Chapter Text
The Gotham skyline is the same as always, except it seems a bit smoggier today, making the lights meld together until they streak across the sky, blurry and indistinct.
It’s one of the better sights of the city.
Dick drops down onto another rooftop, tucking in his body to roll across the gravel before stopping at the edge. He takes a seat with a heavy breath and unwraps the sub sandwich in his hand, his mouth watering as the scent hits his nose. Philly Cheesesteak. God, he’s been craving one of these all day, and now that he has it in his hands…
As Dick brings the sandwich up to his mouth, his comm crackles to life.
“LoA spotted,” Barbara says in his ear. “Seems like they’re gearing up to escape.”
“That can’t be good,” Dick comments. He looks down at his sub sadly before he sighs and wraps it back up, rising from his position to crack his back. “Probably means that they got what they came here for, which means that we gotta get it back, or else we’re gonna have to take a trip into the desert.”
“Is that what you’re so concerned about?”
“I burn easily,” Dick complains. He glances around and tosses his sub towards a homeless couple in an alley, offering a two-fingered salute when they glance up at him in surprise before hopping over to the next building. “Coordinates?”
She rattles them off, and Dick starts making his way over. As he draws closer, he spies a group of people in League garb gathered on a rooftop, one of them carrying a bundle of something in their arms. Dick’s about ready to keep his distance when the bundle suddenly moves, and out pops the head of a…
“Kid,” Dick says, eyes wide. “They’ve got a kid with them.”
“You have to get them away from the League,” Barbara says sharply. “If they’re resorting to kidnapping a random kid from Gotham, then it can’t be good. I’ll send Batman and Robin your way. Red Robin is in the area, but he’s not responding to my pings. Hood, can you—”
There’s a sigh in one of Dick’s ears. “Yeah, yeah,” Jason grumbles. “I’ll go check on the baby bird. Be sure to kick some League ass for me, Wing, since I’m not allowed to do it.”
“Baby,” Barbara mutters.
Dick spies movement, and he sees the group of League members starting to move away from their current position, jumping across rooftops together. “Shit,” he says and goes to follow. “I have to move in, or else they’re gonna get away. Is B close?”
“Right here,” Bruce says as he drops down beside Dick, with Damian only seconds behind him. “We need to separate the group and get the one carrying the kid alone. Once that happens, Nightwing will give them a chase while Robin and I keep the rest occupied.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Dick agrees.
Damian stays silent. His movements are somewhat jerky as he swings and lands, and Dick knows that Damian’s frustrated over the fact that the League is in their city. Dick wants to comfort him, but instead, he focuses on the assassin with the kid in their arms, especially when they jump down and surprise the group, all of them immediately devolving into a fight.
Dick, Bruce, and Damian weave their way between the assassins, effectively separating them into three triad groups. There are ten in total, including the one carrying the kid, and it’s not long before the one holding their cargo turns to leap off the rooftop, probably deciding it’s best to try and lose them while they’re busy.
“Go,” Bruce orders and Dick nods sharply, following after the assassin with the kid.
He flips off the rooftop, lands on the one beneath him, and sets off into a run. Dick keeps pace with the wayward League member, refusing to take his eyes off his target for even a second.
The person ahead of him stumbles for a moment, and Dick’s a bit surprised to see them struggling to keep a tight hold on the bundle in their arms. The kid’s head breaks free of black cloth, revealing a pale face streaked with tears.
“Stop! Lemme go!”
“Hush,” the assassin snarls. “Or you will lose a finger. Ra’s wants you alive, but whole is another matter.”
The kid sobs, though it’s quieter now, and that’s when Dick decides it’s time to step in.
His escrima sticks spark in Dick’s hands after he lands in front of the League kidnapper. Dick doesn’t stop to give them a chance to react, throwing himself forward. He brings one of the sticks down, fueled by anger, but he ends up wheezing when the League member abruptly thrusts the kid forward, a human shield. All Dick can manage to do is cut off the electricity in his sticks and use the momentum from his movement to roll into a crouch past them.
“Do not presume I won’t use the child against you,” the League member spits out, gazing down at him with contempt. “Sentiment is a weakness, and I’m not afraid to do anything it takes to complete my mission.
Dick scowls, tightening his grip around his escrima sticks for a moment. He puts them away after he catches sight of the kid in their arms, dressed in the same black League clothing and staring at him all teary-eyed and helpless. Yeah, there’s no way he can risk hurting the kid with his weapons, so he’ll just have to resort to some old-fashioned fighting.
It shouldn’t be too hard, right?
(Famous last words.)
It’s clear that the League member is fighting to win, even with a child in their arms, which means that Dick is going to go home with a torso that’s black and blue. Still, he doesn’t stop, too close to his goal to even consider giving up, not even when he’s breathing hard and clutching at his potentially cracked ribs.
He can’t give up.
Dick finally gets another opening when the kid starts squirming again, causing their kidnapper to snap something at them, giving their body a shake. He aims a kick at the assassin’s knee, and they immediately go down with a grunt, their hold on the kid loosening. Dick snatches the kid up and holds onto him tightly with one arm, knocking out the ninja with a well-aimed punch to the head.
“I’m gonna get us out of here, okay?” Dick whispers to the kid—a boy—in his arms. “Just hold on tight. I won’t drop you.” When the kid wraps his arms around Dick’s neck, he pulls out one of his escrima sticks and carefully grapples away to a safer spot, hidden from any assassins that might steal the kid from him.
His landing is gentle, and he reaches up to tap his comm. “Got the kid,” Dick says. “How are Batman and Robin doing?”
