Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

The smell of coffee is what drags him out of sleep. 

It’s warm and inviting, the way only Alfred’s special brew makes him feel. Dick nearly opens his eyes, but something keeps him there. He sighs and burrows his face in the soft pillow in front of him, ready to drift off again.

And then something touches his face.

It’s small and light. Dick probably wouldn’t have detected it if he were deeply asleep, and he fears, for a moment, that it’s a bug. It feels familiar for some strange reason, so Dick finds himself relaxing as it continues.

Pap, pap, pap. 

Ah, Dick thinks, cracking one eye open to see a small, four-year-old Tim standing beside him. That’s right. My little brother is now my baby brother.

“Whas’goin’ on?” Dick mumbles. He grimaces at the slur of words and clears his throat, repeating himself with better eloquence, “What’s going on, Timmy?”

“Dickie, get up,” Tim says with a frown on his cute little face, continuing to pat Dick’s cheek. “Bweakfas’ time. Alfie made pancakes.”

“Pancakes, huh?” Dick hums. It’s not every day that Alfred makes pancakes, and that’s because the method of allowing them all to pick their own toppings usually ends in both a fight and a mess. “Alright, baby. I’ll get up. Just give me a second, okay?”

“Okay,” Tim says. Pap, pap, pap goes his hand.

He rolls onto his back so he can properly look at Tim, who offers him a bright smile that warms his heart. Dick smiles back at him, reaching out to flatten the side of his hair that’s sticking up. “Did you sleep okay?” he asks.

“Uh-huh!” Tim nods, effectively ruining Dick’s work by making his hair bounce. Dick probably needs to invest in a small comb to deal with it in the future. “Dickie snores.”

Dick gasps dramatically, then he snatches Tim up, making him shout. “I do not! ” he insists, squeezing Tim to his chest. Tim starts giggling, a cute sound that grows louder when Dick starts kissing his cheeks. “Take that back, Timmy!” he says. “Take that back, or I’ll trap you here forever!”

“No, no!” Tim says, squirming in his hold. He doesn’t stop laughing, so Dick doesn’t release him. “Dickie snores! Dickie’s loud!”

“What about Timmy, huh? I think Timmy’s being a bit loud right now, too!” Dick proclaims and then blows a raspberry into Tim’s neck so he can hear him shriek with delight. He stops after that and just holds his little brother close, unable to stop smiling, all while Tim still releases an occasional giggle.

“Dickie is silly,” Tim says after a while. Then, he turns and kisses Dick’s cheek. “Pancakes?”

“Pancakes,” Dick agrees.

He sets Tim on his hip after getting off the couch and then walks into the dining room, noting that he’s the last to arrive. Bruce sits at the head of the table with a mug of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. Damian is seated beside him, sipping on some tea, and Dick’s surprised to see a high chair next to Damian, taking the place of one of their many chairs.

It’s wooden and worn, but Dick thinks it’s probably sturdy enough for a certain little bird that keeps wiggling around in his arms. “When did we get this?” Dick wonders after he buckles Tim inside. The high chair is much easier to deal with than the car seat, and Dick spares a moment of gratitude to whoever created it. 

“It was mine,” Bruce says, eyes flicking up to meet his gaze. “Alfred cleaned it up for Tim, but he says it’d be better to invest in another.”

“Why?”

“Because Tim was able to get out of this one.”

Dick turns his attention back to Tim and sees that he unbuckled himself, half of his body out of the chair. “I see what you mean,” Dick says flatly. “He did the same thing with the car seat, and that one was a bit more complicated than a simple buckle strap across the lap.”

Tim giggles.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, you little stinker,” Dick says, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice. He swiftly places Tim back in the seat and drops down in the chair beside him, scooting the high chair as close to the table as possible while keeping a hand on the arm of it. “There,” he says. “Timmy, if you try to escape again, then I won’t give you a treat.”

“Ice cweam,” Tim says after a while, holding out a tiny hand.

Dick pretends to ponder the question, adding a few hm’s and ha’s here and there. After a while, he grabs Tim’s hand and gives it a shake, nodding solemnly, and then he proceeds to try and eat Tim’s hand while making appropriate monster noises.

“This is awful,” Damian says, barely heard over Tim’s sweet laughter. “How can I eat like this, father? Richard is being ridiculous.”

“I can’t help myself,” Dick says, releasing Tim’s hand just as Alfred enters the room with a tray full of pancakes. “He’s just too cute.”

“Not cute!” Tim proclaims. He wiggles around in the high chair, but it seems to be out of excitement rather than attempting to escape his seat. “Pancakes!”

“Yes, young Master Timothy,” Alfred says patiently as he makes his way to Tim’s side. “I’ve got your pancakes right here.” He slides a small plate off the tray and places it in front of Tim, passing over a butter knife and a fork to Dick. “I’ll let Master Richard do the honors of cutting it for you.”

“I can do it!” Tim insists. “M’not a baby.”

“I’m well aware,” Alfred says. “But I’d feel better if you let Master Richard cut it for you nonetheless. That way, you can focus on choosing whatever toppings you’d like on your pancakes.”

Tim looks thoughtful. “You make a good point, Alfie,” he says, nodding. “Okay, I let Dickie cut them!”

And so, Dick starts cutting up Tim’s pancakes while the others get their own plates. Dick’s pancakes are plain, while Tim’s have a few splashes of color here and there—sprinkles, Dick thinks. It’s how Dick used to eat them when he was a kid, and Bruce didn’t know how to interact with a small child, which allowed Dick to get away with eating whatever he wanted.

“Aw, Timmy, you got sprinkles?” Dick asks, offering Tim some pancakes. “Will you let me have some?”

Tim reaches out and gently takes the piece from Dick’s fork. He pokes at the yellow and red sprinkle on the pancake, lets out a quiet gasp, and then shoves it into his mouth with a speed that surprises Dick while his mouth is still open. “Um,” Tim says after he eats it. Dick has a suspicion that he didn’t chew it thoroughly. “No, thank you. My pancake.”

“So cruel,” Dick says, placing a hand on his heart. “My sweet baby is so mean to me…”

Tim holds out a hand. “More pancake, pwease!”

Alfred brings out a few toppings while they eat, and he’s also kind enough to slide a mug of coffee over to Dick, who pauses in cutting the pancakes up to bring it up to his mouth and take a big swig.

Perfect.

Maybe it burns the roof of his mouth a little, but the sweetness of all the creamers and syrups he enjoys soothes the pain by reminding him of how much he loves his coffee. Dick takes a moment to bask in the drink, made with love by Alfred, and it’s only then that he notices a tiny hand reaching for his mug.

“Nope,” he says, holding it out of the way.

Tim looks at him imploringly. “Mine?” he asks in that innocent baby voice of his and starts reaching for it again. He even leans out of his chair, nearly falling out of it.

Dick sets the mug down so he can sit Tim upright again. “No, sweetheart,” he says gently, tapping his nose. “You can’t have that.”

“Mine,” Tim says sadly.

“I believe you would prefer this over the monstrosity that Master Richard calls a drink,” Alfred says, saving Dick once more by placing the small red tumbler from last night in front of Tim. “This should suffice just fine for breakfast.”

Tim turns his attention away from Dick, taking the sad puppy dog eyes with him, and looks at the cup. “Apple juice?” he asks, already reaching for it.

“Milk,” Alfred corrects.

“Oh, right,” Dick says knowingly. “Timmy needs milk so he grows up big and strong.”

A piece of pancake is thrown at him with an impressive aim, considering the fact that the person who threw it happens to be a child. Tim also shoots him an impressive scowl, which Dick pointedly ignores as he peels off the pancake sticking to his face and tosses it into his mouth.

There’s no noticeable difference in flavor, just an additional sweetness due to the sprinkles, but Dick enjoys it nonetheless.

“Thank you, baby,” Dick says with a smile. “You’re so nice for sharing.”

“Dickie mean,” Tim complains. He picks up his cup, gazing down at it with a wrinkled nose. Then, Tim lifts it to his mouth and has a sip, smacking his lips together. “I don’t wike it,” he announces a second later, setting the cup down beside his plate with a clatter. 

“Drinking that is non-negotiable,” Bruce says, not even bothering to look up from his newspaper when he says this. “You need those nutrients while you’re still small.”

“You need nutwients,” Tim grumbles, but he takes another sip of milk, so it seems Bruce’s influence is strong enough for a four-year-old Tim.

Alfred brings out an assortment of syrup jugs next, and Dick immediately snags the bottle that’s imported from Vermont just for him. He uncaps it and pours a copious amount on top of his pancakes. It drips down the sides, pooling at the bottom of his large plate, and Dick can feel his mouth watering over the thought of having the fluffy sweetness in his mouth.

He glances over at Tim, who stares at the jug in his hand with a frown. “You want some, baby?” Dick asks, scooting closer to pour some out for him.

Tim holds out a hand. “I wanna do it,” he says.

“Alright,” Dick replies, bemused. He hands over the jug, thinking that Tim will struggle with it too much and eventually ask for help. Instead of this, Tim copies Dick and pours a lot of syrup over his cut-up pancakes. Since his plate is smaller, some of it starts to spill outward and onto the table.

“Uh-oh,” Tim says. He sets down the jug and grabs a few napkins, placing them on top of the small pool of syrup. His hand gets covered in it in the process. “Um. Uh-oh.”

“I’ve made a terrible mistake,” Dick says wearily, putting his head in his hands. The whole room smells like syrup now. “I should have expected this.”

“You should have,” Bruce replies. “Also, I’m not cleaning this up.”

“Neither am I,” Damian says. There’s a note of disgust to his words. “How could you allow this to happen, Richard? You should know that children imitate those around them.”

Dick keeps his head in his hands.

“I suppose it’s too much to ask for a normal breakfast once in our lives,” Alfred remarks with a sigh. So used to dealing with all of their crap, Alfred merely scoots Tim closer to Damian, procuring a towelette from his pocket and carefully wiping away the syrup pool.

“I’m sowee, Alfie,” Tim says, sounding so sad.

“It’s quite alright. These things happen.”

Dick finally looks up to see Tim reach out for a pancake piece that’s soaked in syrup. “No, baby,” he says quickly, belatedly remembering that older Tim hates anything soggy. It tends to make him gag due to the texture. “You might not—”

Tim shoves the pancake into his mouth, grabs another piece, and then does the same thing. His cheeks bulge out, and there’s syrup smeared across his cheeks, dripping down his shirt. “Yum,” he says, muffled due to the pancakes.

“—like it,” Dick finishes. He stares for a bit longer and then sighs, focusing on his meal. “Bath time is going to be a nightmare,” he says forlornly.

“Yes,” Alfred says. “Which is why you will allow me to handle the matter, lest we end up with the water on the outside again.”

“That only happened once!” Dick protests. He remembers it vividly. It involved a couple of bottles of bubble bath, a broken knob, and a lot of drenched towels. Dick winces when he catches sight of Alfred’s arched brow and holds his hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you give Timmy a bath.”

Alfred continues to clean up the syrup, and he retreats to the kitchen after he’s done. Dick imagines he’ll come back later with proper cleaning tools to rid the table of any lingering stickiness. He used to do that when Dick was younger, too, after Dick pretended he didn’t know a thing about proper syrup distribution on his pancakes.

It was always fun to see the look of regret on Bruce’s face whenever he let Dick do the pouring.

Dick figures this is some form of karmic justice against him. He can’t even pay attention to his own meal now, too fixated on the sight of Tim shoving syrup-drenched pancake pieces into his mouth, uncaring of the mess that’s gathering on his hands and face.

His eyes flick over to Damian, who’s watching Tim with a mixture of disgust and awe. “This is Drake?” he questions, narrowing his eyes. “How is it possible that this child grows up to be the man who bested my Grandfather? The greatest of the Robins when it comes to detective work? How?”

Tim looks over at Damian, a smile stretched across his tiny, syrupy face. “Hi, Dami!” he chirps and offers a syrupy piece of pancake. “Here, you can have some!”

Dick can see the denial coming from miles away, and he catches Damian’s eye. Be nice, he mouths, watching as a grimace flickers across Damian’s face before it settles into a mask of careful neutrality as he nods and accepts the piece from Tim. He slips it into his mouth, and Dick holds his breath, waiting for his reaction.

He visibly shudders when he swallows, and the light in his eyes dims. “Thank you, Drake,” Damian eventually says in a strained voice, one hand clenched in his lap. “I am… so very thankful for your kind offer.”

Tim beams and says, “You’re welcome, Dami!” He turns back to his meal, ignoring the fork that Dick places beside his plate in favor of using his hands again.

Dick doesn’t comment on the snort of laughter he hears from the kitchen nor on the way Bruce’s hands shake around the newspaper. Instead, he focuses on getting through his pancakes, the threat of laughter hidden in his chest, ready to be unleashed if he looks at Damian.

“You probably shouldn’t call him that, Damian,” he says after a while, once he’s certain that he has himself under control. “He’s probably going to think that you hate him or something.”

“I do,” Damian says with a huff.

Dick looks up in time to see Tim gaze at Damian with an expression of pure sorrow. His bottom lip juts out, and his eyes fill with tears. “Dami hates me?” he asks, a note of sadness to his words. “Why does Dami hate me?”

“I don’t,” Damian says quickly, without any help from Dick. He looks bewildered, like he can’t comprehend the idea of Tim crying, which makes sense since Tim rarely cries around them, even as an adult. “I apologize for the confusion,” he continues, and boy, does he sound awkward. “What I meant was that I do need to call you something other than your last name.”

Nice save, Dick thinks when Tim brightens.

“Tim,” the little boy offers graciously, holding out one sticky hand.

Damian eyes the extended limb like it might hurt him. “Timothy,” he says after a while. “I will call you Timothy while you are stuck at this age.”

Tim huffs, pulling his hand back. “Tim,” he insists.

“Timothy.”

“Tim!”

“Timothy.”

“Here we go,” Dick mutters to himself. He closes his eyes and begs for some patience as they continue to squabble back and forth. After a few seconds of this, Dick goes back to eating and decides that he’ll only step in to defuse the situation if food starts getting thrown around, which is possible. Such is life at the Wayne Manor.

Dick also dumps some chocolate chips and powdered sugar on top of his pancakes. For reparations.

The rest of breakfast passes without any more incidents. Tim doesn’t finish his milk or pancakes, which isn’t surprising, and Dick crouches on the floor while he wrangles Tim into standing still in order to wipe the syrup off his face in hands with a wet wipe.

He’s still going to take a bath, but this will make things a bit easier until then.

“Goodbye, Timothy,” Damian says as he’s leaving the dining room. “Try not to cause too much damage wherever you go.”

“It’s Tim! ” Tim exclaims, stomping one foot. He glares at Damian’s back, a look that’s more cute than intimidating on his tiny face. Thankfully, this causes him to stay still while Dick finishes cleaning off most of the syrup.

“All done!” Dick says after a while, tapping the tip of his nose.

Tim smiles at him and chirps, “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, syrup boy,” Dick says, poking Tim’s tiny tummy. The boy giggles, a sweet sound that makes Dick smile. He pushes himself up off the floor, attention drawn to Bruce when he finishes his coffee and stands, folding his newspaper.

“I’ll be heading into Wayne Enterprises today,” Bruce says as he brushes a hand down his white button-down shirt. It probably costs more than Dick’s outfit, and Dick knows he’s wearing it without a jacket for the sole purpose of keeping up his Brucie persona. “I have to talk to Lucius about Tim’s situation, and then we’ll talk to a magical expert in the late afternoon to see if there’s a way of reversing this.”

“Zatanna or Constantine?” Dick asks curiously.

Bruce snorts. “As if I’d want to deal with Constantine for more than five minutes,” he says, sweeping past them and out of the dining room. Tim immediately gives chase, and Dick follows to make sure he doesn’t trip.

“So, after dinner, then,” Dick says as they stop before the front doors. He eyes Tim, who crouches on the floor to tug at Bruce’s shoelaces, deftly unraveling them from Bruce’s supposedly perfect knot. “But before patrol.”

“Yes,” Bruce says. He drops his gaze, then, and Dick thinks his face softens. “Alright, Tim. You have to let me go now. Or tie them back up for me, if you can.”

“I can!” Tim immediately responds and refocuses his attention on the laces. He ties up Bruce’s shoelaces in no time, just the way Bruce likes them. “See? I did it!”

“Good job,” Dick praises, dropping a hand to ruffle Tim’s hair. The boy giggles and turns his attention to Bruce, who inspects his shoes with a critical eye. Tim seems to be vibrating in place, much like Wally does when he’s excited about something in public, but that might also be due to all the sugar Tim had for breakfast.

“Perfect,” Bruce finally declares. “I knew you could do it.”

Tim visibly perks up and then shuffles closer, tugging on Bruce’s pants. “Up?” he asks.

Bruce chuckles and bends down to lift Tim, placing the boy on his hip. “I have to leave soon, Tim,” he says, sounding amused. “You’re going to spend your day at the store with your brother. And you’ll behave for him, won’t you?”

(Dick’s the one who suggested this trip. Tim needs more clothes while he’s small.)

“Uh-huh!” Tim nods, his messy hair flopping. He smiles and throws his arms around Bruce’s neck. “Bye, daddy!” Tim says happily, making Bruce freeze. “I wuv you! Have fun!” He then proceeds to kiss Bruce’s cheek with a very loud mwuah and starts wiggling in his arms. “Down, pwease!”

Bruce seems dazed as he slowly puts little Timmy on the floor. Dick watches as Tim takes off in the direction of the bathroom, where Alfred is surely waiting for him with the bath drawn. “Did he just—”

“He did,” Dick confirms, pointedly not looking at the syrup mark on Bruce’s cheek. Bruce can deal with it on his own, preferably when he’s in the WE boardroom. “Has he ever called you that before? You know, when he’s older?”

“Not often,” Bruce answers. Then, to Dick’s surprise, a small smile spreads across his face. “Alright,” he says, voice soft. “Okay.” 

Suddenly, he reaches out and wraps an arm around Dick’s shoulders, pulling him in for a hug. “You two have a good day,” Bruce says while Dick’s smushed against his chest and kisses (!!) the top of his head. “Buy him a toy while you’re out there. Buy him anything he wants, actually.”

“You’re going to spoil him,” Dick points out, a bit bewildered. He reaches up to touch the top of his head when Bruce releases him, eyes caught on his soft, happy smile. There’s also a kernel of warmth settling in his chest, and he can’t stop himself from grinning. “But I guess that’s the point, huh?”

Bruce doesn’t respond, but the light in his eyes says it all. He opens the door to exit the manor, and Dick follows him out the door, watching his father go down the steps and towards the car waiting for him.

He used to do this as a kid, too—watching Bruce leave for work as he prepared himself for a day of loneliness. Alfred kept him company, of course, but it was a vast difference from how he grew up, and Dick often didn’t know how to deal with it.

Now, it’s much better. The manor is full of life more often than not, and he has plenty of friends to keep his life eventful. Even then, there are times when Dick still feels like that lost little kid desperate for any sign of affection from his new guardian. He fought tooth and nail for it, and there’s still a struggle, but sometimes… sometimes it’s good.

“Have a good day!” he calls out, waving at Bruce. “I’ll be sure to leave the manor standing while you’re away.”

He watches as Bruce tosses his head back with a laugh and grins, glad that he surprised him. It’s what he used to say when he was younger as well, something he started after breaking the first chandelier.

The window rolls down, and Bruce pokes his head out. “I’ll be counting on it,” he replies, an amused smile on his face. He waves back at Dick and then pulls out from the driveway, leaving for a day of work.

Dick’s hand goes back to his head, brushing over the spot that Bruce kissed, the warmth making a return. He hums and heads back into the manor, deciding that he needs to change before he goes to the store with his little brother.

★★

Tim returns to Dick freshly showered and syrup-free. He’s wearing dark blue overalls over a red crewneck sweater with a fuzzy brown bear in the center and a pair of scuffed up red sneakers.

“I’m done,” Tim announces when he steps into the sitting room. “Let’s go, Dickie!”

Dick, too distracted by how cute his baby brother looks, immediately takes out his phone and snaps several pictures while Tim is blinking up at him, head tilted in a way that makes him look like a confused puppy. He sends a couple of them to the brotherly group chat he created after tempers finally cooled down.

BIG BROTHER IS WATCHING 👀👀

acroBAT: LOOK AT HIMMMMMMM
acroBAT: [IMG SENT]
acroBAT: [IMG SENT]

Little Wing: 🤔 did you dress him?

acroBAT: no?

Little Wing: thought so. there’s no way you could have put this outfit together yourself.

acroBAT: hey!!!

Baby Bat: For once, I agree with Todd. This has to be Pennyworth’s work.

acroBAT: everyone is so mean to me 😔

Alfred enters the room just as Dick puts his phone away, holding a piece of paper between his thumb and index finger. “I’ve put together a list for your journey,” he says, passing it over. “I thought I’d make it easier for you to get what we need for young Master Timothy, though he’ll still be able to choose what he’d like for certain items such as clothes.”

“Good idea,” Dick says, tucking the list into his other pocket. He glances down at Tim, who’s stroking the fuzzy bear design on his sweater, and asks, “Hey, where’d you get the outfit from, by the way? I didn’t know we had anything kid-sized lying around.”

“They belonged to Master Bruce, once upon a time,” Alfred replies. He steps closer to Tim and tips Tim’s head up, which makes Tim smile sweetly. “If we were to cut Master Timothy’s hair, I daresay we’d have a carbon copy to worry about.”

“No,” Dick gasps, feeling a visceral pain in his heart. He brushes his fingers through Tim’s soft hair. “We can’t do that. Never. It’s too precious.” Dick quickly snatches Tim up, grinning when he squeals. “Besides,” he says, dropping a kiss onto Tim’s cheek. “You forget one thing, Alfred! My baby boy is so much cuter than stinky old Bruce!”

“Not cute!” Tim says, giggling. He tugs on Dick’s hair, but it’s gentle enough that it doesn’t cause any pain, so Dick doesn’t stop him. “Not cute, Dickie!” 

“Alright,” Dick concedes as he walks towards the hallway. “You’re a handsome little bird.”

“I accept,” Tim says decisively. He then turns in Dick’s arm and waves a hand. “Bye, Alfie! See you!”

“Yeah, bye!” Dick adds on. “I promise to make sure Tim doesn’t get anything on his outfit.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Master Richard,” Alfred says dryly. “And I’ve fit a car seat into one of the older models of our esteemed car collection.”

“Got it!” Dick says and starts heading down to where they keep said collection. He turns to kiss Tim’s head, where he finds the scent of strawberries. “Alright, Timmy. We’ve got a day of shopping ahead of us! You ready?”

“Uh-huh!” Tim tugs on his hair again. “Let’s go, Dickie! Let’s go!”

★★

The car seat is different from the one in the League’s van. 

Dick wonders how much money Bruce tossed aside to get express shipping on this thing. He curses Bruce in his head, too, during the twenty minutes it takes to figure out the straps when putting Tim in the seat.

It helps that Tim sits there, quiet and patient, and that’s only because he’s petting Dick’s head like he’s some domesticated house cat rather than his older brother.

“Dickie has nice hair,” Tim comments after Dick finishes buckling him in.

“Thank you,” Dick replies, kissing his cheek. “I do my best.”

The drive to the store is uneventful, though Dick does have a few moments where he tries not to coo at his little brother after Tim starts singing to himself in the back. He spends more time humming the tune, but Dick thinks the lyrics have something to do with the ocean and sea turtles.

Dick keeps the child safety lock on as he parks, and sure enough, when he turns to look at Tim, the kid is already unbuckled and trying to wiggle out of his seat.

“How?” Dick marvels. “How did you figure that out?”

“Easy,” Tim chirps. He climbs over the center console and into Dick’s lap, reaching for the door handle.

Dick gently pushes his hand away and opens the car door himself, stepping out with Tim in his arms. “You’re a little menace, aren’t you?” he asks as he shuts the door. Dick stops by the trunk to grab a tote bag and then locks the car, pausing when he feels Tim start to squirm in his arms. “What’s wrong, Timmy?”

“Wanna walk,” Tim says.

“You want to walk to the store?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Across the parking lot.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Alright, sweetheart, but you have to hold my hand,” Dick says, extending one towards him. “And you can’t pull away from me, okay?”

“Okay,” Tim says with a smile.

He takes Dick’s hand, and Dick sighs when he realizes that Tim’s hands are sticky. From what exactly, he doesn’t know, and he decides that he doesn’t want to know, so Dick starts moving in the direction of the store.

The two-minute trip to the front door takes fifteen minutes.

It’s mostly due to the fact that Tim can’t walk fast thanks to his small feet, and also because he keeps getting distracted by every little thing along the way, to the point where one of Dick’s pockets is full of the rocks that Tim found interesting by the time they make it into the store.

“Okay,” Dick says, grabbing a cart and placing him inside it. Tim blinks up at him, all owl-like (dammit, Jason is in his head) and cute, and Dick ruffles his little brother’s hair. “You’ll be good for me, right, Timmy? You won’t try to escape?”

“No escape,” Tim agrees. “Ice cweam after, Dickie?”

Yeah, there’s no way he can get out of that one. “We’ll go to the ice cream shop,” Dick promises. “I’ll let you get a cone, too.” It’ll result in a mess and even more sticky hands, but that’s something future Dick will worry about.

“Alright,” Dick says decisively. “We’ve got a list, and we’ll stick to it. No detours, no exceptions, and we’re not going to let anything catch our eyes.” He nods to himself and looks over to see Tim doing the same. “Timmy, you’re in charge of keeping me in check. Don’t let me buy something I don’t need.”

It works out for about two minutes when they pass by the dollar section without stopping. Dick smiles in relief, continuing to push the cart, and realizes that it’s going to be harder than he thought when he makes his first stop in the kid’s clothing section.

“Oh, no,” Dick says, despairingly looking at all the cute clothes. He catches sight of a hoodie with bear ears and has to look away, lest he toss it into the cart or force Tim into it immediately. “Okay, Timmy, this is all you. Pick a few outfits, and we’ll go from there.”

If Tim’s change in age is due to magic, then Dick doesn’t have to worry about buying a lot of clothes. Magical spells tend to last a week at most, or they get unraveled by ally magic users.

(Dick ends up tossing the sweater in there anyways.)

Dick and Tim pass through the clothing section, where Tim will point to certain pieces that he likes, and Dick tosses them into the cart. He pauses when he catches Tim staring longingly at some dresses, and Dick reaches out to ruffle Tim’s hair.

“You want one?” he asks.

Tim looks up at him with wide eyes. “Really?”

“Sure!” Dick smiles at his brother and then eyes the dresses on the rack. They’re all very cute, perfect for Tim, so Dick says, “Pick whichever ones you like, and then we can plan a picnic or something so you can wear one of them.”

Tim’s smile is so bright and wide when he says, “Okay!”

After letting Tim pick out enough clothes to make a small pile, with Dick adding pairs of socks, other such items, and a box of Nightwing-blue sneakers, he pulls out his list and sees… that Alfred also sent him out to pick up some groceries.

“Of course he did,” Dick grumbles and makes his way towards the fresh food aisle. Tim is playing with the zipper of a red hoodie that he picked out, and Dick has to lean down several times to push it away from his mouth and say, “That’s not where it goes, Timmy.”

Dick finds most, if not all, of the food items on the list. Since it’s fresh, he has to wrap them up tightly so tiny hands won’t poke at them and start eating them like Tim already did with the cotton candy grapes that Dick picked up on a whim, not caring that he made a little detour away from the list.

That caused a moment of panic, but then Dick remembered that this store, in particular, is doing a better job with keeping their fresh foods clean, and it helped. A little.

At some point, he bumps into someone, and he’s about to mumble an apology and continue to the toy aisle (where he’s definitely going to spoil Tim, per Bruce’s orders) when he catches a flash of bright red hair near them.

“Babs!” Dick says brightly, leaning down to hug her.

She laughs and wraps an arm around him. “I’m surprised to see you here,” she says. “You’re not the type of guy to go grocery shopping.”

“I do it sometimes, Babs! You’re just not there to see it.”

Dick holds onto his friend for some time, only moving when Barbara gently shoves him away. She wheels past him and comes to a stop beside the cart. Barbara places her arms on top of it and leans over, eyeing Tim with something akin to curiosity. “Hi,” she says with a warm smile. “Is that you, Timmy?”

To Dick’s surprise, Tim hides his face behind the red hoodie on his lap. “Hi, Babs,” he says, in a voice so small and shy that Dick has to bite back his grin. 

“Are you having fun with Dick?” she asks next. “Is he being nice to you?”

“Uh-huh…” Tim finally peeks out, cheeks pink. “Dickie’s always nice!”

“Well,” Barbara says teasingly and flashes a smile in his direction. “I wouldn’t say always…”

Dick chats with Barbara as they move down the aisle, leaving the fresh foods section and going to the packaged stuff. Tim starts to get a bit restless as time passes, which tells Dick that he’s starting to get bored while he’s stuck in there.

Maybe they should have gone to the toy section first…

“You know,” Barbara says thoughtfully. “I could use a helping hand while I do some shopping. Do you want to sit with me and be that person, Tim?”

Tim visibly perks up, and then he turns toward Dick with the world’s strongest puppy dog eyes, and that’s coming from Dick Grayson, who patented that look years ago. “Can I, Dickie?” he asks, putting his two hands together. “Pwease?”

“I swear, you just keep getting cuter,” Dick mutters as he takes Tim out of the cart. “Make sure you listen to us while you’re out, okay?” he tells his little brother as he sits him down on Barbara’s lap. “I don’t want you to get lost.”

“Dickie will find me,” Tim says confidently. He gazes up at Dick with so much trust and love that Dick doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Dickie’s always there for me.”

Dick swallows around the lump in his throat, feeling his eyes sting. He leans forward to press his lips to Tim’s forehead. “That’s right, sweetheart,” he murmurs as he pulls away, ruffling his soft hair. “I’ll always be there for you.”

He doesn’t think about the times he wasn’t there for Tim when it mattered.

Dick leaves them to their shopping, following at a much more sedate pace with the cart. Sometimes, he’ll help with the stuff on the higher shelves, which is when he catches a flash of a camera from the corner of his eye. 

He turns to see an older woman with her phone out. She flushes under his attention, and all he can do is offer a polite smile in her direction. Normally, he’d go over and introduce himself, maybe have a small conversation with someone who’s clearly a fan of the family before continuing with his day.

A quick glance at Barbara, who is now guiding Tim to the toy aisle while pointing out a few things, tells him that he can’t do that here, not when he’s out with his brother. So, with an apologetic wave, he makes his way over to his companions, watching as Tim runs over to the shelf full of stuffed animals.

“This is where all Bruce’s money is going to go,” Dick comments as Tim pulls out a green dinosaur plush that’s almost the same size as his body. Tim stares at it, carefully wraps his arms around it, and then laughs, setting it down on the floor. “But he did say to spoil him, so…”

“Well, if Bruce said to make it happen, then you have to make it happen.”

Dick laughs, but it soon trails off. He rubs the back of his neck and says, “Hey, listen. Sorry if that picture sparks up rumors again.” Dick sighs, shaking his head. “I bet they’re gonna try and say that I have a secret lovechild with you or something.”

“That’s fine,” Barbara says with a wave of his hand. She’s smiling at him in the way that used to steal his breath away. Now, it just makes him feel fond and happy. “I’m used to you Waynes’ causing some sort of scandal wherever you go, if I’m being honest. What’s one more?”

“Even though you’re probably involved?”

“Even then.”

Dick snorts, eyes flicking over to Tim, who’s still crouched on the floor as he sticks his hand into a shelf full of stuffed animals. “It was fun, wasn’t it?” he asks, glancing back at her. Dick brushes his fingers over a strand of her hair, remembering when he used to play with them during a lull in conversation. It’s as silky as ever. “Me and you, I mean.”

Barbara stares at him with an unreadable expression, and then it clears into something much softer. “Yeah,” she says, reaching up to grab his hand. She squeezes it, a gesture that reassures him more than he thought. “It was, Dick, but I’m happier where we are now as friends.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Me too.”

She squeezes his hand again and then releases it, starting to wheel past him. “Besides,” Barbara says teasingly. “I’ve heard rumors that there’s someone much better and faster in your life now.” She arches a brow, and the look on her face is devious. “Care to confirm, Mr. Grayson?”

Dick feels warmth crawl up his cheeks, and he quickly looks around. “Who told?” he hisses. “Was it Cass? Dammit, I knew she’d figure it out!”

“So, it’s true!” Barbara looks delighted. “Honestly, I thought my informant was pulling my leg, but it turns out that they weren’t lying.” She laughs, but Dick sullenly thinks that it sounds more like a witch’s cackle. “Wow. I can’t believe you finally settled down with him.”

Dick stares at her for a long moment and then averts his gaze, suddenly feeling… embarrassed. “Yeah,” he replies, and he’ll deny to his dying day that he sounds dreamy when he adds, “Sometimes, I can’t believe it either.” Dick pauses, furrowing his brows, and then says, “Wait, what do you mean by finally?”

Barbara laughs, her eyes sliding past him. She inhales sharply instead of replying, and Dick feels a ball of dread settle in his stomach. 

He whirls around, and sure enough, there’s an empty space in the middle of the aisle. The few stuffed animals Tim pulled out lay on their sides as if someone knocked them over by force. Dick scoops up the green dinosaur that Tim hugged, and then he rushes out of the aisle, checking the ones on either side just in case.

Nope. Nothing.

“Hey.” A hand wraps around his wrist, and Dick jumps, turning with a fist held. Barbara stares up at him, concerned and unmoving, and Dick presses his palm against his eye, his stomach churning with anxiety. His mind starts spiraling as he imagines all that could happen to his baby brother, and he feels a bit dizzy when he remembers that Ra’s still wants Tim and could have taken the chance to grab him while Dick was momentarily distracted.

“Fuck,” he whispers, knocking a fist against his head. “Fuck! How could I let this happen?”

“Dick,” Barbara says sharply, cutting through the panic. He looks at her, wide-eyed and breathing harshly, and when she speaks again, her voice is gentle but firm. “We’ll find him, Dick. He can’t have gone too far, and there are plenty of cameras here for me to track him if needed. We’ll find him, and he’ll be okay.”

“Okay,” Dick says, exhaling shakily. He runs a hand through his hair, swallowing around the lump in his throat and nodding to himself. “Okay, Babs.”

Dick sets the dinosaur back on the shelf and abandons his cart in favor of searching one side of the store while Barbara takes the other side. He talks to a couple of workers, but they show no recognition when Dick offers a description of Tim and showing them a picture doesn’t help, either.

He’s just about ready to break down and cry when he hears the sound of familiar, bright laughter. Dick follows it to a table full of shirts in the clothing section, where he finds Tim sitting beneath it.

Tim’s gesticulating as he speaks, facing something that Dick can’t see, and there’s a bright smile on his face. Dick can’t quite hear the conversation, but as he draws near, Tim stops when he catches sight of Dick and visibly perks up.

“Dickie!” he crows, crawling out from under the table and rushing over to him. There’s a bit of dust in his hair, which Dick absentmindedly wipes away as he crouches down in front of Tim and checks him over for any injuries. Nothing, thank God. “Dickie, Dickie! I have somethin’ to tell you!”

Dick pulls him in for a hug. He cups the back of Tim’s head and shuts his eyes, burying his face in his soft, strawberry-scented hair. He lingers in the embrace for a long time, enough that Tim doesn’t say a word, nor does he squirm, and Dick checks him over again after he pulls away, cupping Tim’s cheeks with both hands.

“You scared me,” he says, his heart still racing. “Please don’t do that to me, baby. Don’t disappear like that again. I thought something bad happened to you.”

“Oh…” Tim looks guilty, and his eyes well up with tears. He brings a little hand up to rub at them, but Dick’s already thumbing the droplets away, pulling the boy close when he hiccups. “I-I’m sowee, Dickie!” Tim says with a tiny sob, wrapping his arms around Dick’s neck. “I didn’t mean to scare you! I’m sowee!”

He stands up with his baby brother in his arms, rubbing his back while he cries against Dick’s shoulder. Dick looks up when he hears the sound of wheels against the tile and smiles wearily at Barbara as she makes her way over.

“Oh, good,” she says, relieved. “You found him.” She has her phone in her hands, tapping her nails against the black screen. “I did check the security footage to speed things up a little and I may have found something concerning.”

She doesn’t show him, though. Instead, she holds out a hand, which Dick gladly takes. He rests a couple of fingers against her inner wrist, and her steady pulse helps him calm down, the adrenaline leaving his body and making him feel tired. Tim is still crying against his shoulder, though it’s died down a little, and it’s much quieter. Dick kisses the side of his head.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, tapping a message against her skin.

LEAGUE?

She turns over his palm, stroking her fingers down a couple of his scars. “No problem,” Barbara says with a smile, now tapping out a response. “What are friends for?”

YES. DEALT WITH. DIDN’T TOUCH TIM.

Dick’s about to respond, but Tim lifts his head, sniffling. His eyes are red, and his nose is a little snotty. “Dickie,” he mumbles, clutching the collar of his jacket. “Dickie, the bad guys.”

And there’s the panic again. “What bad guys?” he asks, pretending that his heart rate didn’t just jump to triple digits. How does Tim know about them? “What happened, sweetheart?”

“Pwu put them in the dwessing wooms,” Tim says, dropping his head onto Dick’s shoulder again. “They wanted to take me, she said, so she helped me.”

Dick exchanges a look with Barbara, who nods grimly. “That tracks with what I saw in the footage,” she says. “Two individuals casually moving about the store before walking into the dressing rooms. I assume the plan was to try and lure Tim in there, but after a while, another person went in there, disappeared for a few minutes, and then walked out alone. It’s safe to assume that they’re the ones who dealt with the League for us and prevented a potential kidnapping.”

“Okay.” Dick takes a deep breath. He holds it in for eight seconds, releases it, and repeats this process a few more times. Once he’s as calm as can be, he glances at Barbara apologetically. “Can you—”

Barbara holds up a hand. “You don’t even have to ask,” she says. “Grab your things and take Tim out of here. I’ll probably stop by the manor to update you, or I’ll send the files to you once I’m home.”

“Sounds good,” he says. Dick looks down at Tim. “Wanna say bye to Barbara?”

“Bye, Babs,” Tim says, much more subdued than usual.

She smiles up at him, reaching out to shake one of his feet. “Bye, Timmy,” Barbara says, her voice so soft and kind. “I’ll see you around, okay? Maybe we can convince Dick to be nice and take us to the park someday.”

Tim sniffles and nods. “Okay,” he says.

His cart is still where he left it in the toy aisle, which is surprising. Dick decides to keep shopping so he can find a few more things for Tim to make up for the upset of the day. He pauses to grab the stuffed dinosaur off the shelf as he’s leaving. Tim stops him before they go, pointing at a round, squishy pink frog, so Dick grabs that, too.

He keeps Tim in his arms the entire time, letting him pick and choose whatever he wants, with Dick tossing in a couple of things Tim might like (including a pair of squeaky shoes, which he couldn’t resist).

After they’re done going through all of the toy aisles, Dick goes to check out, and he’s packing his purchases into the car, still holding Tim when he sees Commissioner Gordon making his way into the store.

Good.

“How about we get some ice cream, huh?” Dick asks as he’s buckling Tim into the car seat. “I’ll even let you get an extra scoop, okay?”

Tim sniffs. “Okay,” he says quietly.

Dick pauses to stare at his baby brother, who still looks upset. “Baby,” he says gently. “I’m not mad at you.” Tim’s eyes fill with tears once more, proving that Dick’s assumption was correct. “You’re not in trouble, either,” he continues. “I just got really scared and thought I lost you. I don’t want that to happen again.”

“Dickie found me,” Tim says with a hitched breath.

“I did,” he says. “But I was still afraid, sweetheart.”

“Sowee,” Tim says tearfully.

“It’s alright,” Dick says. He grabs one of Tim’s tiny hands and rubs his thumb across Tim’s palm, back and forth, until he sees those tears disappear. “I love you, Timmy. You know that, right?”

“Uh-huh.” And Tim leans forward, kissing Dick’s cheek. “I wuv you too, Dickie.”

Dick smiles, feeling his heart grow warm. “Let me clean your face for you, okay?” he says, grabbing their pack of wet wipes from behind the front seat. “I don’t want it to get all itchy when we go have some ice cream.”

“Cookie Dough?”

“Yes, baby. I’ll let you pick that one.”

After wiping away the snot and the tear tracks, Dick reaches past Tim to grab the dinosaur from the back. Tim gasps and reaches for it with grabby hands gesture, and Dick smiles, depositing the thing in his lap.

“Think of a name for your dinosaur, okay?” he says before shutting the door. Dick quickly makes his way to the driver’s side and slips inside, starting up the car and pulling out of the parking space in no time. “It’s ice cream time!”

“Ice cweam!” Tim cheers from the backseat, already back to sounding like the happy kid that Dick knows and loves.

★★

Tim gets his two scoops of Cookie Dough ice cream while Dick chooses Rocky Road.

They sit in a booth with their desserts, and Dick immediately mourns the idea of Tim staying clean when the ice cream drips down his hand. Of course, he gets it all down his front, and all Dick can do is hope that Alfred gets the stain out.

It doesn’t help that Tim keeps picking out some of the larger cookie dough pieces, offering them to Dick with a wrinkle of his nose. Dick takes it, of course, but he has to wonder why Tim didn’t just get vanilla to avoid the cookie dough.

“It’s not the same,” Tim says with a sigh that’s too heavy for his tiny body when Dick asks. “You don’t get it, Dickie.”

After they finish their ice cream, Dick crouches beside Tim and tries to clean the ice cream off his hands and face. Dick somehow manages to get ice cream in his hair while he’s doing this. How? He doesn’t know, and Dick supposes that he’ll never find out.

Surprisingly enough, Tim gets none on Batwalker, the newly named stuffed dinosaur that Tim couldn’t leave behind as they ventured into the ice cream shop. The plush sat beside the boy in the booth, and now it stays in his arms when Tim is back in the car seat.

Figures, Dick thinks as they drive away from the ice cream shop and towards the manor. Tim is singing in the backseat again, only this time the song is about dinosaurs, and even though he can still feel ice cream in his hair, Dick finds himself smiling and bobbing his head to Tim’s little tune.

★★

Alfred greets them in the garage when they come home, and he helps with the bags while Dick wrangles his escape artist of a brother (who, once again, unbuckled himself from the car seat) before exiting the driver’s side with Tim on his left hip.

Batwalker, the stuffed green dinosaur, is under his other arm.

“I see that we’ve decided to wear our treats instead of eating them,” Alfred says with an arched brow when he catches sight of them.

“Wasn’t my fault,” Tim says, his puppy dog eyes on display. “The ice cweam kept melting…”

“Hm.” It’s clear that Alfred’s not falling for the trick, what with the way he pointedly turns to gather more bags from the trunk. “I hope lunch doesn’t result in more food down your front, Master Timothy.”

Dick snorts. Yeah, as if.

“And I hope you get none in your hair as well, Master Richard,” Alfred says, a glimmer of mirth in his eye as he shuts the car. He reaches over and tugs the dinosaur plush out from under Dick’s arm, exchanging it for a couple of the bags. 

“Everyone’s a critic,” Dick mutters as Tim giggles.

Dick and Alfred set the bags down in the sitting room while Tim carefully places Batwalker in the armchair. He then goes over to the bag that has some of his toys and pulls out his box of Legos, sitting on the floor as he tries to open it up.

“Food, first,” Alfred says firmly.

Tim sighs, setting the box down. “Okay, Alfie,” he mumbles, and they all go into the kitchen.

Any complaint that Tim might have disappears when Alfred presents him with a plate of dinosaur nuggets. He cheers happily and immediately starts eating them, making dinosaur noises here and there before shoving them into his mouth.

“Where were these when I was a kid?” Dick complains.

“I seem to recall an unholy amount of tater tots that carved a space in our freezer after you arrived,” Alfred says dryly. “Master Bruce had these ordered for Master Damian, but they sent the non-vegetarian type, so I decided that Master Timothy might appreciate them better.”

Dick looks over at Tim, who’s now biting the heads off the dinosaurs as he laughs, and hums. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re probably right.”

(Alfred makes him a plate of dinosaur nuggets, too.)

Bruce returns after the meal is done. Tim is sitting on the sitting room floor, playing with his Legos, and the serious look on Bruce’s face makes him sit up. “What’s up, B?” Dick asks, glancing at Tim before making his way over to his father.

“Barbara told me what happened,” he says. “Is he okay?”

Damian enters the room while Bruce is talking. His eyes flick from Bruce to Dick and back before he crosses his arms, frowning. “What are you talking about?” he asks. “Did something happen at work, Father? Or during Richard’s outing with Timothy?”

“Yeah, uh.” Dick sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Tim wandered off at the store. Nothing happened to him, but we did find out there were a couple of League members with us at the time. They didn’t get near Tim, though, because apparently someone took care of them.”

“Yes,” Bruce says. “They were found unconscious in the dressing rooms, one of the few places that don’t have cameras. We don’t know who took them out, or why, but we should be careful whenever we go out from now on. It’s clear that they’re watching us, waiting for someone to slip up so they can grab Tim, and we can’t let that happen.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dick says glumly. “Sorry, B. I fu—messed up.”

Bruce drops a hand onto his shoulder, squeezing it. “We learn from our mistakes,” he says, not unkindly. “Now we know to never take our eyes off him.”

“Or invest in a leash,” Damian grumbles. He peers up at Dick and asks, “Did Timothy say anything about the ordeal? There must be something he knows. Why else would he wander off?”

“Because he’s a curious child?” Dick suggests with a smile. At Damian’s unimpressed look, he sighs and thinks back on the incident. “When I found him,” Dick recalls. “It seemed like he was talking to someone, but I was more focused on making sure Tim was okay than bothering to check out who it might be. He did also mention that someone named… Pru? I think? And how this person put the ‘bad guys’ in the dressing rooms.”

“Pru,” Damian murmurs. “That name is familiar.”

Dick exchanges a grimace with Bruce. If anyone else said that, it would mean a possible lead. When Damian’s the one who’s saying it, then it means that they’re dealing with someone from the League. 

“Assassin, then?” Dick asks.

“Prudence Wood,” Damian confirms grimly. “Yes. She works for my Grandfather, though I’m obviously unaware of any active missions for her at this time.”

“Now, why would little Timmy be friends with an assassin?” Dick muses.

“What if we asked Tim?” Bruce says. “We know that he has some of his adult memories in there, based on how he interacts with us and navigates the manor. There’s a chance he can give us an insight into why he has this Prudence person in his life.”

“And I guess I’ll be the one to do it,” Dick says when both Damian and Bruce look at him. He holds up both hands. “Alright, alright. I’ll go ask.”

Dick walks over and crouches beside Tim, breathing in deep to ready himself for the conversation ahead. “Hey, baby,” he says gently.

Tim looks up from his Legos, blinking owlishly. Then, he gives Dick a sweet smile. “Hi, Dickie,” he says happily.

And Dick smiles back, completely and utterly helpless when facing cute baby Tim. “Are you having fun with your blocks?” he asks, reaching out to poke the colorful structure that Tim is slowly building. “What are you trying to make?”

“Manor,” Tim answers.

“Oh, yeah? How’s that going for you?”

“S’okay,” Tim says with a nod. “Need more pieces, though.”

“Maybe you can ask Bruce to buy you some extra,” Dick replies, nudging him with his elbow. “You could even try to ask him for one of those sets with, like, a billion pieces. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Tim looks thoughtful, and then he nods, his hair going all floppy in the way that Dick is slowly coming to appreciate. “Yeah!” 

He watches as Tim turns his attention back to his Legos, brow furrowed as he inspects piece after piece before placing a pink one on top of a blue. That’s a Bruce look right there, Dick thinks, recalling all the times Bruce wore a similar expression when pouring over case files.

“Can you answer a question for me?” Dick says after a while, focusing on Tim’s face next. Any change in expression might give him some extra insight.

“Sure!”

Dick decides to ease into his makeshift interrogation. “Who’s Pru?”

“My fwiend!”

“Oh, yeah?” Dick asks. He makes sure to keep a smile on his face, even though a large part of him that’s very concerned over the idea of Tim making friends with a known assassin. “How’d you meet her?”

“Um…” Tim frowns and puts his blocks down. “Umm…” Then, his expression lightens, and he lets out a giggle. “I bwo—um, broke her nose!”

“You… broke her nose,” Dick repeats slowly.

“Uh-huh!”

“When was this?” Dick asks, trying not to sound panicked. He’s envisioning Tim breaking an assassin’s nose, which leads to him thinking about Tim in a dangerous situation where he had to break her nose, and these are not good thoughts to have when he’s staring at Tim’s literal baby face. “Timmy, when did this happen?”

“Pawis?” Tim looks thoughtful for a moment, and then he nods. “Pawis.”

“Paris,” Dick says faintly. 

Tim nods again and goes back to building with his Legos like he didn’t cause Dick’s mind to implode. “Yeah,” he says. “Owen, um, blew up my woom, and then I fought with Z and Pwu.”

“Who are… Owen and Z?” His eyes flick over to Damian to see if he recognizes the names, and Dick’s not at all pleased with the way Damian’s face turns a bit green. More League assassins, then.

“They gone,” Tim says sadly, dragging his attention back to the kid. He’s staring down at his Legos, eyes glossy. “Lost them.”

“Oh.” Dick stares at Tim’s sad face and then carefully pulls him into a loose embrace, allowing Tim to shy away if he desires. Tim doesn’t want to, apparently, because he turns and buries his face in Dick’s chest, shaking a little.

No tears, though.

“I was just wondering,” Dick says lightly. He brushes his fingers through Tim’s baby-soft hair, kissing the top of his head. “I’m sorry you lost them, baby. I was just worried that your, uh, friend might hurt you.”

“Pwu won’t,” Tim replies, pulling away to gaze up at him with a pout. “She’s my fwiend! And she’s mine! She, um, she left…” It seems like he’s struggling with his memories now since he reaches up to hold the side of his head, similar to the way he did the night before during dinner. His brows furrow, and then he says, “Pwu changed to my side.”

“Alright, baby,” Dick says, more worried than before. He doesn’t let it show and instead hugs his little brother again, thinking this might be when he finally gets his first gray hair. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Welcome!” Tim says, back to sounding like a happy, carefree kid. He crawls back to his Legos once Dick releases him and picks up a blue one, which he holds out to Dick. “Here, you can have this!”

“Thank you,” Dick says as he accepts the offered block. He walks back to where Damian and Bruce are standing, both wearing identical expressions of confusion.

“So,” Damian says. “That went… well?”

“Honestly, I have more questions than answers,” Dick admits, looking down at the block in his hand. He traces over the grooves and edges with his finger and then shoves it into his pocket, keeping his hand curled around it. “I think we can trust this Pru person when it comes to Tim, but we can wait until Babs gives us more information to make a real decision.”

“Consider this,” Damian says suddenly. “If Drake trusts Prudence Wood as an adult, then we have to trust what he says as a child.” He’s staring in Tim’s direction, and Tim continues to build with his Legos without a care in the world. “Drake is not one to throw his trust around on a whim. Something must have happened in their past to create such a friendship. Why else would she take out a threat against Timothy?”

“You’re right,” Bruce acknowledges. “But more information would be helpful.” He checks his watch and sighs. “Looks like I need to take Tim down to the cave,” he says. “I don’t know how long it’ll take, so I may have to ask Hood and both Batgirls to cover Gotham tonight until I can go out.”

“What about me?” Damian asks, frowning. “I already completed my school assignments, and I finished all my chores. I’m free to go out and help look after Gotham for you.”

“I know you are,” Bruce says. “But if I do end up going out, then we’ll do it together.”

Tim uses this moment to walk up to them, holding a green Lego in one of his hands. Dick watches as he makes his way over to Damian and then tugs on his shirt for attention. “Here, Dami!” Tim chirps, holding out his toy. “You can have this one!”

Damian eyes Tim for several seconds, long enough for Tim to falter, his bright face dimming. Then, he accepts the toy with a hum, and Dick’s a bit surprised to see the way his face softens , the way it does whenever Damian encounters one of Gotham’s stray cats. “Thank you, Timothy,” he says quietly.

“Welcome!” Tim says happily and then wraps his arms around Damian’s middle. His head hovers just beneath Damian’s chest. Dick hides a laugh behind a cough when Tim squeezes Damian once, resulting in a soft wheeze from Damian, before releasing him. He beams and starts walking back to his blocks.

“Hold on, Tim,” Bruce says, placing a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “We have to go down to the cave, okay? And then you can come back here and continue playing with your Legos if you’d like.”

“Okay!” Tim says, bouncing in place. Bruce scoops him and starts walking away, and Tim wiggles around until he’s hanging off Bruce’s shoulder, waving in Dick and Damian’s direction. “Bye, Dickie! Bye, Dami! See you!”

And then they’re gone, leaving behind an amused Dick and an embarrassed Damian.

Dick only knows this because Damian’s shoulders are up to his ears, and there’s a flush on his face that wasn’t there before. He has the green block clutched tightly in his hand, too, and Dick refrains from laughing as he tugs Damian against his side.

“Thanks for being good to him,” Dick says.

Damian slowly relaxes, and he even returns the half-embrace before pulling away, clicking his tongue. “There’s no reason to thank me for that, Richard,” he says. “Timothy is a child and…” He looks away, a frown on his face. “He does not deserve the scorn I often give to his older counterpart.”

Dick scrutinizes him, catching the way his eyes flick to Dick and away, and a smile spreads across his face. “It was the eyes, wasn’t it?” Dick says. “From breakfast, I mean. He got you hooked from one single look.”

“I was afraid he might cry!” Damian defends, but the returning flush says otherwise. “I’m not capable of dealing with a toddler’s tears, Richard. That’s all! Nothing more.”

“Alright,” Dick says with a chuckle. “I won’t mention how it’s so nice that my precious baby brothers are finally getting along.”

“I know where you sleep,” Damian mutters. “I won’t hesitate to attack you there.”

He dodges Dick’s attempt at another hug and then outright runs out of the room when Dick tries to tackle him to the floor. Dick rolls onto his back and laughs aloud, gazing up at the ceiling. The smile doesn’t leave his face, and Dick wishes he could live in this joyful feeling forever.

Then, he sits up. “Hey!” Dick realizes, glaring at the mess of building blocks in front of him. “They left me to clean this up! Traitors.”

★★

Bruce returns with Tim an hour later.

The kid is dozing on his shoulder, eyes half-lidded when they enter the sitting room. He lifts his head and yawns when he spots Dick, and then Tim holds out a hand. “Dickie,” he mumbles.

“I’m guessing the tests didn’t go too well,” Dick says as he takes Tim from Bruce’s arms. Tim immediately rests his head on Dick’s shoulder, one hand curled into his shirt, and Dick merely rubs his back. He also eyes the furrow in Bruce’s brow, which is usually there when he’s thinking too hard about something.

“We got results,” Bruce says, removing the dinosaur from the armchair to take a seat there. Dick takes it from him and holds it close to Tim, who reaches out and grabs one of the arms. 

“That’s better than nothing,” Dick replies.

“Hmm.” Bruce crosses his legs and steeples his fingers in his lap. “It does bring up concerns as to why Ra’s would go to such lengths to make sure Tim stays a child.”

Dick’s eyes go wide. “Are you saying it’s… permanent?” he asks slowly. He clutches Tim close, too, and only forces himself to relax after Tim makes a noise of protest.

“No, but whatever he used to turn Tim into a child had a bit of an… open door, so to speak, that could make it permanent.” Bruce sighs, and his face suddenly looks older, wearier. “My guess is that Ra’s wanted the opportunity to keep Tim as a child once he had him in his clutches.”

Dick gazes down at Tim and wonders why Ra’s would care about having such a sweet child at his side. “You know,” he says, his mind slowly connecting the dots. “Tim is a smart cookie, even at four years old. I can only imagine how much that little detective brain might expand if he were with someone who was so intrigued by him that he sends the League into Gotham at least once a month to continue challenging him.”

“I didn’t know about that,” Bruce says calmly, in the tone of voice that hides his anger.

“I didn’t either until I went over to his Nest and caught him treating himself,” Dick replies grimly. “Held the threat of Alfred over his head until he finally told me what happened and then had the audacity to tell me that he could deal with it on his own.”

“Tim’s always been very independent,” Bruce remarks, but the way it lilts in disapproval tells Dick that he’s also not happy about the fact.

“We’ll just have to remind him that he doesn’t have to be,” Dick says. He sighs, waving a hand. “Whatever, that’s something to deal with when he’s older again. Back to the situation at hand since I’ve got a theory.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“What if he turned Tim into a child because he wanted Tim as his heir?”

“Bear,” Tim suddenly mumbles.

Dick turns his attention onto the kid, who’s lifting his head and rubbing at his eyes. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says softly, kissing his cheek. “Sorry for waking you from your little nap.”

“Bear,” Tim repeats, toying with the collar of Dick’s jacket. He’s quiet and calm, but Dick attributes that to him waking him. Tim will go back to his joyful, almost hyper self soon. “Wanna eat the bears, Dickie.”

“Oh!” Dick smiles, gesturing for Bruce to follow with one quick hand movement before making his way into the kitchen. “You mean the Teddy Grahams that Barbara snuck into the cart when she thought I wasn’t looking?”

Dick found them when he was already paying, and he decided to let the kid have them after the whole situation at the store.

“Uh-huh. And juice.”

“Juice, too? Wow. How about we toss in some other snacks and have a little party in my room, hmm? We can watch some more movies.”

“Okay.” Tim looks over at Bruce, who watches them with something soft in his eyes. “Daddy’s gonna watch with us, too?”

“Yes,” Bruce says before Dick can say a word. “I have time for one movie, and then I have to go out.”

“Gotham doesn’t sleep,” Tim says in a low voice, clearly an imitation of Batman, before bursting into giggles. He snags his dinosaur out from under Dick’s arm and holds it out to Bruce. “You hold Batwalker!”

“Batwalker?” Bruce asks, bemused.

“Batman dinosaur,” Tim replies like it explains everything. Honestly, it probably does in Tim’s little head. “Batwalker.”

“Ah,” Bruce says as if Tim’s response made complete sense. Well, maybe to Bruce, it did. Tim and Bruce have pretty much the same thought process on most things. “Right.”

Tim decides he wants to walk to Dick’s room, so he leads the way while Dick trails behind with his arms full of snacks and Bruce beside him. Bruce is staring at the dinosaur with an unidentifiable look, which makes Dick nudge his side, curious.

“I was thinking how this might be Tim’s first stuffed animal,” Bruce says quietly. 

“Oh.” Dick feels a pang in his heart. He looks over at Tim, who spins in circles as he walks, his happy laughter bouncing off the walls. “We can get him some more.”

“We will,” Bruce says confidently, and Dick suddenly envisions a room full of stuffed animals just to make Tim happy.

Tim nearly falls over his feet when they reach Dick’s room, but after shaking his head a couple of times, he runs over to the bed and climbs on. Dick dumps the snacks in front of him, sets the cup of apple juice and two water bottles on the bedside table. He takes a seat beside Tim, making sure there’s some room for Bruce as well.

“What movie should we watch?” Dick asks, grabbing his remote to turn on his TV. 

“Um, Dickie should pick!” Tim says, nodding.

Dick puts on a Barbie movie. The Princess and the Pauper, to be exact.

At some point during the movie, Bruce’s phone chimes. He excuses himself and exits the room, leaving Dick and Tim to eat their snacks while he’s out there. When the call seems like it’s taking too long, Dick sets aside his small bowl of popcorn and gets up off the bed, going over to the door just as Bruce opens it.

“Everything alright?” Dick asks, leaning against the doorway.

“Fine,” Bruce confirms. “I just asked Clark if he could keep an… ear on things in Gotham.”

“Should we expect a visit from him soon?” Dick asks curiously.

“Probably. He expressed an interest in seeing my son when he’s… small.”

Dick snorts and glances back at Tim. He looks tiny compared to Dick’s small mountain of pillows, all stolen from various rooms throughout his childhood. “How long is this going to last, by the way?” he wonders. “Did Zatanna give you a timeframe, or should we expect to see Tim back to his usual self by the time the week is over?”

“Approximately three months,” Bruce answers. “If it goes into the fourth month, then that’s normal, and if it goes for longer, then I’m supposed to contact Zatanna again to see what’s wrong.”

“Three months,” Dick repeats quietly. “That’s… kinda long. And nothing can be done to speed up the process, right?”

Bruce sighs. “I asked that, too,” he says. “And no, it’d be more harmful to Tim if we attempted to do something like that.”

“And that’s not something you want to do,” Dick guesses, feeling a flicker of pride when Bruce nods. Before, Bruce would be all about trying that, risks be damned, but it seems like spending more time with the family has helped him realize that sometimes, there are things more important than the mission.

Dick looks over at Tim, who bites the head off a Teddy Graham and sticks the body onto the jumbo marshmallow in the bowl. There are several other bear bodies on the sugary treat already.

“I guess I can move back in while he’s still a kid,” Dick muses. “If only to prevent the manor from imploding because you’ll keep spoiling him.”

He’ll have to call the youth center to cut his volunteer hours while he helps take care of Tim, but Dick figures he can have Wally zip him over to Bludhaven or drive back to his city himself if they truly need him.

“I can’t even argue with the truth.” Bruce looks pleased, though, and that cements Dick’s decision to come back to Gotham for the time being. “It’ll be nice to have you around, chum, and I’m sure Tim will be more than happy to have you at his beck and call.”

“Shut up,” Dick grumbles, elbowing Bruce in his side when the older man laughs. “Hey, do you think the youth center will accept the excuse that my younger brother was de-aged to a child?”

“If it’s involved with Wayne Enterprises, then it might,” Bruce replies. “Tim actually has a clause that workers can get PTO if they face something magical, and that includes the individual changing to a different age.”

“Wow,” Dick remarks, surprised. “He was prepared.” Though, considering Gotham and all the weird stuff that has spawned since superheroes started pouring out of the woodwork, he figures that it makes sense to have something like that in place.

A proud smile flickers across Bruce’s face. Honestly, he seems like one of those preening parents from those PTA meetings that Dick sometimes infiltrates for Damian. “He always is,” he says. “I’m sure he’s got contingencies for any scenario locked away in his computer network. He likes making sure that everything is in order.”

“You’re the same way,” Dick points out. “Sometimes, you two are so similar that it’s funny, and I don’t think either of you realize it.”

“Hm,” Bruce replies, which really means thank you, I very much enjoy being told that in Bruce-speak. 

“Dickie!” Tim calls out suddenly. “Daddy! The movie is ending!”

Bruce moves over to the bed, with Dick following only seconds behind. While Dick slips into his spot beside Tim, Bruce sits on the edge of the bed, where they watch as Anneliese and Erika get their happy endings. When the credits start rolling, Bruce turns toward Tim and ruffles his hair.

“I have to go out now,” he says apologetically. “So, goodnight, son, in case I’m not back before you fall asleep.”

“Okay, night night,” Tim replies. He reaches out to pick up one of his Teddy Graham-jumbo marshmallow creations and holds it out to Bruce. “A snack for you.”

“Thank you, Tim,” Bruce says as he accepts it. He also leans forward to kiss Tim’s forehead, which makes him beam, all happy and bright. “Be good for your brother, okay? And if either of you need me, I’ll be in my study.”

“Okay,” Dick and Tim reply at the same time, and Dick grins when Tim bursts into a fit of giggles.

Bruce chuckles and stands up, pushing the snack from Tim into his mouth. “Hmm,” he says as he walks toward the door. “Surprisingly good.”

Dick takes the chance to wipe off Tim’s hands, wrapping a couple of blankets around his shoulders. He also offers Tim some juice, and then he settles back against the pillows, holding up his remote. “What else should we watch, Timmy?” he asks. “I’ve got a bunch of movies waiting for us.”

“Dancing fruit,” Tim says, biting the head off another Teddy Graham. He offers Dick the rest of it, and Dick takes it after eyeing it for a couple of seconds. 

“I don’t think that’s a movie?” Dick replies, tossing the bear’s body into his mouth.

“ViewTube.”

“Alright,” Dick says uncertainly. He changes to the aforementioned app and searches the term ‘dancing fruit,’ surprised when he gets a few results. “Oh, is this it?”

“Uh-huh!” Tim wiggles around in his blanket cocoon.

Dick plays the video just for Tim, sipping on some water as he watches the animated fruit on screen. He doesn’t really understand the purpose of the video, but he can’t deny that it is kind of nice to watch, and a glance at Tim’s happy face tells Dick that he’s enjoying it.

Tim hums along with the tune, his body swaying with the beat as he snacks on a marshmallow. When the strawberries appear on screen, his face lights up, and he reaches out to tug on Dick’s shirt, pointing at the little bouncing fruit.

“That one’s my favowite!” Tim announces.

And that’s when Dick pauses the video. “You’re so cute!” he bursts out, snatching Tim up from the small cocoon of blankets and holding him close. “So, so, cute! I don’t know what to do with myself, Timmy!”

“Dickie!” Tim complains, trying to squirm away.

Dick doesn’t let up, though, and eventually, Tim succumbs to his affections by melting into the hug, tiny hands clinging to Dick’s shirt. He shuts his eyes and rocks them back and forth, pressing a kiss to the side of Tim’s head, where he gets the scent of strawberries.

“You’ll let me keep you,” Dick whispers into Tim’s soft, fluffy hair. “Won’t you?”

Tim wiggles before smacking a kiss onto Dick’s cheek, an action that makes Dick’s eyes burn with the threat of tears. It’s sticky from the marshmallows they were snacking on, but it’s no less perfect. “Keep,” Tim agrees and then shoves a marshmallow into Dick’s mouth. “Dickie won’t leave?”

“Never,” Dick promises. He chews obnoxiously, making Tim giggle, and kisses his little forehead. They stay like that for a while, Dick holding Tim, and Dick eventually speaks into the silence of the room, voice barely above a whisper, “I’ll always be here, sweetheart. Even when you’re mad at me, even when you hate me, I’ll still be here. I need you to know that.”

“Okay,” Tim says with all the freedom of a baby who probably doesn’t understand what Dick just said, but Dick thinks there’s some understanding there, and that’s enough. It has to be enough. “More fruit?”

“Yeah,” Dick murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind Tim’s ear. “We can watch more dancing fruit.”

He unpauses the video and goes to place Tim back in the bundle of blankets. Dick hesitates and then decides to keep Tim on his lap, wrapping the blankets around them both instead.

Strawberries and bananas bounce across the screen, the same pleasant music filling up the room. Tim goes back to humming the song, and Dick sways with him, watching the fruit bounce with mild interest. He’s mostly thinking about how small Tim feels in his arms, how he’s going to stay this size for a while.

Three months is a long time.

“I love you, sweetheart,” Dick whispers, a part of him wishing this moment could last forever. It’s a selfish thought, especially when the rest of him misses his older little brother. “So much. You don’t even know.”

“Wuv you too,” Tim says, his voice so achingly sweet. “Lots and lots.”

Dick kisses the top of his head. They get through the rest of the video, and Dick puts on the hour-long version at Tim’s request. He falls asleep halfway through, slumped against Dick’s chest. He clears his bed off all the snacks and gently guides Tim to lie down. Dick wraps an arm around his little brother and keeps an eye on the door, ready to protect him from any threat.

“I’ll take good care of you, Tim,” he says, brushing the hair away from Tim’s face. “Nothing bad’s going to happen, not while I’m here.”

It’s a promise he intends to keep.

Chapter Text

The sky is littered with stars, each one twinkling brightly against the dark canvas hanging high above his head. His eyes trace over every constellation, settling back against the tree trunk with his arms behind his head, a wave of peace settling over him.

This isn’t something he’d see through the pollution of Gotham, where smog coats the city like a blanket, making it hard to see the sun on most days, though that might be due to the usual doom and gloom that permeates the area.

As much as he loves his forever home, a place that will always drag him back to the infernal streets with ease, a siren song that lives in his very being, Jason can’t help but appreciate the outside world whenever he’s on a mission. He may never be able to bring himself to leave Gotham, but Jason finds himself tempted when he’s out in places like this—surrounded by nature, the stars speaking to him like an old friend, and the soft breeze tickling his hair.

It’s nice.

Jason shuts his eyes with a content sigh, tipping his head back against the bark. The sound of cicadas surrounds him, a low thrum of noise that lulls him into a pleasant doze. He thinks it’d be nice to stay here forever if he could.

The silence is broken by a song. 

It echoes across the fields, scattering some of the wildlife. Jason frowns but doesn’t open his eyes, figuring the music will go away sooner or later. Or, his favorite option, simply stop because he doesn’t want to deal with it right now.

“You can dance

You can jive

Having the time of your life

Ooh, see that girl

Watch that scene

Digging the dancing queen…”

Oh, he realizes, pulling out his phone and cracking his eyes open to stare down at it. That’s coming from me.

A picture of his older brother flashes on the screen. Dick’s puffed out cheeks make him look like a chipmunk, and there’s a line of ketchup on his cheek, part of a hot dog escaping his mouth. Jason snapped the picture after he dared Dick to try and eat the food in one bite. It eventually led to a choking fit that nearly sent Dick off the roof.

Sometimes, Jason will humor himself by sending Dick the image of him flailing as he dangerously tipped off the edge, face red from lack of air, and eyes bugging out. Dick, in turn, will send an audio file of himself loudly saying, “Fuck OFF!” and Jason will follow up with a video of himself pointing and laughing at the framed version of that photo.

Good times.

“Why the hell is he calling me?” Jason mutters, confused. “He knows I’m on a mission.” Despite his complaints, Jason jabs at the green button to accept the call and holds the phone to his ear. “What?” he asks, annoyed when he receives no response.

Instead, the song continues to play.

“What,” he says again, pulling the phone away to glance at the screen. Dick’s picture flashes on the screen again, and when he presses the green button once more, nothing happens. Jason shakes it, too—so much so that it slips from his hand and falls onto the ground below.

And as if on cue, the branch cracks, and it sends him plummeting with it, the air knocked out of him when his back meets the ground. Jason groans, vision swimming as he stares up at the stars. They’re starting to look suspiciously like the lamp he has in his bedroom. He frowns, rubbing at his eyes, the damned song swirling around his head.

“... Ooh, see that girl

Watch that scene

Digging the dancing queen…”

He blinks up at his ceiling.

There’s a slant of sunlight pouring in from the blinds, crooked from his lazy attempt at closing them before he went to bed last night. He hears the soft hum of the air conditioning and the quiet ticking of a clock from the other room.

His back aches, but Jason attributes the pain to landing on the floor at some point since he’s currently lying there. All of his blankets and sheets tangled around his body with only one arm and half of his torso free. He groans and sits up, glaring at his bedside table when something buzzes against the wood, following the rhythm of that stupid song.

“You can dance

You can jive

Having the time of your life…”

Jason pointedly ignores the device (phone, his half-asleep brain corrects) as he climbs back onto the bed. He flops on his back and shuts his eyes, trying to calm his mind down by recalling the peace from his dream. The music fades away, and his muscles slowly relax, darkness creeping in on the edges of his mind, ready to guide him back to sleep.

The song plays again.

“I’m going to kill him,” Jason mutters, blindly reaching out to snatch up his phone. He may have accidentally tossed his framed picture of himself and Bruce to the floor in the process, but he doesn’t give it a second thought, nor does he open his eyes as he answers the phone with a harsh, “What, Dickhead?”

“Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the nest,” Dick says, all bright and cheerful. It makes Jason want to strangle him. “Listen, I need a favor.”

“You couldn’t ask at a reasonable hour?” Jason hisses.

“It’s one in the afternoon, Jay…”

“Who?”

“What?”

“Cares,” Jason grumbles. “Who fucking cares. I’m going back to sleep.”

“No, wait!” Dick exclaims, and the slight pleading note in his voice makes Jason pause. “Come on, Jay. You know I wouldn’t disturb your rest if it wasn’t important.”

Jason groans because, yeah, Dick’s right. The Bats never really call him unless there are lives on the line or one of them is injured (he can’t avoid texting them at this point). He ignores the way his heart races, gut clenching with something that might be fear as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

Dick audibly takes a deep breath as if he needs to steel himself, and Jason clutches the phone tighter. He spies a flicker of green in one corner and bites the inside of his cheek until the taste of iron coats his tongue, waiting.

“I need you to come over tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Jason says slowly. “Why?”

“We’re having a picnic!”

Jason hangs up.

He drops the phone on the floor and shuts his eyes again, the small burst of adrenaline leaving his body and making him feel heavy. Jason doesn’t give any attention to his phone when it starts ringing again, eyebrow twitching as it continues. This song is going to haunt Jason’s nightmares at this point.

This is his punishment for actively deciding to be on semi-good terms with his so-called family, close enough to let them have actual contacts in his phone, complete with specialized ringtones that Jason picked out himself.

Jason finally answers when the music cuts off after the first three lines of the song, only to start up again, a continuous cycle that has him grinding his molars. “I’m not going.”

“Please?”

“No,” Jason says and hangs up.

It’s not the end of it. When Dick Grayson wants to get something done, he’ll do it to his last dying breath, even if it means annoying someone who has a tremulous hold on his more violent tendencies on his worst days.

Jason takes a moment to imagine smothering his older brother with a pillow before answering the phone yet again. “Leave me alone,” he grumbles.

“Not until you consider the proposal,” Dick replies cheerfully. “Will you please come to our picnic?”

“No.”

“Pretty pretty with a bazooka on the side? I can steal one for you. I know a guy. He normally uses swords, and we beat the sh— heck out of each other, but he owes me a weapon, no questions asked.”

Jason actually considers it and then huffs. “Stop calling me,” he says instead of giving in and hangs up.

Predictably, his phone starts ringing again.

Jason considers tossing it out the window at this point, but that might result in someone picking it up, managing to unlock it, and discovering some secrets that should remain hidden. His next thought is to throw it against a wall until it breaks into pieces, but he’s waiting for Roy to call him later, so…

With a heavy sigh, Jason answers the phone again.

“I’m not—”

“Hi, Jay!” a small voice interrupts. 

Jason freezes, recognizing Tim’s voice. Tim, who’s currently four years old thanks to the League. He says nothing for a long time, enough for Tim to ask for him, sounding confused, and then Jason manages to pry open his lips and reply, “Hi, Timmy.”

“Jay!” Tim says happily. “Jay, come to my picnic?”

“Your picnic?” Jason frowns. “I thought it was a family thing.”

“No, it’s for me,” Tim replies. He sounds a bit distracted now, and Jason can hear the faint clatter of something in the background. “Dickie said so, and Alfie said he’s makin’ cookies an’ cake, and Daddy said he’s gonna pway with me, and Titus, and Dami said he’s not gonna get dirty, but then he said he’s gonna take a bwanket with him to sit, and so, and so!” Tim pauses in his rambling, takes a deep breath, and then continues speaking, “And so, picnic! But I want Jay to be with me, too!”

“I see,” Jason says, taking a moment to process all that. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Listen, Timmy. I don’t know if—”

“Pwease?” Tim asks. It sounds too sweet and innocent, and a bit sad, too. Jason’s heart lurches with guilt.

Jason sighs. Yup. He’s caving. “Alright,” he says finally. “I’ll go to your picnic.”

“Yay!” There’s a louder clatter, and Jason can hear Tim’s cheering go distant. He waits, wondering where the kid went, and Jason’s about to hang up when he hears the sound of someone picking up the phone.

“Thanks,” Dick says. There’s a smile in his voice.

“How dare you use him against me!” Jason hisses, sitting up during his spell of righteous indignation. And, also, a little embarrassment over him getting played so easily. “You’re awful.”

“All’s fair in love and war,” Dick sing-songs. “See you soon!”

There’s a click just as Jason opens his mouth to reply with something scathing. He planned on making fun of Dick’s stupid hair, but when he pulls the phone away from his ear, he sees that Dick actually hung up on him. Jason sits there in shock and then groans, falling back on his bed and tossing an arm across his face.

“Asshole,” he grumbles and then bolts right back up when he realizes he’s joining his family for a picnic in less than twenty-four hours.

Jason can’t show up empty-handed.

“Now I have to figure this shit out,” he complains. Jason spends a few minutes mourning his day of lazing about in bed before he finally gets up, heading to the kitchen to get some water boiling in his kettle for a fresh cup of tea.

Jason checks his phone while he waits for the kettle to go off, passively scrolling through the group chat he’s in with his brothers. He stops at a new picture of Tim, dressed in Batman pajama pants and a hoodie with bear ears, and Alfred the Cat. They’re curled up together in a sliver of sunlight on the floor, fast asleep.

It’s followed by undecipherable words and letters that Dick probably typed through his tears after cooing over the two. Damian reacted to the image with a cat emoji, and Jason decides to do the same, adding a sun, too.

Jason stares at the photo for a bit longer. He lingers on Tim’s peaceful face, which is steadily gaining some baby fat, the kind he should have had when he initially got de-aged to a four-year-old. Jason’s fingers tighten around his phone, and he goes through some breathing exercises to calm himself down, waiting for the flickers of green to disappear.

His kettle whistles. Tim is still peaceful.

He saves the photo.

★★

Jason doesn’t know what to bring to the picnic.

After making himself a hearty breakfast full of protein and other necessities for his diet, Jason mindlessly flips through a few cookbooks, hoping that something will jump out at him. The sun is setting by the time he decides to call it quits, picking up his phone and swiping away all of his notifications before opening up Roy’s contact.

“Hey,” he says once Roy answers. “Can you help me with something?”

“Sure,” Roy says. Jason hears the sound of cars in the background and wonders if he’s patrolling or on a mission. “What’s up?”

“I need a recipe,” Jason says. Heat rises to his cheeks, and he scrubs at them with the back of his hand, even though he knows Roy has never judged him for his hobby. “Something sweet, maybe. Got any suggestions?”

“Why are you asking?” Roy asks. There’s nothing but curiosity in his voice. “I mean, I’ll help you, Jaybird, but I kinda need a bit more information so I can offer a solution.”

Jason sighs, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. There’s a scorch mark up there from Dick’s attempt at making breakfast, and a smear of something orange from Tim’s instant ramen that he made at two in the morning. “I’m… going to a picnic…”

“A picnic,” Roy repeats. He sounds surprised.

“A picnic,” Jason says miserably. He rubs the back of his neck next and shuts his eyes. “I… Dick was bugging me about it, and then Tim managed to convince me, so now I’m going over to the old man’s manor tomorrow, and I have to bring something. I just don’t know what.”

Roy laughs.

He laughs and laughs and laughs, even when Jason snaps and curses at him. Jason grits his teeth when he asks for a suggestion again, which only makes Roy laugh harder, and hangs up after Roy starts wheezing.

His best friend then sends several audio files of himself laughing.

Someday, Jason thinks wryly, flipping through more recipe books. It’s a special pile, lovingly gifted to him by Alfred when he finally reached out to the oldest member of the family. Someday I’m going to beat him so hard and leave him to rot in the streets, and then I’ll be the one laughing my ass off.

He pointedly ignores the rush of fondness that he feels when Roy later sends him a link to a recipe he found on a mommy blog.

Maybe he’ll just break a finger instead.

★★

“This is stupid,” Jason mutters on a surprisingly sunny Wednesday afternoon.

He’s sitting on his bike just outside the Wayne Manor gates, the place he called home for a part of his life. Out here, it seems to loom over him, the memories of joy playing in his mind, oppressive enough to make Jason choke. His hands tighten around the handles as he breathes in deep, trying to overcome the nervous flutters in his stomach.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” Jason continues to say, even as he pulls up to the gate panel to input the code he knows by heart.

They open silently, and Jason makes his way up the driveway, not looking over at the small cluster of people on the lawn a few feet away from the front doors. He parks, finally, and pulls his helmet off, leaving it on top of the seat after he slips off the bike.

Jason is in the process of grabbing the small cooler he attached to his vehicle when he hears the sound of crunching gravel. He turns, curious, and something collides with his legs. Jason’s hand twitches to where his knife rests, but then he looks down and sees a bright smile aimed up at him.

“Jay!” Tim says happily, wrapping his small arms around Jason’s legs. “You came!”

And something in Jason melts.

“Hey, Timmy,” he says, unable to stop the way his lips twitch. Jason drops a hand to ruffle Tim’s hair, privately marveling at the softness of those strands. “I said I would. Do I ever go back on my word?”

“Nope!” Tim chirps. He squeezes Jason’s legs and then pulls away, bouncing in place. “Alfie made sandwiches for us! And wemonade! And, um, Dami chopped some watermewon because he says that I need fwuit!” He reaches up, and Jason instinctively meets him in the middle, allowing this small child to start tugging him over in the direction of his picnic. “I saved you some!”

“Thanks, Timmy,” Jason says, making sure to snag the strap of the cooler before they get too far. He listens to Tim chatter about his week—which involves a bunch of new toys—and tries to ignore the dread that wants to settle in his gut.

He wants to leave already.

This feeling stems from the fact that he’s going to spend time with the others in a family-like setting. To make matters worse, Jason’s going to be in the presence of Bruce, and he can’t even pick a fight because it might upset little Timmy. That’s not something he wants, so he has to keep reminding himself why he’s here.

It’s for the kid, Jason thinks as he nears the large blanket spread out across the grass. Everyone lifts their heads to look at him. There’s an obnoxiously large grin spread across Dick’s face as he wiggles his fingers in greeting, the bastard, and the runt of the group looks like he smelled something unpleasant, his Great Dane slumbering beside him. Alfred gazes at him with a coolness that makes him relax, though there’s no missing the joy in his eyes, and Bruce…

Bruce looks surprised.

Jason thinks there’s a hint of wonder there, too, and he hates himself for still being able to read the old man’s moods. For the kid, he tells himself again as Tim tugs him down onto an empty space surrounded by plates of food. You can’t disappoint him.

“Oh, yeah!” Tim suddenly says, stopping his long tangent. He pokes Jason’s shoulder, as if Jason isn’t already looking at him, and does a little spin. “Do you wike my dwess?”

It’s light pink with a pattern of darker pink strawberries across the fabric, and it’s paired with a pair of blue leggings (that match the blue leaves on the fruit), along with black gingham slip-on shoes that, unsurprisingly, also have strawberries on them.

Jason thinks he understands why Dick often sends messages in keysmash in their group chat.

“It’s very cute,” he says, feeling warm when Tim beams brightly at him. He grunts a second later when Tim throws himself down onto Jason’s lap, sitting across his legs. 

“We eat now,” Tim says with a nod.

“Don’t you want to sit somewhere else?” Jason asks, helplessly holding his hands up. His eyes dart over to Dick, who’s just watching the scene with a softer smile, phone in his hand. 

Ugh. He’s definitely going to lord those pictures over Jason’s head.

“No,” Tim replies. He reaches out to grab a sandwich, takes a bite, and then holds the rest up to Jason. “Jay eat?”

He stares at the offered food for a long moment and then looks at Tim, whose brows are starting to furrow as he looks at Jason quizzically, still chewing. “Jay eat?” Tim repeats, pushing the sandwich closer.

Jason sighs and takes a bite. “Thank you,” he says around a mouthful of cucumber sandwich (yum). “I think I can feed myself, though.”

“No!” Tim shakes his head, once again pushing the sandwich closer. “I feed Jay!”

Dick snickers from the other side of the blanket, the mirth never leaving his face even when Jason glares at him. “You can’t escape this,” Dick says, holding his hands up in surrender. “Seriously. He already fed us all at least five times already.”

“Jay!” Tim says with a huff, dragging Jason’s attention back to the kid. “Eat! Daddy says I gotta eat first! And then I can go wunning with Titus!”

Damian sighs from where he’s sitting beside Dick, his pencil scraping over a page in his sketchbook. “I haven’t given you permission to do anything with him, Timothy,” he says with a sniff. “It’s not proper for a dog like Titus to run about the lawn like he’s a common pet. And you won’t be able to keep up with him. He’s too fast for you.”

“Nuh-uh,” Tim says, biting into the sandwich. “I’m fast!”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Jason gently scolds, telling himself he’s definitely not preening when Alfred shoots him an approving look. “That’s rude.”

