Bruce’s voice remained calm.

“Tim,” he said quietly, “look at me.”

Tim hesitated before finally lifting his head. Bruce had seen that expression before—after bad patrols, after nightmares, after missions that ended with too much blood. Except this wasn’t fear of a villain.

It was fear of being judged.

“I’m just talking to someone from school,” Tim admitted at last, almost too quietly to hear.

Bruce waited.

“A friend,” Tim continued. “We’ve… been texting a lot. Flirting, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to meet Bruce’s eyes again. “I think… I think I like him.”

The cave fell silent.

Tim’s heartbeat thundered in his ears.

“I lied because…” He laughed once, humorless. “I didn’t know how you’d react.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed.

“Timothy.”

That one word made Tim wince.

“You’ve faced metahumans, serial killers, and gods,” Bruce said evenly. “Yet you’re more afraid to tell me this than any of that.”

Tim swallowed hard.

“I thought…” His voice cracked. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t support it.”

Bruce’s expression softened immediately.

“Support what?”

Tim finally looked at him.

“That I’m… probably bisexual.”

For a long moment Bruce simply looked at his son, the detective in him recognizing every nervous tell—rigid shoulders, bouncing knee, shallow breathing, fingers gripping his phone tightly enough for his knuckles to pale.

This wasn’t a confession from someone ashamed of who they were.

This was someone terrified of losing family.

Bruce stepped closer, stopping just beside the couch.

“Tim.”

His voice was quieter now.

“You never have to earn the right to be loved in this family.”

Tim blinked.

“If you’re bisexual,” Bruce continued, “then you’re bisexual. That changes nothing about how I see you.”

Tim stared.

“I don’t care whether the person who makes you smile is a boy or a girl.” Bruce gave the faintest hint of a smile. “I care whether they treat you with kindness.”

Tim let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“So… you’re not mad?”

Bruce looked almost confused.

“Why would I be?”

“I don’t know,” Tim admitted. “I just… worried.”

Bruce rested a hand briefly on his shoulder.

“Who you love isn’t something you’ll ever need to apologize for.”

Tim’s eyes burned unexpectedly.

“And if talking to this boy makes you happy,” Bruce added, “then I think you should keep talking to him.”

A laugh escaped Tim before he could stop it.

“You really mean that?”

“I do.”

The tension that had sat on Tim’s chest for weeks dissolved all at once.

“…Thanks, Bruce.”

Bruce nodded once before returning toward the Batcomputer.

“Just don’t text during patrol.”

“I make no promises.”

“I expected that answer.”

⸻

Ten minutes later, Tim was back upstairs in his bedroom.

The familiar room felt strangely lighter than before, as if confessing the truth had opened a window he hadn’t realized was shut.

He flopped backward onto his bed, unlocked his phone—

—and nearly dropped it again.

27 unread messages.

Tim laughed.

Most were from Bernard.

Bernard: HELLO???

Bernard: timothy drake.

Bernard: …you good?

Bernard: i’m starting to worry

Bernard: if you’re alive send literally anything

Tim smiled so hard his cheeks hurt.

Tim: survived.

The typing bubble appeared instantly.

Bernard: OH MY GOD.

Bernard: YOU LEFT ME ON READ FOR TWENTY MINUTES.

Bernard: I HAD A FIVE-STAGE GRIEF PROCESS.

Tim chuckled, curling onto his side.

Tim: had to talk to my dad.

A pause.

Bernard: …everything okay?

Tim glanced toward his bedroom door before typing.

Tim: yeah.

Tim: actually… better than okay.

Bernard: ??

Tim smiled to himself.

Tim: i told him about you.

Several seconds passed.

Then Bernard exploded.

Bernard: WAIT WHAT???

Bernard: DUDE I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU

Bernard: your dad is actually kind of legendary

Bernard: does this mean we can finally hang out without it feeling like we’re planning a government conspiracy?

Tim laughed out loud.

Tim: yeah. as long as i tell him first.

Tim: he’d know if i tried sneaking you in.

Bernard: terrifying.

Bernard: …worth it tho 😉