“Got most of them by now,” Barbara says. “Still no confirmation on Red Robin—Hood stopped a couple of muggings on the way over. How about you sit tight and comfort the kid? Try and get a name, if possible.”
“Got it,” Dick replies and lets the comm fall silent. He makes sure the area is secure once more before looking down at the kid in his arms.
He’s so small. There’s no way he’s older than a year, maybe two, and Dick wonders, once again, what the hell the League would want with a kid this young. Maybe he’s an assassin baby, and they were trying to bring him home?
You won’t know until you ask, Dick tells himself. With that in mind, Dick gently sets him down on the rooftop. “Hey, kiddo,” he says. “Do you know who I am?”
The kid, black-haired and blue-eyed (note to self, Dick: keep away from Bruce), stares up at him with wide eyes. “Uh-huh,” he says, nodding his head. This action makes his floppy hair bounce all over the place. “You’re, um… Wing. Nigh’wing.”
“That’s right,” Dick says with a smile. He crouches down in front of him, grabbing hold of one of those tiny hands. “And what’s your name, huh? What do I call a cutie like you?”
A smile makes the kid’s whole face light up before a shade of pink takes it over. He squeezes Dick’s gloved hand and shakes his head. “Not cute,” he says, with a rather adorable pout on his face. “M’not.”
This almost makes Dick laugh. “Alright,” he agrees solemnly. “You’re not cute, you’re handsome.” And, unable to resist, he reaches up to ruffle the kid's baby-soft hair, biting back a grin when the pout becomes more pronounced. “Now, does a handsome young man like you have a name? Or am I just going to have to call you something else?”
The boy stares up at him with narrowed eyes now, and Dick gets the sense that he’s being judged by this little kid—practically a baby, actually. “You know,” he accuses, smiling again, and then he covers his face with both hands as he repeats, “You know!”
“Do I?” Dick replies, bemused. He reaches up and gently pulls those hands away, inspecting that cute face closely. Now that he’s looking, Dick can see that his features are familiar… but where has Dick seen them before?
“Nigh’wing,” the kid suddenly murmurs, shuffling closer. He seems to hesitate, for a moment, before burying his face in Dick’s chest, his uncertainty causing a pang in Dick’s heart. “Big brother.”
And Dick freezes because only two people in the family call him that, and one is still in Hong Kong as far as he knows. That means…
His comm crackles to life. “RR’s suit is in a pile on the floor,” Jason says, voice grim. “But no sign of him. Something bad must’ve happened if he ditched it all.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s bad, per se,” Dick replies, gazing down at the kid nestled against his chest. Now that he’s looking properly, he can see hints of his little brother in those small features. “But at least I can confidently say that he’s not dead.”
If it’s true, and it probably is, then that means the League is at fault, which doesn’t bode well for any of them. Dick wraps an arm around the small body nestled against him and stands up, gazing down at the knocked-out League member with a scowl. Yeah, it’s definitely not good.
“Then what happened?” Jason demands. “Don’t tell me that the League managed to grab him because if that’s true, then I’m definitely going to break my ‘no killing’ streak and pop a cap into Ra’s al Ghul’s a—”
“Just meet me at the Cave,” Dick cuts in sharply. Tim makes a confused sound, and Dick bounces him on his hip, gazing out at Gotham’s skyline. “It’ll be easier to explain in person.” He pauses and adds, “Bring a Philly Cheesesteak while you’re at it.”
★★
Dick carefully makes his way into the Cave. For once in his life, he’s grateful for the League of Assassins and their contingencies because they left a getaway vehicle (a white van, how cliché) that had a car seat out there. Dick may have spent about ten minutes trying to figure out how to buckle Tim inside, but he managed to do it, and now he’s parking in the Batcave before everyone else.
“Okay,” Dick says, turning to look at Tim. “We’re—hey! ”
Tim is already wiggling out of his seat, the evil straps of the car seat undone, and he’s reaching for the door handle. Dick quickly activates the child safety lock, and they’re left staring at each other, Tim with his nose scrunched up, and Dick simply astonished.
“How about we get out together?” Dick offers, holding out a hand. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Tim agrees after a beat and places his tiny (!!) hand in Dick’s offered one. Dick helps him climb over the center console and into his lap. Then, he opens the door and steps out, shifting Tim onto his hip.
Dick pauses outside the van. “Just to be sure,” he mutters, walking over to where they keep some of their equipment. He grabs one of their low-grade EMP chips and heads back to the van, slapping it on the inside and activating it by pressing down on it. Dick already checked beforehand for any trackers (there weren’t any—the League probably didn’t want to risk it getting hacked), but it never hurts to be sure.
“Smart,” Tim says. He reaches up and pats Dick’s cheek. Pap, pap, pap. “Won’t find us.”
“Nope,” Dick says confidently, even though he’s pretty sure that Ra’s al Ghul knows where their Cave is since he’s such a stalker freak. “How about we go get some blood drawn, huh? You know Bruce is going to take some tests to make sure that you’re, well, you.”
“Alfie does it,” Tim says with a nod that makes his hair bounce.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dick replies, rubbing a hand down his back. “Alfie will do it. We all know that he does the best job. I won’t subject you to my poor vein finding skills.”
Alfred greets them both with a smile, a bed already prepared. Dick gently sits him down on it and pushes up one of Tim’s sleeves, pursing his lips when he spies the beginnings of a bruise in the shape of a hand around his wrist.
“Hey, Timmy,” Dick murmurs, tapping the discolored skin. “Does it hurt?”
“Huh?” Tim says. He drops his gaze and frowns, also poking it. “Um, no? It doesn’t hurt!”
“Are you sure?”