Tim scowls, but he shuts his mouth and continues to chew. He also ends up taking another bite before shoving the rest into Jason’s face, and Jason takes it without complaint because he’s not gonna waste food.

They get through quite a bit of food while they’re sitting there, and Jason eventually exchanges snacks for fruit when Damian starts glaring at him, eyes flicking from Jason to the bowl of watermelon.

The fruit is cut up into little stars, something that Tim marvels at before tossing a smile in Damian’s direction. Damian huffs and turns his attention back to his sketchbook, but not before Jason catches sight of his red ears.

Guess we’re all suckers for this cute kid, Jason muses.

He focuses all of his attention on Tim and ignores all of the quiet conversations going on around him. Tim stops feeding Jason in favor of playing with a 5 x 5 Rubik’s cube that Bruce handed over after Tim started getting fidgety. Jason has to hold pieces of food close to Tim’s mouth while the kid’s distracted with the toy, not even complaining when the kid nearly bites his fingers off a couple of times.

“Okay,” Tim says after a while, standing up and holding out the uncompleted Rubik’s cube. “I’m done eating!”

“Want me to hold onto this for you, then?” Jason asks.

“Pwease!” Tim pauses, meeting Jason’s gaze. “Don’t finish it!”

“Alright, alright. I won’t touch it,” Jason replies as he carefully takes the toy from him, setting it down by his thigh. “Hey, wait,” he says, grabbing Tim’s hand. The boy looks back at him with a frown. “How about you go find some flowers for us before you run around with Titus, huh?”

“Why?”

“So you don’t hurt your tummy,” Jason says, poking his stomach. 

Tim sighs like the world is against him. “Fine,” he grumbles, walking off the picnic blanket. Jason keeps an eye on the kid as he stops at one of the many trees around, and he only looks away when someone drops into the empty space beside him.

It’s Bruce.

Jason tenses, curling his fingers inwards until he feels the pressure of his nails against his palm. He bites the inside of his cheek so he won’t snap at the older man, not wanting to ruin Tim’s picnic, and instead casts his gaze over the others still sitting on the blanket. 

Dick is peering over Damian’s shoulder, watching him draw. Occasionally, he’ll look at where Tim is crouched on the grass, body twitching like he wants to head over and stand by Tim’s side (Jason understands). Alfred is cleaning up some of the plates, making the trek back to the manor in mere seconds, leaving Jason to deal with the old man.

Great.

“Thanks for coming,” Bruce says quietly.

“I didn’t do it for you,” Jason retorts, but it lacks any of its usual heat. Instead of feeling pissed or annoyed like usual, Jason just feels tired and anxious. 

“I know,” Bruce replies. He sounds calm and collected, but Jason thinks he detects a waver in his voice. “Tim couldn’t stop talking about how you agreed to come. He was very excited.”

“Dunno why,” Jason mutters, stretching his legs out in front of him. The bite of his nails is the only thing keeping him tethered here. Otherwise, he might drift away into a sea of green or get so lost in his own head that he can’t come out. “Aren’t you worried?”

“Why would I be?”

Because you’re always worried that I’ll choose violence over anything, Jason wants to say. The words are lodged in his throat, piercing his insides. Because my hands are wounded and bloodied, and you hate that. Maybe part of you hates me, too, for not being who you want me to be.

But he doesn’t say any of this, letting his resentful wounds fester, like they have so many times before, and that’s only because Tim is making his way over to them. His leggings have grass stains on them already.

“Here, Jay!” Tim chirps. Jason opens his hand and receives a dandelion and a few blades of grass. “For you!”

“Thanks, Timmy,” Jason says with a smile, the anger draining away. He watches as Tim toddles away to do the same for the rest of the group, feeling a smug sort of pride at being the first one to receive the kid’s gift.

“You’re good with him,” Bruce comments when Tim is out of earshot.

“He’s a kid,” Jason says with a scoff. He peers down at the dandelion, twirling it between his thumb and index finger. “Kids are easy to please.”

“Tim is different.”

And Jason finally looks over at him, catching the weariness that passes over Bruce’s face. His eyes flick over to Tim, who is crouched beside Titus on the grass, chattering away. “I guess you’re right,” Jason says, recalling Tim’s little genius mind—can’t take the detective out of the boy and all that.

“He’s happier,” Bruce continues as if Jason never spoke, blue eyes fixed on Tim’s energetic form as he gets up and bounces around Titus. Damian looks unamused. “More affectionate. Different.”

“And, what? He wasn’t like that before?” Jason finds himself asking. It spills out without his permission, and he stiffens, mentally berating himself for humoring the old man with a proper conversation.

Bruce doesn’t seem to notice, though. “Not quite, no,” he says, a forlorn note in his words. “Too much happened after he came to me, and he’s tightlipped about what happened after I got lost in the timestream.” He sighs, then, but it sounds… lighter. “So, it’s nice to see him like this—almost carefree, if we ignore the fact that he still has some latent memories about his older counterpart’s life.”

Jason frowns. “And you proved that?”

“Yes. Several times. It hurts his head if he’s pushed too hard.”

“Ouch.” Titus finally stands up, and Tim’s shrieking laughter carries over as the Great Dane gives chase, though Jason notices that the dog seems to be gentle about it, definitely not using his full speed to run after Tim. “Anything upsetting?”

“Besides him being friends with an assassin that used to work under Ra’s al Ghul? No.”

Jason scowls at the mention of the immortal. That old bitch is a constant presence in their lives, never around but always there. He’s lucky that he didn’t have to deal with the man too much after his dip in the Lazarus Pit, but Jason’s heard enough of him and his ways from the others to hate the man.

(There was a night a couple of months ago when Jason caught Tim dealing with some League assassins near Crime Alley, which he dealt with a cold efficiency that belied his usual contempt for harsh violence, and a familiarity that worried Jason.

“What was that all about?” Jason had asked, stepping over the unconscious cluster of people after Tim finished beating them down. The younger man was leaning against his bo-staff, shoulders slumped, but he quickly straightened when Jason neared. 

Tim had sighed, reaching up to touch the side of his domino mask, the whites of it sliding up to reveal tired blue eyes. “Nothing you need to worry about,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “Sorry for this. I didn’t anticipate them catching me off guard, especially so close to your territory. Ra’s is normally more calculated than this.”

This eventually led to a bitching session about the old fart on top of a nearby building, mostly handled by Tim while he chowed down on a couple of burgers like he hadn’t eaten in days. He talked about tests and expectations, and it made Jason curious.

“What does he want from you?” Jason had asked.

This made Tim’s eyes grow distant. He stood up abruptly after that and stepped onto the edge of the roof, gazing down at Jason with an arched brow and a blank face.

“What, indeed,” he had said before he threw himself off the building. Tim turned into a small dot in the distance before he outright disappeared, and Jason was left with more questions than answers.)

“Let’s hope he doesn’t remember the bad parts of his life,” he says finally, setting the dandelion down on an empty plate in front of him. Jason brushes his fingers over the petals, wishing he could forget the way he used his hands to hurt Tim when he was so, so angry, the world flooded with green. “Bad enough that he has to be around me as an adult. I can’t imagine how it would feel for him to remember and be around me as a kid.”

“Jason,” Bruce says in that solemn voice of his, the one that means he understands Jason’s pain. “No, don’t think about that.”

But Jason just shakes his head, pushing himself up to get away from this conversation. He knows what he is, and there’s nothing Bruce can say to make him feel better. It might make things worse, actually. “I’m gonna keep an eye on Tim,” he says, eyes drawn to the kid who wanders too close to the trees, trying to catch a butterfly now.

“Jason,” Bruce says again.

And Jason ignores him, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket to hide the way they shake ever so slightly.

God, he hates the way he feels so raw around his family. They tend to tear his chest open to peer inside his heart, plunging their hands into the crooks and crannies of his being to make a place for themselves. Their mouths open up, and their words of comfort pierce old wounds, leaving him more jagged than before, desperately reaching for the old flame of anger that’s barely a spark these days.

It’s easier to be angry than to let himself be vulnerable.

Tim… Tim makes it easier with the way he understands Jason’s weariness with the rest of the family since he keeps himself at a distance, too. He never judges Jason’s frustration or anger, sometimes adding his own grievances that are coated in bitterness, resentful words which get lost in the shadows of their shared rooftops.

Tim, Jason thinks, watching as the four-year-old version of his brother disappears past the treeline. He quickly picks up speed, hopping over a rather large log as he enters the small forest. His boots land in a puddle, creating a small splash, and he can hear a few birds high above his head, hidden in the leaves.

But no Tim.

“Huh,” Jason says, scratching the back of his head. After tossing a glance back at the picnic, where the others seem to be distracted by Titus (Damian), food (Dick), and brooding (Bruce), and back. He starts walking down the small dirt path that’s slowly getting taken over by greenery, hoping for a sign of that strawberry dress.

“Tim?” Jason calls out as he walks, frowning when he receives no response. “Timmy? Where are you?” He waits beside a big rock, hoping the kid will launch himself at Jason like he did earlier, but nope. No sign of him. He tells himself he’s not that worried as he jogs past the trees, calling out, “Tim!”

Nothing. Not even a rustle of leaves.

Okay, Jason thinks, feeling a swell of panic blooming in his chest. Okay. Don’t jump to any conclusions, Jason. Maybe the kid’s messing with you, or maybe he just can’t hear you all the way out here. Keep looking. He can’t have gone too far.

Branches break under his boots, and foliage gets kicked up as he stalks through the stupid little forest that surrounds Wayne Manor.

He used to explore the area out here when he was younger, too caught up in his feelings or too scared to go to Bruce about some things. Jason can see the knife marks he left on some of the trees as a way to guide himself back home, a path more familiar than a trail of breadcrumbs.

Jason traces over one of the grooves as he passes by and ignores the way his fingers tremble. Tim’s too small to see any of these. He probably doesn’t even know they exist since this is something that Jason literally took to the grave.

“Tim!” he calls out again. His voice wavers on the name. “Timmy, where are you?”

There’s a gate around the grounds. It’s the type with private security cameras that feed into an equally private server. Theoretically, Tim wouldn’t be able to leave altogether, but the kid’s a genius, so who knows what he’ll do while he’s out there, whether it’s out of curiosity or simply because he can do it.

Jason stops in his tracks when he hears a voice carrying over the light breeze. He keeps himself very still, holding his breath, as he tries to discern whether the person speaking is a foe or friend (or, more importantly, Tim).

“—wike it here! I dunno if I can do that!”

“Timmy!” Jason says, relieved, and rushes over to the source of the sound.

He finds Tim standing by the fence around their land, blinking up at him quizzically. A monarch butterfly is sitting atop his floppy hair, wings fluttering with a laziness that Jason envies. “Jay?” Tim says. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

“Looking for you,” he answers, heart pounding in his chest. Jason crouches in front of his little brother, inspecting him for any injuries. Thankfully, he seems unharmed. “What are you doing all the way out here, huh?” he asks, eyes flicking over the area. It’s void of any other person, so why… “And who were you talking to, huh?”

“Um…” Tim ducks his head, fiddling with the bracelet wrapped around his right wrist. It’s a simple black cord with a single blue bead, a color so bright that it’s oddly familiar. “No one, Jay…”

“Okay,” Jason says, bemused. Maybe the kid doesn’t want to admit that he’s got an imaginary friend or something. “How about we go back to the picnic, huh? Before everyone starts missing you too much.”

Tim gasps. The butterfly on his head flaps its wings, taking off in the direction Jason came from, disappearing beyond the trees. “Let’s go!” he cries and runs after the floating creature.

“Hey!” Jason quickly catches up and snatches Tim up before he can get far, carrying Tim under his arm like a sack of potatoes. “You’re not getting away that easily, Timmy!”

“No, Jay, no!” Tim kicks and struggles in his arms, but Jason knows it’s fake because he’s giggling the whole time. “Put me down, Jay! I can walk!”

“Hmm…” Jason pretends to give it some thought, even as he starts moving in the direction of the picnic. “No, I don’t think I will. Who knows what kind of trouble you’ll get into while you’re set loose on the masses, Timmy! I can’t let that happen. You’ll end up in a tree or something.”

“No twee,” Tim says. He’s no longer wiggling around, and he’s instead toying with his bracelet. “I’ll fall!”

“Nah, you wouldn’t fall,” Jason replies. They finally exit the large cluster of trees, and Jason starts making his way toward the manor’s lawn, where everyone else is waiting. “And if you did, then I’ll be there to catch you.”

“Pwomise?”

And Jason stops for a second, looking down at his brother.

He’s so small and fragile, gazing up at Jason with questioning eyes. His slightly thin face reminds Jason too much of the kids that litter Crime Alley, the ones desperate enough to do anything to survive another day, the ones that are often so prickly, and yet they trust Jason, Red Hood, so easily whenever he drops by to give them whatever they need.

Trust. That’s something he sees in Tim’s face, too.

“Yeah,” he says, a bit too rough. Jason moves Tim so the kid is perched on his hip instead, gently knocking their foreheads together. “Yeah, Timmy. I’ll catch you. I promise.”

He pulls back in time to see the sweetest smile stretch across Tim’s face, cheeks pink and eyes bright. “Jay!” he says happily, wrapping his arms around Jason’s neck. Jason feels something warm settle in his chest when the kid kisses his cheek. “I wuv you, Jay.”

And Jason… shudders, unmoored, and holds Tim close, a small little cocoon of peace before they have to face the rest.

Sometimes, Jason feels like he’s on the point of collapse—tenuous, ready to break apart at a moment’s notice. It correlates with the longing for his family, the one he constantly pushes away when they get too close, the one he selfishly clings to whenever they dare to let him in, even at his worst.

Jason isn’t a good person. He does some good out in Gotham, in the world, but he’s not a good person. His hands are forever bloodied, a stain that will never come out, no matter how many times he washes them, and Jason still firmly believes that sometimes, ending a life is a necessity rather than a choice.

He’s not good. He doesn’t deserve this love.

And yet, here Jason stands, clinging to his little brother. Tim’s hair smells like strawberries, he’s humming a tune that Jason thinks he heard somewhere in Europe, once, and he’s fiddling with the collar of Jason’s jacket, not at all bothered by Jason’s temporary spiral of weakness.

“Yeah,” he whispers, relaxing his hold. Jason kisses the top of Tim’s head, shutting his eyes and just existing in this moment, where Tim’s affection is easy, uncaring of Jason’s past. “I love you too, kid.”

It’s one of the few things that Jason can never admit out loud, too used to keeping his heart locked up, the key tossed away in the chaotic waves of the green sea, a raging tempest making it crash against the rock.

But here, with his little brother in his arms, Jason finds that it’s somehow the easiest thing in the world.

“Come on,” he says after a while, continuing the trek back to the picnic. He spies Alfred in the distance carrying a large box and knows what’s coming. “Let’s go have some cake.”

“And cookies?”

“Yeah, and cookies.” Jason steps over a cluster of rocks. “You can have your surprise, too.”

“A surprise?” Tim says excitedly. “For me?”

“Yeah, all for you,” Jason answers with a smile. He thinks about how he spent all night trying to perfect his little gift for Tim, losing sleep to make sure it turned out perfect. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Jay made it,” Tim replies. “So I’ll wike it!”

“I think you’re a bit biased,” Jason replies, but there’s no denying the tendril of happiness he gets after hearing that. “You can’t like something before you’ve seen it, Timmy. That’s not how it works.”

“I make the wules!” Tim says, huffing. “And I say that’s how it goes!”

“Alright, alright. You win, kiddo.”

By the time they get there, Alfred has already unboxed the cake. It’s in the shape of a pastel yellow heart, decorated nicely with rose pink and mint green buttercream piping around the sides. The word TIM is spelled out in Alfred’s neat cursive, and a couple of strawberries stick out the top.

Tim gasps. It’s the kind of baby gasp that seems to take up his whole body. “My cake!” he exclaims and starts wiggling around.

And suddenly, Dick is standing next to Jason, nudging his side. “Robin colors,” Dick whispers when Jason glances at him, gesturing to the cake. “We didn’t have red, so we had to make do with pink.”

“At least he’s happy,” Jason mutters, looking down at Tim when he starts (gently) kicking Jason’s thigh. “Hey, you want your surprise?”

Tim’s eyes go wide and owl-like. It’s an expression that Jason is slowly growing fond of, even though he’s seen it only a couple of times. “What’d you get me?” he asks, tugging on Jason’s shirt. “Wegos?”

“No,” Jason stupidly replies and is confronted with a sad little pout. “But I’ll get you a set soon,” he finds himself saying, only relaxing when Tim smiles at him.

“Okay!” he says happily.

“Sucker,” Dick mutters beside him.

Jason rolls his eyes, elbowing the eldest hard enough to make him wheeze. Good. “Like you aren’t the same,” he hisses before flashing a smile at Tim, carrying him over to where Jason left the cooler earlier. “It’s in there!” Jason sets Tim down on the floor, giving him a gentle push. “Why don’t you open it up, huh?”

Tim glances up at him with a furrow in his brow, curiosity making his eyes gleam. 

Jason has a fleeting image of Bruce gazing at him with the same expression when Jason handed him Thomas Wayne’s watch so long ago, seemingly perplexed by the concept of a birthday gift. A look of restrained awe overtook his face after he opened the box, staring down at the watch that Jason spent so much time on just to get it to work.

Something similar flickers across Tim’s face as he pulls out one of four containers from the box. It’s more open, though, and lighter, too—containing the innocence of a child untouched by the horrors of Gotham.

Jason has to make sure that stays.

He crouches down beside Tim when he seems to struggle with the lid, helping him peel it off. The smell of a baked good reaches his nose, and Jason sits back on his heels, unable to stop the proud twitch of his lips.

Tim gasps upon the reveal, brushing a finger over the intricate strawberry that Jason painstakingly laid out on top of the mini lattice pie. He shaped it using leftover pie crust, thinking it’d be a nice way to show off the flavor of the filling.

The whole thing took a lot of work, and a couple of attempts, but Jason thinks that it’s worth it when he catches sight of Tim’s bright smile. “It’s like my dress!” he exclaims.

Jason chuckles, eyeing the pink strawberry print. “Looks like it,” he comments. “I’m guessing you like the pie?”

“Yeah!” Tim says happily. “I wuv it!”

He moves until he’s sitting on the blanket, the container of pie on his lap. Alfred hands him a fork as he’s reaching down, along with a plate containing a slice of cake and a couple of cookies, and then the kid goes to town on all of his desserts.

Jason slowly relaxes and sits down on the grass, even though he feels the side of his head prickle from Bruce’s stare. He grabs one of the other pie containers, handing the third to Alfred, who takes it with a pleased smile. The final one gets tossed over to Damian, and the demon kid shoots him a confused look even as he accepts the treat, peering down at it with something akin to happiness.

After accepting a fork from Alfred, Jason pierces a piece of his pie, relishing in the sweetness that bursts on his tongue. The pastry melts like butter, too, and Jason imagines that he’ll be baking this again as a treat to himself.

A breeze tickles his hair. He tips his head back to enjoy the freshness of the day, a part of him wishing he could live in this moment forever.

Then, he grunts when he feels someone plaster themselves against his side, silky hair tickling his cheek. “What do you want?” he asks with every bit of annoyance he can muster, rolling his eyes. 

“I just want to know why I didn’t get a pie?” Dick whines.

“Who are you?” Jason asks blandly. He doesn’t even try to push the older bother off him, knowing it’ll just make him cling tighter.

Dick gasps like the drama queen that he is, an act that falls flat since Jason knows that he’s a performer at his core. “How dare you!” he exclaims. “I invite you over out of the kindness of my heart, like the good big brother that I am—”

“You literally used Tim against me,” Jason points out. “I’m here because of him.”

“—and this is how you repay me!”

“You’re annoying,” Jason tells him. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because deep down in that cold heart of yours, I know that you really love me,” Dick says with a playful smile. His eyes are soft and knowing, too, and Jason doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Whatever,” he mutters, ducking his head. He toys with the container in his hand, staring at the curves of the strawberry design on the pie. “Maybe Tim will be nice and share with you.”

Jason’s not surprised when Tim decides to keep the pie to himself when Dick goes over and asks, smearing strawberry filling across his cheeks as he practically gobbles down the dessert (after finishing the cake and cookies, too). He gives Jason a pair of sad eyes when he finishes it, and Jason sighs, handing over the pie he made for himself.

“Share,” Tim says after a couple of bites, scooting closer to Jason. He pierces a piece of the pie with his fork and holds it up, and Jason’s at the point where he’s not going to question any of this, so he just leans down and accepts the offered morsel.

The rest of the picnic passes without any more incidents. Bruce doesn’t try to talk to him again, so that’s a plus. 

Jason ignores the part of him that still longs for his father. Instead, he focuses on laughing at the others when they have to chase after a sugar-high Tim, finding companionship in Damian, who occasionally lets out a snort whenever Bruce or Dick seem out of breath.

Tim, of course, crashes at some point. It was an inevitable event, so Jason’s not surprised to see the kid slumbering on top of Titus, who eyes them all with a long-suffering look. It disappears when Bruce scoops the kid up into his arms, though the Great Dane accompanies the two as they make their way toward the manor.

“Thank god,” Jason mutters.

His relief is short-lived because Dick decides to wrap his arms around Jason. He even lifts Jason off the ground as he squeezes the life out of Jason, even though Jason has literal inches on the other man. 

“So glad you could make it,” Dick says when he drops Jason, a bright smile on his face. “You should come over some more! Tim will like it!”

“In your dreams,” Jason replies with a snort, wrapping an arm around his torso and pretending he’s not clutching at his aching ribs. Death by hug does not sound ideal, and yet he feels like he might get there every time Dick decides to embrace him.

“It is in my dreams,” Dick retorts, placing his hands on his hips. “Every night! Having you with us would be great, Little Wing.”

“Pass.”

Dick stares at him with pursed lips, calculating. Then, a light appears in his eyes. It’s familiar, and it makes his body ache with phantom pain because that look was followed by adventures so crazy that it gave them both bruises (and, in a couple of cases, a broken bone).

“It’d be helpful if you stopped by some more,” he says, rocking back on his heels. It’s a command wrapped up in a suggestion—a tactic Dick uses to plant ideas into Jason’s head to make him more agreeable to his plans. “Especially with the League still popping up in Gotham. The more people to protect Tim, the better, in my opinion.”

“Just bring Black Bat in from Hong Kong,” Jason says, crossing his arms. “Or blondie. Call in Duke while you’re at it.”

“Duke is busy with the Outsiders, so we haven’t gotten a response yet. Cass and Steph actually plan on coming back once they wrap up their case out there,” Dick says with a carefree smile. “Also, they’re sharing the Batgirl mantle right now.”

“That’s confusing.”

“And fun!”

Jason rolls his eyes and turns away. He busies himself with picking the trash off the blanket, placing it all in the large trash bag that Damian got stuck with. Alfred is speaking with him, a conversation too low for Jason to hear.

“Seriously,” Dick says, now standing beside him. “We need all the help we can get.”

“We do not,” Damian mutters.

“I never thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth,” Jason marvels. He crumbles up a wad of napkins and tosses it into the trash bag. His eyes flick up to Damian, who’s eyeing the manor with something that might be worry… or impatience since his dog has yet to come back.

“Just… consider it?” Dick asks, gazing down at him earnestly. It’s sickening (and familiar, causing a kernel of warmth to form in his chest). “For Tim, at least.”

“Ugh.” Jason drops his head, feeling a flicker of guilt. “Whatever. I’ll think about it.”

That gets him a hair ruffle, and Jason hears Dick laugh when Jason tries to bat his hands away. “Thanks, Little Wing,” Dick says, and dammit, Jason can hear the smile in his voice. “I’m guessing you’ll be heading out after this?”

“Duh.”

“Then I’ll catch you on the flip side!”

“No one says that anymore,” Jason says with a wrinkle of his nose. He pushes himself up to stand, wincing when his knees crack a little. “You’re showing your age.”

He dodges an attempt at a headlock and they smack each other’s hands like children for a couple of minutes before Alfred clears his throat. Jason cows under his judgemental stare, and silently bends down to gather up all the plates.

Dick, on the other hand, uses the silence to leave altogether. Jason watches as he heads up to the manor, also doing a cartwheel along the way because he’s the type of person to show off when he knows people are watching. It’s the performer in him, always ready to entertain his audience.

“How can a little kid eat so much?” Jason mutters as he gathers up the plate, some containing half-eaten food. He tosses a few of those pieces into his mouth, and Alfred is waiting there beside him when he stands again (ugh, his knees…).

“It was good to see you, Master Jason,” Alfred says as he accepts the stack of plates from Jason with a kind smile. There are a few more wrinkles now, and Jason’s struck by the knowledge that Alfred is getting older. He always seemed so timeless, a constant fixture in his life, and Jason wonders how many years he has left.

“It was good to see you too, Alfie,” Jason says. It comes out a little hoarse, and he clears his throat, reaching out to place a hand on Alfred’s arm. “We should sit down for some tea in the future. Maybe you can come over and use my kitchen.”

“An excellent idea,” Alfred says with a smile. “That will give me the chance to properly inspect it and make sure it’s up to par.”

“I thought you liked it…”

“Well, yes, but I’ve only seen it through images. I’ll get a better feel for it once I’m able to use it to cook a meal and a dessert.”

“You don’t have to do that!”

“I’m well aware,” Alfred says dryly. He nods down at the blanket still spread across the grass, slightly wrinkled in some places, and definitely covered in buttercream frosting, thanks to Tim. “Make sure to fold that up before Master Damian brings it inside.”

“You got it, Alfie,” Jason says, offering a two-fingered salute.

Alfred smiles. “Drive safely,” he says.

“Don’t I always?” Jason replies with an innocent smile, undeterred by Alfred shaking his head.

He picks up the blanket and folds it where he stands, glancing over at Damian. The kid is silent, scowling at the ground like it did something to offend him. It’s either that or he really hates being out here with Jason or even a mixture of both.

“What’s up with you?” Jason decides to ask.

Somehow, Damian’s scowl becomes more pronounced. “I have plans today,” he says stiffly. “But they may be postponed due to Timothy’s unscheduled nap.”

“Ah,” Jason says like he understands. In reality, he doesn’t know what the kid’s talking about. “Right. Well, maybe you can get it done after Tim wakes up. It’s not like he’ll sleep for long. Afternoon naps usually last for an hour at minimum, two at max. Three to four hours is a godsend for most parents.”

“Hmm.” Damian looks thoughtful. “Well, so far, he seems to sleep for approximately an hour and a half… but that’s usually when he’s on the floor with Titus, Alfred the Cat, or Bat-Cow.”

“He took a nap with Bat-Cow?”

“Yes. We—The others were quite panicked when they discovered that Timothy was missing. They were getting ready to suit up to search the streets of Gotham, fearing that someone from the League may have snuck in and snatched him up, when I went into the barn and found him asleep on a stack of hay right beside Bat-Cow.”

“Why’d you think to look in the barn?” Jason asks, secretly glad he wasn’t part of that chaotic situation. Dick can get frazzled pretty easily, so Jason can’t imagine it was fun for him.

Damian looks away and speaks in a quiet voice, “Titus led me there.”

“Right, right,” Jason says. He can see the echo of worry on the kid’s face, probably something he felt alongside Bruce, Dick, and Alfred. “Glad you found him.”

“As am I,” Damian says and shoots Jason a piercing look. “You should take up Richard’s offer and stay here while Timothy is young. My grandfather…” He frowns, eyes flicking away, staring off into the distance. “He can be relentless when there is something he truly wants, and it’s clear to us all that he wants Timothy at his side.”

The words are ominous (of course), and hearing this causes dread to settle in his stomach. Jason swallows around the knot in his throat, shifting closer. “What do you think he wants him for?”

“Does it matter?” Damian replies. “Regardless of what the answer may be, it’s safe to assume that it’s nothing good. Theorizing about it will not help us.”

“Ugh, fine. I get it.” Jason hands over the blanket, watching as Damian picks off a few pieces of lint. “Listen, I’ll think about it. If anything, I can be on call in case you need me to help deal with the League.”

“Comb through Crime Alley,” Damian demands. “Timothy’s apartment is near there.”

“I’ll start tonight,” Jason promises. He picks up his cooler and walks with Damian, breaking off to go over to his bike. “Try and keep me updated on what’s going on, okay? But send it privately since Dickiebird’s just going to spam the chat with pictures of Tim.”

Damian makes a noise of derision. “I’ll be sure to do that,” he says. “And be sure to check the chat every once in a while. Some of the pictures… While there are many, they’re also quite nice.”

“Yeah,” Jason concedes, thinking of the one he saved on his phone. “Alright, I’ll check it out later.”

And he does when he gets back to his apartment. Most of the images get saved to his phone, and Jason spends a long time staring at the most recent picture that Dick sent.

It’s from the picnic he just left. Tim is sitting on his lap, holding up one of Alfred’s cucumber sandwiches with a smile stretched across his face. The Jason in the picture is gazing at Tim with a soft expression, one that makes him look… younger, somehow. It causes his chest to tighten, and Jason sets it as his home screen wallpaper, tossing the device away before he can second guess himself.

“Stupid,” he mutters, eyeing the setting sun and deciding to get ready for his night job. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Patrol goes well, if one ignores a looming bat and a blue bird flying across the rooftops many streets away. His comms get hacked at some point, and then Jason’s listening to the soft humming of a child as he searches his territory for any sign of League activity. It’s actually quite reassuring to know that Tim is safe, even if it’s through unconventional means.

Thanks, Jason messages Barbara once he’s back at his place, and he receives a heart emoji in return.

★★

Jason wakes up to the chirp of his phone.

He groans, burying his face in the pillow. The ache behind his eyes tells him that he didn’t get enough sleep, and the sound of birds says the same thing. Considering that he fell asleep to the sound of their choir, it might mean that the person messaging him will end up with an injury.

With this in mind, Jason elects to ignore his phone in favor of going through his morning routine. This includes a shower because he didn’t bother doing that before he crashed into his bed last—this morning.

After a quick shower, Jason finally picks up his phone, arching a brow when he sees a message from Dick. It’s a simple ‘you up?’ which was delivered thirty minutes ago, and their message thread refreshes when Dick sends another text. Jason sighs, heading into the kitchen to boil some water in his kettle while he responds.

ANNOYING

Dickiebird: hey

Saint Jason: what do you want.

Dickiebird: what makes you think i want anything?

Saint Jason: it’s 8 am.

Dickiebird: so?

Saint Jason: you only contact me at this time when you haven’t slept at all.

Dickiebird: i’m not that bad!

Saint Jason: 🤨

Dickiebird: shut up.
Dickiebird: anyways, can you do me a favor?

Saint Jason: 🙄 sure. what.

Dickiebird: great! i’m outside. open the door

“What,” Jason says out loud. He turns his attention to the door when a knock rings out in his empty apartment. Jason sets his phone down on the counter and makes his way over, peering through the peephole to see—yep, Dick’s sheepish smile.

Jason deftly unlocks his door and lets it swing open, frowning. “Where are you hurt?” he asks, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway. 

“In the head,” Dick says flippantly. “Nothing’s wrong! Stop jumping to awful conclusions all the time! Doesn’t that get tiring?” He continues before Jason can get a word in, “Also, I just need you to watch Tim for me this weekend while I deal with some apartment stuff. My landlord is close to filing a missing person’s report if I don’t show my face at least once. And pay my rent.”

“That’s not my problem.”

Dick claps his hands together, a patented puppy-dog look on his face when he says, “Please?”

Jason scoffs, kicking his heel off the floor. “And, what?” he demands. “I’m supposed to accept that you’re okay with watching your precious Timmy?”

“The picnic proved that you can.”

“A one-off wouldn’t be enough for Bruce,” Jason says snidely. Nothing is never enough for him.

“Bruce is actually the one who suggested you!” Dick says brightly, putting his hands on his hips. “And before you say that I should have left Tim at the manor, Bruce is going to spend the weekend with the Justice League for some reports and meetings, and he’ll probably gossip with Uncle Clark about us.”

Jason stares at him, mind caught on the first half of what Dick said. “Oh,” he says. It sounds a bit squeaky, he thinks. “Uh…” He clears his throat, rubbing one of his sweaty palms against his sweats. “You know I don’t really know how to take care of a kid, right?”

“It’ll be easy!” Dick says, waving a hand. “I mean, you were doing pretty well at the picnic, so it shouldn’t be difficult to carry that over into a whole weekend with him, right?”

“What about Alfred?” Jason tries after clearing his throat, his moment of weakness gone in a flash. It’ll rear its head later when he has a spare bit of time to properly examine it, but right now, all Jason can do is compartmentalize. “Isn’t he home?”

“He took Damian to the Kents,” Dick says. “Jon asked to see him, and Alfred wanted to have a chat with Martha.”

“How convenient…”

“Please?”

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose, stepping away from the door so he can think. He’s not really equipped to deal with a kid, but the idea of Dick choosing to place Tim elsewhere, with someone Jason might not know, is a bit harrowing. Other people might not be prepared to take on the League, and they might not be willing to do whatever it takes to protect the kid.

“Fine,” Jason finally answers. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Great!” Dick says brightly and then tilts his head back into the hallway. “Alright, come on in, sweetheart!”

Tim peeks in. His eyes flick over the room, and then a huge smile stretches across his face when he spies Jason. “Hi, Jay,” he says, offering a wave.

“Hey, Timmy,” Jason says. It comes out soft. 

“I packed a few changes of clothes for him,” Dick says after guiding Tim into the apartment, bringing a small suitcase with him. “And socks. And shoes. Honestly, there are plenty of options in there, and all I ask in return is a few photos of his outfits.”

“You’re insane,” Jason replies, watching as Dick drags in a small bag full of… toys? “Does Tim really need all of that?”

“Oh, these are just a few puzzles he hasn’t completed yet,” Dick says, waving a hand. “He tends to get bored if his mind’s not occupied, and that leads to him taking something apart just to see how it works.”

“So, what you’re saying is that I need to keep everything I own locked up. Got it,” Jason says, nodding to himself.

“We try to put him to bed around eight,” Dick continues, resting a hand on his hip. “But sometimes he can’t sleep, no matter what we do. It helps if you read him a story. Breakfast is around seven, but it can be earlier or later depending on when he wakes up, and you can give him lunch whenever he’s hungry in the afternoon, as long as it’s before two. Dinner is usually around seven or eight if he manages to take a nap after lunch, otherwise, aim for six. Be sure to give him snacks throughout the day, or he’ll get grumpy.”

Jason blinks, mentally cataloging those times. “Any food preferences?” he asks.

He knows that older Tim is a bit picky. Tim’s always embarrassed to admit it whenever they’re sharing a snack he doesn’t like, and Jason never pushes for answers, grabbing him something else to eat instead. Everyone has their reasons to be picky or dislike certain foods. It’s not his business to know why.

“You could feed him chicken nuggets everyday, and he’ll be happy,” Dick says dryly. He claps his hands together, the smile back on his face. “Okay! If you have any trouble, feel free to text me. I’ll still have my phone next to me, so…”

“Yeah, whatever,” Jason says, walking over to start pushing him out the door. “Go see your boyfriend.”

Dick whirls around, a hint of color in his cheeks. “How do you know about that?” he demands, poking his finger into Jason’s chest.

“Contrary to popular belief, Dickhead, I’m not stupid,” Jason answers flatly. “Also, I was raised by the world’s greatest detective. I picked up on all the clues that you kept dropping. And I have functioning eyes.”

“Okay, well, don’t mention it to Bruce.”

“When have I ever talked to Bruce about you?”

That makes Dick pause. “Good point,” he says and moves past Jason to crouch down in front of Tim, who looks up from where he’s fiddling with a few wooden block pieces. “You be good for Jason, okay?” he says, tugging Tim into his arms. “I don’t want to get a call where he yells about you giving him more white hairs.”

“Hey,” Jason says mildly.

Tim giggles, burrowing into Dick’s chest. “Okay, Dickie,” he says. “I be good. Say hi to Wally for me, okay?”

Jason laughs when Dick sighs. “Of course you know,” he complains as he pulls away from the embrace, clapping his hands against his thighs before standing. “Why did I ever think I could keep my relationship a secret from my family?”

“I think all those concussions rattled your brain too much,” Jason answers kindly, always happy to help his brother out with the hard questions.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dick grumbles. He points at Jason, then Tim, and says, “Remember, no telling Bruce that I’m dating Wally and nothing about us living together in Bludhaven.”

“Wegos,” Tim says.

Jason glances at him, confused, but then Dick sighs again. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll buy you another Lego set, as long as you promise to drop all the pieces in Bruce’s study when he’s looking after you.”

“Deal,” Tim replies, holding out a hand. Jason stifles a laugh when they shake on it.

After a long, tearful goodbye (from Dick), the older man finally leaves the apartment, shutting the door behind him. Jason goes over to lock it, making sure his security system is on while he’s at it, and turns to face his guest for the weekend.

Jason looks down at Tim.

Tim looks up at Jason.

“So…” Jason begins conversationally, scratching the back of his neck. “Did you have breakfast already?”

“I had a bagel,” Tim answers promptly. “Dickie got some on the way.”

“A bagel,” Jason repeats flatly. “Listen, Timmy, I know you love Dick, but you need to know that bagels aren’t part of the food group. For Dick Grayson, yes, but not for little birds like yourself that still need to grow up.”

“But I wike bagel…” Tim says sadly.

“So do I,” Jason admits. “But! There are better breakfast alternatives! I can whip up some eggs for you!”

Tim wrinkles his nose. “Mushy,” he replies. “Bleh.”

“What if I make it an egg sandwich?” Jason says. “I’ll make sure the bread is extra toasty, so it’s crunchy instead of soft.” When Tim’s expression doesn’t change, Jason sighs. There’s no way he’s going to offer chicken nuggets this early, so maybe…

“How about hashbrowns?” Jason asks next. “I can toss a couple of frozen ones into the oven or slice up some potatoes for you and make it on the stove.”

“You can do that?” Tim wonders, eyes wide.

“Yeah, ‘course I can!”

“Okay! Do that, pwease.”

“Alright. First, we gotta clear the area.”

Jason grabs Tim’s suitcase and wheels it to his room, leaning it against his closet door. The toy bag gets set down on his rug in the living room, and Tim immediately starts digging through it, digging out every single plastic or wooden toy until he finally pulls out a…

“Dinosaur?” Jason says, bemused.

“Batwalker,” Tim replies, shaking the green stuffed animal. “Batman dinosaur.” 

“Right…”

Tim grabs something else from the bag and walks over to Jason’s side, holding up a closed fist. “For you,” he says sweetly.

Jason accepts the gift and turns it over in his hand, smiling when he sees a bright red Lego sitting on his palm. “Thanks, Timmy,” he says, carefully slipping it into his pocket so he won’t lose it, and Tim beams. “I love it.”

“You’re welcome!” Tim says happily and then makes his way over to the couch. He climbs onto it with minimal struggle and sets the dinosaur down in the space beside him. Tim starts fiddling with the same toy from earlier, and a few more sit by his hip. They’re brightly colored and bent into odd shapes.

Puzzles, Jason realizes. To keep his genius mind busy.

“I’m going to be in the kitchen, Timmy,” he says. “If you need anything, just call out for me, and I’ll be there faster than you can say… Batman.”

Tim giggles, briefly looking up. “Okay, Jay,” he says. “I stay here.”

Jason heads into the kitchen and busies himself with peeling and grating the potatoes. He occasionally glances up at Tim, making sure everything’s okay with him, especially when he’s patting the moisture out of his potatoes with a towel. He also takes a picture of Tim for Dick when a smile spreads across the boy’s face after he completes one of his puzzles, and Dick replies with about fifty blue hearts.

“The things I do for this family,” Jason mutters as he layers the potatoes on top of the hot frying pan. 

He’s going to amaze this boy with his cooking skills.

★★

Watching Tim isn’t actually a difficult task.

After breakfast (which the kid loved) and some tea (for Jason), they sit on the couch while Tim plays with his toys. At some point, he scoots closer to Jason to show off what he’s doing. It’s pretty interesting, and Jason’s fingers twitch with the urge to piece it together like Tim’s doing, his mind racing with ideas on how to complete it.

Detective minds never sleep, Jason reasons.

The rest of the day passes without incident. Jason makes Tim lunch (chicken nuggets because the boy asked politely), and Tim chooses to play on the floor instead of the couch. Normally, Jason likes to settle down with a book as the day comes to a close, letting the words from classic authors calm his mind before he goes out on patrol.

But Tim is here, so Jason can’t do that.

“You wanna watch a movie?” Jason asks, grabbing the remote and bringing up his plethora of movie selections. “I have a bunch of cartoons you might like.”

“No cartoon,” Tim says. He pushes himself up and walks over to Jason, taking the remote from him and pointing it at the TV. The kid flips through the channels on cable until he lands on a cold case show and then flops back down on the rug, watching it intently.

“I don’t think—” Jason starts to say.

“Shh!” Tim says, glaring at him. “I’m watching!”

Jason holds both hands up in surrender, but the kid isn’t even paying attention to him. He’s lying on his stomach, kicking his legs as he watches crime scene photos flit through the screen like a PowerPoint project.

At some point, when they’re close to the end of the episode (which Jason already solved), he looks over to see that Tim’s fast asleep on the floor.

His phone tells him it’s about to be six, and he sighs, standing up. He doesn’t want to disrupt Tim’s rest for dinner, so he carefully lifts the kid (and the damn dinosaur) up and carries him into his room. Jason sets the boy down on his bed, tucking a blanket around his shoulders.

He lingers beside the bed, watching Tim slumber. His face is peaceful, like the image that Jason still has saved, and he wanders back to the living room, sinking into the couch and letting the information of the next cold case wash over him.

It’s surprisingly soothing, and Jason ends up falling asleep once the show presents the first piece of evidence.

★★

Something’s burning.

At first, Jason thinks that it might be himself, the memories of his death crashing into his dream about going skiing with Bruce and Dick, and he sits up with a gasp, heart pounding in his chest. He’s disoriented, at first, but then he catches sight of his neat living room, safe and familiar, and his body slowly starts to calm.

It’s then that he notices a tiny figure standing in front of him.

“Jay!” Tim says. “You woke up!”

“I did, Timmy, I did,” Jason says roughly. The burning smell still lingers, so he clears his throat and focuses on Tim, who holds up a styrofoam plate covered in… something. “What’s this?”

Tim smiles toothily at him and says, “Bweakfas’ for you, Jay!”

Jason eyes the charred lump hidden beneath what seems to be a can of whip cream. He spies a few globs of peanut butter, too, and chocolate chips as well. His teeth hurt over the thought of eating such a thing.

And then he realizes it was Tim who made this monstrosity, which means that what he’s smelling is not from his dream. 

“Tim,” Jason says slowly. “How did you get into my pantry?”

“I cwimbed!”

“You… climbed.”

“Yeah!”

“And you used the stove, right?” he asks next, hoping to any and every deity out there that the answer is no. “For the pancakes?”

“Yeah!”

Maybe everything will fix itself if I go back to sleep, Jason thinks, staring at the little boy in front of him who puffs up with pride. There’s pancake batter in his hair and on his clothes. It’ll be like nothing ever happened, and then Dickiebird won’t get mad at me for not stopping Tim in time.

After a while of contemplating this, Jason sighs and sits up. He sniffs the air—yep, still smoky, and looks down at his little brother.

“Timmy,” he says. “Is there anything on fire?”

“Ummm…” Tim draws out, brows furrowing in thought.

Jason prepares to mourn his kitchen. His beautiful, customized kitchen with all sorts of appliances and everything he needs to make whatever he wants. The kitchen also gained Alfred’s approval when Jason sent him plenty of photos over text.

After a bit of Tim continuing with his ‘um’ sound, he finally shakes his head. “No!” he says. “No fire, Jay!”

“Okay.” Jason places a hand over his chest, waiting for his heart palpitations to disappear. “Okay, how about I make you some waffles while I, uh…” He glances at the pile on the plate. “… while I eat the breakfast you made for me and question my life choices. Does that sound okay?”

“Uh-huh!” Tim reaches up and pats his cheek with a peanut butter-covered hand, a streak of it getting close to his nose. It’s all he smells at that moment. “Thank you, Jay!”

“You’re welcome…” Jason mutters. He accepts the plate of food and stares down at it, trying not to grimace. “I’ll have to clean you up before we do anything, though. You’re a messy kid, Timmy.”

Tim giggles. “Yeah!” he says with a nod, his floppy hair bouncing.

Jason gets up and sets the plate down on his island. He pointedly doesn’t look at his kitchen, not ready to cry this early in the day, and heads back to Tim, who’s in the process of trying to grab one of his special edition Pride and Prejudice books with a sticky hand.

“Nope!” Jason snatches him up and takes him to the bathroom, heart pounding. “Sorry, Timmy. I can’t let you touch those right now.”

“Oh.” Tim pouts up at him after Jason sets him down on the floor. 

Jason crumbles under that look. “How about we read some of it later?” he offers, grabbing a spare hand towel. He switches on the faucet, letting the water fall onto the fabric before using it to wipe away all of the mess on Tim’s skin and hair.

Tim grumbles and squirms, but he stays in one place while Jason cleans him up. He’ll need a proper bath later, but that’s a problem for the future. Preferably, after a plate of breakfast and a cup of tea to wake himself up.

“There we go,” Jason says after a while, gently pinching one of Tim’s cheeks. The small amount of baby fat he feels actually warms Jason’s heart. “ Now it’s time for breakfast.”

After cleaning his kitchen a little, Jason pulls out his Belgian waffle mix. He goes through the motions of making waffles, keeping an ear out for Tim (who’s watching Scooby-Doo, go figure). It’s not long before he’s plating the most beautiful, fluffy waffles, pouring some apple juice into a small red cup (that Dick provided).

He opens his mouth to call Tim but then stops, looking around the kitchen. It’s still a mess, and there’s no way he can focus on both Tim and the kitchen, not while Tim’s eating on a dangerously tall kitchen stool, so…

“Time for Plan C,” he says and goes into his bedroom. 

He opens the closet door and spies a large plastic blue container at the bottom. Jason drags it into his room, dumping all the (blackmail) files and secondhand books onto his bed. He cleans the inside with a disinfecting wipe and brings it back to the living room, where Tim glances at it curiously.

“Alright,” he says, picking Tim up and placing him in the container. “This is where you’re gonna eat while I clean up.” He grabs the plate of Belgian waffles from the kitchen counter and hands it to Tim, who carefully places it in his lap. “You’ll be good, won’t you?”

“Uh-huh!”

“You’re sure?”

“Uh-huh!” Tim smiles at him before looking around the small space. He lovingly pats the container. “Spaceship,” he says.

“Exactly,” Jason replies, ruffling his hair.

“Want Bart and Cassie,” Tim says with a wistful sigh that seems out of place coming from a four-year-old. “And Kon…”

“How does that relate to the spaceship?” Jason asks, bemused.

“Have one,” Tim says before shoving a piece of waffle into his mouth. His cheeks bulge out like a chipmunk, but at least he keeps his mouth shut while he chews.

“Excuse me,” Jason says flatly.

Tim doesn’t look at him, too focused on his food now, and Jason sighs (he’s doing that a lot this morning), pinching the bridge of his nose. He decides then and there that it’s not his business to know what Tim means by that, and he drags the container into the kitchen. This also causes Tim to shriek with delight, looking up at Jason with so much joy that Jason feels… good. Happy, even.

“Eat your food,” Jason politely orders, handing over the cup of juice. “I have to clean, okay?”

“‘Kay, Jay!” Tim says and starts giggling afterwards.

Cleaning his kitchen is pretty calming. Sure, it takes longer this time because he keeps glancing over at Tim to make sure he’s okay, and Jason has to stop at one point to wipe the kid’s hands and pass over a couple of puzzle toys to keep him busy, but he gets it done.

After what feels like forever, his kitchen is pristine and sparkling, and Jason can’t stop his relieved exhale.

Jason looks at the meal that Tim made and feels his stomach churn. He grabs a fork out of the drawer and cuts out a small piece. The pancake (because it can’t be anything other than that) is crunchy, the peanut butter is a bit slimy, and the chocolate chips are hard. The only good thing about the whole thing is the whipped cream, and Jason utilizes that to cover up all the mistakes in order to swallow half of it down.

Can’t waste food and all that.

Still, Jason ends up tossing the rest when Tim isn’t looking because there’s no way that the rest of the charred pancake is edible.

“Alright, Timmy,” Jason says, taking Tim out of the container and setting him down on the living room floor. The TV is still playing, though it’s a different show now, and Jason shuts it off so he can focus on Tim. “I gotta ask—why’d you decide to become a chef this morning?”

“Um, I was hungwy…” Tim says, toying with the zipper of his hoodie. “I didn’t eat wast night because I was sleeping…”

Jason blinks. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asks. “I would have made you something.”

Tim meets his gaze and then looks away, kicking the floor. “I, um…” He hangs his head. “I fow—forgot that you, um.” He shifts his weight, hands rubbing against his pants. “Mother and Father… They want me to do things all by myself, so! So I twied to make breakfas’ for us, but it got messed up and, um…” His voice falls to a whisper when he says, “I thought you were gone, too…”

Jason’s heart lurches in his chest as he stares down at the little boy who seems to exude misery. He scoops Tim up into his arms and holds him close. “Timmy,” he says gently. “I need you to know that I’ll always make food for you, okay? Whatever you want, whenever you want. Don’t be afraid to tell me when you’re hungry, even if I’m asleep. I give you permission to wake me up. Okay?”

The kid’s eyes look a bit damp as he nods.

“Okay?” Jason presses because he has to make sure that the kid understands.

“Okay,” Tim says with a sniff.

“Pinky promise?”

Tim holds out his tiny pinkie. Jason curls his own around it, and they gently shake on it.

“And I won’t ever leave you alone,” Jason continues. “You got that?”

“Uh-huh…”

Jason kisses the side of his head, swaying them to the muffled beat of the classical music coming from another apartment. “You’re very sweet, Timmy,” he says softly, bumping their foreheads together. “How about I make you a little treat, hmm?”

Tim drops his head onto Jason’s shoulder, tucking it into Jason’s neck. He can feel tears dripping onto his skin, but all he does is rub Tim’s back instead of saying anything about it. “Pwease,” Tim whispers.

“Okay. I’ll bake some cookies.”

He doesn’t bake them right away, though. Tim is still upset, so Jason keeps swaying, not at all bothered when Tim eventually falls asleep on his shoulder. A large meal and shaky emotions tired him out, it seems.

“It’s okay,” Jason whispers into his hair. “It’s alright, Timmy. You won’t ever have to go hungry. It’s okay.”

There’s no anger this time, and there’s certainly no flicker of green, when he thinks about how Tim got to that point. Instead, Jason just feels sad and tired, wishing that things could be different, wishing that Tim never had to deal with these feelings. 

Damn, Jason thinks. None of us had a normal childhood, huh?

Later, he’ll bake some cookies for Tim. Later, they’ll sit on the couch and watch more cold case documentaries together, and Jason won’t be bothered by all the crumbs on his cushions. Later, Jason will send a picture of Tim shoving an entire cookie into his mouth to Dick to update him on the status of his baby.

For now, Jason continues to hold Tim, gazing out the window at the gray sky. It’s dreary, which is typical for Gotham, and Jason suddenly longs for an endless blue sky, his feet buried in the sand, and the soothing sound of the ocean.

Oh, he muses. There’s an idea.

★★

He waits until after they’re done with the cookies to launch the first part of his plan. 

Tim is now sitting in front of the coffee table, dragging his red crayon across a page in his space-themed coloring book. Jason grabs his phone from his room and heads back to the couch, pulling up his message thread with Roy.

JAILBREAK PLANNING 2.0

jaybird: can i borrow your safehouse
jaybird: the one by the ocean

roytoy: as long as u bake me something

jaybird: fine. whatever.
jaybird: when are you gonna visit

roytoy: when u give me my key back

jaybird: just make another
jaybird: that’s what you did last time

roytoy: but it means more coming from u!!

jaybird: shut up

roytoy: have fun at the beach 😘

jaybird: 🙄
jaybird: … ❤️

[roytoy has taken several screenshots]

jaybird: 😒

“Hey, Timmy,” Jason says, looking up from his phone.

Tim glances at him with a frown. “Hold on, Jay,” he says with a huff, looking down at the coloring book. “I gotta finish this wine!”

“Take your time,” Jason says, biting the inside of his cheek so he won’t smile. Sometimes, the kid is just too cute. “I’ll still be here when you’re done.”

And so, Jason watches the kid color a picture of a rocket ship with some stars around it. Each star is a different color of the rainbow. The rocket itself seems to be Robin’s colors. Tim colors with a sharp concentration that Jason often sees in his older counterpart whenever they go over casework together.

Bruce has the same expression, Jason idly thinks. Damian, too. And Dickiebird can look the same way when things are serious enough.

He wonders if he wears a similar expression sometimes and then quickly snuffs the thought out, not ready to confront the idea that Bruce’s mannerisms might still be in him.

“Okay,” Tim says after a while. He nods, shuts the coloring book, and then he carefully places his crayons back in the box before turning to look at Jason. “All done!”

“Cool,” Jason says. He sits up and scoots forward, reaching out to ruffle Tim’s hair. “How would you feel about a trip to the beach?”

Tim tilts his head. “Beach?” he says. “When?”

“Well, we’d get there today, theoretically,” Jason says, quickly glancing at his phone to check the time. Yep, definitely early enough to make it there before it’s dark. “And then we’d come back on Monday. That would give us two whole days at the beach, and we can do whatever you want there. We’ll stay in one of those little beach houses, too.”

All he gets is a blank stare in response.

Jason panics for a moment, thinking he did something wrong, and then Tim’s face brightens. It’s a lot like the sun finally peeking out from the clouds that seem to permanently hang in Gotham’s sky, the magnificence of those rays making everyone stop and stare, faces tilted up as they bask in the presence of hope.

“Yes!” Tim exclaims, hopping to his feet. He climbs onto the couch next and throws himself at Jason, wrapping his arms around Jason’s neck and kicking his little legs. “Beach, beach, beach!”

“Okay, okay,” Jason says with a laugh, returning the embrace. “We’ll have to clean up a little, and then we can head out. How does that sound?”

“Good!”

“Good,” Jason echoes, bumping their foreheads together before setting him down on the floor. Here, he pauses, wondering what he should say.

He’s not like Dick, who tosses out pet names left and right, who showers those in his circle with so much affection that one can’t help but wonder how they existed without it. Jason’s the silent type, prone to basking in the presence of who he considers safe, offering a side hug, an arm over the shoulders, linking of the pinkies, and, in one case, a few kisses here and there.

But Tim is so small.

He’s four years old, and he deserves so much more.

“Pumpkin,” he finally says after some thought.

Tim stares up at him unblinkingly, and then he puffs out his cheeks, looking indignant. “M’not a pumpkin!” he exclaims.

“Are you sure?” Jason counters.

That stops Tim in his tracks. He looks down at himself, spins around, and then looks up at Jason uncertainly. “No,” he says in a shaky voice, eyes growing damp.

Suddenly panicked, Jason quickly says, “Okay! You’re not a pumpkin! I was just messing with you!” He waits for the distress on Tim’s face to clear up before adding, “But you’re my pumpkin, just like you’re Dickiebird’s baby.”

“Oh,” Tim says, and he actually looks like he’s considering the whole thing, all thoughtful and calculating, so much like Bruce. “Um, okay.”

“So, now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Jason says, poking Tim’s nose just to see him go cross-eyed. “What should we eat on the way to the beach?”

“Fwies,” Tim says with a nod.

“Fries it is, then,” Jason replies, also with a nod. After cleaning up Tim’s toys, he goes into his room and grabs a burgundy duffle bag that Roy gifted him (it also came with mannequin heads). Tim sits on his bed while he does this, chattering to his stuffed dinosaur.

It’s not long before Jason’s loading everything into his car, unsurprised to see the car seat in the back because of course Dick would set it all up for him. Never mind the fact that this is still a relatively new car and that it should be impossible for Dick to already have a set of keys for it.

Tim starts humming once Jason pulls out of the garage, a tune that’s both familiar and not. His arms are wrapped around Batwalker the Dinosaur, and he occasionally kicks his little feet as he gazes out the window.

Jason leans back against the seat, feeling content with the rumble of the car beneath him and the sound of Tim’s little song. He drums his fingers against the wheel, Gotham turning into a blip behind them, and he wishes this could last forever.

Sweet Strawberry Timmy by Vee!

Chapter Text

Jason’s driving down the highway with the windows down, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth. He glances up at his rearview mirror and catches Tim doing the same, one arm wrapped around his precious Batwalker, cheeks shiny with grease and salt, and he smiles, his attention returning to the road.

He stopped at a random diner on the way to the beach and ordered some fries to go (and chicken nuggets, too, at the polite request of Tim). So far, Tim seems to be happy with his selections, judging by the way he keeps stuffing his face while occasionally saying, “Yummy!”

The road is empty, and the sun is high in the sky. Jason has the air conditioning on so they don’t boil beneath the rays, the radio is playing some pop song that’s catchy enough to make Jason bob his head, and he feels pretty good.

And then a song cuts through the peaceful silence, one that makes him roll his eyes.

“Alright, pull your hatchets out

Chop, chop, chop, chop

Swing, swing, swing, swing

Now murder

Swing, swing, swing, swing…”

“What do you want, Damian?” Jason asks when he accepts the call. The phone sits in a phone holder because there’s no way he’s going to be distracted by it with Tim in the car. Dick might actually murder him, and Jason would let him.

“Where are you taking him?” Damian demands.

“What?”

“Timothy,” Damian says impatiently. “Why did you two leave Gotham? Where are you going?”

Jason frowns and glances around the inside of his car. “Are you tracking me?” he questions incredulously, though he’s not sure why he’s so surprised, considering he’s actively tracking everyone as well. “How the fu—dge did you manage that? Did you put something on me the last time I was in the cave?”

“Fudge!” Tim repeats, kicking his little feet.

“Of course I did,” Damian says with a huff. “I slipped a couple of trackers inside your jacket and on your weapon, and I put one in the sole of Timothy’s shoe.”

“Freak,” Jason mutters.

“I’m simply a concerned family member,” Damian replies. “Who’s utilizing the technology bestowed upon us by our Father to put that worry to rest by making sure you’re not driving Timothy to a dangerous place. So, with that in mind, answer the question.”

“We’re just going to the beach! Nothing wrong with that!”

“Can Timothy swim?”

Jason opens his mouth to respond, only to pause and look over his shoulder. “Hey, Timmy,” he says, waiting for Tim to look at him, fries hanging out of his mouth, before asking, “Do you know how to swim?”

“Uh-huh,” Tim says around his fries. “I swim.”

“See?” Jason says. “He swims.”

Damian’s sigh echoes in the car. “Timothy,” he says next, his voice noticeably softer. It’s a bit surprising, but then Jason remembers how Tim easily wrapped him around his finger, and Jason figures that Tim worked his magic on the demon brat, too. “You’ll behave for Todd and listen to all of his instructions, correct? As much as it pains me to admit this, and believe me, it does, Todd knows what he’s doing. He’ll take care of you.”

“Okay, Dami!” Tim says cheerfully. “I be good!”

“Good,” Damian says with a note of approval.

“Thanks for the endorsement,” Jason says, glancing at a sign that indicates a gas station in the next twenty miles. He checks his tank and hums. “Listen, kid. He’ll be fine. I’m not going to take my eyes off of him, not even for a second.”

“Of course you won’t,” Damian says. “Your life's on the line.”

“Mine?”

“Yes. To put it simply, if any harm comes to Timothy, then I will inflict the same damage on you. If worst comes to worst, then you will be breathing your last before I come to ki—”

“Hey,” he barks. “Not in front of Tim!” Jason looks over his shoulder again, plastering a smile on his face. “Say goodbye to your brother, pumpkin.”

“Bye, Dami!” Tim dutifully says, waving a salt-covered hand. Jason clutches his chest for a second, charmed by his cuteness. “I wuv you!”

There’s a small stretch of silence, and then Damian says quietly, “I… love you too, Timothy.”

Jason can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. He shifts in his seat and waits for Tim to refocus on his fries before speaking, “Listen, it’s a bit of a drive, so I’ll let you know when we get there even though you’ll probably be checking our locations religiously. Go have fun with your super friend and leave us alone.”

“Todd!” Damian snaps, the softness rolling over into irritation. “I’m not done! I have a list of instructions to give you, and you will—”

“Oh man, sorry,” Jason says as he observes the open road. “We’re going through a tunnel… I can’t hear you anymore… That’s too bad… Oh nooooo…” He makes the appropriate static noises behind his mouth before reaching over to end the call, grinning to himself. 

His amusement lingers when he sees Damian’s picture flashing on the screen. It’s his look of surprise, where he’s gazing at the camera with an open mouth and wide eyes (the whites of his domino were up), right after Jason shoved him into a pile of leaves while they were cleaning up after Ivy. This resulted in the kid chasing him around with his katana, shouting obscenities and death threats.

Jason had laughed so hard that he reopened his stitches from the previous night. It was totally worth the scolding that Alfred gave him.

His phone starts pinging with several messages, over and over again, until he groans and opens up the thread, not even bothering to read any of Damian’s inane rambles.

He considers asking Tim to type something out for him, but the kid still has greasy fingers, and he might go through some of Jason’s secret files, so Jason taps on the text-to-speech option and clears his throat, slowing down when he realizes that he’s catching up to another car.

“Stop texting me,” Jason says out loud, eyes flicking over to the phone to see the message writing itself in their thread. “Don’t you remember all of those safe driving advertisements? You don’t want me to text and drive while little Timmy is in the car, right? That’d be—hey! You motherfu—dger! ” He shouts it out the window after he passes the guy that abruptly swerved in front of him, causing him to slam on the brakes.

“Anyways,” he continues. “That’d be pretty irresponsible of you, Damian. How about I fire off a text when I get to the beach? Does that sound good to you?” Jason pauses, waiting for the prompt on his phone to appear, and then says, “Send message.”

After it’s delivered, Jason notes a lack of notifications from the overly paranoid brat. He also leans over to scroll through his apps so he can find the one that shows everyone’s location. 

Jason clicks on Damian’s symbol, watching as it zooms in on the Kent Farm, a place he bookmarked for future reference, and hums, satisfied, before finally locking his device and settling back against the driver’s seat, all of his attention on the empty road.

“Almost there, Timmy!” Jason says cheerfully. “And then you’re going to have a grand old time with your favorite brother!”

“More fwies?” Tim asks instead of responding to Jason’s very true statement. “Pwease?”

He looks down at the fry container in his cup holder, sighing when he sees that it’s only half-full. “Alright, pumpkin,” Jason says, handing the rest to his little brother. “You can have some more.”

The things that he does for his family…

★★

Dick calls when Jason pulls into the gas station.

He considers ignoring it, but then he recalls the morning before the picnic and how Dick basically spammed him to the point of considering murder. Jason sighs, scooping up his phone when he parks, slipping out of the car, and making his way over to the pump.

“Hey, Dickiebird,” Jason says when he answers the phone.

“Let me talk to him!” Dick immediately demands.

“I’m doing fine, thanks,” Jason replies as he starts filling his car up with gas. He peeks through the window to see Tim licking the salt off his hands, the empty fry container sitting in his lap. “It’s a beautiful day outside, and it’s so nice to hear from you! How about you, Dickhead? And how’s the boyfriend?”

Dick releases a long-suffering sigh, and it’s music to his ears. “Hi, Jason,” he says shortly. “I’m fine. Wally is fine. Our apartment is fine. Bludhaven… could be better, just like Gotham, and everything is fine. Now, let me talk to Tim.”

“What’s the magic word?” Jason asks sweetly.

“I’m going to put slugs in your helmet.”

Jason doesn’t respond. He glances at the meter, watching the numbers climb, and whistles a jaunty little tune, the same one that always annoys the fuck out of his older brother, mostly because it can go on forever due to the fact that it’s just 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall without the lyrics.

He gets to 93 when Dick groans. “Fine,” he says. “Can I please talk to Tim?”

“Sure!” Jason says. He pauses as he nears the window, eyeing Tim’s shiny hands. “Actually, give me a moment. I need to… clean him up a little. He just ate a bunch of fries.”

Jason finishes using the gas pump, puts it away, and pays for it all, muting the call and tossing the phone into the passenger seat so he can clean his hands with a wet wipe. He then reaches into the backseat to grab Tim’s hands, wiping the grease and salt off them (and his face), patting his head afterwards. 

“There we go,” he says, snatching up his phone again and unmuting the call. “Dick wants to talk to you, pumpkin.”

“Dickie!” Tim says excitedly, practically bouncing in his seat. He makes grabby hands at the phone, only to hold it upside down against his ear once Jason hands it over. “Hi, Dickie!”

“Hi, baby,” Dick says, his voice coming from a spot around Tim’s jaw. “I miss you.”

Jason helps Tim place the phone in the correct position, moving over to grab the squeegee so he can clean the dust off his windshield and give Tim a semblance of privacy. All he can hear is Tim’s responses to whatever Dick is saying—it’s mostly a bunch of “uh-huhs” and “yeahs” and the occasional “okay!”

Eventually, Tim hands the phone back. “Dickie wants to talk to Jay,” he says with a nod. “Something implor—important! Yeah!”

“Alright,” Jason says, bemused. He watches as Tim starts fiddling with Batwalker the Dinosaur before putting the phone up to his ear. “What’s up?”

“I’ll pay you back if you buy him a swimsuit,” Dick says immediately. “And some floaties. And a lot of sunscreen. Maybe some water shoes, too.”

“I’m not taking your money,” Jason replies, inspecting his nails. All of his cuticles are looking a little rough… “There’s no reason to pay me back for buying the kid basic necessities for a beach trip.” He pauses and then adds, “I wouldn’t mind a promise to get B off my back, without question, for one night, though.”

“Deal,” Dick says. “Thanks, again, for watching him. The apartment problems were real, but I also really missed Wally.”

Jason sighs, tipping his head back against the car. “I get it,” he replies, scraping his foot across the pavement. “Seriously, though. It’s no trouble at all. The kid is kinda growing on me.” He eyes Tim, who’s babbling about something called a supersaur with his plush. “Even if he does steal my fries.”

“Tell me about it,” Dick says with a groan. “I swear, I can’t finish a single meal without Tim wanting a piece of whatever I’m having, and then he decides that mine is better, so I have to swap plates with him. It’s either that or I eat his leftovers.”

“Wow,” Jason says, squinting at a bird off to the side that’s pecking at a fast food wrapper. He takes a picture of it and sends it off to Roy, adding ‘this you?’ as the caption. “Sucks to be you, I guess.”

“Whatever,” Dick mutters. “Will you let me know when you get there? And send a picture of him, too? Actually, maybe you should call me when you two get in the water so I can make sure he’s okay…”

“Relax, Dick,” Jason says. “Tim’s going to be fine. I’ll be right beside him the whole time, probably holding his hand just to be safe.” He hums thoughtfully and adds, “You know, maybe we should invest in a leash for the kid if you’re so worried.”

“He’s not a dog, Jason,” Dick retorts.

“I know that! I’m just saying that a kid leash would put all of your worries to rest!”

“And, what? You think he’s going to stand there with a leash strapped to his body? Tim’s a genius, idiot. He’s going to circumvent any leash we give him and run off the moment we turn our backs.” Dick scoffs. “He’d never forgive us for humiliating him like that.”

“Did Bruce put a leash on you?” Jason asks, snorting at the image. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if Bruce attached a leash to a young Dick Grayson, especially after the chandelier incident. “Because you seem a little fired up over this suggestion…”

“Oh, shut up!”

Tim decides to pipe up at that exact moment. “We leave now, Jay?” 

Jason looks over at him, offering a smile. “Yes, pumpkin,” he says gently, reaching into the car to ruffle the kid’s hair. “Just gotta let Dickie finish talking to me, and then we’ll be on our way. Can you wait a little bit longer?”

“Okay, Jay,” Tim says with a happy smile. “And then we get ice cweam, too?”

Dick laughs in his ear, and Jason sighs. “Yes, pumpkin,” he says again, though it sounds much more resigned this time. “We’ll get some ice cream once we get to the beach town.” He watches as Tim nods and turns his attention back to the phone call. “I gotta go before the kid decides to drive himself to the beach.”

“Please don’t put that thought in his head.”

“It’s probably already there, Dick.”

“Yeah,” Dick says, sounding tired. “You’ve got a point, Little Wing.” There’s a long pause where Jason thinks that Dick hung up (and he even pulls the phone away to check), but then he hears Dick clear his throat before quietly saying, “You’re good with him.”  

Jason huffs, rubbing his cheek when he feels heat blooming in that very spot. He makes his way to the driver’s side of the car, slipping into his seat and locking the doors. “Yeah, well,” he says with a shrug. “I learned from the best.”

“Aww…” Dick coos. “Are you talking about me?”

“No,” Jason says cheerfully. “Roy!”

He hangs up and dumps his phone in its holder, pulling out of the gas station with practiced ease. Jason bites back a smile when his phone pings with messages and one glance at the screen tells him that Dick is spamming him with the shocked face emoji.

All in a day’s work, he thinks and goes back to whistling his little tune. Jason hopes he can get to the end of the song by the time they get to the beach.

★★

A pleasant sea breeze welcomes him as he drives into the beach town. Jason slows his car down and tips his head back, enjoying the way the air cools his skin. He can hear chatter from people walking down the streets, lazy drawls that speak of their enjoyment beneath the sun. 

Jason glances up at the mirror to make sure Tim’s okay. The kid is gazing out the window curiously with a happy smile. Occasionally, he’ll wave at someone because apparently, he’s a social little butterfly.

They stop by a local store to pick up some supplies, which include food, snacks, water, juice, floaties, a bunch of sunscreen for the both of them, and some water shoes for Tim. Jason also adds a bunch of discounted Barbie dolls to their pile after Tim politely asks for some. 

Then, Jason makes his way over to the swimsuit section. Here, he finds something that makes him laugh out loud, and he tosses the surfing Batman patterned swim trunks into the cart, moving onto the kid’s section so Tim can make some selections.

He picks two.

One is a cream color that’s covered in rainbows and dinosaurs, with a rainbow strap on one shoulder to top it all off. The other is a pair of navy blue shorts with tiny, multi-colored dragons all over, paired with a dark green shirt. Jason also finds a bucket hat that looks like a strawberry, and he immediately places it on Tim’s head.

“Strawberry Timmy,” he says with a smile.

Tim pouts at him. “Ice cweam,” he says, rattling the cart.

Jason sighs. “Fine, fine, you little menace,” he says, pushing their items (and Tim) over to the self-checkout. “We’ll get your ice cream, and then we’re going to the beach house! No more stops!”

“No more,” Tim agrees as he reaches out for a bag of marshmallows on display right beside the registers. Packs of chocolate and boxes of graham crackers fill up the other cardboard shelves—all the essentials needed to make s’mores.

“No,” Jason says sternly, guiding his hand away. “You can’t have those.”

“But my ‘mawwows,” Tim says, gazing up at him tearfully. 

Jason’s proud to say that he stays strong for a solid two minutes, but then Tim makes the most dejected sniffle, and Jason’s scanning a bag of marshmallows and tossing them into a bag along with a pack of chocolate and a box of graham crackers. Tim looks at him with awe-filled eyes, and it’s enough to convince Jason that he’s not a sucker.

“Thank ‘ou, Jay,” Tim says sweetly when Jason’s placing the bags in the trunk of the car, patting the bag of marshmallows reverently before Jason puts it away. “Can I have one?”

“It’s either that or ice cream,” Jason replies, taking the cart back to the corral. “You can’t have both.”

“Why not?” Tim asks, already trying to climb out of the cart. Jason grabs him before he can throw himself out, and the kid dangles off his shoulder, kicking his feet against Jason’s chest. “What if I put them on my ice cweam?”

“You’re getting sprinkles,” Jason says firmly. He unlocks his car and starts buckling Tim into the car seat. “I don’t want you bouncing off the walls from too much sugar. That can come later.”

Tim sighs. It sounds too big for his little baby body. “Okay, Jay,” he replies. “I pick ice cweam.”

“Good on you,” Jason says, ruffling his hair. “And then we’ll have some fun on the beach, alright? I just have to toss our clothes into the wash real quick before we do anything, but it shouldn’t take too long.”

They go to an ice cream shop near the pier, and Tim spends about ten minutes trying to pick a flavor. He ends up choosing Rocky Road, while Jason goes with a simple scoop of Strawberry, and they sit on a small bench right outside the shop after they receive their ice cream.

Predictably, Tim hates the texture of his pick and ends up swapping it with Jason after giving him a sad look, and when Jason decides to inform Dick of his predicament, all he gets is an audio message that’s just Dick saying a very loud, “HA!”

Jason sends back several middle finger emojis and then mutes their message thread.

“Thanks for the ice cweam, Jay,” Tim says when Jason’s cleaning his sticky hands with a wet wipe afterwards. “I gotta get some with Dami now.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jason starts wiping his face next. “Why?”

“I got ice cweam with Dickie, and then with you! So, now I need Dami and Daddy, and I got a whole set!” Tim smiles at him, swinging his feet. “You get it?”

“That’s a lot of ice cream for a tiny bird like you, pumpkin,” Jason says, poking his stomach. Tim giggles, wrapping his arms around Jason’s neck when he scoops up the kid. “How about we plan a little trip to get some ice cream when we’re back in Gotham? All five of us.”

“Pwomise?”

“Promise,” Jason replies, bumping their foreheads together. “Now, let’s get to that beach house.”

★★

It’s a relatively small, unassuming house sitting atop the sandy beach.

The blue paint on it is faded, though Jason imagines it used to be as vibrant as the ocean in front of it. There’s a fire pit off to the side, which Jason definitely plans on using later, and a small set of stairs. They lead to a decently-sized porch, complete with chairs and a table, and the front door. Jason knows what’s waiting for him beyond it—a functioning kitchen, a living room with cable, a single bedroom, and a door with a keypad that leads to a secret basement that contains enough weapons to create an army and an unused cell.

Tim runs around the new place once Jason drags everything inside, and Jason leaves him be, putting everything in their proper places after he tosses the swimsuits into the washing machine. It’s nice to hear his little feet tapping against the wood, followed by his soft exclamations whenever he discovers something new.

He also fires off a message to Dick and Damian while he’s in the kitchen, letting them know that they arrived safely. Jason also attaches a photo of Tim sitting on the steps of the house, a sunny smile on his little face.

Eventually, it’s a bit too quiet for Jason’s liking. He glances around in search of Tim, and when he sees no sign of him, he makes his way over to where he heard Tim last—the bedroom.

The door is closed, and he can hear Tim’s loud exclamation of, “—you do, you’re dead!” through the wood. Jason pauses, concerned, and slowly pushes the door open, stilling when he catches sight of the scene before him.

Tim has all of his Barbie dolls out (fourteen, along with a couple of Ken dolls that Jason added to the batch). At least three of them are missing their heads.

“Those are the heads of all your wieutenants,” Tim says, his voice a bit higher than usual. “That took me two hours!” He tosses a Barbie head at a Ken doll, knocking it over. “You wanna see what I get done in a whole eve—night !? No mistake!! I’m not asking you to kick in with me! I tell you!”

Damn, Jason thinks. Was I that dramatic?

He knocks on the door, and Tim whips his head around, a smile on his face. “Jay!” he says happily. There’s a red domino mask fixed to his face, but it’s too big for him, so it’s a bit crooked, hiding one eye and barely covering the other. It’s too cute. Jason might die (again). “Hi! I was pwaying!”

“I can see that,” Jason says, quickly pulling out his phone to snap a picture. This one he sets as his lock screen background, and he makes a plan to send it to Dick later to give him a heart attack. “I just wanted to check up on you, make sure everything’s okay.”

“Oh, okay. Beach now?” Tim asks, pushing himself up. A different Barbie head falls off his lap, rolling across the floor. “Pwease?”

“Soon, pumpkin. Soon.”

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long to dry their suits, and then Jason is sitting outside on the porch while he smears sunscreen all over Tim’s face, arms, and legs. Batwalker is sitting in the other seat, a pair of red heart-shaped sunglasses on his dinosaur face.

“There,” Jason says after rubbing a bit of cream on Tim’s ears. He grabs the strawberry bucket hat and places it on Tim’s head. “All done.”

The kid chose to wear the shorts and shirt combo for the day, and Jason can admit that Tim does look a bit ridiculous with the bright pink floaties around his arms. “Jay,” he says, waving one of them. “I don’t wike it.”

“Yeah, I know you don’t,” Jason replies, adjusting them. “But you have to wear them while we’re near the water.”

“No water,” Tim says with a frown, shaking his head. “No floaties!”

“Yes, floaties,” Jason says patiently. He helps Tim down the stairs, ignoring his quiet grumbles, and leads the way to the ocean. “We won’t go too far, though, so we probably won’t need them after all.”

And he’s right when Tim shrieks the moment he steps into the water, all because some seaweed touched his ankle.

Jason ends up holding him for a while, wading into the water until he’s at a point where the waves splash against his shorts and the bottom hem of his tank. Tim winces whenever a few droplets land on him, clinging to Jason tighter and eyeing the waters like he’s afraid of any seaweed that might come flying out. 

“How about we hunt for seashells, huh?” Jason asks, already starting to walk back to the dry sand. “That’ll be fun.”

“Okay,” Tim says, and then drops his voice to a whisper when he adds, “Sowee, Jay.”

“Nah, don’t apologize, pumpkin. I’d probably get sand in my hair if we went in.”

Jason pats himself down with the towels he left hanging off the porch, and he does the same for Tim after removing the pink floaties, even though the kid barely got wet. It seems to make him feel better, though, and he practically has a skip in his step when Jason leads them over to a small, raised section of the beach—a place that contains a few tide pools and a sandy area that gets relatively untouched by the waves.

Tim gasps in delight when they get there, though he takes careful steps around the edges, peering into the clear waters with a look of wonder.

“Wook, Jay!” Tim says, pointing at something beneath the surface. “A starfish!”

“Wow,” Jason marvels, crouching down beside Tim. There is indeed a pale pink starfish sticking to one side of the tide pool, a few barnacles beside it. He watches as Tim slowly extends a hand, fingers skimming the surface of the pool. “No, pumpkin,” Jason says, tapping his wrist. “It’s not safe for them.”

“Aww,” Tim says glumly, but he nods, pulling his hand away. “Okay. I keep it safe.”

Jason points out a few more sea creatures for him, but he can see Tim’s attention wavering after a while. He takes the kid down to the sand, where they walk around and pick out a few shells here and there. Sea glass, too, in all sorts of colors. Everything that Tim finds goes into Jason’s pockets for safekeeping, and they even venture closer to the water, Tim’s feet splashing up a bit of water with every step he takes.

He stands beside his little brother, keeping an eye on the waves. Tim digs through the damp sand with his hand, marveling at his finds. Eventually, he stands up and moves closer to Jason, tugging on his tank.

“What’s this?” Tim asks, holding up a white, circular item.

Jason takes it into his hand and carefully inspects it. He hums when he catches sight of the small star in the center, brushing a finger over the edges. “It’s a sand dollar,” he explains, handing it back. “Sea urchins. This one isn’t alive anymore, so it’s okay if you want to take it with you.”

“Okay!” Tim says happily, smiling up at him. “Jay is so smart.”

“For knowing basic facts?” Jason waves a hand and then leans down to tap Tim’s nose. “Anyone could tell you that, pumpkin.”

“Jay is smart,” Tim says, pouting. “Super smart!”

This sounds like an argument that could last forever, so Jason just sighs, shaking his head and ruffling Tim’s hair. “Alright,” he concedes, watching as Tim’s face brightens. “But if I’m smart, then you’re a little genius, Timmy.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, turning his attention back to the sand. “I am!”

“Humble, too,” Jason comments. He leans down to help Tim search for shells and unearths a flat stone, flicking it towards the water. It skips over the small waves, eventually disappearing beneath the surface, and Jason smiles.

“I hope you’re having a good time, pumpkin,” he says, the tension in his muscles draining away thanks to the sun shining down on him, warming him from the inside and out. “Because I sure am.”

“Me too,” Tim agrees, holding up another shell. This time it’s a clam. “I have some shells at home.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah! One time my mom—no, um, my mother bought me a jar of shells,” Tim says as he picks a couple of small cowries. The gentle tide now laps at his ankles, and thankfully, there’s no seaweed to ruin Tim’s experience again. “She said she thought of me, and she missed me, and she pwomised to take me to the beach! Just us, she said.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jason smiles over the story even though he feels a flicker of sadness. The knowledge that Tim was still left alone, even with all that from his mother, hurts more than it should. “What about your dad?”

“No, he wasn’t invited.” Here, Tim pauses, staring off into the distance. The sun makes the surface of the ocean glitter like stars, and the sea breeze ruffles Tim’s hair, a couple of strands sticking up. “Sometimes,” Tim says quietly. “Father didn’t wike me.”

Jason gazes at the sadness on Tim’s face, his stomach sinking. He crouches down beside Tim, uncaring of the waves that touch his shorts. “What makes you say that?” he asks, gently tugging Tim’s shirtsleeve to get his attention. “Why do you think he didn’t like you?”

Tim shrugs, fiddling with the cowrie in his hand. “I dunno,” he says. “He just didn’t.” He turns and looks at Jason with shining eyes. “I’m hungy, Jay,” Tim murmurs. “Can we go have food now?”

“Sure, pumpkin,” Jason says, taking the shells from him. He gathers Tim into his arms and starts walking back to the beach house, listening to the sound of the seagulls squawking in the sky.

“I wish Bwuce was my father,” Tim suddenly says, resting his head on Jason’s shoulder. His hair tickles Jason’s neck, but Jason pays it no mind, pausing so he can listen to Tim speak. “My weal one.” 

Jason swallows around the lump in his throat and holds his little brother close. “Yeah,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of Tim’s head, the confession spilling out from his heart, “Me too.”

He keeps them there for a moment, rubbing a soothing hand down Tim’s back. After a while, Jason continues the trek back to the house, trying not to think about a four-year-old Tim Drake all alone in his house, waiting for his mother to follow up with her promise, already thinking about how his father doesn’t like him.

It’s not fair, Jason thinks, climbing up the porch steps. He sets Tim down and helps him remove his water shoes, watching as the kid runs into the house. Those assholes didn’t deserve him.

But he can’t say that out loud. At least, not while Tim is still young. Maybe Jason will tug Tim aside and try to shake that thought into his head once he’s back to his regular age. For now, all Jason can do is give him the best beach trip of his life.

★★

Fire crackles in front of him.

Jason tosses another log onto the pile, which makes the flames climb higher. Tim claps his hands in delight, wiggling on his little lawn chair. His eyes shine with orange-red light, and Jason feels a flicker of worry before he dismisses it. Their whole family is made up of people who enjoy explosions. Tim’s fine.

“Again!” he crows.

“Not for a while, pumpkin,” Jason says, patting his head.

“Can I do it?”

“… Maybe,” Jason answers after mulling it over. He’s only saying it because he has a feeling that Tim will try to do it himself if he says no. “We’ll see.”

“I guess that’s okay,” Tim grumbles, carefully picking up the skewer that Jason left on his lap. “What’s this, Jay?”

“It’s for the marshmallows,” Jason explains. He reaches into the bag of snacks and takes out the marshmallows, opening the packet and handing one over to Tim. Then, he opens the graham crackers and the chocolate, setting a couple of items down on his thigh. “See, you put it on your skewer, and then you—”

Tim shoves it into his mouth. 

Jason sighs, taking out another. He should have expected that. “And then you put it in the fire,” he continues, pushing it down onto the spike. He leans forward and holds the marshmallow above the flames, lips twitching when he hears Tim’s shocked gasp. “You want to wait until it’s a little bit brown, but you can make it crispier if you’d like.”

