#go back to that therapist bruce you KNOW you've been haunting his dreams for decades

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

Tim finished his pancakes and set an elbow on the table, resting his face on his fist. It was earlier than he liked to be awake, and he wasn’t really paying attention— the voices up and down the table sounded more like vague humming than actual conversations. 

Dick passed him a mug from across the table, and Tim took it, tuning in again with conscious effort. 

“—while I’m getting set up,” said Jason, “and figuring out what I need.”

“Therapy,” Damian suggested. 

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Bruce, come get your kid,” said Jason, glaring, “before I kick him through a window.”

Damian glared back. Tim scooted a little farther away, just in case Jason did decide to start a brawl over breakfast. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

Bruce shook his head. “He might be right.”

“Says—” Jason looked around the kitchen, gesturing at the lot of them in a can-you-believe-this kind of way. “Says you?”

“I think that—”

“I think you’d better sign up yourself or get off my back. You know what? There’s an idea.” Jason held out an arm, smirking, to offer a handshake. “I’ll go to therapy if you go. What do you say?”

Bruce didn’t move. 

“I thought so,” said Jason smugly. “If you—”

Bruce reached over and shook Jason’s still-extended hand. “Deal.”

“What?”

“I’ll schedule for next month.”

“What?” Jason snatched back his arm, eyes wide, but Bruce had already turned towards Alfred instead.

“I assume you have a list of therapists?”

“Updated regularly, sir,” said Alfred, smiling, “although I do still suggest—”

“Not that one,” said Bruce immediately. 

“Which one?” Dick asked.

“His old one,” said Alfred.

Tim nearly spat his drink across the table. “His what one?”

Bruce had a therapist? Tim would never, in a million years, have seen that coming, and truthfully, he wasn’t sure he believed it now. 

Dick seemed to be on the same page. “You’ve… been to therapy?” he asked, like he couldn’t quite process what he had just heard.

Bruce only grimaced. 

“Did it… help?”

“Obviously it didn’t!” Jason cut in. He sounded truly panicked as he stood up from his seat and pointed at Bruce. “Back out!” he demanded. “I’ll— I’ll let you back out of this one.”

“No,” said Bruce.

“You’ve made your point, okay? I’ll work on the mental health thing, but I’m not going to—”

“You made the offer,” Bruce reminded him.

“I was bluffing! I didn’t actually think that you would—”

“Honestly, yeah,” said Dick. “I’m still having trouble with the idea of Bruce willingly going to therapy.”

“Twice,” Tim added, “assuming he follows through now.” 

Bruce sighed. 

“What?”

“I’m afraid,” Alfred interjected, “that the first time Master Bruce went to therapy, it was not by choice.”

“Court-ordered,” Bruce confirmed, sighing again.

“WHAT?” Tim yelled, so loudly that Damian, seated beside him, jumped slightly in his chair. “Sorry,” Tim told him. He turned back to Bruce and tried again, quieter this time. “What did you do?”

“Those records are sealed,” said Bruce. 

“Please,” Tim tried. “Alfred, I’m begging.”

Alfred smiled for a second time. “Master Bruce’s teenage exploits are his own to discuss,” he said. 

“Sealed,” Bruce repeated. 

“Quite. I will, however, elaborate on the therapy.”

“Thank god,” said Tim.

Alfred began stacking empty dishes at the end of the table. “There was a prominent psychiatrist in Gotham at the time that also offered talk therapy.”

“Oh,” said Tim. “Fancy.”

“It was, but we had the resources for it,” Alfred agreed, before turning back to Bruce. “I’m sure he would see you again.”

“I can’t,” said Bruce.

“Why?” Tim asked again. 

“I can’t.” 

“As I understand it, Master Bruce was a… difficult client,” said Alfred.

“Shocker,” murmured Damian, just loud enough for the rest of the table to hear. 

“Don’t start,” said Bruce. He pushed aside his plate and cup, and Alfred added them to the stack. 

“So?” Tim prompted. “What did you do?” 

Bruce seemed to think about it for a moment, fingers tapping on the bare table top in front of him. “I… took notes during sessions,” he said finally. 

“That doesn’t sound bad?”

“I took notes on the therapist. I would watch him the entire time and write down all the nonverbal cues I saw, and all the tactics I thought he was using.”

“Wait, what?”

“Master Bruce spent a considerable amount of time researching the man,” Alfred explained. “He compiled those notes—”

“—which included a fair amount of personal information I was able to find,” Bruce added ruefully. 

“—and then made it into a file. After his last session, he requested a copy of his own medical records and handed over that document in exchange.”

“To— to the therapist?” Tim asked, just to confirm.

“To the therapist,” groaned Bruce. He put his hands over his face, like he was trying to hide. “It was pretty much the same as a file I would keep now on rogues or allies.”

“Including the part where you write, like… your own psych assessment?” 

“Indeed,” Alfred supplied cheerfully. “If I’m remembering correctly, the doctor called it ‘reasonably accurate, if unnecessarily antagonistic.’”

For a half-second, the table went quiet. Tim made eye contact with Dick, both struggling to hold back smiles, while Jason sank back into his chair, blank-faced. 

“I respect it,” said Damian into the silence. 

It was too much for Tim— he burst out laughing. 

“Oh my god,” he choked out.

“I know,” said Bruce miserably. 

“I can’t believe you.”

“I can’t believe I’m only hearing about this now,” said Dick, shaking his head. He grinned, shoulders moving in silent laughter.

“Perhaps,” said Alfred, “Master Bruce’s experience with therapy would have become relevant sooner if you any of you were in the habit of going yourself.”

“Oof,” said Tim.

“What possessed you to do all of that?” asked Dick, unfazed. 

“He was taking notes on me!” said Bruce.

“That’s his job!” said Tim. 

“I was a kid, and I didn’t want to be there, and I felt like he was playing mind games. He was playing mind games!”

“Again—” Tim repeated, “his job.” 

Bruce sank even further onto the tabletop, the picture of shameful regret. Amazing, Tim thought— he was enjoying himself immensely.

“Science should study you,” he told Bruce.

“Oh, it does,” Bruce sighed.

Alfred nodded. “The doctor published a paper about Master Bruce’s case shortly after their last session.”

“God,” muttered Jason.

“Is the doctor a supervillain now?” Dick asked. “This sounds an awful lot like a supervillain origin story.”

Bruce shook his head. “He teaches classes at UGotham Medical.”

“And uses Master Bruce’s case study as a lesson,” added Alfred. 

“Cool,” said Tim. “I will be auditing that.” He stared at Alfred for a few moments, thinking. 

“International Space Station,” he tried. “Uh, PTA? Clash tour 1989.”

“What?” Dick asked.

“Just trying random words,” Tim explained, “to see if I get any other amazing Bruce facts.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow in Bruce’s direction. 

“Don’t,” said Bruce. 

“Which one?” yelled Tim, as the table dissolved into chaos for a second time. 

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Merry Christmas, my loves <3