Tim nods, his hair bouncing as it did earlier. Some of it sticks up, too, and Dick fights a smile as he flattens it down. “Okay,” Dick says. “If it doesn’t hurt, then it doesn’t hurt. How about we let Alfred take some blood? That way, we can have it ready for Bruce, and then we can ditch him.”
“No ditch,” Tim says, frowning up at Dick. It’s too cute to be a threat, and Dick refrains from cooing at him.
“No?”
“No.”
“What if I give you a treat?” Dick says, catching Alfred approaching from the corner of his eye. He peels off his gloves and shifts closer to Tim, resting a hand on the back of his neck. Dick plays with the baby-soft hair that’s curling upwards, carefully twining the strands around his fingers.
“What kinda treat?” Tim asks curiously, gazing up at him with wide eyes. They’re so bright and innocent, and this expression almost makes him look like an owl. He also leans into Dick’s touch as if he’s starved for it (which is entirely possible), and Dick doesn’t dare stop his ministrations, keeping Tim calm and relaxed while Alfred swiftly takes blood from Tim.
“I dunno, sweetheart,” Dick says. “You tell me, and I’ll make sure you get it.”
He freezes afterward, realizing what he just said. The pet name just slipped out, and Tim stares up at him, face blank for a moment, making Dick panic. Dick’s afraid he messed things up somehow, but then Tim beams up at him, eyes crinkling at the corner and cheeks pink, and he’s wiggling closer to Dick.
“Dunno!” he says, voice lighter. “I’ll think about it later!”
“Alright,” Dick says, amused, and ruffles his hair. Alfred finishes up, and Dick keeps him close, grabbing their band-aid box nearby. He flips it open and holds it out to Tim, who curiously peers down at the pile of band-aids. “Pick one.”
“That one,” Tim says decisively after a while, grabbing a bright pink, Hello Kitty band-aid and handing it over to Alfred. “Pwease!”
Dick dies right then and there. His soul ascends, and he no longer exists on the mortal plane. “Timmy,” he whines, leaning down to squish his cheeks. “How can you do this to me, huh? How are you so stinkin’ cute ?!”
“M’not cute!” Tim protests, muffled through his tiny duck lips. “No! M’not cute!”
That’s okay. Dick knows the truth, and he’ll make sure everyone knows it. Or, at the very least, allow them to witness Tim’s bright light themselves. At a distance for some, maybe, to ensure they don’t hurt him while he’s still a baby.
Dick loves his little brother, sometimes more than he can comprehend. From their first meeting, when he was desperate to be a better person, a better brother, to the new addition to the family, and beyond. Past, present, and future—Dick Grayson loves his little brother.
Now, as he stares down at his (baby) brother, Dick recalls a moment in the aftermath of Tim’s journey to find proof that Bruce was alive. He had pulled Tim aside and held him, relieved to see him standing there, relieved that he didn’t have to bury another family member. Dick kept his worries about Tim’s sharp, protruding bones and his pale, ghostly face trapped behind his teeth, and he said nothing when Tim eventually unfurled from his tense posture, crying into his shoulder.
It was silent, a reminder of Tim’s ghosts to keep himself unseen, still haunting him long after their bodies were laid to rest. Dick kept his arms locked tight around his little brother, holding him together while he was shaking apart.
Even with the current distance between them, Dick’s still going to be there for Tim, no matter what.
So, yes. Dick loves Tim. He’d die for Tim, maybe even kill for him. Seeing him so small and vulnerable… it’s doing things to Dick’s brain. He wants to sweep Tim up into his arms and hide him away, shower him with affection until Tim forgets all the bad parts of his childhood and feels only joy.
“You are,” Dick tells him, releasing his face. He leans down to kiss his head while he’s at it, an urge that has plagued him since he realized that the little boy nearly kidnapped by the League was actually his little brother. Tim smells a bit like sweat, along with something… sweet? Strange. “You’re the cutest little bird I’ve ever seen, Timmy.”
“M’not a bird!” Tim says. He flings out an arm, the sleeve of his black robe flopping over one hand. “I’m a person!”
“Hmm…” Dick draws out, tapping a finger to his chin. “I dunno, Tim. I bet if I offered you some birdseed, you’d just peck it right up!”
“No!” Tim shakes his head. “No birdseed!”
Dick laughs, ruffling his hair. “Alright, no birdseed,” he concedes. “I’ll just give you something else.”
An engine roars into the Cave quite suddenly. Dick drags his gaze away from his baby brother, letting Alfred handle the placement of the Hello Kitty bandage, and he watches as Jason rides inside on his bike. His other little brother parks it beside the van and hops off with a duffle bag over his shoulder and a sub sandwich in his hand.
“Here,” Jason says and throws the sandwich into Dick’s face. Dick catches it, of course, and immediately peels back the wrapper, scarfing it down.
“Thank you!” Dick says happily, mouth full.
“You disgust me,” Jason says.
“And I love you for bringing me this!” Dick says after he finishes the sandwich. It somewhat sates the hunger inside him, pushing down the confusion and anxiety, too. Dick feels like he has a clearer head with a mildly full stomach. “Also, I hope that’s not the bag that had all those heads in it.”
“Ha,” Jason says flatly. “As if I would reuse something that ties me to a crime I committed and risk the chance of pinning it on a certain baby bird.” He moves past Dick and waves a hand in front of Tim, who perks up and stares at him with wide eyes. Jason stares for a long moment, probably piecing it together like Dick did, and then he says, voice notably softer, even with the helmet’s voice modulator active, “Hi.”
“Hi,” Tim says cheerfully.
“Do you know me?”
“Hood. Red Hood.”
“Well, yeah, but do you know me ?”