He reaches down with one hand to grab his crackers and chocolate, turning the skewer with the other to toast the other side of the marshmallow. Since Jason is a s’mores expert, he manages to put the treat together without spillage, and it’s not long before he has a small piece of perfection in his hand.

“And then you have this!” Jason finishes, leaning the skewer against the fire pit before holding the s’more out to Tim. “Try it, Timmy!”

Tim eyes the sugary mess with trepidation. “Um,” he says, slowly reaching out to poke the graham cracker part. “It’s melting? And, um… you hurt my ‘mawwow.”

“I didn’t hurt it,” Jason assures. “I just made it tastier!” When Tim glances at him dubiously, Jason sighs and takes a bite out of the small sandwich, the gooey mixture coating his tongue. It’s very sweet, but Jason doesn’t mind, not when Tim is starting to look interested in the treat. 

“Okay,” Tim says, holding out a hand. “I twy it.”

Jason makes the mistake of handing the s’more over.

The kid gets marshmallow fluff on his hand while he’s taking a bite. It gets worse when Jason realizes that Tim’s accidentally pushing some of it out due to him holding the sandwich incorrectly, practically squeezing the crackers together.

Still, Tim seems to enjoy it, judging by the way he keeps kicking his feet and smacking his lips together after every bite.

“More, pwease!” Tim says after he finishes the sandwich. He has pieces of marshmallow all over his fingers, graham cracker crumbs down the front of his shirt, and there’s a smear of chocolate across his cheek. Good thing Alfred’s not here to see such a mess…

They eat more s’mores together. Tim even finds the courage to put one of his beloved marshmallows into the fire, though it ends up getting tossed into the sand when it burns to a crisp. This results in a small crying session that’s resolved with another s’more.

“It’s still good,” Tim says tearfully, glancing at the burnt marshmallow on the ground and sniffling. He bites into his sandwich and sighs despairingly. “Why’d you waste it, Jay?”

“It was on fire, Tim,” Jason says flatly. He eyes the marshmallow, kicking some sand over it when he spots a few red sparks. “That’s not something you can eat.”

“If I twy hard enough, I can!”

“That’s the kind of determination I like to see, pumpkin, but not when it comes to flaming marshmallows.”

They cool it with the marshmallows after a while. Jason covers Tim with his towel and adds another log to the flames, leaning back against his chair with a content sigh. The stars wink at them every now and then, and he can hear the sound of distant splashing, the gentle lull of the waves. It’s almost enough to put him to sleep, and Tim seems to be of the same mindset, judging by the way his eyes start drooping.

“C’mere,” Jason says, dragging Tim’s chair closer. He picks Tim up and places the kid on his lap, wrapping his arms around him. “Tired?”

“Uh-huh,” Tim says with a yawn. “Today was fun.”

“Yeah?” Jason kisses the top of his head, where he gets the faint scent of the ocean from his hair. “I’m glad you thought so, pumpkin.”

Tim extracts a hand from the towel, placing it on Jason’s cheek. He withholds his sigh when he feels the stickiness of it, but he doesn’t bother with moving the hand away. “I wuv you, Jay,” Tim says.

“I love you too,” Jason says quietly. It’s easier to say it this time. His eyes stray to the fire, slowly dying down thanks to the sea breeze, and he hums. “How about we go inside, get you all cleaned up, and go to sleep, huh? Maybe I’ll read you a story, too.”

“Mmkay.”

He stays in Jason’s arms while he cleans up his mess, dragging everything to the porch and leaving it there. Jason dumps some water on the fire pit to put it out, and then he’s heading into the house with Batwalker tucked under his arm, locking the door behind them.

Tim dozes off while Jason’s wiping the s’mores off his hands and face. After helping the kid change into his pajamas and brush his teeth, he’s soon tucking Tim into bed, brushing his fingers through his baby-soft strands, smiling when Tim snuffles and blearily peers up at him.

“Jay weads now?” Tim asks, closing his eyes. 

“You’re gonna be asleep before I finish one page,” Jason says, amused. Still, he gets off the bed and grabs his duffle bag, where he then extracts a well-worn book. “Alright,” he continues, going back to Tim’s side. “You ever heard of a story called Pride and Prejudice?”

“It has, um, zombies,” Tim murmurs sleepily.

“No, pumpkin…” Jason says with a sigh, leaning back against the headboard as he flips to the first chapter.

The pages are old and worn, every inch of it covered in his writing because he has too many thoughts and feelings about this book. He tilts it toward Tim, who acknowledges it with a hum before shifting closer, pressing up against Jason’s side. Jason gently pets through his hair again and then clears his throat.

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife…”

★★

The porch creaks.

Jason sits up immediately, heart pumping. He slips out of bed and falls into a crouch, wary. His book tumbles to the floor, but he pays it no mind as he reaches into the bedside drawer and slides up the false bottom, wrapping his hand around a rubber bullet gun. While that may not do the damage Jason normally likes to inflict, it’ll still hurt a lot, and that’s all Jason needs.

After glancing at Tim, who still slumbers with his arms wrapped around that dinosaur plush, Jason slowly makes his way out of the bedroom and shuts the door behind him. 

He points his gun at the front door when he continues to hear movement beyond the wood. Jason clenches his jaw when he spies a flicker of green at the edge of his vision, age-old anger rolling into protectiveness. His little brother is behind him, tucked away under the covers, and there’s no way Jason is going to let anything bad happen to him.

The door suddenly swings open, and Jason squeezes the trigger, firing a shot that causes the stranger to curse and duck. “Hey!” they bark, in a voice so familiar that Jason actually pauses. “Knock it off!”

Even in the darkness, he can see a hand slap against the wall, the living room lights flickering on to reveal—

“Roy?” Jason says, blinking in surprise. He lowers his gun when Roy merely grins back at him and rubs a hand down his face. “What the hell are you doing here, man?” His eyes flick all over Roy, only to land on a slumped body at Roy’s feet, dressed in dark clothing that reminds him of the League. Great. “And what do you have there?”

“A smoothie!” Roy says, holding out a half-drunk cup full of something that drips condensation on the floor. “It’s Neapolitan! I got it for you!” He pauses, glancing at the drink and back. “Well,” he adds with a wry smile. “I got half of it for you, at least.”

“Thanks,” Jason says flatly, taking the cup from him. “You shouldn’t have.” He gestures to the unconscious person still on the floor. “How about we have a little discussion about this before I let you in, huh?”

“Normally, I’d agree,” Roy says. “But since this is my safe house, I dictate the rules around here, and I think I should drag this sucker down to the basement and toss them away in my private cell before they wake up and escape. How does that sound?”

He’s already shoving his way into the house before Jason can muster up a response, heading over to the door that leads to the basement. The handle has a number pad attached to it, and a code is needed to enter, which Jason also knows (Lian’s birthday). Roy soon disappears through the door, and Jason is left standing in front of the door with a melting smoothie in his hand, listening to the sound of a head thumping against the stairs.

“Okay, then,” Jason says. He shuts the door, locks it, and then makes his way into the kitchen, where he begins preparing some tea. Jason also sips the smoothie while he’s waiting for the water to boil and hums, pleasantly surprised by how good it tastes.

He’s pouring two cups of tea when Roy returns, and Jason takes the chance to inspect the other man.

Roy’s outfit… leaves much to be desired. He’s wearing a pair of red board shorts with a pattern of mini black arrows, a gray tank top that says SUNS OUT, GUNS OUT across his chest with a green and blue floral print button-up over it. Jason doesn’t look at his shoes, afraid he might see socks with sandals or Crocs.

“Well, well, well,” Roy drawls. “Look at what we have here.”

Jason arches a brow, snagging his smoothie when Roy draws near. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to you?” he asks.

Roy waves a hand. “Imagine my surprise when you asked to borrow this house,” he says, caging Jason against the counter with his arms. “You’re not the kind of guy who goes on vacation on a whim, so I had to come and see it for myself, maybe catch a glimpse of you lounging around on the sand, getting a little tan…”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Don’t be gross,” he says and obnoxiously slurps some of his smoothie. He licks away the remaining droplets from his lips, suddenly very aware of Roy’s gaze. “And I’m not here alone, dumbass,” he adds, shoving Roy away before he can get too tempted by this rat bastard of a man. “I brought my, um…” His eyes flick over to the bedroom and back. “My brother. I brought my brother with me.”

“Oh.” Roy stares at him, and then he snorts, leaning back against the counter. “Which one?”

“Tim.”

Jason watches as a frown overtakes Roy’s face. “Tim…” the other man mutters. He repeats the name a couple of times before snapping his fingers, eyes alight with realization. “Tim!” Roy says. “That’s the one who convinced me he didn’t have a birthday the first time we met!”

Jason stares at him and wonders, just for a moment, why he puts up with the man. “Are you an idiot?” he asks, only half-serious.

“Hey, man, don’t be mean!” Roy says, crossing his arms. “Anyone could fall for that trick!”

“There was no trick,” Jason deadpans. “Everyone has a birthday.”

“You don’t know that!” Roy cries. “He put on a sad little act the next time I saw him, claiming that he invited me to celebrate his birthday and that he wished I could have made it! Dick didn’t talk to me until the kid forgave me! It took a whole month!”

Jason snorts and covers it up with a cough when Roy narrows his eyes.

Roy also lifts a hand and bumps his knuckles against Jason’s forehead. “If you keep acting up,” he says. “Then I’m gonna have to take you down, Jaybird, and it’ll be easy! Because I do pilates.”

“You’re insufferable,” Jason tells him, but there’s no denying the reluctant flicker of fondness in his chest. “Now, explain why you put an arrow through someone’s knee.”

“I thought it’d be funny,” Roy admits. “Also, they were creeping around the house, probably trying to find an entry point, so I thought what better way to take down this person than an arrow to the knee, huh?” He pauses and then adds, “And then I knocked them out. It took a few hits to the head, but I managed to get it done.”

“You noticed the outfit, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Of course I did.” Roy crosses his arms, gazing at Jason seriously. “What does the League of Assassins want with you, Jaybird? I thought you weren’t dealing with them anymore.”

“I’m not,” Jason says, shaking his head. He glances in the direction of the room again and sighs, setting down the smoothie cup. “They’re after Tim.”

“What? Why?”

Jason doesn’t respond, instead beckoning Roy over as he makes his way to the bedroom door. He cracks it open, causing light to spill into the room—enough for him to see a small figure still curled up in bed, arms wrapped around a stuffed dinosaur.

“No, Dickie,” he murmurs in his sleep, rolling over. “S’my cheese snake fajita…”

“That’s Tim?” Roy says, sounding surprised. “What happened to him?”

“Magic,” Jason answers with a sigh. He stares at Tim, watching him breathe, assuring himself of Tim’s safety, before moving away from the door, leaving it open in case Tim needs him. “The working theory is that Ra’s did this. Honestly, my guess is that he wants Tim to be his evil heir or something since he had his underlings try and kidnap Tim afterwards…”

“But how’d that assassin find you all the way out here?” Roy wonders. “I mean, I bought this place because you have to cut through Gotham to get here, and no one is crazy enough to chase me through that godforsaken city. No offense.”

“None taken,” Jason says, waving a hand. He goes back to the kitchen, where his tea sits on the counter. The mug is still warm when he scoops it up, and he keeps his hands wrapped around it. “I don’t know, though. They’ve probably been watching us since we left Gotham and followed us out here.”

“Huh.” Roy looks contemplative as he sips some tea, which he only drinks because of Jason. “Well, I guess I can stick around and make sure it doesn’t happen again!”

“Did you just invite yourself to my brotherly bonding beach trip?” Jason asks with an arched brow, taking a sip of his tea. “That’s kinda rude.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for being rude,” Roy replies with a hand over his chest. “I didn’t mean to try and intrude on your little adventure in my beach house. It’s not like you need the extra help, right? I mean, you can just shoot the next assassin with your rubber bullets! That’ll work just fine, right?”

“I hate you,” Jason says with a resigned sigh. He reaches out and snags Roy’s shirt, dragging the other man closer. “Fine,” he concedes. “You can stay, I guess.”

Roy smiles at him and god, does it make him look handsome. “Thanks, Jaybird,” he replies, gripping one of Jason’s hips, one thumb stroking across his scarred skin. “We’re gonna have a lot of fun, alright? I’ll make sure the kid remembers this for the rest of his life.”

“The last time you said that was when we were all watching Lian,” Jason points out. “And this resulted in you scorching up the pavement because you accidentally set off all of those illegal fireworks we confiscated during our mission.”

“At least my eyebrows grew back,” Roy mutters. The smile grows softer at the edges, and Jason’s stomach squirms. “Hey,” he says. “It’s good to see you.”

“Good to see you too,” Jason replies quietly. I missed you, he doesn’t say, but he thinks Roy hears it anyway when Jason presses his lips to the corner of Roy’s mouth. He lingers for a couple of seconds before moving towards the living room. 

If he’s not going to get any sleep, he might as well find something to watch on TV while he’s waiting for Tim to wake up.

★★

Tim trails into the living room with a blanket wrapped around his whole body, a green arm from Batwalker the Dinosaur poking out of it. Jason watches from the kitchen as he shuffles over to the couch, climbing up to sit beside Roy, who’s watching something on TV. Tim yawns, smacking his lips together, squinting over at Jason (which looks even funnier with his hair sticking up) before glancing beside him.

“Who?” Tim mutters.

“Oh, uh. It’s Roy. Harper.” Roy looks nervous. “I don’t know if you remember me, though.”

“Woy,” Tim repeats with a thoughtful hum. He’s staring at Roy intently, and Jason bites back a laugh when this makes Roy fidget. After a while, Tim breaks out into a smile, bobbing his head. “I wemember you!”

“Oh, okay. Cool.”

“Can I see your arm?” Tim asks, pointing at the right one, the metal one.

“Uh…” Roy glances over at him, eyes wide. Jason offers a shrug in response and waves a hand, turning to focus on the bacon on the stove. “Sure, I guess. Go ahead and look.”

“Are eggs okay?” Jason asks, remembering that Tim seemed disgusted with them before.

“Okay!” Tim agrees as he brushes his hand down Roy’s arm.

Jason shakes his head, amused, and continues to make breakfast in the kitchen, trusting Roy to look after Tim. Occasionally, he’ll hear the faint sound of music coming from the TV, and he lets that wash over him as he loses himself in the act of cooking.

He flips the bacon strips over, waiting to hear the sizzle before walking over to the fridge. Jason pulls out a carton of eggs and cracks a few into a bowl, whisking them until they’re mostly yellow. He then butters another pan and pours the eggs into it, setting one burner on low heat and leaving the eggs there. The bacon, now crispy, gets placed onto a napkin-covered plate to soak up the excess oil.

Jason glances into the living room to check on Tim, only to do a double take when he sees what’s going on. “Hey!” he says, stepping out of the kitchen. “Get that out of your mouth!”

Tim stares at him with wide eyes as he continues to gnaw at Roy’s metal arm. Jason repeats himself, and finally, Tim lets it fall out of his mouth, a sheepish look on his face. Roy holds it up to his chest, looking shocked. 

“Timmy,” Jason says carefully. “Pumpkin. Why’d you put Roy’s arm in your mouth?”

“I wanted to taste the metal,” Tim answers, now fiddling with his dinosaur.

“Listen,” Roy says. “I totally get that, Tim, but you should ask if it’s okay before going off and biting people’s metal arms. When you asked me if you could look at my arm, it never crossed my mind that you’d want to… bite it.”

“Okay,” Tim says meekly. “I’m sowee, Woy.”

“Hey, it’s okay, little man!” Roy stands up, twisting his torso until Jason hears a crack (he winces, Tim looks intrigued). “How about you show me some of your toys while Jason finishes making breakfast, hmm? I heard that you’ve got a few new Barbies…”

Tim gasps, hopping off the couch. “Okay!” he says, grabbing Roy’s other hand and leading him towards the bedroom. “Maybe we can pway with them later!”

“Heck yeah, we can!” There’s a beat, and then Jason hears Roy ask, “Tim, why are some Barbies missing their heads?”

Jason pours a glass of orange juice for Roy and takes a sip of his tea (he made more before Tim woke up). He stirs the eggs, adding an appropriate amount of salt, and it’s not long before he’s plating the eggs and bacon, leaning out of the kitchen and looking towards the bedroom.

“Breakfast is ready!” he calls out.

The door opens, and there stands Tim, his hair pulled up into a Trolls doll type of hairstyle. “Look!” he says and tumbles out of the room. He lands on his feet, and then does a cartwheel over to Jason, stopping with his hands raised above his head, a bright smile on his face. “I did it!”

“Wow,” Jason says, impressed, and politely claps for him. “Dick will be proud.”

He helps Tim sit on one of the stools, carefully taking off the hair tie and combing his fingers through those soft strands until it’s all lying sem-flat. Roy trails out at this time, snagging a plate and taking a seat beside Tim.

“You’re such a good housewife,” Roy says, fluttering his lashes. 

“There are knives in the kitchen, you know,” Jason says mildly, dragging the smallest plate over to Tim. “You could stand to lose a finger or two.”

“I already did,” Roy replies, holding up his metal hand and wiggling his fingers.

Jason rolls his eyes because he’s not wrong. He grabs the bottle of ketchup he put out and hands it over to Roy since he knows the other man likes to drench his eggs in the red condiment. Then, he shakes it in front of Tim, curious.

“No, thank you,” Tim says politely. He pokes his eggs and gathers a small pile of them on his fork. Even though he previously said eggs are too mushy for him, Tim still shoves the pile into his mouth, along with a piece of bacon, and it seems like he enjoys it. “I want gween eggs and ham next time.”

“You don’t like ham,” Jason says. Adult Tim never liked deli ham, at least. He always preferred the honey-glazed ham that was typically served during their family dinners in November (because they don’t do Thanksgiving, nope, just a special gathering every week). “And green dye might not taste good on the eggs.”

“Oh,” Tim says, tilting his head. “Okay, Jay. I twust you.”

And doesn’t that warm Jason’s heart?

He has a few bites from his own plate while he cleans up around the kitchen. Jason’s halfway through washing dishes when Roy clears his throat. He glances over at the other man, drying his hands on a small towel as he faces him.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“We should really do something about the assassin in the basement,” Roy says around a mouthful of eggs. There’s a glob of ketchup hanging off his lip, and Jason wonders why he lets the other man near him. “Gotta get some answers, y’know?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Jason orders, ruffling Tim’s hair when he passes by the kid. “You’re going to set a bad example for Tim.”

“Alfie will be mad,” Tim says solemnly. He pierces some eggs with his fork, carefully places a piece of bacon on top of it, and then shoves it all into his mouth at an impressive speed. Hmm. Maybe he should have some juice with that.

“That’s right,” Jason says with a nod. “We never want to upset Alfred.” 

He opens the fridge yet again and grabs the apple juice. Jason pours some into the red tumbler cup, diluting it with some water when Tim’s not looking and hands it over to Tim. The kid flashes him a bright smile before he takes a long drink, a few droplets spilling down his chin. He smacks his lips together after he sets the cup down, looking satisfied.

“Yum,” Tim says and goes back to demolishing his breakfast.

Roy rolls his eyes. “Sorry,” he says. “But that doesn’t make what I’m saying any less true. We have to do something.”

“Like what?”

“How about an interrogation?”

“Sure,” Jason says with a shrug. “In the meantime, let’s focus on finishing our food. I don’t want there to be any distractions that might prevent some people from eating the most important meal of the day.” He glances pointedly at Tim, who’s munching on his crispy bacon, and looks back at Roy.

“Fine, fine,” Roy grumbles. “You’re the boss.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

★★

Jason carries Tim down the steps that lead to the basement because there’s no way in hell he’s going to leave him all alone upstairs.

The kid is carrying an apple in his hands. Apparently, he wants to be nice and feed the assassin that was going to kidnap him and take him back to an insane immortal for whatever reason. Jason humors the boy, mostly because he doesn’t want to spend time crafting a meal for someone he doesn’t care for.

“Alright,” Roy says after Jason sets Tim down on a chair that’s far, far away from the cell. “I’m going to ask the questions.”

“What?” Jason frowns. “Why do you get to do it?”

“Because I’m the one that knocked this sucker out before it could do anything to you or the kid, so that gives me automatic dibs. Don’t you know the rule by now?”

“But it’s going to take forever if you do it,” Jason complains. “I can get us answers in under two minutes, I bet.”

“I’m not taking that one,” Roy replies. “Because I’ve watched you do it before.”

“So, why can’t I do it, then?”

“We don’t want to risk scaring this person into silence with your creepy Bat interrogation skills!” Roy says, turning to walk away from Jason, hands tossed up into the air. “I mean like, yeah, I get it, you were trained by the World’s Greatest Detective or whatever, but sometimes you can be a little too scary, and it shuts them right up.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jason says with a huff. He moves toward Roy and grabs his bicep, tugging until Roy looks at him again. “I can be nice, too.”

“Jaybird,” Roy says, patting his hand. “I love you and all, but that’s even scarier.”

Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice cuts through the conversation with a harsh, “Get away from me!”

Jason whirls around, heart leaping with panic. His eyes flit across the cage, which is empty except for the assassin. Tim is crouched in front of the cell, holding out his apple with a friendly smile on his face.

He places a hand over his chest and takes a few calming breaths before walking over to block Tim from view, peering into the cell. “What’s the matter?” he asks, tone carrying an edge of mockery. It’s his go-to method to annoy his enemies. “Afraid of a little kid?”

“No,” the assassin says, but the wild look in their eyes tells a different story. “I’m merely being cautious.”

“While you’re being cautious,” Roy says brightly, wrapping an arm around Jason’s shoulders. “How about you tell us how you found little Timmy all the way out here, and maybe we’ll consider feeding you something other than an apple.”

“Apple,” Tim repeats, taking a seat on the floor beside Jason’s feet and rolling it between his hands.

The person in the cell places their hands behind their back, eyeing Tim for a moment before turning their attention onto Roy. “I received news that our target left Gotham,” they say. “And I followed. It’s as simple as that.”

“Uh-huh,” Jason says, clicking his tongue. “No trackers or anything?”

“Why do we need trackers when we have eyes all around the world?” The assassin shrugs, eyes falling on Tim again. “Our Master gave us our orders, and we shall do whatever we can to follow them.”

“They’re very forthcoming about all this,” Roy says in his ear. “Kinda suspicious, don’t you think?”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Jason murmurs. He shakes Roy’s arm off his shoulder and opens his mouth to speak, but he’s quickly distracted by Tim standing up and moving closer to the cell, still holding the apple.

“Are you hungy?” he asks curiously. “You can have it if you want!”

Jason expects Tim to receive a scathing comment in response, and he rolls his shoulders, preparing himself to hurt this person if they upset Tim. But, to his surprise, the assassin rears back as if struck, practically tripping over themselves as they scramble backwards.

“You can’t make me eat that!” they cry, pressed up against one corner of the cell. Jason notes that it’s the one farthest from Tim. “I won’t succumb to your poison, Timothy Drake! I know of your treacherous ways!”

“Tim? Treacherous?” Jason snorts, crossing his arms. “You got the wrong guy.”

“But it’s true!” they insist. “This creature blew up our bases with a single press of a button.” Poison green eyes glare at Tim, who tilts his head, a look of confusion on his face. “And I know better than to forget how he both vexes and intrigues my Master. We have all heard about his smarts, his skills. I will not fall for your false kindness, villain, even when you’re wearing the face of your childhood.”

“Okay,” Roy drawls. “This is a little too dramatic for my taste, and I’ve known Dick Grayson for a very long time. I doubt any of that is true.”

“Mmm,” Jason responds, watching as Tim rolls the apple closer. Somehow, this makes the League-trained assassin panic even more, practically climbing up the wall. They keep spitting out vitriol, some of which Jason barely understands due to their fast-paced speaking. At some point, it must be too much because Jason watches, dumbstruck, as the assassin slumps to the ground, unconscious.

“Huh,” Jason says and glances over at Tim, impressed. “Good job, pumpkin.”

“That was pretty cool,” Roy admits. “Hey, we should invite Tim on an Outlaws’ mission and make him do that! We might make it out without injuries if we just had Tim up front and center to deal with the bad guys.”

“No,” Jason says flatly. “Dick will kill me, then you, and then himself if something happens to Tim.” He walks over to his little brother and scoops up the now slightly bruised apple, polishing it on his jacket before bringing it up to his mouth.

“No!” Tim shouts before he can take a bite. “Don’t eat it, Jay! No!”

“What?” Jason looks at him quizzically, pulling the apple away from his face. “Why?” he asks. 

“I…” Tim toys with the hem of his shirt, looking away.

Jason crouches down in front of the kid, grabbing one of his hands. He waits for Tim to look at him again, not quite meeting his eyes, before he asks, “What’s wrong with it?” When Tim says nothing, he gently adds, “I’m not going to be mad, pumpkin. You can tell me.”

“I put waxatives in the apple,” Tim finally whispers.

“What,” Jason says flatly. He passes the apple off to Roy, who tosses it into a trash can in the corner of the room. “How did you even manage to do that, Timmy? Actually, here’s a better question. Where did you even get them?”

“I found them,” Tim says sadly. “In Woy’s backpack.”

Jason looks at Roy, eyes narrowed.

Roy sighs. “I get constipated by the seaside,” he says, looking glum. “How was I supposed to know that Tim would get into my bag and use them to try and… poison our guest?”

“You didn’t need to explain that first part,” Jason replies, grimacing. “Seriously.”

“I’m sowee,” Tim says again in a trembling voice.

“It’s okay,” Jason hurries to reassure, reaching out to pull Tim into a hug. “I’m not mad at you, pumpkin, I promise. I’m just worried.” He leans back and tips Tim’s chin up, thumbing away the lone tear that slips down his cheek. “You shouldn’t be handling stuff like that,” he chides gently. “And you definitely shouldn’t be talking to strangers, especially assassins.”

Tim nods and then shifts closer, nestling against Jason’s chest.

And Jason holds him for a little while, brushing his fingers through Tim’s hair. He hears Roy retreat upstairs, an act of kindness that allows Jason the chance to have this moment with Tim.

The kid’s not crying, Jason knows that much, so it seems like he’s simply seeking some comfort. He makes himself comfortable by sitting on the floor and pulling Tim down onto his lap, resting his chin on top of Tim’s head while he strokes his back. Jason doesn’t know how much time passes where they stay like this but eventually, Tim pulls away, gazing at him with something akin to hope.

“Jay,” he says. “We go to the beach now?”

“Sure, pumpkin,” Jason says, ruffling his hair. “We can go to the beach.” He eyes the unconscious assassin and discerns that they won’t be waking up anytime soon before scooping Tim up into his arms. “I need to put sunscreen on you first.”

Tim sighs, long and loud. “Okay,” he grumbles as Jason makes his way up the steps. “Can I take my toys with me?”

“You can take whatever you want, Timmy. Just remember that they’ll be harder to clean if you get sand in them.”

“I don’t wike sand,” Tim says, kicking his feet. There’s a hint of amusement to his words. “It’s, um, coarse and wough and iwwitating, and it gets evely—evewywhere! ”

“Of course, you’re a Star Wars fan,” Jason grumbles. “I should have known.”

“I’m a Jedi,” Tim promptly tells him. “Wike my Father before me.”

“Is this your way of telling me that you want a lightsaber?” Jason wonders aloud as he steps into the house yet again. He shuts the door behind him, making sure it’s locked, and sets Tim down on the floor, leading him to the bedroom. “Is that what you want, Timmy?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Well, that’s something to ask Bruce,” Jason says. He grabs Tim’s other swimsuit (the one with dinosaurs) and directs him to the bathroom to change into it. “But I think we have a toy sword somewhere around here from Lian, so that’ll have to do for now.”

He makes sure to slather Tim in sunscreen before sending him out to the living room, where he knows Roy is waiting. He waits to hear the sound of them heading outside before changing.

Jason pulls on his swim trunks and promptly finds all the shells he left in his pockets when one stabs him in the thigh. He’s about to go out and toss them back into the sand when he remembers the little story Tim gave him about his mother, so he ends up rinsing the shells off in the sink in the kitchen before placing them on a few pieces of paper towels to dry. He’ll probably have to give them a proper cleaning when they’re back in Gotham, but this will do for now.

He answers a few texts from Dick (who wants updates on Tim and some pictures) and Damian (who issues vague threats to Jason and demands a photo of Tim) before heading outside, where Tim is chasing Roy around with a toy sword.

Jason leans against the rail while he watches them, cheering for Tim whenever he lands a hit on Roy. This always makes Tim look over at him with a bright smile, waving at Jason until Jason waves back, and then he goes back to attacking Roy.

“I got you!” Tim cries at some point, poking Roy in the abdomen with his sword. It bends because it’s just foam, but that doesn’t seem to deter Tim from his repeated stabbing motions. “Wight in the spween!”

“Ow!” Roy exclaims, collapsing to the sand. He clutches his side, and although there’s a look of confusion on his face, that doesn’t stop him from saying, “Curse you, Captain Timmy! You got me right in the spleen! My one true weakness!”

“His spleen?” Jason repeats, bemused. “How’d you know it was there, pumpkin?”

“Um,” Tim says, now wacking Roy’s body with the sword. Jason doesn’t stop him because it’s pretty funny to see Roy struggling to block every hit. “Because mine is gone!” He pauses to look over at Jason with another one of those bright smiles. “That’s where it used to be!”

Jason feels himself freeze. “You what?” he says, voice tense. “Pumpkin, are you telling me you don’t have a spleen?”

“I think the more important question is when he lost his spleen,” Roy says from where he’s still lying on the sand. He sits up, staring at Jason with wide eyes. “Because if he lost it as an adult, he’s probably fine. If Tim doesn’t have it right now, then he’s seriously at risk out here.”

“Don’t tell me that,” Jason says. He paces on the porch for a bit, running a hand through his hair. Oh, god. What if he hasn’t had a spleen this whole time? What if he gets sick after their beach trip? Jason tries to defuse his sudden spike of anxiety, but it clings to his throat like acid, making it hard to get a word out.

Jason ends up jumping down the steps to snatch Tim up, holding the little boy close. “Timmy,” he says roughly, rubbing a hand down Tim’s back to assure himself that his brother is real. “Pumpkin, can you—do you not have a spleen right now?”

“Um…” Tim frowns. The sword falls from his hand, bouncing against Jason’s shin, but he doesn’t care about that, eyes fixed on Tim’s face while he thinks. “I have it…”

“Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh!”

“When—” Jason pauses before turning and walking back to the porch. He sets Tim down on one of the seats and crouches down in front of it, keeping a hand on Tim’s knee. “When did you lose it?” he asks, making sure to keep his voice soft so Tim doesn’t hear the threads of apprehension in it.

“When Daddy was gone,” Tim answers.

“Gone?”

“Uh…” Roy is peeking through the rails, brushing the sand off his body. “Wasn’t that when everyone thought he was, um—” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper when he says, “Dead?”

Jason glances at him, lips pursed, and then looks back at Tim. 

Tim’s brows are furrowed again, his eyes a bit distant. “I found the bat,” he says. “Um, a dwawing. On the wall. I knew, Jay… I knew he wasn’t gone.” One hand comes up to hold the side of his head as he frowns. “A spider? Hurt me? And then I was cold. I heard him in my ear, saying my name, but…” Tim’s other hand covers a spot beneath his ribs. “Cave. Again, but diffewent. They… saved me.”

“Who saved you, Tim?” Jason asks, voice wavering slightly. His eyes burn, and Jason bites the inside of his cheek, letting the taste of copper coat his tongue, letting the pain distract him from wanting to cry over this sweet boy remembering a near-death experience. “How did they save you?”

“My spween,” Tim murmurs. “They took it and stitched me.” He winces, now holding his head with both hands. “Gween.”

Every part of Jason’s body freezes. He’s suddenly very aware of his ragged breathing. Everything else gets drowned out by the sound of his heartbeat, fast-paced and loud. The emotion that rises within him is a mixture of rage and fear, tinged with a very old and familiar green.

“Tim,” he says, swallowing back bile. Jason can easily picture the cave, dark and oppressive, and his skin tingles with the echo of burning as he recalls the bubbling waters that remade him. “Pumpkin. Did they put you in there?”

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and the hard squeeze of it is enough to center him some more. Jason shudders, curling his fingers inwards so that his nails dig into the palms of his hands, and he stares at Tim, his little brother, awaiting (dreading) his answer.

Tim’s hands slowly fall away from his head as he looks back at Jason. His eyes seem a bit sharper now, more present, and there’s a semi-confused expression on his face. After a while, where Jason’s concern is edging towards a deranged sort of panic, a smile stretches across Tim’s face. “No, Jay!” he answers, shaking his head. “No gween Kool-Aid for me!”

“Okay,” Jason says faintly. He takes a few calming breaths and then leans forward, wrapping his arms around Tim. “Okay, pumpkin. Thanks for telling me.”

“Can I play some more with Woy?”

“Yeah. You can play for as long as you want.”

Tim squirms out of his hold and slides off the chair, but not before Jason plants a kiss on the top of his head. He watches as Tim hops down the stairs and then looks at Roy, who’s gazing at him with concern.

“You okay?” he asks.

Jason waves a hand, standing up. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “I just… need a minute to myself.”

“Okay,” Roy replies. “If you’re sure.” He places a hand on Jason’s shoulder again, and the grounding touch prevents him from floating off into nothingness. “Can you go inside and grab a couple bottles of water for us? I have a feeling that little Timmy might need some after all of that running around.”

“Sure,” Jason says, relaxing a little. A task. A small task. He can do that while his mind is still somewhat hazy. “Yeah. Okay.”

Roy squeezes his shoulder before heading down the steps, and Jason watches as he takes off into a run around the sand when Tim jumps out at him, wielding his foam sword. He lingers in that very spot for another moment before heading into the house. 

Jason steps into the kitchen. Instead of grabbing those waters, he curls his hands around the counter by the sink and leans forward, head bowed. There’s a large part of him, touched by the green, that wants to go out there and break a bunch of shit, maybe work his way back to Ra's al Ghul’s beloved Lazarus Pit and destroy it until there’s nothing but rubble.

The rest of him wants to scoop Tim up and hide him away forever, maybe yell at the rest of the ‘family’ for allowing this to happen. Oh, god. Do they even know about Tim losing his spleen? Or is this another thing they’ve been hiding from Jason, the black sheep of the family?

Something buzzes, tearing him out of his thoughts.

He looks around to find the source and realizes it’s his phone. Jason slowly picks it up, confused when he sees that it’s a request for a video call from Dick. He mulls it over and then decides to answer, figuring he could use the distraction right now.

“Oh,” Dick says after his face appears on Jason’s screen, wrinkling his nose. “It’s you.”

Jason frowns. “You called my phone,” he points out. “Why wouldn’t it be me on the other end?”

“I was hoping Tim would have stolen it by now,” Dick says with a forlorn sigh. “And sneak off to call me so we could talk about how mean you are since you haven’t sent me any more photos of my precious baby boy. I’ve almost forgotten what he looks like, Jay…”

“Do you hear yourself sometimes?” Jason asks, rolling his eyes over the dramatics. “Or is it just a strange buzzing sound whenever you spew a bunch of nonsense? I mean, I hear that when I’m ignoring you, but I’m asking out of concern for your health and sanity.”

“I think you should get that checked out. It sounds like you’ve had too many concussions.”

“I’m not you, Dickface.” Jason glances out the door to look at where Tim is running around the sand, still chasing Roy with his toy sword. “Alright, how about I pass the phone over to Tim? You two can talk to your heart’s content, and I get to stop looking at your ugly face.”

“Please and thank you!” Dick says cheerfully. “Also, I’m not going to forget that comment, and you’re going to rue the day you called me ugly!”

“Okay, ugly,” Jason replies, hiding his smirk when Dick practically squawks indignantly. He sets the phone down on the island, propping it up against a small box. “Just gimme a second, and then I’ll give you to Timmy.”

He moves over to the fridge to grab a water bottle, swiftly twisting off the top and drinking about half of it. The cold water soothes some of his lingering nerves, the rest of the shakiness dropping away. Jason can feel the weight of Dick’s piercing stare on him the entire time, even through the screen.

“Is everything alright?” Dick asks after a while. “You look a little… spooked.”

“Everything’s fine,” Jason answers, drinking more water. A few droplets spill down his chin and land on his tank. He considers telling Dick what he just learned, but he thinks that Dick might not appreciate this knowledge over the phone, and Jason’s not fond of the idea of having a front-row seat to his brother’s heart attack. “Just wondering if Tim’s a budding crime lord.”

“Huh?”

Jason holds up a finger and scrolls through his phone, finding the photo of Tim with Jason’s domino mask on (how he found it, Jason still doesn’t know, and he’s not going to ask) from yesterday. He opens up his text thread with Dick and sends it off, going back to the call so he can watch Dick’s reaction.

First, Dick goes all soft and gooey, which is to be expected. “Aww,” he says with a big smile. Then, his brows furrow, and he squints, leaning in closer. “Are those—” Dick stops, frowns, squints hard, and gasps. “Why are there Barbie heads on the floor?!”

“Caught him pretending to be me,” Jason answers with a snort. He pauses, and then asks curiously, “Hey, did you show him the video of my return to Gotham?”

“No? Why do you ask?”

“He has the whole speech memorized.”

“There’s no way he could have seen it,” Dick replies. “It’s locked behind a few passwords and tucked away in a secret file… Unless he snuck into my room when I was watching it and making fun of you.”

“Huh,” Jason says, vowing to get back at Dick after this beach trip. “Okay, well, maybe you changed his psyche a little because I don’t think tearing the heads off Barbie dolls is normal.” He grabs two water bottles and a bag of snacks as he leaves the kitchen. “If he decides to become a crime lord when he grows up again, then that’s on you.”

Jason is treated to the absolutely hilarious sight of Dick looking visibly distressed before he lifts his head to call Tim over. Tim drops his sword on the sand and runs back to the house, climbing up the steps and coming to a stop in front of Jason.

“Hi, Jay,” he says happily.

“Hey again, pumpkin,” Jason says. He sets a water bottle down on top of the rail and twists the cap off the other, holding it out to Tim. “How about you sit in the chair and drink some of this? And if you drink enough, I’ll let you talk to Dick!”

Tim gasps and climbs up into one of the chairs, wiggling around as Jason passes over the water bottle. The kid tips his head back while he drinks, and Jason unpacks a bag of Goldfish Pretzels, setting them down next to Tim while he waits for Tim to finish.

“Okay,” Tim says, water dripping down his chin. “I’m weady!”

Jason passes over the phone, pointing to the bag of pretzels while he’s at it. Tim shoves his hand into it as he stares at the screen, a smile on his face.

“Hi, Dickie!” Tim says excitedly, kicking his feet. He grabs a handful of Goldfish Pretzels with his free hand and shoves them into his mouth, a few pieces falling down his front. “I’m at the beach!”

“I can see that,” Dick says. “Are you having fun?”

Roy comes up the steps while Tim and Dick fall into a conversation about Tim’s adventures, grabbing the other water bottle and draining half of it in one go. “Thank god,” he says, wiping his face. “That kid has too much energy, and this is coming from someone who also has a kid who runs at the same level.”

“I think Dick will keep him calm for a while,” Jason says, gesturing to Tim, who is currently nodding over whatever Dick is saying. “So, you can take a break out here and sit with him while I go inside and have a nap.”

“What!” Roy scowls, crossing his arms. “Why do you get to have a nap?”

“Because I’m still about sixty percent on the path of losing my shit,” Jason tells him. He claps a hand onto Roy’s shoulder and smiles. “Thanks, buddy.”

“Buddy,” Roy repeats, sounding disgusted. “We share a bed in a sexy way, and you call me buddy? I’m insulted.” He pushes Jason towards the house, and Jason laughs. “Get away from me, you harlot.”

“So dramatic,” Jason mutters, biting back a grin when Roy shoves him again. “Alright, alright! Just make sure he doesn’t run off with my phone, okay? If you need anything, just yell for me and I’ll wake up.”

“Whatever,” Roy says sullenly. “Go and have your nap, buddy. Leave me out here to rot.”

Laughing again, Jason leaves the porch after ruffling Tim’s hair. He goes back into the house and collapses on the couch. His body instantly starts to feel heavy, exhaustion seeping into his bones thanks to his little episode from earlier. Jason shuts his eyes and finds that it’s not at all difficult to drift off to sleep.

★★

Jason wakes up after falling off the couch.

He lies on the floor for a moment, sleep-muddled mind still thinking it’s a dream. Eventually, Jason realizes that this is real, and he pushes himself up with a groan, rubbing over the spot in his lower back that aches.

“No more naps on the couch for me,” he mutters as he walks into the bathroom. Jason brushes his teeth again because his mouth genuinely tastes like death and splashes water on his face. Then, he goes back outside, where he can still hear Dick’s voice coming from his phone.

“They’re still talking?” Jason mutters, coming over to Roy and leaning against the rail.

“Yup,” Roy says, shifting closer. Their hands brush and Jason pretends his heart doesn’t skip a beat over the brief contact, watching as a lazy smile stretches across Roy’s face. “Did you have a good nap?”

“Obviously,” Jason answers, leaning over to steal a kiss just to wipe that look off Roy’s face. He gets dragged into a much deeper one that makes his toes curl and pushes Roy off of him when a hand wanders down his side. “How long was I out for?” he asks.

“A little over two hours,” Roy says with a shrug. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Oh, so you’re not mad about me leaving you out here?”

“Nah. I got over it when Timmy offered some pretzels.”

Jason looks over at Tim, paying attention to his conversation. It sounds like he’s explaining every second of his day (minus the assassin stuff, he hopes). Dick responds with an appropriate amount of awed sounds. When Tim’s story starts to lose traction, he goes over, picks Tim up, and plops down in his seat, letting a giggly Tim sit on his lap.

“Hey again, Dickiebird,” Jason says after he takes the phone from Tim, holding it up so the other man can see them both.

“Aw,” Dick says with a bright smile. “There you are, baby!”

“Didn’t you just spend two hours talking to him?” Jason asks while Tim waves at the camera.

“He wouldn’t hold the camera up correctly,” Dick says. “And Roy wouldn’t help him. Speaking of Roy.” He leans forward, face set in a way that warns Jason of an oncoming interrogation. “Why is he there? When did he arrive? How come Tim said you two are going to get married? Huh?”

Jason closes his eyes and sighs. “I don’t know where he got that idea,” he mutters. “But it’s not true, I promise.”

“He said that he saw you two kissing,” Dick says coolly.

“Well…” Jason can’t exactly deny that. “That still doesn’t mean there’s marriage in the future.” Roy takes a seat on the arm of the chair, and Jason makes sure not to tilt the phone in his direction. Something blurs in the background behind Dick, and it gives Jason an idea. “You know,” he says casually, fighting a smirk. “While we’re on the subject of marriage, what’s up with you and Wally?”

Dick stares at him for a very long moment. “How about we table this conversation for another day, huh?” he says with false cheer. “And I’ll tell Wally you say hi.”

“Wait,” Roy suddenly cuts in. “They’re dating?!” He grunts when Roy pushes his face into the camera’s view, pressed against Jason’s side. “How did I not know about this?”

Dick looks unamused. “I texted you a photo of me kissing Wally,” he says flatly. “Also, why are you sitting so close to my little brother?”

“Because we’re talking to you right now?” Jason rolls his eyes. “Calm down, jeez. If you keep acting up, I’m going to hang up without letting you say goodbye to Tim.”

Jason makes sure the camera faces Tim while Dick sputters through a few protests, and he tunes out their conversation. Roy drifts into the house, signaling to him that he’s going to make food, to which Jason nods, content to sit with Tim and let Roy handle lunch. It’s fresh out, and the ocean waves sound nice. A part of him wishes they could all stay out here forever.

Eventually, Dick has to leave for a date with Wally, who pokes his head in to remind him (and he also kisses Dick on the cheek, which leaves him red-faced for the remainder of the call).

“I’ll see you soon,” Dick says after a while, a soft smile on his face. “You keep being good for them, okay?”

“Okay!” Tim beams, leaning back against Jason’s chest. “See you!”

Dick waves his hand, and then the call ends. Tim releases one of those big baby sighs before wiggling around. He turns to look at Jason, a pout on his face. “I want food,” he says. “Pwease.”

“Roy’s making something right now,” Jason says, standing with Tim in his arms. “How about we go inside and wait for lunch? I think you need a bit of rest after all that talking.”

“Can I pway with my puzzles?”

“Yes, pumpkin. That’s fine. I’ll put something on TV for us, too.”

Tim decides to sit on the floor, still in his swimsuit, while he plays with some of his puzzle toys. Jason lies on the couch again and flips through a few channels, stomach growling whenever he pays attention to the smell coming from the kitchen. He stops on a cold case channel after Tim makes a noise of interest.

He puts an arm behind his head while he watches the show. Jason already solved it in his head, and judging by the furrow in Tim’s brow, so has the kid. Honestly, it’s probably a case that Tim worked on while he was with Bruce—something the older man used to do with Jason, too, to help hone his detective skills.

Bruce likes it, though. It’s a way to pass time and relax, and Jason knows that Tim feels the same way.

His attention wavers when Tim hums. The kid pushes himself up and starts making his way over to Jason, and Jason holds out an arm. “What’s up, pumpkin?” he asks when Tim meets his embrace and leans against him.

Tim hums again, and Jason stays very still when Tim suddenly starts petting his face with his tiny hand. “You’re my baby now,” he says sweetly and then combs his fingers through Jason’s hair, whispering with a strange reverence, “Skunk…”

Jason says nothing, too dumbfounded to speak even as Tim returns to his previous spot. He reaches up to touch his hair, where the white streak sticks up thanks to Tim’s ministrations, and wonders what the hell just happened.

“Dinner’s ready!” Roy calls from the kitchen. “Come on, Timmy! Come on, Skunkhead!”

“What!” Jason exclaims, glaring at Roy. He receives a shit-eating grin in response. Bastard.

They quickly get through their meal (bacon-wrapped hot dogs with some chips on the side), and then Jason has to chase after the kid when he eagerly makes his way back outside. Instead of running around, Tim chooses to sit down on the sand to build a sand castle, gazing up at Jason with pleading eyes when it doesn’t work.

And so, after bringing a small bucket of water from the ocean, Jason sits on the sand across from his little brother to help build the best sand castle to ever exist. Roy gets involved as well, and soon, they’ve got a structure that comes up to Jason’s chest, complete with a moat and drawbridge. 

Tim looks so happy with it. “I wuv it!” he exclaims, gazing at it with an awed look. “I want a castle!”

“Ask Bruce,” Jason tells him. “Maybe he’ll get you one for Christmas. And then you have to promise to invite me over, okay?”

“Okay!”

They play in the water for a while, though it’s more for Jason and Roy, who keep trying to push each other into the waves while Tim cautiously lets the water lap at his ankles, anxiously searching for any seaweed. He does let Jason pick him up and hold him in the water again but soon grows tired of it and goes back to running around with Roy.

After a while, they sit on the porch and have a snack together while they watch the sunset. Tim is already in his pajamas, holding Batwalker as he eats cubes of watermelon. He seems content in a way that Jason rarely sees in his older counterpart, and he’s proud to say that he helped with this feeling that Tim’s exuding.

Purple bleeds into the orange and pink sky, creating a beautiful gradient. Jason watches as the stars start appearing, one by one, and his eyes find a rather bright one off in the distance. He squints at it, curious, only to realize that it seems to be getting… bigger? Closer?

“Oh!” Roy says from the other side of Tim. “Finally!”

“What did you do?” Jason asks with a sigh.

“You’ll see.”

Soon, Jason catches sight of a familiar figure in the sky, and there’s a smile stretched across his face by the time she lands with a grace that Jason often envies. “Hey, Kori,” Jason says with a wave, making his way down the steps.

Koriand’r, Jason’s other best friend, stands in front of him, gazing at him with a bright smile. “Jason!” she says happily. “It is so good to see you!” And then she promptly kisses him on the lips. Since he’s too used to this type of greeting from her, Jason simply allows it to happen, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face when she hugs him tightly right after.

“It’s good to see you, too,” he replies.

He returns to Tim’s side so Roy can receive the same treatment. The kid is watching the scene curiously, watermelon juices smeared across his cheeks, chin, and hands.

“You’re a messy kid,” he comments, wiping everything off with a napkin. Tim struggles against the wet wipe and then pouts once Jason finishes. “Oh, come on, don’t give me that look, pumpkin. I can’t let you meet our guest all sticky and dirty.”

“Yes, you can,” Tim grumbles. He clams up a second later, eyes wide as he gazes at something past Jason.

Jason turns to see Kori standing there, a curious look on her face as she stares at Tim, while Roy plops down in one of the empty chairs. “You did not tell me that you were with child!” she says suddenly, clapping her hands together. “I wish you did, Jason! We would have celebrated with one of those baby showers!”

“What?” Jason says incredulously and then shakes his head. “No! He’s not mine!” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t have children, Kori. Didn’t I tell you this? I thought I did.” Then again, it was quite some time ago that he dumped this information on his friend. “I got all that removed the second I could.”

“Oh, right!” Kori pauses. “Have you stolen a child, Jason?”

“No! I’m just babysitting for Dick and Bruce.” Jason moves to sit down on the other chair, dropping a hand onto Tim’s head and patting it. “This is Tim,” he says. “Tim Drake. You remember him, don’t you?”

“Tim?” Kori crouches down in front of him, cocking her head to the side. 

The boy lifts his head, gazing at her with an unreadable look. Jason watches as they stare at each other, unwavering, in an almost uncomfortable silence. At least the sound of the crashing waves cuts through it, making Jason feel less like he’s about to burst out of his skin while he waits for one of them to speak.

Then, Tim smiles. It’s small, barely seen, and it’s quickly hidden behind Batwalker the Dinosaur. “Hi, Kowi,” he says, sounding shy.

“Ah, yes!” Kori says. “Of course I remember Tim!” She glances over at Jason, a bright smile on her face. “How did this happen? Why is he so much smaller now?”

“Magic,” Jason says with a shrug.

“I see,” Kori murmurs. Slowly, she reaches out and brushes her fingers over Tim’s cheek, tracing a line over to his tiny nose. He giggles, the sound filling up the space in Jason’s heart, and a smile spreads across Kori’s face. “Strange,” she says thoughtfully. “He looks so much like your father when he smiles.”

“B? Smiling?” Jason snorts. “You got the wrong guy.”

“He does it when none of you are looking,” Kori replies. “But I used to catch him, sometimes, when I was spending time with Dick. Never wanting to be seen.” She shakes her head, her hair curling around her face. “He is much more open about it now, or so I have heard.” Her smile makes a reappearance as she gazes at Tim, and Jason thinks he detects a hint of longing in her face. “The similarities are there.”

“He’s adopted,” Jason points out. “I doubt there’s anything there, Kori.”

“Sometimes, people assume traits from those around them,” she says, rising. Kori places a hand on her hip as she cocks it to the side, gazing down at him with a slight tilt of her head. “You have a similar one as well.”

“No, I don’t,” he says with a scoff. “That’s crazy talk right there.”

“You do,” she insists. “And you do as your father did—smile at us when you think we’re not looking.”

Jason doesn’t have to look over at Roy to know that he agrees with this absurd statement. He wraps his arms around himself and looks away, feeling a bit… exposed for some strange reason.

The following silence stretches on for a long moment, and it’s only broken by a clatter of a cup. Jason looks back to see Tim making his way over, Batwalker in his arms, and he doesn’t do a thing to stop the kid when he climbs up onto Jason’s lap, resting his head on Jason’s shoulder.

“Jay is nice,” he says. “I wuv Jay.”

“Yeah, well…” Jason exhales shakily, eyes flicking from Roy and Kori, then back to Tim. “Jay loves you too.”

★★

Kori stays for the remainder of the trip, running around with the three of them, marveling at the beauty of the ocean and the shells that Tim sometimes picks up.

Tim is absolutely enamored with her, though he seems rather shy whenever she shows him any attention. Jason’s favorite moment is when she picks him up and carries him over to the fire pit later that night, where she sits down on a lawn chair and quietly tells Tim a story from her home. He watches her with wide eyes and eventually grows comfortable enough to play with her hair, twirling it between his fingers while he rests his head on her shoulder.

After a while, Jason breaks out the ingredients for s’mores and makes one where the marshmallow is toasted to perfection, handing it over to Kori so she can try it for the first time. She bites into it cautiously, licking her lips, and then pushes the rest of it into her mouth.

“This is delicious!” she exclaims with a smile. “I could eat this all day!”

“Me too!” Tim chirps, cheeks covered in marshmallow fluff because Roy decided to give him a couple. “Me next, Jay! Me next!”

Jason is delegated to making s’mores for the rest of the night, barely managing to grab three for himself. Kori keeps Tim entertained throughout it all, and at some point, the shyness goes away, leaving behind the chatterbox that Jason knows so well. 

Kori seems enraptured by everything Tim’s saying, occasionally smiling or giggling at something, causing Tim to smile brightly. She keeps him in her lap even when his dialogue tapers off, leaving behind a slumbering kid in her arms.

“I can take him from you,” Jason offers after he puts out the fire, the embers still crackling on the wood. Roy is already taking everything into the house, also setting up the air mattress so Kori can have a space to sleep.

“No, it is fine,” Kori says. She starts combing her fingers through Tim’s hair, a soft smile on her face. “Tim is very sweet. He never showed this side of him when I knew him. Maybe around Dick and his friends, but not the rest of us.”

“Yeah,” Jason says after a while, recalling all of his interactions with the kid. “I guess you’ve got a point.”

She continues to stroke Tim’s hair. “Roy told me about your troubles regarding Tim’s situation,” she says. “If you ever need any help, do not forget to reach out to me. I know you boys often try to do things on your own, but we are still a team, Jason. I will always be there for you, even when we are apart.”

Her words make Jason feel a rush of warmth, and he can’t quite stop the fond smile that spreads across his face. “Thanks, Kori,” he says. “And it’s the same for you, too. If you ever need me, I’ll be there.”

Kori’s eyes crinkle at the corners when she smiles back at him. “You are sweet as well,” she says, reaching out to brush her fingers down his cheek. “Even when you attempt to hide it behind a gruff exterior.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason grumbles, though he does lean into her touch for a brief moment.

He helps Kori deposit a slumbering Tim onto the bed once they’re inside. The kid mumbles something about butterflies, squeezing his dinosaur, and Jason makes sure to tuck him in.

He changes into his pajamas and brushes his teeth, passing the extra toothbrushes off to Roy and Kori while he’s at it. The air mattress gets pushed through the doorway after a while, and then Roy flops down on top of it, patting the empty space beside him and waggling his eyebrows at Jason.

“No,” Jason replies, slipping beneath the covers beside Tim. “You can share with Kori for the night.”

“Aw, come on!”

“Nope!”

“It’s okay, Roy,” Kori says, sprawling onto that empty space beside him. “I will make sure that you stay warm.”

“Thanks, Kori,” Roy says with a loud sigh. “At least someone appreciates my company.”

Jason turns off the lamp in response.

He curls around Tim and shuts his eyes, tuning out the hushed conversation coming from the two down below. After a while, the bed rocks, and Jason sighs, rolling over to drop his hand off the side. 

Roy’s calloused fingers slide against his palm, over and over again. This gentle motion actually helps Jason relax, and he finds himself marveling over how Roy can easily soothe him, how sometimes they get so lost in each other that it feels like Jason has always had Roy at his side through all the good and bad in his life.

It’s the same with Kori, too, though it’s more on a friendlier level than what he has with Roy. She holds them all together even when they’re so desperate to be apart, and she’s the reason why they no longer have boundaries with one another.

And even though Jason sometimes finds his team aggravating, it’s moments like this where he comes to appreciate them. During their adventures together, Kori and Roy managed to worm their way into his heart, making a space for themselves in a place that was once barren and cold, locked up so he wouldn’t be hurt again.

Roy taps a message against his palm in morse code. 

I LOVE YOU.

An involuntary smile tugs at his lips. Jason squeezes Roy’s hand and taps out a response after a moment’s hesitation, releasing his hand and turning over to curl around Tim again, protecting him from the outside world and trusting his friends to do the same.

LOVE YOU BACK.

★★

The drive back to Gotham is relatively quiet.

They cleaned and packed after watching the sunrise while Tim was still sleeping in bed. Jason managed to get some food into the kid before they took off, leaving the sunshine behind.

Tim fell back asleep the moment Jason got onto the highway, both arms wrapped around Batwalker. Roy, sitting beside him, quickly followed, and even Kori started dozing in the passenger seat, giving Jason a rare moment of peace.

He grabs snacks for everyone when he stops for gas and a cup of coffee for himself, which Roy steals the moment Jason looks away. At least the other man helps Tim eat his chocolate chip muffins, and he manages to not spill a single crumb.

“Practice,” Roy says when Jason glances at him with an arched brow. “Lian was messier.”

When Bludhaven’s skyline comes into view, Tim starts kicking his feet, clearly excited about returning to Dick. He’s the one who points out Dick’s apartment, and by the time Jason parks on the street, the kid is already unbuckled and reaching for the door handle.

“Whoa!” Jason’s suddenly glad he activated the child lock earlier. “Pumpkin! You gotta be patient!”

“I got him,” Roy says. He grabs Tim and holds the kid on his lap, even when Tim starts squirming and elbowing his gut. 

Jason grabs his phone and opens his message thread with Dick. The other man hasn’t said much since the picture Jason sent this morning (a half-asleep Tim slumped over the table, Batwalker on his lap and french toast in his mouth).

ANNOYING

Saint Jason: beep beep your package has been delivered

Dickiebird: ALREADY?
Dickiebird: OKAY COME UP
Dickiebird: HURRY
Dickiebird: THE DOOR WILL BE UNLOCKED

Saint Jason: wow. i love getting safety tips from Bludhaven’s resident protector.

Dickiebird: SAVE THE JOKES. BRING HIM UP!!!

“Alright, let’s go deliver Timmy before Dick has an aneurysm,” Jason mutters as he gets out of the car. He opens the back door and catches Tim when he tries to hop out, hoisting him over his shoulder while Batwalker dangles from Tim’s hands.

Roy grabs all of the bags, and Kori holds the door open for them all. They use the elevator that groans ominously when they all enter, and soon, they’re walking out onto Dick’s floor. Jason can see Dick standing in the hallway, so he sets Tim down on the floor and watches as the boy runs straight toward Dick, even dropping his beloved dinosaur along the way.

“Dickie!” Tim cries with joy, practically jumping into Dick’s arms.

“My baby!” Dick exclaims, picking Tim up and spinning him around. “My baby’s finally home! I missed you so much, Timmy!”

Jason has to watch as Dick peppers kisses all over Tim’s face, all while Tim squirms and laughs, eventually kissing Dick’s cheeks with the same amount of excitement. He scoops up Batwalker as he edges closer, leaning against the wall to observe them.

It’s here that Jason notices how happy Dick looks to have Tim close, so much more at ease. There’s always a perpetual weight on Dick’s shoulder, paired with an almost desperate need to make sure everyone is okay, sacrificing his own health and happiness just to keep the peace.

He sees none of that right now. All he’s looking at is the easy affection between the two, and the joy radiating off them is almost enough to make Jason smile.

“I missed you too, Dickie!” Tim says, clinging to him.

“Oh, yeah?” Dick grins, deftly placing Tim onto his shoulders. The kid wobbles for a second, smiling so brightly, but then he stills, holding onto Dick’s hair. “How much, baby?”

“So much!” Tim replies. He bends over Dick’s head, now inches away from Dick’s face. “Hi, Dickie,” he says with a cute little giggle, and Jason can’t stop the smile from spreading across his face as he watches Tim kiss the tip of Dick’s nose, paired with a loud mwah sound. “I wuv you.”

Dick shuts his eyes, and his face softens. “I love you too, sweetheart,” he says. His hands come up to Tim’s side, and he abruptly flips the kid off him. Tim laughs loudly and runs circles around Dick while the older man places his hands on his hips to gaze at Jason. “Thanks for bringing him back in one piece.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason mutters, waving a hand. “You gonna let us in, or…?”

“Oh, right!” Dick plucks Tim off the ground and smiles, gesturing to his open door. “Come on in, everyone! Wally brought some fresh bagels, so if you’re hungry, feel free to grab a piece.” He pauses and adds, “If there are any left, I mean. You know how speedsters can get when there’s food around…”

“Bart eats my snacks,” Tim says, wrapping his arms around Dick’s neck. “So I bwing more snacks for him!”

“Yeah,” Dick says fondly. “I did the same.”

Once inside, Dick sets Tim down, and Tim is off, presumably exploring the apartment. Wally approaches him, shoving a piece of bread into his mouth before dusting his hand off, holding one out.

“Hi, there!” Wally says brightly. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Wally!”

Jason eyes the shock of red hair atop his head and shakes his hand. “I remember you,” he replies. “Dick never shuts up about his best friend when he decides it’s time for us to be brothers in public.”

He drops Wally’s hand, passively watching as Wally throws himself at Roy, the two of them embracing each other tightly. Roy follows this up with a punch to Wally’s shoulder, and then they fall into a slap fight, not unlike the one Jason and Dick participated in after the picnic the other day.

Kori ruffles Wally’s hair as she passes him, and then she’s standing in front of Dick with a smile on her face. “Hello, babygirl!” she says excitedly, wrapping her arms around Dick and lifting him off the ground. Jason can hear Dick’s loud laughter as she spins him, both of them gazing at each other with such strong affection that it’s almost uncomfortable to look at.

“What’s up with that?” Jason asks, glancing at Wally, who finally pulls away from Roy, though he does sling an arm across Roy’s shoulders.

Wally shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says. “And I never ask. That’s something between them, so there’s no point in me getting in the middle of it.”

Tim returns from his exploration by the time Kori sets Dick down. The kid makes a beeline towards Dick and wraps his arms and legs around one of Dick’s legs, gazing up at the man with a smile. He’s wearing Dick’s blue domino mask, and it’s lopsided, revealing only one blue eye. 

“I’m a vigiwante!” he says. 

“Yes, you are,” Dick coos, reaching down to pick up Tim. He sets the boy on his hip, gazing at him with a big smile. “And you’re so cute, too! But you really have to stop getting into places that are meant to keep you out!”

“Um, it was easy,” Tim says with a shrug. “Dickie needs better secuwity.”

Jason snorts and then holds up both hands in surrender when Dick glares at him. “Hey, the kid said it,” he says with a smirk. “Not me.”

“Oh, yeah, like yours is any better,” Dick says. “Didn’t you send me a picture of Tim wearing your mask?”

“Jay needs better secuwity, too,” Tim says with a nod.

“Exactly,” Dick says, kissing the side of Tim’s head. “You’re so smart, baby.”

“I know!” Tim says brightly.

Wally passes out some bagels when he leads them over to the couch while Dick walks around the room with Tim in his arms. Jason watches them with a pang of longing, almost wishing for the days when things were easy between himself and Dick, when all Jason had to worry about was completing his homework before going out as Robin.

He dismisses it, though, and tells himself that he should be happy with what he has right now—because he is, really. Jason’s content with his life and the people in his circle, and maybe that also includes his brothers (but only sometimes).

Dick sets Tim down after a while, and the kid drags his bag of toys into the room. Jason goes to help him, but he’s stopped by Dick beckoning him into the kitchen. He still sets the toys down in front of the others before following Dick, accepting the glass of water that Dick passes over to him.

“So,” Dick says. “Did you think about what I said?”

“What?” Jason frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“You know…” Dick nudges his side. “When I asked if you could stay at the manor with us! Remember? It was after the picnic.” He sips his own water, gazing at Jason with an arched brow. “Are you gonna do it?”

Jason sighs, crossing his arms. He glances over at Tim, who seems to be talking a mile a minute, showing his toys off to Wally, who nods along to whatever Tim’s saying. Kori is sitting beside the speedster, holding Batwalker the Dinosaur in her lap, and Roy is on the floor next to Tim’s toy bag, fiddling with one of the puzzles that Tim has yet to solve.

Tim looks over at him and smiles so wide that it makes him shut his eyes, and Jason feels another kernel of warmth in his heart.

“Yeah,” he says, relaxing a little. “Yeah, I’ll come over.” He holds a hand up right as Dick starts moving closer, arms extended. “But I’m going to wait until everyone is out, alright? I don’t want to run into Bruce while I’m unpacking in an empty room.”

Dick beams, and then Jason’s wrapped up in one of Dick’s octopus holds. “Thank you!” he says, rocking them from side to side. “Thank you so much, Little Wing!” Dick pulls back, but not before he leans up to drop a kiss onto Jason’s forehead, which Jason promptly scrubs off with a noise of disgust. “And don’t worry about Bruce—I’ll be sure to trick him into getting out for the day so you can do what you like.”

“Thanks,” Jason says flatly. He quickly wraps an arm around Dick’s shoulders, squeezing him once, and then releases him, looking off to the side with warm cheeks. “Whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow or something.”

He pushes past Dick before his older brother can do something like tackle him to the ground to keep hugging him (which has happened before) and goes over to where Tim is sitting. Jason crouches down beside the boy and smiles at him, waiting for Tim to smile back before leaning over to kiss his head.

“I’m leaving now,” he says. “But you’ll see me again soon.”

“Okay,” Tim says. He still has the domino on, though it’s sliding down his face now. “Make me waffles again?”

“I’ll make you all the waffles you want,” Jason promises, ruffling his hair before he stands up. He offers a wave to Wally, then Kori (since it seems like she’s going to stay), and gestures for Roy to follow. They start making their way to the front door when Roy pauses, causing Jason to bump into him.

“What’s the big deal?” Jason grumbles, elbowing him in the gut.

“I just realized something,” Roy says out loud. “We forgot about the assassin in the basement.”

Jason is suddenly very aware of Dick’s searing gaze on them, causing a chill to go down his spine. He slowly turns to look at his brother and tells himself that he’s not afraid of the steely look in Dick’s eyes. “What assassin,” Dick says, voice flat and firm.

“Uh, bye!” Jason says quickly.

He pushes Roy out the door to save him from Dick’s wrath, but not before he hears Tim excitedly say, “Oh, yeah! I was gonna poison them!”

This kid, Jason thinks with a shake of his head as he drags Roy into the elevator. There’s no denying the fondness coursing through him while he thinks this, even though a large part of him dreads the idea of staying at the manor, a place he’s been avoiding since he came back to life. The rest of him is excited to spend more time with Tim, at the very least, and maybe it won’t be so bad as long as he has the kid around.

“Hey,” Roy says after they slip into the car, gazing at him seriously. “I overheard you tell Dick that you’re going to stay at the manor.”

“Yeah? And?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Roy says. He reaches out and takes one of Jason’s hands, brushing his fingers over Jason’s scarred knuckles. The touch is nice and soothing It makes Jason’s heart skip a beat. “I know how you feel about the place you once called home.”

“Yeah,” Jason says quietly. “But I think I’ll be fine as long as I can distract myself.”

“Alright,” Roy replies, trusting Jason with an ease that never fails to make Jason relax. “But the moment you need extraction, just let me know, and I’ll be there to pick you up before the day is over, okay?”

“Okay,” Jason agrees with a laugh. He leans over to press their lips together and then pulls away, starting up the car to begin the long drive back to the beach house to deal with the assassin they accidentally forgot. 

It’s a bit daunting to think about how he’ll soon be surrounded by everything (and everyone) he wants to avoid, but Roy’s promise makes it easier. 

His phone lights up, and it reveals the picture of Tim that he took at the beach house, the one where he had Red Hood’s domino mask on his face, askew and adorable. He stares at it for a few seconds, nearly missing a green light. It reminds him of why he’s choosing to go to the manor, why he needs to be there.

For Tim, Jason thinks as he drives through Bludhaven. He thinks of the boy, so small in his arms, kissing his cheek and telling him that he loves him with an ease that Jason still struggles to grasp, sometimes, and his heart fills with warmth. Always.

Chapter Text

Morning arrives with the sound of birds chirping and the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

Dick cracks one eye open, trying to find the source of the scent. He finds the Batman logo directly in front of him, and his gaze trails upwards to see a very handsome face smiling down at him, green eyes almost glowing in the light of the sun that streams in from the window.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Wally West, Dick’s favorite person, says cheerfully.

“Shuddup,” Dick mumbles, pushing himself up. His back aches in several places, and he groans, blearily glancing around him. He’s not lying on his beautiful memory foam mattress that makes him feel like he’s sleeping on a cloud, so where…?

“You let me sleep on the floor?” he mutters, reaching up to take the coffee from his awfully amazing boyfriend.

“I don’t let you do anything,” Wally says pointedly. “You make your own choices, and I’m always there to clean things up.” 

“This doesn’t explain why I’m on the floor…”

“You don’t remember?” Wally crouches down beside him, reaching out to brush his fingers through Dick’s hair. Dick leans into the touch while he sips at his coffee, closing his eyes and wishing he could go back to sleep. “Tim fell asleep on the couch, and you didn’t want to wake him or leave him alone, so you ended up on the floor.”

“Hmm.” Dick drinks more coffee, grimacing at the awful taste in his mouth. He looks over at the couch, where Tim is still slumbering away, a little patch of drool on the cushion beneath him. “Keep an eye on him?” he asks, reaching out to lightly smack Wally’s knee. “I gotta brush my teeth.”

“Sure thing,” Wally says. “But if he wakes up and starts biting me, then I’m tossing him into the bathroom for you to deal with.”

Dick snorts. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, getting up. “He doesn’t bite.”

“That’s what they said about you, and now you bite me every night.”

After smacking his boyfriend one more time, Dick heads into the bathroom and gets through his morning routine. He hears the sound of an alarm at some point, a familiar chirp that indicates a need for Wally in Central City. Dick tilts his head right as Wally speeds into the bathroom and receives a quick peck on the lips, and then his boyfriend is gone, off to save the day.

Dick quickly exits the bathroom, checking on Tim to make sure he’s okay. The kid still sleeps, now curled up on his side. He heads to his bedroom, lightly rapping his knuckles against the door before swinging it open.

Kori’s lying on her stomach on his bed, flipping through a book Jason tossed at his head the last time he came over. Her beautiful, long red hair dangles off the bed, revealing naked shoulders. Dick knows, without looking, that she’s not wearing anything else under his bed sheets since she enjoys the way they feel against her skin.

She looks up when Dick clears his throat, and her whole face lights up. “Good morning,” she says happily. “Did you sleep well? I cannot imagine the floor was comfortable.”

“It was fine,” Dick says with a shrug, ignoring the ache in his back as he steps into the room. “I just wanted to see if you were awake and offer some breakfast. Pancakes, maybe? I know you like mine.”

“I would love that!” Kori slides off his bed, and Dick turns his gaze toward the ceiling when she walks over to him. “May I borrow some clothes? I want to wear something comfortable.”

“Go ahead,” Dick says, waving a hand. “My closet is your closet and all that. Half the things in there might not be mine since I’m constantly trading clothes with Donna and stealing from Wally and Jason.”

“Ah, yes,” Kori replies, a bit muffled due to her practically diving into his closet. He knows there’s a clothing pile on the floor that he still needs to sort through, so she’s probably digging through that. “Jason has complained multiple times about it. He tells me that you always leave your stuff behind and how it doesn’t fit him. I am positive he purposefully stretches out your shirts due to this.”

“I knew it!” Dick hisses as he shuts the door. “That little shit! He told me it was the washing machine!”

He scoops up his mug of coffee from the table and takes it to the kitchen, grabbing his pancake mix to get a bowl started. When he’s pouring the water in, he hears a soft whimper from the living room and stills, waiting.

“Dickie?”

Dick lifts his head, eyes finding Tim, who sits up on the couch, rubbing his eyes and clutching the blanket close to his chest. “Yeah, sweetheart?” Dick says, setting his mug down and walking over to the couch. “What’s wrong?”

Tim doesn’t respond. Instead, he holds up his arms, and Dick follows the unspoken demand, picking him up and holding him close. His little brother rests his head on Dick’s shoulder, one hand coming up to play with the buttons on his sleep shirt. Dick kisses the top of his head, rubs a hand down his back, and walks over to the kitchen to start making pancakes.

Kori ventures out eventually, offering a gentle coo to Tim as she passes by to snag Dick’s coffee mug. She’s wearing one of his baggier blue shirts with a pair of red knee-high socks that have the Batman symbol all over them. Dick’s positive that she’s also wearing his boxers.

“Hi, Kowi,” Tim says sleepily, his cheek smushed against Dick’s shoulder.

“Do you want to sit with me, Tim?” Kori asks. “So we can wait for our breakfast together?”

Tim sniffs, rubbing his nose against Dick’s shirt and probably smearing snot against it. “No, thank you,” he says politely. “I wanna stay with Dickie.”

“Okay,” she says, a touch of amusement in her voice. “I understand. It is hard to pull yourself away from Dick, especially when he decides to wrap you up in his arms.”

Dick sticks his tongue out at her, and she laughs, her joy lingering even as she takes a sip of his coffee. 

He focuses on the pancakes again, dumping an absurd amount of chocolate chips for Kori. She developed a bit of a sweet tooth when they were together, and Dick always feels a flicker of fondness when he’s reminded of it whenever they get the chance to hang out.

“So,” Dick says, glancing back at her. Tim hums, and Dick sways his body, hoping to soothe him back to a doze. “What’s going on with everyone?”

He moves around the kitchen as Kori dishes out the latest gossip, occasionally glancing over to gasp and overexaggerate his facial expressions just to make her laugh. Tim rouses from his doze as he’s plating pancakes for Kori, and he sits quietly in his high chair (that he bought just for Tim) while he waits for his food.

Dick cuts up the chocolate chip pancake for him and pours the syrup himself, pointedly looking away from Tim’s sad eyes. “Don’t you remember what happened last time?” Dick asks, placing the plate in front of his little brother. “I don’t want to spend my morning wiping syrup off my counter. You’re a messy boy, sweetheart.”

“M’not messy,” Tim grumbles, grabbing a syrup-drenched piece of pancake with his hand and shoving it into his mouth, smearing some chocolate across his cheek. “Maybe you’re messy, Dickie.”

“Eat your breakfast,” Dick says while Kori laughs. “Or I’ll give you milk.”

Tim eats more pancakes in response.

Dick uses the rest of the mix to make a small stack, then creates another batch to add more to the pile and make some for himself. Finally, he shuts off the stove and brings the plates over to eat with Kori and Tim, who already looks like the sticky syrup boy that Dick remembers from his second day as a four-year-old.

“Baby,” Dick says with a sigh, pouring some apple juice for Tim in a blue tumbler cup. “Why do you do this to me? I’ll have to give you a bath…”

“Do what?” Tim asks, squinting at him. He accepts the offered cup, drinks some juice, and points at the plate of pancakes beside Dick’s left hand. “Who’s that for?” 

Dick holds up a hand in response, curling his fingers against his palm one by one. When he finally forms a fist, there’s a gust of air, and then Wally’s standing beside him, shoving half a pancake into his mouth. His cheeks bulge out like a squirrel, and maybe that’s why Tim giggles when he glances at the speedster.

“Mor’in, ‘immy!” Wally says around his mouthful of pancake. 

“Morning, Wally,” Tim says shyly, as if the little guy didn’t sprawl across Wally’s lap and talk about the Scooby Doo movie they watched a while back. Thankfully, Wally is quite literally the best person in the whole world and indulged Dick’s little brother, nodding and asking questions here and there, allowing Tim to continue the conversation.

Wally swallows his huge bite of breakfast and promptly starts choking. Dick thumps his back extra hard, passing over his glass of water and rubbing a spot between his shoulders after Wally chugs it.

“Thanks,” he rasps out and clears his throat. “See, Timmy? This is why you shouldn’t be like me. I eat too fast!”

“Wike Bart,” Tim says with a nod, shoving a piece of pancake into his mouth. Chocolate smears across his fingers, and Dick has a moment of regret over adding those chocolate chips to his pancakes. “He does that, too.”

“Exactly.” Wally zips over to Tim’s side, one arm behind his back. “I got you a little present while I was out there,” he singsongs, using his other hand to ruffle Tim’s hair. “You wanna see it?”

“Yeah!” Tim says excitedly, kicking his feet.

Wally makes a little celebration sound as he presents a small, white dinosaur with spikes down its back. “Tada!” he says, setting it down beside Tim’s plate. “Hope you like it!”

It jiggles a little, and Tim gasps, reaching out to poke the strange dinosaur. It immediately changes from white to a soft, glowing yellow, which makes Dick hum as he gazes at Tim’s face, enjoying the look of awe that overtakes it. Tim pokes it again, and the color shifts to green, causing the kid to clap his hands together.

“That’s so cool!” he marvels. “Thank you, Wally! I wuv it!”

“I thought Batwalker might like a friend,” Wally says, beaming. “Just in case he’s afraid of the dark.”

Tim eats his breakfast at a slower pace due to him occasionally reaching over to lightly tap his new dinosaur lamp, causing it to change a different color. Dick shows his gratitude to his boyfriend by peppering kisses all over his face when Tim’s not looking, and Wally responds by wrapping his arms around Dick and licking his jaw because that’s his way of showing affection, sometimes.

“I got something else for him, too,” Wally murmurs in his ear while he steals Dick’s leftovers like a heathen. “But I’ll show it to you later. I have a feeling you’ll love it.”

“For Tim?” Dick wonders, swiping a piece of his breakfast before it can disappear into Wally’s mouth. Wally stares at him, affronted, and Dick sticks his tongue out at him.

Wally being Wally, leans in and licks his tongue. 

“Don’t be gross!” Dick complains, shoving him away.

“Yes, it’s for Tim,” Wally says with a laugh, going back to his meal. “Saw it when I was leaving Central City, and it was too perfect. I couldn’t leave it behind. You’ll understand.”

“If it’s a Lego set, I might just strangle you,” Dick tells him, hiding his smile by taking a sip of his coffee. “I still owe him some, and I’m pretty sure Bruce is buying him more. At this rate, there’s going to be Legos in every room in the manor.”

“Not a Lego set,” Wally says. “Although, it’d be kinda cool to get him that limited edition Justice League set…”

“Dickie?”

“Yes, baby?” Dick asks, looking over at his little brother.

Tim gazes at them with narrowed eyes. “Whatcha talkin’ about?” he asks suspiciously. “Did I hear you say something about Wegos?”

“No, baby,” Dick replies. He reaches over to push his apple juice closer, pointing at his pancakes. “Finish your food, and then you can play with your toys.”

“Will Dickie pway with me?”

“Yeah, of course I will! But you have to keep eating, okay? We want you to grow up to be big and strong.”

“That’s what I used to tell Dick back at the Tower,” Wally says, leaning over to tap Tim’s nose. “And now, look at him! He used to be such a teeny tiny bird, just like you, and now he’s a big bird!”

“Hey!” Tim cries indignantly. “I’m not teeny tiny!”

“You’re the teeniest,” Wally replies, and then stands over Tim, one hand shielding his eyes as he squints down at him. “I can barely see you down there! I’m gonna need a microscope!”

“Stop it,” Dick chides when he sees Tim’s face go red, cheeks puffed out in anger. “Or I’m not going to stop him when he decides to climb out of that high chair and attack you.”

Wally zips back over to him, rolling his eyes. “Fine, fine,” he says, glancing over at Tim. He holds up both hands, placating, and continues in a softer voice, “I’m sorry, kiddo. I didn’t mean to imply that you’re small.”

Tim glares at him for a long moment before finally nodding his head, going back to his food without another word.

“Good job,” Dick murmurs, wrapping an arm around Wally and kissing the side of his head. “I really don’t want my baby brother to hate you.”

“And why would he?” Wally replies. “I’m a goddamn delight.”

“A delight, he says,” Dick says, scoffing. “More like a menace.”

His speedster boyfriend leans up and cups his cheeks with both, squishing them together. “No, you,” he says with a rather boyish grin. The sight of it makes Dick’s heart skip a beat, and Dick doesn’t even try to stop the chaste kiss that Wally gives him, which gets even better when Wally releases him, allowing Dick to sink into it.

“You two are perfect,” Kori says suddenly, dragging Dick’s attention away from his boyfriend’s lips. There’s a smile on her face as she meets his eyes, and Dick finds himself relaxing as he returns the smile, happy to have her support. “I now understand why everyone talks about your relationship.”

“Everyone talks about us?” Wally brightens. “What do they say? Are we the ‘it’ couple?”

“I am not sure what you mean by that,” Kori replies. She slips a piece of pancake into her mouth, looking thoughtful. “But they often call you ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ when you two are distracted with one another on missions.”

“I better be the mom in this scenario,” Dick mutters, drinking the rest of his coffee. 

“What?” Wally whines. “Why do you get to be the mom? That’s not fair!”

Dick snorts, glancing over at him with an arched brow. “All of the child-rearing I went through with Damian?” he says. “Do you not remember that? I sent you paragraphs of text talking about all the parenting books I read. There’s no way I’m not the mom. I worked too hard to give up that title for someone who’s clearly the uncle.”

“You see what I put up with, Kori?” Wally says, glancing over at her with a rather pathetic pout. “Are you sure you don’t wanna take him back?”

“Hey,” Dick says mildly.

Kori laughs. “I certainly would not mind,” she says with a lingering grin. “But I think he loves you too much to consider allowing me to collar him again.”

“ Kori! ” Dick hisses, heat blooming across his cheeks. “You said you wouldn’t bring it up!”

“Oh?” Wally leans forward, and his lecherous smirk makes Dick’s heart skip a beat, but he ignores it in favor of kicking his ankle. “What’s this about a collar?”

“Not in front of Tim,” Dick cuts in sharply when he sees Kori open her mouth. The two stare at him, chastised, and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you must,” he says, gesturing to his bedroom. “Go talk about it in there.”

“Can we discuss it, too?” Wally says, fluttering his lashes. “After I get all the details from Kori, I mean. And I’ll be sure to get every last one.”

Dick stares into his empty mug, wishing it was full so he could upend the drink onto his boyfriend’s head. He knows, more than anyone, that Kori’s going to tell him everything about it. “At this rate,” he says, exasperated. “I’m going to collar you and leave you cuffed to the bed.”

“I’ll just phase out of it,” Wally says dismissively. 

“Not if I use power-dampening cuffs,” Dick mutters. He kicks Wally again, pointing to his room yet again. “Go on. Get.”

“What am I, a dog?”

“More like a puppy,” Dick says, eyeing Wally’s exposed throat. A red collar might look nice there, but it could be a little too on the nose, what with Wally’s superhero costume and all. “Take your food with you, and vacuum any crumbs.”

“Whatever makes the wife happy,” Wally says with a salute. 

Dick ignores the way Wally and Kori erupt into laughter as they exit the kitchen, leaving him alone with his sticky brother, who lifts his head from where he’s drowning a pancake piece in a pool of syrup, frowning.

“Where did Wally and Kowi go?” he asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dick says. He walks over to the sink and fishes a towel out of the drawer beside it, turning on the faucet to get it wet before ringing it out. “Are you done eating, sweetheart? Or do you plan on finishing the rest?”

“Um…” Tim looks down at his plate before slowly shaking his head. “No, Dickie! I’m all done now!” Then, he starts wiggling in his chair. “Down, pwease!”

“We’re going to put you in the bath before we play,” Dick informs him, picking up his messy little brother and taking him over to the bathroom. Thankfully, he set aside a change of clothes for Tim and himself in case something like this occurred, so he locks the door (to prevent Tim’s escape) and prepares a bath with warm water.

It’s… a disaster.

Dick’s nice enough to add some bubble bath formula, but Tim’s smart enough to dump over half the bottle and grin up at him like he did nothing wrong. This results in overflowing bubbles that get all over Dick’s front and, somehow, in his hair. It doesn’t help that Tim keeps splashing, too, so Dick’s practically drenched by the time Tim’s clean.

“Dickie has a bubble hat,” Tim helpfully points out when Dick’s toweling him off.

“Imagine that,” Dick says flatly, not bothering to stop the smile from spreading across his face when Tim giggles.

He wraps the towel around Tim (it has a little duck hood) and leaves him sitting on the edge of the bathtub while he gathers Tim’s clothes. The kid insists on getting dressed on his own, so Dick busies himself with changing his shirt, waiting for the inevitable, soft sigh. As Dick predicted, Tim releases one after a while, and it’s followed by a meek, “Dickie?”

