disrespectful. Wanna talk about it?”
Tim sat for a moment, determining just how flagrantly angry he felt like being before responding. “How is it he can tell kids, complete strangers, that he’s proud of them, but if I ask for it, it’s like I’m threatening to leak his identity to the entire planet??”
Dick looked softly disappointed, perhaps a little peeved but not shocked. But if anyone in this city knew about Batman’s two-facedness about the issue, it’d be his eldest apprentice. "Y'know, I wondered that for a long time too... He took me in, willingly, right after my parent’s death. You’d think a gesture like that would mean he’d have the emotional capacity to express his feelings, but I was sorely mistaken. For an even longer while, I thought my acceptance was just a publicity stunt. No matter what I did, I felt like an unwanted burden. A mistake. I was just his good deed for the year, and behind closed doors he couldn’t care less about me... It got even worse when I started the Titans.”
Dick cleared his throat before gazing out into the fresh sunrise, contemplating if he even shared this next bit of information. Information the big man himself didn’t even know because he knew the true reason why Dick did what he did—he'd never forgive himself. And Dick could never determine if that was karmatic or a cruel and unusual punishment. All Tim could do was stare at him gently but intently.
“...You know about Slade, right..?”
“Of course I do. He manipulated and used you, but it was all out of your control, right?”
“Well, at least not at the time.” Dick responded quietly. “Slade was the first person in a long time that actually seemed to appreciate me. Sure, I had my friends; I had the titans to tell me I was doing a good job, that I was a good leader, and that my presence was valued. But that just wasn’t enough. I needed to hear that from someone bigger than me, someone who knew better than me and could and would acknowledge that I was growing and needed... and Slade did that. In a fucked-up, manipulative way, he did just what I was desperate for... And I hated how my chest would warm when he told me how excellent I was and the big things I was going to accomplish, but in an even sicker way it felt good.
Tim just stared in awe, trying to find some combination of words to even remotely justify what he just heard. In the end, Tim simply rested his head on the older man’s shoulder and prayed telepathy could do something worthwhile for him.
“...Does Bruce know?”
“No, and I'm not sure he ever will. It was a long time ago, and he’s in shambles already... If he knew it might actually kill him.”
“Why are you telling me this then..?"
Dick gazed down at his newest brother, eyes full of all the admiration and support in the entire universe. The mere sight nearly made Tim cry again.
“Because I know what it’s like to be in your position. To want Bruce’s attention so badly, and nothing seems good enough to get it. You could nearly kill yourself over it, and he’d say you’re being sloppy.” “I want you to know you’re not weak nor pathetic for wanting your efforts to be celebrated. You worked hard damn it, and I don’t want you ever doing what I did to get that satisfaction.”
Slowly Dick stood up, bringing Tim up with him and embracing him tightly, which the boy happily returned. The younger’s head nestled so gently underneath his chin. “I’m proud of you. So long as I am here, there’ll always be someone who is proud of you. Especially if B is too stupid and stubborn to say it.”
“Thank you.”