“Um…” Tim tilts his head cutely. “No,” he says while nodding his head. “I don’t know you.” Here, he squeezes both eyes shut and smiles. Dick thinks it might have been an attempt at a wink. How cute. “Big brother, too.”
“Huh,” Jason replies, and Dick can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Right you are, Timmy. I’m your big brother. The better one—”
“Hey!” Dick complains.
“—who will give you ice cream when everyone says you can’t have any before dinner,” Jason finishes, completely ignoring Dick and therefore knocking him down a couple of ranks on Dick’s personal ‘favorites’ list. “And maybe I’ll bake some cookies for you.”
Alfred clears his throat. “I believe that’s my job, Master Jason,” he says, but there’s a note of fondness to his words. “Perhaps you can bake some other things for him.”
“Alright,” Jason says thoughtfully. “I guess I can do that. Definitely don’t wanna step on your toes, Alfie.” His helmet turns toward Dick next, and says, “Alf, can you watch Timmy for a second? I gotta talk to my big brother.”
There’s no scorn or mockery when he says it this time, and Dick feels a rush of joy that he tries not to show on his face. Judging by the way Jason rolls his eyes, Dick thinks that he fails, but that doesn’t matter. He lets Jason lead him over to the cluster of lockers near the showers, where he begins peeling off his suit to change into something comfortable.
He inspects his torso after removing his top and grimaces at the reddening skin. A couple of prods tell him there’s no real damage, which means no cracked ribs. Hooray.
“So,” Jason says, leaning against the lockers. “It really is Tim, huh?”
“Bruce still has to run his tests,” Dick says, only to continue after Jason shoots him an unimpressed look. “But, yeah. It’s definitely him. Dunno how or why, but it’s him.”
“Alright,” Jason says. “Still gonna watch B get the results. We have to be one hundred percent sure, or else we’re gonna have a League problem on our hands.”
“Hmm,” Dick says, aiming for an agreement. He’s aware that it’s important to be wary in situations like this, but Dick knows that the kid out there is Tim Drake, his little brother, and he also knows, deep in his heart, that he’s going to have to step up to take care of him until they find someone to revert him back to his original age.
And maybe there’s a part of Dick that wants to be selfish and hold his brother close when he’s a baby. Plus, if Tim’s mind is mostly that of a child, then he definitely needs all the cuddles and affection that Dick can give him.
“You gonna stick around?” Dick asks as he pulls on a navy blue Gotham University crewneck that’s a little loose on him. It belonged to Bruce at some point, but Dick stole it, and now it’s his forever.
Jason sighs, tipping his head back against the lockers. “Haven’t decided,” he says. “I mean, there’s no point in staying, right? Once Bruce has proof that the kid is Tim, then he’s gonna spend all of his time trying to reverse it. There, problem solved.”
“You could spend some time with Tim,” Dick says. He pulls on some fuzzy socks and shuts his locker, stretching his arms above his head. “He seemed to like you.”
“Kids like everybody,” Jason says flatly.
Dick shrugs and lets the subject die, shutting his locker. Jason’s truce with the family is often tentative at best, and pushing him to stay at the manor tends to cause him to disappear for weeks at a time. They’ve all learned to let him come close at his own pace, waiting for Jason to trust them with whatever’s going on in his life rather than shoving themselves into his space to get answers.
There are times when Dick wishes he could scoop his brother up and keep him safe in his arms, even though Jason is much taller and heavier than him. He also knows that this wouldn’t be well-received and would likely result in a punch to the face for Dick.
At least he’s here now, Dick thinks. That’s all that matters.
“Hey,” he says as they walk away from the lockers. “How come you don’t bake me anything?”
“Because you’re annoying,” Jason says easily. “And you still have five years left on my grudge against you for that one time with the thing. Maybe after your time is up, I’ll consider baking you something.”
“What does that even mean!?”
“You know what you did, Dickiebird. You don’t need me to explain it.”
“So, what? Tim gets all the baked goods, and I get nothing? Left alone to wither away into dust?”
Jason elbows him in the gut. “Don’t be a drama queen,” he says. “Also, the kid is like, two or something. Giving him some sweets and unleashing a sugar-high demon on Bruce is probably the funniest prank I’ll ever pull.”
Dick eyes him, taking in the way Jason’s shoulders practically climb up to his ears. “That’s not it,” he deduces with a grin. “You just think he’s so cute and needs to be fattened up, don’t you?”
“It’s the eyes,” Jason grumbles after a beat. “Those big owl eyes were staring me down, and the words kinda spilled out. Maybe whatever made him younger had some lingering effects. I feel like he could take over the world with that look. It’s worse than your sad little ‘oh woe is me’ puppy-dog eyes.”
“Hey,” Dick says without any heat. “I worked hard on those.”
“I know. That’s the worst part.”
“Also, I’m pretty sure Tim has some plans lying around for a takeover,” Dick muses. “I think I saw it in one of his color-coded binders.”
“That’s… terrifying.”
Dick waves a hand. “It’s not a problem as long as we’re around to keep him on the good side,” he says. “And I doubt baby Tim is thinking about these things. Actually, I’m not sure what he’s thinking about exactly. So far, it seems like he knows of us, but I don’t know how much of his adult mind is in there or if he just has some of his memories.”
“You could always ask him,” Jason suggests, lowering his voice as they near the medical area. “I mean, if there’s a hint of his adult mind in there, I think Tim would appreciate being treated as… well, not a kid. If it were me, I’d start biting you people if I thought you were talking down to me.”
“You already did that,” Dick says, holding his arm out in front of Jason’s face. “Look, I even have the scar to prove it.”
“That wasn’t me,” Jason says, like the liar that he is. “You must be mistaken.”