“Yes, baby?” Dick asks, looking down at his little brother.

Tim’s head is stuck in the sleeve of his Nightwing shirt. His voice comes out somewhat muffled when he says, “Can you help me?”

“Yes, baby.”

Dick peels his shirt off, causing Tim’s hair to stick on one side. He helps Tim put his arms through the sleeves and then guides his head through the top. “There you go!” Dick says with a smile, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “My sweet little baby.”

His baby brother smiles up at him. It shows off the dimples that Dick rarely sees when he’s around his adult counterpart, and Dick feels something in him melt. “Can we pway now?” Tim asks, reaching up to tug Dick’s shirt. “Pwease?”

“Let me clear the soap off my head,” Dick says, ruffling his wet hair. “Oh, and brush your hair before it turns into a fluffy mess.”

“No fwuff,” Tim says, shaking his head. A couple of strands of hair stick to his cheeks.

“Exactly,” Dick says, carefully scooping the small pile of soap off his head and dumping it into the sink. “I’ll try and be careful, okay? But you have to sit still and let me brush it, even if you’ve got a few knots in there.”

“Okay, Dickie! I be good.”

Dick leads him over to the living room after they exit the bathroom, brush in hand. He sits down on the rug and stretches his legs out, patting the empty space between them. Tim plops down and quietly sits there while Dick carefully brushes his hair, ridding Tim of the knots by combing his fingers through the strands.

“Owwie,” Tim says when Dick accidentally yanks a little too hard, and Dick immediately wants to die.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Dick murmurs, kissing the top of his strawberry-scented head. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“S’okay, Dickie. I flor—forgive you!”

Dick brushes Tim’s hair into two neat pigtails that look so cute on him. He refrains from mentioning this, knowing that Tim will respond with indignance, and instead lets Tim go over and grab some of his toys. It warms Dick’s heart when Tim returns to his spot between Dick’s legs, fiddling with one of his wooden puzzle toys.

He smacks Dick’s hands away whenever Dick tries to help, always with a little huff and a chiding, “No, Dickie! I can do it by myself!”

Wally and Kori exit the bedroom when Tim’s trying to solve his second toy. They share a matching smile before Kori drops down into the armchair, her long legs dangling off the side. She rests her cheek on his fist, watching Tim with a soft look on her face.

Dick looks up at Wally when he takes a seat on the couch. He rests his chin on top of Tim’s head, wrapping his arms around his baby brother and pouting.

“I want one,” he says longingly.

Wally flashes a quick grin, glancing away for a moment. “Well,” he says, looking back at Dick with pink cheeks. “Let’s just steal this one! No one’s gonna notice, right? We can hide him whenever someone drops by for a visit.”

“No steal,” Tim says, still playing with his toy. “That’s bad.”

“You won’t let me steal you, baby?” Dick sighs, squeezing Tim until he hears a tiny squeak. “Okay, I guess I can give you back to Bruce while I wither away, cold and lonely because my baby brother doesn’t want to stay with me forever.”

“Dickie is silly,” Tim says as his puzzle clicks into place, causing the boy to release a gasp. “I did it! I’m done!” He holds it up, practically shoving it into Dick’s face. “Look! Look!!”

“Good job, baby!” Dick kisses his head and hugs him again. “I’m so proud of you!”

“Can we watch something now, Dickie?” Tim turns, reaching up to pat Dick’s face. Pap, pap, pap. “A movie? Pwease?”

“I would like that as well,” Kori says. She slips off the armchair and takes a seat beside Dick, resting her head on top of his. “But I think you should pick, Tim, since it is your idea.”

And, of course, Wally sits on Dick’s other side after bringing a few bags of snacks for them all, and Dick ends up trapped between two very warm bodies since both Wally and Kori radiate so much heat. He’s suddenly grateful that the landlord managed to get the air conditioning fixed in his apartment, or else he’d be complaining about the heat.

Tim picks an animated Transformers movie, munching on some popcorn and definitely spilling it all over Dick’s rug while he continues to sit between Dick’s legs. Sometimes, he’ll be kind and hold one up, giggling when Dick (carefully) snatches it out of his hand with his teeth.

“I want a wobot,” Tim says after a while. “Wike Bumblebee.”

“No, sweetheart,” Dick says, already envisioning the explosions and horror that might occur if they let Tim have one. Both versions of Tim should never have a robot. “Not until you’re older, okay?” And by older, Dick means as old as Bruce. He’s confident that Bruce will agree with him on this.

“Okay,” Tim says with a sigh.

Satisfied that Tim understands, Dick focuses back on the movie.

Kori picks up his hand, playing with his fingers and brushing her fingers down his palm, while Wally keeps bumping their feet together, every brush of their ankle, skin against skin, causing Dick’s stomach to erupt with butterflies. He finds himself relaxed, every bit of tension leaving his body. Dick hugs his little brother tighter, relishing in the fact that Tim’s safe in his arms. He shuts his eyes, smiling, and lets himself feel happy.

★★

Dick scratches his jaw, eyes fixed on Tim’s sleeping form.

He fell asleep halfway through the second Transformers film, curled up against Dick while he snoozed away. Dick transferred him to the couch and decided to break out his tea set (a gift from Alfred) to make some tea for everyone. 

Right now, Kori’s sitting on the windowsill, enjoying the sunlight shining through the clouds while she drinks hers. Wally’s cup sits on the counter, half-full due to him needing to run out and deal with one of his Rogues in Central City. Dick finishes the rest of his tea and carefully sets the delicate cup down before making his way over to Kori, leaning against the wall beside her.

“Hey, pretty lady,” he says when she looks at him, offering a grin and a wink. “How ya doin’?”

She laughs, combing her fingers through her hair. “I am fine,” Kori says, crossing her ankles. “What about you?”

“I’m alright,” Dick says, crossing his arms. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment and then sighs. “Missing Wally, I guess. I know he just left, but I always worry when he goes off to be a superhero, and I always miss him when he’s away, even if it’s only for ten minutes.”

“Ah,” she says, nodding. “I understand.”

“Do you?”

“Of course I do! How do you think I felt whenever we went on separate missions? Or when you would return to Gotham to do something for your father or your brother?” Kori smiles at him. “I missed you when you were away, too.”

A small breeze enters the room, ruffling a few of Kori’s bright strands of hair. Dick shifts closer, reaching out to brush them away from her cheeks, the way he used to do whenever it happened in public. She said it never bothered her, but Dick still moved them because it always made her blush very faintly, and then she’d lean down and kiss him in a way that made his toes curl.

“I’m glad you like him,” he says after he pulls his hand back. “Wally, I mean.”

“Why would I not like him?” Kori says pleasantly. “He makes you happy, and that makes me happy.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Kori slides off the windowsill, setting her teacup down on the floor. She moves closer, gazing at him intently. “I knew we were not forever,” she begins softly. “I wanted us to be, and I know you did, too, but we were not right for each other at the time.”

“No,” Dick says with a soft laugh, reaching out to grab one of her hands. “We weren’t.”

It took some time for Dick to understand that. 

Kori was great to him, and Dick loved her more than he ever thought he could love someone (before he met Wally, at least). She was there for him when he was so angry at the world, when he kept throwing himself into missions just to feel needed. Kori helped him learn how to love himself and how to be someone worthy of love. He always felt adored beneath her gentle hands, and he loved to lose himself in her until he could finally be the real Dick Grayson.

The meaning of heartbreak never meant much to Dick until Kori.

“Sometimes, I feel a bit guilty,” he confesses, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve fucked up so many times, Kori, and I still don’t know what I did to deserve someone as amazing as Wally. It’s like I’m living in a dream, and I’m just waiting to wake up alone again.”

He stares down at his feet, unable to look her in the eyes after voicing his fear, the one that still plagues him, causing his stomach to writhe with anxiety. The Flash symbol greets him on his bright red socks, which he only owns because Wally tossed a pair at him while whining about not having a supportive boyfriend, and now Dick wears them all the time. 

“Look at me.”

Dick swallows and lifts his head, unsurprised to see Kori standing so close. She stares down at him, squeezing his hand, the serious expression on her face growing softer.

“You deserve all the happiness in the world, Dick Grayson,” Kori says with strong conviction. “The world has not been kind to you. I have been there when you were lost in the dark, and I tried to be your light. You should not have to worry about how others feel about your love for Wally.” She smiles, then, and it’s as beautiful as ever, causing a nostalgic flutter in his chest. “Love him,” Kori continues gently, wrapping her arms around him. “And let yourself be loved by him. That is all I have ever wanted for you.”

Dick shuts his eyes, returning the embrace and burying his face in her shoulder. He always loved Kori’s hugs and how they enclosed him in warmth, making him feel safe and whole.

“I love you,” he tells her after she releases him, leaning into her palm when she cups his cheek. “You’ll always have a place in my heart.”

Wally knows this, too. 

He’s been there for the highs and lows of Dick’s relationships, always the one to offer a shoulder to cry on whenever Dick stepped away from another person, his soothing words holding Dick together. And when they finally entered a relationship, he never acted jealous whenever Dick talked to his ex-partners, never expressed any concern like other people might do.

“You’ve got a lot of love in your heart, Dick,” Wally told him one night when Dick decided to ask about it. “Why would I be upset about that? It’s what makes you, well, you. And it’s why I love you so much.”

Dick had kissed him, then, and he felt so overwhelmed with affection for his boyfriend when he hid his burning face in Wally’s chest afterwards. The other man just held him, not saying a word about it, and that’s when Dick realized that he found his forever in Wally.

“And you have a place in mine,” Kori says softly. She leans in to kiss the tip of his nose, staying still when Dick responds with a kiss on her cheek. “Always, Dick. Always.”

He leans against her after that, the two of them swaying to nothing. Dick turns his head when he feels a much larger breeze enter the room, and there stands his boyfriend, eyeing them with a grin.

“Wow,” he says, zipping over and wrapping his arms around them. “This looks cozy!”

“Certainly!” Kori says. “But if you adjust your position, then you will hug Dick from behind, and we can both smother him in love.”

“Nooo…” Dick wails, not bothering to move when Wally follows that suggestion. Wally’s running hotter than usual, thanks to his little trip away, and Kori’s also warmer due to her time in the sun. “I’m going to melt, you guys! Us pitiful humans can’t withstand your hot bodies!”

Wally bites the back of his neck. “Be good,” he says. “And accept our love.”

“I agree,” Kori says, playing with his hair and tugging on a few strands. “Be good.”

Dick sighs, dropping his forehead onto Kori’s shoulder to hide his burning face because, dammit, of course he’s going to listen to them, especially when they say things like that. So, he stays in their loving embrace, letting himself enjoy their love… until he turns into a sweaty mess, and then he squirms free, fanning himself.

“It’s like being in a sauna!” he complains and then goes over to pour himself some more hot tea.

Kori retreats into Dick’s bedroom to read, though Dick imagines that she’ll be out like a light after a few chapters. Wally goes into the kitchen to fix himself a meal, and Dick lets the clatter of dishes wash over him as he makes his way over to the couch, sitting beside Tim, who sleeps with his beloved Batwalker.

Wally drops down into the space beside him with a cup of his electrolyte juice. Dick smiles at him briefly before focusing on Tim again, combing his fingers through Tim’s baby-soft hair. His little brother snuffles in his sleep and buries his face in Backwalker, mumbling something about a carrot.

He’s aware of the weight of Wally’s stare on him while he does this, and after a while, Wally speaks, voice soft, “You’re happier.”

“Hmm?” Dick glances over at his boyfriend, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“When Tim’s around,” Wally says, gesturing to the slumbering kid. “I mean… You just seem so much brighter right now, I guess. Calmer.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Not that you aren’t happy otherwise, because you are, especially when it’s just us, but…” Wally sighs, setting his drink down on their coffee table. “I dunno. With Tim here, it’s like the sun is shining out of you. All the darkness that clings to you fades away, and there’s no weight on your shoulders.” He leans over, eyes fixed on Dick’s face as he says, “You’re happier.”

Dick huffs out a laugh, gazing down at Tim. He strokes the back of his fingers down one of Tim’s soft, slightly chubby cheeks. Tim’s eating a lot more now, steadily gaining the baby fat he needs. It makes him look even cuter.

“We weren’t really in a good place before, y’know?” Dick begins quietly. “And it’s crazy to think about because we used to be so close, back when he was Robin, and then…” He sighs, looking up at Wally. “Being able to take care of him right now is nice, it’s really nice. He rarely let me do it, but at least he let me be his brother, and that was great. Tim was great. He was what we all needed after Jason.”

“Right,” Wally says with a nod.

“And it sucked when everything got so messed up between us,” Dick continues, voice wavering. “So, I’m—” He cuts himself off, turning his face away to wipe at his suddenly damp eyes. “I guess I’m just really happy to spend time with him and love him the way he deserves. And to have him return that love? Yeah, it’s great,” he says, exhaling shakily. “And I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself when he changes back.”

Wally shifts closer, placing a hand on his back. “Hey, baby,” he says gently. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?” Dick asks, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “What if he doesn’t remember any of this, Wally? What if things go back to the way they were? I don’t know if I can handle that.”

Wally gazes at him steadily. “From what I’ve seen,” he says. “It seems like this situation is making Tim reveal his true feelings, the ones he buries deep down inside, the way all you Bats like to do. So, him loving you? That’s real.” And Wally pulls him in for a kiss, slow and deep, the kind that makes Dick temporarily forget his worries and melt against him. 

“You think so?” he asks when they break apart, but he can see the truth in Wally’s pretty green eyes—the confidence of a speedster.

“Tim loves you, Dick,” Wally says. “That’ll never go away, even when he reverts to his normal age.”

And even though a large part of Dick tells him this is a lie, showing the memories of their distance, proof that Tim regards him as nothing more than a co-worker, the rest of him can’t help but believe Wally. “Okay,” he says softly, resting his head on Wally’s shoulder. Dick tangles their hands together, assured by Wally’s warmth. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Wally says, brushing a thumb across his knuckles. “I’m always going to be here for you, even if it’s only to help you through your spirals and occasionally kiss you.”

Don’t say always, Dick almost says, reflexively biting his tongue so the words won’t spill out. He tries not to think about his age-old grief, the way it wrapped around him like vines, threatening to drag him down to the dirt whenever he did something dangerous. He often threw himself into those situations with the fervent hope that he might see Wally again.

Wally coming back to him is a gift, but there are times where Dick waits for the other shoe to drop, when Dick expects Wally to be gone due to another crisis. Dick sometimes wakes up with burning eyes and the hazy thought of an empty space beside him, only to look over and see Wally’s sleeping face, and the relief feels like a punch to the gut.

“I know,” he says instead, feeling happy just to have Wally at his side. He shuts his eyes and turns his head a little, breathing in Wally’s scent—it’s a bit like petrichor, with a hint of ozone, too, and Dick loves it all the same. “I love you.”

Wally releases a tiny, dreamy sigh. It’s the same one he always does whenever Dick expresses any amount of affection for the other man. “And I love you,” he replies, sounding so happy. “You’re my everything, Dick.”

“And you’re mine,” Dick says, and finally, Wally turns his head, allowing Dick the chance to press their lips together in a chaste kiss. As always, he feels a spark travel through him, making him shiver and press closer.

Dick pulls away when he hears a soft whimper from Tim. He looks over to see the boy slowly pushing himself up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Tim squints at them, looking confused when he says, “Wally biting Dickie?”

“No,” Wally says slowly.

A touch of fear enters Tim’s face. “Wally eating Dickie?” he cries, slipping off the couch and onto the floor. He lies on Dick’s rug for a moment and then hops up, glaring at Wally. “How could you?! Cannibawism is bad!”

“Big word,” Wally mutters.

Dick shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Baby,” he says gently, reaching out to tug his baby brother close. Tim, clearly still half-asleep, glares at Wally and turns his head into Dick’s chest, clinging to him. “Wally and I were… kissing. We’re together, remember? He’s my boyfriend.”

There’s a very long pause, and then Tim pulls away, frowning. “Boyfwiend,” he says as if he’s testing the word on his tongue. “Oh, yeah!” Some clarity enters his eye, a sheepish look overtaking his face as he glances at Wally again. “Sorry, Wally…”

“It’s alright, Timmy,” Wally replies, sounding amused. “I’m glad you’re willing to protect your big brother from a potential cannibal. God knows there aren’t that many people willing to do it.”

Dick’s phone abruptly chimes with a text notification. He reaches over and taps the screen, surprised to see a message from Bruce. 

I guess he came home early, he thinks as he unlocks his phone, opening up his messages. Dick pauses to respond to ask Jason about the assassin again (he continues to leave Dick on read) before opening up his thread with Bruce.

THE MAN, THE MYTH, THE (urban) LEGEND

Brucie 🦇: Home.

Richie 🤸🏻‍♂️: ✌🏽

Brucie 🦇: Tim?

Richie 🤸🏻‍♂️: he’s okay! just woke up from a nap 😴😴😴

Brucie 🦇: Okay. You haven’t sent a picture. It’s been thirty minutes.

Richie 🤸🏻‍♂️: stop taking all my pictures 🙄 can’t i keep some for myself?

Brucie 🦇: No.

Richie 🤸🏻‍♂️: 😒😒😒 whatever. is damian home?

Brucie 🦇: Yes. He won’t admit it, but he’s waiting for Tim.

Richie 🤸🏻‍♂️: aww… my baby brothers… 🥰💖

Brucie 🦇: ETA?

Richie 🤸🏻‍♂️: gimme an hour to corral tim and all of his toys and i’ll be omw 🚙

Brucie 🦇: Drive safe.

“Looks like we gotta get going,” Dick says, pushing himself off the couch. He places his hands on his hips, smiling down at Tim, who blinks up at him owlishly. “Bruce is home!”

Tim does that cute little baby gasp that Dick loves. “Daddy’s home?” he asks, bouncing over to Dick’s legs. He wraps his arms around them, clinging tightly, and says, “Les’go, Dickie! Les’go!”

“Wait, baby, wait!” Dick laughs, slowly moving across the room despite Tim clinging to him like a limpet. “We have to clean up first! Unless you want to leave all of your toys here? Hmm?”

“No!”

“Well, let’s put them away and get your clothes packed, and then we’ll be on the road back to Gotham.”

It takes forty-five minutes to get everything packed, and Dick spends another ten standing around while Kori says her goodbyes to Tim, who clings to her rather sweetly, hiding his face in her hair whenever Dick looks at him.

“You know,” Kori says as she walks Dick to the door. Tim and Wally are out in the hall, waiting for him. “When I first saw Tim, I thought he belonged to Jason.”

Dick grimaces. “Please don’t put that thought into my head,” he pleads. “That’s my little brother you’re talking about. The thought of him doing anything that doesn’t involve being a crime lord, annoying, or an annoying crime lord, makes me want to tear my hair out.”

“There is nothing little about him.”

“Kori!” Dick shouts, pinching the bridge of his nose. His ears burn. 

“What? He is taller than you, is he not?”

He groans, putting his face in his hands. “Yes,” Dick says, sighing. “And he lords it over me every single day. But why’d you have to say it like that?” 

“What is wrong with how I said it?”

“Nothing…” Dick mutters, dropping his hands to meet her eyes. She’s gazing at him in confusion, hair falling off her shoulder when she tilts her head. “Nothing at all, Kori…”

Her face suddenly lights up in realization. “Oh!” she says, clapping her hands together. “Did you think I was talking about his stra—”

“Kori!” Dick shouts again, taking a moment to tug on his hair with both hands. “Oh my god, please don’t say anything else. I know you love my brother, and you probably had a thing with him, but I definitely don’t want to hear you say what you’re about to say.”

“We never got that far,” Kori informs him pleasantly. “But Roy likes to talk about it.”

Dick stares at the far wall, where there’s an orange stain from the time Wally tried to speed through making spaghetti. He wishes a sinkhole would open up and swallow him whole, and he regrets not being in Gotham at that moment, where it’s more likely to happen.

“I’m going to kill myself,” he says blankly.

“No,” Kori says and wraps her arms around him. “Goodbye, my babygirl.” She pulls away to kiss his forehead and gently pushes him out the door. “I hope to see you soon! I will gladly stop by Gotham, too, so I can see you and Jason.”

“Great,” Dick says sullenly as the door shuts behind him.

Tim toddles over to him, reaching up to grab his hand. Somehow, it’s sticky. “We go now, Dickie?” he asks. “Pwease?”

“Yes, baby. We can go now.”

Dick continues to hold Tim’s little hand as they make their way to the elevator, Wally holding up the rear with Tim and Dick’s suitcases. He hefts the toy bag higher on his shoulder, holding onto Tim tighter when the shitty elevator wobbles and creaks ominously after they all enter.

“Whoa,” Tim says when it starts to go down, swaying before he clings to Dick’s leg with his other hand. “Feels funny…”

“Kinda like grappling, huh?” Dick asks, gently bumping him. “Remember that first freefall? How your stomach swooped like crazy?”

“Uh-huh…” Tim smiles up at him. “And twain surfing!” He pauses, tilts his head, and squeezes Dick’s hand. “Can we go do that, Dickie?”

“Not right now, baby,” Dick says gently. “You’re too little! What if you fall right off?”

“Aww, okay…”

The elevator shudders to a stop with a small ding before the doors open, revealing a parking garage filled with a few cars. Wally pokes his head out, looks around, and disappears immediately. He returns only seconds later, offering a small bow.

“I added a car seat to your car,” Wally says. “You left the other one with Jason, I think.”

“Good call,” Dick says. He leans down to pick up Tim and steps out of the elevator, wrinkling his nose over the damp, musty smell. Dick walks over to the car and unlocks it, opening the back door. “Oh, thank God,” Dick mutters after he peers inside, nearly slumping in relief. “You got one with an easy buckle.”

“Yeah, I didn’t like the look of those complicated ones,” Wally says, opening Dick’s trunk and placing the suitcases inside. “I mean, I get that people want to make sure their baby is safe with the ‘best quality seats’ that have more straps than a superhero costume, but at the cost of their sanity when they’re trying to buckle them in? No way!”

“No way!” Tim parrots and then giggles.

Wally moves closer, ruffling Tim’s hair just before Dick puts him in the car seat. “We should go to Central City sometime, Timmy!” he says with a bright smile that Tim returns immediately. “Dick and I could take you to the Flash Museum! I think you’ll enjoy the new Impulse section that they added.”

Tim’s eyes go wide. “Really?” he says excitedly. “We should go with Bart!”

“I’ll let him know,” Wally says. He pauses and glances at Dick, brows furrowed. “You let his friends know what happened, right?”

Dick stops strapping Tim into the seat, going over everything in the past two weeks. He clicks his tongue when the realization hits. “Huh,” he says and resumes his task. “I knew I was forgetting something.”

“... Want me to tell them for you?”

“Please? I’ll love you forever!”

Wally snorts. “You already do,” he says, elbowing Dick’s side. 

After finally buckling Tim into the car seat, Dick turns and wraps his arms around Wally. “I’ll try to come back sooner,” he says quietly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Wally replies. He pulls away, and there’s a smile on his face as he gazes at Dick. Wally even reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind Dick’s ear, his fingers brushing down Dick’s cheek. “Tim’s the one who needs Dick Grayson. I’m okay with waiting for my boyfriend to come home, even if it takes three months.”

“You’re too good to me,” Dick says with a sigh, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. He shuts his eyes and simply exists in the moment with his boyfriend, already missing him, focused on the feeling of Wally’s hands on his hips. “Dunno what I’d do without you,” he adds, and it’s a little too honest.

Wally holds him close, and then Dick feels the soft pressure of his lips against the bridge of his nose. “Bring the kid next time you come back to Bludhaven,” he says. “We can take a trip to Central City and enjoy the sunshine you desperately need.”

“There’s sun in Gotham,” Dick replies, rolling his eyes after he breaks away. He shuts the back door and moves toward the driver’s side, Wally following behind. “You just—”

“—don’t see it, I know, I know.”

Dick slides into the driver’s seat and shuts the door. Wally leans in through the window, waggling his eyebrows. “How about you give me some sugar, huh?” he says because he’s actually a terrible boyfriend, puckering his lips. 

“Yucky!” Tim says from the backseat, causing Dick to burst out laughing while Wally pouts.

“You heard the kid,” Dick says with a wry grin. “You’re yucky, so you better get out of here.”

But he still darts forward to steal a kiss, starting up the car when Wally makes an indignant noise. Dick waves him away, slowly rolling up the window, and he nearly laughs again when Wally sticks his tongue out before disappearing in a blur of yellow lightning. He starts backing out of his parking space, opening the garage gate with a click of a button.

“Wait!” Tim suddenly cries. “Batwalker! We forgot him!”

Dick immediately stops the car, grabbing his phone to send Wally a quick message containing only a dinosaur emoji. His wonderful boyfriend appears beside the car, passing off the precious stuffed dinosaur to Tim, who holds it close, looking tearful.

“Thank you, Wally,” he says.

“You’re welcome, kiddo,” Wally says. He pauses, glances at Dick, and then leans through the window to kiss Tim’s cheek. “Take care of your big brother, okay?” he murmurs, but it’s loud enough for Dick to hear. “He really needs you.”

“Okay,” Tim says earnestly. “I will!”

Dick tightens his grip around the steering wheel, swallowing hard. He meets Wally’s eyes in the rearview mirror, who gazes back at him with so much kindness and love that it makes his chest ache. 

It surprises him every time when Wally shows how much he knows Dick, enough to understand exactly what he needs, even if it’s a simple promise from a four-year-old version of his little brother, one that Dick misses more than anything.

“Alright,” Wally says, knocking a fist against the car door. “I’m gonna let you go now. Make sure to put the lamp on for Batwalker! And if you’re missing anything, just let Dick know, and I’ll run it over to you…” He leans closer and whispers, “in a Flash!”

He speeds off while both Dick and Tim laugh because sometimes they have the same exact humor. Dick exits the parking garage, the gate closing behind him, and begins the trip back to Gotham with Tim playing happily in the backseat with Batwalker, talking about some kind of ‘wonderdon’ and ‘supersaur.’

Dick leans over to flick on the radio, keeping the volume low so he can still hear his brother. He curses internally when Don’t Stop Me Now starts playing, wishing he could go all out the way he usually does when this song plays, but he doesn’t want to disturb Tim with his exuberance. So, Dick settles for quietly singing along, smacking his hands against the steering wheel to the beat of it.

But then he hears Tim mumbling the lyrics, and Dick decides to hell with it, lowering the windows as they go down the highway, shouting with joyous fervor alongside his sweet baby brother,

“I'm a shooting star leaping through the sky

Like a tiger defying the laws of gravity

I'm a racing car passing by

Like Lady Godiva

I'm gonna go, go, go

There's no stopping me…”

★★

Tim starts kicking the seat the moment the manor comes into view, and Dick doesn’t even try to reprimand him because he doesn’t want to spoil the kid’s excitement.

He doesn’t even unbuckle himself when Dick parks by the manor’s steps. Instead, Tim looks out the window and waves a hand. Dick follows his gaze and sees Bruce standing on their porch, hands tucked in his coat. Dick shuts off the car and slips out, making his way over to Tim’s side.

“Daddy’s home!” Tim says when Dick opens the door, sounding so happy. He squirms while Dick frees him from the confines of the car seat, and Dick quickly snatches him up before he can throw himself out of the vehicle.

“I told you he would be,” Dick says, amused. He straightens Tim’s outfit (a black shirt with the Batman logo, dark blue pants, and his Nightwing blue shoes) and sets him down on the floor. “Okay,” he says with a grin. “Go get him.”

And Tim’s off like a rocket.

“Daddy!” Tim exclaims, running up the steps and throwing himself against Bruce’s legs. He immediately starts climbing the older man, and Dick watches as Bruce huffs before picking Tim up, setting him on his hip. “Daddy, daddy!” Tim wraps his arms around Bruce’s neck, hanging off him like a little monkey now. “I missed you!”

“And I missed you,” Bruce says. Slowly, he steps off the porch and makes his way over to Dick, reaching to ruffle Dick’s hair as he passes (much to Dick’s consternation, and his attempt at swatting Bruce away fails). “Did you have fun with Jason?”

“Uh-huh!” Now, Tim dangles off Bruce’s arm, kicking his feet. “We went to the beach!”

“Oh, did you? What’d you do there?”

Dick tosses the rest of Tim’s toys into the toy bag (some tumbled out on the drive over), letting the kid’s chatter wash over him. He grabs his backpack and slides it onto his shoulders, double-checking to make sure he has everything before shutting his back door and locking the car. He makes his way to the trunk, where Bruce still stands with Tim, a suitcase at his feet, and Dick pulls out the other one, slamming it shut and gesturing towards the manor.

Bruce follows him, a lack of tension in his body. There’s a smile on his face as he watches Tim, a softness that belies his usual stoicism, the kind that only appears in the safety of his home, when he’s surrounded by his family. It’s almost strange to see, and Dick quickly squashes his flicker of jealousy because even though he rarely saw that growing up, Tim absolutely deserves to have this right now.

Dick steps into his home, setting the suitcases aside. He shuts the door once Bruce enters with Tim, who somehow ends up tucked under Bruce’s arm while he continues to tell the story of his beach adventure.

“I’m glad you had a good time, Tim,” Bruce says after he sets Tim down on the couch in the sitting room. “Maybe we can plan a trip with the whole family.”

Tim gasps. “Yes!” he says, nodding so fast that his whole body shakes. “Let’s do that!”

He climbs into Bruce’s lap, resting his head on the older man’s chest. Dick drops the toy bag onto an armchair and reaches inside for one of many unfinished puzzle toys, passing it over to his baby brother, who smiles at him, babbling away to Bruce as attempts to solve the toy.

Dick sits on the arm of the chair, watching them. Bruce keeps his arms around Tim, focused on Tim’s dexterous fingers as he works on the puzzle. The flicker of envy he feels this time stems from his desire to be in Bruce’s place, even though he had practically a whole day with his baby brother, cuddling him all he likes.

But it’s different with Bruce. 

He’s Tim’s father in all the way that matters, the one that Tim gazes at with literal stars in his eyes, subdued as an adult, but much more transparent as a child. Even now, Tim keeps glancing up at Bruce whenever his toy clicks, his face going all sweet when Bruce offers quiet praise, encouraging him to continue.

First, Damian, Dick thinks bitterly, eyes flicking to Bruce’s face, observing the content expression resting there. And now Tim. What’s wrong with me?

Dick rubs a hand down his face and sighs. He stands, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I’m gonna get coffee,” he says. “You want some?”

“Yes, pwease!” Tim chirps, gazing up at him hopefully.

“ No, ” Dick and Bruce say sharply. He exchanges a glance with the older man, bewildered, and looks back at Tim. 

“Sorry, baby,” Dick continues in a softer voice, reaching out to squish one of Tim’s cheeks between his index finger and thumb. “You can’t have any coffee right now, okay? It’ll stunt your growth and keep you tiny forever.”

“M’not tiny!” Tim pouts. “Dickie! Don’t be mean!”

“I’ll bring you juice,” Dick offers, ruffling his hair next. “As long as you’re good and you don’t try to drink Bruce’s coffee.” He pauses, glancing at his father with an arched brow. “You do want coffee, right? I don’t want to brew a pot just for myself.”

“Yes,” Bruce says. “The machine in the Watchtower broke. I haven’t had any all weekend. Please make sure mine is the strongest.”

“You got it, B.”

Dick watches Tim for a second longer before heading over to the kitchen. He prepares a pot of coffee, leaning against the counter as he watches the dark liquid drip into the glass container, hunching in on himself when he hears Bruce’s low-pitched voice, a deep timbre that used to help Dick sleep when he was little, followed by Tim’s laughter, bright and carefree.

Stop, Dick tells himself, scathing. He’s not your kid. You shouldn’t feel this way.

And yet.

He groans, leaning forward to bury his face in his hands. Sometimes, it’s easy to imagine, especially when Tim climbs into his lap or clings to him, so open with his affection and love, always looking back to make sure Dick’s still with him whenever they’re walking somewhere. Their similarities don’t help, and Dick finds that it’s hard to look past their differences, instead focusing on the black-haired, blue-eyed reflection staring back at him.

It’s worse with Damian.

Dick was there when Bruce wasn’t, and the weight of Batman’s cape was so heavy on his shoulders, only growing lighter with Damian at his side. He was a brat at first, sure, but Dick likes to think that he mellowed out thanks to Dick’s guiding hand.

They spent all their time together in those days because a part of Dick was desperate to fix something, anything, in the wake of Bruce’s supposed death. He tried to be a good brother, a good mentor, but somewhere along the way, the lines crossed, and he ended up being more of a parent to Damian than Bruce, which is something he’ll never admit to the old man.

Damian is his. Not through blood, yes, but Dick was there when Damian struggled to find his balance in Gotham, helping him unlearn all the terrible things that the League put in his head. He taught Damian how to choose kindness over violence, giving him the chance to open up and finally allow himself to be a child, still holding onto some of the innocence that the League didn’t stamp out.

Dick tries to contain his parental feelings, but sometimes they well up in him now and again. It appears as a burst of pride whenever Damian does well in school, a rush of love after Damian greets him with a hug and something tender, sweet, and warm that lingers in his chest when Damian falls asleep against him during a movie, clinging to Dick while he dreams.

The smell of coffee drags him out of his thoughts, as well as the sound of someone entering the kitchen with small, familiar steps. Dick goes through some breathing exercises, trying to get himself together, and turns with a bright smile.

“Hey, Damian,” he says warmly.

“Richard,” Damian greets, his face softening. “I didn’t expect you to be home so soon.”

“Bruce,” he says with a shrug, turning back to the coffee. Dick opens one of the cupboards and grabs two mugs, also pulling out the box of Damian’s tea and setting it down on the counter. “He’s in the sitting room if you want to see him.”

“Why would I want that?” Damian asks haughtily, but when Dick glances over, he sees the way Damian’s eyes dart over to the doorway in the direction of the room. “I suppose I can pass through and say hello after a cup of tea.”

“Sure,” Dick replies, amused. He pours some coffee into a mug and dumps a bunch of sugar and creamer into it, stirring the drink around until the color changes to a faint beige. “And you can tell me about your visit to the Kent farm. Did you have fun? Are there any new animals there?” He pauses and asks wryly, “Did you bring any home?”

“No!” Damian huffs, crossing his arms. “Pennyworth wouldn’t allow me to bring a box of motherless kittens into the car, instead reassuring me that they’ll be taken care of on the farm. Jonathan reiterated this statement and promised to call me every night to update me on the state of the kittens.”

“Every night, huh?” Dick arches a brow, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Every night,” Damian repeats firmly.

Dick notices the hint of red on his cheeks before the kid turns away. He watches as Damian grabs the tea kettle and fills it with water, setting it down in the middle of the stove before grabbing a plain green mug.

“Wipe that look off your face,” Damian suddenly says snidely. “I only agreed so I could make sure the kittens were receiving adequate care, nothing more.”

“Mmhmm. And why didn’t you come down to greet us when we arrived?”

Damian mumbles something unintelligible.

Dick leans closer, cupping a hand around his ear. “What was that?” he asks, grinning. “I couldn’t quite catch that, Little D! You’re gonna have to speak up for me! I don’t have super-hearing like your friend.”

“I was speaking with Jonathan,” Damian finally says aloud, glaring at him. “If this continues, Richard, I will not hesitate to toss boiling water on you!”

“Touchy, touchy,” Dick says, holding up a hand in surrender. He turns away to drink more coffee, breathing in through his nose so he won’t burst out laughing, and then turns back to his brother only when he’s confident that his amusement won’t show.

“So,” he says after Damian finishes preparing his tea. “What’s going on with the Kents, huh? Everything going okay?”

Dick listens as Damian talks about his visit to the farm, his eyes lighting up with child-like glee when he speaks about the new animals he saw while he drinks his tea. After a while, Dick goes back out with a fresh mug of coffee (plus a cup of diluted apple juice for Tim), and Damian follows behind. He stops in the doorway when he sees a large, brick-shaped Lego bucket on the floor, Tim sitting beside it, and a sea of colorful Legos surrounding him.

“Bruce,” Dick says despairingly, eyeing where it clearly states that it’s a 1,500-piece set on the side of the container. “You didn’t.”

“I saw it on the way home,” Bruce says mildly, holding a hand. “Pass over my coffee.”

Dick carefully steps over a few stray pieces to give him the mug, slowly sitting down. “Hey, baby,” he says when Tim looks up at him. “You having fun?”

“Uh-huh!” Tim holds up a magenta Lego. “Wook! It’s pink!”

“That’s right, baby.” Dick smiles at his cute baby brother and then leans forward, gesturing to the side where Damian stands. “Aren’t you gonna say hi, Timmy?” he says, reaching out to poke his nose. “You gotta be polite, remember?”

Tim looks over, and his eyes go wide. “Dami!” he shouts, pushing himself up. Tim steps over all the Legos and throws himself at Damian, beaming. “Hi, Dami! I missed you!”

Damian visibly stiffens, hands hovering above Tim’s tiny form. Before Dick can step in to tug Tim away, Damian slowly lowers them, returning the embrace with a caution that Dick only sees around stray cats. “Hello, Timothy,” he says, a bit subdued, but there’s no mistaking the undercurrent of fondness in his voice. “I felt the same.”

“Do you want to, um, pway?” Tim asks, sounding shy. “Daddy got more Wegos for me…”

“I… suppose I can spare a moment of my time for you,” Damian says slowly, the tips of his ears turning red. “You can tell me about your trip while we’re at it, and let me know if Todd took care of you.”

“Okay!” Tim says happily, grabbing one of Damian’s hands and leading him over to where he left his Legos. Dick follows at a sedate pace, taking a seat on the couch while Tim pushes some bricks aside to make room for Damian. “Here! This is where we build!”

“And what is it that we’re building?”

“Hmm…” Tim taps a finger against his chin. “Eiffel Tower?”

Damian looks at the piles of bricks surrounding them, brows furrowed. “I believe we can make an adequate attempt,” he says decisively and scoops up a handful of the gray bricks.

Dick watches them build with the Legos, both boys wearing similar looks of concentration as they pick out what they need from the Lego brick bucket. He glances over at Bruce and almost snorts when he sees the same expression on the older man’s face, and he can’t help but marvel at how much Bruce influences both Tim and Damian.

It takes a lot of time, and Dick nearly dozes off, even with the TV playing a random cartoon movie in the background (he put it on to relieve his boredom). Eventually, Tim and Damian complete their Eiffel Tower, and Tim presents it with a shy flourish.

“Wow,” Dick says, staring at the colorful monument. “You guys did it! Good job!”

Tim beams at him while Damian scowls, a touch of pink entering his cheeks. “Thank you,” they both say, the latter much more subdued than the exuberance from Tim.

“It looks good,” Bruce says, and there’s no denying the note of pride in his voice. Thankfully, the kids can detect it too, and both of them preen in the wake of such praise. “We’ll display it somewhere in the house.”

Someone clears their throat, and Dick looks up to see Alfred standing there, unamused. “I hope you four don’t plan on missing dinner,” he says, a hint of reproach in his voice. “I have given you enough time to finish up your structure, but now it’s time to eat, especially for young Master Tim, who must be starving.”

“Is that true, Timmy?” Dick asks, reaching out to snag Tim out from his Lego pile before anyone else can get the idea to do the same. “Are you a hungry little hippo?”

“No!” Tim wraps his arms and legs around Dick, clinging to his front. “M’not a hippo, Dickie!”

“Oh, right,” Dick says sagely, nodding as he walks toward the dining room. “You’re a baby bird, and I guess that makes me the mama bird who has to feed you.”

“Dickie is silly…”

After dinner (which turned out to be pasta and included a smaller bowl for Tim, who ate with his hands and made a mess), Dick brings up the idea of going to the park the next day.

“We can go to that new one,” Dick says as he tries to wipe the pasta sauce off Tim’s hands. The kid keeps squirming, trying to lick it off instead, but Dick doesn’t give up. “For a while, at least, and let Tim get some fresh air.”

“Father and I will be busy at Wayne Enterprises,” Damian replies, though there’s no mistaking the thoughtful look in his eyes. He turns to face Bruce, crossing his arms while he speaks, “Perhaps we can stop by after we’re done? You said it wouldn’t take long, correct?”

“We can do that,” Bruce says with a nod. “Dick and Tim could head out in the morning after breakfast, and then we’ll meet up around lunch. Alfred can pack you two something to eat while you’re waiting for us.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dick agrees. He focuses back on his task until finally, Tim’s all clean. “There you go, baby! Good as new!” he says, patting Tim’s head and ignoring the disgruntled look that the kid shoots him. “How about we finish up that Transformers movie from earlier before Bruce and Damian have to patrol?”

“Yes!” Tim turns to Bruce, clapping his hands together and holding them in front of his face, puppy dog eyes on display. “Pwease, daddy? Will you watch with us?”

“I… suppose we can spare a moment,” Bruce says, reaching down to ruffle Tim’s hair. “And then we have to go, alright? I can’t keep letting my… acquaintances watch over Gotham.”

“Acquaintances,” Dick says with a snort, kicking away a couple of Legos. “As if you aren’t besties with Uncle Clark.”

“Please don’t ever say that again.”

Dick selects the movie while everyone takes their seats. He also takes some time to clean up the Legos, carefully placing the Eiffel Tower on a table. Dick makes sure it’s not too close to the edge before he hears back to the couch, plopping down in the empty space beside Tim, who fiddles with a fidget toy, clicking the buttons and twisting it while he watches the film.

He pulls out his phone while everyone’s distracted with the TV, opening up his message thread with Jason and simply typing the word tomorrow. After sending that off, Dick reaches out and snags Tim, pulling him against his side.

“Dickie!” Tim complains, struggling against him. “You’re gonna squish me!”

“Good,” Dick says, kissing his head. “My cute baby brother deserves all the love!”

“Not cute!”

“Oh, right.” Dick tickles his side, causing Tim to erupt into giggles. “My handsome baby brother deserves all the love in the world.”

“That’s wight,” Tim says, huffing and looking over at Bruce. “Can I have a wobot, daddy?”

“Not until you're older,” Bruce says without missing a beat. “And only then will I let you borrow the Bat-Mech.”

“We have a mech?” Damian asks from where he’s curled up against Bruce’s side, frowning. “Why was I not informed about this?”

“Because we haven’t had a use for it,” Bruce replies. “I had it made in case we ever face a threat that requires more than the power of the Justice League. We may have an equal amount of heavy hitters on the team, but they can be easily incapacitated. A mech can be rebuilt and has enough firepower to face off against larger enemies.”

“Is this because I made you watch Pacific Rim with me?” Dick asks, squinting at Bruce. “Because this is the first time I’m hearing about it, too.”

“Bat-Mech,” Tim says. “Wed-Mech.”

“That’d also work for Jason,” Dick points out. “And he’d definitely steal it from you if it had that name.”

Tim huffs. “Wobin-Mech,” he says grumpily and then quickly shakes his head. “No! Tim-Mech! Just for me!”

“No, Tim,” Bruce says. “You cannot rename the Mech just because you want it to be yours. It doesn’t work like that.”

“For me,” Tim replies, crossing his arms and pouting. “Just wike the Batmobile!”

“You have never owned a Batmobile, Tim.”

“Yes, I have!” Tim cries, tossing a pillow up in the air. It disappears behind the couch, and Dick decides to leave it, eyes flicking back and forth between his brother and Bruce. “I have one! I do! It’s, um…” He giggles, flopping across Dick’s lap. “I hid it.”

Dick stares down at his mischievous brother and then glances over at Bruce, biting the inside of his cheek so he won’t laugh when he notices the subtle eye twitch.

“I see,” Bruce says, voice flat. “We’ll talk about this another time, Tim.”

“Okay,” Tim says, kicking up his feet. “And then you’ll give me a wobot?”

“We’ll see,” Bruce answers, which typically means no.

Bruce and Damian leave after the movie ends, but not before Tim hugs them and kisses their cheeks. Dick notes that they exit the room with smiles on their faces, and he marvels over how Tim has wrapped everyone around his finger.

Dick shuts off the TV and scoops up his little brother, who yawns and rests his head on Dick’s shoulder. It’s not that late, but they’ve been trying to get Tim to stick to an early sleep schedule while he’s young, and so far, it hasn’t failed them.

“Dickie?” Tim asks when they’re moving to the bedroom.“Will you, um, wead to me?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” Dick says gently, pausing outside Tim’s old bedroom. He opens the door and peers inside, his heart twisting when he notices how empty it looks. Rectangular outlines cover the walls, an indication that there used to be posters in those spots, and everything is spotless, which is so unlike how it used to be when Tim lived here.

There’s no way Dick can leave him alone in this room. So far, Tim’s been sharing a bed with Dick or Bruce, or they leave him on the couch when he dozes off because no one has the heart to move him when he’s slumbering so peacefully.

“We can have a little sleepover, too,” he continues, shutting the door. “Won’t that be fun?”

“Uh-huh.” Tim gazes up at him with a sleepy smile. “With Batwalker, too?”

“Of course, baby! We can’t forget him!”

Dick hesitates in the hallway of the family wing and then starts making his way over to the library instead. He goes over to the shelf that has some of their signed children’s novels, gifted to Brucie Wayne, and browses the titles. When Tim shifts restlessly in his arms, Dick picks one out and leaves, heading to his bedroom. 

Two suitcases sit on the floor beside the closet. Dick smiles over Alfred’s forward thinking and sets Tim down on the bed, opening up the smaller case to pull out a pair of pajamas. The pants are covered in the Batman symbol, while the top is a black t-shirt with Superman’s symbol on the front.

Tim brushes a hand over it, humming. “Just wike Kon,” he says.

“Exactly,” Dick says, running his fingers through Tim’s hair. He spies Batwalker tucked underneath the covers in his bed and nods, mentally thanking Alfred. “How about we go brush our teeth? And then I’ll read to you.”

Dick leans against the sink while he brushes his teeth, already changed into his sleepwear. Tim sits on the counter, doing the same, his eyes drooping and his movements lagging. Dick carries him out of the bathroom afterwards, lifting the covers and depositing his baby brother on his sheets, watching with a rush of fondness as Tim wraps his arms around Batwalker, snuggling the stuffed dinosaur.

“Dickie weads now?” Tim asks, yawning yet again.

“Yes, baby,” Dick says, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I’ll read to you.”

He goes over to shut the door first, pausing before leaving it open a crack, knowing that Bruce will check on them when he returns from patrol. Then, Dick sits on the bed with his back against the headboard, grabbing the book from the bedside table and resting it on his lap.

“The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane,” he says, brushing his fingers over the tiny rabbit on the cover. He tilts it toward Tim, who smiles, and then flips to the first page, clearing his throat and shifting until he’s comfortable. 

“Once, in a house on Egypt Street,” Dick begins. “there lived a rabbit who was made almost entirely of china. He had china arms and china legs, china paws and a china head, a china torso and a china nose.” 

After he mentions each body part, Dick pokes the same one on Tim’s body, causing the boy to giggle and try to shove him away. “His arms and legs were jointed and joined by wire,” Dick continues. “So that his china elbows and china knees could be bent, giving him much freedom of movement.”

Tim moves closer, and Dick drops a hand to pet through his soft hair. “His ears were made of real rabbit fur,” he reads, brushing a thumb over Tim’s ear. “And beneath the fur, there were strong, bendable wires, which allowed the ears to be arranged into poses that reflected the rabbit’s mood—jaunty, tired, full of ennui. His tail, too, was made of real rabbit fur and was fluffy and soft and well shaped.”

He pauses to look down at his brother, who stares at the book with a half-lidded gaze, most of his face hidden behind his stuffed dinosaur. Dick brushes a few strands of hair away from his face before turning his attention back to the story.

“The rabbit’s name was Edward Tulane,” he says, lowering his voice so he doesn’t disturb his sleepy baby brother. “and he was tall. He measured almost three feet from the tip of his ears to the tip of his feet; his eyes were painted a penetrating and intelligent blue.”

Dick continues to read the story, intrigued by this vain rabbit who seems to be aware of the world around him, owned by a loving girl named Abilene. At some point, after Abiline’s grandmother, Pellegrina, tells a story about a princess (but before the Tulane family trip on a ship), Tim nods off, head pillowed against Dick’s side. 

He sets the book aside and shifts Tim onto the pillow, pausing when Tim mumbles something unintelligible in his sleep. Dick waits for Tim to settle before leaning over to shut off the light, curling around Tim, and falling asleep.

Dick later awakens to the feeling of someone running their hand through his hair. He sighs, burrowing into his pillow after he recognizes the presence near him, and mumbles, “All good, B?”

“Yes,” Bruce says. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Mmkay.” Dick yawns, already halfway to falling back asleep. “Love ya, B.”

The hand pauses. There’s a long stretch of silence where Dick thinks this is all part of a dream, but then the ministrations continue, and Bruce says quietly, “Love you too, chum.”

He thinks he feels the soft pressure of lips against his forehead, but sleep quickly drags him down into the dark. Dick drifts off, comfortable and warm, enclosed in a strong sense of safety, and he dreams of robins, dinosaurs, and porcelain rabbits.

Chapter Text

Tim sleeps in the backseat while Dick drives through Gotham.

They left the manor about an hour after breakfast, letting their stomachs settle before Dick packed Tim, some toys, and a cooler from Alfred into the car. Right now, the streets lack the normal bustle that comes from people heading to work, leaving work, or trying to escape an attack from the city’s villains.

(Though, some civilians tend to be more sensible and immediately take cover indoors instead.)

A light drizzle started when they left, causing Dick’s hands to clench tightly around the steering wheel, knuckles white until it petered off. The dark gray clouds loom above the city ominously, a sign that there might be a fair bit of rain later on in the day or week since the weather out here has its own moods from time to time.

Dick’s never around in Gotham when it rains. There’s too much traffic, too many accidents, and people get so crabby when the streets flood (rightfully so). He also hates the way it feels on him, even through his suit, and if this makes him meticulously check the weather report for Gotham and Bludhaven so he can decide where to go for the weekend, then that’s his problem! 

His eyes flick up to the rearview mirror to see Tim gazing out the window with half-lidded eyes, probably still partially asleep. Dick focuses back on the road, taking in the faint sound of a few cars honking, construction work on several different corners of the street, food truck employees trying to make a sale, and people laughing as they enjoy the day.

It’s moments like these where Dick can appreciate some of the innate ambiances of Gotham, the beauty that comes from the people, the community, that are still insane enough to live here despite everything that happens.

Outsiders consider it a dark and dreary city, full of the worst things ever imagined—a cesspool of crime that never seems to end. While that may be true in some aspects, Dick knows one of the few things that gives it life is its silent protector, the caped crusader who appears in the dead of night, chasing away shadows and replacing them with his own. Even without the fabled Batman, Gotham still has its moments of beauty.

Like the recently added park that remains untouched by filth. No one wants to incur the wrath of Poison Ivy, who coaxed the trees and flowers to grow during her hours of community service, creating a patch of light in the dark, a safe haven for those who need a moment of peace.

(Criminals also don’t want to piss off Harley Quinn, who will definitely bash heads in if someone upsets her partner. Normally, Dick doesn’t agree with this type of behavior, but when Wally was upset because a mystery person ate the leftovers that he was saving, Dick totally dangled said person, whose name rhymes with Toy, off the Tower in revenge.)

Dick turns at the next light, smiling when he spies a cluster of green in the distance. He pulls into the small parking lot beside the park and shuts off the car, turning around to gaze at his baby brother, who is now awake and peers out curiously, still strapped to the car seat.

“Um,” Tim says. “Where did we go?”

Dick says nothing, not even when Tim keeps repeating the question while he’s unbuckling the kid and taking him out of the car. He perches his brother on his hip as he gathers their belongings, pausing when Tim yanks on one of his jacket strings.

“What, baby?” Dick asks, absently kissing his head.

“Batwalker!” Tim says, pointing to the car seat. “Put him in so he can see evewything and wait for me! Wike Edward Tuwane!”

“Maybe we should get him a little pocket watch, too,” Dick muses, recalling how the little porcelain rabbit had his watch wound every morning so he’d know when his wonder was coming home. “A gold one, just for Batwalker.”

He sets the bags down and grabs the stuffed dinosaur, who tumbled to the floorboard during their trip. Dick places him in the car seat and buckles him in one-handed, glancing down at his baby brother with a smile.

“There,” he says, shutting the door and picking everything back up. “All done!”

“Thank you,” Tim says sweetly, kissing his cheek and asking again, “Where did we go, Dickie?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” Dick says as he starts walking down the path toward one of the park’s many entrances. “I know you can figure it out, sweetheart.”

“Oh!” Tim says, one foot kicking out. Dick glances over to see a smile spread across Tim’s face, eyes fixed on what’s ahead of them. “The park?”

“Yup! Good job, Timmy!” Dick pauses inside the gates, smiling when he sees a few kids running around the playground. “First,” he says, making a right turn down another path. “We’re gonna play a little game! And then we’ll have a bit of lunch before going on the swings.”

“What game?” Tim reaches up and grabs a few strands of Dick’s hair, twining it between his fingers. “Is it fun?”

“Totally! Have I ever lied to you, Tim?”

“Um… no?”

“Then trust me when I say that it’ll be fun,” Dick says, absently kissing Tim’s cheek as he slips through an open gate. A bunch of bleachers greet him, dirtied by all the stomping feet and the peanut shells dropped by guests, and past it lies a beautiful, green field that melds into a large section of dirt with a diamond shape drawn on top, each corner marked by a white base. 

It’s void of any people, too.

He enters the dugout and walks across the dirt, kicking up a few rocks along the way. Dick stops all the way out in the center field and sets his baby brother down on the grass.

“It looks like we have the whole field to ourselves,” Dick says. He tosses down their equipment beside them and starts going through a series of stretches to get his blood pumping. “Come on, Tim. Get warmed up before I let you run around all the bases.”

Tim flops down on the grass and rolls around instead.

Dick lets him do his thing for a few minutes. Eventually, Tim sighs, pushing himself up, and Dick bites back a grin when he sees Tim copying his movements. The kid keeps peeking over at him, adjusting his position when necessary, until finally, Dick deems them warmed up and pokes Tim’s side, causing him to tip over into the grass with a giggle.

“Alright!” Dick says, clapping his hands together. “How about we play a little ball, huh? You remember how to play, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” Tim says, gazing up at him from where he’s sprawled across the grass. He brings his feet up and rolls his body, bouncing on his two feet and smiling at him. “Pwayed on Myrg,” he continues with a nod, making his hair bounce. “Against the Swag. I was on, um, second!”

“Oh, yeah?” Dick picks off a few blades of grass from his hair, wiping the rest off his clothes, too. “Where’s Myrg?”

“In space!”

Dick stares at his little brother, who smiles brightly at him before crouching down and brushing his hands through the grass. Then, very slowly, Dick closes his eyes and takes a few calming breaths, trying to convince himself that he misheard.

“Um, Dickie?”

“Yeah, baby?” Dick says, opening his eyes to see Tim holding up a handful of dandelions.

“For you,” Tim says sweetly. “Because I wuv you.”

“Aww.” Dick accepts the flowers with a smile, ruffling Tim’s hair. “I love you too, sweetheart, even though you’re making me go gray.”

“Dickie would look nice,” Tim says with a giggle. 

“You keep telling yourself that,” Dick replies. He tucks the flower into his shirt pocket and scoops up the plastic baseball bat, handing it over. “How about you show me some of your baseball skills? And then I’ll take you to the playground. We’re gonna meet up with Bruce and Damian there.”

Tim gasps. “Daddy and Dami are coming to the park?!”

“Yes, baby, remember? We talked about it last night,” Dick says, smiling at him. “They’re stopping by soon. Damian’s still on break from school, so Bruce is taking him to WE to show off some of the departments there.”

“My departments,” Tim says firmly.

“Right, right. Sorry, Timmy.”

The game they play involves Dick gently tossing the ball and Tim trying to hit it. Dick pulls out his phone to record a couple of attempts because Tim spins all the way around and falls on his butt before erupting into laughter. He sends that off to the group chat (and Bruce) and then continues, even going over to help Tim adjust his position to better hit the ball.

Dick cheers for Tim when he finally hits it, and then takes his sweet time picking it up, eventually chasing Tim all around the field threatening to tag him with it. The air gets filled with Tim’s joyous laughter, and the kid jumps for joy when he touches home base, turning to face Dick with a smile so bright that it’s almost blinding.

“I did it!” he says. “I won!”

“That’s right, sweetheart, you won!” Dick grins, picking Tim up during one of his jumps and bouncing him around on his hip. “What if I sign you up for the Little League, huh? Will you make us proud out there on the baseball field?”

“I don’t wanna pway baseball,” Tim says with a huff, wrapping his arms around Dick’s neck. “I wanna be a cheerweader! And then cheer for Dickie when he pways baseball for me!”

“Oh, now I’m gonna play baseball for you?” Dick leans in and blows a raspberry against Tim’s neck, causing the kid to hunch his shoulders and giggle. “You want me to risk life and limb out in the field just to make you happy? Is that it, Tim? Do I exist only to serve you?”

“Uh-huh!”

“You’re a little monster,” Dick says, pretending to bite his shoulder. Tim shrieks with laughter, trying to push him away, and by the end of it, they both keep laughing breathlessly while Tim clings to his neck. “I love you, little brother,” he murmurs, nuzzling the side of Tim’s head. “Even when you’re so mean to me.”

“I’m not mean!” Tim declares, tugging on one of Dick’s ears. “Dickie, you’re too silly sometimes.”

“Maybe so,” Dick replies, setting him back down on the dirt. “But I know the truth. Remember when you wouldn’t share your pancakes with me? I do, Timmy, and I’ll never forget.”

“Silly,” Tim says. He tugs on Dick’s pants, peering up at him. “We pway some more?”

“Yes, sweetie. We can play more baseball.”

They continue their little game until Tim stops midswing, pats his stomach, and declares his hunger to the world. Dick packs everything up and carries Tim out of the field, dumping their stuff on one of the wooden tables scattered around the park. He sets his little brother down on the bench and opens their cooler, pulling out two neatly wrapped sandwiches in bags and a packet of apple slices.

“Here,” Dick says, passing over the sandwich bag labeled with Tim’s name. There’s also a little drawing of a dinosaur on the corner. “And—oh, here it is!” He pulls out two apple juice boxes and a bag of apple slices. “Sweet! One for you and one for me!”

Tim holds out a hand, waiting. His sandwich (with no crusts) sits on top of a napkin. The bag rests beside it, untouched. “Apple juice is the best,” he says sagely after Dick hands it over. Dick watches as he tears off the straw, jabs it into the hole, and takes a large sip. “Good!” he declares and then picks up his sandwich, taking a tiny bite. “Yummy!”

“What’d you get?” Dick asks curiously, unwrapping his sandwich. He rubs his hands together when the smell of chicken and jalapeño greets his nose. Dick bites into his sandwich and glances at his little brother, who has a streak of something light brown on the corner of his mouth. “Oh,” he says. “Peanut butter?”

“Cookie butter,” Tim replies, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t wike peanut butter. Too cwunchy.”

“You know, you can ask for the smooth kind…”

“Don’t wike the way it feels, um, on my tongue!” Tim tells him, kicking his feet when he takes another bite of his sandwich. “And it tastes funny, too! Alfie says I can have what I want as long as I don’t forget my fwuits.” 

Dick passes over an apple slice, which Tim bites out of his hand because he’s a terrible heathen, not caring that he nearly bites off Dick’s fingers. 

“Hey!” Dick complains, holding his hand close to his chest. “Watch those fangs of yours!”

“Oops.” Tim giggles. “Sowee, Dickie!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dick grumbles, going back to his sandwich. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

Alfred also packed them four chocolate chip cookies for dessert, which Dick divides between the two of them. He tugs Tim against his side while they eat their treat, playing with the ends of his baby-soft hair. Tim giggles when Dick digs his fingers into his neck, causing him to elbow Dick’s side.

“I never realized you were so ticklish,” Dick says, amused. He pokes Tim’s side and gets rewarded with another giggle. “How come you hid this from me, sweetie?”

“M’not!” Tim replies, shaking his head. He polishes off the rest of his cookie and sadly looks down at his chocolate-covered hands. Dick sighs and passes the other half of his second cookie, feeling warm when Tim beams at him. “Thank you, Dickie!” he says, leaning down to kiss Dick’s hand.

“You’re welcome, baby,” he says, amused. “My food is your food, I guess…”

After tossing their trash (and keeping Tim’s sandwich bag at his request), Dick starts leading them over to the playground. He pauses in the middle of the pathway when he spies two familiar figures heading their way, smiling. 

“Hey, Timmy,” Dick says, poking his little brother’s chest before pointing ahead of them. “Look over there.”

Tim gives him a confused look, but when he glances over, his eyes go wide and he releases one of those cute little gasps. “They came!” he whispers to Dick, tugging on his shirt. Then, he starts shouting, waving his hand frantically, “Hi, Daddy! Hi, Dami! Hi!”

Dick struggles to hold onto his suddenly squirming baby brother as the other two near. Finally, he gives up and sets Tim on the ground, watching as he takes off into a run in their direction. Bruce pauses in the middle of the walkway and crouches down, holding out his arms right as Tim crashes into him.

He catches up to his family just as Tim finishes his greeting to Bruce, now hugging the older man tightly and rubbing his cheek against Bruce’s scruffy face. Dick remembers doing that a couple of times as a kid, too, so he understands why Tim releases a little laugh—it’s truly a strange sensation.

“Hi, Tim,” Bruce says warmly.

“Hi, Bruce,” Dick says as he draws closer, stopping to ruffle Damian’s hair. He bites back a grin when the kid swats at his hand, annoyed. “Hey, Damian!”

“Hello, Richard,” Damian says stiffly, patting his hair down. “I hope you gave Timothy his lunch before we arrived. He will not be running around on an empty stomach. I won’t allow it.”

“Of course I fed him!” Dick replies, indignant. “What do you take me for, huh?”

The sound of music drifts over to Dick, and he glances over to see a mint green ice cream truck parked beside one of the park entrances. Other kids run towards it, their parents hurrying behind, and Dick takes a few steps closer to Bruce until he’s partially hiding it from view.

“So,” Dick says. “What do you want to do, huh?” He gestures to the mostly empty playground, and then takes his brother from Bruce, carrying him into the area. “We can go on the swings or go down the slides, maybe play in the sand… but I think Alfred might kick our butts if we bring that back to the house.”

“Your butt,” Tim says with a grin. “Not mine!”

“Ugh, you’re right,” Dick says, exasperated. “I forgot you’re the current favorite since he’s so focused on fattening you up.” He pokes Tim’s stomach and walks over to the small jungle gym, setting Tim down beside it. “How about we do some climbing, huh?” he asks, gripping the bars and pulling himself on top of it.

“Um, I wanna swing!”

“Okay,” Dick replies, hanging off the end and carefully flipping himself down. He lands on his feet, of course, and Tim claps politely. “Thank you, baby.”

“Can I do that?” Tim asks.

And even though Dick was doing that at Tim’s age, something in his heart seizes at the thought of his sweet baby attempting to flip and missing the rail, plummeting to the ground instead. “Maybe,” he says, unable to say no to that hopeful face. Still afraid that Tim might get hurt somehow, he quickly adds, “Or I can put on a little circus show for you!”

Tim gasps, reaching up to tug at the hem of Dick’s button-down shirt. “Yes!” he says excitedly! “Do that! Pwease!”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Dick says, smiling in relief. “We’ll do it soon, okay? For now, let’s get you over to the swings.” He reaches down to pick him up, surprised when Tim shakes his head, pushing his arms away.

“No, Dickie!” Tim says with a pout. “I want Daddy to push me!”

“Okay, okay,” Dick says, laughing as he holds up both hands in surrender. “I’ll let Bruce push you, but make sure you stay on the swing, okay?” His older counterpart loved to jump off the swing when it was at its highest, often using the momentum to do a couple of flips before landing on his feet, only after Dick did it first. “I don’t want to look up and see you flying off into the sky.”

Tim stares up at him, puzzled, and then looks down at himself. “I can’t fwy,” he says plainly. “I don’t have any gwider on.”

“And we better keep it that way,” Dick replies with a firm nod. “Baby birds can’t fly yet. Not until they’re older. Got that?”

“Okay, Dickie…”

The little boy tugs at his shirt again, and Dick crouches down so he’s at eye level with his baby brother. His heart grows warm when Tim leans over and kisses his cheek, and he can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face, nor can he resist the urge to pepper kisses all over Tim’s cheek, adding in a raspberry against Tim’s neck just to hear him giggle.

He lets go of his brother, who hugs him one last time before running off to Bruce. Their father stares down at Tim, who gestures toward the swing set. After a few seconds, Bruce nods and then scoops Tim up, walking over to the swings and setting him down in front of one, holding onto it while Tim climbs onto the seat. Tim tips his head back to say something, causing Bruce to smile, and then he starts pushing Tim, who kicks his feet every time he goes up into the air.

Dick rests a hand on his chest, overwhelmingly fond, and then pivots on his heel, making his way over to his other little brother.

Damian’s sitting on a lone bench beneath one of many lilac trees focused on his sketchbook. Dick takes a seat beside him, nearly sighing when Damian barely glances over at him. He rests his arm behind Damian’s head on the back of the bench. Then, he gently bumps their knees together.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hello again, Richard,” Damian replies. It’s neutral, not unlike how he greets those around him. That’s another sign that something’s wrong—he’s usually much warmer with Dick.

“Listen,” Dick says, waiting for his brother to look at him before continuing, “I’m sorry I haven’t been around as much. I know you’ve been missing me.”

“And what makes you think that I do?”

“Because I miss you,” Dick says, pulling Damian against his side. “And I need you to know that I’m not doing this on purpose, and I’m not punishing you for anything by choosing to be Tim’s primary caretaker.”

Damian snorts, but Dick feels the boy relax against him. “I’m well aware,” he replies dryly. “You are best suited to care for those younger than you. It’s only natural that you would do the same for Timothy when he’s so small and helpless.”

“I wouldn’t say that he’s helpless, but yes,” Dick says, a relieved smile on his face. He brings his hand up and rests it on Damian’s head for a couple of seconds, feeling a flicker of warmth in his chest when the youngest briefly leans into the touch. “I’ve had a lot of practice with taking care of little brothers.”

It falls silent. Damian returns to drawing in his sketchbook, and Dick resists the urge to peer over and watch him. The kid hates it when others try to observe him while he’s an element, though he never explicitly stated his preferences. Dick learned the hard way—through multiple bruises and insults.

Dick leans back against the bench, shutting his eyes as he enjoys the fresh breeze. There’s also the faint scent of something floral drifting through the air, and the sound of Tim’s laughter across the playground helps him feel… content.

“It’s strange, sometimes,” Damian says suddenly, causing Dick to crack his eyes open to look over at him. “To see Drake this way.”

“Yeah,” Dick replies, his eyes finding Tim’s tiny form across the playground. He’s still on the swing, the seat flying high while a bright smile stays fixed on his face. Bruce dutifully pushes Tim, face soft, happy, as he watches him.

“I remember when he was this tiny,” Dick begins, lips twitching from the memory. “We met before, did you know that? He was there when my parents—” He pauses, fingers flexing against his thigh, and exhales shakily. “Tim was pretty quiet,” Dick continues. “But he smiled so wide when we interacted, especially when I promised to do that quadruple somersault for him. I guess…” He laughs, and his voice is a touch rueful when he says, “I guess he was lonely.”

“I believe that’s something he still struggles with,” Damian says. “Even now, with all of us around. Timothy is often surprised whenever he’s not alone, especially when we return from quick trips to the kitchen or the bathroom. And…” Here, Damian hesitates, and then continues unprompted, “There are moments where it seems like his memories are fading.”

“Oh?” Dick frowns. “What makes you say that?”

Damian looks down at his sketchbook, his knuckles white around his pencil. “He mispronounced a word the other night and apologized for it,” he says quietly. “And he nearly broke down in tears as he kept repeating it until he got it right.”

“Ah,” Dick acknowledges, shutting his eyes and releasing a sigh. It probably happened when he left Tim with Damian for a moment while he cleaned up Tim’s mess of toys. “Yeah,” he says. “His parents demanded perfection from him. Sometimes he got like that when he was with us as Robin, and then he’d relax, be more like himself until they were back again. It doesn’t sound like it has anything to do with his memories, just habit.”

“If you’re certain,” Damian replies, tapping the end of his pencil against his knee. “I prefer when Timothy can be himself. At ease, happy.”

“I get it,” Dick tells him. His hand flexes against his thigh again, casually forming into a fist. “Always hated when he was so quiet and unsure, all stiff—like he was afraid to mess up around us.”

Whenever his sweet boy turned into a shell of himself due to his parents coming home, Dick always wanted to go over and punch them in his perfect teeth, and then take Tim away from them. He knew this would do more harm than good since Tim still loved them, but he could never rid himself of the lingering thought.

Damian sniffs and goes back to sketching. “Well,” he says. “We can help undo their conditioning while he’s still young, much like you all did for me. But…” Damian sighs, dragging his foot against the ground. “What if this ends up permanent?”

“Then it ends up permanent,” Dick replies, tipping his head back to gaze up at the sky. It’s as hazy as ever, perpetually gray and solemn, with only a hint of sunlight peeking through the smog.

“And Timothy will just… redo everything?”

“Not redo,” Dick corrects gently, bumping their feet together. “Start anew.”

“I see.”

“It sucks to think about,” Dick says, feeling his nails bite into his palm. “We may lose our brother because of this—it was always a possibility—but at least we’ll still have a part of him with us, even if he’ll be different.”

Damian grunts, sounding so much like Bruce. “I suppose that wouldn’t be so bad,” he says quietly. “As long as he’s still with us.”

“Dami!”

Dick looks up to see Tim running over, pausing to hop over a crack on the pavement before continuing with Bruce right behind him. Tim comes to a stop in front of Damian, breathing hard, and then holds out a hand. “I got this for you,” he says, placing a vibrant green leaf on Damian’s lap. “Okay, bye!”

And then he runs back to the playground. Bruce shoots them a look, causing Dick to snort, before Bruce chases after Tim, who seems to be heading for the slides.

Damian picks up the heart-shaped leaf, and Dick watches as he carefully turns it over, brushing a finger down one side, before he slides it into his sketchbook, setting it aside. “I’ll preserve it when we get home,” he says, and Dick almost grins when he catches sight of the faint smile on Damian’s face.

“You’re such a good brother,” Dick says, tugging Damian against his side. He kisses the top of his head, ignoring the way Damian half-heartedly shoves him away. “And I’ll still be here for you, kiddo,” he says softly. “You can still pull me aside when you need to talk and we’ll deal with it together. Just you and me, okay? Even if you just need a hug, I’ll be there.”

There’s a beat, and then Damian asks quietly, “May I have another right now?”

Dick turns completely, wrapping both arms around his little brother. Damian doesn’t stiffen like he used to, and eventually, he returns the embrace, his face buried in Dick’s shoulder. “You know I love you, right?” Dick murmurs into his hair. “So much, kiddo.”

“I know,” Damian says. “And… I love you too, Richard.”

Dick takes a moment to shut his eyes and bask in the admission, and he knows there’s a dopey grin stretched across his face. He can’t help but press another kiss to Damian’s head, happy and content with his little brother.

Damian’s not the type of person to express his emotions freely, so much like Bruce in that aspect, and Dick feels lucky enough to be able to hear it. He wonders if this is Tim’s influence, what with his easy affection and the way that he loves them all so openly. It’s possible, and for that, Dick’s grateful, too.

They stay like that for a bit longer, and then Damian elbows his side and returns to his sketch. Dick continues to sit there, eyes finding the form of his little brother running around the playground. It seems like he’s having a grand old time letting Bruce chase after him, and Dick lets himself imagine seeing this all the time.

Tim could have a better childhood with them, and all the memories of his old one—with his absent parents and his lonely house—will fade away with time. A four-year-old would give Bruce another reason to come home after grueling nights of patrol. The man normally keeps himself out there even when the others return to base, clearing out any remnants of crime, gaining more bruises, before finally calling it a day, right before the sun rises and exposes him.

But it wouldn’t be fair to Tim, Dick thinks forlornly.

His eyes sting, suddenly, as he thinks about his little brother—the one who came into his life after it seemed like everything was going wrong, bringing with him so much sunshine and hope. It was everything that Dick needed, and Dick’s not ashamed to say that he may have clung to Tim, wanting to be the best big brother to the quiet, sweet boy.

Dick doesn’t think about his life after losing Jason. It was horribly lonely and sad, filled with new scars and the ghost of his dead brother following him around his apartment, reminding him of how much he failed.

Sometimes, Dick still sees Jason. It’s usually after a bad dream where he wakes up disoriented, unsure of his placement. He’ll see a wisp of his brother at fifteen, either wearing the costume he died in or dressed comfortably like he’s at home. This image will stare through him, peering at his soul and judging all of his mistakes, only to disappear when Dick blinks and remembers that Jason’s alive.

His phone buzzes and Dick slips it out of his pocket. He feels a flicker of relief when he sees Jason’s name on his screen. Dick unlocks his phone and opens their thread, first flicking through the photos of Tim that Jason sent him during the beach trip before reading his most recent message.

ONE FISH, TWO FISH, RED FISH, BLUE FISH

Thing 2: alright, i’m in.

Thing 1: cool!

Thing 2: i’m eating your cheerios.

Thing 1: HEY
Thing 1: wait i don’t eat cheerios??? 

Thing 2: then why the fuck do we have a box in the kitchen?

Thing 1: WE?????

Thing 2: oh no.

Thing 1: 🥺

Thing 2: please don’t.

Thing 1: are we… family???? 🥰🥰🥰

Thing 2: die.

Dick huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he shoves his phone into his pocket. He glances over to see Damian shooting him a curious look and dips his head, saying quietly, “It was just Jason. Don’t worry about it.”

“Ah,” Damian says thoughtfully. “Todd has settled in, then?”

“You know you’re not supposed to read my messages, right?” Dick replies, bemused. “And if you catch a glimpse, then the polite thing to do would be to not mention whatever you see.”

“I understand, Richard, but how else will I know about what’s going on in your life?”

“By asking me?”

“No,” Damian says dismissively. “It’s much easier if I see it for myself, lest you decide to keep me out of the loop on certain matters like the fact that you’re dating that speedster friend of yours.”

“Shh!” Dick glances over at Bruce, who’s completely focused on Tim (thankfully), and back. “Don’t say it out loud! Bruce still doesn’t know!”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Yes,” Dick grumbles. “Jason settled in okay, and he’s probably not going to let Bruce know he’s there until dinner time because he’s that kind of person.”

“Pennyworth will know.”

“Why do you think I excluded him?”

Dick laughs, eyes landing on Bruce, who now stands on the other side of the park. He feels a spike of panic when he doesn’t see Tim, but then he notices Bruce’s lips moving, and he figures that he’s talking to the kid. “Let’s go check on them,” Dick says, pushing himself off and using the momentum to do a perfect cartwheel, resting his hands on his hips after he lands.

“If Todd were here,” Damian says as he slides off the bench, tucking the sketchbook away in his messenger bag. “He would call you a show-off.”

“Well, good thing you’re here, and you like me enough to not say that,” Dick says brightly. He wraps an arm around Damian and starts leading him over to Bruce, who suddenly crouches down beside a small pond.

“You can’t take a duck home,” Bruce says, sounding exasperated. “This is where it belongs, Tim. I can’t let you steal a duck from the park.”

Dick looks down to see Tim sitting beside the water, one hand outstretched toward the little duckling swimming after its mother. Bruce has a hand on Tim’s shirt, and it seems to be the only thing preventing Tim from tipping into the pond.

“Quack,” Tim says. “Quack, quack.”

Bruce sighs.

“I agree, Timothy,” Damian says, standing beside him. “A duckling would be an excellent addition to our home, and we’d make use of the new pond that Alfred installed, but it would be rude of us to take one from a mother.”

“Quack,” Tim says sadly.

“Come along, ducky,” Bruce replies, tapping Tim’s head. “Let’s go on another walk, and then I’ll consider getting you a pet.”

Tim peers up at him with pursed lips. “Quack,” he says decisively, and pushes himself up, wiping a few blades of grass off his pants. He reaches up to grab one of Bruce’s hands when the older man stands, tugging him towards the direction of the ice cream truck to no avail. 

“How much do you want to bet that Bruce buys him a pet before this is all over?” Dick asks Damian as he watches Bruce successfully divert Tim’s attention away from the mint green truck. “I’m willing to put down fifty bucks if we can rope Jason into it.”

Damian scoffs. “Don’t be absurd,” he says. “Father won’t cave until Timothy is older. I know this because that’s what he said to me when I asked for another companion.”

“You already have, like, a hundred animals,” Dick points out. “Tim has none. All he needs to do is give Bruce the sad eyes and he’ll cave faster than you did when he asked if you hated him.”

“I didn’t want him to cry!” Damian retorts, but the red in his cheeks says otherwise. “It doesn’t matter. I refuse to take part in this bet, even though I know I’m right.”

Dick laughs, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “Sure, sure,” he says, his smile lingering.

They continue their walk, Tim’s duck noises breaking the silence while he has a whole conversation with Bruce, who nods along as if he understands. Dick’s not surprised when they end up looping around to the ice cream truck since it’s probably what Tim had in mind, and this is where Tim turns up the power of his sad eyes by a hundred. He even wraps his whole body around Bruce’s legs while he looks up at him, jutting out his bottom lip.

“Quack,” he says, pointing at the ice cream truck. “Quack!”

“I don’t understand duck, Tim,” Bruce says blithely, but Dick can see him already reaching for his wallet. “So, I don’t know what you want.”

“Ice cweam!” Tim pleads immediately. “I want the Batman one!”

“There’s a Batman ice cream?” Bruce says, squinting at the colorful menu on the side of the truck. 

Dick glances over, too, and he sees a superhero ice cream line starring Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman. They’re the popsicles that make the characters have gumballs for eyes and tend to look imperfect out of the wrapper, which means that Dick needs to record Bruce’s reaction to seeing it for the first time.

“I suppose I’ll get Superman,” Bruce says in a way that makes him sound like he’s bored, but Dick knows that he’s going to send a picture to Clark the moment it’s in his hand because he’s an asshole. “What about you, Damian? Dick?”

“Batman,” Damian answers. 

“I guess I’ll go with Wonder Woman,” Dick says with a laugh. “She deserves love, too!”

A few other kids and parents are gathered around the truck, but Bruce just walks past them all and speaks to the vendor. Dick grimaces when he sees the glares tossed at him and nearly reaches over to pull him back. His embarrassment fades when he sees Bruce deposit a wad of bills into the tip jar, which is probably enough money to buy everything out of the truck and more, before he returns to them, carrying four wrapped popsicles.

“Here we are,” Bruce says, passing out the ice cream while the other parents gather around the truck. “How about we sit down and enjoy it, hmm?”

“Okay,” Tim says and runs off to a nearby bench. He stops halfway, looking over at them with a frown on his face. “Hurry up!” he demands. “We have to eat our ice cweam!”

“You’re not supposed to shout, Timmy,” Dick chides as he walks up to the kid. “And you’re supposed to be nice when you want us to do something, remember?”

Tim sighs. “Sowee, Dickie,” he says, reaching up to grab Dick’s hand. He immediately starts pulling Dick over to the bench. “Hurry up, pwease, so our ice cweam doesn’t melt!”

“I guess that’s better,” Dick says with a laugh.

They all pile onto the bench, though Dick pulls Tim onto his lap when there seems to be no room for the boy (unless he wants to get squished). Dick sets his ice cream down on his thigh to grab his phone before helping Tim unwrap his Batman popsicle, bringing his camera up when Tim excitedly shows Bruce his ice-cold Batman, gesturing to the lopsided gumball eyes that make it seem like Batman’s face is melting.

The look of consternation on Bruce’s face is the funniest thing in the world, and it’s a miracle that Dick keeps his laughter under control as he sends the picture to Jason.

He unwraps his Wonder Woman popsicle, surprised to find it almost perfect. Maybe that’s just the magic of Aunt Diana, he thinks as he licks the side of it, the taste of artificial cherry bursting on his tongue. Hm. That makes a lot of sense, considering the implications behind every story she tells about her fellow warriors in Themyscira.

Dick glances over at Bruce and watches as he holds his Superman ice cream up with one hand, his other one angling his phone to snap a picture. One gumball drifted away from the eyehole, lodged in Superman’s mouth, and the other one is stuck on Superman’s eyebrow.

He snaps a picture when Bruce brings the popsicle up to his mouth, and then he opens his message thread with Uncle Clark, sending the image and warning him to watch his back.

Huffing out a laugh, Dick looks up and watches as Bruce takes a bite out of Superman’s head. 

“Oh my god,” he says, shocked. Bruce glances over at him with an arched brow, mouth shut as he chews on his pieces of ice cream. “You’re even more of a freak than I thought possible. How could you do this to me?”

“It’s just ice cream, Dick,” Bruce says before taking another bite.

“What’s so wrong with the way he’s eating it?” Damian asks, narrowing his eyes. It’s the look he gets whenever he’s ten seconds away from attacking another individual (usually Jason) for daring to question Bruce’s decisions.

“Everything!” Dick cries.

“Nothing,” Bruce says. “Nothing at all, Damian.”

“Hm.” Damian proceeds to bite into his Batman popsicle, forcing a squeak out of Dick’s mouth because he does not understand how they can do this without hurting their teeth. “Ah, I see. It tastes better this way.”

Tim swivels his head between them, tongue poking out of his mouth as he pauses in his attempt to lick his ice cream. “I wanna try!” he exclaims and promptly bites off one of Batman’s ears. “Oh!” he says, eyes wide. “Yummy!”

“Noooo,” Dick wails, betrayed and disgusted by his family. “Not you, too!”

“Dickie is being silly,” Tim says with a giggle. He reaches up and pats Dick’s cheek with a sticky hand, his mouth covered with melted blue ice cream. “S’okay, Dickie! You don’t have to eat it like me!” He pauses, and then adds cheerfully, “I can eat it for you!”

“Nice try,” Dick says with a snort, glancing down at his Wonder Woman popsicle. He’s not going to give in and bite it, so he settles for licking the melting sides. “Just eat your Batman, baby, and I’ll consider letting you have a bite.”

The others finish their ice cream faster than Dick, and he ends up sharing with Tim anyways, the kid biting into Wonder Woman and getting red smeared across his blue lips, changing it to a dark purple. Damian looks on despairingly, hands twitching like he’s fighting the urge to clean up Tim’s face (Dick understands), and Bruce seems to be in a similar state.

Dick knows there’s no point in cleaning Tim’s face right now, not while there’s still ice cream for him to eat. He’s just going to get all messy again. At least his clothes are clean— nope, Dick thinks as he watches Tim wipe his hand on his pants. Spoke too soon.

Bruce’s phone chimes after they finish their popsicles and he pulls it out with a frown on his face. “Ah,” he says, a note of regret in his voice. “Lucius needs me back in the office.” He types something out, and then eyes Tim, brow arched. “Anything you want to tell him, Tim?”

“Um…” Tim tilts his head. “Tell him… um… to give chicken nuggies for wunch.”

“I’ll be sure to add that to the list of changes we need to make.”

“And, um!” Here, Tim ducks his head, playing with the hem of his shirt (and, also, dirtying it with his sticky ice cream hands). “Tell Tam I say hi, and that I miss her, and tell her to not be mad at me, pwease.”

“Why would she be mad at you, Timmy?” Dick asks, reaching out to tug on a strand of his hair.

“Because I’m not working!” Tim sighs, leaning back against Dick’s chest. “Dickie, I don’t wanna work no more! I wanna be Wed Hood!” 

“No,” Dick, Bruce, and Damian say together, causing Tim to huff and cross his arms with a rather cute pout. “You can’t be a crime lord, baby,” Dick continues gently, poking one of his puffed-out cheeks. “You’re too small! What if someone steps on you?” He wraps his arms around Tim at the thought, too afraid it might happen in general. “I’ll let you be Nightwing’s sidekick, okay? We can call you Babywing!”