“You had blood in your teeth,” Dick replies flatly. “And you cackled.”
“See, I’m not the cackling type of guy,” Jason says with a lazy smirk and a shrug. “So, it truly couldn’t have been me. You must be remembering wrong. Are you sure you’re not thinking about that speedster boyfriend of yours? He looks like he’d—”
“Don’t finish that!” Dick says quickly, stopping himself from covering Jason’s mouth because he knows Jason will either lick or bite him (again). “We gotta be careful now, okay? There are little ears just ahead of us.”
“It won’t matter if he’s got his big boy brain in that head,” Jason grumbles.
“Yeah, well. Let’s not take any chances, Little Wing.”
Tim is still sitting on one of their hospital beds with Alfred standing beside him, a silent protector. He’s kicking his little feet as he looks around with something akin to wonder on his face. And maybe there’s some recognition there, too, but that might be Dick’s wishful thinking.
The League robes are gone, and he’s dressed in a simple navy blue long-sleeve shirt and small joggers, which are definitely Dick’s old clothes, based on how loose they are. He resolves to take Tim clothes shopping soon so his little brother can have clothes that fit him while he’s small.
“I shall head up and prepare a light dinner for those who choose to follow,” Alfred says when they’re near. “Perhaps it would be beneficial to take young Master Timothy upstairs as soon as the tests finish.”
“You got it, Alf,” Dick says, offering a two-fingered salute to the older man.
Right after Alfred disappears upstairs, Dick hears the sound of the Batmobile approaching. It slows to a smooth glide and stops beside Jason’s bike, shutting off only seconds later. Bruce slips out of the vehicle with barely a sound, and then he makes his way over to the computer. Damian throws himself out and immediately stomps over to the training dummies, unleashing his fury onto the dolls with his katana.
It’s what always happens whenever they deal with the League.
Normally Dick would be at Damian’s side, trying to get him to open up, but every tense line in Damian’s body just screams, ‘leave me alone,’ and, well, Dick has to focus on Tim right now.
“He could at least say hi to the kid,” Jason grumbles as he carefully picks up a tray containing two blood vials. Dick watches as he makes his way over to Bruce, who takes it and immediately starts running the tests.
He also sees the way Jason hunches his shoulders, the front of his helmet fixed on the screens in front of him. His hands come up suddenly, and he yanks off his helmet, tossing it to the side. An audible crack rings out, making both Tim and Dick flinch, but Jason doesn’t seem to care. He just runs a gloved hand through his hair and paces behind Bruce’s still form.
It’s not long before they get the results, thanks to their speedy technology and upgrades from the combined minds of Barbara Gordon and Tim Drake. Dick hears the ping and looks down at Tim, who’s toying with the edge of his Hello Kitty band-aid. Dick gently pushes his hand away and rubs his thumb over the spot, hoping to soothe the itch that’s probably there. Tim looks up at him and smiles, bright and sunny, and Dick drops another kiss onto his head.
The computer pings again, and this time, accompanied by Bruce’s frustrated huff. “It’s Tim,” he says grimly.
“Are you sure?” Jason asks, coming to a stop beside him. His arms are lax at his side, though he keeps one hand clenched. “Check again, B. There’s no way—”
“I have checked,” Bruce replies like he’s not the type of guy to be completely thorough. “Three times already.” Still, he leans over and presses a button on the keyboard, and the test starts running again, analyzing the blood that Alfred drew after their initial return to the Cave.
Dick doesn’t even need to look at the screen to know that it’s telling them, once again, that the kid’s blood is a 99.98% match for one Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.
Well, Dick thinks. They’ve got their proof, so we might as well head on up and get some of that dinner Alfred promised. With this in mind, Dick nods to himself and gently taps a finger against Tim’s nose.
But first…
“Hey, Tim,” Dick says warmly, meeting Tim’s gaze. “Wanna tell me how old you are?”
Tim furrows his brow, obviously thinking. “Um,” he says after a while and holds up a hand, tucking his thumb against his palm.
“Four, huh?” Dick lets out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s pretty old!”
Tim giggles. He actually giggles, and it’s the sweetest sound that Dick has ever heard. Dick resolves to get more of that out of Tim while he’s still young.
“Alright, I’ve got another question for you,” he says next, tapping a finger against his lip. Once he’s certain that he has Tim’s full attention on him, he tips his head down so their faces are level with each other and asks, “Do you know who I am?”
Tim stares at him for a long moment, and his face breaks out into another one of those sunny smiles. “Dickie,” he says happily, kicking his little feet yet again. He raises an arm and his tiny hand pats Dick’s cheek, and Dick’s gone. His heart is melting into a puddle of love for this boy, his baby boy, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if he doesn’t hug him right this very second.
“Can I give you a hug?” Dick asks, practically vibrating out of his skin. Huh. Is this how Wally feels all the time? “You look like you need one.”
“Um…” Tim ducks his head, suddenly so shy. “Yes. Okay.”
Dick wraps his arms around the boy. He stiffens the way his older counterpart sometimes does, and then he sinks into the embrace like it’s his last, tiny hands clinging to Dick’s shirt and head nestling into Dick’s shoulder.
God, Dick could cry. Baby Tim is just so sweet.
And then, he hears the growl of a stomach.
“Oh,” Dick says, surprised, and pulls away from the hug. Tim’s face is slightly pink, and he’s toying with the hem of his very long shirt, clearly embarrassed. Lowering his voice, Dick gives his arm a poke as he asks, “Are you hungry, sweetheart?”
“Um…” Tim looks away and shrugs.
“Hey, if you’re hungry, you gotta tell me,” Dick says gently. “You can tell any of us, and we’ll make sure you have something to eat. Don’t be afraid to let us know.”
“Not a bother?”
Dick stiffens for a moment, but then he forces himself to relax so he won’t upset Tim. God, every time something like this happens, even when Tim’s older, he’s just reminded of Tim’s parents and the way they treated him. It makes Dick feel like a failure at times, and it’s no different here.
“No, baby,” he says firmly. “You’ll never be a bother, okay?”
“Okay,” Tim says in a small voice. He stops fiddling with his shirt and reaches out, tracing one of the faded symbols on Dick’s t-shirt, brows furrowed. Dick recognizes this expression. He sees it on older Tim a lot, usually when Tim is trying to figure out how to piece together his thoughts in order to formulate a response to something.
(He’s so much like Bruce in these moments.)
And so, Dick waits it out, like he always did before.
“Can I have soup?” Tim eventually asks, staring at him with big, Bambi eyes. “And cwack—um, crackers?”
I’d give you the whole world if you wanted, Tim, Dick thinks to himself as he scoops Tim up into his arms. Instead of voicing this, he presses a kiss to Tim’s worryingly thin cheek and says, “Sure, Timmy. We’ll get you some soup and crackers.”
“And apple juice?”
“And apple juice, too,” Dick agrees. He starts making his way out of the Cave, past the trio that gathered around the computer (Damian joined them), and up the stairs. “And maybe we’ll watch a movie too. How does that sound?”
Tim nods, dropping his head onto Dick’s shoulder yet again. He kicks one foot, swinging it past Dick’s hip, and Dick can’t help but smile. “Okay,” Tim says when they’re finally in the manor. “Movie. Yes.”
“Or whatever we find,” Dick says, mostly to himself. He enters the kitchen, surprised to see a lack of Alfred. He does spy a few plates of food on the kitchen island, covered in saran wrap, and Dick takes one of them, leaving the rest there. Even the smaller portion gets dismissed in favor of giving Tim what he wants.
Dick digs through the cupboards to find the can of tomato soup that he stashed there recently. Sure, Alfred makes it better, but sometimes Dick’s just craving it out of a can.
It’s also one of the few things he can make without ruining the kitchen since all it requires is dumping it into a pot and heating it up.
Dick does exactly that before searching for some crackers, keeping Tim perched on his hip the entire time. Tim is quiet at first, which is parallel to his older counterpart, but then he starts humming and making small sounds like he’s testing it out and choosing which ones he likes, going by his occasional huff of laughter.
It’s cute enough to bring a tear to Dick’s eye. He doesn’t bring any attention to it in case Tim gets embarrassed and clams up. That’s what he does as an adult, too—moreso around Dick than anyone else these days.
And that’s something that Dick desperately wants to fix.
“Can I set you down on the counter real quick?” Dick asks once the soup starts bubbling. He turns off the stove, kisses Tim’s forehead, and adds, “I don’t wanna risk burning you, sweetheart.”
“Okay,” Tim says with a nod.
“And you promise you’ll stay there? You won’t try to get off?”
“Pwomise.”
Dick’s eyes burn, and he sets Tim down on the counter beside him before he does something silly like squeeze his baby brother. He pours some of the soup into a bowl, sliding it onto the tray. Dick adds the sleeve of crackers, along with some utensils, and then opens the fridge. Much to his surprise, there’s a small, red tumbler cup waiting for him. He doesn’t doubt that it’s filled with apple juice already.
“Alright, baby,” Dick says as he returns to Tim’s side, placing the cup and his plate on the tray next. He scoops Tim up, making the kid laugh, and carefully balances the tray in his other hand. “Let’s go watch a movie.”
And with that, Dick takes them into the sitting room with the biggest TV. Normally, they’re not allowed to eat there, and even then, it’s only with Alfred’s express permission, but Dick feels like it’s okay when there’s a dire situation like this.
“How about something with a princess, hmm?” Dick asks as he sets the tray down on the table. He carefully lowers himself to the ground and places Tim on his lap, snatching up the remote to turn on the TV. “Or maybe a musical?”
“No singing,” Tim says and reaches up to pat Dick’s cheek again. “Bad Dickie. Too loud.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dick arches a brow, poking Tim’s nose. “And how do you know that, huh? You remember my singing?”
“A lil’ bit,” Tim says. “Dickie sings, Jay cooks, and Dami fights.”
“Oh, yeah?” Dick tries not to let his worry show. “Remember anything else?”
There’s a pause, and when Dick leans forward to peek at Tim’s face, he sees that he’s thinking hard about something. After a while, Tim makes a sound and grabs the side of his head while he shakes it, and then he lets go, meeting Dick’s gaze and shrugging.
“No,” he says. “Maybe. I dunno, Dickie!”
Dick offers a smile. “That’s okay, baby,” he says gently, ruffling his hair. “How about you eat some of your soup? I’ll put on Scooby-Doo.” It’s a safe choice, and it has the mystery stuff that Tim once admitted he liked to see in a show or movie. Also, kid-friendly.
“Okay,” Tim agrees. “Zombie, pwease.”
While Dick searches for Zombie Island, he lets his thoughts get away from him. It’s clear now that the Tim sitting in his lap isn’t the Tim that he knows. He’s definitely just a kid, but now he has evidence that some memories of his older self lie in that little head. How many, though? And which ones, for that matter?
Dick hopes he doesn’t remember any of the bad moments in his life. He can’t imagine what that’ll do to him in his current state.
“If you have a bad dream,” Dick finds himself saying, brushing his nose against the top of Tim’s head. “I want you to come and find me, okay? Or if you think anything bad. And then I’ll make sure you’re safe. Can you do that for me, Timmy?”