“Dickie,” Tim says, a bit muffled due to their embrace. “That’s silly.”

“Yeah,” Dick muses. “We can workshop the name later.” He kisses the top of Tim’s head and passes the sticky kid over to Bruce. “Now, say goodbye to Bruce and Damian. Unless,” he adds, glancing at Damian. “You want me to take you home?”

“No,” Damian says. “I will return with Father to the office, and then we’ll be making a stop at a store to retrieve…” Here, he hesitates, eyes flicking to Tim and back. “A gift for someone.”

“Ah,” Dick says, nodding in understanding. It seems like Damian has fallen into the desire to buy Tim whatever he wants, if only to make him happy. “Make sure it’s not too big, and not another… you know. He hasn’t finished the set that Barbara sent him.”

It’s the Nintendo Entertainment System set, an interactive one that’s based on one of the Mario games. Bruce actually took an interest in it, and Dick only knows this because he caught Bruce and Tim building some of it together before Bruce left for work this morning. Like Tim, he was probably drawn to the mechanics of it, wondering how the creators made it functional.

“I know,” Damian says, rolling his eyes. “It’s something else. I suppose you’ll see soon.”

Tim hugs them both goodbye, giving them sticky kisses on their cheeks. Damian doesn’t scrub it off immediately, for once, and Dick practically puffs up with pride over Damian’s progress.

Once they’re gone, Dick wrestles with his messy baby and cleans off the ice cream smeared across his hands and cheeks with a wet wipe. He’s glad he invested in them. 

“There’s my baby,” Dick says happily after Tim’s all clean, if a little disgruntled. “So prim and proper! Who knew such a handsome boy was hiding beneath all that mess?”

Tim snaps his teeth a little too close to Dick’s fingers, and he misses only because Dick’s always prepared to deal with biting brothers. 

“Do you wanna play some more, Timmy?” he asks, brushing a hand over Tim’s head. “Or should we start going home?” Dick pauses, glancing over at the ice cream truck. “On second thought,” he says. “I’m gonna have another treat, just for me! And maybe I’ll get you a little something, too, if you’re good.”

“M’always good,” Tim says, gazing up at him with that cute little pout. It’s almost enough to make Dick believe him. Almost.

But he knows how much of a menace Tim can be, especially right now, when he’s a young boy without any of his older counterpart’s inhibitions and prone to causing heart attacks in his family members by dumping frightening information about himself.

Dick scoops up the equipment bag and the lunch bag, grabbing Tim’s hand and guiding him over to the ice cream truck again. There are a few more kids now, some of them with ragged clothes and dirt smeared across their skin, but the tentative joy on their faces when they receive a free treat, thanks to Bruce, warms Dick’s heart.

He waits for everyone else to finish their orders before stepping up, requesting a cone of chocolate soft serve ice cream. Dick drops another bill into the tip jar and glances down at his brother, who peers at the menu with pursed lips.

“See anything you want?” Dick asks.

Tim shakes his head, pressing against his leg.

“Are you sure?” He points at the small window beside the menu that displays a few assorted snacks and candies. “What about from there, huh?” Tim inspects them all before shaking his head again. “Alright, baby, if you’re sure…”

Dick leads him back into the park, though they go a bit farther than before, just so Dick can be better prepared for when they eventually leave. He licks his ice cream along the way, sighing happily over the simple, sweet chocolate flavor that bursts on his tongue. It’s better than the cherry (sorry, Aunt Diana).

“Do you want to try it?” Dick offers after they stop at another bench, holding his cone out to Tim. The boy frowns, glancing up at Dick with uncertainty. “I know it’s not like the ice cream from the shops, but it’s good, I promise.” He brings it up to his mouth, licks it, and smacks his lips together. “See?” he says, smiling. “Tasty!”

“Tasty,” Tim repeats slowly and leans forward. Slowly, Tim licks the soft serve ice cream, getting a bit on his nose. He pauses, eyes narrowed, and then his whole face lights up. “Oh!” he says brightly. “Tasty!”

And then he bites it.

Dick stares, horrified at the sight of his chocolate soft serve ice cream smeared across Tim’s lips, a couple of sprinkles sticking to his recently cleaned cheeks. His other hand reaches for his phone, and he ends up snapping a picture of this disaster before opening up the family group chat.

KEEPING UP WITH THE WAYNEDASHIANS

Dickney: [IMG SENT]
Dickney: he ate my ice cream 😔

Jhloe: hahahahaha
Jhloe: SUCKER

Bris: How did this happen?

Dickney: i offered to let him TASTE my soft serve
Dickney: he proceeded to bite it instead
Dickney: i blame you, B.

Dylie: Does biting not work with soft serve?

Dickney: NO!!!!!

Bris: Yes.

Cimberly: 🤣🍦🚫

Dick’s arm shifts, and he looks down to see his sweet baby brother in the midst of taking another bite of Dick’s ice cream. He gasps, appalled, and pulls his camera up to snap a second picture of Tim’s heinous crime, immediately sending it to the group chat.

Dickney: CAUGHT IN THE ACT!!! LOOK AT HIM!!!
Dickney: LOCK HIM UP!!!
Dickney: JAIL!!! JAIL FOR TIMMY!!!

Cimberly: 🙅🏻♀️👶🏻🧺🏃🏻♀️💨🚓🚨

Dickney: YOU WILL NOT FREE HIM!!!

Jhloe: locking up an innocent person 🤨
Jhloe: i’m with you, cass. let’s free our brother

Cimberly: 👍🏻🎉👀

Jhloe: good idea. we can throw a party afterwards to celebrate our great escape

Dickney: i’m running away into the wilderness with tim
Dickney: and you can’t stop me

Jhloe: give him his rights! justice for timmy!

For a moment, Dick expects a message from Tim (Tendall) to pop up, maybe to agree with either Dick or Jason. Then, he remembers that four-year-old Tim doesn’t have older Tim’s phone, and is also currently with him, licking ice cream off his hands and creating more of a mess on his face.

He sighs and passes the rest of his cone to Tim, who accepts it with a beaming smile and a cute, chirpy, “Thank you!” before he proceeds to demolish the entire thing in a matter of seconds. It’s honestly impressive, but once it’s all gone, Tim sits there with a furrowed brow, and then—

“Owwie!” Tim suddenly says, squeezing his eyes shut and holding his head with one hand. He gets some ice cream in his hair. “Owwie, my bwain!”

Dick presses his lips together, trying not to laugh. It wouldn’t be nice of him to find amusement in his baby brother’s suffering, but he can’t help but feel some satisfaction over the swift deliverance of karmic justice.

“Ice cweam,” Tim says with a sniffle. “How could you hurt me…”

This time, Dick can’t quite contain his snort, and Tim lifts his head, a look of betrayal on his face. He turns away from Dick completely, arms crossed, and Dick coos, crouching down beside his brother.

“Come on, Timmy,” Dick says, trying to get Tim to look at him. “I didn’t mean to laugh! Brain freeze happens to anyone! Even me!”

“Dickie is mean,” Tim grumbles. “He’s not my favowite anymore!”

Dick rears back, clutching his chest. “How could you say that?” Dick asks, forcing a lone tear to slip down his cheek. He sprawls across the ground and gazes up at the gray sky, clasping his hands together. “Here lies Dick Grayson, killed by his beloved baby brother. What will the family say when they find out what happened?” He reaches out to tug on Tim’s shirt, saying in a weak voice, “Bury me with some ice cream, baby… I’ll need it in the afterlife.”

Tim’s face twitches, and then he throws himself on top of Dick, squishing his cheeks together. “No die!” he declares, shaking his head. “Dickie can’t die! I don’t, um, allow it! Yeah! Dickie will live forever!”

“Alright,” Dick says easily, wrapping his arms around Tim. “If you say so, then.”

They stay on the ground for a while. Even though the ground is very uncomfortable against his back, Dick doesn’t get up, not wanting to lose this moment with his brother. He smooths down Tim’s hair, which got a bit tousled, and then rubs a hand down Tim’s back, tracing a few patterns and letters with his finger.

D-I-C-K-I-E, he spells out. L-O-V-E-S T-I-M-M-Y.

He does this a couple more times, a smile slowly stretching across his face when Tim starts wiggling around with a giggle. “Timmy,” he says mischievously, revisiting his earlier inquiry. “Are you ticklish?”

“No!” Tim says, a little too quick, and lifts his head. “M’not, Dickie! No!”

“Okay,” Dick concedes, mostly because he doesn’t want to test it out here, where Tim could hurt himself on a variety of things. “I believe you.” For now.

“Good.” Tim reaches up, pressing his sticky hand (whoops, Dick forgot to clean him) against Dick’s cheek. “Timmy wuvs Dickie, too,” he says, sounding so sweet and cute. 

“Thank you, baby,” Dick says quietly, blinking back tears. He watches the wind rustle the leaves and sighs, sitting up. “Come on, Timmy. Let’s go home before people think we’re weirdos for taking a nap on the floor.”

“But Dickie’s always a weirdo,” Tim says innocently.

“No, you are!” He stands up and swings Tim onto his shoulder, the boy laughing loudly as Dick starts to carry him out the park like a sack of potatoes. “You’re the weirdest kid I know, Timmy!”

“No, you!” Tim kicks his feet.

“No, you.”

“No, you!”

“No, you…”

This continues even when they get into the car, and their squabbling is so familiar, reminding him of times when he’d mess around with Tim, back when he was Robin. It only ever happened when he was relaxed, when the streets of Gotham were quiet and they fell into small, childish arguments on rooftops.

Batman always interrupted, never chiding but expressing his disapproval by looming over them… until Dick caught the small uptick of his lips, like he was pleased to hear them acting like kids.

It makes him miss Tim fiercely, wishing for those simpler times when Tim still talked to him about everything.

We’ll get that back, Dick thinks as he dodges a flying plastic toy from Tim. The kid’s still trying to get the final word in, but Dick won’t back down. We have to. I need my little brother in my life again.

★★

“... No, you!”

“No, you!”

Tim glares up at him, stomping one foot. “Dickie!” he cries. “You have to let me win! I’m wittle!”

“That’s not gonna work, baby,” Dick says, wagging a finger. He shuts the car door, taking Tim’s hand and leading him up the steps to the manor. “It doesn’t matter how little you are, Timmy. You gotta earn your win in a fight between brothers!”

He steps past the kick that Tim aims at his ankle, unlocking the door and stepping inside. Dick drops his bag onto the rug and toes off his boots, crouching down to untie Tim’s sneakers for him. “How about we settle on the both of us being weirdos?” he offers.

Tim hums. “Okay,” he says with a nod. “I accept.”

There’s a creak, and then a low voice drawls, “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Big Bird and Baby Bird.”

Dick looks up to see Jason casually leaning against the wooden post at the bottom of the stairs. He’s dressed in black sweats and a black hoodie, hair mussed in a way that reminds Dick of how it used to get whenever Jason got lost in his books in the library, and the creases on his cheek paint an image of Jason resting it on his arm while he flipped through his favored novels.

“Jay!” Tim exclaims, kicking off his shoes and running over to the other man. 

Dick watches as a rather sweet smile spreads across Jason’s face as he bends down to pick up Tim. “Hey, kiddo,” he says. Jason bumps their foreheads together, shutting his eyes. “Good to see you, too.”

He looks… young, in a way that Dick rarely sees these days because Jason normally presents himself with a gruff exterior, closing himself off to those around him. Dick only sees some of this softness after they encounter a homeless kid in the streets of Gotham, all of them so wary of Nightwing, but completely willing to reach up and accept Red Hood’s offered hand, trusting that they’ll be protected under his shadow. 

Jason will drop them off at the closest home, vetted and protected by Red Hood, and watch over the building for about an hour, offering a wave to the window when the kid finally peeks out before disappearing into the night.

He was like that as Robin, too—always so protective of the younger kids because he was one of them before Bruce took him in and Dick knows, even now, with everything that happened, that Jason is still grateful over that.

Dick watches as Jason kisses Tim’s head before their eyes meet, and then a smirk flits across Jason’s face. “And hello to you too, Dickiebie,” he says.

“Jason,” Dick says, relieved. He pushes himself up, wiping lint off his pants. “Hey.”

And then he walks over and throws his arms around his little brother, nuzzling his cheek while Tim gets a little squished between them. The kid doesn’t mind, though, judging by the way he laughs.

“Get off me,” Jason grumbles, but he makes no move to push Dick away. It’s probably because Tim is still in his arms. Dick chooses to believe that it’s partially because of this and also because he secretly loves Dick and craves his affection.

“No,” Dick says, planting a kiss on his nose just to hear Jason make a noise of disgust. “I’m so overwhelmed with joy over seeing my little brother that I have to smother him in affection, lest he forgets how much I care about him.”

“You’re annoying and I hate you.”

“I love you too, Little Wing.”

“And I wuv you both!” Tim says, poking his head out. Dick glances down to see his smile before he feels something wet and slimy against his cheek—Tim just licked him and he does the same to Jason immediately after, and Jason’s second noise of disgust is one that Dick echoes.

“Timmy!” Dick complains, pulling away to wipe the saliva off his skin. “Gross!”

Tim giggles, hanging off Jason’s neck. “Pway with me, Jay!” he says, voice happy and bright. “We can build some Wegos! Or we can kick a ball! Or wun with Titus! Or cwimb a twee!”

“You gotta take a nap, baby,” Dick says after he’s done scrubbing Tim’s baby spit off his face. “Remember? Alfred made that rule.”

“But I don’t wanna!” Tim whines, pouting. “I wanna pway with Jay!”

“How about we go sit in the library for a while, huh?” Jason says, turning and making his way up the stairs. Dick follows at a slower pace, wondering where he’s going with this. “We didn’t finish our book. You remember where we left off?”

“They went to, um, go see Mr. Bingwey,” Tim says, reaching up to tug on one of Jason’s curls. “And Mr. Darcy was mean to Ewizabeth.”

“Ah, yes,” Jason says, shaking his head. “ Tolerable, he said, as if Elizabeth isn’t an amazing woman! Can you believe that, pumpkin? Isn’t that just crazy?” Jason sighs. “I like to think that’s when he first noticed her, but he didn’t start falling in love until after that, and then, of course, Miss Bennet herself took her sweet ol’ time realizing she loved him because she had to get over her perceptions of him…”

Dick hides his laughter behind his hand as Jason continues his little rant all the way to the library, not even stopping when he walks over to one of many small tables, scoops up Pride and Prejudice, and drops down onto the couch with Tim in his arms.

By the time Jason takes a seat on the couch, Tim’s curled up against his chest, eyes half-mast, yawning before he shuts his eyes completely. 

Maybe this was Jason’s plan all along, Dick thinks, amused.

He watches as Jason curls an arm around Tim, the other hand holding the book up so he can read it aloud. The words pass over Dick’s head because he’s fixated on the sweet scene in front of him, but he still finds himself drawn into the lull of Jason’s voice, dropping down into an armchair so he can listen to it better.

★★

Dick grumbles when someone shakes his shoulder, cracking one eye open to see Alfred standing in front of him, looking unamused.

“Dinner is ready,” he says with an arched brow. “The three of you should leave your makeshift beds and freshen up before you join Masters Bruce and Damian at the dinner table.”

“What?” Dick mumbles, lifting his head and squinting at him. His neck creaks with the movement, and Dick grimaces, rubbing the back of it while he pushes himself up. He’s still in the library, and when he looks over at Jason and Tim, still on the couch, he smiles. 

They paint a sweet picture.

Tim is sprawled across Jason’s chest, head tucked under his chin while he slumbers away, his hands curled into the material of Jason’s hoodie. One of Jason’s arms hangs off the couch, his book dangling from his fingers and barely skimming the floor, the other wrapped around Tim’s tiny body, his hand splayed out across Tim’s back, face slack.

They breathe together, and Dick clutches his chest, so overwhelmed by the sight of his little brothers sleeping peacefully. He sits up and scrambles to pull out his phone, snapping a few pictures and sending them off to Bruce.

“I’d like a copy,” Alfred says, peering down at Dick’s phone. “Be sure to email those to me as well, Master Richard.”

“Sure thing!” Dick says with a smile.

Alfred departs after that, tasking Dick with waking up his brothers. He walks over to the couch and crouches beside it, staring at Jason’s sleeping face. There’s a lack of hard lines on his face, smoothed out into something lighter. It reminds Dick of when Jason was fourteen, all bright-eyed and filled with wonder, gazing up at Bruce like he hung the moon.

Dick reaches out and gently shakes Jason’s shoulder. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Wake up. It’s time for dinner.”

Jason grumbles something unintelligible, swatting Dick’s hand away.

“Alfred’s going to feed your portion to Titus if you don’t get up,” Dick tries, poking his side. He leans closer when Jason finally opens his eyes, gazing at him with a frown. “Even worse, if you don’t wake up, you’re keeping Tim from dinner.”

“Shuddup,” Jason mumbles, pushing his hand against Dick’s face. “You’re so loud.”

“So mean to me,” Dick says with a forlorn sigh. “If you keep acting this way, people are gonna think we’re not brothers…”

“We’re not,” Jason says flatly. He slowly sits up, still holding Tim close. “Uh, you think you could help me with him?”

Dick pokes Tim’s cheek. “Hey, Timmy,” he singsongs. “Wake up, baby!” He keeps prodding Tim in several different places until Tim squirms, but then Tim turns his face toward Jason’s chest, whining softly. “Nuh-uh, none of that. We gotta go eat! Don’t you want some of Alfred’s delicious food?”

Tim peeks at him. “Chicken nuggies?” he asks hopefully.

“You’ll find out if we go down there,” Dick says, holding out a hand. “But first, we have to make sure we’re presentable and clean, or else Alfred will toss us into the dungeon.”

“We have no dungeon,” Tim says. He slides off Jason, stumbling on the floor. Tim peers up at him, cheek creased from Jason’s hoodie, and lifts both arms. “Cawwy me?” he asks, eyes slightly wide and watery. “Pwease?”

Dick sighs, always weak for that look. “Okay, baby,” he says, scooping up his little brother and holding him close. He kisses Tim’s head while he waits for Jason to get up, and then they walk out of the library together, Tim’s face nestled against his shoulder.

“You’re spoiling him,” Jason murmurs as they head toward the closest bathroom.

“And what about it?” Dick asks, sticking his tongue out at Jason. He glances down at Tim, who shoots him a quizzical look. Dick smiles, tapping a finger against his nose, and then enters the bathroom. “You do the same.”

“No, I don’t.”

“And what were all those Barbies he came home with, huh?” Dick asks, turning on the faucet so he can help Tim wash his hands. “He definitely didn’t leave the manor with those.”

Jason crosses his arms and looks away. There’s a hint of red on his cheeks. “Shut up.”

Dick separates from Jason after they all clean themselves up, taking Tim to his room to change his clothes. He lets Tim pick out his outfit, and they end up going downstairs with Tim wearing one of Dick’s old, navy blue college shirts like a dress with black leggings underneath, feet tucked into a pair of cute frog slippers, and Batwalker under his arm.

“That doesn’t match,” Dick points out as Tim hops down each step.

“Wibbit,” Tim replies.

He catches Tim on the next hop, tucking the kid under his arm as he makes his way into the dining room. Jason’s the only one sitting down, idly tearing off pieces of a bread roll and tossing them into his mouth. Dick eyes the basket in front of him, mouth watering when he realizes that they’re Alfred’s delicious, fluffy, buttered rolls.

“Don’t eat them all,” Dick warns, carrying Tim over to the high chair. “You have to share with the rest of us.”

“You better hurry up and get one, then,” Jason says. “Because they’re going to be gone in about five seconds.”

Tim starts squirming, forcing Dick to set the kid down on the floor. “I don’t wanna sit here!” he declares. “I wanna sit with Jay and Dickie today!”

Dick watches as he stuffs Batwalker into the high chair before he starts pushing it toward Jason with much effort. He winces when it scrapes noisily against the ground, and he quickly lifts it to carry it over to Tim’s preferred spot after imagining the twitch in Alfred’s eye if Tim ends up scratching the tile. Dick sets the high chair down, takes out Batwalker, and helps Tim sit inside it.

“Hey again, pumpkin,” Jason says, grabbing another buttered roll and biting off a piece. “I didn’t ask, so… what’d you do today?”

“We went to the park!”

“Oh, yeah? Did you have a good time?”

“Uh-huh! I went super high on the swings!” 

Tim reaches over and takes the rest of Jason’s roll, stuffing it into his mouth. Dick snorts at the look of utter disbelief on Jason’s face, taking a seat on Tim’s other side with Batwalker in his lap while Tim licks the butter off his hands.

“What just happened?” Jason says blankly.

“You got hit with the baby tax,” Dick explains kindly, reaching over to grab a roll for himself. He tears off a piece for Tim, handing it over before the kid can snatch it away from him, and grins at Jason. “Didn’t I tell you this would happen?”

“I didn’t think he’d do that. ”

“Everything belongs to Tim now,” Dick says as he takes a bite. He hums over the delicious taste and then passes the rest of the roll to Tim, who gobbles it up like a creature that lives under the bed. “It’s easier if you accept it.”

He looks up when he hears the soft creek of wood and sees Bruce standing still in the doorway, staring at Jason with surprise in his eyes.

“Jason,” he says. “You’re here.”

Jason tenses. It’s subtle, but Dick only notices it because his hand flexes on the table before he slides it off the wood, hiding it underneath. “Uh, yeah,” he says in a neutral tone of voice. “Thought you guys might like some extra help.”

“Ah,” Bruce replies. “Right.”

Dick fights the urge to smack a hand against his face when an awkward silence follows. He so badly wants to shake the two of them and make them confess the familial love that they still harbor towards each other since both parties believe the other doesn’t give a shit about them.

We’re a mess, he thinks forlornly.

Tim perks up in his chair and, either not caring or not noticing the tension in the room, waves a hand. “Hi, daddy,” he says happily. “Hi, Dami.”

“Hello, Timothy,” Damian says smoothly, walking past Bruce and stopping beside Tim’s seat. He reaches past Tim and grabs a roll, breaking it apart in his hands. “I like your slippers.”

“Thank you!” Tim kicks his feet, and the frogs start bouncing, little green limbs flailing about. “They’re fwoggies!”

“So they are.”

Damian walks back to Bruce, pushing the bread roll into his hand. “Come, Father,” he says as he begins pulling him over to the chair at the head of the table. “Let us sit before Pennyworth chides you for not being on time.”

Dick relaxes after Jason does, glad that they’re not going to have another crisis on hand. He does get up to help Alfred with the food once he comes out of the kitchen with his arms full, and soon enough, they’re all sitting around with their plates full, eating a delicious lasagna with a vegetarian option for Damian, and a chicken nugget replacement for Tim.

That doesn’t stop the kid from leaning over to accept forkfuls of lasagna from Dick and Jason.

Halfway through dinner, Jason sets his fork down with a clatter, leaning back in his seat. “Hey, Timmy,” he says, a glint in his eyes. “Why don’t you tell everyone what you told me at the beach?”

“Umm…” Tim frowns. There’s a piece of chicken hanging out of his mouth, which he pushes inside, smearing sauce across his cheek before he cocks his head and asks, “What I tell you?”

“Don’t you remember? The thing about your spleen!”

“Oh, yeah!” Tim brightens, and Dick wonders why there’s a sinking feeling in his gut when Tim meets his gaze. He takes a sip of his water, waiting, and promptly chokes when Tim announces cheerfully, “I don’t have one!”

Silence follows.

Dick’s aware of his pounding heart, so loud in his ears, as he stares at Tim with wide eyes. He’s vaguely aware of his fork falling out of his hand and to the floor, but he makes no move to grab it, one shaking hand coming up to grab Tim’s shoulder.

“Tim,” he says slowly. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t have one,” Tim repeats, dunking a nugget into his pool of ketchup. “I, um, wost it when I was wooking for Daddy!” He bites into his chicken, frowning down at the other half in his hand. “Can we get dino nuggies?”

“Sure, baby,” Dick says, putting his face in his hands. He’s vaguely aware of someone leaving the table, of another person continuing to eat, and all he can do is sit there while his perception of his little brother slowly spirals out of control. “We can get all the dino nuggets you want.”

Dinner ends after Tim finishes his plate, and then he’s whisked away to the Cave to get checked over and scanned for a spleen. Dick barely pays attention to any of this, staying at the table while his mind runs in circles, wondering how he could miss something this big.

★★

Dick stares at the door, anxiety pooling in his gut as he thinks about his little brother inside the room. 

A huge part of him feels relieved over having Jason in the manor with them. Bruce is definitely over the moon, too, since this is the one thing none of them were able to achieve since Jason’s return to the fold. He always stays in the Cave whenever he drops by, even when he’s injured and everyone’s pushing him to get his rest.

And yes, Jason picked out a room that’s far away from his childhood bedroom, but Dick understands, truly. 

It’s more of a mausoleum than anything—a still image of the life that Jason used to have before he died, a shrine to a person that no longer exists. That’s something Dick had to come to terms with on his own, with a bit of help from Wally, who provided a decent outside perspective on the whole situation.

Since then, Dick has tried his best to not let his previous expectations of Jason influence his current desire to have his brother back in his life, and it’s worked well so far, he thinks. At least Jason doesn’t pull a gun on him anymore, and he also lets Dick text him, though his response isn’t guaranteed.

He looks down at his hands, which tremble faintly, and curls them into fists, his sharp nails digging into his palms. Dick exhales shakily and leans forward, dropping his forehead onto the wood. After going through a few breathing exercises to quell his rising nerves, Dick lifts a hand and knocks on the door, the force rattling his bones.

(Maybe he’s still upset, whoops.)

“Come in,” Jason says from beyond the door, voice muffled.

Dick twists the knob and pushes the door open, poking his head through. “Hey,” he says quietly. 

“Hi,” Jason says, not looking up from his book. “I thought you’d be down below with the others.”

“Yeah, I don’t think I can handle that right now,” Dick says with a huff. He leans against the doorway, wishing he could scrape his skin off. “Especially after what you told us. If I went down there and saw the proof for myself, then I might lose my fucking mind.”

“That’s one for the swear jar.”

“Bite me,” Dick says without any heat. It sounds tired, even to his ears.

Jason finally lifts his head, arching a brow and looking unamused. “Stop hovering in the doorway like a creeper,” he demands and scoots over to make space on his bed. “You’re not Bruce. Come over and take a seat, and shut the door!”

Dick swallows back his snide response, shutting the door. He makes his way over to Jason’s bed and practically throws himself on top of it, burying his face in one of his many pillows (that he definitely stole from other rooms).

And he promptly screams.

Thankfully, Jason doesn’t question this action. He covers Dick with something soft and heavy—a weighted blanket, one of many that they have around the manor. Eventually, Dick’s scream tapers off into a cough, his throat a little scratchy, and he’s left with a strong feeling of emptiness. It climbs up to his head, making it go a little foggy, too.

He drifts in the feeling for a moment until something brushes over his arm.

“Stop,” someone orders.

“Stop what,” Dick mumbles, and it comes out somewhat slurred.

“You know what, Dickiebird.” Something gently knocks against his skull, rattling his brain. “Don’t get lost in your head. Come back to me.”

“Ughhhhhh…” Dick lifts his head and glares at his annoying little brother, who looks unfazed by Dick’s reaction. “There,” he says petulantly, turning onto his back. “I’m here. What do you want?”

“Hey, you came to me! Shouldn’t I be asking that?”

Dick sighs, shutting his eyes and dropping his head onto the pillow again. He kicks his feet up, letting them swing back and forth. “Did you really have to tell us like that?” he wonders, fisting a hand into the pillowcase. “Also, he told you about it?”

“Well, it’s more like he mentioned it while he was playing a game with Roy, and then I got him to tell me about it,” Jason replies. “And I figured it’s best to tell you all sooner rather than later.”

“This is my fault,” Dick bemoans. “If I hadn’t pushed him away, then maybe—”

“Listen,” Jason says. “You’ve gotta stop carrying all this blame and guilt for shit that’s out of your control. I don’t know what went down when Bruce disappeared. Tim never gave me the gritty details, even as an adult, but you have to accept that you both made your own choices, and you just have to live with them. Thinking about the ‘what ifs’ is just going to drive you insane.”

“Is that why you’re so batshit?”

“Yes. Stop deflecting.”

Dick sighs, slowly rolling onto his back. The bed shakes with every movement, but Jason doesn’t seem to care. “I get what you’re saying,” he says. “Really, I do, but… I can’t help but think that I should have listened to him.” His eyes sting, and he bites the inside of his cheek so he won’t cry. “Tim believed that Bruce was alive. He said he had proof, and I still called him delusional to his face.”

A hand covers his mouth. “Stop,” Jason orders, his voice dipping into the low baritone that Dick associates with Red Hood. “It happened, and you can’t change it. Move on and focus on what’s bothering you right now.”

Dick instinctively relaxes, some of his anxiety receding. He still glares at Jason for silencing him, and Jason arches a brow in return. They stay like that for a while, stuck at an impasse until Dick gets a brilliant idea and drags his tongue across the palm of Jason’s hand, tasting Alfred’s peppermint soap.

It’s totally worth the bruising punch Jason aims at his bicep while Dick curls in on himself, laughing over Jason’s noise of disgust.

“Terrible,” Jason says, kicking his ankle. “Awful! Go away! You’re banned!”

“Aw, but we’re talking about our feelings! ” Dick says, fluttering his lashes. “And you’re being such a wonderful little brother by listening and helping me prevent either a panic attack or a mental breakdown over everything I’ve just learned.”

“I hate that I know you well enough to know that you’re not joking,” Jason mutters. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alright, alright… Tell me what’s wrong, then.”

Dick chews on his bottom lip as he thinks.

It’s hard to put it into words because he still doesn’t know what’s bothering him beyond the self-blame and guilt. He reaches out and grabs a small portion of Jason’s hoodie, rubbing the material between his thumb and index finger, letting the feeling of it dragging against his skin ground him long enough to formulate his response.

“I just…” Dick starts, eyes fixed on the ceiling. There’s a crack up there, and Dick wonders if Alfred knows about it. “I don’t understand why he wouldn’t tell us about it, y’know? It makes me feel like he doesn’t trust us anymore.” He glances over at Jason. “Do you think that’s why he didn’t say anything?”

“It’s not that…”

“Then, what? Why?”

Jason sighs, shutting his book quiet snap. “Tim probably thought it wasn’t a big deal, y’know? Maybe, after everything that happened, and with him being the CEO and all, he thought that it didn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” Dick says sullenly.

“I know it does,” Jason says. “But that kid’s brain matches Bruce, moreso than any of ours, which means he probably focused on the Mission or whatever.” He shrugs. “We’ll get our answers when we inevitably confront him about this after the magic wears off, and I bet he’s going to say something stupid, telling us he didn’t exactly hide it because it’s in his file already.”

Dick frowns, glancing at him. “Is it really?”

“Yes,” Jason says. “I checked.”

“That probably means Alfred knows,” Dick mutters. “He’s the one who frequently checks them to make sure we’re staying healthy.” He hums thoughtfully, idly thinking back on when Tim came home, and then realization zips through him like a static charge, making him tense up.

“Oh, god,” Dick says, pushing his palms against his eyes. “Oh my god, the shooting. He let his double get shot where his spleen is located. Tim integrated the loss of his spleen into his civilian identity.”

“Excuse me, what? ”

“Oh, yeah—were you around for that?” Dick drops his hands, turning onto his side to gaze at his brother. “Vicki Vale was sniffing around Tim, trying to shake some juicy gossip out of him, and she got a little bit too close to the truth. It’s part of the reason why there was a whole engagement between Tim and Tam Fox.”

“I do remember that, but not the shooting thing…”

“Yeah! So, uh, Tim decided to fake an assassination attempt by having his shapeshifter friend, Miss Martian, take his place, and then he went through a year of physical therapy just so Vale wouldn’t think that he’s Red Robin.”

“This kid’s crazy,” Jason mutters. “Where’d B find him?”

“More like he found us,” Dick says with a chuckle. “You know he came all the way to Bludhaven to convince me to return to Bruce’s side as Robin? I still don’t know how he figured out my address, but now that I know him, I’m not even surprised.”

“Ah,” Jason says. “Yeah. He showed up at my newest safehouse recently, so it’s nice to know that this behavior isn’t new.” He holds up a hand, hesitates, and then drops it onto Dick’s head, patting it twice before pulling away. “Listen. I don’t think you did anything that made Tim think he couldn’t come to you to talk about this whole spleen thing, okay?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He also didn’t talk to anyone else about it, so…” Jason shrugs. “This is something you’ll have to corner him about after he’s back to his normal age, but we have to be sure he can’t escape, or else he’ll avoid all of us for weeks.”

Dick bites back a smile over the use of ‘we’ and refrains from pointing it out, not wanting to scare Jason off. “Okay,” he says instead. “Okay, I guess I can do that…” He huffs out a laugh, shifting closer. “I guess we can just deal with the constant heart attacks from baby Tim for now,” he says, lips twitching. “I swear, he’s going to make me go gray.”

“Make you?” Jason squints at him, poking the side of his head. “I already see some right here!”

“No, you don’t!” Dick cries, covering that portion of his hair with one hand. He holds a few strands out, trying to turn his head to see it, but gets nothing since he can’t look that far up. “Take it back!”

“God, you’re so easy,” Jason says, shaking his head. “Alright, I’m sorry, Dickiebird. You have no gray hairs and it’s as flawless and silky as ever.”

“That’s right,” Dick says with a petulant sniff. “And I guess, in return, I can say that you have lovely curls, Jason.”

“Uh, thanks?” Jason frowns, looking unsure. “I grew it myself?”

Dick lightly smacks his arm before curling up beside his brother, basking in the warmth of his body while they settle into a comfortable silence. “Thanks, Jay,” he says after a while, voice quiet. “I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason grumbles. He suddenly sits up and grabs the blanket beneath Dick’s body, tugging on it roughly. Dick’s eyes go wide as he rolls and tumbles to the floor, the air getting knocked out of his lungs when he lands on his back. “Now,” Jason adds, peering over the edge of the bed. “Get out.”

“Okay,” Dick wheezes. 

He grips his side when he pushes himself up, wincing at the ache that passes through him. Dick glances over at Jason, who returns to his book after gesturing to the door, and sighs, slowly walking out.

A smile overtakes his face once the door shuts behind him. He leans against the wall beside Jason’s room and lets himself have a moment to exist in his joy over having Jason back in his life again.

“Thanks,” he says aloud, putting his gratitude out into the world before he goes to his room to wait for the rest of his family to return.

★★

It’s raining.

Dick stares out the window, watching it sluice down the window, droplets pitter-pattering against the glass. He turns away from the sight, jaw clenched, and resumes his pacing in the room, feet padding against the spotless tile. Dick’s full of restless energy still, unable to sleep thanks to the weather and Bruce’s findings.

After he left Jason’s room, Bruce had come up from the Cave with a sleeping Tim in his arms and Damian following behind. Both Waynes wore matching expressions of displeasure when Bruce explained that while Tim still had his spleen at four, his older counterpart does not and has not had it for a while. Frustration tinged Bruce’s voice when he ended the conversation with a clipped, “There’s a distinct lack of details in Tim’s report of the injury that caused him to lose a vital organ. I’ll have to investigate on my own.”

Then, he walked away to put Tim in his bed, and Dick immediately went to one of the few rooms in the manor where he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed.

It’s the old music room, full of plentiful instruments all covered in pristine white sheets. He knows that it used to be a lively area, that a young Bruce Wayne would sit beside his parents and help create a beautiful symphony, tiny fingers plucking at strings and tapping at keys the way he was taught.

Dick lifts the cover off a beautiful, golden harp, and gently flicks one of the strings. A lone note rings out solemnly, reminding Dick of the quieter times following his parents’ deaths, stuck in this too-big house with its too-big rooms, loneliness threatening to cave his whole world in and drag him into the depths.

There’s a flash of lightning that lights up the room, creating shadows of ghosts from the covered instruments. He preemptively winces, shoulders coming up to his ears when a crack of thunder follows, squeezing his eyes shut as he channels some breathing exercises, hands coming up to tug at his hair when his anxiety persists.

He resumes his pacing.

His thoughts stray to Tim, of course, and the whole spleen situation. The conversation with Jason helped parse his thoughts and emotions, but he finds it all crawling up on him until he’s left with a worry that combines with nausea over the thought of his little brother abroad, hurt, and alone, all because Dick couldn’t get over himself.

Dick pauses to crouch down on the floor and press his hands against his face, breathing raggedly. He jumps when he hears another clap of thunder, desperately wishing he could crawl inside a deep, dark hole and ignore the rain because—

It’s cold, every droplet a knife would against his skin while he lies there, gravel digging into his spine. He doesn’t want to be here and he doesn’t want this, but he can’t move, he can’t think, but he’s sorry, he’s so sorry and god, Bruce is going to hate him even more, Bruce is going to be so disappointed and the rain is cold, and—

A sob.

He gasps, chest heaving as he glances around wildly. Dick’s vision is off, and he scrubs a hand across his eyes, wetness clinging to his hand. There’s nothing around him, only the shapeless figures of musical instruments, and he relaxes after realizing he’s alone. His heart rate settles after a while, and he shifts to his knees, leaning down to press his hot forehead against the cold tile.

Another sob.

It’s not coming from him.

Dick lifts his head and glances at the door. He rises on shaking legs and stumbles over to it, one shaking hand coming up to push the wood. It glides open without a sound, and when Dick pokes his head out, he sees nothing in the darkened halls.

There’s a flash of lightning, and it lights up the darkness, giving Dick enough time to catch a glimpse of a bundle near the corner of the hallway, closest to where all the bedrooms are located. 

He steps out of the music room and starts making his way over. The sobbing gets louder with each step closer, and Dick freezes in place when he hears a small voice sob out a loud, upset, “Dickie!”

Dick rushes over and scoops the bundle up into his arms, wrapping a hand around the back of Tim’s head while he cradles him close. “Oh, baby,” he says roughly while tiny hands cling to him, a wet face pressed against his throat. He paces the hall, bouncing the crying boy in his arms. “It’s alright, sweetheart, it’s okay…”

“Dickie,” Tim sobs again. “Dickie was gone…”

“It’s okay,” Dick murmurs, blinking back tears. He kisses the top of Tim’s head and squeezes him, letting the smell of Tim’s strawberry shampoo wash over him, taking away his nerves and replacing them with a focus to soothe his little brother. “I’m so sorry, honey,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here now.” He kisses his head again. “Dickie’s here, Tim.”

He repeats all of this until Tim’s sobs quiet down into soft hiccups, his hands clenched around Dick’s hoodie. Dick’s foot accidentally kicks something soft, and he glances down to see the shape of a dinosaur.

“Here’s your friend,” Dick says gently as he scoops it up and holds it close to his chest.

Tim sniffles, reaching out with one hand to wrap around Batwalker’s horn.

“Why are you out here, hmm?” Dick asks, rubbing a hand down Tim’s back. “Were you looking for me?”

“Uh-huh,” Tim says, voice wavering. “I don’t wike the wain.”

Dick glances out the window, where droplets continue to smear the glass, obscuring the view of the outside world. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Me too.”

He starts making his way back to the family wing, pausing just outside his bedroom. There’s another flash of lightning, and both Dick and Tim jump at the sound of thunder, though Tim also whimpers, muffling it in Dick’s shoulder.

Dick looks down at his frightened little brother and turns away from his room, going over to their linen closet to gather a few blankets and sheets. Once that’s bundled under his other arm, Dick carefully makes his way downstairs and goes to the sitting room, snatching the remote off the table and turning on the TV.

“Can I put you down for a second, baby?” Dick asks as he puts on a random movie about a small, square-shaped robot. Music swells in the background, flickering lights casting shadows along the walls. “I’m not going to go anywhere, okay? I just need to do something real quick, and then I’ll pick you back up.”

“Okay…” Tim says with a loud sniff. He lifts his head, attention caught by the TV. “Oh… I wike that wobot…”

“Yeah?” Dick asks, glancing at the screen. The robot in question is currently creating a block of trash, making adorable robot sounds as it adds it to a large pile of them. “Huh. Cute.”

He sets Tim down on the couch and leaves Batwalker in his lap, tucking his blanket around them. Once he’s certain that Tim’s okay (distracted by the movie), he makes his way over to the bundle he dropped upon entering the room, picks it up, and gets to work.

It’s not long before he’s got a nice, cozy, blanket fort in front of him. Dick grabs the cushions off the couch and tosses them in there before going over to Tim, who looks up at him with a curious expression.

Dick picks him up and takes him inside the fort, where they have a direct view of the TV. Tim gasps softly and scrambles out of Dick’s arms, flopping onto the pile of blankets that Dick set aside, rolling until he’s in a position where he’s underneath most of them, holding Batwalker with one hand and Dick in the other, and watching the movie.

“You like it?” Dick asks, bemused.

“Uh-huh!” Tim smiles at him. “I feel safe!”

And god, doesn’t that break Dick’s heart?

He leans down to kiss Tim’s forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind Tim’s ear. “Good,” he says, staying seated beside his brother. Dick rubs a hand over Tim’s back and says, carefully, “I didn’t know that you didn’t like the rain.”

“Yeah,” Tim says. “It’s scawy sometimes.”

Dick shuts his eyes. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “It can be.” He leans over, gently bumping their heads together. “But at least we’ve got each other, and that means we can sit here and be scared together. How does that sound?”

Tim sits up and crawls into Dick’s lap, turning to wrap his arms around his middle. “Yes,” he says, and kisses Dick’s chest, right over his heart. “We be scared together, Dickie, and then we be safe.”

“That’s right,” Dick says, holding Tim close after the kid turns his attention back to the movie. The little robot gazes up at the sky, playing a song that reminds Dick of nights when he’d do the same thing, melancholy sitting in his chest like a stone as he sat on the rooftops of Bludhaven, wishing to see the stars and wanting to come home.

Thunder rocks the house again, making Tim squeak, but all Dick does is hold Tim tighter, murmuring into his hair, “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you…”

He’s scared, too, but with his little brother in his arms, in a spot where Dick knows he’s safe, his fear feels like an afterthought.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, his panic from earlier finally fading away, replaced with all-consuming love for his family. “I promise.”

Dick intends to keep it.

Chapter Text

There’s hair on his lips.

Dick sputters and spits it out, one hand coming up to remove the remaining pieces from his lips, nose, and cheeks. He blinks up at the cloth ceiling, unsure of his location, and glances down at the warm body starfished across his chest.

He grimaces at the taste in his mouth. 

There’s a small puddle of drool on his shirt, and he also has the strange sensation of pins and needles in one of his arms. Dick carefully shifts Tim onto the small pile of blankets and cushions in their small fort, wincing at the dull ache in his back. He shakes his arm out and twists his torso, waiting to hear that lovely crack before focusing on his brother, who continues to snooze peacefully.

“Timmy,” Dick sing-songs, reaching out to poke Tim. “It’s time to get up!”

Tim mumbles something unintelligible, burrowing deeper into the blankets. One of his hands clenches around the soft material.

“Wake up!” Dick nudges him, repeating the action until Tim blearily lifts his head, hair tousled, and glares at him. “Don’t give me that look, sweetie!”

“Dickie, go to sleep,” Tim mutters before rolling over, facing away from Dick.

“Don’t you want breakfast?” Dick croons, shoving his fingers against Tim’s side and wiggling them around. Tim whines and swats his hand, but he misses and ends up hitting Dick’s wrist. “Do you want pancakes? I can ask Alfred to make you some, and I’ll let you put all the chocolate chips you want.”

“No pancake.”

“No?”

“No!” Tim lifts his head, glaring at him again. “Want waffles!”

“You sure about that?” Dick arches a brow, lowering his voice when he says, “If that’s what you want, then I’ll get Alfred to make them, but they’re like paste, and I know you won’t like that, sweetheart.”

“No!” Tim says again, sounding so grouchy. It’s a bit funny. “Want Jay’s waffles!”

“Oh, yeah?” Dick withholds a laugh, reaching out to flatten his wayward hair. “Well, how about we get up, brush our teeth, and ask him, hmm? He’ll do it if it’s for you, baby.”

Tim sighs like the mere suggestion is a personal affront. “Okay,” he says, rolling his eyes, crawling over to Dick, and wrapping his arms around his neck, Batwalker getting squished between them. “Cawwy me, Dickie!”

“Like I do anything else,” Dick says with a huff, but he’s smiling as he carefully makes his way out of the blanket fort with Tim in his arms.

Dick carries Tim to the nearest bathroom, holding Tim up and helping the kid brush his teeth when his head keeps lolling forward, eyelids drooping. He’s not surprised when Tim falls asleep on his shoulder afterwards, clutching Dick’s shirt tightly.

He kisses the top of Tim’s head and makes his way to the bedrooms, stopping in front of Jason’s room. Dick eyes the wood and contemplates the possibility of getting shot before he shrugs, knocking on the door.

No response.

He bangs his fist against the door, stopping when he hears a muffled curse from the other end. Dick drops his hand and plasters a smile on his face when it swings open to reveal an irritated Jason, his hair mussed and his pajama pants wrinkled. He’s not wearing a shirt, so Dick directs his gaze to Jason’s face to avoid looking at the large scar on his chest.

“What,” Jason hisses, face stormy. “could you possibly want at this hour?”

“Waffles!” Dick says brightly. “Tim wants some!”

Jason narrows his eyes, and then he glances at the boy in Dick’s arms. “Tim’s asleep,” he points out.

Tim suddenly stirs, lifting his head off Dick’s shoulder. “Waffle,” he murmurs longingly, and Dick watches, astonished, as Tim immediately goes right back to sleep.

A long pause follows. Jason stares at Tim and then meets Dick’s eyes. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters, swinging the door open. He shuffles into the room, Dick following behind, and grabs a gray shirt off the floor, pulling it on and hiding the autopsy scar and the twin, bat wing-shaped ones across his chest. “Did he say what kind?”

“Just yours,” Dick tells him. “So, if you made him something recently, then just go with that.”

“Probably the Belgian waffles, then,” Jason mutters, shuffling into the bathroom. The door shuts, and Dick takes a moment to flip through the book on Jason’s bedside table. He lands on a page bookmarked with a receipt from Bat Burger, tilting his head when his eyes catch on a few underlined sentences. Dick reads the passage curiously, brows furrowed:

‘Catherine Earnshaw, may you not rest, as long as I am living! You said I killed you—haunt me, then! The murdered do haunt their murderers. I believe—I know that ghosts have wandered on earth. Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!’

“Pretty fucked up, huh?”

Dick lifts his head, glaring at Jason as he clutches Tim closer. “Shh,” he hisses. “No curse words around the baby!”

Jason rolls his eyes, pushing himself off the doorway and edging closer. A bit of toothpaste clings to his lip, and Dick itches to wipe it off. “He won’t hear me,” he says, reaching out to snag his book. 

“You don’t know that,” Dick mutters.

His brother ignores him (typical), tapping a finger against the passage. “Heathcliff, the guy saying this, basically lost his mind after losing Catherine,” he explains. “He’s in denial and doesn’t want to accept that she’s gone.” Jason shuts the book, holding it aloft. “They love each other in their own ways, but honestly, they’re awful people in general.”

Dick hums, eyes fixed on the animated look on Jason’s face, the way his eyes brighten when he talks about the book he’s reading. He used to do the same back when they were both younger, when Dick would come over to hang out with his little brother, letting him ramble on and on about the newest story that he read, feeling content and peaceful in the library that soon became Jason’s space.

“His love is obsessive,” Jason continues, dragging a finger down the book’s spine before setting it back down on the table. “He wants to possess her, and she wants to be free, which is something she can’t get from him. Even in the wake of her death, he shows us how selfish he is by asking her to stay, to haunt him, because they’re bound together—soulmates, or whatever. Know what that’s like?”

Haunt me, then, Dick thinks as he stares at the far wall, remembering the months that followed Wally’s death. He’d see the man everywhere he went; a ghost at the end of the hallway, around the corner of the sidewalk, flickering, and even in the rooms at the Tower, his dead stare piercing through Dick.

Grief infected his lungs during this time, making it hard to breathe. It ate away at every cell in his body until he was weighed down by it, desperately wishing to see his best friend again, wanting another chance with him after realizing his love a little too late.

Maybe Dick has always been haunted. 

His parents used to climb into his dreams and surround him with their love before he woke up to the silence of his new home. Jason’s apparition used to follow him around his sad little apartment after his explosive fight with Bruce, so small in his Robin uniform, so undeserving of death.

Bruce, too, used to stick close to Dick after they lost him to Darkseid. Sometimes, he felt Bruce’s shadow looming over him whenever Dick went out as Batman, his silent judgment enough to make his shoulders climb up to his ears, but whenever he turned around, he saw nothing but the distant lights of Gotham.

“I guess you could say that,” Dick says quietly.

He curls his arms tighter around the sleeping boy in his arms, trying not to think about how he’d have another ghost added to the mix. If Tim had died out there, alone, except for his assassin friend, then Dick never would have known until he saw shades of his little brother, a manifestation of his guilt, a reminder of his failure.

“I mean, with Wally—” Dick continues, exhaling noisily while warmth climbs to his face. “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Jason’s voice sounds so small. “Do you think it’s real, then?” He’s not looking at Dick, but Dick still catches the hint of pink spread across his cheeks, his sun-kissed freckles becoming more prominent. “The whole soulmates thing. Is that how you feel about him?”

Dick doesn’t even need to think about it. “Yes,” he answers, a smile spreading across his face. “He can’t be anything else.” Dick pauses, eyeing his little brother, and asks softly, “What about you? And Roy?”

Jason huffs, swiping a finger across his nose. “I mean,” he says. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Good,” Dick says, edging closer to bump their shoulders together. Jason glances over at him, not quite meeting Dick’s gaze, but Dick still catches the flicker of relief that passes over his face. “Listen, Jay. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy, and if that’s with Roy, then that’s great! I’m so glad he makes you feel this way.”

“Back at you,” Jason says quietly. “With Wally—you’re happy, Dickie, and… it’s nice to see you that way.”

After making sure Tim’s secure in one arm, Dick slowly reaches out with his free hand, giving Jason the chance to witness the movement. He wraps it around Jason’s wrist, keeping his thumb pressed against where Jason’s pulse beats steadily.

It’s more grounding for Dick than for Jason, a reminder that Jason’s alive, that Dick is lucky enough to have this second chance with his little brother. He also shifts closer, and Jason meets his gaze for a split second before leaning forward, briefly bumping their heads together. Jason then pulls away, carefully extracting himself from Dick’s hold.

Dick lets him go, settled.

Tim takes this moment to snort, his tiny hand twisting into Dick’s shirt. He mumbles something unintelligible, lost in Dick’s shoulder, and settles back into his deep sleep with a sigh.

“Come on,” Jason says, moving towards the door. “Let’s go make the kid waffles before he wakes up and decides to resort to cannibalism.”

“He would never!” Dick replies, though he does eye his baby brother dubiously. “I think.”

“Let’s not risk it.”

They go out into the hall together, walking past all the paintings and photos hanging up on the walls. Dick used to think they were a bit frightening when he was younger, all alone in this big old house with sorrow tainting his heart. He hated looking at them, especially at night, when he was slipping through the manor in search of Bruce, wanting comfort after another bad nightmare.

Right now, with Jason by his side, Tim in his arms, and the rest of his family filling up the other rooms, it doesn’t seem scary at all.

★★

Jason slides a plate in front of Dick, setting a fork and a butterknife beside it. “Here,” he says. “I added extra sugar because I know you’re a menace. You can pour syrup on it, too, but I don’t see a point.”

“That’s because you don’t have a sweet tooth,” Dick says, reaching out to snag the bottle of syrup and drag it closer. “You’re lame and uncool for that, by the way.”

“Wow,” Jason says. “I’m so sorry I don’t want to rot my teeth. Have you ever considered that maybe the Lazarus Pit burned away my ability to eat sweets when it brought me back to life? Or, maybe, think about how it probably repaired my taste buds, therefore, proving that eating that much sugar is inhuman.”

“You think you’re so funny,” Dick says, rolling his eyes. “But you’re not. Also, you’re not supposed to use those words in the house, or else Bruce is going to think we’re planning something nefarious.”

“Ah, yes,” Jason replies flatly. “Because I’m totally going to go out there, drag some old bones out from an unmarked grave, and dump them into a vat of green Kool-Aid just to see what happens.” He drops a small jar of chocolate chips beside Dick’s plate, a look of consternation on his face. “There, more sugar. Now, you better get started before Tim wakes up and eats off your plate.”

Dick glances at Tim. Sure enough, the kid is still slumbering away, softly snoring with his head pillowed on the table. Batwalker dangles from his hand, green dinosaur body slowly spinning.

“Doubtful,” he says with a snort, cutting a piece off his waffle. “He hasn’t woken up since I put him in that chair.”

Jason disappears into the kitchen soon after, returning when Dick is halfway through his delicious breakfast. He offers a very enthusiastic thumbs up to his brother, who smiles briefly before turning toward Tim.

Tim’s cute little snore gets cut off when Jason places a plate of waffles in front of him. He lifts his head, sniffs the air, and starts eating with his eyes closed, shoveling the pieces into his mouth. 

“Yum,” he mumbles sleepily. “Waffle…”

“I guess he’s tired,” Dick comments, amused. He refocuses on his plate, shutting his eyes to bask in the tasty waffles that Jason (lovingly) made for him. “These are good,” he tells Jason. “Really good. You should open a breakfast stand so I can get one of these every day.”

“And enable your sweets addiction?” Jason snorts, sliding into the seat beside Tim with a plate for himself. “No way.”

“But how can I go back to living life without having more of my amazing little brother’s equally amazing waffles?” Dick says, jutting out his bottom lip. He slumps over his plate, too, and gazes at Jason sadly. “It’s not like you’ll make them for me whenever I ask… since you despise me so much…” He sniffs.

“Do you act pathetic on purpose?” Jason asks. “Or is this just natural?”

“So mean…” Dick laments as he takes another bite of his waffle. “So cruel…”

Bruce and Damian join them when Dick is eating his second round of waffles. Again, Bruce stands in the doorway, staring at Jason with a look of surprise before his eyes melt into something softer, happier. Dick has a moment where he feels a tiny flicker of envy before he squashes it down because this is what Bruce needs.

They all need it, even though Jason says otherwise when he’s particularly vicious with them. Sometimes, Dick wants to pull Jason aside and shake him until he understands how much they all love him, how much they want him around.

Having baby Tim here seems to be a bit of a blessing.

“There are extra waffles in the kitchen,” Jason says, not looking at either of them. “I made too many, so feel free to have some, if you want.” He shrugs like he doesn’t care, but Dick can see the way his eyes nervously flit around the room, one of his rarer tells. “Better to give Alfie a break from your demands.”

Damian sniffs impudently. “I suppose we can eat your food,” he says and vanishes through the door. Bruce offers a tentative smile before following.

“So dumb,” Dick mutters.

“What?” Jason asks, squinting at him.

“I said so good,” Dick says quickly, shoving a syrup-drenched, chocolate chip-covered piece of waffle into his mouth. “Tim thinks so, too! Right, Timmy?”

Dick glances over at Tim, doing a double take when he notices that Tim’s asleep again, head pillowed on his arm beside his plate. His mouth is open, and there’s still a piece of waffle in his mouth.

“Should we…” Jason starts, only to pause and frown. “Do we take it out of his mouth?”

“I mean, yeah,” Dick says, tapping his fork against the table. “Just to be safe, right? We can’t let him choke…”

Neither of them move.

“You do it,” Dick says after a while, gesturing to their little brother. “You’re closer.”

“That’s not a valid reason,” Jason argues. “You’re the one looking after him, so you should be the one to do it!”

Bruce and Damian take this moment to reenter the room. They slide into their seats while Dick squabbles with his little brother, until Damian sighs.

Dick looks over to see his unamused expression. “Both of you are pathetic,” Damian says as he slips off his chair. He walks over to Tim’s other side, reaching into Tim’s open mouth with his thumb and index finger extended.

Tim bites down.

Dick watches, wide-eyed, as Damian yelps and takes his hand back, cradling it to his chest. This makes Tim sit straight up, wildly glancing around the table before he glares at Damian, chewing the food in his mouth.

“You twy to steal my waffle!” he cries, balling up the napkin beside his arm and tossing it at Damian. It hits Jason’s bicep instead. “How could you, Dami? I twusted you!”

“You bit me,” Damian says, indignant.

“Because you’re a thief!”

“Sweetheart,” Dick says, holding back a laugh. “Damian’s just worried about you! He didn’t want you to choke on your waffle while you were sleeping!”

“I wasn’t asleep,” Tim says, turning his glare onto Dick now. “I was westing my eyes!”

Bruce makes a slightly choked sound from his end of the table, but when Dick looks over at him, he sees the man hiding behind a newspaper. Coward.

“If you’re tired, then maybe we should take a nap,” Jason suggests. “I can set your waffles aside, and you can finish them later.”

“Don’t wanna!” Tim grumbles, piercing his fork in a way that causes the utensil to scrape against the plate. Dick winces at the sound, fascinated by the way Tim eats with a scowl on his face. He looks a bit like Damian. “Not sleepy!”

“Sure, Timmy,” Jason says, returning to his meal. “Whatever you say…”

Tim huffs, sounding irritated, but instead of turning his ire onto Jason, he continues eating his waffles. Dick checks on him from time to time, feeling relieved when Tim starts to mellow out. There’s a small smile on his face while he continuously shoves his food into his mouth and kicks his little feet.

Dick then glances from person to person, feeling something warm unfurl in his chest when he sees almost all of his siblings around him. They’re missing Duke, of course, and Cass, too, along with the other assorted members of their little group that Dick kindly labels as sibling-adjacent.

His gaze keeps straying back to Jason, who meticulously cuts up his waffles, sliding the smaller pieces onto Tim’s plate when the (current) youngest of the bunch isn’t looking.

Jason lifts his head, eyes narrowing as he slips a piece of waffle into his mouth. “What’s wrong?” he asks, sounding irritated—but that’s his default, and Dick does what he always does whenever Jason starts directing this tone of voice toward him: he ignores it.

“Nothing,” Dick says, voice cracking. He stares down at his pile of waffles, vision blurry. “Nothing at all, Little Wing.”

“Then why do you look ugly?” Jason pauses. “Uglier than usual, I mean.”

Dick sniffs. “I’m salting my food,” he says after a tear drips off his chin. He scrubs a hand across his eyes and spears his waffle with a fork, shoving it into his mouth to distract himself from the overwhelming feeling of happiness over having his (big) little brother at the dining table. “Mind your business.”

“I make food for you, and you tell me this sh—”

“Jason,” Bruce says sharply.

Jason sighs, pointing his butterknife in Dick’s direction. “You tell me these… mean things after I make you delicious fluffy waffles?” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head, a thread of disappointment entering his voice when he says, “And for that, I’m going to leave you to rot when I make my special mac and cheese for Tim later.”

Dick gasps, his fork clattering to the plate. He reaches up to grab his chest when his heart lurches. “With…” he says shakily. “With the bacon bits?”

“Mmhmm.” Jason grins. It’s not a nice one, and Dick shudders when looking at it. “None for you, Dickiebird!”

“For me?” Tim says hopefully, gazing at Jason with wide eyes. His look of innocence ends up ruined by the smear of chocolate across his face and the whipped cream hanging off the ends of his hair. Dick doesn’t even know when it was added to Tim’s meal. “Mac and cheesy?”

“Yes, pumpkin,” Jason says, patting Tim’s hand. “Just for you.”

“Okay!” Tim reaches out and snags a piece of waffle off Jason’s plate, stuffing it into his mouth. “Thank ‘ou!”

Dick considers crying. The betrayal… “What do you want?” he asks finally, reaching out to tap the side of Tim’s green tumbler cup to remind him of his juice. 

Jason sets down his knife and steeples his fingers. “You know what I want,” he says in a low voice. It nearly dips down into what he uses in his Red Hood persona, and it’s enough to make Dick sit up straighter and eye his brother with trepidation. “Why are you acting like you don’t?”

“What makes you think I do have it?” Dick counters, crossing his arms and leaning back against his chair. “I worked hard to get that, Jay. It might take more than a morsel of special mac and cheese to pass it over.”

“Well—” Jason starts, only to be cut off by a knife flying across the table, embedding into the wood between Jason’s index and middle finger.

“No work at the table,” Damian snaps, glancing over at Bruce and back. There’s a whipped cream bottle by his elbow— ah, that’s where Tim got it. “And don’t discuss these things in front of Timothy! He’s too young to know about blackmail!”

Dick glances over at Tim, who kicks his feet while he sips his apple juice, playing with the waffle pieces by sliding them around on his plate. “Right,” he says flatly. “Because Tim is totally paying attention to what’s going on around him.” Dick knocks on the table, waiting for Tim to look at him before asking, “Hey, Timmy. What was I talking about just now?”

“Um…” Tim furrows his brows. He looks around uncertainly and then says slowly, “Puppy?”

“See?” Dick gestures to Tim before stopping, looking at him again. “Puppy?” he repeats incredulously. “Where’d you get that from?”

“I dunno!” Tim says with a shrug, setting his cup down. He picks up a piece of waffle and shoves it into his mouth, getting a chocolate chip stuck to his upper lip. “I thought that you might want one! And that you’ll get one! And you’ll let me pway with them!”

“We’ll see, baby,” Dick says gently, but his mind immediately latches onto the idea. 

Adopting a cute puppy with Wally in their apartment and watching them grow up alongside their baby—that’d be perfect. Maybe they could even move out someday and get a little house in the better part of the city, or anywhere they’d like. A place where they can grow old and happy together.

Wally would call him a sap if he knew what Dick was thinking.

“Do you want a puppy, Tim?” Bruce asks suddenly with an expression of intrigue. It may seem innocent to anyone else, but Dick catches the calculating look in his eyes as he gazes at Tim, awaiting the boy’s answer.

Told you, Dick mouths to Damian, who scowls in response.

“Um…” Tim cocks his head to the side, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Mother didn’t wike pets. She said they shed all over the house and mess up stuff, so she told me we can’t have a puppy.” He grabs one of his final pieces of waffle. “I always wanted a fwuffy one that’s happy.”

“I see,” Bruce says, nodding. “That’s good to know.”

Tim chooses this moment to push his plate away, rocking the high chair back and forth. “Done, now!” he chirps, frowning down at his seat. “Down, pwease?”

“Can you wait a bit?” Dick asks, poking at the remnants of his waffles. “Let me finish, and I’ll head out with you.”

Tim sighs like this is a slight against him. “I guess so,” he grumbles, wrapping his arms around Batwalker. “Even though my Wegos are waiting for me…”

“They can wait a little longer,” Bruce says blandly, taking a sip of his coffee. “I have a surprise for you, but you can only get it once we’re all finished.” He pauses, sets his mug down, and asks, “How about you sit with me, ducky? You can watch something on my phone for a while.”

Tim visibly perks up. “Okay!” he says happily.

Jason helps him down, and Tim rushes over to Bruce’s side, climbing onto his lap. He wiggles around before settling on a thigh. “Whatcha gonna show me?” he asks, tipping his head back. “Something cool? Something amazing?” Tim gasps and whispers in a hopeful voice, “A cwime scene?”

“Not this time,” Bruce says, sounding amused. “You can help me solve some when you’re older, okay?”

“Okay,” Tim says with another sigh.

“Ah,” Jason says. “The cold case thing, right? He put on those shows when he was staying with me for the weekend.”

“No, no,” Dick tells him. “They actually go through sealed documents and photos together in their free time. I used to think it was homework, back when Bruce showed them to me, but I’m realizing now that it’s his hobby—other than him dressing up as bat to beat people up, of course.”

Jason scratches the side of his nose. “I thought it was homework too,” he admits.

“As did I,” Damian grunts. “But that’s only because I do not have their patience for it.”

Dick’s gaze flits over to his father and brother. He watches as Bruce wraps an arm around Tim’s middle while he sets his phone down on the table, using the small stand from the back of his phone case to keep it upright. Tim’s beloved Batwalker perches on Bruce’s other thigh, facing the table.

He polishes off the rest of his meal while Damian and Jason fall into a hushed conversation about something Dick doesn’t even try to understand, mostly because he doesn’t want to spend time translating it from League dialect into English.

Bruce leans forward to tap his fingers against the phone, the audio muffled before he taps on it again, and then it plays aloud, forcing Dick to pause, a bit curious.

“ —Triceratops maxilla? Well, there’s a rib washed up against it, and look at all the teeth that are still in the dental battery. That means that this specimen was probably rapidly buried because the teeth didn’t fall out of it… ”

“Wow,” Tim says, echoed by Bruce’s intrigued hum.

“The skull makes up a third of its body,” Bruce says. “Did you know that, Tim? They also used their horns to defend themselves, which we know because some fossils had bite marks that match the Tyrannosaurus, their main predator. And most of their bones were found alone, meaning they probably lacked the herd instinct that so many other dinosaurs had.”

“They were, um…” Tim pauses, brows furrowing. “Wike wabbits.”

“Herbivores?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s right, they were.”

“The T-Wex would eat them, too,” Tim says with a nod. He kicks his feet, reaching out to poke at the screen. “And they wived in the, um, Wate Cwetaceous! And that means the bones are 68 million years old!”

“Good job, ducky,” Bruce says.

“Quack,” Tim replies.

They have matching smiles on their faces, eerily similar as they continue to watch the video. Bruce even ignores his breakfast and coffee, gaze fixed on the phone. His focus is similar to the one he displays when he’s working on his cases, but there’s something lighter about it. Maybe it’s the bright look in Bruce’s eyes, so at odds with his usual reserved one, or it might be the way the tension falls off his shoulders as he cuddles Tim close.

“Oh my god,” Dick whispers suddenly, the realization making his eyes go wide. “Bruce was a dinosaur kid.”

Suddenly, the T-Rex in the Batcave makes a lot more sense.

Dick, Jason, and Damian finish their breakfast long before Bruce gets even halfway through his, and that’s only because Tim and Bruce keep picking more videos on dinosaur fossils to watch.

Alfred drifts in at some point and takes one look at the two, casting glances at the bored looks that Dick shares with his other brothers, and sighs. He moves closer to Bruce and places a hand on his shoulder, finally dragging his attention away from the phone.

“Master Bruce,” he says in a disapproving voice. “The surprise?”

“Oh.” Bruce blinks at him. “Right.” He reaches out, hesitates, and then taps a finger against his screen, turning the phone face down. “How about—”

“How about I take Tim to wash up?” Dick says, pushing himself up. “That way, you can finish your breakfast.”

Bruce stares at him, brows furrowed, and promptly shoves a quarter of his waffle into his mouth, doing so again with the next piece. He says nothing, cheeks puffed, while Tim looks up and giggles, poking one of them.

“That’s alright,” Bruce says after he swallows his food, finishing the rest of his coffee. He then stands with Tim perched on his hip and Batwalker in his hand. “I can handle him on my own.” Bruce looks down at Tim as he carries him out the door. “We need you to look your best, Tim, which means you can’t have sticky hands.”

Dick watches them go, chest twinging with something he doesn’t want to think about. He focuses, instead, on helping Alfred clean up the table. It’s easier to lose himself in the mindless motions of stacking the plates and clearing the area of toppings and syrup bottles than it is to ponder what he’s feeling.

He pauses by Bruce’s side of the table and tucks the man’s phone away in his pocket to pass over later. Dick then slides Bruce’s unfinished plate closer to Jason, who immediately tears off pieces of waffle and passes a few over to Damian.

“What am I, a bird?” Damian says haughtily, but the food still disappears into his mouth, so Dick mentally pats Jason on the back for fattening up the baby of the family (excluding the current situation with Tim, of course).

Damian conveniently leaves to feed Titus and Alfred the Cat when Alfred sets Dick and Jason on washing and drying duty, respectively.

“Of course,” Jason grumbles as he gently dabs a towel against a plate. “He’s always leaving when there are chores to be done, but the moment he actually has to do chores, he stalks you and looks through your things to try and blackmail you.”

Dick pauses, rubber gloves dripping water onto the floor. Alfred made him put them on so he wouldn’t ruin his (mostly) flawless hands. “Why is that very specific?” he asks slowly.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“That doesn’t help. At all. In fact, I’m even more worried than before.”

“I literally don’t care.” Jason holds out a hand. “Pass the next dish.”

They work through their task with an efficiency that Dick normally sees out in the field. It soothes the lingering ache from earlier. Dick’s also happy over the fact that he can simply exist beside his brother while they both do something so ordinary, without any of the vitriol that poured out of Jason’s mouth in the early days—uncaring of who he hurt.

Everything Jason said was sometimes deliberate, a bit calculated at times, but he usually latched onto his anger and tossed it in Dick’s face, which was awful to hear, especially when Dick was barely clinging to his sanity and desperate to bring his brother home.

Now, it seems like a miracle to look over and see Jason standing there, doing something as inane as a chore in the house they spent pieces of their childhood in.

(Dick eyes the scar on one side of Jason’s neck. It looks jagged and awful—painful, too—and Dick doesn’t even want to imagine how Jason got it, how he could have lost his little brother before Dick could have a chance at keeping Jason in his life. All he can do is feel grateful.)

“Everything alright?” Jason asks afterwards, hazel eyes fixed unnervingly on him while he dries his hands on a towel. His brows furrow slightly, and it’s such a Bruce expression that Dick almost wants to laugh.

Dick reaches out slowly, pausing with his hand hovering above Jason’s arm. Jason says nothing more and merely shifts closer. It’s silent permission, and Dick uses it to wrap a hand around Jason’s wrist, thumbing over his pulse before he pulls away.

“Never better,” he replies with a smile.

Jason stares at him for a moment longer. “Hmm,” he says. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Dick frowns, confused, and says, “Just like that?”

“Just like that, because I know I can get the truth out of you later when I corner you in your room with an offer of baked goods.” Jason takes a step closer and practically looms over Dick, so close that their noses nearly touch. “Still got a long way to go before you can hide things from me,” he says and adds, with a hint of mockery, “Big brother.”

It’s the kind of intimidation tactic that Red Hood normally reserves for the grunts that try to pull a fast one on him. Dick only knows about it because of the few times he spied on his little brother due to the pattern of obsessive behavior instilled in Dick at an early age.

So, he does what any sane person would do.

Dick bites the tip of his nose.

Jason shouts wordlessly, reaching up to clutch half of his face as he backs away. “What the fu—”

“Swear jar,” Dick taunts, aware of the wicked grin on his face. “If you keep this up, Little Wing, then you won’t have any crime lord money! Such a naughty mouth.” He wags a finger. ‘What would Alfred think? Better yet, what would sweet little Timmy think? What if he starts going around spouting curse words all because he heard big brother Jason say them?”

“You’re a menace to society,” Jason spits at him, but there’s a playful light in his eyes, and it warms Dick’s heart.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Dick says with a sniff, flipping his hair. It’s finally long enough for him to do that, though it definitely doesn’t match up to the length he had in his youth. 

A few strands fly into his face, and Dick spends a few seconds spitting them all out while Jason laughs at him.

It sounds almost childish, spilling out of him like he can’t quite help himself. He sounds so young and bright, more like the Jason that Dick scarcely knew back when his relationship with Bruce was fraught, the two of them delivering vicious blows in their arguments, cold and snappish, while Jason bore the brunt of the flames.

Dick loves hearing it now. It’s so different from the harsh barks of laughter that Jason releases when he’s angry or annoyed with them, but it’s not the same as before, either. Jason sounds older, and his laugh reflects that with its deep note, but the joy? The lightness? That’s still there.

“Ugh,” Dick complains to distract himself from his thought process, combing his fingers through his hair while he blinks away tears. “It keeps doing that…”

“So, cut it.”

“No!” Dick clutches the strands, frightened by the idea. “It took so long to get it to this length!”

“It’s just going to keep getting in your way, Dickiebird.” Jason stares at him with a contemplative look and then steps closer, wrapping a hand around Dick’s arms. “Come on,” he says, guiding him back to the dining room. “I’ll help you with your hair.”

“We’re not cutting it!” Dick hisses, trying to tug himself free.

“Calm down, I’m not gonna cut it,” Jason replies, shoving him into one of the chairs. He taps a fist against Dick’s head before moving behind him, and Dick stills when he feels Jason’s fingers brush through his hair, untangling small knots as he moves it over Dick’s shoulders. “You like braids, right?”

“Oh.” Dick relaxes, a tiny smile on his face. “Yeah. I do.”

Jason grunts and says nothing else, his gentle hands moving Dick’s hair, never tugging too harshly at Dick’s scalp. It’s nice to just sit there and not think for a while, letting someone else care for his hair when normally he’d swat hands away if they tried to get near it.

But with Jason, it’s different.

It helps that Jason treats his hair carefully as he delicately twines the pieces together, moving in a manner that speaks of his experience. A few wisps of hair get stuck to his face, and Jason moves them away before Dick can lift a finger, humming a little ditty that Dick doesn’t recognize.

He trusts Jason.

And that’s enough.

★★

Dick’s lounging around the sitting room, toying with the end of his braid while he types out a message to Wally. The other man sent a selfie not too long ago, Kory peering over his shoulder as she gazed into the camera, both of their faces covered in the peel-off face mask that Dick ordered a while back.

BOYFRIEND JAIL

future husband: now send me a picture of you!

future housewife: no ❤️

future husband: come onnnnnnnn 😩😩😩
future husband: you can’t tell me that you let jason braid your hair
future husband: and then NOT show me
future husband: that’s against the rules

future housewife: what rules?

future husband: the marriage rules
future husband: i can time travel, remember?
future husband: and there will come a time when you, as my spouse, must send me selfies
future husband: it’ll be a requirement
future husband: a law, even.

He snorts, shaking his head, glancing around the empty room. Once he’s certain he’s alone, Dick pulls up his camera and offers a sunny smile, tossing up a peace sign while he snaps a picture. Dick scrutinizes the selfie for a few moments, brows furrowed as he searches for any imperfection.

Honestly, he looks pretty good. His braid looks immaculate, thanks to Jason. There’s a distinct lack of shadows beneath his eyes, and the smile on Dick’s face is much warmer, he thinks. Dick knows he can attribute this to his family—his de-aged little brother most of all.

future housewife: [IMG SENT]
future housewife: there. happy?

future husband: stand outside real quick

future housewife: you are NOT speeding over to kiss me

future husband: 😔😔😔
future husband: my own wife… the love of my life… the reason i breathe…
future husband: so mean… so cruel…

future housewife: my own husband
future housewife: so dramatic

future husband: COMING FROM MISTER DRAMA HIMSELF?
future husband: what an honor 🥰

future housewife: 🙄

future husband: doing okay over there, though?
future husband: saw the weather last night

Dick blows out a breath, fingers clenched around his phone. 

He should have expected Wally to ask, eventually. Dick knows that Wally is tracking the weather patterns of Gotham alongside Bludhaven, much like Dick tracks Central City, so it’s not a surprise that he knows about the rain.

Usually, Wally’s the one who helps with his nerves. He’s a soothing presence that anchors him to earth, preventing Dick from getting lost in all the memories that plague his mind. 

It helps that Wally knows about everything. Dick decided to tell him during a particularly bad week when everything started building up. He was a bit jumpy, and his paranoia manifested into the worst anxiety ever. It all came tumbling outwards after Wally gently pried, spilling out of the overflowing cup until he was left exhausted and… relieved. 

Having someone know about it all and not judge or scorn him and simply offer comfort was an exhilarating feeling.

future housewife: it was fine. tim helped
future housewife: he was upset, too, so i built us a blanket fort
future housewife: put on a cute little movie and next thing i knew, i was waking up
future housewife: no dreams, either

future husband: 🤯
future husband: wow! that’s awesome, babe!
future husband: i should get him a present

future housewife: he already has a billion right now! he doesn’t need more
future housewife: and i still have that other thing you gave him

future husband: have you even SEEN it…

future housewife: i did, but i’m saving it for a special occasion

future husband: fineeeeee
future husband: as long as you take pictures!
future husband: oops, gotta go! i’m having brunch with kory
future husband: talk to you soon! miss you! love you! 😘

future housewife: love you too
future housewife: 😘

Dick exits the message thread just as Bruce enters the room with a freshly changed, clean Tim, who holds Batwalker in his arms while Bruce carries the tub of Legos in his free hand. He sets Tim down on the floor, and Tim runs over to Dick, hugging his legs with a sunny smile.

“Hi, Dickie,” he chirps.

“Look at you!” Dick coos, scooping up his baby brother. He kisses one of Tim’s cheeks, then walks towards the Lego bucket that Bruce sets down on the floor, holding him close. “Such a handsome little boy.”

Tim’s outfit consists of a red and beige sweater with small cat heads scattered across the red fabric. It comes with a beige hood that includes cat ears, which Dick nearly cries over because it’s so cute. Calf-length socks cover the bottom portion of his black leggings, and they have constellations stitched across the navy blue material in gold thread.

“Daddy picked it out,” Tim informs him. “He say that, um, Dami buy it for me.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” Dick mumbles to himself. He sits on the floor with Tim in his lap, tugging the hood over his head. “How about you build something for me?”

“Like what?” Tim asks. He turns, showing off the way the cat ears stick up from his head, the front of the hood nearly covering his eyes. “What you want, Dickie? I’ll make it!”

Dick ascends to a higher plane of being, and he just has to wrap his arms around his adorable baby brother, squeezing Tim until he hears his very tiny squeak.

“Whatever you want,” he answers after he releases Tim, happy to sit there with his chin resting on top of Tim’s head. Dick glances over at their father when he sits down on an armchair, smiling when he spies the content look on his face.

The clatter of Legos falling on top of one another soon fills the room along with Tim’s hums as he starts putting the pieces together. Dick peers over him to watch those small hands at work, amazed over how something quickly takes shape under Tim’s focus and care. 

It’s not long before Tim’s holding up the finished piece. “For you!” he says, turning to beam at him. There’s a small Lego sunflower in the palms of his hands, cradled like it’s something precious. “Do you wike it?”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Dick takes it from him, marveling over the tiny thing. “Yes, I love it! Thank you, Timmy!”

“You’re welcome,” Tim murmurs, looking shy. “Dickie can keep it forever.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Uh-huh!”

“I’ll put it right on my dresser,” Dick says, holding him close. “Or maybe you can add a little stem, and I can set it up in a small vase!”

“Okay!” Tim pauses, staring at him, and then adds, “Dickie looks pretty.”

Dick taps his nose. “Thank you, baby,” he says with a smile. “Jay helped me with it. Maybe he can give you a braid, too. If you ask nicely.”

“And then I can match with Dickie!”

“That’s right, sweetheart. You can.”

Bruce grunts suddenly and pushes himself off the armchair. He walks over and extends a hand, gazing down at them with warm eyes. “Your surprise is ready, Tim,” he says. “Do you wanna go see it now or after your nap?”

“Now!” Tim says excitedly. He kisses Dick’s cheek and then pushes himself up, reaching up to accept the offered appendage. His hand looks tiny in that calloused grip, which holds onto him so gently, as if Tim’s the most delicate thing to exist.

Dick follows after them curiously and soon finds himself near the front doors. Jason leans against the wall beside the stairs, playing some word scramble game on his phone and barely looking up when Dick comes over, while Damian stands near the doors, brightening when he sees Tim.

“You look very nice, Timothy,” Damian says, a hint of a smile on his face.

“Meow,” Tim says and giggles as he clings to Bruce’s leg. “Get it? Because I got cat ears!”

“Are you sure you’re not already a cat?” Damian asks curiously, edging closer to the younger boy. He reaches over and fiddles with the hood while he speaks, “It would make sense since you’re prone to napping with Alfred the Cat in small patches of sunlight.”

“Sun warm,” Tim says simply.

“Why are we here?” Jason asks, sounding annoyed. Dick thinks it’s about the situation at hand, for whatever they’re here for, but he glances over and sees that Jason’s losing his current game and figures that’s the source of it.

(Ha! The picky would-be English major is losing his word scramble game! Dick might download it just to piss Jason off with Dick’s mastery of doing the most random things in games and getting too many points for no reason.)

Alfred arrives quite suddenly and offers a brief smile to them all, though it gains an extra ounce of softness when his eyes land on Tim. He swiftly moves past them all to open the door, and Dick brings a hand up to shield his eyes when he’s blinded by the light of the sun, blinking away black spots and waiting for his vision to adjust to see what’s going on.

A figure stands in the doorway, dressed in a simple gray turtleneck, high-waisted navy blue pants, and a black leather jacket. Excitement rushes through Dick, and he can’t keep the smile off his face.

Tim peeks around Bruce’s legs, eyes wide. “Cass?” he says, sounding perplexed. “What you doin’ here?”

“Guess that answers my question,” Jason mutters.

Dick watches as Cass edges closer before crouching in front of Tim, her eyes flicking all over his tiny form. He wonders what she sees, what story is unraveling beneath her gaze, and what Tim’s telling her without opening his mouth.

“See you,” she says finally, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Little brother. Baby brother.”

Tim pouts. “M’not a baby…”

“Small,” Cass says. “Baby.”

Then, she reaches out and snags Tim out from Bruce’s shadow, making him squeak. Cass rises with him in her arms, the boy perched on her hip while she gazes down at him softly.

“Missed you,” she says, bumping their foreheads together.

Pink blossoms onto Tim’s cheeks, and Dick expects him to hide away in her hair. Instead, he turns his head and nuzzles her cheek, an action that makes Cass brighten and return the gesture. It seems like this isn’t a new thing between them, and Dick wonders when they got so close.

“I missed you too,” Tim says, quiet and sweet. “I don’t wike when you’re away.”

“I know,” Cass replies. “But I come home— always. And whenever you need me, I go to you.”

It’s a weighted promise, one that causes Dick to feel a flicker of unease that quickly disappears after a sunny smile stretches across Tim’s face. Tim nuzzles Cass again and even kisses the bridge of her nose before he wraps his arms around her neck, hugging her.

Dick darts over, ready to welcome his other wayward sibling home, only to pause right in front of her when Cass and Tim lift their heads and stare at him with the same strange, unwavering, unnerving focus. Up close, Dick thinks that they could be mistaken for siblings, maybe even twins, if one ignores the different eye colors, as well as the current age gap. 

Is this why they like to swap costumes? Dick wonders, amused by the thought. 

It doesn’t happen very often, and they do it only when the nights are quiet, and Dick only knows about it because he caught them in the midst of their swap, where they blackmailed him into silence. Well, it was mostly Cass who did it, already slipping into the Red Robin role, while Tim stared him down from behind her, his silent, oppressive presence enough to make Dick crack and give in to their demands.

They’re so good at acting like one another while on the job, and that’s the only reason why the others don’t know. He could tell them, sure, but Cass and Tim have fun with it, and sometimes, Dick wakes to an embarrassing photo of himself in his early days as Nightwing, and he knows a threat when he sees one.

Dick moves closer, placing a hand on Cass’ shoulder. “Welcome home, Cass,” he says warmly, leaning down to kiss her head. “We’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too,” she says with a smile.

She moves past him, darting over to Jason and leaning up to kiss one of his cheeks, causing him to stare at her with wide eyes. “Little brother,” Cass greets and flies over to Damian, pressing her lips to his head. “Little brother,” she says again while he makes a disgusted sound. She then goes over to Alfred, hugging him with Tim pressed between them. 

Cass finally stops in front of Bruce, gazing up at him with something warm in her eyes. Dick watches as she leans up, slowly, to wrap her free arm around Bruce’s neck while the older man leans down to meet her.

Then, she wraps her legs around his waist. “Carry,” she says, not unlike Tim’s (cute) demand from earlier when he was all grumpy from sleep.

“Okay,” Bruce says, bemused, and straightens with both Cass and Tim in his arms. “Where shall we go?”

“Wegos!” Tim says, kicking a foot. “No, wait! Dance!”

“Dance?” Bruce asks.

“Dance,” Cass confirms with a nod.