“Uh-huh,” Tim replies. He sounds distracted. Dick can’t be too upset about it, though. He knows Scooby-Doo has a way of sucking people in.
“Can you tell me what I said?”
“Go to Dickie after bad dweams,” Tim says. His voice is softer, happier, and maybe a bit more childish, too. Dick hopes it’s because he’s letting himself feel comfortable. He can count on one hand how many times Tim has acted his age when he’s older. “Dickie keeps me safe.”
“That’s right, baby,” Dick says with a smile. He hugs Tim close, enjoying the weight of his baby brother in his arms. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“Thank you,” Tim says, tipping his head back with a big smile on his face. He refocuses back on the screen, reaching out to grab the packet of crackers before holding it up. Dick, understanding the unspoken question, opens it and hands it back, watching as Tim grabs a cracker and daintily dunks it into the tomato soup. He does it a couple of times before lifting it, and then he shoves it into his mouth, crumbs spilling all over his shirt.
“Sweetheart,” Dick huffs fondly, picking up the ones that fall on the rug. “You’re making a mess!”
“Hung’y,” Tim says around his mouthful of cracker. He grabs another, dunks it in the soup, and eats it while he’s still chewing on the previous one, causing his cheeks to bulge out like a chipmunk. “Tasty!”
Dick chuckles. “I’m glad you like it so much,” he says, amused. He’ll have to sneak some into the cupboards when Alfred isn’t looking. The palate of a four-year-old is probably not refined enough for the amazing dishes that Alfred produces for them.
The room soon fills with the sound of a spoon bouncing against a bowl, the rustle of the plastic cracker sleeve, and Scooby-Doo. Dick lets it all wash over him, charmed by how little Tim fits in his arms, the tense parts of him finally at peace for the first time in what feels like forever.
Here, he doesn’t have to worry about a thing. Tim has no high expectations for him. All he wants is Dick’s presence, and that’s something that Dick can gladly give. He eats his meal once Tim is halfway through his own, and Dick ends up losing a portion of it because Tim is more interested in taking pieces of his grilled chicken from his pasta dish.
“T’ank ‘ou, Dickie!” Tim says as he’s chewing on his food, turning on Dick’s lap. There’s a noodle stuck to his face, and his fingers are coated in pasta sauce as well as dried tomato soup.
“You’re welcome, baby,” Dick says. He grabs a napkin off the tray and wipes those tiny hands while Tim continues to eat. How did he get so messy so fast? “But I need you to slow down there. I don’t want you to get a tummy ache.”
“Okay!” Tim says happily before stuffing another piece of chicken into his mouth.
Eventually, the movie comes to an end, and thankfully, they’re both done eating. Dick moves them up to the couch. “Witch,” Tim requests immediately, and Dick dutifully puts on The Witch’s Ghost for him, holding his brother close.
Tim falls asleep within the first ten minutes.
One second, he’s squirming, leaning forward excitedly as colorful images play out on the screen. Dick spends that time watching Tim, a smile on his face, so it’s easy to see when his eyes start to flutter shut, mouth open in a cute, almost kittenish yawn. In the next second, Tim slumps against Dick’s chest, breath evened out and clearly asleep.
“Oh, Timmy,” Dick whispers. He carefully shifts so that he’s lying down with Tim still on his chest, and starts carding his fingers through Tim’s soft hair. Even in sleep, Tim pushes his head up into the touch, releasing a pleased sigh, and Dick’s filled with so much warmth and love for this kid.
He always loved big families. It comes from growing up in the circus, always surrounded by a mishmash of people, where his best friend was an elephant named Zitka. Dick can admit that his childhood was a bit lonely after entering Bruce’s manor, where laughter and joy turned to silence and uncertainty. Meeting Wally and the rest of his friends helped, but there was no denying the ache that lingered in his chest.
Recently, Dick has been having some thoughts about expanding his family in a different way. He’s in a good place overall, and their little BatClan is closer than ever, but sometimes Dick thinks about taking another important step with his boyfriend.
And the weight of his little brother, who was de-aged to a four-year-old only hours before, only furthers these thoughts. Dick never thought he’d experience the phenomenon that is ‘baby fever,’ but here he is with a longing in his heart.
“My baby,” he murmurs, shifting his gaze to the ceiling as he blinks back his tears. Dick rubs a hand down Tim’s back when he shifts, murmuring something incomprehensible, and waits for him to settle. “My baby boy.”
At some point, he falls asleep. Dick doesn’t know when it happens, but he awakens to the feeling of someone petting his hair. He releases a soft sigh and cracks his eyes open, blearily peering up at his father figure. Dick offers a soft smile, completely warm and comfortable, and says, “Hey, B.”
“Hey, chum,” Bruce whispers.
“Everything okay?” Dick murmurs. “Got what you needed?”
“Yeah. I did. Thanks for looking after Tim while I was busy.”
Dick yawns again, reaching up to rub at his aching eyes. He glances at the TV, where the dim movie selection screen greets him, and then to the warm weight on top of his chest. Tim’s still asleep, possibly drooling on Dick’s chest, and one of his little hands is gripping Dick’s sweatshirt tightly.
Bruce chuckles, pulling his hand back. “Guess he was tired, huh?” he asks good-naturedly.
“Yeah,” Dick says with a huff of laughter. He brushes his fingers through Tim’s soft hair, heart skipping a beat when Tim sighs and nuzzles closer. “Knocked out at the start of the second movie. I guess a full stomach helped him along.”
“It looks like most of the soup is on the table.”
“That is not my fault,” Dick replies quickly. “And Timmy had nothing to do with it, either. You have no proof, none at all, and I can’t possibly clean it up when there’s a sleeping baby on my chest.”
“As if you don’t use that excuse whenever Alfred the Cat is sleeping on you,” Bruce grumbles, but his tone is light, maybe even playful, and Dick relaxes into the cushions, smiling up at him. “Alright, I’ll leave you to your nap. I just wanted to check up on you two, make sure everything’s alright.”
“Have you figured something out?” Dick asks, his arm tightening around Tim. “About changing Tim back, I mean.”
“Not yet,” Bruce replies, rubbing a hand down his face. “I plan on inviting a specialist over to do a scan on Tim in case we’re dealing with magic. As of right now, I don’t know when it’ll happen, but it’s safe to assume that Tim will stay a child until we get there.”
Dick stares at Bruce. The older man appears more weary than usual, and the shadows under his eyes make him look somewhat haggard. There’s a slump to his shoulders, too, and his gaze keeps straying toward Tim’s sleeping form, hands twitching like he wants to reach out. Knowing Bruce and his self-deprecating tendencies, he probably doesn’t think he’s allowed to do such a thing.
“You should get some sleep, first,” Dick suggests softly, gesturing to the armchair off to the side. “Follow Tim’s lead and take a nap.”
“I’ve got a lot to do,” Bruce says tiredly. He does take a moment to yawn, therefore proving Dick’s point, and his voice is softer when he adds, “I can’t afford to do that.”
“Then, why don’t you hold Tim for a bit while I go shower?” Dick says. He’s already moving before Bruce can protest, carefully holding Tim in his arms while he makes his way over to the chair. “I’m pretty sure I have soup in my hair, and I don’t want it to mix with whatever’s leftover from patrol.”
“I… I don’t…”
“It’s not that hard, Bruce,” Dick says, offering a smile. “Besides, he’s asleep. Nothing bad is gonna happen.”
Bruce stares at him for a long moment and then sighs, slowly walking over to the armchair. “I supposed I can watch him for a bit,” he says as he sits down, but Dick catches the hint of joy in his eyes, probably happy over the idea of being able to hold one of his children when they’re small.
He never got to do that with any of them.
“Here ya go,” Dick says quietly, carefully transferring Tim into Bruce’s arms. Tim hangs on like a koala for a second, and then he releases Dick with a sigh and practically flops down against Bruce’s chest in his sleep.
Dick smiles out the sight, and then he promptly pulls out his phone and snaps a picture, managing to catch Bruce’s soft smile as he gazes down at Tim.
“I’m sending this to you,” Dick says, shoving his phone in Bruce’s face. “And if you don’t make it your lock screen background, I’m going to print them and tape them all over the Watchtower. No one will look at you the same.”
Bruce snorts. “They haven’t been able to do that since I introduced all of you.” He eyes the picture on Dick’s phone, and his eyes grow softer. “That’s a good one,” he says and gestures to the device. “You should check your messages.”
“I should shower,” Dick corrects. He eyes them for a second, suddenly wishing he was as small as Tim so he could curl up with them, and then shakes his head. “I’ll be quick.”
Dick makes sure to shower quickly, not wanting to spend any time away from his baby brother. He hops out and snatches the t-shirt hanging off one of the hooks behind his door, using it to dry his hair gently. After that, he pulls on a new pair of sweats and the same sweater from earlier before he exits his room to return to Bruce and Tim.
He stops just before he enters, a smile stretching across his face at the sweet picture in front of him.
Bruce is reclining in the armchair, face wrinkle-free and somehow younger, and so similar to the boy sleeping on his chest. There’s no tension to his body, no worry—a sharp contrast to how he holds himself on a daily basis.
It reminds him of the times when Dick would crawl into Bruce’s bed after a particularly bad dream. Bruce always welcomed him, and he would even tuck Dick against his body, shielding him from the door. Sometimes, Dick would wake up before Bruce, and he would catch sight of the same peacefulness, and he found comfort in seeing such a soft emotion in a normally hardened man, going back to sleep soon after and trusting his guardian to keep him safe.
Right now, Bruce has an arm curled around Tim’s body, keeping the boy tucked against his chest, with his head resting on Bruce’s shoulder. Tim suddenly shifts, whimpering quietly, and Bruce simply strokes his fingers down Tim’s spine, his face unchanging. Tim settles eventually, and the room soon fills with their soft, even breaths once again.
Dick goes to the kitchen to prepare some coffee, knowing that Bruce will want some when he wakes up again. He remembers Bruce’s suggestion and pulls his phone out, unlocking it and tapping on the notification from Bruce.
It’s a picture.
Bruce must have taken it when he first found them. Dick is lying on the couch with Tim, his arm wrapped around the little boy while they both sleep. Tim looks at peace, happy, and Dick’s expression isn’t that far off, either.
He stares at the image until his phone darkens, which causes him to tap his thumb against the screen so he can look at it some more. Eventually, a smile spreads across his face, and Dick takes the time to set the picture as his lock screen background while the coffee is brewing, the rich aroma filling the air.
Maybe they’ll get more pictures like this while Tim is still young.
Dick has a mug while he stands there, leaning against the counter. The manor is quiet, so unlike his roots, but it’s no less warm. Bruce and Tim are safe in the other room, fast asleep, and the rest of his siblings are healthy and whole.
After drinking only half of his coffee, Dick dumps out the rest in the sink and heads to the linen closet. He grabs one of their softest blankets, his favorite, and brings it back to the sitting room, where Dick lays it across his little brother and his father. He makes sure to tuck it around them, and then Dick drapes himself across the couch, shutting his eyes.
He’ll give the old man some time to rest.