“Alright,” Bruce says and starts walking in the direction of their dance room, which Bruce made for Cass a long while back. He speaks again, voice too faint for Dick to make out, and then he rounds the corner and disappears, leaving Dick to stare after them, feeling another twinge in his chest.

A hand catches his elbow. 

“Hey,” Jason says when Dick turns. “You want to help me with the mac and cheese?”

“Uh, sure?” Dick lets Jason drag him along, with Damian trailing behind them, a curious expression on his face. “Why the sudden mood to have me around?”

“Shut up,” Jason grumbles, pausing to look over his shoulder. “Hey, Alfie,” he says. “It’s okay for me to use your kitchen, right? I’ll make enough mac and cheese for everyone!”

“Yes,” Alfred says with a smile. “I know you won’t make a mess of things, Master Jason, but if anyone else happens to spill or drop something—” Here, he shoots a pointed look at Dick, and Dick gasps, clutching his chest and pressing the back of his hand against his forehead. “—then I trust that you’ll make sure they clean it up.”

“You got it, Alfie!” Jason hesitates and offers a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Alfred moves closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You are welcome to use it any time you like, or you can join me when I’m fixing up a meal and lend me a hand, the way we used to back in the day.”

Somehow, Jason looks smaller. “Yeah?” he says quietly. “I—okay. I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask.”

Alfred leaves after that, and Jason stands there, looking a little lost. Dick nudges him gently, waiting for Jason to snap out of it before prodding, “Mac and cheese?”

“Mac and cheese,” Jason agrees and continues his path to the kitchen. “I can also make a vegan option for you, Damian, or I can just make a batch without the bacon bits mixed in.”

Damian climbs onto one of the stools around the island after they enter, eyeing Jason with intrigue. “The vegan option,” he finally says after a while. “If that’s not too much trouble for you.”

“It’s not,” Jason says, waving a hand. “And you’ll have some leftovers for tomorrow, too.”

“Alright,” Damian replies. A flicker of uncertainty passes over his face, and then he says quietly, “Thank you, Jason.”

Dick catches sight of Jason’s pleased smile before he turns away, opening the fridge to gather the ingredients needed. The moment passes quickly, but Dick locks it away in his brain, happy to see his brothers getting along. He also angles his head away when he discreetly wipes a tear, accepting the job of chopping up cheese from Jason.

(He manages to get some on the ceiling somehow, and Dick stands on the counter, mopping it up while Jason makes fun of him and stuffs croutons down his pants. Maybe Dick can convince Bruce to return this brother to the store.)

★★

Tim, once again, sits on the floor surrounded by Legos.

Thankfully, they’ve transferred over to one of many rooms around the house, the one now designated as ‘Tim’s Lego Room.’ Dick thinks it’s a little much, only because it implies that there will be more sets incoming to fill up all the empty spaces.

Dick receives a message from Cass, and it’s just a purple heart emoji, which causes him to shake his head. The gesture is paired with a smile, though, and it lingers when he hears footsteps nearing the room. The person pauses outside of it, and Dick watches as the doorknob turns slowly.

“Guess who’s back!” Steph calls as she bursts through the door and strikes a pose, dressed head to toe in purple. She lowers her purple, heart-shaped sunglasses to look around the room, sighing as she removes them. “You know, this is kind of a lukewarm welcome party.”

Dick glances over at the only other person in the room, and Tim stares back at him, both hands wrapped around Lego bricks. The kid puffs out his cheeks and shakes his head. Dick merely arches a brow in return, making Tim sigh before he grudgingly says, “Hi, Steph.”

Steph gasps, scurrying over to him. “Oh, my!” she exclaims, scooping him up and displacing some of his Lego piles. “Look at you! Aren’t you just the teeniest tiniest thing!” Steph holds him out in front of her, hands beneath his armpits like he’s some sort of cat instead of the four-year-old version of Tim. “You’re so cute!”

Tim looks disgruntled. “Down, pwease,” he requests politely. 

She doesn’t listen. Instead, Steph hugs him close to her chest, moving her body back and forth, similar to a dog with a chew toy. “And so sweet, too!” she cries, kissing his cheek and leaving a lipstick mark. “I might just steal you from everyone!”

“Hey!” Dick says, taking a step closer when Tim struggles against Steph’s hold. He grimaces when she squeezes him tighter, eyes going wide when Tim abruptly brings his leg back and kicks her abdomen.

Steph wheezes and immediately releases him, clutching her stomach as she falls to the floor. Dick makes it over in time to catch Tim before he can land on all of his Legos. He sets Tim down before Tim can do the same to Dick’s middle (or somewhere much more sensitive and painful), holding up a finger.

“Tim,” he says sternly. “We don’t do that!”

“But she wouldn’t wisten to me!” Tim replies indignantly, gazing up at him with a frown. “And she squeeze me too much!”

“I’ll talk to Steph about it, too,” Dick says, ignoring her dismayed groan. He glances at her, wincing in sympathy when she continues to clutch her middle, curled up on the rug. “But you still can’t do that, and you’re going to apologize to her once she gets off the floor.”

“M’okay,” Steph says faintly, rolling onto her knees. She releases another pained sound after she pushes herself up to stand, a weak smile on her face. “See? No harm done!”

Dick crosses his arms, staring Tim down. The kid gazes back at him defiantly, lips pursed. “ Tim, ” he says again, voice dropping to something closer to Batman’s rough tones—a warning. Dick doesn’t like doing it, but Tim’s being particularly rowdy today, and this might work in his favor to corral his brother.

Tim stiffens before deflating. His eyes dart all over the room, and then he slowly edges closer to Steph, hanging his head. “I’m sowee for kicking you,” he says quietly. One tiny hand comes up to rub an eye, and Dick feels a twinge of guilt. He hopes Tim isn’t crying.

“Hey, it’s okay!” Steph replies, spreading her palms. “I should have listened to you when you asked to be put down—I’m sorry about that!”

“Thank you,” Tim mumbles with the tiniest sniffle. He abruptly turns and digs through a Lego pile, coming back and holding out a hand. “Here,” he says, turning it over to reveal a purple Lego. “You can have this.”

Steph gasps. “The Lego of Love,” she whispers, accepting the brick. “Thanks, Tim! I’ll treasure it always.” She pauses, shifting her weight, and asks, “Permission to give you a big kissy?”

Tim hums. “Gwanted,” he says eventually.

Dick bites back a smile when Tim timidly shuffles forward after Steph crouches down in front of him, tilting his head to accept the kiss she plants on his cheek. He moves back to his Legos, face pink, and Dick wraps a hand around Steph’s arm, tugging her away from his little brother.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Something’s up with him today, and I don’t know what. He’s normally not so… kicky.”

He was fine after dancing with Cass, but halfway through lunch, he got all cranky again and wouldn’t finish his mac and cheese, no matter how many times Dick and Jason tried to convince him to do so. Tim only finished his meal when Bruce eventually came down to eat, the older man indulging Tim and letting the boy sit on his lap like he had done during breakfast.

“Maybe he’s tired,” Steph offers. She keeps a hand on her stomach, hunching over a little. “I mean, I used to get pretty kicky when I haven’t had my nap yet.”

“Used to?” Dick remarks dryly.

“Hey! I only kicked you once, and that’s only because you surprised me! Get over it!” She pauses, head cocked, and adds, “Tire him out. That’ll probably get him to sleep.”

“I don’t know how,” Dick says with a sign, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t exactly take him outside when the grass is still wet, and there’s no way Alfred’s going to let him run around the house.”

“Keep his mind occupied, then,” Steph says, hip cocked. “With something other than Legos, I mean. There are only so many bricks a kid can go through before boredom sets in…”

“You’d be surprised,” he mutters and then pulls her in for a quick hug, getting some of her blonde hair in his nose. Dick pulls away to sneeze, and she laughs at him, shoving past him to exit the room.

“Gotta go talk to Cass,” she says. “I’ll catch you later. During patrol?”

Dick rubs his nose and sniffs, glancing over at Tim. “Dunno yet,” he answers, frowning. “Tim needs someone here with him.”

“There are other people here, Dick.”

“I know, but…” He scratches his jaw, tearing his gaze away from his little brother, who seems to be building a small house out of his colorful Legos, to look at Steph. “I hate the thought of leaving him, and with how clingy he’s being today?” Dick sighs, crossing his arms. “I’ll figure something out eventually. But until then, it’s best for me to stay here where I can protect him, if necessary.”

Steph stares at him for a long moment, scrutinizing him. Then, a soft smile appears on her face. “You’re a good brother,” she says, stepping out into the hall. “Alright. Let me know if I can help, then. I’ll be around.”

“Sure, sure,” Dick says, waving her off. He makes his way over to Tim after the door shuts, crouching beside his brother. “Hey,” he says. “Timmy.”

Tim looks at him, tilting his head. “Yeah?” he wonders, pushing himself up and nestling against Dick’s chest. “What’s wrong, Dickie?”

Dick brushes a hand down Tim’s head, feeling those baby-soft strands that curl at the ends near the back of his neck. A piece sticks out from the top like a little sprout poking out of the ground.

“You remember what I said about putting on a circus show for you?”

★★

Dick changes into a plain black leotard and some tights before carefully taking Tim down into the Batcave, where all of his equipment is set up for when he inevitably needs to work off some steam. He places Tim down beside the maps, the boy clutching Batwalker and gazing at him with bright eyes.

“Okay, Tim,” Dick says, staring down at his brother. He places his hands on his hips, clicking his tongue. “I’m going to go through a simple routine, just for you, but first!” Dick taps a foot. “What do we have to do?”

“Stwetch!” Tim replies immediately, beaming at him.

“That’s right,” Dick says, nodding. “Gotta make sure I’m all warmed up before I go flying.”

“ I wanna fwy, too,” Tim says with a pout.

Dick huffs out a laugh, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Maybe next time,” he says, not unkindly, and bites back a grin when Tim leans into the touch. Dick loves when his little brother is all cute and needy for his affection.

Tim eventually got to that point back when he was Robin, though it was a bit more subtle than now. Dick loved it regardless because it told him that Tim was finally comfortable with him, enough to accept the brotherly love that Dick bestowed upon him almost immediately.

He adds one final pat before removing his hand to ask, “Do you want to stretch with me?”

“Um…” Tim shakes his head. “No, thank you! I wanna sit!” He looks around and then plops down right on the Cave floor with Batwalker sitting in his lap, grinning toothily at him while he claps his hands. “Go, Dickie, go!”

Dick clasps his hands together, holding them close to his chest as he melts. Tim is just too cute sometimes. “Thank you, baby,” he says with a smile. “You’re so sweet to me!”

He goes through a few basic stretches under Tim’s watchful eye, and he’s rewarded with polite clapping whenever he moves on to the next exercise. Dick allows this with an air of bemusement, genuinely charmed by his sweet baby brother.

Soon enough, he’s climbing onto his platform and holding onto a trapeze bar. Dick flexes his hands against it, his heartbeat steady as ever, and then he smoothly transitions into his routine.

It reawakens a fair bit of nostalgia, one that no longer makes his chest ache when he dares to linger on it. Instead, he feels a rush of excitement. He hasn’t done this in a while.

Dick’s stomach swoops as he flips to the next bar. There’s a silly grin on his face as he soars through the air, again and again. His body twists and turns, light as a feather, utilizing movements taught to him by his parents, well-honed thanks to his training under Batman and his life as a vigilante.

He glances over at Tim when he’s readying his next jump, offering a quick wave (which is returned by an enthusiastic, tiny hand).

Dick flies, a laugh bubbling in his chest when he purposefully misses his next grab—it’s all part of the show, of course, and he quickly catches himself before he falls to the ground. 

The utter joy coursing through him, and the semblance of peace that settles on his shoulders, is quickly shattered by a shriek of his name. Dick stumbles onto his platform, wildly looking around before his gaze lands on Tim, who meets his gaze momentarily and then bursts into harsh sobs that rack his body.

“Tim!” Dick exclaims, deftly climbing down and rushing over to his boy. He drops to his knees in front of Tim, practically slamming them to the floor in his haste. They’re going to bruise later, he knows, but he can’t care about that right now.

“Tim,” he says again, only this time it’s breathless with panic. “Timmy, baby, what’s wrong?” Dick grabs his brother’s shoulders, eyes flitting all over his distressed form, searching for any obvious injuries. “What happened? Are you hurt?” His hands slide up to Tim’s face, where he cups those soft cheeks and wipes those tears away with his thumb. “Talk to me, honey.”

“Dickie,” Tim sobs. His small chest heaves with ragged gasps, in a manner that looks painful. “Dickie, no fall—don’t, no— Dickie. ”

“It’s okay, Tim, it’s okay,” Dick tries to soothe. It doesn’t seem like his words are reaching Tim, so he wraps his arms around Tim’s tiny body and pulls him close, letting the boy nestle against his chest. “I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

He rises slowly, knees cracking, and he starts rocking Tim in his arms, pacing back and forth in the Cave. Dick frets when Tim’s tears don’t waver, his crying now paired with tiny hiccups that jolt his whole body. He twists his hands into Dick’s suit, burying his face in Dick’s shoulder and muffling his sobs.

“Let’s go upstairs, okay?” Dick says worriedly, kissing the top of Tim’s head. Maybe a change in scenery will help Tim with his distress. He climbs the steps up to the manor, trying to murmur a steady stream of reassurance,

“I’m here, Tim. It’s okay. You’re okay, I’m okay, it’s okay. I need you to take a few deep breaths for me. Can you do that, sweetheart? I know, I know, it’s okay, Timmy, it’s okay. I’ve got you. I won’t leave you, not ever. I promise.”

★★

Tim’s crying doesn’t stop.

Dick tries to set him down for a moment, but it sends Tim into near hysterics, his sobbing turning into rough coughs that rattle his tiny chest. His face, once pink-tinged with joy, now stays a dull red. Dick loops through the empty halls, humming a gentle tune and rubbing a hand down Tim’s back the whole way until finally, Tim falls into a restless sleep.

“Oh, baby,” Dick says sympathetically when Tim’s face scrunches up in his sleep, cheek squished against Dick’s shoulder. “I wish I could make it all better…”

He heads over to his room, where Dick deposits Tim onto his bed. The boy stirs with a whimper that dies down after Dick cards his fingers through Tim’s slightly damp hair. 

Dick sits on the bed, leaning back against the headboard while he continues his ministrations. He’s still there when the door cracks open, and Bruce pokes his head through, his brow arched when their eyes catch. A frown flickers onto his face when he glances over at Tim.

“What happened?” he asks, in a tone so similar to Batman—Robin, report.

Dick tips his head back with a sigh. He stares at the ceiling, mouth twisting, before he finally drags the words out, “We were down in the Cave. I put on a little show for Tim. He’s been a bit cranky all day, so I thought doing something fun might help him out, but he got upset about something. He wouldn’t stop crying, and I couldn’t figure out why, so I paced the halls until he fell asleep, and now we’re here.”

“Ah,” Bruce says and finally enters the room. He makes his way over to the bed, standing beside it while his shadow looms over Dick and Tim. “Any idea what might have caused it?”

“No,” Dick says, stroking a thumb across Tim’s furrowed brows. “I was doing my routine, and he just screamed for me. He wasn’t hurt, but he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. I can’t think of anything that might have done this.”

He can feel the weight of Bruce’s stare. Normally, this sensation might make him all prickly and defensive, depending on the situation, but now it sends a wave of relief through him, trusting his dad to unravel the mystery before them.

“Did you do the move where you pretend you missed a bar?”

“Yeah?” Dick frowns. “That’s a classic.”

Bruce looks older suddenly. “He’s four,” he says grimly. “Which means he’s a year off from when he saw the Flying Graysons in Gotham with his parents.”

Dick rears back, eyes wide. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, no. Do you think—”

“Yes,” Bruce replies. He strays closer, reaching out to brush a few strands of Tim’s hair away from his face, eyes growing soft when Tim shifts toward him. “It’s fresh in his mind at this age, and seeing you probably brought it to the forefront. His love for you clashed with it, and he expressed his fear instinctively, the only way his body knew how to do it.”

“I should have known,” Dick says, shoulders slumping as he’s hit with a fresh wave of guilt. He sinks both hands into his hair and tugs on the non-braided side sharply, grounding himself, before Tim’s upset whimper reaches his ears, and he’s back to petting Tim’s head.

“Looks like I’m staying in tonight,” he adds quietly. “Gotta stay up in case he has a nightmare. I know I had plenty after I—yeah.”

“Okay,” Bruce says. He reaches out, his hand hovering near Dick, and then it lands on his head, gently scratching Dick’s scalp. “It should be a quiet night, especially with the Batgirls out with us.” Then, he speaks in a softer voice, “You’re doing great with him, Dick. Thank you.”

He wants to wave it off, wants to say something silly like it’s my job, but Dick’s response gets caught in his throat. His breath hitches and wetness gathers in his lashes, clumping them together and temporarily obscuring his vision.

“Yeah,” Dick says instead. “Of course.”

Bruce’s hand drops to Dick’s shoulder, and he squeezes it once. “Take care of him,” he says, eyes flicking to Tim and back.

“With my life,” Dick vows, voice rough but no less truthful.

“And you, too.”

Dick frowns. “What?”

“Take care of yourself, too,” Bruce says. He hesitates for a second, something Dick only catches because he knows Bruce so well, and then adds, “Tim’s not the only one who needs you.”

“R-Right…”

He watches as Bruce leaves the room, bewildered. A warm feeling unfurls in his chest, and Dick can’t stop the smile that stretches across his lips because, god, hearing that he’s needed? It’s thrilling.

Tim grumbles something and shifts closer, one hand grasping the end of Dick’s shirt. He starts making these quiet, distressed noises. Dick starts brushing his thumb down one of Tim’s squishy cheeks, repeating the motion until Tim relaxes into the pillow with even breaths.

“It’s okay, Timmy,” Dick murmurs. “Big brother’s got you.”

He hopes Tim can hear this promise.

★★

“Mama?”

Something grasps Dick’s heart when he registers that word. He looks down at Tim to see him staring back blearily, an adorably confused expression on his face. “No, sweetheart,” he corrects gently. “It’s Dickie, remember?”

Tears well up in Tim’s eyes, and he sounds upset when he repeats, more insistently, “Mama.”

Tim starts breathing raggedly, the threat of his upset imminent. Dick quickly helps Tim sit up and pulls the boy onto his lap. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and holds his little brother close. “Yes, baby,” he whispers. “Mama’s here.”

Tim sniffles and shoves his face into Dick’s shoulder, squishing his too-hot cheek against it as he sighs. It sounds a bit wheezy, which is concerning, and—

Wait.

Dick leans away to touch Tim’s forehead with the back of his hand, heart twinging when Tim lets out a weak sob. Tim also gazes up at him hazily, cheeks flushed—with a fever, Dick realizes with horror, feeling the heat of it against his skin.

“Mama,” Tim whispers hoarsely, coughing a bit. “I don’t feel good…”

“Oh, baby,” he says when Tim starts shivering in his arms, hiding his face in Dick’s throat this time. Dick squashes down the panic and slips off the bed, making his way over to the adjacent bathroom. “Come on, let’s take your temperature and see if we can get some medicine for you.”

He does find a little thermometer, which he promptly places underneath Tim’s tongue while he searches through the medicine cabinet for something Tim can take. Dick pauses when it beeps, pulling it out and inhaling sharply over the number that blinks up at him.

100.5.

“Maybe Damian has something,” Dick mutters as he exits his room, loping down the hall towards his younger brother’s room. “He was sick last year with a cold, and boy, did that piss him off, but maybe he kept some medicine?” He sighs, rubbing Tim’s back. “We might have to bug Alfred for something, baby. I’m sorry.”

“Mama,” Tim mumbles, turning to hide his face in Dick’s shoulder. 

It’s not long before Dick feels wetness gathering at his collarbone. He holds onto Tim tighter when the boy’s body shakes. Dick pauses outside Damian’s door, hesitating, before he twists the doorknob and enters, heading straight for the bathroom and looking nowhere else.

Damian values his privacy, which is something Dick learned after living with the youngest of the siblings. He hopes that Damian doesn’t mind Dick entering his room to search for something Tim needs, and maybe he won’t. Damian seems fond of Tim, further exposing the soft side he buries deep beneath sharp barbs and harsh words.

Tim coughs suddenly and sobs. It sounds so wretched and painful that it makes Dick’s throat ache in sympathy.

“I know, honey, I know,” Dick murmurs, just about ready to start crying himself when Tim’s tears don’t abate. Tim also starts reaching up to tug on one ear, and Dick has to gently redirect him every time, cutting his search time in half. “I’m doing my best, Timmy. Just hold on a bit longer.”

He finally finds a box of children’s cold medicine (bubble gum flavor) beneath the sink, wedged beside a half-empty bottle of mouthwash and a carton of dog treats. Dick pulls it out, relieved, and exits the bathroom, heading out into the hall.

“Master Richard?”

Dick whirls around, and the relief that crashes over him feels like a punch to the gut. “Alfie,” he croaks, leaning against the wall. A shuddery breath leaves him as he gets himself together, walking over to the older man to pass over the bottle of cold medicine. “Is this okay to give to a four-year-old?”

“It should be,” Alfred says, sounding bewildered. “But why do you need it?”

“Tim,” Dick says helplessly, gesturing to the crying boy in his arms. “He’s—fever. Cough. Congestion, too. I think he’s sick.”

Alfred’s eyes sharpen as he leans closer to inspect Tim. “Ah,” he says and plucks Tim out of Dick’s arms. “Yes. I see now.” He starts walking away, forcing Dick to stumble after him. “That medicine may have expired, but luckily, we keep a few medicine tablets downstairs, which I restock whenever they are near their expiration date.”

“Oh,” Dick says. “Okay.”

They stop along the way when Tim’s crying increases. He looks over at Dick with a snotty face and teary eyes, and Dick takes the kid back into his arms, letting Tim tuck his face into Dick’s neck and feeling weak when he blubbers out a miserable, “Mama.”

He calms down a little by the time they enter the Cave, though his body jerks with small hiccups every now and then, sometimes forcing a groan out of Tim. Dick carries him over to one of the medical tables, watching as Alfred pulls out a large basket full of various items, including the necessary supplies needed to do bloodwork on another person. 

“Master Bruce will want to be thorough,” Alfred says as he cleans Tim’s inner arm with a sanitizing wipe. “We may as well have the vials ready for him. Before I came up here, he let me know that he was on his way, trusting the others to hold Gotham together for the rest of the night. I assume he was worried about young Master Timothy’s state before he left.”

Right on cue, the Batmobile rolls into the Batcave, slowing into its designated parking spot. Batman slips out of the vehicle alone and stills, facing them. He briskly walks over, pushing the cowl off his head to reveal tired lines and the beginnings of a new bruise on his cheekbone.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Tim’s sick,” Dick tells him while Alfred fills up two vials of blood, placing a pretty Wonder Woman bandage on his tiny pinprick of a wound. He helps Tim sit up when Alfred holds out the medicine tablets, taking one of Tim’s tiny hands and rubbing it with his thumb and index finger when he cries after swallowing. His throat must hurt. “Maybe that’s why he was so… grumpy.”

“Ah,” Bruce says. His shoulders are tense, and his eyes seem sorrowful as he stares at Tim. “I should have guessed. He kept pulling on his ears earlier when Cass was dancing with him, but I assumed he was bothered by the loud music and lowered it…”

“It’s not your fault,” Alfred says, glancing from Bruce to Dick and back. “Children are susceptible to colds, that much we know, and they can come on quite suddenly.”

Bruce grunts. “It feels a little too fast,” he says, peeling off his gloves next. He reaches past Alfred to squirt some hand sanitizer onto his hands, kept there to rid themselves of the basic gross fluids and dirt after patrol. “I’d like to run some tests, in case it’s a side effect from his change.”

“Smart,” Dick says. “Do you want to swab his cheek, too?”

“The blood should be fine.” He takes the vials from Alfred and nods. “Take him upstairs,” Bruce says. It’s not a Batman order, but Dick’s spine straightens nonetheless. “And take any supplies that you need. I’ll ask someone from the group to stop by on their way home to pick up liquid medicine and Pedialyte.”

“Tomorrow, I will go to the grocery store and purchase some teas and cans of chicken broth to prepare a large batch of soup,” Alfred says. He reaches out, resting the back of his wrinkled hand on Tim’s forehead, and then gently pries open Tim’s mouth, peering inside. “It will probably be the only thing he can eat right now.”

“Good call,” Dick says. He looks down at Tim’s snotty face and then reaches over to grab a tissue, gently wiping off the mess. “Alright, baby,” he murmurs. “How about we go back upstairs and try to get some rest, hmm? You think you can do that?”

“I twy,” Tim whispers, eyes shining.

Bruce leans over. “Hey, ducky,” he whispers. “I heard you’re not feeling so great.”

“No, daddy,” Tim says with a shake of his head, and the tears spill over yet again. “M-My ears hurt… and my tummy… and my thwoat.” He rubs at his eyes, a tiny sob escaping. “Daddy, it hurts. ”

“The medicine will make you feel better,” Bruce replies, looking stricken.

Dick can only imagine how helpless he feels. If it were a physical threat, then Batman can go out and punch the living daylights out of whoever harmed his child, making sure they never do so again, but Batman can’t do the same for what could be (hopefully) a cold. 

Tim sniffles. “Okay, daddy,” he says, turning and wrapping his arms around Dick’s neck.

He wordlessly hops off the table, keeping a tight hold on his little brother as he moves past Bruce, though he does pause beside him. “He’ll be fine,” Dick murmurs, placing a hand on Bruce’s arm. “If something’s wrong, then you’ll fix it.” He gazes at his father, pouring all of his trust and belief into the squeeze he offers. “I know you will.”

That gets him a barely-there smile in response before Bruce abruptly turns and makes his way over to the computer.

Dick takes the medicine from Alfred, along with a few other things, and makes his way back up to the manor. Tim’s crying abates with every step they climb, and he’s almost asleep by the time Dick steps into the hall.

“Oh, baby,” Dick murmurs, kissing his head. “I’m so sorry.”

“Mama,” Tim mumbles, curling a hand into his shirt.

Dick takes his little brother to his room, where rest awaits.

★★

Bruce updates him on the results as they come. He even lets Dick know when the others arrive, informing him that they know of Tim’s condition, but they also know not to bother Tim when he’s supposed to be resting.

Thankfully, the medicine knocked Tim out cold, but there are times when he tosses and turns, clinging to his beloved Batwalker even in his sleep.

He grows concerned when Bruce’s messages stop after a while, but he’s soon distracted by the appearance of Jason, who pokes his head in before slipping through the door.

“Hey,” he says, eyes fixed on Tim. “How’s he doing?”

“Fine right now,” Dick replies quietly. “He’s asleep, so that’s leagues better than earlier.”

“I can only imagine.” Jason tucks his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie. Parts of his hair look plastered to his face as if he rushed through a shower. “Is there anything I can do for either of you?”

“Actually, yeah, can you… check on Bruce for me?” Dick bites his lips when Jason twitches. “He’s supposed to be testing Tim’s blood, and it’s been a while since he messaged me, so… I just want to make sure everything’s alright, y’know?”

Jason sighs, bringing up a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Fine,” he says. “Anything else?”

“Could you apologize to Damian for me, too?” Dick asks, only it comes out a bit sheepish. “I went into his room looking for medicine for Tim. I’d apologize to him myself, but…” He glances down at Tim. “I can’t leave him. And, also, it’ll wake him up if I try to get off the bed.”

“Yeah, okay, but if he stabs me, then you owe me a huge favor.”

“Damian doesn’t stab people anymore,” Dick says with a scoff.

“He stabbed Steph on patrol today,” Jason deadpans. “All because she called him cute.”

“Well…” Dick shuts his mouth because he can’t really excuse that. Instead, he shrugs, smiling at Jason as his little brother huffs and leaves the room.

He pulls out his phone to update Wally on the situation, feeling a rush of affection when his boyfriend offers to run over with anything Tim may need. Dick’s tempted to call him, but he doesn’t want to rouse Tim with Wally’s exuberant nature, so he settles for texting and ends up falling into a discussion about wedding flowers.

Neither of them have proposed yet, but it’s nice to think about.

Eventually, Wally disappears to help with something in his city, and Dick stares at Tim, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Occasionally, his breathing will sound ragged, and there’s a hint of phlegm whenever he exhales, but overall, he seems a bit better.

Hopefully, it stays that way.

The door creaks open after a while, heavy steps indicating that Jason just entered the room. Dick barely looks up, eyes fixed on his brother’s sleeping face. 

“Everything okay, then?” he asks, glancing at Jason. He pauses, a knot of anxiety unfurling in his gut when he sees how… spooked Jason looks. “What happened?” he asks, slipping off the bed to guide Jason into the chair beside it. 

“Uh…” Jason says slowly and stares at him with wide eyes. “You… You need to go downstairs.”

Dick frowns. “Why?” There’s a thread of panic in his voice, which causes him to stumble over his words when he starts questioning Jason, “Is something wrong? Is Tim okay? What did Bruce find?”

“No, no, he’s fine!” Jason shakes his head, wrapping one hand around Dick’s wrist and squeezing it. Dick’s bones shift beneath his hold, but it’s grounding enough to stop his small spiral. “There’s nothing wrong with him, I swear. Go down to the Cave and see for yourself.”

“This is not helping,” Dick says. He bites his lip and looks over at Tim, who tosses and turns on the bed, brows furrowed when he whines in his sleep. “He barely fell asleep, Jay. Can’t you just tell me?”

“No. You need to see it.”

“Alright, alright,” Dick says unhappily. He turns his wrist, freeing it from Jason’s hold, and reaches out to flick his nose. “Make sure you stay on the bed with him, okay?” he says, narrowing his eyes. “And if he wakes up, have him drink some water, and then read to him so he can go back to sleep.”

“You got it.”

Dick pauses beside the bed, leaning down to press his lips to Tim’s warm forehead. “Love you, baby,” he murmurs to Tim’s restless form and then pulls away, dropping a kiss onto Jason’s head as well. “Thanks, Jay. I’ll be back.”

“Take your time,” Jason says, sounding dazed. “We’ll be here.”

“Sure, sure,” Dick says,

He stops in the doorway, watching as Jason slips into Dick’s previous spot, his hand finding its way into Tim’s sweat-soaked hair. Dick smiles and departs, keeping this image with him as he makes his way over to the grandfather clock. He slips through the doorway and descends to the Batcave, the affection fading with every step, replaced with something akin to dread.

Dick stops at the bottom of the stairs and takes a moment to breathe, going through a few exercises to try and calm his racing heart. He’s full of restless energy now, worried about the results.

He squeezes his eyes shut, biting his fist, and then shakes his hands out, pretending to rid himself of all of his nerves. Dick squares his shoulders and walks into the Cave, narrowly avoiding a dropped tea cup, porcelain shards scattered across the brown liquid. He frowns, concerned, because Alfred’s never one to drop Bruce’s nightly tea, nor is he the type of person to leave it there for someone to step on.

“Hey, Bruce,” he says, lifting his head as he trails closer to the computer. “What’d you—” Dick stops a couple of feet away from Bruce, who sits with his head bent low, hands buried in his hair. He completely understands because right now, Dick’s staring at the computer, eyes wide and mouth open.

It’s not bright, but Dick still feels the light of the monitor searing into his eyes, though it might be because of the huge blocky letters flashing across the screen. The shock of what Dick’s seeing is enough to make him sway.

TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE

99.9998% MATCH

BRUCE THOMAS WAYNE

“Oh,” Dick says faintly.

Chapter Text

Bruce watches his eldest son walk off with his current youngest, the sound of Tim’s sobs echoing in the silence of the cave. He turns his attention back to the computer when he can no longer see them, tapping on a few keys to pull up his numerous programs, all filled with various tests they can run utilizing different types of body fluids.

The blood vials go into a container near the computer, and the first test immediately starts running in search of anything malignant.

He pushes himself away from the monitors and briskly makes his way over to their locker room. Bruce peels off the suit and heads into the showers, ready to wash the night off so he can go back to looking for what might be wrong with Tim.

Alfred waits for him when he exits, holding a bundle of clothing.

“Nothing malignant,” he says promptly, and Bruce releases a relieved breath, exchanging his towel for briefs, and pulling up a pair of black cotton sweatpants. “I went ahead and started the next one for you as well.”

“The chemical one?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce says, taking a seat on the small bench between the rows of lockers. He stares at the plain gray shirt in his hands and sighs, gazing up at his oldest family member. “I shouldn’t be down here,” he says quietly.

“Oh?”

“I should be up there,” Bruce elaborates, gesturing toward the stairs. “With Tim, I mean. He’s sick, and I’m down here—”

“—attempting to discover the cause of this sudden illness,” Alfred says, arching an unimpressed brow. “Which is just as helpful, Master Bruce. What if it is something serious? If you discover it early, then you can go about working on a solution before it devolves into a more serious issue.”

Bruce stares at him for another moment before conceding with a bob of his head, pushing himself up to tug the shirt over his head. It stretches tight over his chest—a sign that the garment most likely belongs to Dick. 

“Back to it, then,” he says as he walks over to the computer again, Alfred walking beside him. “The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can go to Tim.”

“That’s the spirit, Master Bruce,” Alfred replies. He also squeezes Bruce’s shoulder, a gesture so comforting that it makes Bruce relax a little. “I will leave you to it, and return with a cup of tea.”

“Sounds good,” Bruce says. He reaches up, curling his hand over Alfred’s wrinkled one. “Thank you.”

Alfred says nothing. He merely squeezes Bruce’s shoulder again before departing. Bruce refocuses his attention on the computer, sucking air in through his teeth when he receives a negative result for any chemical compound in Tim’s blood. He pulls up the next test, getting it started while he looks over at one of the other monitors and opens a new document.

Bruce starts typing up a report about tonight’s patrol. The rest will soon add theirs to the file, giving their database a proper recount of the night from multiple perspectives.

Patrol reports are usually the lightest of the bunch, especially when they all go out into a quieter night. Those also result in fewer bruises and injuries, something Bruce can’t help but feel grateful over, especially in his old age. Time is slowly starting to wear him down, and his decline in health, while he was lost in the timestream and afterwards, didn’t help matters, either.

At least there hasn’t been a Rogue attack as of late, Bruce thinks, but there’s no amusement curling through him over this thought.

No, they all know by now that the constant quiet only means that there’s something brewing in the background, ready to catch them off guard at a moment’s notice. Unlike other cities with heroes, Gotham being quiet never means anything good.

It helps that Bruce has the data to back it up.

Tim crafted an algorithm after discovering a bit of code that Bruce left a long time ago, presenting all these numbers to prove how long the silence needs to be to either lead to a singular Rogue attack or an Arkham breakout. Bruce always has it running, so they can have a semblance of preparation when they go out into the streets of Gotham.

He was especially proud of it when he presented it to Bruce, visibly bracing himself for a dismissal of some sort. The way he melted and beamed, full of child-like joy and awe, when Bruce praised him for his ingenuity will always stick with him. Even now, Bruce feels a flicker of pride as he glances up at where the program runs.

Currently, it tells him nothing.

His computer beeps and Bruce leans closer, eyeing the negative result for Tim’s blood with a small amount of satisfaction. 

“No indication of toxin or pollen in the blood,” he mutters, tapping on a few keys to start the next test for any genetic illnesses. “Hn.”

Bruce also makes sure to text Dick these results, knowing that his eldest son will be worried sick about the tests that Bruce is conducting down here. Dick responds with a thumbs-up emoji, and Bruce sets the phone aside, refocusing on the report.

The Cave opens up after a while, and Bruce perks up when he hears the roar of Jason’s motorcycle. He watches as his second eldest son swings his leg over it, Damian hopping off behind him before the two make their way over to where Bruce is sitting.

“Tim is sick,” Bruce informs them when they’re close, knowing that withholding the news any longer will most likely result in the two being upset with him. “He’s upstairs with Dick right now. You can see him if you like, but try not to disturb them too much if he’s asleep.”

“Sick?” Damian cries like it’s an affront to his entire being. “Father! How could you let this happen?”

“Cool your jets, kid,” Jason says, resting a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “Bruce can’t really prevent people from getting sick, so it’s not his fault.”

Damian bristles, an impressive scowl on his face, but he eventually crosses his arms and glances away, not bothering to shake off the touch. “I suppose you have a point, To—Jason. ” 

“Good.” Jason ruffles his hair before releasing him.

A touch of pink enters Damian’s face, and Bruce barely manages to hide the small twitch of his lips when Damian glances over at him. “What is he ill with, Father?” he asks, his eyes flicking to the computer screen.

“Nothing bad so far,” Bruce says. “Alfred believes it to be a common cold, but I’m still running tests.” He grabs one of the blood vials, sliding it into a small, black container. “I’ll have our magic experts analyze his blood as well, in case it’s coming from his change.”

“And I’m guessing you’re going to run it all again, just to be safe,” Jason says, a note of approval in his voice.

Bruce inclines his head. “I have to be sure he’s okay,” he says quietly. 

There’s a small popping sound, and Bruce glances at the container, opening it to reveal a small slip of paper with Zatanna’s writing across the front. It explains that she found nothing wrong with Tim’s blood and that the noninvasive magical vital monitor she placed on him told her that he was fine.

Bruce didn’t want her to do that when she came over to check over Tim, but after she offered it, Tim immediately jumped up to say yes. Bruce wasn’t going to deny his autonomy, so he reluctantly agreed, a smile pulled out of him when Tim giggled over the magic dancing along his skin.

“Not magical,” he tells his boys, feeling a flicker of relief in his chest. “So, it’s not due to his condition.”

“Kids are germ magnets,” Jason says, sighing and shaking his head. He reaches up and removes his helmet after a series of clicks, peeling off his red domino mask next. “Alright. Damian and I are gonna shower and head up. We’ll leave you to your paranoid checking.”

“I never agreed to this,” Damian says with a scoff, crossing his arms. 

“It’s not like we can do anything down here,” Jason points out and places a hand between Damian’s shoulders, guiding him away from Bruce and towards the locker room. “We have a better chance of helping Tim up there.”

Damian clicks his tongue. “I suppose you have a point,” he says grudgingly.

Bruce watches them go, bemused, and then looks to the screens again. He reaches over to activate all the tests, letting them run simultaneously while he proofreads his report, missing the feeling of someone leaning over him to stare at the screen with him. 

Tim usually helps him with it in his free time, gleefully pointing out his mistakes and voicing his own observations for Bruce to add. It’s one of the few things they do together, and Bruce finds himself missing it, so much so that he feels an ache in his chest. 

His eyes flick over to the picture of himself and Tim, the one Alfred took when Tim finally returned to the manor after the loss of his father. Bruce has an arm wrapped around Tim’s shoulders in the image, Tim’s cheek squished against his chest while he smiled at the camera. Bruce was smiling, too—something he never realized until Alfred placed the framed photo by his computer.

Bruce’s phone lights up with a notification, revealing his lock screen background. It’s the picture that Dick took when Tim fell asleep on Bruce’s chest in the sitting room, both of them completely relaxed and at peace.

He thinks of Tim, sick and miserable up in the manor, and silently urges these tests to finish, so he can go up there and offer his son the comfort he needs.

(“Daddy, it hurts.” )

Jason and Damian exit the cave as the results start coming in. One by one, each shows the word NEGATIVE written beneath them in blocky letters, only disappearing when Bruce clicks out of them. He saves his report and pushes himself up, preparing to shut off his computer when it pings with another result.

“Hm?” Bruce lifts his head, only to stand there, every part of him frozen as the letters displayed across the monitor sear themselves into his corneas.

TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE

99.9998% MATCH

BRUCE THOMAS WAYNE

Slowly, his body reboots itself, and Bruce’s hand reaches out to run it again, watching the test bar fill at a snail’s pace before it displays the same exact results, with no change in number, no change in parentage.

This is a program Bruce created himself, meant to only compare someone else’s DNA with his own to reveal whether he’s the father or not. It’s coded to be this specific and accurate, which is why Bruce ends up sinking into the chair, head low, and buries his hands in his hair.

He only made it after the circulating rumors of Dick secretly being his biological son reached his ears. Bruce knew that he wasn’t, but he still wanted proof to keep in the system, and it was something Bruce used after he brought Jason home. It also came in handy when Damian came into his life, the program showing the very same number.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says from somewhere behind him. “I brought—” His voice cuts off into a stifling silence, and the sound of shattering porcelain follows, so loud in Bruce’s ears. 

Bruce doesn’t lift his head, not even when Alfred’s hand returns to his shoulder, not even when he feels the older man move past him, most likely running the test again. 

Not that it matters. Bruce knows that the results won’t change.

The shock of the news causes Alfred to drift away from him, and Bruce still doesn’t look up, not even when he hears a soft shuffle of feet in the cave, the person pausing behind him before they retreat up to the manor. Bruce’s mind is blank, and he feels only a numb shock that keeps him glued to his chair.

At some point, another person comes down and intrudes on the silence of his discovery.

“Hey, Bruce. What’d you—” Dick’s voice abruptly cuts off, breath hitching in a way that indicates his surprise. Bruce just sits there, the buzz of the monitor infiltrating his thoughts, creating a semblance of white noise he desperately wants to sink into.

“Oh,” Dick says.

★★

Bruce used to hate Jack Drake back in the day.

Part of it stemmed from the neglect Jack (and Janet) bestowed upon Tim early on, pushing him towards a man too broken to function. The rest comes from the flicker of envy he always felt whenever Tim returned to his father, showing devotion to a man that barely gave him the time of day when Tim was still desperately seeking his approval and love.

It was almost easy to pretend otherwise when Jack was in a coma, when Bruce was finally opening his heart to this young boy from next door, the one who was so desperate to save Batman from himself that he ended up saving Bruce Wayne along the way.

All of his children are special to him in a variety of ways. He loves them, more than he thought possible. He never picks favorites, and he tries to be good for them all, wanting to be the father they all deserve to have.

But Tim is different.

Tim saw him at his worst and stayed, when Bruce was darker than Gotham’s sky, going home with red-stained knuckles and pierced lungs, desperately wishing to drown in his own blood. At least then, he could escape the pain, but it wasn’t something he could do to himself, no.

Bruce couldn’t give up as Bruce, but he could die as Batman, and that would be enough.

It certainly would have happened if the third Robin hadn’t come into his life, dragging him out from the depths of his grief and forcing him to be a person again once Bruce accepted that he wouldn’t go away. He took care of Bruce, scolding him alongside Alfred, who welcomed the additional firepower in stopping Bruce from killing himself in the streets of Gotham.

Their start was a little rocky, but their partnership grew into something that Bruce welcomed. It was what he needed to combat his pain and soothe his anger, and once he started to consider Tim as part of the family, he knew it was all over for him.

There were times when Bruce wished the guardianship was more permanent, so he could truly be Tim’s father during his early Robin days. Sure, Tim allowed it, to a degree, but there was always going to be a part of him loyal to an absent father.

It was pure agony when Jack Drake reentered Tim’s life and took Tim away from Bruce. Another son gone, only this time it was due to his real family, not because of Bruce’s temper or through death.

And Bruce couldn’t do a thing.

He finally lifts his head, gazing at the results through bleary eyes, and thinks: I should have known, I should have figured it out.

Would it have changed things if he’d known back then?

Maybe, Bruce concedes as his eldest son comes up to stand beside him. What I do know is that it’s going to change things now, at the very least, so it’s time to deal with it while I can.

He opens his mouth to speak, only to be silenced by Dick’s voice.

★★

“Did you know?”

It cracks through the Cave like a gunshot, echoing off the walls. Bruce tenses instinctively, bracing himself for the sound of falling bodies—but no, there’s just a young man gazing at him expectantly, the sound of his son’s ragged breaths, and the sensation of Bruce’s heart in his throat.

“Did you know?” Dick repeats, quieter now.

Even though Bruce is sitting in a vastly open space, he can feel the walls closing in on him, an inevitable collapse that’ll keep him buried beneath the truth.

“No,” he finally manages, wretched in a way he can’t explain. “No, Dick. I didn’t know.”

“How?” Dick asks. “How did you not know? What about DNA tests? You never did one with him, too?”

“Why would I think to do that?”

“Because you did it with the rest of us!”

“The only reason I did it with you and Jason was to ward off the rumors,” Bruce explains, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There was none with Tim because he was already well-known within Gotham’s high society, and no one wanted to risk Janet Drake’s wrath by talking about Tim in the papers.”

He stares at the screen again, frowning. “Besides, it never mattered to me,” Bruce continues, leaning back against the chair. “You’re all still my children regardless of your origins.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” Dick says. “Still, this is fucked up.”

Bruce grunts in agreement. He glances over at his eldest, who crosses his arms and glances down at him with an arched brow. “You have to tell him, Bruce,” Dick says.

“Now? When he’s this young?” Bruce asks, incredulous.

“No! When he’s older!” Dick sighs, a solemn look on his face. “Listen,” he says gently. “You chose him without actually knowing that he was yours. You loved him, still. That’ll mean a lot to him, and you have to tell him what you said—how he’s still your son, regardless. It…”

Bruce stares at Dick, waiting for the rest. It seems like Dick is steeling himself for something, which makes sense because Bruce isn’t the best at these types of conversations, especially when Dick starts pointing out what he needs to do to be better.

“Hearing it will help, Bruce,” Dick says in a quieter voice. “It’s what he needs because before this de-aging thing happened, he was on the outskirts, barely visiting us at the manor, and…” Dick looks away, hunching in on himself. “You can’t just show him, okay? You have to tell him. It means more when you say it out loud.”

“Okay,” Bruce says. “I hear you.”

“Do you?” Dick replies, a sharp edge to his words. “Because I know you, Bruce, and you’re more likely to destroy the evidence so you don’t have to deal with it.”

“I won’t,” Bruce assures. He can’t even muster up the anger over the accusation because he knows it’s true. “I swear I won’t, Dick. I’ll tell him. Most likely after the dust settles and he’s had some time to deal with what happened.”

Dick scrutinizes him in a way that makes it seem like he’s judging Bruce for his worth. “Okay,” he says finally. “Okay, Bruce. I believe you.”

He turns, probably to leave, but Bruce quickly pushes himself up and pulls Dick into a loose embrace, giving his eldest the chance to leave it.

“Thank you,” Bruce says, feeling a small rush of joy when Dick returns the hug—tentative, at first, before he goes all in, the way Dick Grayson does when he receives any amount of affection. His hands grip the back of Bruce’s shirt, and Dick buries his face in Bruce’s shoulder, his hair tickling Bruce’s nose. “You’re my son too, Dick. I hope you know that.”

One of Dick’s hands spasms against his back before he takes a shuddering breath. “Thanks,” he says hoarsely. “Sometimes—I don’t know, I guess sometimes I think you don’t see me that way.”

Bruce feels a flicker of sorrow and guilt, and it makes him tighten his arms around his boy, his first son—the one who truly started his growing family. “Well, you are,” he says, firm and sure. “And you always will be, Dick. Nothing can change that.”

“Okay,” Dick replies in a small voice, clinging tighter in return. “Okay, dad.”

They stay like that for a while, and when Dick decides to pull away, Bruce lets him go, not commenting on the way Dick rubs at his red-rimmed eyes.

“You know,” Bruce says as he turns to save the results into a file before taking it off the screen completely. “One of my greatest regrets is not seeing any of you as babies. So, having the chance to see Tim this way has been… interesting.”

“Oh?” Dick says, sounding curious. “You never saw Tim at a gala or something? I mean, with Gotham’s high society and all.”

“No,” he answers with a shake of his head. “Janet was very protective of Tim. She kept him out of the limelight for his younger years. Until he was about eight, maybe, but I was too busy being Batman when he debuted.”

Dick snorts. “I bet she was trying to keep him away from you,” he says, gesturing to the empty monitor. “I mean, she knew, right? Janet probably didn’t want to risk you recognizing him or trying to take him away…”

“Makes sense,” Bruce says. Finally, he shuts off the computer, eyes darting to the stairs. “How about we go check on Tim?”

“It’s like you’re reading my mind, B.”

Together, they make their way out of the Cave and up to the manor.

★★

Tim’s awake when they enter the room.

Jason sits beside him, speaking to Tim in a low voice, words never reaching Bruce’s ears. He keeps stroking a hand through Tim’s hair, all while tears leak out of Tim’s eyes.

Bruce goes over to his sick son, sitting on the edge of the bed. Jason glances at him before slipping off, giving Bruce the chance to settle into his spot. He places his hand on Tim’s warm forehead, heart twinging in his chest when Tim gazes up at him tearfully.

“Hi, ducky,” Bruce murmurs.

Tim sniffles. “Quack,” he says miserably.

“Did you take your medicine?” Bruce asks, stroking a thumb across the side of Tim’s head, above the edge of his brow. “Have you eaten anything?”

“Jay gave me some cwackers,” Tim whispers. “And then I had some medicine. It tasted funny. Wike purple.”

“Purple?” Bruce repeats, bemused.

“Uh-huh…”

“That’s good.” He glances up at his other two sons. Dick keeps casting furtive glances at Tim while Jason stares straight at Bruce, eyes knowing. “Dick wants to sit with you,” Bruce says when he looks down at Tim again. “Will you be okay with that? I need to talk to Jason.”

“Mama?” Tim breathes. He sniffs grossly and wiped his face, his gaze moving past Bruce.

Jason snorts from somewhere behind Bruce, who remains frozen. He stares at the earnest expression on Tim’s face, a bit dulled by his sickness, and sighs, resigned. “Yes, ducky,” Bruce says gently, pushing himself off the bed so Dick can take his place. “You can be with… Mama.”

“Mama,” Tim repeats, sounding happier, and curls his body towards Dick, one hand fisted in Dick’s shirt. “Missed you, mama.”

“Oh, honey,” Dick says, voice thick. He strokes a hand through Tim’s hair, and the boy preens under the attention, pushing his head up against it. “I’m sorry I left. I had to go check something real quick, but I’m here now, okay?”

He continues speaking in a lower voice while Tim nods along, occasionally whispering something in response. Bruce stares at the sweet image they make and locks it away in his memories before turning toward Jason, who crosses his arms and arches a brow.

“So,” he says. “Congrats, it’s a boy.”

Jason’s eyes seem to gleam in the dim light of the room, emeralds flickering from where they’re dappled across his irises. Bruce always liked his eyes and the way they shifted colors, though Jason used to be adamant with his claim that they changed depending on his mood, even though Bruce knew that wasn’t how it worked.

(He never dissuaded Jason from this belief, always indulging it with a smile, sometimes even marveling at the color shift, the way the blues and greens would pop out on some days, and how the gold would shine through on rare occasions.)

“I didn’t know,” Bruce tells him. His heart squeezes in his chest over the knowledge, and he can feel himself crumble when he whispers, “I never knew.”

“Yeah,” Jason says. “I figured based on the fact that you never even noticed I went down to the Cave, and also, you still look as pale as a ghost right now.”

“You were there?”

Jason shoots him an unimpressed look.

“Of course you were,” Bruce murmurs. “That’s how you know.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m just very surprised. I never suspected, nor was I given any indication that he could be mine. Janet never reached out to me, Jack hated me, and I suspect that Tim never knew.”

“You ever think that maybe Tim’s dad had a reason for hating you, B?”

Bruce says nothing.

“You have to tell him,” Jason says, firm and resolute. “Dick probably already gave you the whole spiel, but I’m telling you myself, and if you don’t tell him, then I’m personally going to come over and kick your ass until you do.” He huffs, fingers digging into his biceps. “Which I would have done if I knew that you knew before because then that meant you were leaving Tim with his shitty father.”

Something lurks beneath his statement, and Bruce wouldn’t be Bruce if he didn’t pick up on it. “Did he say something to you?” he asks curiously, glancing over at Tim and Dick, the latter reading from a book that was previously resting on the bedside table while the former watches on, eyes half-lidded and face partially hidden behind Batwalker.

“… and if the night was clear, Lawrence said the names of the constellations one at a time, Andromeda, Pegasus, pointing at them with the stem of his pipe. Edward loved looking up at the stars, and he loved the sounds of the constellation names. They were sweet in his ears.”

“At the beach, yeah,” Jason says. “He mentioned how his dad didn’t like him sometimes. And now I’m thinking about all this and wondering if he knew, too.”

“Probably,” Bruce says, grunting.

“At least you can make things better now,” Jason says. “Keep him here, y’know? With the rest of your family. ”

There’s something about the way Jason says the word, hissed like an insult but carrying a note of longing that only Bruce can detect.

Bruce shifts closer to his son and brushes their shoulders together. “That goes for you as well,” he says.

Jason snorts, looking away. “Yeah, right,” he mumbles, hunching in on himself. There’s none of his usual anger or hostility that appears whenever Bruce tries to be a father to Jason, only a hint of vulnerability, the kind that used to come out after Jason started accepting Bruce as a parental figure.

“Jay,” Bruce begins quietly, breathing out slowly. “I know I’ve made some mistakes with you, with us, and that’s something I’ll carry with me, always—my guilt and regret, it’ll never go away.” He eyes the scar on Jason’s neck, recalling the way it looked with blood pouring out of the open wound and how grief once again tainted his heart, his hands stained red with his sin.

“All I’ve ever wanted was to make things right,” he continues, hands flexing at his sides. “All I’ve ever wanted was for you to come home, Jason.”

It’s quiet.

There’s a noticeable lull in Dick’s reading, but it quickly picks back up, reading about someone named Lolly, alongside the names Nellie, Lawrence, and Edward.

Jason’s staring at him with wide, damp eyes, and Bruce is surprised when his boy abruptly leans forward, pressing his forehead against one of Bruce’s shoulders, the way he used to do after a particularly bad dream. His hands come up to clutch Bruce’s shirt as he breathes raggedly.

“Jay?” Bruce says, concerned.

“Shut up,” Jason whispers, burrowing closer. “Just… shut up, old man.”

Bruce stands there, still as a statue, and then he slowly wraps his arms around Jason, almost smiling when he feels the way Jason sinks into the embrace. They stay like that for a few seconds before Jason pulls away from him, two spots of red appearing on his cheeks.

“Thank you,” Bruce says softly.

“Yeah, whatever,” Jason replies, clearly embarrassed. “I’ll be here as long as the spell lasts, and then we’ll see what happens afterwards.” He abruptly moves past Bruce, dropping down into an armchair by the foot of the bed, eyes fixed on Tim’s small form.

The door creaks open.

Bruce glances over to see Cass peering through the crack. She smiles and slips through, a stuffed whale tucked under her arm. It’s mostly blue and white, with hints of purple, and a pattern of white flowers across the top. Cass also drags in an air mattress with her other hand, and she’s followed closely by Damian.

“Sleepover,” Cass explains, dumping the air mattress onto the floor and then climbing onto Dick’s bed. 

Dick pauses in his reading, offering a bemused smile as his eyes flick across the room. “Never thought I’d see so many people in here,” he says, age-old pain making its way onto his face. Bruce knows he always wanted a huge family, so seeing them all piled, looking after the current youngest, must mean a lot to him.

“Sleepover?” Tim says, pushing himself up. He eyes the plush that Cass holds, eyes wide. “What’s that?” he asks. “A fwiend?”

“Yes,” Cass says, holding it out for Tim to take. “For you, baby brother.”

“Oh…” Tim glances down at Batwalker and sets it down on the bed, patting the dinosaur’s head before reaching out to accept the whale. It’s as large as his chest and torso, but Tim beams and Bruce thinks the whole room sags in relief to see such a positive emotion when Tim’s so sick. “Thank you, Cass! I wuv him!”

Cass leans over to tap his nose. “Name him after,” she says and gently pushes him back. “Rest now.”

“But I’m not—” Tim yawns, causing half the room to do so too. “Not tired,” he finishes, voice low and sleepy. He rolls toward Batwalker, eyes fluttering. “No sleep, just wanna…”

And then he’s out.

“Well, if we’re all sleeping now, then I should head to my room,” Jason says, pushing himself up. He walks two steps before Cass leans over and grabs his wrist, tugging him down onto the bed with a soft, winded sound.

“Silly little brother,” Cass says. “Stay.”

Jason sighs deeply. “Okay,” he says reluctantly, crawling up to lie beside Tim with his back against the wall. “If you say so, then I guess I have to do it.”

“You’re ridiculous, Jason,” Damian says, climbing onto the bed and shoving himself between Tim and Dick, who shifts over with an amused huff of laughter. “We all know that you were going to stay here, regardless of Cassandra’s intervention. There’s no reason to pretend otherwise.”

“Shut up, brat,” Jason replies, rolling his eyes as he reaches over to smack Damian’s arm.

Damian scowls, leaning against Dick’s side. He holds up his limb, and Bruce thinks he spies a hint of a pout on Damian's face. “Richard,” he says childishly. “Jason hit me.”

Bruce hides his smile when Dick playfully glares at Jason. “How could you, Jason?” he asks, curling an arm around Damian, who perks up over the affection. “Hurting an innocent boy? So rude! All he did was point out the truth!”

“Oh, don’t you get started on me, Dickhead! I’ll get you, too!”

“No fighting,” Cass scolds. She jabs her hand against their ankles, lips curling into a pleased smile when they all groan. “Gonna wake up baby brother,” she points out.

“Sorry, Cass,” Dick says, pulling a blanket over his body. “We’ll be good, I promise.”

“ I didn’t,” Jason mutters.

“Yeah, but you don’t wanna wake up Tim,” Dick retorts.

Damian sighs, rolling off Dick to drop his head on the pillow closest to Tim. “Both of you are idiots,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. Damian shuts his eyes, face already starting to go slack. “The sooner we sleep, the sooner we can continue to help Timothy feel better.”

Tim snorts suddenly and turns over, plastering himself against Damian’s front. He displays an accurate depiction of the Dick Grayson octopus hold, and Damian cracks one eye open, a hint of a scowl on his face.

Bruce prepares to intervene and gently guide his slumbering son away from his other one, but Damian merely sighs and wraps an arm around Tim. He watches, mildly surprised, as Damian quickly falls asleep, his chest rising and falling with even breaths. Bruce can see a couple of similarities between them now, and he wonders how he missed it.

“Cute,” Jason says with a sigh, eyes already shut. One of his hands reach out to curl over Tim’s new stuffed whale. “Real fuckin’ cute…”

“Swear jar,” Dick says, mouth cracking open with a yawn. He shifts around under the blanket, eyes already fluttering shut, while Jason falls asleep. “Don’t curse around the baby, Jay…”

And then Dick’s out, too, leaving Bruce to stare at his slumbering boys.

A hand tugs on the hem of his shirt, and Bruce looks down to see Cass gazing up at him with sleepy eyes. “Picture,” she tells him. “Keep. Remember.”

She pulls away from him and worms her way between the whale and Jason. It looks cramped on the bed, but none of his children show any sign of discomfort—all looking younger as they sleep. Bruce wonders if this easy rest comes from his presence, if they feel safer here, knowing that he’ll protect them if needed.

He slips his phone out of his pocket and snaps a picture, continuing to gaze at them with a smile that doesn’t want to leave his face.

Bruce makes his way over to the air mattress, gazing down at it contemplatively. He slowly lowers himself onto it, pausing to send the picture off to Alfred and, after giving it some thought, Clark. He places it on the floor and lies down, gazing up at the ceiling with a flutter of warmth in his chest.

My children, he thinks. My babies.

He still has to deal with the new knowledge he discovered, but for now, Bruce is content to lie on the air mattress with almost all of his children tucked away in bed, his home less empty, and his heart fuller.

Sleep is easy, somehow, and Bruce dreams of nothing at all.

Bruce wakes sometime later to warmth piled on his body. He glances down blearily to see his family sleeping either on top of him (in Tim, Cass, and Dick’s case) or against him (Jason and Damian). Bruce hums when Tim snuffles against his chest, wheezing softly, and he strokes a hand over his son’s hair, waiting for him to settle before allowing himself to drift off again.

(When he checks his phone in the morning, there’s a new message from Alfred. It contains a picture of Bruce on the air mattress, arms wrapped around his children. They all wear similar expressions of contentment, so deeply asleep that they never noticed Alfred coming in to check on them.

He sets it as his home screen background.)

★★

Tim seems to get worse the next day.

After the others (reluctantly) depart for breakfast, Bruce stays behind with Tim, who wakes up shivering, wrapped up in a blanket as he sits on Dick’s bed. He manages to get half a bowl of chicken noodle soup into the boy before taking his temperature, grimacing when he sees that Tim’s fever went up a degree.

If it goes up more, then it’ll require a visit to the hospital.

Bruce gets a bath ready after Tim takes more medicine, and then he sets his son down in the lukewarm water. Tim seems particularly upset about it, sobbing his little heart out when Bruce rubs a damp washcloth over his body. He falls into a restless sleep afterwards, only to wake up not even thirty minutes later with a pale face, which results in vomit on the bed.

“I-I sowee, daddy,” Tim hiccups, sitting in the tub yet again, looking much more miserable than before. “I didn’t m-mean to do it…”

“It’s okay, Tim,” Bruce assures, gently scrubbing his hair. “It’s not your fault. Plus, Alfred can clean it and make it seem like it never happened.”

Tim sniffles. “Pwomise?” he asks, gazing at him with such sorrowful eyes.

Bruce leans forward to kiss his damp forehead, smelling the strawberry in his shampoo. “I promise.”

Sure enough, when he takes Tim out of the bathroom, all wrapped up in a fluffy towel with a duck hood, there are new sheets and blankets on the bed, the old ones already stripped off and gone, probably taking a spin in the wash.

A stack of clothes sit on the chair, so Bruce helps Tim get dressed and tucks him back into bed, taking a seat in the chair beside it so he can stroke a hand through Tim’s damp hair. His son seems a bit better now, and Bruce hopes it stays that way.

He stares at Tim’s face, trying to find traces of himself in it, but all he can see is Martha Wayne. Bruce sees the slope of her nose, a hint of her cheekbones, and maybe a part of her smile when Tim offers a tiny one as he passes over his beloved dinosaur plush.

“Batwalker and Batman,” Tim says, eyes crinkling at the corners.

The shape of them belongs to Bruce’s mother, and the color is equally similar, one of the few things that Bruce inherited from her as well. These are the features that Bruce traced over and over again in the few pictures he had of her after… after.

“Maybe I should let Batwalker fight some crime for me,” Bruce comments, amused, as he gazes down at the stuffed dinosaur. Thankfully, Tim’s upset stomach completely missed the toy, never touching the whale either. He can’t imagine how Tim would feel without his favorite cuddle buddy. “Think he’d be up for the task?”

“Silly daddy,” Tim says. “Batwalker doesn’t have a suit!”

“I suppose we’ll have to make one for him, then.” 

He keeps Batwalker in his lap while Tim hugs his whale. Bruce continues to comb his fingers through Tim’s hair, hoping to coax him back to sleep. It works out, eventually, and as Tim starts dozing off, Bruce wonders about pet names.

Dick tosses them out without hesitation, saying one with a large amount of adoration and usually pairing it with a hug or a kiss. Lately, Tim gets the brunt of it all, which the boy enjoys greatly, soaking it all up like flowers beneath the sun’s rays.

Ducky works well, and Tim’s little quacks in response to the name always warm his heart, but Bruce thinks Tim deserves another one. Not because he’s Bruce’s biological son (and isn’t that still weird to think?), no—because Tim deserves to have more affection from Bruce, a man who is considered emotionally constipated by almost everyone who knows him, including his family.

“Darling,” Bruce eventually tests after recalling one of the definitions for ducky. He enjoys the weight of it in his mouth, the way it feels so right, and Bruce leans down to kiss his son’s forehead. “My darling boy.”

“Daddy,” Tim murmurs sleepily, curling against his side. “Wuv you, daddy.”

Bruce swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “Oh, Tim,” he whispers, rubbing his back when Tim’s body trembles—the heat of his fever at war with his small body. “Love you too. So much.”

Alfred brings in lunch for Bruce, a thermos filled with more soup for Tim, and a sleeve of crackers. He also passes over a cold compress, and Bruce immediately places it on Tim’s forehead, feeling a flicker of relief when Tim’s face relaxes, burrowing his face into his whale.

“Seeing him like this,” Alfred comments softly. “It almost reminds me of you in your younger years, Master Bruce.”

“I think he looks more like Mother.”

“You both carry parts of her, but I also see Master Thomas in your brows and hands, and especially in the way you lose yourself in your work, doing your best to save those around you.” He shoots him a pointed look, arching a brow, and Bruce can’t even muster up the usual sheepishness with Alfred. All he feels is a small rush, thrilled over the comparisons to his parents.

(“They still live on in you,” Alfred had told him once, as he stroked a thumb across his cheekbones, wiping away the tears that never seemed to stop flowing. Bruce had been a child, still lost in his grief, but he tucked those words away, clinging to them when the sorrow clouded his lungs and made it hard to breathe. “And you will carry them with you, always.”)

“I’ve stared at his face so many times,” Bruce murmurs, brushing a finger down Tim’s cheek. “And I never realized.”

“How could we?” Alfred gently counters. “We had no suspicion, and I’m certain that Master Timothy never had a clue, either, or else we would have seen him around here sooner.”

“You think so?”

“I know so, sir.” Alfred huffs out a laugh, leaning down to brush a strand of hair away from Tim’s eyes. “This is the boy that showed up on our doorstep and told you that you needed a Robin. This is the boy who would drag you down and force you to eat breakfast, sitting at the table beside you until you practically licked the plate clean. This is the boy—” Here, Alfred’s voice wavers. “This is the boy who brought back my boy.”

A wave of guilt and shame floods through Bruce, and he can’t bring himself to look Alfred in the eyes. He focuses on his son, who shifts closer, brows furrowed as he mumbles something unintelligible.

“I’ve never—” Bruce starts, only to stop, jaw clenching while the words trap themselves in his throat. It’s hard to think about those days and not remember being awash in grief, losing himself to the bottom of a bottle on some days, and barely being able to function in public. Alfred stood by him the whole time, trying his damnedest to keep Bruce afloat when he was also carrying the weight of their fresh loss.

“Alfred,” he says simply, gazing up at him. Everything he wants to say won’t come out, so he tries to convey it in a single look—his sorrow and remorse, the love that he carries for the man that he views as a grandfather, the one that has cared for him all these years without fail.

Alfred places a hand on his shoulder. “I know,” he says kindly. “We can’t help who we become in the wake of our losses.”

The weight of his touch is familiar, reminding Bruce of a time when it steered him out of the cemetery, his voice almost unheard when he promised Bruce that he would never leave.

It’s almost difficult to fathom Alfred Pennyworth, a man who has seen him through his whole life—the ups and downs, highs and lows, everything that comes from both sides of his life. Alfred is a constant presence, comforting and warm, reminding him time and time again, even when Bruce is a brute and trying to push everyone away, that he is there to stay.

“Thank you,” Bruce murmurs, full of overwhelming gratitude.

“Of course,” Alfred says, affection curling around each word. “You are more than a job, Master Bruce. I have watched you grow from a small baby into a person, and I am proud of the man you have become.” His shoulder receives a squeeze. “Your parents would certainly agree with the sentiment as well.”

Bruce blinks back tears and finds that the smile on his face lingers even after Alfred departs.

★★

Tim grows restless in sleep as the afternoon drags on.

He tosses and turns, brows furrowed as he mumbles to himself. Bruce can’t make out any of his speech since it’s too disjointed and quiet, but eventually, his voice grows louder, the distress ringing out clearer than the Metropolis sky. 

Bruce tries to comfort him by resting a hand on his back and stroking his hair on occasion, but the calm that settles upon him seems fleeting. Tim ends up right back at the start, soft whimpers escaping him until, finally, something recognizable spills out.

“Kon,” Tim whispers. “Kon, Conner— Kon-El! ”

Tim shivers, and Bruce tucks the blanket around his shoulders. He also removes the cold compress, replacing it with another after he wipes the few droplets of sweat off Tim’s face. His son grips his dinosaur tightly, burrowing into the pillow with a pained expression, and then—

A tap on the window.

He stiffens, eyes flicking to the source of the sound. Bruce arches a brow when he sees a familiar face peering at him through the glass, and he reaches over to flip the lock, sliding the window open.

“Hello, Superboy,” he says dryly.

“Hi, Mr. Wayne,” Conner Kent says, sounding a bit sheepish as he climbs up onto the windowsill, squatting on the edge of it. “Sorry to come in like this, but I heard Tim call for me, and… I got worried.”

“How’d you know it was Tim?”

Conner stares at him, a frown on his face. “He’s my best friend,” he says, eyes flicking over to the small bundle in bed. Something in his face softens, making him look younger. “I’ll always recognize him, no matter what identity or form he takes, because I know him better than I know myself.”

“Kon,” Tim says with a dry sob. He curls up into a ball, squeezing the dinosaur against his chest. “Don’t go, pwease…”

“Plus,” Conner says next, voice dropping to a whisper. “He tends to get nightmares about when we—y’know. They’re only this bad when he’s sick.”

“Oh,” Bruce says. He can count on one hand how many times Tim was sick when living with Bruce, so… this implies that there were more times, and Tim chose to go to his friends instead of his family. “I see.”

“Yeah.” Conner glances at him, eyes assessing, before he refocuses on Tim. “Tim,” he says, leaning down to grab one of Tim’s wrists in a gentle hold. It’s similar to how Clark does it whenever he’s dealing with a multitude of Bruce’s injuries, always so wary of harming his best friend.

It seems like that’s all Tim needs to wake up.

“Kon?” he murmurs, eyes fluttering open. “S’that you?”

“Yeah, Rob,” Conner says, stroking Tim’s inner wrist with his thumb. “It’s me. Remember what I said before? No matter where I am, I’ll always come when you call.”

One of Tim’s hands comes up, fingertips barely grazing Conner’s chin. “Kon,” he whispers, a note of wonder in his voice. Then, his face scrunches up, tears spilling over while his chest heaves with ragged breaths. “Kon,” Tim cries. “Kon, Kon, Kon…”

Conner glances at Bruce again, lips pursed, before he drifts into the room, dropping into the space between Tim and the wall. Tim immediately rolls toward him, one hand fisted in Conner’s muscle tee.

Tim’s crying causes his whole body to shake, but Conner seems unperturbed. He rests a hand on Tim’s back, rubbing circles into the space between Tim’s shoulders.

Bruce leans over to fix the cold compress on Tim’s forehead, watching the sorrow and relief play out on Tim’s face. How many times has he woken in a similar manner? How many times did Tim’s friends climb into his bed to comfort him? Did they ever do it here? Or was it always at the Tower?

“Sorry, again,” Conner whispers.

“What for?”

“For coming here like this. I know you don’t want us in Gotham without permission—”

“When did I ever say that?” Bruce wonders. He fixes the blanket around Tim and then leans back, eyeing Conner curiously. “I could never be mad about you coming in to help my son, especially at a time like this.”

“You know, I can do more than that,” Conner says. “I can help keep an eye on the city and all that, or look around for those ninjas and knock ‘em around for you. Bart and Cassie are willing, too.”

“I’m sure you are,” Bruce says, bemused. “But for now, we’ve got things handled. I’ve asked Clark to keep an ear out. So far, things are quiet.” 

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Not for Gotham.”

Conner snorts. “Tim says the same thing,” he says fondly. He peers down at the boy in his arms. “Ever since Wally told us what happened, we’ve all been eager to see him.”

“You three can come over when he’s better,” Bruce says, surprising himself with the offer. He can see the same emotion written on Conner’s face, too, and he distracts himself by gazing at Tim. His cheeks are wet with tears, but he’s no longer crying, and Tim seems content to stay nestled against his best friend. “Seeing a few more familiar faces will help.”

“Oh… I’ll pass that along, then.”

An awkward silence follows, and Bruce can acknowledge it as such because he rarely interacts with the friends of his children. He knows they view him as an intimidating figure, and he keeps his distance so he won’t embarrass his kids (Dick certainly complained about it back when the Titans first formed). 

So, it’s almost a relief when someone knocks on the door.

“Hey, B,” Dick says when Bruce opens it. He holds up a bottle of strawberry-flavored electrolytes, a hint of a smile on his face. “Thought it’d be easier to get him to drink this, especially after what happened this morning.” He peers past Bruce, eyes widening. “Is that Conner?”

“Yes,” Bruce replies, opening the door wide. “Come say hello.”

Translation: please save me from forcing myself to make more pleasantries with Tim’s friend.

Dick shoots him a look like he knows exactly what Bruce is doing, but he doesn’t mention it as he steps further into the room, a bright smile on his face. “Hey, Kon!” he says, lowering his voice when he sits on the edge of the bed. “Hi, Timmy.”

Tim lifts his head, squinting at Dick. “Oh,” he says, sounding pleased. “Hi, Dickie!” Tim then falls into a small coughing fit, which he buries in Conner’s shirt, making the other boy wrinkle his nose in disgust. 

But he doesn’t complain, nor does he push Tim away.

“I’m surprised the other two didn’t tag along,” Dick says with a smile.

“They don’t know I’m here,” Conner says. “I rushed over as soon as I heard Tim calling for me.”

“Is that something you do often, Superboy?”

Dick’s tone sounds mild and casual, but Bruce knows an interrogation when he hears it. He finds himself interested in the answer as well, and he fixes his gaze on Conner, who stares at Dick with an openly confused expression.

“Yes?” he says. “Tim’s my best friend. Why wouldn’t I fly over when he says my name?” Conner looks down at Tim. “He’s not the type to ask for help, y’know, so… I always try to be there when it seems like he needs me.”

“Hm,” Dick says. “I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah. You can, right?” There’s a hint of a smirk on Conner’s face. “Think you can clear up a rumor for me? I heard that you—”

“You know what,” Dick says, much louder than before. “I think it’s great that you’re here for Tim. So great that I should let Jason and Damian know, too!”

“Alright, alright,” Conner says, sounding disgruntled. “I get it, man.”

Tim sneezes into Conner’s shirt and pulls away with a gross sniff. “Sowee, Kon,” he says. “I got you all messy and nasty.”

Conner sighs. “Yeah, what’s new?” he says. “Remember all those times when you sent me ahead into equally messy and nasty areas to get more intel? This is pretty mild, Rob. Actually, I’d prefer this over a trip into the sewers because at least I know you’re not full of potentially radioactive waste.” He pauses. “I hope.”

Tim giggles. It sounds congested, but it’s still beautiful. “I dunno,” he says. “Maybe!”

“Yeah, knowing Gotham?” Dick shrugs. “It’s highly possible.”

Bruce catches Dick’s eye and gestures to the thermos on the bedside table, waiting for him to nod in agreement before leaving the three to their chit-chat. It’s more of a tactical retreat than an escape, but Dick will most likely make fun of him for it later.

He goes down to the Cave, where he first checks the algorithm (nothing, maybe Tim needed to update it before he changed) and then starts going through his files.

Bruce kept journals back when he first became Gotham’s protector. They used to be physical entries, back then, before he scanned and uploaded them to the computer, preferring the option of typing his future nightly logs. It certainly made things easier on his hands, and it also helps that he can search up key terms to find information from the past that may help him now.

So, he types out the name ‘Janet’ and waits for the results, fingers steepled in front of him. 

Many of his trysts were fleeting, barely a memory (excluding Talia, Selina, and the very brief period with Clark), but he knows he would have logged some inane, inconsequential detail about the other individual to at least mark the night.

Bruce has to know where it started. Once he has this information, Bruce opens up a new document in Tim’s file and starts typing.

I only met your mother once. It was at an auction for unique artifacts. I was there to retrieve one before it could do any harm, never realizing that my cover to be there would eventually lead to you showing up at my doorstep…

★★

Night falls upon them.

Conner Kent is already gone by the time Bruce returns to Dick’s room. There’s an air of contentment in there while Tim sits in front of Dick, letting his older brother comb his hair while a movie about a girl with long, golden hair plays on the TV.

“That’s wike Dickie’s hair,” Tim says.

“Not quite,” Dick says, sounding amused. He pins Tim’s hair back with a couple of blue clips and then reaches over to grab a cracker off the small table. “Here, baby. Why don’t you have another?”

“Okay!” Tim shoves it into his mouth, getting crumbs all over his front. He looks over with bulging cheeks when Bruce steps into the room, and his face brightens. “Daddy!”

“Hello, ducky,” Bruce says, dropping down into the chair beside the bed. He curiously eyes the screen, where the hair girl sings about having a dream. “Did you take your medicine?”

“Uh-huh! Dickie made me after my soup!”

“Is it almost time?” Dick asks, glancing out the window. “I guess I’ll stay in again…”

“You can go out, if you want,” Bruce says. He reaches out and plucks Tim off the bed, keeping the boy in his lap and not moving when Tim shifts around. “Alfred can stay behind and look after Tim.”

He absent-mindedly presses the back of his hand against Tim’s forehead, frowning when he feels the warmth there. It’s not as bad as earlier, sure, but he still dislikes how the fever seems to cling to Tim, even with all the rest he’s getting.

“Daddy’s gonna go?”

“Yes, Tim.”

Tim turns to him, eyes wide and damp. He sniffles and asks, hopeful, “Daddy stay with me instead?”

“Oh, darling,” Bruce murmurs, stroking a hand over his head. “Batman needs to be out there.” He hates himself for saying this, especially when he has to watch Tim’s devastation and disappointment in real time, his face crumbling before he hides it in Bruce’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, curling his fingers into Tim’s wayward hair. 

“I’ll do it.”

Bruce glances at his eldest, puzzled. “Hm?” he wonders.

“I’ll do it,” Dick says again. “I can wear the cowl so you can stay here.”

“Oh,” Bruce says quietly. “You’d do that for me?”

“For Tim,” Dick corrects, not unkindly. His eyes flick over to Tim’s shaking form. “He asked for you, Bruce. That’s not something you can ignore.” A smile flickers across his face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Besides, I already know how to work with Damian, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to take your spot for the night.”

“You don’t have to, son.”

“At this point, I don’t think we have a choice. It doesn’t seem like Tim’s going to let you go anytime soon.”

Bruce glances down to see both of Tim’s hands fisted in Bruce’s shirt. “You have a point,” he concedes, dipping his head. “Well, alright. But if you need any help, don’t be afraid to contact Alfred.”

Dick bristles. “I can do it myself,” he says hotly. “I managed fine when you were—”

“I know,” Bruce says, quickly speaking when he feels Tim shift. He doesn’t want Tim to hear them argue about this. “You’re more than capable of taking on the role, but I wanted you to know that the option is there.” He pauses, toying with a strand of Tim’s hair, and adds, “Plus, it’s more for Tim’s sake than anything.”

His eldest son softens at that, shoulders slumping. “Well, alright,” Dick says, combing his fingers through his hair. “I’ll be sure to do that if I need it. But we should be okay, B. The others are going to be out there with me, and I’ll send Jay back early to help keep an eye on things.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Dick slips off the bed, pausing beside where Bruce sits to bend down and kiss the top of Tim’s head. After, he seems to hesitate before doing the same to Bruce, speeding off to hit Gotham’s streets.

Bruce pretends he’s not smiling while he transfers himself and Tim over to the bed, watching the TV as the rest of the movie plays out. He starts playing with Tim’s hair while the characters from the movie throw themselves out of a river, drenched and gasping.

Tim stays quiet, leaning against him, until he eventually breaks his silence by saying, “Dickie doesn’t wike being Batman.”

He pauses in his ministrations to ponder that statement, only continuing when Tim huffs and pushes his head up against Bruce’s hand. “Why do you say that, ducky?” Bruce asks. “Did he tell you?”

“No,” Tim answers. “I just know.”

“Hm.” Bruce doesn’t doubt it.

Both himself and Tim are the type of people to take in any and all knowledge, analyzing a person to gain a better sense of the other individual. Uncovering secrets is also part of what keeps them alive in this dark city they call home, and Bruce knows that Tim is well adept at finding out what people try to keep hidden.

The movie continues.

Bruce feels a flicker of alarm when the film shows the death of the male character, wondering how this could possibly be marketed towards kids, but then the blonde (now a brunette) saves his life, and the movie ends on a lighter note. He clutches Tim tighter when the girl returns to her parents after being lost all those years, their reunion causing a lump to form in his throat.

“At least she got her happy ending,” he remarks as he tucks Tim into bed. “Just like you, ducky.”

“Quack,” Tim says and reaches up to pat his chin. “Daddy, can I be a pwincess?”

“You can be anything you want to be, Tim,” Bruce says, pretending to eat his hand just to hear Tim giggle. He thinks of the lost princess and how she eventually found her way home, and then he thinks about the DNA results on his computer, how his son made a home here without either of them knowing the truth. “Princess Timothy.”

Bruce helps Tim drink some electrolytes, smiling when Tim smacks his lips over the taste of strawberry. He tries to get his son to sleep some more since he’s still battling a cold and a fever, but nothing helps calm his mind, not even the background noise coming from a random video with dancing fruits.

It leads to some frustration after a while, and Tim is left staring at him tearfully, occasionally turning his head to cough roughly into the pillow.

“I’m sorry, darling,” Bruce murmurs. “What else can I do to help?”

Tim squeezes Batwalker against his chest, sniffling. “Will you tell me a stowy?” he asks quietly.

Bruce glances around. “I don’t have a book,” he says apologetically, brushing a thumb across one of Tim’s brows. He doesn’t want to leave Tim’s side to search for one either, but maybe… maybe he could make one up for Tim.

“Okay,” Bruce says softly, leaning down to kiss his head. “There once was a little bird who thawed a monster’s heart…”

★★

“… and even though the little bird left the nest, his benevolent monster always waited for him to come home—his heart warm with the love for his family, healed from the fractures that nearly destroyed it, all because of that stubborn little bird.”

“Bird will come home,” Tim murmurs, gripping Bruce’s shirt tightly. “Always.”

“And so will the monster,” Bruce vows quietly, holding his son close. “Always.”

Tim falls asleep soon after that. His soft, even breaths sound congested, the mucus seemingly trapped in his lungs, but he doesn’t seem to mind. There’s an expression of contentment on his face, something Bruce hasn’t seen in his older counterpart for some time now.

His third son is normally so serious and quiet when they’re out on patrol, prone to taking off to his Nest rather than sticking around the Cave afterwards. Sometimes, Bruce can convince him to stay for a while by asking for help on a case, and then his son’s exuberance shines whenever they solve it, giving Bruce a glimpse of the child he helped raise.

The joy that sticks to Tim’s face these days is truly an amazing sight, made more so when he watches his family bond with each other in ways that he has only seen in his dreams.

Once again, Tim is slowly piecing the family back together, only this time, he’s doing it by simply smiling at them with innocent charm.

“My boy,” Bruce murmurs, amazed.

He ends up watching the damn video with the dancing fruits, privately surprised over how it quiets his mind. There’s just something about those bouncing things with their happy little smiles, all paired with pleasant music.

It almost makes him miss the sound of Tim’s whimper, but then he turns off the TV to focus on his son, fretting when he sees the way Tim’s hair sticks to his face with sweat.

“Tim?” he asks cautiously, reaching out to shake him. “Timmy? Ducky?”

His son suddenly sits up with a gasp, eyes wide and wild. They flit about the room, unseeing, until they land on his face. Tim stares at him with an eerily blank expression, and Bruce stays still, recalling all the other times Tim looked at him in a similar manner. It’s so far in the past, but Bruce’s reaction is instinctual, waiting for Tim to come back to him.

And eventually, he does, blinking rapidly until the rigidness in his body disappears. Tim practically throws himself into Bruce’s lap, whimpering when Bruce slowly rests a hand between his shoulders.

“Bad dream?” Bruce murmurs, rubbing Tim’s back. 

Tim nods, rubbing his eye with a sniff. He breathes in deep, his chest rattling, and hoarsely whispers, “Jay Jay.”

One of his small hands comes up to curl into the material of Bruce’s shirt, wrinkling it—not that Bruce cares. As long as it distracts his son from whatever’s haunting his mind, then Tim can ruin anything he likes.

“Oh, darling.” Bruce kisses the top of Tim’s head, wrapping his arms around him and slowly rocking them from side to side. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine that was a fun one.” He exhales shakily, wishing his sweet boy didn’t have to go through this, wishing that Tim’s memories didn’t manifest in awful ways. “Do you want to find Jason? He should be back by now.”

“Uh-huh…”

Bruce bundles Tim up in the soft blanket, grabbing Batwalker and the unnamed whale off the bed before he leaves the bedroom. His steps are silent as he makes his way down the hall until he stops in front of Jason’s door, hesitating briefly before he lifts a hand and knocks once, twice, and then four in succession.

Tim coughs against his shoulder, and Bruce rubs his back, nearly missing Jason’s soft call,

“Come in.”

A dimly-lit room greets him when he twists the knob to open the door. Jason lifts his head from his laptop, setting it aside and eyeing the boy in Bruce’s arms, a flicker of sympathy passing over his face.

“Jay,” Tim murmurs when Bruce nears the bed, already leaning down with one arm extended.

“Hey, pumpkin,” Jason says gently, plucking Tim out of Bruce’s hold in an experienced manner. “Why are you up so late, huh? Don’t you know that little birds are supposed to be sleeping right now so they can catch those pesky worms in the morning?”

“No worms,” Tim says, snuggling against Jason’s chest. “Gwoss.”

“What about gummy worms?”

“Alfie won’t wet me,” Tim grumbles. “He says that candy spoils meals.”

“Yeah,” Jason says with a sigh. “He told me that, too.”

Watching them brings a smile to Bruce’s face, especially when he catches the way Jason absent-mindedly kisses the top of Tim’s head. He turns to leave, stopping after a couple of steps by the sound of Tim’s perplexed voice,

“Daddy? Where you going?”

“I thought you wanted to stay with Jason,” Bruce says when he turns back to his child, edging closer and taking a seat on the bed. 

“I want daddy to stay, too!” Tim sniffs and reaches out to grab Bruce’s shirt sleeve, gazing at him with watery eyes. “Pwease?”

“You have to ask Jason first,” Bruce says gently. “This is his room, remember?”

“Oh!” Tim quickly turns to Jason, reaching up to press a hand against his face. “Pwease, Jay? Can daddy stay with us?”

Bruce bites back his amused smile when Jason visibly falters, obviously weak to the sight of Tim’s face. He completely understands because Tim has given a similar look at this age, and Bruce often finds himself bending over backwards to make sure that his son is happy. 

“Alright,” Jason says. “He can stay.”

Tim throws his arms around Jason’s shoulder. “Thank you, Jay!” he says happily, all of his earlier tears suddenly gone. “I wuv you!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason grumbles. He still wraps his arms around Tim, eyes slipping shut as he holds his younger brother tightly. Bruce notices the way he relaxes and how there’s a lack of tension in his body when he kisses the side of Tim’s head. “Love you too, pumpkin.”

Jason holds onto Tim, even when he cracks his eyes open and shoots him a contemplative look. “I guess we can share the bed,” he says, scooting over. “But don’t touch anything else, okay? I don’t want you putting your germs on everything.”

“Daddy doesn’t have germs!” Tim says with an affronted gasp.

“Oh, that’s right!” Jason shoots Tim a wicked smile, his hands hovering over Tim’s side. “You have the germs, Timmy!” He pushes Tim down onto the bed and starts tickling him, and Bruce’s heart warms over the shrieks of laughter that Tim releases, the attack only stopping when he has a small coughing fit.

“Jay is silly,” Tim croaks out afterwards, still giggling. “So silly.”

“Sure am,” Jason says easily, and the smile on his face looks so boyish and young. “Now, are we gonna finish Pride and Prejudice, or do you want to make Bruce sit through another musical movie? I doubt you’re going to sleep anytime soon.”

“Movie,” Tim answers, kicking up his legs. They hang above him, precarious, before they tip towards his head. He ends up rolling with the momentum, gazing at them with a bright smile. “The one with the mermaid!”

“Alright,” Jason says. “One mermaid movie, coming right up!”

Tim crawls over to sit on Bruce’s lap, plopping his whale down on Jason while he holds his beloved Batwalker. “I wanna be a mermaid,” he informs Bruce as the movie starts.

“I thought you wanted to be a princess?” Bruce wonders.

“I can be a mermaid pwincess, daddy! Don’t you know?”

“Yeah, Bruce!” Jason chimes in. “Don’t you know?”

At some point during the movie, right after the mermaid exchanges her voice for a pair of legs, Bruce feels Tim slump against him. He doesn’t even need to look down to see that his son’s asleep, and he simply adjusts his hold so he can be a comfortable pillow for Tim. 

Bruce feels a soft weight on his shoulder when the girl starts combing her red hair with a fork. He carefully glances down, eyes stinging when he sees his other son asleep on him, his face slack and without any of the usual tension that it holds whenever Jason’s around Bruce.

He doesn’t move, sitting in that exact spot with two of his children sleeping on him, watching as another princess achieves her happily ever after.

(Maybe this is the start of his own.)

★★

Tim’s fever breaks.

The whole house seems to sigh in relief when Tim starts gaining a bit more life, venturing out of the room to play with his siblings instead of staying confined to Dick’s bed. He’s still sick, of course, and has to pause on occasion to take his medicine or eat some chicken noodle soup, but he’s steadily getting better.

Everyone piles into the sitting room that Tim has more or less claimed as his own, and he can see the way their eyes flit over to the boy, as if they need to keep confirming that he’s truly okay.

Currently, there’s yet another animated film playing on the TV screen. Almost everyone seems enraptured by the sight of a girl living on an island, constantly drawn to the ocean. Tim’s sitting on Dick’s lap, munching on a handful of popcorn as he leans back against his big brother’s chest.

Bruce watches them from where he sits in his armchair, smiling when he catches sight of Dick mouthing along to the song playing in the film. His amusement fades when he glances at Damian, who sits in the armchair on the opposite side with a book in hand, pretending he’s not subtly glancing at the screen to watch along.

He carefully pushes himself up and makes his way over, crouching down beside Damian and gently tapping his shoulder to get his attention.

“Damian,” Bruce says when his son turns to look at him. “Can we talk?”

Chapter Text

Damian is hiding.

He knows he will be found soon—as expected when living in a house filled with expert detectives—so Damian tries to enjoy the silence in this quiet attic. The manor provides plenty of empty rooms for Damian to run to whenever he requires a space to sort out his thoughts.

Such as now.

The conversation with his father festers in his head, building to a point where tension gathers in his body, forcing his shoulders to climb up to his ears as he hunches in on himself, hastily wiping a hand across his damp eyes. Damian wishes he was small enough to lose all sense of self, wishes he could fade into nothingness if only to escape the most recent discovery.

His entire being burns with new knowledge, one that turns his whole world on its axis. 

Damian is no longer the only blood son.

And he was never the first.

★★

“Damian,” Father says. “Can we talk?”

Damian glances at him, cautious of the fixed expression of neutrality on his face. Father tends to wear it whenever he’s going to deliver bad news (like the time he told Damian that he couldn’t keep the horse he rescued).

“What about?” he asks.

“How about we go up to my study?”

Father’s study. It’s a sacred place, always locked whenever Father’s in there and whenever he’s out. He’ll only invite others inside when important discussions take place. Timothy is a frequent flier in this space, but that makes sense because Timothy is partially in charge of Wayne Enterprises and often requires Father’s input on certain matters.

“Okay,” Damian says. He slips the bookmark into his book and sets it aside, mentally berating himself for getting distracted and not reading ahead— Lord of the Flies is the next thing they’ll be studying when he gets back to school, and he’s barely halfway through the story.

They walk out of the sitting room together, and Damian releases a surprised grunt when his father abruptly picks him up, holding him like he would Timothy.

“Put me down,” he demands, already trying to squirm away. “I’m not a child, Father!”

“I know,” Father says cheerfully, sounding too much like his brainless public persona that strives to embarrass the family name to keep up his cover. It’s worked for countless years, Damian knows, but he still despises it. “But you’re still my baby, and we’ll be faster this way.”

Damian huffs, heat climbing up to his ears when he picks out the affection in Father’s voice. “This is unbecoming,” he mutters, wrapping his arms around the older man’s neck and allowing himself to rest his head on a firm shoulder. “But I will allow it this one time.”

“Alright,” Father replies, sounding amused.

Although it’s humiliating to be held this way, Damian finds that it’s comforting as well, which is not something he’ll admit to anyone, so he enjoys it while he can. His eyes are nearly drooping by the time they reach Father’s study, and then Father gently places him down in a comfortable armchair, gazing at him with a serious expression.

“Is something wrong?” Damian asks, mildly alarmed.

“Everything’s fine,” Father assures, reaching out to rest a hand on Damian’s head. Normally, the point of contact would give him comfort, but there’s something in Father’s eyes that causes Damian to feel restless in a way that he cannot explain. “I do have something important to tell you.”

“Oh.” Damian clasps his hands together, keeping them on his lap. His thigh jiggles minutely, the only way to express his anxiety at a time like this. “What is it, Father?”

“I don’t know how to say this,” Father says. “But I recently discovered something about Tim, and I’m afraid it might upset you. If it does, then that’s understandable, but I thought it would be best if I told you because I know you will eventually come across the information when you look through the computer without my permission.”

“I don’t do that!” Damian argues.

Father arches a brow.

Damian huffs. “Not as often,” he amends and then shakes his head. “It’s no matter. What do you want to tell me?”

“You know how I was testing Tim’s blood?”

“Yes,” Damian says slowly, squeezing his hands together. His heart rate increases, and he finds that his mouth is a little dry. “What did you find?”

“Nothing bad,” Father says with a sureness that helps Damian relax. He wouldn’t lie to Damian about this. “But it’s… something.” He drops down into the seat across from Damian, scratching the side of his jaw. “Damian,” Father says, meeting his gaze, the uncertainty in them making Damian sit up straighter. “Tim’s your brother.”

Damian stares at him, furrowing his brows. “Yes?” he replies, frowning. “Isn’t this something we all already know?”

“Well, yes, but what I meant was—” Father sighs, leaning back against his seat. He crosses his leg, turning his head to gaze at the far wall, the one with a bookshelf that leads to a secret passage down to the Batcave. “He’s your brother, yes, and he’s always been your brother, even when you didn’t want him around, but what I’m trying to say…” He pauses, eyes flicking back to Damian and holding steady. “He’s your half-brother, Damian. You two are biologically related through me.”

There’s a ringing in his ears.

The words bounce around his head while the rest of his body suddenly untethers from the floor, allowing him to drift in a strange fog. He can feel the way his mouth opens and shuts, teeth clicking together in a way that reverberates through him, causing him to shudder at the strange sensation.

“Damian?”

“H-How…” Damian starts, only to stop when it comes out a touch hoarse. He squeezes his hands again, nails pricking against his knuckles. The brief spike of pain gives him a bit of clarity, and he inhales sharply, blinking rapidly. “What do you mean by that? How did this happen? When did this happen?” His voice pitches higher than usual, but Damian can’t care about that right now. “Father, what?”

“Damian,” Father says gently, his hands coming up like he’s some scared animal rather than a boy. “Listen, I need you to take a few deep breaths for me. Can you do that?”

His chest hurts.

“Damian.”

He gasps, air filling his lungs in a rush that makes him somewhat dizzy. Father is now holding his shoulders, his tight grip providing an anchor for Damian. He fixes his gaze on his father’s chest and slowly matches his breathing. Eventually, his heart calms, and Damian’s left with a feeling of exhaustion.

It’s silent in the study. Damian’s eyes flick over to the small clock on the desk, where it ticks every so often, reminding him of the passing time. He shrugs off the hands on his shoulder and tips his head forward, staring down at where his feet dangle above the floor.

“Father,” he says quietly. “Please answer me.”

“It was a long time ago,” Father immediately replies. “I had nearly forgotten, but I used to keep records whenever I would go out into Gotham as Batman, so the information was there. Not in detail, but my search flagged her name in the entry. I was in a public space as Brucie to prevent something from occurring, and she was there.”

“A married woman?” Damian says with a scoff, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Really, Father?”

“She wasn’t married at the time, but I suppose that doesn’t make things better, considering she married Jack Drake soon after our encounter.”

Damian scowls. “You’re right. It doesn’t help,” he replies, lifting his head to stare at his father. He sits there with a guilty expression, and Damian nods, satisfied. “And it’s safe to assume that Timothy did not know about this, correct?”

“That’s the general deduction,” Father says. “I plan on telling him when he’s older. I’m sure he’ll be able to comprehend the information now, but…” He sighs, dragging a hand down his face. “Tim will need time to process it after he finishes doing the same for his de-aging predicament.”

“I agree,” Damian says, ignoring the slight widening of his father’s eyes. “Timothy is prone to running off whenever he is given new, earth-shattering information. There’s also a chance that it may occur now when he’s a child since we don’t know when this behavior presented itself, and that’s not something we can risk.”

“Good thinking,” Father says. 

Damian feels a flicker of warmth over the pride in his voice before it dissipates, the reminder of the situation causing his stomach to twist unpleasantly.

That ringing sound from earlier returns to his ears, but it’s much fainter than before. He goes through simple breathing exercises while he ponders the new information. Unfortunately, the weight of Father’s stare makes it hard for him to do so, and Damian ends up slipping off his seat, eyes fixed on the floor when he makes a simple request,

“I’d like to be alone for a while.”

“Of course,” Father says immediately. “Just don’t stay away for too long, okay?”

“Yes, Father,” Damian replies and exits the room. He lingers in the hall for a moment and belatedly registers a trembling in his lips. Damian presses his hands against his eyes when pressure builds up behind them and exhales raggedly, forcing his swirling emotions down so he can retreat to his favorite hiding spot.

Hopefully, no one will bother him while he lets himself break.

★★

Damian’s pulled out of his thoughts by the call of his name.

He tenses, fearing that his family found him before he’s ready, and Damian prepares to run to avoid their attempts at an emotional conversation (depending on who it might be), but it ends up being unnecessary when the individual calls his name again, too childlike to be anyone but Timothy.

“Damiiiiiii,” Timothy says, distant and curious. “Where are youuuuu?”

Ah, Damian thinks. I suppose this is alright, then. Timothy could never be a bother.

He should open his mouth to respond, but his jaw clenches, locking it behind his teeth. He wraps his arms around his knees and pulls them to his chest, eyeing the entrance to the attic with curiosity. Can Timothy make it up here on his own?

As if answering this thought, Timothy’s head pokes through, dust clinging to his hair and his pajamas. Timothy wipes his nose with the back of his hand, and his expression lights up when their eyes meet.

“Dami!” he says happily, making his way over and plopping down beside him. “Whatcha doin’ up here?”

“Thinking.”

“Oh. About what?”

“Many things,” Damian answers, staring at Timothy’s face. Father’s eyes blink back at him, made brighter by the dim lighting and the dust smeared across his skin. Timothy smiles, the sweetness of it similar to their shared grandmother, Martha Wayne. “Too many.”

Suddenly, all he can think about is the blood streaked across Timothy’s pale skin and how no one would ever know about Damian’s role in Timothy’s demise if he succeeded.

Damian swallows back bile at the thought, unable to remove the image of Timothy’s four-year-old self from his head—broken and bleeding in place of his older counterpart, all because of him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, reaching out to brush his fingers over one of Timothy’s plump cheeks. They’re all starting to carry snacks with them to keep him fed, making sure he doesn’t force himself to go hungry by choosing not to burden them with his request for subsistence.

“Huh?” Tim cocks his head to the side, brows furrowed. “For what?”

“For hurting you,” Damian says, sliding his hand up to pat Timothy’s head. His hair is getting longer, but Richard is adamant about not giving it a trim. “I wish I had been kind instead of cruel, but I didn’t know any better. I’m sorry.”

“Dami, you so silly,” Timothy says, sounding bemused. He crawls into Damian’s lap and wraps his arms around Damian’s neck. “But I forgive! Because you my bwother, and I wuv you!”

“Oh,” Damian whispers. “I suppose it’s as simple as that, then.” He returns the embrace, burying his face in Timothy’s strawberry-scented hair. “Thank you, Timothy.”

“Uh-huh!” Timothy squeezes him tighter before pulling away, plopping down beside him with a smile. He drags his finger across some of the dust on the floor, drawing small figures and humming to himself. “Dami is a good bwother.”

That’s a lie, Damian thinks, watching as dust clumps up around Timothy’s finger. I have not been a good brother to you. It would be easier if you hated me, but the selfish part of me doesn’t want you to feel that way.

And it’s true, especially now, with Timothy so sweet and happy, always gazing at him with a smile. The sight of it often fills Damian with a protectiveness that surprises him, and he realizes it’s still there as he stares at his (somewhat) newly-discovered biological brother.

“I love you as well, Timothy,” he says softly, reaching out to grab Timothy’s hand and wipe the dust off. Damian realizes that while he’s still in shock about the news, he can’t exactly be upset with Timothy, who is innocent in all of this. “I hope you know this.”

Love was supposed to be a weakness, something that his Grandfather wanted to bleed out of him, and that’s something he carried with him, too afraid to even allow the emotion to trickle in. Coming here to Gotham changed all that, and Damian was soon able to see that love strengthened those around him—the family and friends he found during his time as Bruce Wayne’s son and as Robin.

And it does so for Damian as well.

Timothy beams at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I know!” he chirps, turning to cough into his sleeve. It’s a small fit, but thankfully,  it doesn’t leave him gasping for air like when he was laid up in bed with a fever. “Dami, we should go pway.”

“Not now,” Damian replies and quickly continues before Timothy can express his disappointment. “We can sit down and draw together sometime soon if you’re interested. I have plenty of supplies and sketchbooks that I can lend you.”

“Oh, yes!” Timothy’s smile grows wider, even as he drags his sweater sleeve across his leaking nose. “Pwease and thank you!”

They sit there quietly until Timothy huffs and shifts around. The crinkle of plastic drags Damian’s attention away from the intricate stained glass and onto his brother, watching as he moves his hand around the pocket of his hoodie.

“Um,” Timothy says. “You want some juice?”

He produces two green juice boxes, a tiny smile on his face. “They’re apple,” Timothy adds, holding one out to Damian. “Alfie wet me take ‘em!”

“Alright,” Damian says, accepting the offer. He tears off the straw from the side and stabs it into the small hole. “Thank you.”

“Cheers!” Tim says, leaning over to tap their boxes together.

“Yes,” Damian murmurs, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Cheers.”

And so, they sit together in the dusty attic, sipping on their juice boxes. Timothy keeps kicking his feet out, humming in delight, and Damian cannot begrudge the action. The juice has an acceptable taste.

Timothy finishes his first, smacking his lips together after he spends a few seconds sucking on air. He drops the juice box on the floor and curls up on his side, mouth cracking open with a yawn.

“I go sleep now,” he says, a stream of sunlight hitting his arm.

“No, Timothy,” Damian chides gently. He quickly drinks the rest of his juice and sets the box aside, reaching over to pick up his brother. It requires minimal effort, though he does seem heavier than before—Alfred’s meal plan seems to be working. “That won’t be comfortable for you.”

“But I’m tired,” Timothy whines.

Damian sighs, but he can’t muster up the annoyance over these childish antics. “Then you shall use me as a pillow,” he decides. Damian shifts to lie on the hardwood floor with Timothy nestled against his chest. “I’d rather we do this than have you risk hurting yourself.”

“What ‘bout you?”

“I have slept in worse conditions,” Damian says, which is true. It was part of his training when he was with the League. The floor is much better than a lot of his previous sleeping accommodations. “Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” Timothy says with another yawn. He lifts his head and drops a wet, sticky kiss onto Damian’s cheek. “Goodnight, Dami.”

“It’s afternoon,” Damian points out.

“Goodnight, Dami,” Timothy repeats, insistent.

Damian sighs once more, wrapping an arm around Timothy’s middle. “Goodnight, Timothy,” he says begrudgingly, sweeping a hand down his back. “Sweet dreams.”

Timothy is already asleep.

He stares at the ceiling as he rubs circles into Timothy’s shoulders, every blink getting heavier and heavier. Damian should probably move them, but it’s difficult to get up. The room is warm and quiet, and it’s not long before Damian finds himself answering the call of sleep, drifting off to the sound of Timothy’s soft, even breaths.

★★

Awareness trickles in with the sound of hushed voices.

He tries to parse each one, but his half-asleep mind refuses to latch onto any information. The warmth on his chest also threatens to drag him back into dreams, which doesn’t help. 

It takes some time for him to fully wake up, and even then, he’s stuck in a light doze, eyes clamped shut as he clings to the furnace atop his body. His back twinges when he shifts, a tell-tale sign that he slept on the floor again, but Damian doesn’t mind it as much this time, not when he feels so comfortable and safe.

“—never knew.”

“I didn’t want you to know.” That’s Richard. He sounds tired. “What we do is important, Bruce, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that Batman is needed out there. There should always be a Batman in Gotham. That’s why I took up the mantle before. But…”

“But…?” Father, patient and gentle.

“It’s not something I want. I’ve never… I didn’t like being Batman. Partially because it kept reminding me that you were gone, and I was just a placeholder, but… Batman isn’t who I am, y’know? That’s not me.”

“Okay. I hear you.” Damian feels a calloused hand card through his hair, strong and familiar. “You don’t have to do it anymore. Actually, I’d prefer it if you didn’t do it at all.”

“Why?” There’s a spark of anger in Richard’s voice, a defiance that Damian rarely hears. “Think I can’t handle it now that you know I hate it?”

“No,” Father says quietly. “You can, and that’s what I’m afraid of. I don’t want you to turn into another me when you’re already better, chum, and—”

“And what?”

“I want you to be happy. That’s all.”

There’s a sigh, followed by the sound of boxes shifting. Damian nearly whines when the hand leaves his hair, but then he’s lifted into the air with an ease that speaks of Father’s strength, and he relaxes even further, trusting that he’s still safe.

“Oh,” Richard whispers after a while, the floorboards creaking. “Zitka…”

“Yes.”

“I thought you would have tossed it, considering you—”

“No, Dick.” Father sounds so solemn, even as his heart stutters in Damian’s ear. “I wouldn’t do that. I… I kept everything up here, hoping…” A rueful chuckle follows. “Well, you know.”

“Yeah,” Richard says thickly. “Thanks.”

Damian feels the arms carrying him tighten, the bobbing motions telling him that they’re going down the steps. The warmth atop his body shifts, and his sluggish brain reminds him that Timothy is still sleeping, that Father is somehow carrying the both of them without struggle.

He drifts in and out of sleep until he’s gently placed on something plush and inviting—his bed. Damian squeezes Timothy tighter and burrows into the pillow, humming when something soft bounces near him.

“I thought you’d want to keep her with you,” Father murmurs.

“I do,” Richard replies, sounding close. “But I think Tim needs Zitka more right now, considering he’s still sick. She can watch over them for me.”

Damian feels a gentle pressure against his forehead, and he sighs, cracking an eye open to see Richard gazing at him with a tender expression. He tilts his head up when Richard brushes his hair back, and his lips twitch when his older brother kisses his head again.

“Sleep well, little brother,” Richard says quietly before giving the same gesture of affection to Timothy, who doesn’t stir from his slumber on Damian’s chest.

He shuts his eyes and lets himself drift off again.

★★

A tiny hand pushes against his cheek.

“Dami,” Timothy whispers. “Um. If you were a vampiwe, would you eat me?”

“No,” Damian replies, blindly reaching out to wrap both arms around his brother. He pulls Timothy close, letting the boy flop over his chest. “You have no meat on you, so I would only be eating bone. That would not be viable for a vampire like myself. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” Timothy says, pushing his other hand against Damian’s face. “Dami, take me with you when you go to school.”

“Why would you want that?”

“Because I don’t wanna be away fwom you!”

Damian sighs, squinting at his brother. “If I promise to bring you with me,” he says. “will you go back to sleep right now?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Then I promise.”

“Pinky pwomise?”

He holds up one hand and extends his pinky, shutting his eyes after Timothy wraps his tiny finger around it to shake. “There,” Damian says. “I have promised, and now you will go back to sleep before we are summoned for a late lunch.”

Timothy falls silent, but the way he breathes against Damian’s chest tells him that he’s not falling asleep anytime soon. “Dami?”

“Yes, Timothy?”

One of his small hands covers Damian’s nose, squeezing it once before releasing it. “I wuv you.”

“And I love you as well.” It’s getting easier to say it. “Now, let’s continue our nap before I turn into a vampire and decide to eat you after all.”

“I’ll tell Dickie!”

“He’s the Vampire King,” Damian murmurs. “So he will probably try to eat you, too.” He tightens his arms around Timothy and turns until they’re nestled against the wall, squishing Timothy’s plush dinosaur. “Sleep, Timothy. You need rest while you’re still sick.”

“M’not sick,” Timothy grumbles with an audible sniff. “Maybe you, Dami, but not me.” Even with this statement, he burrows his face against Damian’s chest, his energy slowly tapering off into another deep sleep, where Damian is used as a pillow once more.

Unfortunately, Damian is wide awake, so he continues to lie there until Alfred finally bustles in to get them out of bed. Damian ends up carrying Timothy downstairs on his back, scowling when Richard snaps plenty of pictures after they step into the dining room.

“I will end you,” he hisses after Richard shows him one of the photos, cheeks burning when the eldest coos.

“Aw,” Richard says. “Love ya, too!”

They all end up in the sitting room that Timothy has claimed as his own at this point, where he decides to play with his Barbie dolls instead of his Lego bricks. His dinosaur and a stuffed elephant stay on the couch, propped up against a cushion.

Richard sits on the floor with him, and Timothy graciously allows the eldest to use the Ken doll during their playtime. The storyline is hard to follow, even for Damian, but the gist of it is that Ken is a housewife while Barbie goes off to be an entrepreneur. It’s both fascinating and amusing. Damian’s certain that Jason agrees, judging by the way he snickers every so often as he, too, watches over them.

“Okay, Ken,” Timothy says sternly. “I gotta go build a spaceship now! Make sure you, um, water the pwants! And eat some veggies while I’m gone! I be back!”

“Alright,” Richard says with a laugh. “You go build that spaceship, Barbie! Just don’t go flying off to space, or else I’ll miss you!”

Timothy giggles. “What about if I go to space, Dickie?” he asks, lying down on his stomach and kicking his feet up. He makes his Barbie doll walk over to a pink plastic car (which Jason placed on the floor without a word), gazing up with a curious expression. “Would you miss me? Huh?”

“Of course I would!” Richard sets down the Ken doll, reaching out with one hand to tug on a strand of Timothy’s hair. “But you’re not allowed to go to space without me, okay? I have to make sure that you’re safe out there.”

“Uh-oh,” Timothy says. “Dickie, I alweady went!”

“Went where?”

“To space!” He turns to the plastic car and starts rolling it across the floor, the squeak of wheels filling the air. “I fwy up there in my spaceship!”

“Oh, jeez,” Jason suddenly mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I knew this was going to come back to haunt me.”

“You knew about this?” Damian asks, scowling at the man.

“Hey, he’s the one who dropped the bomb on me out of nowhere!” Jason holds up both hands in surrender. “I didn’t think it was something I needed to tell you guys! I mean, he mentioned all of his friends, so I figured you’d know about it.”

“Yeah,” Richard says faintly, looking remarkably pale. “This is the face of someone who knows.” He exhales shakily, running a hand through his hair. “Well, I know about the baseball game, but I thought that was it…” Richard shakes his head and taps Timothy’s shoulder, asking, “When was this, baby?”

“I don’t wemember!” Timothy replies. He rolls the car over to Richard and pushes himself up, going over to Jason and climbing onto the armchair with him. “Jay,” he says, hugging one of his arms. “Put on a movie! Pwease?”

“Oh, yeah, go on and distract me with that cute face,” Jason grumbles, though he does glance at Richard apologetically before grabbing the remote and switching on the television. “What should we watch today?”

“Ummm…” Timothy shifts around until he’s properly seated on Jason’s lap. “Dwagon!”

“No murder mysteries?”

“No! Dwagon!”

Damian slides off the couch and onto the floor while Jason picks a film for Timothy, reaching out to rest a hand on Richard’s knee. The eldest of the four is sitting with his face in his hands, mumbling something that Damian can’t discern.

“Richard?” he asks hesitantly. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, Little D,” Richard says, dropping his hands to smile at him. “I’m okay, just bemoaning the fact that Tim’s going to make me go gray before this is all over.”

“You’re old,” Damian replies with a nod. “That’s to be expected.”

Richard sucks in some air and clutches his chest, leaning forward with a hurt expression. “Ouch,” he whines. “You didn’t have to go that far, Damian.”

“I only speak the truth, Richard…” Damian pauses, glancing at Timothy, who’s staring at the television screen with wide eyes while dragons destroy a Viking town and sighs. “He does tend to spill his secrets,” he admits. “I think the missing spleen is the worst one so far.”

“Ugh, don’t get me started,” Richard says. He picks up one of the Barbies on the floor, brushing his thumb across the doll’s blonde hair. “I’m afraid we’re going to find out something worse somewhere along the way.”

“Me too,” Damian says quietly. “Especially considering…” He stops, hesitating, unsure if he should continue, but the look on Richard’s face pushes him to speak—partial fear mixed with encouragement. “I mean,” he says. “Grandfather is obsessed with him for some reason, and I believe it’s safe to assume that it has to do with his time abroad.”

“I think Bruce might try to break into his servers to see if he kept any notes about that year,” Richard says. “I caught him talking to Babs about it, but I doubt they’ll find anything.”

“You could always go to his apartment,” Damian points out. He leans back against the couch and stretches his legs out in front of him, frowning. “If he’s anything like Father,” he says with a huff. “Then he’ll have copies somewhere around that Nest of his…”

“And it’ll be boobytrapped, so there’s a chance we could lose it all.”

“Ah, right.” Damian eyes Timothy again, watching as he chews on one of the strings of Jason’s hoodie, both of them enraptured by the film. There’s a black dragon with yellow, slitted eyes on the screen, and it’s cornering a brown-haired child, hissing before it darts away. “Do you know?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you know?” he repeats, glancing over at his elder brother. “Father told you, didn’t he? He must have.”

Richard stares at him with a confused look, his head cocked to the side. “Oh,” he says after a few seconds, voice low. “Yeah. I know. Saw the results myself, actually.” His eyes flicker with sympathy, and then he rests a hand on Damian’s arm. “How do you feel?”

“Reasonably upset,” Damian answers, staring down at his lap. There are a few paint stains on his pants, but that’s what he gets for testing a new style in his artwork. “But not with Timothy. Or Father, since it’s obvious that he never knew until he tested Timothy’s blood.”

“Yeah,” Richard says. “But it’s okay to feel angry about it.” He scoots closer, pulling Damian close by wrapping an arm around him. “I would be, at least.”

“I’m not angry,” Damian mutters, leaning against his brother. “I might have been if this knowledge was given to me when I first arrived here, but now…” He looks to Timothy again, watching as he leans over one of the arms of the chairs in an attempt to get closer to the screen, only held back by Jason’s hand on his shoulder. “Now,” he says softly. “Things are different.”

“And so are you,” Richard says gently. He kisses the top of Damian’s head, and Damian can’t fight the smile that spreads across his face. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here.”

“I know,” Damian replies, focusing on the movie now. A few minutes pass before he quietly says, “Thank you.”

Richard pitches his voice lower, a tender tone that makes his chest warm when he says, “Anytime.”

The movie ends on a rather nice note, with the dragons swarming the Viking village and living alongside the humans harmoniously. Timothy drapes himself over Jason’s shoulders afterward, loudly asking for a dragon while tugging on his hair.

“Pumpkin,” Jason says patiently, not even bothering to stop Timothy’s antics. “I can’t just give you a dragon. Where am I gonna find one that wants to come home? Huh? Unless you know someone who happens to know where some are located…”

“Um…” Timothy frowns. “No, I dunno.”

“Oh, really? I thought you and your friends would have encountered some while you were blasting off to space and having your own adventures.”

“Stop,” Richard bemoans, leaning back and draping a wrist over his eyes. “Please. My heart can’t take it.”

Jason rolls his eyes. He plucks Timothy off his shoulders and holds him beneath one arm as he walks over to where Richard and Damian are sitting. Then, he drops the boy on top of them, making Timothy burst into giggles.

“Alright,” Jason says. “You take care of this little monster while I go get some work done.”

“What work?” Damian asks, arching a brow. “All you do is bother us to the point of annoyance and wreak havoc through Gotham.”

“I’m not gonna deny that,” Jason replies, pointing at him. “But, unfortunately, even crime lords have paperwork to get through, and this crime lord, in particular, likes to make sure everyone’s getting equal pay.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” Richard says, somehow managing to keep a squirming Timothy on his lap, the boy giggling anytime Richard pokes his sides. “Want some help?”

“And have you mess everything up?” Jason snorts. “No, thanks. I know you hate paperwork as much as I do, and I’ll end up doing all the work anyways.”

Richard doesn’t even complain. He merely waves Jason off and gently tosses Timothy onto the couch. Damian moves away from him and takes a seat beside Timothy, watching as he wraps his arms around Batwalker and kicks his feet up.

“You want a snack?” Richard asks, tipping his head back against the cushions.

“Um, nope!” Timothy reaches out and grabs Richard’s nose, squeezing it while saying, “Honk!”

“How about a nap?” Richard says, voice muffled.

“No!”

Richard removes Timothy’s hand and turns to face the boy, leaning forward to rest his chin on the couch. “Another movie?” he says next. “We can watch the one with the ice princess! Or maybe the princess with the dragon?”

“Batwalker says no, so I say no, too.”

“I see. Then, what do you want, Timmy?”

“I want daddy,” Timothy says with a pout.

Damian watches as Richard’s face spasms before it smooths out into something blank. Richard then shuts his eyes, breathing in deep for a moment before gazing at the smallest of the bunch. There’s a familiar expression of tenderness as he stares at Timothy, tinged with something that Damian might call longing.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Richard says, rising and scooping Timothy up into his arms. He also gathers Batwalker and the elephant, making his way past the couch and towards the outer hall. “Let’s go find our dad.”

After Richard leaves, forcing Damian to pick up after Timothy alone, he realizes that it’s not the first time he’s seen that particular emotion pass over Richard’s face. It usually appears whenever Father interrupts his time with Richard, bestowing affection or praise that never fails to make Damian preen.

During those moments, Richard would get that look on his face, eyeing their father with something unidentifiable. It was always there and gone, something that could be easily dismissed due to the flickering shadows or the lighting.

But now Damian knows better.

He thinks of the incredulous joy that would slowly overtake Richard’s features whenever Timothy called him Mama after the fever disappeared, often paired with an amused smile or a giggle from the child. It never failed to make Richard wrap his arms around Timothy and pepper his face with kisses.

There was a moment, back when Father was gone and Timothy had disappeared to places unknown, where Damian had awoken in the middle of the night to a shadow looming above him, raindrops pelting against the windows. Still lost in the haze of sleep, Damian had mumbled a confused, “Baba?”

His embarrassment quickly cut through his doze, but before Damian could apologize, he heard the faint hitch of Richard’s breath, and then a hand sank into his hair. It was warm, gently moving through the strands with an ease that caused tears to spring to his eyes for reasons he still cannot identify.

“Baba’s here,” Richard had whispered, his voice carrying a deeper undertone that almost sounded like Father, but Damian knew better after living with his eldest sibling for a while. “It’s okay, Damian. Just sleep. I’ll be here to watch over you.”

It’s a memory that Damian keeps close to his heart, never mentioned to anyone else.

If Timothy can call Richard Mama without getting any strange looks from the others, then maybe… maybe Damian can do the same, as he had before. 

It’s also a thought that clings to his thoughts whenever Richard takes time out of his day to ask about school or his friends or interests, something that also brings up the smallest amount of guilt.

Because he has a father, one that Damian spent most of his life waiting to meet, and it almost feels like a betrayal of some kind to view Richard in a similar manner. It’s not something he can help, though, after all the time he spent with the older man while Father was lost. 

Richard was there for him whenever he needed, gently guiding him towards a better path as they went out into the night as Batman and Robin. He understands Damian, sometimes better than Father, and he’s not one to shy away from affection, his face filled with such tender warmth whenever Damian dared to give into the urge to hug him.

Baba, Damian thinks, a tiny smile flickering across his face.

Yes. Maybe now he can freely call Richard that without fear of repercussions.

★★

Timothy’s illness gradually disappears.

He’s still plagued with what Richard calls ‘the sniffles,’ and everyone tends to have tissues on hand to wipe Timothy’s face. A cough also lingers, but it’s not as chest-rattling as it was before. He’s merely expelling the leftover mucus trapped in his lungs.

Timothy flits around the manor with new energy, always in the presence of at least one other person. His favorite seems to be Richard, but there are moments when Damian catches Timothy sitting with their father in his study or napping beside Jason on the couch in the library, even twirling around the dance studio with Cassandra’s gentle guidance. Timothy also likes to spend time in the kitchen, watching Pennyworth work from his seat on the counter.

It still surprises Damian when the boy sometimes seeks him out, often climbing onto his bed to quietly stare at him whenever Damian’s working on schoolwork or drawing. His owl-like eyes will bore into the side of Damian’s head until he gives up on his task, and then he’ll take Timothy outside so he can run around with Titus, who adores the boy.

Right now, Damian’s waiting for Timothy in the dining room with two sketchbooks in front of him. He also brought plenty of colored pencils for them to use, a new set that Richard bought him a week before Timothy turned into a child.

The door opens.

Timothy walks into the dining room with two stuffed animals tucked under his arms and a large brown leather jacket draped over his shoulders. It dwarfs his entire body, and Damian would think that there’s a new, shapeless creature in the house if it wasn’t for the mop of black hair poking out of the collar and the small peek of socked feet towards the hem of the jacket.

Father follows close behind, watching Timothy with an expression of concern. “Wait, ducky,” he says before Timothy can walk over to the table, snagging the back of the jacket and holding him in place.

Damian watches as Timothy huffs, standing very still when Father pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket—black, with a silver W embroidered at one of the corners. He leans down and holds it up to Timothy’s face. Father then pinches his nose and says firmly, “Blow.”

Timothy makes a face of displeasure, easily seen from where Damian is sitting, but he still squeezes his eyes shut and blows his nose into the fabric. It lasts for a couple of seconds, and then Father releases his nose, wiping it a couple of times before patting his head. 

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll be upstairs working. You be good for Damian, okay? And if you need me, don’t hesitate to come up.” His eyes flick over to Damian, and there’s a warm smile on his face. “Either of you. Got that?”

“Of course,” Damian says, inclining his head. 

“Hi, Dami,” Timothy says after their father leaves the room, walking over and climbing onto the chair. He places his dinosaur on the seat beside him while the worn, stuffed elephant ends up on the table.

“And who is this?” Damian asks curiously, reaching out to poke the limp trunk. 

“Zitka,” Timothy answers, smiling. “She, um, gonna take care of us!”

The name pings something in Damian’s brain, and he recalls Richard’s stories about the circus. He used to quietly tell them during the quiet nights of patrol in the early days of their partnership as Batman and Robin, and Damian’s favorites were always the ones about the animals. Damian especially liked the wistfulness in Richard’s tone whenever he spoke of being best friends with an elephant, his face softening whenever he mentioned her name.

“I see,” he says and gently pats the elephant’s head. “Thank you, Zitka.” Damian tugs on Timothy’s jacket next, lips twitching. “Did Jason give this to you?”

“Uh-huh!” Timothy nods. “He say that he doesn’t want me to be cold!”

“None of us do,” Damian says, fiddling with the collar so it lies flat. He slides one of the sketchbooks over to Timothy, who gazes at him curiously. “That’s one of my extra sketchbooks,” Damian explains, flipping the cover open to the first blank page. “It’s yours now, so feel free to draw whatever you’d like.”

“I’m gonna dwaw a duck,” Timothy informs him, reaching out to grab the red, yellow, black, and brown colored pencils. “Wike the one at the park!”

“Good choice,” Damian says, tugging his own sketchbook closer. He flips through the used pages filled with sketches of his family and Gotham’s landscape, finally finding an empty one towards the end of the book. “I think I will draw Zitka.”

They fall into a comfortable silence while they work, though Damian keeps glancing over at Timothy to check on him. The child keeps sticking out his tongue whenever he draws the colored pencils across the page, and at one point, he flips to a new one to get started on another drawing. Occasionally, Timothy will lean over to hold one of Batwalker’s arms, squeezing it once before going back to the sketchbook.

After a while, Timothy sniffles rather grossly, and Damian pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket. 

It’s a beautiful emerald green with the W stitched into the corner with gold thread, gifted to him by Pennyworth. He holds it up to Timothy’s nose and pinches it gently, the way their father did not too long ago.

“Blow,” he orders.

His brother stares at him, disgruntled, but then he squeezes his eyes shut and blows his nose harshly into the fabric. Damian wipes off the excess mucus and nods, patting Timothy’s head. 

“Good job,” he says, offering a smile.

“I don’t wike to do that,” Timothy says with a pout. “It makes my head pop!”

“Your ears, you mean?” Damian replies, bemused. He gently taps his knuckles against the side of Timothy’s head. “Those are the ones that pop, Timothy, not your head.”

“Oh.” Timothy shrugs and goes back to the sketchbook. “That’s silly.”

Damian huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, and he glances over at Timothy’s drawing, pausing when he spies a pool of red decorating the white paper. It surrounds a small figure buried in sand, while a sea of stars covers the top of the page with a few clouds in the shape of bats scattered here and there.

“Timothy,” he says slowly, stomach clenching with dread. “What is this?”

“Hm?”

“Your drawing.” Damian leans over and taps the drawing, ignoring the way his hand shakes when some of the red pigment smears across his skin. “What happened?”

“Um, something scawy,” Timothy answers, glancing at the paper. He frowns at it before he tears it out of his sketchbook, tossing it aside. “I don’t wanna see it no more!” he declares, flipping back to his duck drawing. Timothy grabs the yellow-colored pencil and drags it across the duckling’s body, filling in the blanks. “Take it away!”

“Alright,” Damian says. He slides it away, fingers wrinkling a corner of it when he asks, “Where shall I put it?”

“Under my bed,” Timothy replies, reaching for the orange pencil. “That’s where all the scawy stuff goes!”

Damian would rather crush it in his hands if he’s being honest, but all he can do is swallow and flip it over to hide the contents of the page. “Alright,” he says quietly. “I can put it there for you if you’d like.”

“Pwease and thank you!” Timothy says, beaming at him. Here, Damian can see the slightest gap between his two front teeth. Huh. His older counterpart never had that. “I wanna go be with daddy after I’m done with my duck!” He starts coloring the bill. “I dwew this for him!”

“I’m certain he’ll love it,” Damian replies. He drops his hand onto Timothy’s head and gently combs his fingers through those dark strands, trying to shove down the rising horror that comes from the bloody image that’s seared into his mind. Instead, he focuses on dolling out attention to his brother, who practically preens beneath his hand.

Damian’s not the type of person to openly give and receive these gestures of affection, but Timothy’s innocence makes it easy to do so, further helped by the way Timothy seems to love them all with ease.

His older counterpart was never like this. 

Timothy could be described as distant at best, and cold at worst. His interactions with Damian were always coolly professional, even when Damian tried to get a rise out of him, while Richard and Father received diluted warmth, something that always seemed to cause them pain. Alfred, Cassandra, Jason, Duke, and Stephanie often got the side of Timothy that Damian rarely encountered—snarky and playful or kind and helpful, depending on the person.

Damian wonders if that will change after the spell lifts. 

Will Timothy remember how much they loved him? How much he loved them all in return? Or will the family return to the days when they only saw Timothy during patrol or at work? 

Much like ‘Brucie Wayne’ and ‘Richie Grayson,’ Tim Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, is a mask that Timothy wears alongside his Red Robin one. This persona was bland and boring, a perfect cover to keep the tabloids off the trail of the Wayne family and Gotham’s vigilantes. He was ruthless, too, with the sharpness of his words that cut through the older generation’s excuses and pointed comments, an undertone of insult whenever he got drawn into a conversation with the worst of Gotham’s elite.

There was a time, not too long ago, when Damian was forced to attend a gala with his father. He ignored all of the whispers about him because the opinions of sheep didn’t matter to him, but when they started insulting his mother…

Damian would have probably caused the scene if Timothy hadn’t shown up.

He appeared silently, one of his hands squeezing Damian’s shoulder while the other remained wrapped around a flute of champagne. The look on his face was one of mild disinterest, but there was a fire in his eyes that Damian only saw when they were dealing with Gotham’s scum during their night job.

Timothy expertly tore them apart. He never let them get a word in as he drew attention to their corner when he started to loudly talk about the sinking business that the other individual owned, with Timothy expressing sympathy, his sharp smile containing a hint of mockery. This resulted in everyone whispering about them instead of Damian, all the sharks happy with their new gossip.

It was one of the few times that Damian considered Timothy his brother.

Instead of insulting his sibling, Damian let the older man guide him to the kitchen, where Timothy sweet-talked one of the workers into giving them a slice of cake. They silently ate it on an empty counter, and Damian couldn’t even muster up the courage to express his gratitude, but he did let Timothy have the final piece before they both went back into the gala.

He finds himself missing Timothy as he thinks about this memory, even though he was never particularly close to him.

Maybe I can change that, Damian thinks as he glances at the four-year-old version of his older brother. Timothy is adding small red hearts all over the empty spaces on the paper, brows furrowed as he colors each one.

“Timothy?” Damian says.

“Yeah?”

He exhales, drumming his fingers across the table as he quietly says, “I love you.”

Timothy lifts his head, gazing at Damian with the tip of his tongue poking out of his mouth. He seems confused for a moment, and then his face brightens, eyes crinkling at the corners when he chirps, “I wuv you back!” 

It warms Damian’s heart to hear this, and he channels Richard by leaning over to kiss the top of Timothy’s head. Hm. His hair smells like strawberries.

“Can we go see daddy now?” Timothy asks when he pulls away. “I think I’m done!”

“Is that right?” Damian glances over at his duck drawing. It’s not quite perfect with its wobbly lines, but their father will love it regardless. “Alright, I suppose we can go up now, unless you’d like to have a snack from the kitchen.”

“Daddy’s gonna have snacks,” Timothy replies. “He has stwing cheese.”

Damian puts away his colored pencils with Timothy’s help, and he carefully tears out the duck picture before shutting the sketchbook. He glances at his own book, the drawing of Timothy and Richard’s smiling faces gazing back at him, Zitka nestled between the two, before he closes it as well. Damian assists Timothy in getting off the chair, passing over Batwalker and Zitka.

The boy tucks the plushes under his arm. He stands on his tiptoes to grab the duck drawing off the table, gazing down at it with a smile, while Damian silently slides the other paper into one of the sketchbooks.

“Okay!” Timothy says. “Wet’s go!”

They make their way out of the room and towards the hallway that leads to the stairs. Damian makes sure to stand behind Timothy as they walk up, holding out a hand whenever Timothy wobbles dangerously on the edge of a step.

Finally, they end up in front of Father’s study. Damian leans over Timothy to knock, and the door clicks open. He turns the knob for Timothy, who pushes it open the rest of the way with his foot, a bright smile on his face.

“Daddy!” Timothy calls out. “I got somethin’ for you!”

Father peeks over his computer, his face softening. “Oh?” he says, moving around the desk and crouching in front of Timothy. He takes the paper out from Timothy’s hand, inspecting it with a small smile. “Where’d you get this?”

“I made it myself!” Timothy says.

Damian prepares to enter the room but pauses with his foot over the threshold, remembering Timothy’s other drawing.

“I’ll be back,” he decides, stepping out. Father meets his gaze and quirks a brow, to which Damian shakes his head. “I have to drop these off in my room,” he says, holding up his sketchbooks. “And then I will return to spend time with you.”

“Okay, Dami,” Timothy says, turning to him. “But huwwy! Or else I’m gonna eat all the stwing cheese without you.”

“I’ll be quick,” Damian promises, even though he’s never had string cheese in his life. He shuts the door and quickly makes his way over to his room, dropping off his books and removing the paper from inside.

Damian doesn’t look at it as he walks to Timothy’s old room. He hesitates in front of the door before cracking it open, his fingers clenching around the paper as he steps inside.

It’s mostly bare, though there are a couple of posters tacked to the wall, and there’s a lack of Timothy’s personality. Before, when he actually lived here, it used to be lived in and messy. Damian often turned up his nose whenever he passed by and saw the piles of random items scattered around.

Now, it’s pristine and seemingly untouched, a sign that Timothy no longer frequents the space.

He makes his way over to the bed, eyeing it warily. Damian breathes in deeply before crouching beside it, sliding the paper beneath the bed. He retreats but stops, struck by a surge of curiosity.

Damian reaches under the bed again, surprised when his fingers brush over more papers. He feels around cautiously, pausing when he touches something that’s thicker than paper.

He pulls it out slowly and ends up with a polaroid picture in his hand, the backside facing up. Damian hesitates for a moment, eyes flicking to the door and back, before he flips it over, frowning at the image that awaits him.

It’s Timothy, of course, but the bags under his eyes seem much darker on his young, thin face. His untamed hair looks bedraggled, the color of it not quite black, and strange white streaks stain his ghostly pale skin. He stares blankly into the camera, dressed in a blue gown and surrounded by the medical equipment located in the Batcave.

This is when he was Robin, Damian realizes, recalling the images his mother and grandfather showed him of Batman’s new partner. The only thing that Damian cannot identify is the time period, but maybe that’s something he can figure out on his own.

Still, the image unnerves him for reasons unknown, and Damian ends up slipping the picture underneath the bed again, allowing it to rest with all the other things that Timothy deems scary.

He presses his hands against his face and breathes out raggedly, trying his best to not think about what could have caused that eerie blankness from Timothy. His imagination can be quite colorful, which is great for his art, but not-so-great in this situation, so he attempts to distract himself by reciting the alphabet in several languages until his breathing calms.

Then, he gets up and leaves Timothy’s room. Damian shuts the door behind him and returns to his father and brother.

★★

There’s a tentative knock on his door.

Damian barely looks up from his work (a paper on Lord of the Flies using an outline that Jason helped him craft) when he distractedly says, “Come in.”

Someone jiggles the doorknob, and the door swings open, a tiny grunt escaping the person.

Soon, there’s the rustle of fabric, and Damian glances over to see Timothy climbing onto his bed. He’s dressed in a blue onesie with bunny ears coming out the hood, his arms wrapped around his beloved Batwalker as he flops onto Damian’s pillows.

“Hi, Dami,” he says with a toothy grin.

“Hello, Timothy,” Damian replies, turning his chair to gaze at his brother. “I hope you slept well.”

“Uh-huh!” Timothy rolls around on Damian’s comforter. “I have a sleepover with Jay! And he wead to me! He waked early and made some omwettes! I ate some, and we watched a Barbie movie. Then, he say that he’s gonna go fix his bike, so I went with Daddy to pway with Wegos, and then I came here!”

“Wow,” Damian says, lips twitching. “What a fantastic journey you’ve been on.”

“Ha, yeah!” Timothy lies on his stomach, kicking up his feet. “Daddy told me that I gotta tell you that you gotta get weady.”

“Why?”

“Ice cweam time!”

“Hm.” Damian glances at him. “Who said?”

“Jay!” Timothy answers with a bright smile. “He pwomised before, and then he told Dickie at bweakfast, and Dickie told Daddy, and Daddy told me, and—” Here, Timothy pauses to gasp and breathe, his small chest heaving, before he finishes speaking, “And then I told you!”

“I see. And they all agreed to go?”

“Uh-huh!”

“What about Cassandra?”

“I still gotta ask,” Timothy says, dropping his head onto a pillow. “But Cass doesn’t wike to go to the ice cweam peace when it’s daytime—too many peoples.”

“People,” Damian corrects.

“That’s what I said!”

“How about we go ask her together?” Damian asks. “And then I will deliver you to Richard so you can get ready as well.”

“But I am weady!”

Damian glances at his onesie. Now, he can see a few smears of chocolate across the fabric. “Maybe you’ll want to wear something nice,” he says. “Remember the picnic? Something like that.”

“I guess,” Timothy says begrudgingly. He sighs and rolls toward the edge of the bed, sliding off and sitting on the floor beside Damian’s chair. “But why can’t I go in this? It has bunny ears!” Timothy reaches up to tug on one of them. “I wike ‘em!”

“Don’t you remember the lecture that Pennyworth gave us recently?” Damian asks, drumming his fingers along his desk. “The one about us needing to dress nicely since we’re representing the family whenever we’re in public?”

“He say that because Dickie wore wed with gween,” Timothy replies and sighs again. “Okay… I’ll pick something nice…”

“Good.” Damian nods. He slides off his chair and offers his hand, waiting for Timothy to take it before helping him up and guiding him out of the room. “Now, let’s find our sister.”

They catch her at the grandfather clock entrance that leads to the Batcave. Cassandra’s dressed in her workout clothes, and she arches a brow at them. She reaches out to pluck one of Timothy’s bunny ears, huffing out a laugh.

“Bunny brother,” she says.

Timothy opens his mouth, only to pause, then frown, looking visibly distressed when he says, “I dunno what sound a bunny makes.”

“Me either,” Cassandra replies.

“I do,” Damian says. “But that’s not why we’re here.” He gently pushes Timothy closer to their sister. “Timothy has a question for you.”

“I do?” Timothy gasps a second later. “Oh, yeah! I do!” He shuffles closer and tugs on her shirt. “Cass,” he says sweetly. “Do you wanna go get ice cweam with us?”

“I scream?” Cassandra asks, cocking her head to the side. 

“Uh-huh!”

Cassandra opens her mouth. “Ah,” she says.

“No!” Timothy huffs. “Ice cweam! ”

“Oh.” She nods and then points at her face. “Eye cream.”

Timothy’s face breaks out into a smile before he falls into a fit of giggles, wrapping his arms around her waist. Cassandra’s amusement shows in the slight twitch of her lips and the way her body relaxes, one of her hands’ finding its way into Timothy’s hair.

“No!” Timothy says. “Silly Cass! Ice cweam!”

“Hmm…” Cassandra taps a finger against her chin, a contemplative look on her face. “But then you will eat mine.”

“I won’t!”

“That’s what you said before,” Cassandra says, gently tapping his nose next. “And then—poof! No more. All gone because of a little bird.”

Timothy looks sheepish as he mumbles, “Yours was tastier.”

“Baby brother is the silly one.” She leans down and kisses Timothy’s head. “Go have fun. I will stay.” Cassandra then holds up an arm and flexes her bicep. “Got training with Steph.”

“Oh, okay! Tell her I say hi!”

“Will do.”

She departs after that, waving a hand as she disappears beyond the grandfather clock. Then, Timothy turns to Damian and holds up his arms.

“Cawwy me?” he asks.

“You are becoming rather spoiled about this,” Damian informs him, but he still picks up Timothy and starts walking in the direction of Richard’s room. The boy isn’t too heavy, but he’s not that much taller than Timothy, so there’s not much space between him and the floor. “One of these days, you’re going to forget how to walk.”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Yes. Only because everyone indulges you and your demands.”

Richard’s only half-dressed when he answers the door to his room, black pants unbuttoned and still wearing one of Father’s old college shirts that he uses as pajamas. “Hey!” he says brightly. “Come on in! I guess you’ve agreed to join us on our little adventure?”

“Of course,” Damian answers. “I could never say no to him.”

Richard snorts. “Yeah,” he says, moving over to his closet. “Me either.

Damian walks over to Richard’s bed and sets Timothy down on top of it, and the boy immediately crawls over to where the worn stuffed elephant, Zitka, sits, nestled against the small pile of pillows. His whale is also there, and Timothy starts grabbing at his fins, humming a little ditty.

“I suppose I’ll meet you downstairs,” Damian says, reaching out to pat Timothy’s head once before turning to leave. “Make sure you let him pick his clothes, Richard.”

“What’s wrong with what he’s wearing now?”

Damian glares at him. “You’re hopeless,” he declares before swiftly departing. Perhaps he’ll wear the green turtleneck sweater that his mother recently sent him.

★★

“Help! I’m being kidnapped! Help me!!”

Damian watches as Timothy bangs the head of his stuffed whale, named Aquanyx, for a reason only known to the child, against the car window, repeating his strange phrase.

“Tim,” Father says tiredly from the driver’s seat. “We’ve been over this before. You’re not being kidnapped.”

“M’not saying it,” Timothy replies with a sniff. “That’s Aquanyx!” His attention returns to the plush, where he then releases a stream of soft screams, followed by a strange sound that goes, “Glug, glug, glug…”

“What happened now?” Richard asks, turning to look at Timothy with an amused smile.

“He dwowned,” Timothy answers plainly.

“How can he drown?” Father asks, and Damian catches the slight curl of his lips in the rearview mirror. “He’s a whale. They live in the ocean.”

“Powwution,” Timothy replies, nodding to himself.

“Good on you, Timmy,” Jason says from behind Damian, leaning over the backseat without his seatbelt on. “Educating our old man and everything. Can you believe he doesn’t know that whales can drown themselves? You’d think he learned something just by being in Aquaman’s vicinity, but no…”

Father’s exasperated sigh seems to fill up the car.

He chose a rather nice van for their outing. Damian wasn’t aware they had one until he ventured down to the garage and spotted it by the exit. The interior of the vehicle didn’t smell new, so Damian’s positive that it wasn’t a recent purchase… but one can never be too sure when it comes to their father.

They pull into one of the parking garages near a small cluster of shops within the city, which contains an ice cream shop they all frequent the most as civilians.

There’s also a safehouse located nearby, which makes it easier for any of them to go out (after a quick change) and buy a scoop of ice cream before the night is up since this shop likes to stay open late for those searching for a late night dessert.

Father parks the car, and Damian leans over to place his arm over Timothy when the boy starts wiggling the straps of his car seat. They all know by now to never leave him unattended, or else he’ll unbuckle himself and try to run out of the car.

Richard is the first to exit the vehicle, and he immediately moves over to help take Timothy out of the car. The boy proves to be quite wiggly, but he’s soon in Richard’s arms while the eldest of the brothers straps Batwalker into the car seat, Aquanyx lying on top of him.

“What’s that for?” Jason asks after hopping out.

“He’s gonna wait for me,” Timothy answers. “Wike Edward Tuwane.”

“The book with the rabbit?”

“Uh-huh!”

Damian slips out and walks to the other side with his father, and he watches as Timothy squirms out of Richard’s embrace and onto the ground. He toddles closer to Damian, smiling at him, while the sound of the car locking echoes across the parking lot.

“Ice cweam time,” Timothy says happily.

“Indeed,” Damian replies.

“Do you want me to carry you to the shop, sweetheart?” Richard asks, crouching in front of the child with a bright smile. “You can sit on my shoulders!”

“Or mine,” Jason offers. He also reaches over to clasp a hand onto one of Father’s arms, smirking when he says, “I could even toss you up onto Dad’s shoulders if you want. He won’t even get mad if you use his hair as a steering wheel!”

“Jay,” Father mutters.

“What? It’s true, isn’t it?”

“Um,” Timothy says, glancing between them. “I wanna walk with Dami!”

“An excellent choice,” Damian praises, feeling a bit smug as he registers the disappointed expressions on the other three. He reaches over to smooth down the front of Timothy’s sleeveless dress, picking off a few pieces of lint.

It’s bright red with white stripes at the collar (sailor style) and the hem. Timothy paired it with the same strawberry shoes he wore at the picnic on the manor. Some of his hair is pinned away from his face with a couple of strawberry barrettes, and he suspects that Richard had a hand in this choice of accessory since he’s adamant about not cutting the boy’s hair.

“Ready?” Damian asks, offering a hand.

“Uh-huh!” Timothy replies with a smile, tugging him away from the car. “Wet’s go to the ice cweam, Dami! Before it all goes away!”

“I doubt anyone would be able to eat everything they have in stock before we get there…”

“You never know!”

“It’s true,” Richard adds. “This is Gotham, after all.”

Damian ignores his oldest brother, focusing on Timothy as the boy guides him out of the parking lot and towards the ice cream shop. He moves slowly, but that’s not surprising when one considers his small legs.

Jason and Richard argue about the best flavors the whole walk there, while their father remains a silent presence beside Damian. Timothy babbles about a TV show he was watching with Cassandra about a long-haired Princess.

“There was a girl on it named Cassandwa!” Timothy exclaims as they all walk into the shop, the bell jingling pleasantly above their heads. “And she wooked just wike Cass, too! Um, that’s what I think!”

“You can show me later,” Damian offers. “And I may come to that conclusion myself.”

Their older brothers disperse from their small group, going over to one side of the mostly empty shop to gaze at the variety of ice cream flavors.

“What kind of ice cream would you like?” Damian asks. He carefully picks Timothy up to let him read all the flavors, pointing out a few of them to the boy as he reads them out loud.

Timothy makes a couple of curious noises over the more interesting names of flavors (Pumpkin Cheesecake and Churro Dulce de Leche) and tugs on Damian’s ear when they stop in front of the Cotton Candy.

“That one!” he proclaims. “I want that one!”

“Are you certain?” Damian asks, arching a brow. “Or do you plan on passing it off to another person when you taste test their ice cream?”

“No!” Timothy shakes his head. “M’not gonna do that!”

“Hm.” Damian squeezes him once before setting him down. “I guess we’ll have to see.”

One of the teenage workers comes over to help them, looking tired as they retrieve a scoop of Cotton Candy for Timothy. Damian picks Strawberry when asked because he likes the sweetness of it (and also in case Timothy gets tired of his pick).

Cones in hand, the five of them start leaving the shop to go look through the other stores (Timothy’s idea). Damian’s surprised to see that even their father bought a cone, but it soon turns to disgust when he sees that it’s Butter Pecan.

“Father,” he says plainly. “That’s disgusting.”

“And I thought Dick’s choice was bad,” Jason says with a sigh, shaking his head. “I guess this is where he gets it from…”

“Hey!” Richard cries. “Mint Chocolate Chip is a classic!”

“Yeah, but did you have to get it covered in sprinkles and whip cream?”

“Oh, and what? You think you’re special just because you got Neapolitan?” Richard scoffs. “You’re just as plain and boring as I am, Jason Peter Todd!”

“Don’t full name me!” Jason complains.

Trouble arises when they’re walking to the store next door.

Timothy tries to bring his cone closer, but he stumbles over an uneven part of the sidewalk. His scoop of ice cream tips over the cone and falls onto the sidewalk with a wet splat. Damian stares down at it, along with everyone else, and then he glances at his brother’s face.

“Dang,” Timothy says, gazing at his fallen ice cream with a sad look.

Richard makes a chastising sound.

“Wats,” Timothy corrects himself.

“I’m sorry, Tim,” Father says, taking the empty cone from him. “How about we go back and get you another one, hm? Will that make it better?”

“I can take him,” Damian says.

Father, Richard, and Jason exchange a couple of glances.

“We’ll be close by,” Damian continues, gesturing to the ice cream shop only a couple of feet away from them. “I doubt anything’s going to happen to Timothy in broad daylight, and in a public setting, no less. Grandfather wouldn’t want to bring any unnecessary attention to himself.”

“Good point,” Father says and sighs. He pulls out his wallet, handing Damian a crisp fifty. “Alright, but make sure you come over the moment you’re done, okay? We’ll be inside.” Here, he points at the shop closest to them—a clothing store full of comfortable streetwear similar to Jason’s style. “Understood?”

“Affirmative.” Damian reaches down to take Timothy’s hand and starts guiding him back to the ice cream shop. “Come on, Timothy. Let’s go get you another cone.”

The bell over the door jingles yet again when Damian pushes the door open, their shoes squeaking against the tile. It’s still mostly empty inside, the four other patrons glancing at them once before looking away, chatting in low tones.

Damian leads his brother over to the cashier—a woman this time, one who smiles pleasantly, green eyes flicking between them. She must have replaced the teenagers that were here not too long ago. Interesting.

“What can I get for you?” she asks cheerfully.

“A scoop of Cotton Candy,” Damian requests politely. He glances down at Timothy, who shifts from foot to foot, glancing around restlessly. “In a cup. And some sprinkles.”

“Alright! One scoop coming right up!”

Damian passes over the fifty after she delivers the cup. Timothy stands on his tiptoes to grab it off the counter, bending his head to lick it while Damian waits for his change. Once he receives it, he starts guiding his brother out of the shop, only to stop when Timothy abruptly tugs on his hand.

“What’s wrong?” Damian asks, licking some of his melting Strawberry scoop. “Don’t like it?”

“I gotta use the bathwoom,” Timothy whispers, looking embarrassed. “Can we go, pwease?”

Damian sighs and starts leading the way toward the bathroom. It’s located in a small alcove between the ice cream flavors and the few booths that the store has, right beside the emergency exit.

“I will stand out here with our ice cream,” he says, pointing at the spot beside the bathroom door. “You can manage just fine on your own in there, correct?”

“Yeah!” Timothy says. “M’not a baby!”

“Of course not,” Damian replies, and there’s no hint of mockery to his words, only a fondness that Damian can’t seem to hide. “Now, go use the restroom. We can’t keep our family waiting.”

Timothy beams and pushes the door open with a grunt of effort. He disappears beyond it, and Damian leans against the wall, licking the melted droplets off his hand before he can dirty up the floor.

He hears a toilet flush after a while and then rushing water. Timothy hums something on the other end, though it’s a bit muffled, and then his voice comes through,

“—I wuv Dickie, and Jay, and Cass, and Dami, and Babs, and Steph, and Duke! Oh, and Daddy, too! I don’t wanna weave ‘em! And they wuv me too, they all say so evewy day!”

Damian huffs out a laugh, a smile lingering on his face as he listens to Timothy talking to himself. The water shuts off, and he straightens, preparing to hand over the cotton candy cup of ice cream. His amusement quickly fades when he hears the sound of another voice slipping through the crack—cunning, low, and all too familiar.

“But you could learn so much with me, Detective, and I would make sure you’re always happy. You’d never have to worry about a thing again.”

The ice cream falls from his hands, plopping onto the floor and splattering against his shoes. Damian pays it no mind as he turns and slams the door open. It bangs against the wall, startling Timothy, who shrieks in response, but Damian doesn’t look at him. No, his eyes are fixed on the sight of his grandfather peering in through the window.

His hair seems a bit longer, black strands curling around his cheeks. Damian suspects that he either put a wig on or tucked some extensions into his actual hair to hide the permanent streaks of white. This deduction is based on the fact that he’s also wearing facial prosthetics that disguise his features, making him look like a seemingly harmless man.

But his green eyes remain uncovered.

Damian would know them anywhere.

“Ah,” Ra’s al Ghul murmurs. “Hello, grandson.”

“Grandfather,” Damian acknowledges, glad that his voice doesn’t tremble. He carefully moves over to his brother and grabs him, tugging Timothy against his side. The boy follows without question, though his face shows confusion. “I should have expected you to show up.”

“Of course. You’re keeping such a prize locked away. It’s only natural that I would venture into Gotham to make an attempt at claiming it since the others who’ve tried only continue to prove their incompetence.”

“You won’t take him,” Damian declares, picking up his brother and taking a few steps backwards, stopping when his foot hits the bathroom door. “I won’t let you.”

“Let?” His grandfather chuckles. “I’d like to see you try and stop me. This shop is on lockdown by now, and you won’t be able to get free. Not without losing your life or Timothy.”

Damian hears the sound of fighting in the hall and prays that his family somehow discovered what’s happening. He throws himself out of the bathroom, surprised to see a young, bald woman knocking down a patron that was sitting in a booth only moments ago.

“Don’t just stand there and gawk at me,” she snarls, turning to face him after kicking one of the fallen bodies in the head. “Get out of here! I’ve given you a headstart, but there are more coming, and I doubt you’d like to wait around long enough to end up in a fight with Ma—with your grandpa once he gets impatient.”

“Who are you,” Damian demands, narrowing his eyes. “Why would you help us?”

“Pwu,” Timothy murmurs, waving a hand.

It clicks a second later. “Prudence Wood,” Damian realizes, unable to hide his surprise.

Her face doesn’t change, but her eyes soften. “I know the kid,” she says. “And I don’t want to see him get hurt.” She then stomps closer and shoves Damian toward the exit, snapping a harsh, “Go.”

Damian goes, and he doesn’t look back.

★★

The window creaks when he slides it open, and Damian tumbles onto the carpet with his brother in his arms. He pants, pulling his aching body up to shut it and engage the trap, walking over to the couch and setting Timothy down on it.

Damian moves through the safehouse, gathering the pieces of his Robin costume and slipping them on haphazardly, quickly making his way back to Timothy and keeping his katana within reach.

“Are you okay?” Damian asks, perhaps a touch wildly, as he brushes his hands over Timothy’s arms, inspecting them for any injuries. A bit of blood smears across his skin, and Damian wipes it off. He knows it’s coming from himself. One of the assassins got too close.

“M’fine,” Timothy mumbles. He’s been quiet since Damian took him away from the ice cream shop, never saying a word even when he clung to Damian as he ran through various alleyways and across a couple of rooftops. “Why’d you take me away?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because that was my fwiend…”

Oh, Damian thinks as he stares at his brother, swallowing back the bile that suddenly appears in his throat. That’s why Grandfather wore a disguise. He wanted to trick Timothy into going with him by showing false kindness.

“Timothy,” he says gently, taking one of his hands. “That wasn’t your friend, that was…” He trails off when he spies a bracelet wrapped around Timothy’s wrist. It’s a simple back band with a blue bead in the center, the color of it similar to Timothy’s eyes. “Where did you get that?”

It’s a recent addition to Timothy’s wardrobe. Damian assumed that one of the others purchased it for Timothy on a whim (Richard was a likely suspect since he was prone to impulse purchasing all sorts of clothes and accessories for Timothy), but now that Damian’s looking at it…

“My fwiend gave it to me,” Timothy whispers, twisting it around his wrist.

“He’s not your friend,” Damian says roughly. “That was my grandfather, Ra’s al Ghul. Don’t you remember him? You caused a lot of problems for him in the past.”

Timothy’s brow furrows, then he speaks in a quiet, distant voice, “I… yes? I think I bwowed up some stuff… He was mad… and then…” A frown. “He kicked me out a window?”

“Do not think too much on the matter,” Damian says when the boy reaches up to hold the side of his head, grabbing and lowering it. “Just know that he’s not to be trusted, especially when it comes to you.”

“Okay,” Timothy whispers.

Damian looks down at their joined hands. Then, he slips the bracelet off Timothy’s wrist and tosses it to the floor. Damian crushes it beneath his heel, ignoring his brother’s indignant cry as he crouches down beside it and sifts through the small pieces, scowling when he finds something out of place.

“A tracker,” he practically snarls. “Of course.”

It’s tiny, something that could easily pass as debris or gravel or something of the sort, but Damian was in the League long enough to identify their technology. The tracker chip is perfectly round, even for its minuscule shape, and it blinks white every so often, indicating that the device is in use.

“This is how they found you,” Damian whispers, stomach churning with nerves. He turns to his brother, who gazes at him curiously. “Timothy, do you trust me?”

“Uh-huh.” Timothy nods. “Always.”

Damian squishes the tracker between his fingers, grinding it into dust, and then gathers Timothy into his arms. He makes his way over to one of the walls, knocking a fist against several points until his knock rings out hollowly.

“Ah-ha,” he says, placing his palm against an indented section on the wall. It lights up green and scans his hand, then a panel slides open, revealing a small empty space that’s big enough for one individual. 

All of their safehouses have panic rooms in case there’s a threat far greater than what they can handle. Damian’s never had a use for it, considering his training, and Gotham rarely gets enemies that are too big for them to fight, but now, he places Timothy inside, catching sight of the red T-Rex plush that he hid in there.

He grabs it and passes it over to Timothy, who accepts it with a confused look on his face. Damian also takes the chance to insert a small comm into his ear, doing the same to his own and tapping on it to connect their frequencies. He mutes his end, for now, and releases a shaky breath, focusing on his brother.

“Do you like your dinosaur?” he asks gently.

“Uh-huh…”

“I got it for you,” Damian murmurs, brushing his gloved fingers down Timothy’s cheek. He hesitates for a moment and then leans down to press his lips against the crown of Timothy’s head, squeezing his eyes shut as he lingers for a few seconds before pulling away. “Keep it safe for me, and do not come out until I say it’s okay. Do you understand?”

“Dami…” Tim whispers, clutching the red dinosaur to his chest.

“Do you understand?” Damian repeats forcefully, tipping his chin up to meet his gaze.

“I—” Timothy’s eyes flick around the panic room before landing on him again. “Yes, Dami, but—”

Damian nods and leans back, staring at Timothy’s face. His brother looks shaken, body trembling as he stares at Damian with wide eyes, holding onto his dinosaur. 

He’s suddenly reminded of the birds his grandfather used to keep—beautiful white doves that used to coo whenever Damian passed by, pushing up against his hands whenever he pet them through their cages.

“I love you,” he says before he slaps his hand against the panel on the wall to shut the door. It does so seamlessly, making it seem like there’s nothing there, but Damian can hear a harsh bang from within, and the sound of a hitched breath in his ear.

He ignores it, for now, snatching his katana up and positioning himself in a defensive stance. Shadows pass over the windows, slowly oozing their way inside with every creak of the glass windows. Damian presses the button on his distress beacon, hoping his family arrives soon.

“Dami,” Timothy sobs in his ear. “D-Dami, no, don’t weave me—Dami, pwease. ”

Something grasps his heart tightly and twists. Damian swallows and shuts his eyes, hands tightening around the handle of his blade. “It’s okay, little dove,” he says, glancing over at where the front door rattles. “It’s okay. I’ll protect you.”

And he will succeed, that much is certain.

The windows shatter within one moment, and the next, wood splintering against the wall when the door breaks open. Robed figures flood the room, and Damian immediately throws himself into the fight, his fury climbing higher and higher while Timothy sobs in his ear, reminding him why this is important.

He cannot fail.

Chapter Text

Cold air blasts into his face when he steps into the store, and a cheerful worker greets them upon their entrance.

Her eyes follow Dick as they venture deeper inside. Jason catches the uncomfortable smile that passes over Dick’s face—the one that seems friendly enough to everyone except those who know him well, and Jason happens to be part of that group.

He blocks Dick from her view and stares her down, watching as she turns bright red and turns away, busying herself with a rack of clothes. Jason nods, satisfied, and shoves a spoonful of ice cream into his mouth, accidentally catching Dick’s eyes.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Dick says quietly.

“I didn’t do anything,” Jason retorts, heat crawling up to his cheeks. “I was looking at the shirts.” He focuses on a pile beside them and grabs a random blue one with an embroidered bunny in the center, tossing it at Dick. “Here. Buy this one.”

“Why?” Dick says, lips twitching. “Because it’s blue?”

“No, it’s because you’re a bunny,” Jason says flatly. “Clearly.”

“Aw, that’s the sweetest thing you ever said to me!” Dick drapes the shirt over his arm, holding his ice cream away as he digs through the rest. “I wonder if I can find a matching one for Tim…”

“How was that even a compliment?” Jason wonders, eating another quarter of his ice cream. He ends up helping Dick search for a Tim-sized shirt because, unfortunately, he agrees that it’s the cutest thing in the world to see Tim matching with any of them.

Bruce wanders off to look at the coats, and Jason can see that he’s just chewing on his little plastic spoon. He shakes his head, leaning down to bite off a piece of his waffle cone. Jason also sticks close to Dick, who is now browsing through the rest of the store, picking out clothes with god-awful designs while asking for Jason’s opinion.

“I think I’d look good in this. What about you?”

“No,” Jason says without even glancing at the shirt. “You’re too ugly.”

“Hey!” Dick pouts. “Don’t be mean.” 

“Someone has to keep you humble, Dickiebird.”

Dick huffs and turns back to the clothing rack, sifting through it. The hangars scrape against the metal in a way that makes Jason wince, but Dick doesn’t seem to mind or care. Honestly, the asshole is probably doing it on purpose just to get on Jason’s nerves.

Jason’s gaze flicks over to the remainder of Dick’s ice cream, and he slowly leans over, carefully nabbing some with his spoon. He shoves the utensil into his mouth when his brother whirls around, offering an arched brow and a very pointed, “What?”

“Nothing,” Dick says, gazing at him suspiciously. He points at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve got a mint chip there.”

“No, I don’t!” Jason wipes his mouth, and sure enough, there’s a mint chip. “Okay, but your ice cream was melting! I was preventing it from leaking onto the floor.”

“Uh-huh, right…”

Dick leaves him to pay for the shirts, and Jason idly looks through the racks as he sucks the leftover flavor off his spoon. He finds a pretty funny one with a skeleton holding coffee and considers buying it to give to Tim’s older counterpart. While Jason’s mulling it over, a voice suddenly speaks up behind him,

“They’ve been gone for a while.”

Jason barely manages to not jump, though he does instinctively jab an elbow towards the speaker’s gut. He hears Bruce grunt and flashes an apologetic look his way before the statement registers.

“You think something’s wrong?” he asks.

A grim expression passes over Bruce’s face. “I wish I could say no,” he says. “But…” He turns toward the door. “Damian likes to be prompt. He wouldn’t take this long unless—”

“Unless something’s wrong,” Dick says after he comes up to stand beside them, shopping bag in hand. He crosses his arms, mouth slanted when he says, “How about we go over and check up on them?”

The three of them quickly exit the store, though Jason makes it to the ice cream shop a couple of seconds faster than them. He enters, pausing when he spies a fight going on between a bald woman and a small cluster of League-garbed people.

Jason watches, surprised, as the woman delivers a roundhouse kick to the final robed figure, knocking their sword out of their hand. Dick drops his bag and throws himself forward to punch the assassin hard enough to cause them to fall to the ground, their head bouncing off the tile in a way that makes Jason wince.

“Thanks for the assist,” the woman says, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth. It smears the blood leaking from her split lip. “But I had it.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Jason says, eyeing all the prone bodies around her. He comes up to stand beside Dick, crossing his arms. “So, who—”

“Where are they?” Dick demands, cutting him off. His hands curl into fists at his sides, and Jason’s surprised to see the way he trembles faintly.

“Gone,” she says. “Hopefully, far away from here. I held off as many as I could, but I know a few went out to chase after ‘em.” She jerks her thumb behind her, and Jason leans over to see the exit door off its hinges, crooked on the doorway. “And before you decide to toss a punch my way—the name’s Pru.”

“Pru,” Dick murmurs, and the tension leaves his body. “You’re Tim’s friend.”

“Friend is pushing it,” Pru replies, but there’s a touch of fondness to her words and a warmth in her eyes that no one can miss. “Our relationship is strictly professional, in the sense that he’s my boss, occasionally, and I’m his employee when I need the money.”

“Right…” Jason says. He eyes Bruce, who is slowly walking around the room, most likely trying to find any evidence that’ll tell him why this happened. “Is there anything we need to know before we go out and look for them?”

“Mast—” Pru huffs, shaking her head. She wraps an arm around her middle and shuffles over to the wall, leaning against it as she gazes at them tiredly. “Ra’s al Ghul was here.”

That grabs Bruce’s attention, and the old man swiftly makes his way over, practically looming above Pru when he says, “What.”

Pru doesn’t look intimidated by the shadow of Batman. “Yeah,” she says with a shrug that makes her hiss. “He was here, talkin’ to the little one in the bathroom. His minions tried to sneak up on ‘em in the bathroom, but I gave them enough time to escape by fighting all of the ones who were here initially. I don’t know where Ra’s went, but I’m guessing he either followed them or left since his plan started falling apart.”

“Why do you say that?” Jason wonders.

“He didn’t anticipate their escape,” Pru says with a smirk. “The back exit was never guarded. Ra’s al Ghul truly thought he’d leave with his prize, never anticipating that I’d be here to stop it.” She grunts as she pushes off the wall, shuffling past them. “Bye.”

“Wait,” Bruce says. “You shouldn’t leave.”

Pru rolls her eyes. “I don’t take orders from you, ” she says pointedly. “You best remember that, alright? But…” She shoves a hand into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out a scrap of paper, handing it to Jason, of all people. 

He flips it over, eyebrow arching in surprise when he sees a number scrawled across in red ink.

“If they show up again,” Pru says. “Contact me here. If I don’t answer, steal the little one’s phone, and you should be able to find it there, too. He supposedly has some program that keeps updating it.” She shakes her head but sounds unbearably fond when she adds, “Freak.”

Bruce grunts and his presence leaves Jason’s side, probably to investigate the exit. He glances over at Dick, who keeps himself very still, his face terrifyingly blank. Jason gently bumps their shoulders together, and his older brother shudders, glancing at him once before following Bruce.

“So,” Jason says, turning his attention back to Pru. “What brought you out here? What’s your motive for helping Tim?”

“I don’t have to tell you anything,” Pru replies, mirth in her eyes. “But, if you really must know, then it’s because I happened to be in the area. And, like I said before, sometimes he’s my boss.” She shrugs. “Can’t let the one signing my paycheck get swept away by the likes of Ra’s al Ghul.”

Jason feels like it’s more than that, but he’s not going to press for any more answers. “Yeah,” he mutters, slipping the number into his pocket. “We just don’t know why he’s trying so hard to get him. I mean, we can guess that he wants Tim as an heir, but why? Why Tim?”

“Why not ?” Pru counters. She crosses her arms, wincing. “Ow, fuck— anyways, he was impressed by your birdie, so much so that he allowed him to lead us against the Council of Spiders. I’m sure seeing his competence at being a leader, along with his fervent belief that your Master was still alive and his ability to find proof of it, allowed him to view T in another light.” She shakes her head, moving towards the front door. “That’s all I can offer. See you around, Hood.”

And then she’s gone, slipping out the door without making a sound. The bell doesn’t even jingle either, and when he looks up, he sees that it’s broken.

“Huh,” Jason says, pondering the new information. He can’t imagine Tim leading the League of Assassins at Ra’s al Ghul’s behest, but he’s also starting to realize that Tim’s secrets have secrets, thanks to his younger self’s unfiltered mouth. “Alright.”

He steps over all the unconscious assassins and slips past the broken door, pausing when he spies Dick crouched on the ground with a hand covering his mouth, Bruce only a few feet away, inspecting a shuriken lodged into a wall. 

Jason carefully makes his way over to stand beside his brother, looking down to see that Dick’s holding one of the strawberry barrettes that Tim had in his hair.

“They were here,” Dick murmurs, voice wavering. “They were in trouble, and we had no idea. I was just over there shopping for shirts while they were—”

“Hey,” Jason says firmly, leaning down to grab his arm and help him up. He doesn’t like the glazed look in Dick’s eyes, so he gently pats his face, waiting for his brother to turn his head toward him before continuing, “It’s not your fault. None of us could have known that Ra’s would be willing to come after Tim in broad daylight.”

“Still…” Dick mutters, his hand clenched around the barrette. “I should have—I don’t know.”

“Just because you’re the oldest doesn’t mean that you’re supposed to carry everything on your own,” Jason says with a frown. “And you shouldn’t feel guilty for not doing more, Dick. We’re all here to help, y’know, so this lone wolf, self-flagellation act has gotta stop.”

Dick sighs, and then he leans forward to drop his forehead onto Jason’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he says, sounding so small. “I’m just worried. I can’t… help it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason mutters, patting his back a few times. “Don’t I know it.”

Suddenly, Jason’s phone goes off. It’s a sound similar to a bird call, one that plays whenever a distress beacon is used—something that Barbara set up on their phones in case they’re ever out of the suits when the signal goes through.

He moves away from Dick and pulls out his phone, clicking on the pulsating red dot and arching a brow.

“It’s coming from a few blocks away,” Jason realizes, tilting the phone toward Dick. “From…” He squints at the location. “Actually, I don’t recognize this place.”

“I do,” Dick says. “Damian’s safehouse. He wanted one of his own since we all seem to have a couple spread out through the city, and I thought, hell, why not? I had Bruce’s card for the weekend.”

Bruce’s grunt is loud in the small alleyway, but he doesn’t poke at this new information. “We should go,” he says. “I’ll have Barbara comb through the nearby security footage and erase any evidence of our presence.”

“Good call,” Jason says, tucking his phone away. He takes note of the open anxiety on Dick’s face and turns to Bruce. “How about Dickie and I travel up top while you take the car over?” he offers. 

“We should stick together,” Bruce says with obvious displeasure on his face. “I don’t want you two to walk into a trap.”

“Bruce,” Dick says, sharp enough to make Jason straighten. “I don’t give a fuck about that. We all know that Damian and Tim are in trouble, so I’ll be damned if I waste any more time out here. I’m not going to lose another brother.”

He pivots on his heel and rushes toward a nearby ladder, jumping up to grab the bottom bar with both hands. Dick swings his body up and over the rail, and then he climbs up the stairs, disappearing onto the roof.

Jason looks over at Bruce, and his stomach twists uncomfortably when he gets a brief glimpse at his quiet devastation. He casts his gaze to the ground and exhales shakily before he follows Dick. Jason moves at a slower pace due to his size and bulk, but he makes it up there only a few seconds behind Dick, who’s already two buildings ahead. He follows his older brother, not caring about the possibility of being seen.

It doesn’t matter, not when they’ve got two younger siblings to save.

★★

The door is broken.

Jason cautiously steps over the pieces, a few crumbling beneath his boots. He eyes the bloodstains on the wall with trepidation, making his way over to the pile of assassins on the floor—all tied up and unconscious with a variety of injuries, most bleeding onto the hardwood floors.

“It looks like Damian won the fight,” Jason mutters to Dick, who barely spares him a glance. “But where the fuck is he? And Tim?”

“I-I don’t know,” Dick whispers, brows furrowed. “The beacon still says that Damian’s here, but…”

He carefully steps over a fallen chair, head bowed, and it takes a couple of seconds for Jason to notice that Dick’s following a small, breadcrumb trail in the form of blood drops, leading to the farthest end of the room.

Then, very faintly, Jason hears a knock.

Jason grabs Dick by the arm to stop him, holding up a hand. He cocks his head in the direction of the sound and hears the same knock—a sequence only known to the former Robins, one they came up with when they were shooting the shit during a quiet night of patrol.

“Hey,” he says quietly, nudging his brother. “We have panic rooms in our safehouses, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” Dick breathes. He falls to his knees and returns the knock in the same sequence, receiving another in return. Jason crouches beside him and starts feeling around with him, and then Dick abruptly smacks his hand against the wall with a force that makes his body shake.

Jason watches, heart pounding in his chest, as a panel slowly slides away to reveal a curled up Damian.

“Oh my god,” Dick says in a wretched voice. “Damian.”

The boy is dressed in full Robin costume with his cape thrown across his body, his cracked mask revealing a cut near an eye, one hand lax at his side. There are a few streaks of blood along the inner walls of the panic room, and a moderate amount coats the outside of the Robin cape. He gazes at them tiredly, lips cracked and slightly bloody.

“Where’s Tim?” Jason asks, palms starting to sweat. “Did they get him?”

Damian grunts, moving his hand down to the bottom portion of his cape. He slides it off him, wincing the whole time, and there lies Tim, clinging to Damian’s front, fast asleep with tear tracks on his cheeks.

“Tim,” Jason breathes, leaning in to extract the kid from Damian’s arms.

It’s a bit of a struggle since Tim has his hands fisted in the Robin suit, but Jason manages to pull the current youngest away, along with a stuffed red T-Rex that he places on the floor so he can hold his brother close, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

He watches as Dick reaches in to grab Damian, wrapping both arms around the boy and burying his face in Damian’s hair, rocking them back and forth.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, less broken. “Damian…”

Damian gazes up at him with a half-lidded gaze, not protesting the embrace like he normally would. Instead, he lifts his ungloved hand and curls it into Dick’s jacket, chest heaving with a ragged breath.

His eyes flick over to Jason next, holding the stare before they land on Tim. Damian’s face flickers with relief, and then he shuts his eyes, leaning his head against Dick’s chest.

The floorboards creak behind them, and Jason curls over his brother, trying to hide him with his body. He chances a glance over his shoulder, relaxing when he sees Bruce stepping through the wreckage of the apartment.

“B,” Jason murmurs, the part of him that’s still paranoid about the League coming back to attack suddenly dissipating because now Bruce is here—he can protect them.

He got here in time.

“Hey,” Bruce says in a low voice when he nears, taking a seat on the floor beside Jason. He stares down at Tim, brushing a thumb across one of his plump, baby cheeks. “Okay?”

“Seems like it so far,” Jason answers, letting Bruce take Tim into his arms. He pulls the red dinosaur into his lap, petting the soft fabric. “We haven’t checked Damian for injuries, but… I think he fought them all and dragged himself over to the panic room to be with Tim.”

He leans over to check on Damian and sees that the kid is also asleep. Dick holds him tighter, murmuring what seems to be a steady stream of reassurances—whether they’re for Damian or himself, Jason doesn’t know.

“Alright,” Bruce says, and Jason feels a soft pressure of lips against the top of his head. He lets the older man tug him close, taking comfort in his warmth. “Let’s go home.”

“Home,” Jason repeats quietly, marveling at how well the word fits in his mouth again. He shuts his eyes, basking in his dad’s presence, and says, “Okay.”

★★

Damian has a sprained wrist and a small cut down his leg that makes him wince with every movement, but overall, he seems fine. Most of his pain comes from the sore muscles of his long fight, so he’s prescribed some rest.

And Tim…

Physically, Tim is fine. There are no injuries on him, and the only issue is mild dehydration from all his crying. He lets Bruce and Alfred draw blood, and he accepts a cup of strawberry-flavored electrolytes, sipping on his green tumbler while he leans against Damian on the cot, one of his hands curled into Damian’s shirt.

Jason thinks nothing of this behavior, figuring that Tim might be a little clingy after the incident, but his concern starts to build when he notices how Tim can’t seem to look at any of them.

It edges into panic when he realizes that Tim’s not speaking at all.

“Tim,” Dick says gently, crouched in front of the boy. “Can you tell me what Ra’s said to you after you entered the bathroom?”

“I already told you, Richard, he—”

“I know, buddy. But I want to hear it from Tim.”

Tim doesn’t respond. He sets his cup down beside him and starts toying with the red T-Rex, tiny fingers tracing over the sad frown on its face while he swings his legs. 

“Tim,” Dick whispers, resting a hand on his knee. “Baby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Nothing.

Jason stares at his baby brother for a long moment before he drifts away from the trio, going over to where Bruce and Alfred are standing by the computer, speaking to Barbara in low voices.

“Hey,” Jason says when he nears, voice rough. “Has Tim ever gone… nonverbal? In the past? Because he’s not talking right now…”

Bruce suddenly looks pained. “Yes,” he says, rubbing his temples. “Only a couple of times, but it was enough for me to note it in his file. My guess is that being forcibly separated from Damian, albeit for his own good, may have stressed him out enough to cause this reaction.”

“Oh.” Jason… didn’t know that about Tim. He feels a brief flicker of rage, thinking about the quiet child alone in his house, using silence as a coping mechanism to deal with whatever bad thing happens to him.

(And a part of him wonders if Tim went silent after Jason hurt him at the Tower, and he quickly realizes that he doesn’t want to know.)

“How long does it last?” he asks.

“It varies,” Alfred cuts in, a solemn look on his face. “The longest Master Timothy has gone without speaking was three weeks, and that was after—” He cuts himself off, pressing his lips together as he shares a look with Bruce.

Jason frowns, eyes flicking between them before he glances at the screen, where Barbara watches the conversation with a furrowed brow. He tilts his head to the side, questioning, and she shakes her head in response.

“It was a few years ago,” Alfred continues. “And then it re-emerged after the loss of his father and his friends, which lasted for a week and a half. Master Bruce’s supposed death gave us two days of silence, and it has not come up again since then.”

“That we know of,” Bruce mutters.

Alfred shoots him another look before stepping closer to Jason, resting a hand on his shoulder. Jason gazes at his face, cataloging all the wrinkles that weren’t there the last time he lived in the house. “It’s no matter,” he says quietly. “We’ll manage.”

Jason watches as Alfred walks over to the three at the cot. Dick has Tim in his arms as he sits in Tim’s previous spot, and he’s rocking the child as he did to Damian only hours ago.

From within Dick’s embrace, Tim slowly reaches out and latches onto Damian’s shirt. His fingers twist into the white material, and Jason knows, just by sight alone, that he’s never going to let go.

★★

The story comes out in pieces while Damian fights sleep, Tim nestled against his side—how Tim had to use the bathroom after buying a new scoop of ice cream, how Ra’s al Ghul disguised himself to coax him away from their family. 

A shiver of dread crawls down Jason’s spine when Damian brings up the theory that Ra’s may have contacted Tim before, attempting to manipulate the boy under the guise of friendship. He also mentions a tracker hidden in his bracelet, most likely given to him by the Demon’s Head, and how Damian only recognized it as such because the bead was the same color as Tim’s eyes.

“The chip was League,” Damian murmurs, combing his fingers through Tim’s hair. The boy is fast asleep, still holding onto Damian’s shirt. “That’s how they were able to tail us and find my safehouse so quickly, and that’s how they knew he went out of the manor.”

“Oh,” Jason whispers, too quiet for anyone else to hear over the rest of Damian’s story—his fight after placing Tim in the panic room, all while hearing Tim cry in his ear. His voice wobbles when he talks about that part, and he pulls Tim even closer, guilt flickering in his eyes.

“But you’re okay, right?” Dick asks.

“I will be,” Damian replies quietly. “It was difficult, seeing him again, but all that mattered to me was Timothy’s safety.” He shudders. “I’m just thankful that I didn’t have to fight him. Even with all my experience, I don’t think I’d be able to defeat him.”

Dick hugs him yet again, and Jason turns away when Damian clings to him, knowing that the kid appreciates some privacy during moments of vulnerability.

He pulls Bruce aside and quietly talks about the assassin that apparently followed them all the way out to the beach, only stopped by Roy when he showed up in the middle of the night. In hindsight, he feels a bit stupid for not realizing they were followed, too trusting that the distance from Gotham would keep Tim safe.

He expects Bruce to be upset with him for not utilizing the paranoia he instilled in all of them or for his lack of awareness of his surroundings. Instead, Bruce pats him on the shoulder before he tugs him into a hug that Jason’s too surprised to fight.

“It’s not your fault,” Bruce says quietly. “We never could have expected Ra’s to put a tracker in Tim’s bracelet.”

“But we should have,” Jason mutters.

“Probably,” Bruce acknowledges, at the very least. “But at least that Harper boy was there to help you.” He pulls back from the embrace, gazing at him with a softness that wrenches something in Jason’s chest. “I’m just glad you’re okay. That’s what matters to me.”

The Jason of the past would have struggled to believe this and might have accused Bruce of lying, but there’s a surety to Bruce’s voice that makes him trust what he’s saying. It’s similar to how he used to speak whenever Jason got hurt in the streets of Gotham—Batman’s protective shadow at his side, tenderly holding him close as he whispered, “I’ve got you, Robin. I’m here.”

He gently bumps his forehead against one of Bruce’s shoulders before turning away completely, embarrassed. “Alright,” he says. “Now we have to figure out when Ra’s was around long enough to make a friend out of Tim and give him a tracker.”

(Jason has a realization halfway through the night when they’re skimming through security footage around the manor. There’s a blind spot near one of the far walls, the place where Jason found Tim after the boy ran off to chase a butterfly.

He caught Tim talking to himself back then, and Jason had been amused, thinking Tim might have been speaking to an imaginary friend. Now, he realizes that it was probably Ra’s al Ghul outside their walls, taking the chance to try and lure Tim to his side while Tim was alone and vulnerable—easy prey.

Morning comes, and the security feed has a new camera pointed toward that area and the many other spots they missed. It helps a little.)

★★

Jason sits on the floor beside Damian and Tim, watching as his (current) youngest brother carefully stacks Jenga blocks to create a small tower.

They’re in Jason’s room because Damian didn’t want to use his room for Tim’s playtime, and he was also adamant that they couldn’t use Tim’s old room because they should respect his older self’s privacy. Jason wanted the true reason behind this decision, but all he got was a shifty-eyed look and a demand for Jason to drop it, so he left it alone.

For now.

It’s been a few days since the League incident, and Tim is still as silent as ever. It brings a new gloom to the household, one previously filled with Tim’s cheerful laughter and his constant stream of babble and questions.

Dick grows more and more solemn, too, but he always has a bright smile ready whenever Tim’s in his arms, even though the kid barely looks at him. He often fills the empty space with his own chatter, though sometimes, Jason catches Dick speaking to Tim in a low voice while they talk around the room.

Cass speaks to Tim, too. She’ll sit with him and sign, helping Tim through the clumsy movements so they can hold a conversation together. He doesn’t reveal much and sometimes prefers to keep his hands clasped together, watching Cass’ hands with only a spark of interest. It distresses Cass to the point where she’ll disappear altogether.

Damian and Tim remain inseparable throughout it all.

Whenever Tim is in someone’s arms, he’ll twist his body to make sure that Damian’s nearby. If Damian’s close enough, Tim will hold his hand while they move through the manor. Tim also prefers to sit beside Damian during mealtimes and will crawl into his lap when they all venture into the sitting room to watch a movie.

And Damian never complains.

He indulges the current youngest by allowing this behavior, often being the one to pull Tim close like he, too, can’t stand to stay away from him. Jason has watched the kid spoon-feed Tim whenever he’s too focused on his puzzle toys because he shows no interest in eating food unless prompted.

It stresses them all out, and Jason tries to push more snacks onto Tim, some of which go ignored or tossed aside. He even goes out and buys a few bags of marshmallows to coax Tim into eating, offering them as a reward whenever Tim manages to get through most of his meal.

Tim suddenly taps a block against the floor, pulling Jason out of his thoughts. His pumpkin is looking at Damian, tapping again before he places it at the very top of the tower. He points to it with a curious expression.

“Yes, little dove,” Damian murmurs, a ghost of a smile on his face. “You’ve done an excellent job with the structure of your tower. I doubt anyone would be able to remove a piece without causing it to collapse, therefore, giving you the win in this Jenga game.”

It’s subtle, but Jason can see a brightness in Tim’s eyes before he throws himself at Damian, wrapping his arms around Damian’s neck. He also plants a kiss on his cheek, and Jason watches Damian’s expression soften in a way that makes him look younger and not unlike a normal kid simply cuddling his brother, neither raised by shitty circumstances.

“Are you hungry?” Damian asks. “Perhaps we should eat some lunch.”

Tim shakes his head.

“No?” Damian hums. “Would you like a snack?”

“I’ve got a bag of those peanut butter pretzel bites that you like,” Jason says, tugging it out of his hoodie pocket. The bag crinkles and Tim peeks over with wide eyes. “If you don’t want them, I guess I can give them to Batwalker…”

The green dinosaur sits beside the blue whale and the red T-Rex, all propped up against a small mountain of pillows on the floor. Tim glances at his beloved plush before he quickly shakes his head and makes a grabby hands motion in Jason’s direction.

“What do we say?” Jason teases.

Tim pouts, stopping so he can sign a wobbly, “Please.”

“Good job, pumpkin,” Jason replies, leaning over to squeeze his knee. He scoots over and opens the packet for his brother, holding out a piece between the tips of his index finger and thumb. Tim plucks it out of his hand and shoves it into his mouth, wiggling his toes when he crunches down on it.

Jason offers the bag to Damian, who takes it and starts feeding Tim the rest of them. They sit in silence for a while, the two of them making sure Tim gets some type of food in him, and when Tim finishes the whole thing, he looks at Jason pleadingly.

“That was my last bag,” Jason says with a shrug. He pushes himself up and snags Tim off Damian’s lap, tucking the boy under his arm while Damian scrambles to follow. “But if you’re hungry, then I can make you something real quick.”

There’s a tug on his shirt.

“Yes, I’ll give you marshmallows after.”

After depositing Tim onto a chair in the dining room closest to the kitchen, Jason heads inside and starts gathering supplies to make a simple lunch for his two little brothers.

He heats up a can of tomato soup (which he hid from Alfred) on one end of the stove, using the other to flatten a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches against the griddle. Some of the cheese oozes out from their bready home and sizzles on the pan, delivering a tantalizing smell that makes his mouth water.

But Jason can wait to make some for himself. His kid brothers take priority.

At some point, when he’s plating the sandwiches and carefully spooning soup into a couple of bowls, Jason hears the door open. Then, he feels a soft weight against his legs, and he doesn’t have to look down to know that Tim’s there, probably with Damian hovering behind him.

“Your food’s ready,” Jason says as he sets the pot aside. He lets out a dramatic sigh (a skill taught by Dick Grayson) and leans against the counter. “But how will I feed the monsters in our house when I can’t seem to move… oh no… I might have to eat all of this food myself.”

Damian clicks his tongue. “Come along, Timothy,” he says, and the small weight disappears. “We must go back to our seats, lest we lose our meals to the black hole that is our older brother.”

Jason swipes out a hand to ruffle Damian’s hair as he’s leaving with Tim in his arms, grinning when the kid scowls in his direction. He tends to be very vain about his hairstyle, especially with all the gel he uses, so it’s always fun to mess with it, even if it does put him within stabbing reach.

He takes the food out to the kids. Damian looks down at it with a wrinkled nose, but all Jason has to do is give him a pointed glance, eyes flicking from him to Tim. Damian pulls the bowl closer with a sigh, grabbing one of the sandwiches (cut into triangles) and carefully dunking it into the tomato soup.

Tim eventually copies Damian’s action, only he smears tomato soup across his cheeks. Jason has to lean over and wipe it off before he disappears into the kitchen again to make a sandwich for himself, trusting Damian to watch him.

And while it was a good choice to make, his mistake was trusting Tim to not cause chaos the moment any adult eye turned away from him.

Of course, Jason thinks after he returns to his brothers, staring at the scene in front of him, completely resigned. Of course he’d do something like this.

Tomato soup drips off Tim’s head and onto the floor, plip-plops echoing in the otherwise quiet room while Tim chews on the crust of his sandwich. Damian sits beside him, still, with his face in his hands. Streaks of soup coat his fingers and arms, also splattered against his shirt and pants.

Jason sighs, bites a huge chunk of his sandwich, and sighs again.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Damian replies.

“Well, you’re gonna have to say something because someone needs to explain this to Dick before he has an aneurysm about Tim’s hair.” Jason makes his way over to his messy, soup-covered brother, who still doesn’t meet his eye. “Hey, Timmy,” he asks with a (strained) smile. “Why’d you do this?”

Tim shrugs.

“You don’t know why?”

A nod.

“Hmm.” He eyes the empty bowl, now placed at the opposite end of the table, and tries to think about what might have gone through Tim’s head—a kid who didn’t have adult supervision for a few minutes. “Did you, maybe, happen to use it as a hat?” 

There’s a flicker of a smile on Tim’s face, which means that Jason’s probably right on the money.

“Alright,” he says, taking a seat across from him. “This is something we can deal with after you finish your food.” Jason’s not going to stop or rush him, not when he’s barely been eating these past few days. “Or someone else can deal with it when they come in to check on us.”

Thankfully, someone does stop by after a while.

“Hey, everybody!” Dick says cheerfully as he enters the room, sniffing the air. “Oh, wow! It smells great! Did Jason make you something, Ti…” His voice tapers off, and Jason watches the shock bloom on Dick’s face when he realizes that Tim’s hair is covered in tomato soup.

Dick’s shriek echoes through the manor.

★★

Jason ends up giving Tim a bath because Dick got too faint after inspecting the tomato soup mess in Tim’s hair. He ended up on the couch with a cold compress on his forehead, all while Damian fanned him with a piece of paper.

“Overdramatic,” Jason grumbles as he pats his brother dry, pausing to swipe the wet hair out of his eyes (Tim kept splashing him). “Don’t know what’s the big deal, especially when we can just clean it off.”

He wraps the towel around Tim’s body and pulls up the duck hood, taking him into his room. There’s a pile of clothes already waiting for them on the bed (probably from Alfred). Jason lets Tim get dressed while he squeezes the water out of his hair and into the sink, swapping his shirt for a dry one before taking a clean, tomato soup-less boy out to the sitting room.

“Is my baby clean?” Dick asks once they enter, an arm across his face. There’s no sign of Damian, and the TV is playing a documentary about penguins. “Or are you going to deliver a tomato monstrosity that looks nothing like our sweet Timmy?”

Jason dumps their brother on him.

Tim releases a huff that might be counted as a laugh, judging by the smile on his face, while Dick gasps for air. Jason hides his smirk as he makes his way around the couch to throw himself into one of the armchairs, watching as Tim wiggles around before situating himself on Dick’s stomach to watch the documentary.

“Timmy,” Dick says weakly. “I’m not a chair.”

“Anything can be a chair,” Jason points out.

“I’m not an object, either.”

“Alright. Anyone can be a chair.”

Tim nods, clearly agreeing with the superior brother (Jason). He eventually shifts to lie down on top of Dick, eyelids drooping halfway through the film until he eventually falls asleep, nestled against Dick’s chest.

“Do you think he’s okay?”

Jason glances over at his brothers, caught on the way Dick gazes down at Tim tenderly, a furrow of worry in his brows. “I think so,” he answers. “Kids are pretty resilient.”

“He shouldn’t have to be,” Dick replies, sounding mournful. “And this whole time, I never knew—I never could have guessed—” He starts combing his fingers through Tim’s hair, and Jason notes the pain in his eyes. “It’s hard to think about Tim suffering in silence.”

“Doesn’t sound like it’s suffering to me,” Jason says gently. “The way B tells it, I mean. Tim’s just… dealing with what happened in his own way.”

They fall silent.

“It does make you wonder what could have happened to cause him to go nonverbal for three weeks, though,” Dick says after a beat. “Alfred is tightlipped, and Bruce isn’t forthcoming about the information, no matter how many times I corner him and ask.”

“I doubt they’ll reveal anything,” Jason mutters. He eyes his slumbering little brother, surprised that he managed to fall asleep without having Damian near. Maybe using Dick as a pillow makes up for it. “Tim might be willing to tell us when he’s feeling talkative again.”

“True,” Dick acknowledges. “But…”

“But what?”

“I’m not sure I want to hear it, considering the way Tim dumps information on us these days.”

Jason snorts and says, “Yeah, you’re telling me…”

It’s a bit strange to sit there and have a normal conversation with his brother. They’ve been doing that a lot lately, and it feels… nice. 

There’s no hostility between them, no bad blood or forced distance (all of which usually comes from Jason), either. It’s simple, something he never expected to have again.

Back then, it’d been a struggle for Jason to live up to the shadow that Dick left behind, and Dick had vocally expressed his unhappiness over Bruce bringing him into the fold, which gave them a rocky start. He often walked on eggshells whenever he visited, not wanting to deal with the explosion that was Dick Grayson.

Things were better between them when Dick eventually mellowed out and accepted him. He started treating Jason like family, always ready to help if Jason ever had any problems and offering an open ear whenever Jason needed to talk.

(He rarely took him up on it, never wanting to be a bother, and the only time he actually considered truly talking to Dick was on his flight to Ethiopia.)

Now, though, Jason knows that they’re equals. They’re both self-made vigilantes and adults who can sometimes talk through their problems, though they normally choose to spar it out in the Cave until all of the ugly feelings go away. Then, Jason has to escape before Dick decides to bestow his brotherly affection upon him in the form of a hug, which usually means that Jason’s face will end up shoved into one of his nasty, pungent pits.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Dick asks again, cutting through his thoughts. Jason shoots him a questioning look because he already asked that, and Dick huffs. “When he’s older,” he clarifies.

Jason thinks about the solemn, silent figure of Red Robin that swings through Gotham’s night, smiles traded for smirks, laughter turned into small, amused huffs. He thinks about the serious, professional figure of Tim Wayne with his bland PR smile, never revealing too much about himself—only a few sprinkles of personality here and there to keep the attention on him and off their family.

They’re two different masks that are the complete opposite of the four-year-old version of their brother. Tim openly expresses his joy all the time and loves them with envious ease. It’s so at odds with the Tim that he sees during patrol and in the media, and the question leaves Jason feeling stumped.

“Maybe,” Jason finally answers. “I… I don’t know.”

“Do you think he’s happy?”

Jason doesn’t answer.

“I don’t, either.”

Silence follows, made much more obvious when the film ends. He stares at the colorful menu on the screen, fidgeting. Jason snatches up the remote to put on another documentary to help him escape these uncomfortable thoughts. He watches the polar bear film without retaining any information, though his gaze keeps straying to his little brother, still asleep on his big brother’s chest.

God, he thinks, pinching the bridge of his nose. We’re his family, and we don’t know whether he’s fucking happy or not.

“We can fix it,” Dick suddenly says, and when Jason looks over at him, he spies a hint of desperation in Dick’s eyes. “We can make things better with him, right?”

“Yeah, Dickiebird,” Jason says quietly. “We can—no, we will. I know we will.”

“Okay,” Dick murmurs, releasing a shaky breath. “Okay.”

Things won’t magically get better with Tim after he reverts to his original age, but that doesn’t mean that they can’t do their best to reach out to him and keep him in the fold to make sure he doesn’t sprout his wings and fly too far from the nest.

It’s another promise that Jason intends to keep.

★★

It’s inevitable, Jason thinks as he stares at the alert on the computer. They can’t stand a locked cage.

It’s a patrol night—or it was supposed to be until they got a ping from Arkham, the sensors indicating that a few prisoners escaped. There’s been no sign of them since, but Jason knows it won’t be long before they cause chaos through the streets to celebrate their night of freedom.

“How come we didn’t get notified by Tim’s algorithm?” Jason wonders. “Isn’t that supposed to prepare us for this eventuality?”

“We think it needs an update,” Bruce says, already dressed in his Batman suit. “Barbara found the beginnings of one in the server that Tim shares with us, but she couldn’t complete it since Tim’s code is very… complex.” He shakes his head, leaning over to tap on a few keys. Doing so brings up security footage from inside Arkham, showing the escapees and their jailbreakers.

“The guards were helping them with their escape plan?” Dick asks, squinting at the screen. “I thought we already weeded out the bad ones…”

“Someone on the inside might have paid a lot of money to replace the current ones with their little minions,” Jason points out, gaze falling on the list of names on one side of the screen. It’s a short one this time, so maybe rounding them up won’t be too bad.

“That’s the likely theory,” Bruce says.

“Knew the quiet nights were too good to be true,” Dick grumbles. He moves over to Tim, who sits on Bruce’s chair while Damian slowly spins him, and drops a kiss onto his head. “Alright, guess I’m heading out.” He pauses and glances at Bruce. “Unless…”

“You’re going,” Bruce says, inclining his head. “The plan for you is to stay up high with one of the Batgirls, and you’ll be communicating with Oracle. The Batmobile will be on standby for you two in case you need to travel somewhere based on her intel.”

“Got it.” Dick offers a two-fingered salute and ventures over to the lockers.

Bruce glances over at Damian, and he seems to hesitate, for a moment, before he walks over and crouches in front of the chair, which stops spinning when Bruce grabs it. 

“Is it okay if I take Damian with me?” he asks in a soft voice. “I need him out there.”

For once, Damian doesn’t speak up about his necessity in the field to further push the point. His green eyes are fixed on Tim, who stares at a point beyond Bruce’s shoulder with a contemplative look on his face. Jason watches, surprised when Tim eventually nods in acquiescence, reaching out to pat Bruce’s face.

“Thank you, ducky,” Bruce says, leaning forward to kiss Tim’s forehead.

It’s still strange to see him act so soft, and there’s a part of him that wants to be jealous—but then he remembers the way Bruce spoke to him the night they first met, offering a meal and sitting with him in his full Batman suit, his reprimand sounding so gentle when Jason ate too fast.

(Sometimes, Jason gets some of that softness even now. It’s mostly through pats on the shoulders or rooftop conversations when they’re both out too late because they can’t sleep, their words lost to the stars hiding amongst the smog of Gotham.)

“I will return to you momentarily,” Damian declares, tapping Tim’s nose. “And then we can sit together before I depart.” His eyes flash over to Jason. “Look after him for me.”

“Sure,” Jason says, making his way over to his little brother while Bruce grumbles about being ignored. He scoops up Tim and takes a seat on the chair, keeping the boy in his lap while he rolls over to the computer, flicking through the provided information.

Damian returns after a while and gathers Tim into his arms, cape swishing behind him as he spouts a few reassurances over being separate for the night. Jason starts walking over to the lockers to grab his gear when a hand on his arm stops him.

He turns to look at Bruce, arching a brow when he sees the look of steely determination on the older man’s face. “Alright,” Jason says with a sigh, crossing his arms. “Can we make this quick, B? I’ve gotta get dressed, and there’s a high chance of them disappearing into Gotham’s underground if we keep standing around here.”

“This won’t take long,” Bruce replies. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re staying here.”

“What?” Jason exclaims, staring at the older man in shock. Anger is quick to follow, and he jabs a finger into that damn bat symbol on his chest. “No, no fucking way. I’m going out there with you whether you like it or not.”

“I’m not changing my mind, Jason,” Bruce replies, a hint of a growl to his words. “You’re staying home tonight because someone needs to be here with Tim, especially when Alfred’s busy looking into something for me.”

“Then swap me with someone,” Jason demands, putting his hands on his hips. “You’re dealing with Arkham escapees, and you need all the help you can get, especially from someone who can and will shoot tranquilizers from a distance.”

“And that’s all you’d shoot?” Bruce counters with an arched brow.

Jason’s hands curl into fists, and he can feel the slight creak of his bones. “You can’t hold it against me if I try,” he says, meeting Bruce’s gaze. “All bets are off the moment I see that green-haired fu—sucker on the street.” 

His eyes flick over to the computer to glance over the list of names again. Five haunting letters are missing, but Jason knows he’s probably hiding amongst the group, biding his time before he destroys another life.

“Jason,” Bruce says gently, placing a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “He’s not out. There’s no reason for you to be in the field with us.”

“How can I trust that?” Jason snarls, shoving the man away from him. “You don’t—” He presses his lips together, his body shaking with suppressed anger as Bruce gazes at him with something akin to sorrow.

Jason wants to snap something cruel and harsh, wants to see Bruce’s face crumble before it goes terrifyingly blank, the way it always does whenever he faces emotions he can’t deal with. He also wants to throw himself onto his bike and escape the green-tinted, pain-filled memories that haunt him at night.

But then something tugs at his jeans.

He looks down to see Tim gazing up at him with a curious expression. “Hi, Timmy,” he says quietly, lifting a hand to sign along with his words.

Tim furrows his brows, tugging on Jason’s jeans again. “Jay,” he says. His voice is quiet, but after days of silence, it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. “He dead.”

Jason stares down at him. “What?” he asks, and even he can hear the way that single word wobbles with disbelief. “What did you say?”

“He dead,” Tim repeats. He pushes himself up on his tiptoes, reaching up to grab Jason’s hand. “Wet’s go color, Jay,” he says next, brushing his fingers over Jason’s scarred knuckles. “I got some cwayons fwom Dami. And then we can pway with my Wegos.”

“I—” Jason glances over at Bruce, who gazes at Tim with something fragile in his eyes, a heartbreak that Jason doesn’t understand. All the anger leaves him with a shaky exhale, and he gently squeezes Tim’s hand. “Alright, pumpkin,” he says softly. “Let’s go color.”

As he walks toward the stairs, with Tim leading the way, Jason hears a shuffle of feet.

“Dead?” Dick parrots, and when Jason glances back at him, all he can see is his brother’s ashen face. “He’s not—but you—did I?”

Bruce moves over to Dick, grabbing his arm. “No,” he says in a tone that Jason might describe as gentle. “It wasn’t you, chum.”

Jason forces himself to look away, hating how the scene makes him feel off-balance. He leans down to pick up Tim when the boy turns and holds up his arms, carrying him upstairs and away from the air of confusion in the Cave.

Tim drops his head onto Jason’s shoulder, playing with the string on his hoodie while he hums a soft tune. Jason recognizes it as one of Dick’s old lullabies, the ones that drift out of the room whenever he’s trying to get Tim to sleep—his old accent making a return, never tripping over the words that Jason is still trying to learn.

“Pumpkin,” Jason murmurs, rubbing Tim’s back. “Are you hungry?”

“Maybe a wittle…”

“Alright. How about I whip you up some of that mac and cheese you love? We can color after you eat.”

“Mmkay.”

They enter the quiet manor, and Jason kisses the top of his head after he shuts the door behind them. “I missed you,” he whispers, swaying in place. “We all missed you, pumpkin.”

Tim doesn’t respond, but he does wiggle closer, and Jason thinks he gets it.

★★

“Hey, Timmy?”

“Hmm?”

“What did you mean when you said the Joker’s dead?”

Tim frowns at him from across the table, jabbing his fork into a few cheesy macaroni noodles and shoving them into his mouth (finally eating without needing to be prompted, hallelujah). “Jay,” he says in a way that sounds like he’s scolding Jason. “He dead! I dunno what you want me to tell you.”

“Well,” Jason says. “I’d like to know who killed him, at least.”

He probably shouldn’t be talking about such a morbid topic with the four-year-old version of his little brother, but he has to know. Jason thought the Joker was still rotting in Arkham, biding his time to ruin another person’s day, and to hear that he’s been dead this whole time…

“I’m not supposed to say,” Tim mumbles, tapping his fork against his bowl. “Daddy said I can’t ever tell.”

“It’s not like I’ll tell someone!” Jason says, leaning forward. He offers a bright smile, one that only comes out when he’s dealing with abused, scared children in the streets of Gotham, assuring them that he can be trusted. It’s similar to the smile he fixed on his face when he flew across rooftops in bright colors. “I’m your big brother, Tim. You can trust me.”

And maybe he should feel awful for playing that card and essentially manipulating the kid, but the rest of him is too yearnful for the truth. It’s an obsessiveness that got enhanced after his dip in the Lazarus Pit, too focused on the primary targets that hurt him (Bruce and the Joker).

So, he ignores the scummy feeling he gets when he catches sight of Tim’s uneasy expression and waits, trying not to shift restlessly.

“Um,” Tim says after a while, stirring his mac and cheese. He stares down into his bowl with a furrowed brow and then says haltingly, “His name was Junior.”

Jason tosses the name through his head, flipping through his internal database to try and figure out if he ever encountered this person. He comes up blank and reluctantly admits, “I don’t know anyone with that name.”

“No one knows. Daddy made sure.” Tim hesitates, his eyes darting over the room. “I don’t wanna talk no more,” he says, reaching over to grab his cup of apple juice. There’s a stern look on his face when he glances at Jason, but his eyes shine beneath the light. “Okay?”

He deflates, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly guilty. Jason pushes himself away from the table and walks to the other side, taking a seat beside his baby brother. He pulls the boy onto his lap and tugs the bowl of mac and cheese closer, gathering a forkful of noodles and holding them up to Tim’s mouth.

“I’m sorry, pumpkin,” he says after Tim accepts the food, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. Jason wraps his arms around his brother and rocks them from side to side, something warm flickering in his chest when Tim shifts and turns toward him, burying his face in Jason’s shirt. “I’ll stop asking about him.”

“Thank you,” Tim says quietly and holds up his cup, giving it a shake. “More juice?”

“How did you already drink all of that?” Jason wonders. He shakes his head, getting more mac and cheese. “Eat some more, and then I’ll give you more juice while we sit here and color. Or you can wait until after that so we can take it to the room with us when we go play with your Legos.”

“M’gonna build the Batmobiwe!” Tim says happily. “Daddy found one for me!”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Uh-huh!” Tim nods, his floppy hair going into his eyes. “He say, um, I can build it and put it in the Cave, and then he get me a Batwing, too! But onwy after I finish the other one because he say that Alfie say that I’m gonna have too many to build!” He pouts and adds, “But I don’t think so! I can make ‘em all!”

“I’m sure you can, buddy,” Jason says, ruffling his hair. “But I think this choice is about making sure you finish a set before starting another. Kinda like your puzzle toys! You wouldn’t start working on a different one when you haven’t finished the first, right?”

“Oh.” Tim looks thoughtful. “I guess so…”

“Big brothers are always right,” Jason tells him, piercing a few more macaroni noodles and holding them up for Tim to eat. “You gotta remember that, okay?”

“Okay!”

Jason polishes off the remainder of Tim’s mac and cheese when the kid decides he’s full. They sit there for a while, using Damian’s crayons to color some Batman pages from a Justice League coloring book. Tim gives his Batman a candy cane stripe look, while Jason goes with a very beautiful burnt orange.

“We should leave these around for Bruce,” Jason suggests afterwards, putting the crayons back in the box and gathering their things. “Maybe he’ll make new suits to match.”

“Wike the wainbow one,” Tim says, bobbing his head like a little bird.

Jason snorts. “Now I know you’re messing with me,” he says, tapping his nose. “There’s no way Bruce has a rainbow Batman suit.” He bends down to pick up Tim, setting the kid on his hip as he heads into the kitchen to get him some more juice (Tim chose to drink extra during Lego time). “I would have seen it by now.”

“He, um, put it away,” Tim says, tangling his fingers in Jason’s shirt. “It was for a distwaction! Dickie told me.”

“Maybe Dick was lying.”

“No! Dickie doesn’t wie to me!” Tim looks indignant. “Daddy has a wainbow suit!”

“Alright, alright, I believe you,” Jason says, kissing his head, privately vowing to corner Dick and interrogate him about this supposed suit. “Maybe we should take a snack with us… besides marshmallows. I already know you’re going to ask for some.”

Tim giggles.

He eats half of the marshmallows on the way to his room, where the Batmobile set is located. Jason has to tuck the rest of the sugary treats away, promising to let Tim have more later as he sets the boy on the floor, sitting across from him and glancing around the empty room.

“No Lego room today, pumpkin?”

“No! Wanna be here!” Tim stares at Jason for a long moment before crawling over. “What happened, Jay?” he asks, reaching up to touch the jagged scar across Jason’s throat. His fingers are light, tracing over the edges, and Jason shivers at the touch, the echo of pain, betrayal, and disappointment thrumming through his head. “It hurt?”

“At the time, yeah,” Jason answers. He hesitates before tipping his head back to let Tim explore the area. Normally, he hates when someone touches it, even himself, but he finds that it’s okay when Tim does it. “It hurt a lot, but I got better.”

(Most of the pain stemmed from the fact that Bruce made a choice, and it wasn’t Jason. Back then, he’d been so willing to let Jason bleed out on the floor, and Jason had been ready to die again with the bitter knowledge that he was unloved and unwanted.

Now, it’s just a reminder of the fraught tension between them. No matter how many things in their relationship heal, Jason’s always going to remember what Bruce did that night; the only apology written in Bruce’s eyes whenever Jason caught him looking at the scar, but never said aloud.)

Tim hums, poking the center of the scar one last time before pulling away. “I got one too, Jay!” he chirps, and Jason watches as the kid lifts a hand to his neck, his curious expression shifting into one of confusion when he brushes his hands over his unmarred skin. “Huh?” Tim frowns. “I dunno where it went…”

Jason swallows, heart sinking. “That’s okay, pumpkin,” he says quietly, gazing at Tim’s throat and remembering how the blood spilled over, how Jason took vicious delight in watching his plans come to fruition. “I remember.”

“Oh.” Tim brightens. “It’s like we match, Jay! I got one, and you got one, too!”

“Yeah…” Jason chuckles. He tugs Tim onto his lap, wrapping his arms around his brother while wishing he could go back and change things. “You know,” he says quietly. “I don’t think I ever apologized for that.”

He leans back so he can stare at Tim’s face, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Tim’s gazing at him with his head cocked to the side, his hand still curled around his throat. “I’m sorry, Tim,” Jason says, and fuck, his eyes start to burn. “I don’t know if I’ll ever make it up to you, but I’m so fucking sorry for what I did. I wasn’t… myself.”

Jason stops there because he doesn’t know how to explain how the Pit warped his view of the world, how Talia poisoned his thoughts to wind him up like a toy, setting him down the path of revenge against Bruce and anyone in his circle.

Tim stares at him with wide eyes. “Jay said a bad word,” he says.

That drags a rough laugh out of Jason, and he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, salty tears smearing against his skin. “That I did, pumpkin,” he replies, his voice carrying the slightest hint of a wobble. “Can you forgive me?”

He waits, heart pounding in his chest. Tim continues to stare at him, looking like a statue, until he slowly moves closer. Jason almost cries when his brother wraps his arms around Jason’s neck, and he immediately returns the embrace, squeezing his eyes shut as he buries his face in Tim’s strawberry-scented hair.

“I forgive,” Tim replies. “And I wuv you, Jay.”

Jason’s breath hitches and his vision blurs. Something hot streaks down his cheek and falls off his chin, but he pays it no mind. “I love you too,” he whispers. “Thank you.”

They stay like that until Tim starts squirming, trying to escape the hug. Jason releases the boy and watches as he rolls over to the Lego set he brought into the room. Tim drags it over with a grunt of effort and then leans it against Jason’s lap, gazing at him with a smile.

“Jay, open?” he says hopefully.

“What? You can’t do it yourself?”

“No…” Tim holds up his hands. “They’re too small!”

“Uh-huh, sure, Timmy. It’s not because you want your big brothers to do everything for you, right?” 

Despite his words, Jason drags the box closer and carefully opens it (he knows Tim likes to preserve them, for whatever reason). He pulls out the bags full of Lego pieces and the instruction manual. Jason passes the latter item over to Tim, who flips through the pages with pursed lips and a furrowed brow.

It’s such a Bruce expression that pushes an amused huff out of him because, really, it all makes sense now that he knows about Tim’s true parentage.

(“I wish Bwuce was my father. My weal one.”)

Well, Timmy, Jason thinks as his baby brother opens one of the bags, glancing from one piece to the booklet and back. His face holds a concentration that Jason is used to seeing on his older counterpart when he’s dealing with casework, definitely similar to Bruce, too. Looks like you got your wish.

Tim works in silence, only stopping to eat the pieces of string cheese that Jason passes over after a while. He also accepts a raspberry lemonade fruit bar, eating half of it before giving the rest to Jason.

Taking care of Tim is an easy distraction, one that prevents him from thinking too hard about his family out in Gotham, dealing with Arkham escapees. It also prevents him from lingering on the new information about the Joker’s death, which is great because Jason thinks he needs a lot of time to sort through his feelings on the matter.

“Wats,” Tim says at some point, a frown on his face. “My Wego went under the bed. Can you get it for me, Jay?”

“Sure, sure,” Jason grumbles, leaning down and extending an arm into the darkness. “That’s all I’m good for, apparently.”

“Thank you!”

Jason tries to feel around for the Lego brick, only to pause when his fingers brush over a few pieces of paper. He glances at Tim, who is attaching wheels to the base of his structure, and then pulls a few of them out.

The first is a drawing of a tiny, cartoonish figure lying in bed, with someone who might be Alfred standing on one side and a person dressed in blue (probably Dick) on the other. Funnily enough, the word MOM is written across the top, but what piques his interest the most is the red teardrops leaking from the smaller person’s eyes.

“Pumpkin,” Jason says, tilting the drawing towards Tim. “What’s this?”

“Um…” Tim glances over, cocking his head to the side. He stares at the drawing for a long moment before returning to his Lego build. “Something scawy.”

“Right,” Jason replies, a stone settling in his stomach. 

He drops his gaze back to the papers, placing the first drawing back in its original spot. Jason scratches the side of his jaw before flipping over the next one, confused when he sees a small person in Robin’s colors strapped to a gray table, the rest of the page filled with blue zig-zags.

“And this?” Jason asks, tapping it. “What’s going on here?”

“Oh, that’s the ewectwicity,” Tim explains after he looks over. He shifts closer and drags a finger over one of the jagged lines, showing the path to Robin’s small head. “He put it in my bwain.”

“Who?” Jason wonders, but Tim just shrugs and moves away.

The paper slips off his lap and onto the floor. Jason pays it no mind as he takes a moment to breathe, his pulse beating rapidly with a strange surge of anxiety. He picks up the next drawing off his lap, and the world stops after he turns it over.

There are six panels on the page, each filled with a different image. The first one in the top left corner causes Jason’s body to break out into cold sweat. He stares at a person with green hair, standing beside a smaller, carbon copy of their taller counterpart. They both have matching red smiles that go beyond their cheeks.

Batman takes up the panel beside it, but he doesn’t look like the looming figure that Jason knows, no. He’s held up by a pale hand, a line of blood leaving his mouth, while he gazes forward sadly. His dialogue bubble is crossed out by angry red markings, but Jason can make out the letter T.

A gun appears in the next one. It’s held by small hands and surrounded by an overlapping pattern of HA HA HA. The weapon is pointed toward the fourth section, which simply has the word BANG written on it in bright colors.

Joker (because it has to be him, it can’t be anyone else) lies face down on the ground in the bottom left, his body surrounded by a pool of blood. Batman sits beside the corpse, a shapeless figure in black with his eyes crossed out in red. 

The laughter circles both of them, leaking into the final panel that shows only the green-haired kid. Their bright red smile from earlier is upside-down, twin streaks of tears trailing down their white cheeks. There’s also a small, black rectangle beneath the kid that has two words written on it in white ink: It’s okay.

His vision blurs the longer he stares at the drawing, and Jason finds that it’s difficult to get air in. Something squeezes his chest, and it feels like the walls are closing in on him, collapsing like debris—where smoke filled his lungs, the darkness encroaching as the seconds trickled on by, the world fading around him.

The paper falls to the floor, and somehow, his hands find another. Again, there’s that red smile painted on a white face, blue eyes staring up at him. Blue.

“Jay? What’s wwong?”

It’s Tim, it’s Tim, it’s Tim, it’s Tim, it’s Tim, it’s Tim.

This mantra causes him to stare at his brother, those same blue eyes staring back at him, only this time, it’s in confusion.

He wants to grab hold of Tim and check him over to make sure that monster didn’t leave any lasting marks. Jason needs to make sure that Tim’s body doesn’t shake with phantom pains, wants to make sure there’s no trace of green hair dye or white face paint, and no red lips that still laugh in Jason’s nightmares.

But he can’t.

His hands—there’s too much strength in them, too much blood staining his skin. Jason can feel his anger simmering beneath his skin alongside his fear. His next breath comes out as a desperate gasp as he spies a flicker of green.

“Pumpkin,” Jason finally rasps out, nearly tearing the paper in half. “Can you—” He swallows around the lump in his throat. “Don’t be near me right now.”

Tim frowns. “Why, Jay?”

“I don’t—” He releases the drawing, nails digging into the palms of his hands. It breaks skin, and blood drips onto the white paper, bleeding into the reflection of the kid sitting in front of him. “Pumpkin, please. I need you to go.” There’s a tinge of desperation in his voice. “Call someone. Just go. Please.”

His baby brother stares at him with wide eyes. Like an owl, Jason thinks. Just like an owl.

Then, something akin to realization appears on his face, and Tim crawls over, reaching up slowly. Jason flinches away initially but stills when a tiny hand presses against his face, where blood once coated it after he got hit with that damn crowbar.

“Jay,” Tim says, sweet and soft and kind. “ Jay. ”

Everything blurs after that, his mind slipping into a fog while his body continues moving. 

He walks out of the room, led by a tiny figure that moves through silent halls. They stop in front of a closed door, and then Jason’s all alone. A keen bounces off the bleeding walls, green water sloshing beneath his feet, and he wants to run, but he can’t—there’s a kid here, and he can’t just leave them!

“Jay,” someone says. “Here. You take Zitka, okay?”

Something soft and fuzzy gets shoved into his hand while the person takes the other, guiding him back the way they came. Jason feels better now that the kid is with him, even though he doesn’t know where they’re going.

They stop in front of something tall, and suddenly, the air around them is cold.

He’s in a small space, going down, down, down. It feels like he’s seconds away from being buried in dirt. His breathing picks up, and he instinctively squeezes the furry thing he’s holding, listening to the sound of another voice, much younger, begging for someone named ‘B.’

The hand is warm.

His knees shake when he finds himself on much more stable ground, the sound of squeaking high above his head. Jason can hear the hum of machines around him, each step echoing around them. Disappointment, anger, and grief wage a war inside of him as the same person keeps asking to be saved, and he doesn’t know how to tell them that help will never arrive in time.

The hand is warm.

He’s led into a cell surrounded by four bullet-proof walls. There’s a bed and a stack of books, and a small figure staring up at him with bright blue eyes.

Jason remembers seeing those before, only this time, the image of the child in his head is replaced with one coated in blood, leaking out of a slender neck. Guilt leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and he gags, his stomach churning as he’s led to a corner of the cell. A small tug of his arm forces him down to his knees, pain rocketing up his spine and making him whine.

“Jay,” the kid whispers. “S’okay, Jay. Sit with me.”

He sits.

Tim, his mind whispers as he watches the other person crawl into his lap, wedged between the wall and Jason. This is Tim. Your baby brother. Tim.

His brother is warm.

Everything burns and phantom aches threaten to bring him back to the moment of his death. It hurts, it hurts so bad, and he wants someone to hurt, wants to put it back into the world, but there’s someone small and precious staring up at him, and Jason—

He is Robin. Jason is not Robin. 

Jason is Red Hood. He is not Red Hood.

He is Jason Todd.

Jason Todd is… not alive, but he breathes.

And this tiny person breathes with him.

Jason crumbles, wrapping his arms around his baby brother. His eyes are wide and his hands are shaking, but he holds this precious child close, burying his face in soft, strawberry-scented strands. He breathes in deep, focusing on Tim’s warmth, and he catches sight of what’s in his hand.

It’s a small stuffed elephant, the fur worn and flat but well-loved.

“Zitka,” Tim murmurs.

“Zitka,” Jason repeats hoarsely.

The green beckons him, still. It wants to hurt someone, wants to tear through them and make them bleed, just so they never harm the person in his arms again.

Protect, Jason thinks when it draws closer, bubbling dangerously close to the surface. There’s no stopping it, not when laughter rings so close to his ears, not when he can hear that deranged voice alongside it. 

Did Tim hear all of that, too? Did he beg for someone to help him, only to be left unheard? 

Protect him, he pleads, one last time, before he sinks beneath the depths.

Chapter Text

Dick slips into the room without making a sound, peeling off his mask the moment he feels secure.

He makes his way over to an empty bedroom, shedding the suit he often wears like a second skin and changing into civilian clothes he stashed here. Dick lifts his arms above his head in a stretch afterwards, mouth cracking open in a yawn as he enters a dark den lit up by a wall of computers and makes his way over to the redhead sitting before all of them, slim fingers flying over the keys.

“Hey,” Barbara says without looking up.

“Hi,” Dick replies, leaning closer to squint at the screen that contains all their trackers. It shows Nightwing and Oracle beside each other, as expected, and Batman seems to be somewhere downtown with Robin at his side while both Batgirls are in Crime Alley.

Lastly, Red Hood’s tracker shows that he’s still in the manor with a teeny dinosaur symbol that Barbara made to represent a four-year-old Tim.

“Everything look okay?” he asks.

Barbara sighs. “Yes, Dick,” she answers, sounding exasperated. “For the twenty-fourth time tonight, everything is fine at the manor. They haven’t left, and the sensors haven’t picked up on anyone entering the building.” She pauses in her typing to turn her chair, gazing up at him with a smirk. “I didn’t realize you were such a mother hen.”

“Shut up,” Dick grumbles, crossing his arms. “I’m worried, that’s all. The night that we had…” He sighs, shaking his head. “It’s got me more paranoid than usual, I guess. And this is the first time I’ve been away from him—excluding his weekend with Jason, of course.”

“Ah,” she says, inclining her head. “Is that why you’re trying to go home early?”

Dick squints at her. “Respectfully,” he says. “I’m going to decline to answer your question on account of me knowing that Bruce made you ask, and I don’t want to talk to Bruce right now.”

“What’d he do now?” Barbara asks, reaching up to tap on the comm in her ear. “He’s not listening anymore, by the way, but he’s also busy with some unruly minions of the escapees, so I doubt he was tuned in.”

“Oh, he was,” Dick tells her, leaning against her desk. “And then he’ll bring it up later when I least expect it.” He eyes Batman’s symbol on the screen, chewing on his bottom lip. “There’s something he’s not telling me, though. I just can’t figure out what.”

“He’s Batman,” Barbara says with a snort, turning back to the keyboard to start typing something—a string of code that makes no sense to Dick. “He’s the King of secrets, Dick.”

“Not with me,” he says quietly, gazing down at the ground. “We’ve moved past that.”

Dick feels the weight of Barbara’s stare on him, burning into the side of his head. Instead of acknowledging it, he combs his fingers through his hair, gently separating the knots that appeared after bouncing from rooftop to rooftop, leading Steph to the next criminal at Barbara’s command until they were able to round up all the Arkham escapees.

Except…

“Hey,” he says, curious. “Did you know that the Joker is dead?”

Barbara stops.

See, the thing about both of them is that they’re always in motion—their minds running constantly, causing their bodies to move with it to keep pace, though in vastly different ways. It’s unnerving to see Barbara so still, eyes blankly staring ahead, looking like she’s barely breathing. Dick reaches out to place a hand on her arm, jerking back when her head abruptly turns toward him.

“How?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “B wasn’t too forthcoming about the details after Tim…” Here, he pauses when he considers the bearer of the news, voice growing faint, “After Tim told Jason that he died.”

“Oh,” she says.

Slowly, she reaches out with both hands to tap on a few keys. A file appears on screen, revealing the Joker’s signature red grin, eyes pulled taut with vicious delight. The sight of his painted face sends a shiver down Dick’s spine, and his hand ghosts over his shoulder, where his gunshot wound throbs with phantom pain.

DECEASED, it reads underneath his alias.

“He’s dead,” Barbara whispers, tone lilting at the end in disbelief.

“He’s dead,” Dick echoes, something cracking through the middle. His knuckles tremble in remembrance of slamming into that clown’s face, blood clinging to the gloves of his old suit. He recalls, ever-so-clearly, the rage that overwhelmed him and how it tangled with the grief roaring through him, even clawing through the panic and fear over being too late again, pushing him to the edge.

(“Imagine how mad he’ll be if I’ve whacked two Boy Wonders on the same day!”)

His vision swims.

“I-I don’t—” Barbara cuts herself by covering her mouth, breathing raggedly.

Dick watches absently as she squeezes her eyes shut, face twisted in what seems to be pain. He wonders if she, too, is thinking about all the scars he left on her or about the breaks he left in all of them, or maybe she’s hearing maniacal laughter ringing in her ears.

(“I hit Jason a lot harder than that.”)

His body does something funny, then—fracturing, pieces drifting off him like dandelions, going up and up. “I should go,” his voice says, somewhat flat. “I need to check on Jason and Tim.”

“That’s fine,” Barbara says, sounding like she’s underwater “I… need time. Please.”

Dick loses all sense of self after that, and then he abruptly comes back to himself due to the sensation of the wind biting his face as he rides his bike through Gotham. He tastes copper in his mouth, sharp and distinct, and realizes that he bit the inside of his cheek raw at some point.

There are tears on his face, too, clinging to his lashes and blurring his vision because he’s so fucking happy, and he hates himself for it.

Because he wishes that he did it, and he wants to kill himself for even thinking it.

(“His name was Jason, right?”)

“Yes,” he whispers. “Yes.”

Dick pulls over in an empty lot just to scream.

★★

The manor welcomes him with warm lights, and although it’s no longer a place that causes anxiety to roll and fester in his stomach, all he can do is stare blankly at the building he still calls home. 

He slowly reaches over to shut off his bike, gravel crunching beneath his boots after he slips off it. Dick makes his way up the steps, hands trembling when he pulls out his keys. It takes a couple of tries for him to unlock it, and he feels an almost overwhelming sense of relief when he finally enters the manor, taking a moment to breathe.

His throat aches.

Dick rubs a hand down his face, slightly overwhelmed. He sheds the jacket off his shoulders so he can finally search for his brothers, but then pauses, perplexed, and turns in a circle.

He hears the soft hum of the air conditioning and his nose catches the faint smell of cheese. Other than that, the house seems utterly silent and still, which is a bit unusual considering the occupants of the night.

Tim and Jason might be distracted by something, Dick tells himself as he toes off his shoes, placing them on the shoe rack by the door and hanging his coat on the hook. He slowly makes his way to the stairs, lingering at the bottom step before curling his hand around the intricately designed rail and making his way up. They probably didn’t hear me.

Dick stops by Jason’s claimed room first, pushing the door open to see nothing. The bed and the comforter are pristine and flat, the way Alfred likes, and there’s not a thing out of place. He frowns and moves onto his own room, thinking that they might have holed up there for the night.

And nope, nothing.

“Huh,” Dick says, feeling a flicker of unease. His body twitches, and he shakes his hands to try and get rid of his nerves, walking over to Tim’s (old) room next. He stops when he sees light spilling out the small crack of the door, instinctively reaching for his escrima sticks—which he doesn’t have because he left them with Barbara.

“Fuck,” Dick whispers, staring at the wood. He chews on his bottom lip before shrugging and slowly pushing it open, only to find it void of any people. “What?”

There’s a mess of Legos on the floor, and the box beside it tells him that it’s from the set for the Batmobile. Dick carefully steps through the mess and comes to a stop in front of a small pile of papers. He stares, confused, and crouches down to sift through them. Dick stops when he comes across a drawing of a person with green hair, that unease from earlier expanding into dread.

Dick makes his way over to the grandfather clock, papers in hand. He changes the time and bolts downstairs, startling some of the bats with his harsh breathing when he makes it to the Batcave.

There’s someone in the cell.

He stares at those broad shoulders and slowly makes his way over, stilling when a head pops up. Vivid green eyes suddenly meet his own, and Dick tucks the papers away in his back pocket so he can hold his hands up, making sure to keep his body language as open as possible.

“Hey, Jay,” Dick says softly, edging closer. “It’s just me. Dick, remember?”

Jason turns completely, cocking his head to the side like a puzzled puppy. The lack of recognition on his face unnerves Dick, causing his hair to stand on end, but he tries to not let it show. Instead, he offers a tentative smile.

“Dick,” he says again. “Nightwing. Big Wing.” Nothing seems to jar his brother out of this state. “Robin?” Nope. “Okay, then…” Dick clears his throat, slowly crouching in front of the door, Jason’s eyes following every move. “If you’re in there,” he says, softening his voice. “Could you tell me or show me where you’re keeping Tim?”

His brother furrows his brows, hands flexing at his sides. He makes a low sound, shoulders dropping, and Dick feels a rush of victory that quickly gets swept away when Jason’s head snaps up to glare at the other entrance to the Batcave, where a sleek, black car is slowly pulling in.

“Oh, no,” Dick mutters, watching as Jason’s lips pull back in a snarl the moment Bruce slides out of the car. He hops up and spreads his arms out, waving his hands. “Don’t!” he shouts, but Bruce turns toward him, and that seems to undo Jason.

He makes an animalistic sound and bellows with rage, throwing himself against the glass. Dick panics, not wanting Jason to hurt himself, and runs over to Bruce. He grabs the older man’s cape and drags him across the room to a hidden nook by the stairs, peeking around to watch his brother while Damian and Cass join him.

Jason bangs against the wall a couple of more times before he stops. His head turns both ways with a suspicious look, and then he slowly starts walking the perimeter of his cell, shoulders carrying a tension that’s still visible, despite the distance.

“Okay,” Dick whispers, turning to face Bruce.

The cowl is down, and the expression on his face can only be described as devastating. “What happened?” he asks. “What caused this? How did he get down here? And where’s Tim?”

“Angry,” Cass says suddenly, silently stepping forward with her eyes fixed on Jason. “Not like usual. Confused and worried. Hurting, but not in body.” She pauses, cocking her head to the side, and adds, sounding curious, “Protective.”

“Protective?” Dick frowns. “Protective of what?”

“We can find out,” Damian says and dares to march forward. Dick stumbles forward to grab him, but Damian dances out of his reach, and the scrape of his boots against the ground is enough to catch Jason’s attention again.

Dick freezes, shivering when those poisonous green eyes slide over to him. There’s something so… wrong about seeing his brother this way and knowing he’s not truly there.

Damian hums, and Jason’s attention flashes over to him, but he doesn’t show any violent reactions like he did with Bruce. Instead, he continues to stand in the center of the cell before he makes a wounded sound, retreating to the corner where Dick first found him and curling around a bundle of… something on the floor.

“Do you see, now?” Damian asks quietly, tugging Dick back over to the nook. “Can all of you see?”

Dick squints at where Jason is sitting. His hand strokes over the bundle, and then it shifts, causing alarm to spike through Dick. He barely stops himself from moving forward, waiting as it rolls over, revealing a small, familiar face.

“Tim,” Bruce breathes. “He’s trying to protect him.”

“From what?” Cass asks.

Dick then remembers the papers he stuffed into his back pocket and how the first one he saw was a reflection of the Joker, one of his brother’s main triggers. He swallows and reaches out to tug on Bruce’s arm, waiting until the other man looks at him before saying, “We need to leave.”

Bruce looks uncertain.

“I know you want to stay when he’s hurting,” Dick says, glancing over at Jason. “I know you want to try and help, but judging by his reaction from earlier, your help is only going to make things worse. So, let’s go upstairs and wait it out.”

Damian shuffles closer. “I agree with Richard,” he says quietly. “And if there is a threat here, then we have a better chance of dealing with it if we go upstairs. Staying down here will only result in Jason harming himself.”

“Okay,” Bruce murmurs after a beat. “But what about Tim?”

“Safe,” Cass assures. “Little brother will protect baby brother.”

And as Dick stares at Jason, those glowing green eyes scanning the entire Cave before refocusing on a slumbering Tim, a look of wonder and tenderness on his face, he can’t help but agree with the sentiment. 

Nothing will happen to Tim while Jason is there, and Dick knows that in this state, Jason would go to the extreme to ensure not a single hair on Tim’s head is touched.

Dick’s okay with that.

★★

Bruce, Damian, and Cass shed their suits and gear, leaving them in Bruce’s study.

Dick snags the laptop connected to the security cameras from there and leads them down to the dining room after they change into pajamas, where he picks a random seat and immediately searches for the camera that’s pointed directly at the cell.

Jason is pacing again, and he seems less agitated than before. At some point, he loops over to the small bundle in the corner and peels the jacket back. Dick can hear Tim’s little snuffle, the kind of sound he makes when he’s deeply asleep, and he watches as Jason brushes Tim’s hair away from his face, releasing a rough croon that sounds out of place. He continues these ministrations for a moment longer before he stands and resumes his pacing.

“He’ll be fine,” Damian assures with a glance at Bruce, sliding into the seat beside Dick. “Timothy won’t be harmed.”

“I know,” Dick replies, pushing the laptop away to put his head in his hands. “I’m just worried about what may have caused this… episode.”

“Do you have any ideas?” Bruce asks. “You were here before us, Dick. Were there any clues or—”

“There was something, alright,” Dick says quickly, lifting his head to stare at his brother on the laptop screen. His little brother is sitting with his back against the wall and Tim’s head in his lap, one of his hands stroking something soft and fuzzy—oh, that’s Zitka.

Zitka’s taking care of Jason the way she used to take care of Dick after his nightmares.

“I went into Tim’s room,” he finds himself saying. “Hoping to find my little brothers. Instead, I found the beginnings of a new build and a stack of papers.” Dick thinks of the childish drawing of a person with green hair, how Tim took an interest in art recently, and the implications frighten him. “But I need you to answer something first.”

“Yes?”

“How did the Joker die?”

Bruce stares at him for a very long moment, fingers steepled in front of his mouth. “It’s a very long story,” he eventually says.

“Tell it,” Dick says, though it comes out more snappish. “This is something you’ve hidden from us for too long, Bruce. It’s about time your secret comes to light.”

“I would also like to know,” Damian admits. “He’s been a stain within our family for far too long, and to learn that he’s dead? Without knowing how?” He shakes his head, leaning over to drag the laptop closer. “I don’t understand why you kept silent about this, Father.”

“Afraid,” Cass pipes up. “For someone else. Hurt, but not in body. Worried. Protective.”

Here, Bruce smiles indulgently. “Excellent work,” he says quietly. “You’re getting better at reading me.” He sighs and rubs a hand down his face, leaning back against the chair. “Why are you asking me now? Shouldn’t we be talking about Jason?”

“I have a feeling this might relate to Jason,” Dick says. He pulls out the papers from his back pocket and unfolds them, dropping the stack in front of Bruce. “Explain,” he demands. A couple of pages slide across the table, revealing a bright red grin. “What the hell is this?”

Bruce picks up a paper with a cartoonish, green-haired child on the front, looking weary. Dick can see the way he brushes his fingers over the teardrops on the kid’s painted face, his hand carrying a slight tremble that Dick never sees.

“It was a few years ago,” he begins in a low voice, setting the page down and lacing his fingers together. Bruce looks old, weary, and Dick feels a trickle of unease crawl down his spine. “A quiet night in Gotham. I thought about calling patrol off early, but Tim insisted he heard something and asked to check it out on his own. He was a capable Robin, and he could think on his feet, so I indulged this request and waited for him in the Batmobile, trusting that he’d make his way back to me soon.”

Here, Bruce pauses, glassy eyes staring beyond them. “He was gone for three weeks,” he says. “My trackers couldn’t find him.”

“What?” Dick breathes in shock, glad to see similar emotions passing over the faces of Damian and Cass. “What the fuck, Bruce?”

“I searched day and night, hoping to find any information on who may have kidnapped Tim,” Bruce continues as if he never spoke, reaching out to fan out the papers. Dick’s eyes catch sight of bright colors before Bruce picks up that particular paper, brows pulled together as he gazes down at it. “And then, I got a lead.”

Dick doesn’t speak, doesn’t encourage him to continue when Bruce stops to exhale raggedly. There’s something about the sorrow in his eyes, the lines of grief in his face before he bows his head that seems familiar.

“The building was decrepit, in the worst parts of Gotham,” Bruce says after a while, one hand wrinkling the paper from the force of his grip. Now, his voice turns flat, like he’s delivering a report to them, closing himself off from outside emotions to focus on the case. “Broken furniture inside, and a voice singing a lullaby. I followed it through the building and found Harley Quinn and the Joker, acting domestic with each other.”

“I asked where they were keeping Robin, and they acted as if they’d never heard of the name before, and then claimed—” Bruce abruptly cuts himself off, pressing his lips together. He reaches over with his other hand and grabs the portrait of the green-haired child, turning it towards them and tapping a finger on one of the tears.

Dick stares at the childish drawing, his heart pounding in his ears. Slowly, he drags it closer to him, dread settling in his stomach like a stone when he realizes that the blue eyes look so, so familiar…

“They called him Junior,” Bruce says dully. “Joker Junior. Jay or JJ for short. He looked just like him, too, with his dyed hair and painted face, and the laugh —high-pitched and hurting, so unlike…” He audibly swallows and rubs the side of his jaw.

“They dispersed, and I chased Joker through the building, where he led me to a theater and showed me a video of what he did to Robin.” Bruce plucks out the paper with a small figure strapped to a table and passes it over.

Dick stares at the blue, zig-zagging shapes cresting around Robin’s head, mouth dry. “What did he do?” he manages to ask, voice breaking halfway through. He lifts his eyes to stare at his father, feeling bleak. “What the fuck did he do to my little brother?”

“He was tortured,” Bruce whispers, a lone tear slipping down his cheek. “Electroconvulsive therapy and some experimental serums, over and over until something broke.” His hand releases the other paper, and he lays it flat on the table, smoothing it out to show the bright colors that Dick previously saw. “Tim broke.”

Two figures stand together, both alike in colors with green hair on top of their heads and bright red smiles stretching across their faces.

(Tim broke, Dick thinks, remembering a time when he was sitting in a corner of an empty, cold room, his dreams of escaping slowly dwindling away with each new scar he received. I broke.)

Bruce huffs out a laugh, bitter and self-deprecating. “I wanted to hurt the Joker,” he admits, a note of shame in his words. “All I could do was stare at Tim’s pain and think how it was my fault this happened, how he never would have been taken if—” He shakes his head. “We fought, but he got the upper hand. He called Tim his, and he gave Tim a gun.”

He brushes his fingers over one of the panels on the paper. Dick leans over to see Batman’s shadowy form gazing sadly up at them, held up by a gloved hand. There’s a scratched-out text bubble above his head, but Dick can make out the letter T.

“The Joker told Tim to make him proud like he was Tim’s actual dad, and Tim started laughing, even when he pulled the trigger on me. It was a trick, of course it was, and Joker pushed him to do it again, and Tim…” Bruce taps one of the last panels, where Joker lies face down in a pool of blood, Batman sitting beside his corpse with his eyes crossed out in red. “Tim turned the gun onto the Joker and shot him in the heart. That was when his laughter turned into tears.”

Silence follows.

Dick’s suddenly very aware of his rapid breathing and the way his body goes cold and clammy. He blinks, and his hands are holding the paper with the six panels, lingering on the last one, where his little brother cries, someone assuring him that it’s okay. He blinks, and he’s gazing at the rest of his family, who all stare back at him in varying degrees of concern.

“Dick?” Bruce says. “Chum?”

“Richard, are you…” Damian starts, eyes wide.

“Not okay,” Cass murmurs, shaking her head.

He opens his mouth to speak, only to turn his head and vomit on the floor.

★★

The kitchen is filled with the sounds of his hitched breaths, each one spilling out of him in tandem with the tears dripping off his chin and into the sink. Plip-plop.

Dick curls his fingers around the edges of the counter and squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he could forget everything from beginning to end. Bile rises in his throat, and he curls forward, going through a couple of breathing exercises so he doesn’t throw up again.

Someone enters the kitchen, and they brush shoulders with Dick as they stand beside him. The faucet turns on, and Dick cracks an eye open when he feels something cold touch his arm. He accepts the glass of water with a shaking hand and brings it up to his lips, taking a small sip to swish it around his mouth and cleanse some of the taste of vomit.

He meets Bruce’s gaze after spitting out the water. The older man looks just as wrecked as Dick feels.

“Where was I?” Dick asks hoarsely because he has to know why he didn’t notice his little brother going missing for three weeks. Then, with a surge of anger, he adds, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tim didn’t want you to know.”

The words bounce around Dick’s head as his heart shatters. He stares at Bruce with wide eyes, wondering why Tim didn’t trust him enough to talk about this—but then, he remembers how he felt in the aftermath of the whole Blockbuster mess, how Dick couldn’t say a word about what happened to him when he went missing for a few months as a teenager.

“Oh,” he says.

Bruce sighs and leans against the counter, shutting his eyes. He looks old again, the image made stronger by the faint streaks of gray at his temples. “Tim didn’t want anyone to know,” he continues quietly. “So, I covered it up with Gordon and Alfred’s help, and I took Tim back home to start working on counteracting all of the serums in him. He was… quieter, and he sometimes had these lapses where he’d confuse me with the Joker, thinking that he was still Junior. Being Robin helped with that, though.”

“You let him back out there?” Dick hisses, setting the glass down to jab a finger into Bruce’s chest. “What the fuck, Bruce? You should have kept him at home!”

“I tried to stop him,” Bruce replies, eyes darting away. “But staying home and doing nothing resulted in more Junior lapses. Keeping his mind busy helped with the trauma, so letting him go back out there as Robin wasn’t a choice made out of selfishness like you may think. No, it was the only way I could keep him alive.”

Dick slowly lowers his hand, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “What do you mean by that?” he asks cautiously.

“Sometimes, he got this look in his eyes,” Bruce answers quietly. “I recognized it as the one I used to see in the mirror after… after Jason.”

His stomach churns again, and Dick quickly turns to hunch over the sink, gagging up watery bile. A warm hand rests on his back, and Dick doesn’t have the strength to move away from the touch right now, squeezing his eyes shut as his crying begins anew.

★★

He leaves the kitchen after a while, bypassing the dining room altogether. 

Dick can’t stomach the idea of eating food after all of that, nor can he bring himself to look at Bruce, so he retreats to his room and locks the door behind him. He changes into his comfiest clothes (Wally’s sweats and Wally’s hoodie) and throws himself on his bed, his head bouncing on something soft.

He pushes himself up on one elbow and grabs—

“Oh,” Dick says. “Hi, Batwalker.”

The stuffed dinosaur stares back at him, probably missing his very best friend. Dick should go and pass it over to Tim, but for now…

He wraps his arms around Batwalker and buries his face in it, tearing up when he gets the familiar scent of Tim’s strawberry shampoo.

I need to check on him, Dick thinks, curling up on his side.

But the thought of moving seems as difficult as it sounds. Dick exhales shakily and squeezes his eyes shut, heart constricting over the thought of his brothers, stuck in a cell together, both hurt by the same madman.

Jason explained to him once that some of his tamer Pit episodes are similar to a dissociative-like state, disconnecting him from the world before he’s swept away beneath what he simply calls ‘green.’ By then, his body runs on instinct and feelings, and Jason usually doesn’t remember what happens when he comes back to himself.

Usually.

Dick has yet to witness the worst episodes, but he’s seen Jason in the aftermath—all haggard and pale with deep shadows underneath his eyes, haunted by things that Dick will never see. His little brother is more willing to accept his care during this time, nestling close like he’s still a scrawny teenager while they’re watching movies on his couch, eventually falling asleep.

“I’ll go down there later,” Dick promises, directing it to Batwalker. The dinosaur says nothing, of course, but he still feels some weight lift off his shoulders, similar to how he used to feel whenever he’d vent all of his worries to Zitka as a kid. It was already in his mental plans, but saying it out loud makes it feel more real, like he’ll actually do it instead of putting it off.

“After some sleep, maybe,” he continues, feeling the slight ache in his eyes from all of his crying. Dick rubs his knuckles against them and spends some time afterwards blinking away the black spots in his vision, turning over onto his back to stare up at the glowing stars he put up there to entertain Tim (and himself).

Dick focuses on one, trying to lull his mind into a state of calm that’ll drag him into the depths of sleep.

It doesn't work.

He keeps staring up at those stars, Bruce’s story bouncing around in his head. It’s a horror that Dick can’t escape, and although he’s exhausted, Dick can’t stop feeling the occasional flickers of anger whenever he thinks about his sweet little brothers being hurt by the Joker, one losing his life and the other losing his mind.

“I wish he stayed dead when I killed him,” Dick whispers, and his stomach lurches from the truth.

He throws himself off the bed and stumbles into the bathroom, falling to his knees to heave into the toilet. Nothing comes out, only a few gobs of spit, and he sits against the bathtub, wrapping his arms around his knees while he stares at nothing.

Dick remembers being happy back then because he wouldn’t hurt another soul, but hating himself at the same time for being the one to take his life, a part of him hating Bruce for being the one to resuscitate the Joker.

His phone buzzes, and Dick huffs, uncurling himself from his scrunched-up position to dig through his pocket and pull out his phone. He rubs his forehead, trying to combat the throbbing in his temples, and squints down at the text from Bruce.

It’s a link to the security camera stream from Jason’s cell.

Dick clicks on it immediately.

Tim is awake.

He’s sitting between Jason’s legs with a book open in his lap (they keep a small stack in the cell sometimes) and Zitka on top of Jason’s head. Dick can hear Tim flipping through the pages, quiet wisps of the sheets barely caught by the security camera’s microphone, but then Tim makes a noise of interest and holds the book up.

“Jay,” he says. “I can’t wead some of these words, so I’m gonna tell you a stowy. Okay? Okay.” Tim sets the book aside and takes a deep, deep breath. “Once upon a time, there was a small puppy that needed a home! And then someone picked him fwom all the other puppies and gave him all the wuv and snacks! The puppy gwew to be a big puppy because of that, and then that person could cwimb all over and wide him evewywhere! The End!” Here, Tim pauses before adding, “That’s the kind of puppy I want.”

Dick huffs out a laugh, feeling a rush of affection for his cute baby brother. He tries not to think about the fact that something like Clifford the Big Red Dog may exist out there somewhere.

“I say before that Mother didn’t wike ‘em,” Tim continues, dragging his hands over Jason’s pants. “Father say no evewy time I asked, too. But! One time, I made fwiends with waccoon baby in my backyard! Sometimes, I pet it, and that was almost wike having a puppy!” He sighs. “It went away, though, and then I had no fwiend.”

Then, Tim smiles shyly, tipping his head back against Jason’s chest. “But you’re my fwiend!” he says happily. “Wight, Jay? You’re my, um. Bwother-fwiend.” Tim turns and reaches up to pat Jason’s face, which causes Jason to hum. “It’s okay, Jay. We stay wight here until you feel better, and then Dickie will come get us. He always does!”

Dick locks his phone, staring at his reflection on the dark screen.

He feels sick again because, no, that’s not true. Dick’s always too late, and it seems like it’ll be a constant in his life—never there in time to save his family, no matter how hard he tries. All he can do is sit there and think about his mistakes, how Jason and Tim were both tortured while Dick was miles and miles away, unaware of what was happening to his little brothers.

(Dick suddenly remembers a moment, not too long ago, when he asked Tim to spar with him in a desperate attempt to reconnect with his baby brother.

He caught Tim when he was training with his bo staff, wielding it against the training dummies in the Cave. Timmy weaved through them with a grace similar to Cass, landing blow after blow and dancing away like he expected to get hit. 

Dick popped the question when Tim stopped for water. Tim had paused, staring at him for a long moment after Dick asked before he agreed. He swapped his bo out for a practice one, tossing the escrima sticks over to Dick.

“What?” Dick had asked with playful mockery, nodding at his regular gear. “Afraid of a little electricity?”

“Something like that,” Tim said after a beat, something dark in his eyes. He then cocked his hip to the side with a cocky smirk, slinging the bo staff over his shoulders while he asked, “Afraid you can’t beat me with the standard equipment?”

Never one to back out of a challenge, Dick immediately launched himself at his brother, wood bouncing off wood as Tim blocked his attack. He never thought twice about Tim’s decision, never once considered that there may be something darker lurking beneath the surface.

Until now.

His stomach rolls with nausea, and Dick gags, hunching over to the toilet again. Saliva dribbles out of his mouth. It falls into the toilet with a despairing plop. He stares into the clear waters and wishes he could fucking drown in it, wishes he’d been there to save his little brother from pain, wishes that he never uncovered the truth tonight.

Dick shoves his fingers into his mouth, nails scraping against the back of his throat, and he vomits bile. It burns through him and brings stinging tears to his eyes, reminding him that he deserves this for not being there—his penance, a sin to carry with him forever.)

★★

He’s sitting in a cold cell, head tipped back against the uneven brick wall.

There are no windows here, nothing to tell him how much time has passed besides the internal clock that was trained into him. Dick eyes the light buzzing in the ceiling, a couple of flies bouncing off the bulb, and estimates that it’s probably around noon, which means he has plenty of time to himself before his so-called Master returns.

Dick heaves himself off the cot with a grunt, clutching his side as he shuffles over to the tray of food that he ignored earlier. It was delivered to him with a half-assed order to eat, a reward for Dick after he pulled off the recent heist without being detected.

He pretended to be asleep, aware of the single eye watching him before finally departing. Dick made sure not to touch it afterwards in case he was still around because there was a high chance that it was filled with a sedative.

It’s been half a day now. If he hasn’t arrived yet, then maybe Dick will be okay.

Dick kneels beside the tray and picks up the cold sandwich, taking a tentative bite. He grimaces and lifts a hand up to his jaw, massaging a thumb into the side of it to soothe the ache from his last spar. Dick tries to eat slower, but it’s so hard when he’s so fucking hungry.

His gaze flits over to the markings he carved into the wall—ninety-nine of them, to be exact. Wait…

Dick pushes himself up, walking back to his measly cot to bend over and grab the jagged piece of broken metal he tucked away in one of the grooves. Then, he hobbles over to the wall and starts making another mark, moving his tool up and down until there’s an indent beside the rest.

“Well,” he says bitterly. “Let’s give it up for Day 100.”

He finishes the rest of his sandwich and picks up the apple (dessert), pausing when he hears a song drifting through the hall. Dick is suddenly paralyzed with fear, thinking that he’s back early. His vision grows black around the edges, and Dick lets the fruit fall from his hands, watching as it rolls away from him and hits the bars of his cell with a pointed thunk.

The music cuts off, leaving an uncomfortable silence. Dick swallows, his throat burning with the action, and he hates the way his body feels clammy, hates the way he flinches when the music starts up again.

“Why don't you stay at mine tonight

(Why don't you stay at mine tonight)

Why don't you stay with me

And be my sidekick, sidekick…”

“What?” he mutters, confused. His surroundings change with each blink, and Dick soon finds himself squinting up at the bathroom light, shielding his eyes to give himself some reprieve.

Something buzzes beside his face while that song continues to play. Dick slowly pushes himself up, sitting back against the bathtub while he scoops up whatever’s making that noise—oh, it’s his phone, and Wally’s contact photo keeps flashing on his screen.

It’s a picture he managed to snap at Titans Tower when it was three in the morning. Wally was stuffing his face, as speedsters tend to do, and he whipped around in shock when Dick entered the room, eyes wide and cheeks bulging, food poking out of his mouth. It was comical and so typical of Wally that Dick’s laughter caused him to roll around on the floor.

He taps on the screen after the call ends, feeling a twinge of guilt when he sees that he missed eight of them and a few messages from Wally. Dick taps on the green button when the next one comes through, bringing the phone up to his ear after summoning up the courage to speak.

“Hey,” Dick says quietly, pushing his palm against his eye. He squints up at the light again and crawls over to the switch, reaching up with one hand to flip it back down. His eyes adjust to the darkness, and Dick gazes at the shadowed shapes of the bathroom. He sinks back down to the floor with his back against the door. “Sorry I missed your other calls.”

“It’s fine,” Wally replies. “Saw the Gotham news, so I wanted to check in with you.”

Dick opens his mouth, ready to wave off his worries, only to pause. The words get trapped in his irritated throat, and he swallows around the lump that lingers there, vision going all blurry.

“Dick? You still there?”

“Wally,” he says, scrubbing his face with a sniffle. “Walls.”

“...Talk to me. What’s wrong? What happened? Are you hurt? Do you need me to come over?”

“I wasn’t hurt, and you don’t need to come over,” Dick says, the tears spilling over and falling down, down, down his face. They drip off his chin, disappearing into the darkness. “But I don’t think I’m okay right now.” He glances at the toilet, suddenly aware of the god-awful taste in his mouth, and he adds in a shameful whisper, “Made myself throw up.”

“Okay,” Wally says quietly, his exhale crackling over the phone. His voice softens in a way that makes Dick cry a little more. “It’s alright, gorgeous. What do you need from me?”

His lips twitch, cheeks warm over the dumb pet name. Normally, Dick would be too embarrassed to let it fly, but he finds comfort in it this time, and he curls up on his side on the cold tile, tucking one arm beneath his head. “Can you tell me about your day?” he asks. “Anything happen in Central?”

Dick lies on the cold floor while he listens to Wally recount his day, starting from stopping a robbery to having lunch with some of his old co-workers and then having a drink with a couple of his Rogues before he bought groceries for the apartment. A very detailed explanation of the day that left Dick feeling… lighter by the time Wally finished.

“You sure you don’t want me to come over?” Wally asks. “I can pick you up and take you home if you want. I’ll be there—”

“Don’t do it,” Dick warns.

“—in a Flash,” Wally finishes, and Dick knows he has a shit-eating grin on his face.

Dick sighs, but he can’t fight the slight smile spreading across his face. “Listen,” he says. “If I feel any worse than I do now, I’ll let you know. I do want to see you soon, though. Too much happened today, and I just… I need someone.”

“You have me, Dick. You’ll always have me.”

“I know. And I appreciate it. I’m still needed here, but I’ll message you when I need to escape for a while.”

After chatting for a bit longer, Dick reluctantly says his goodbyes to Wally, who has to meet up with Linda for a late dinner. He sits in the silence of the bathroom after that, watching as the time keeps climbing higher and higher until he finally tucks the phone back into his pocket and stands up to splash water on his face.

He also brushes his teeth because his mouth tastes like crap.

Dick takes a moment to hunch over the sink afterwards, going through a few breathing exercises to try and quell his nerves. Nausea still lingers, but he knows it won’t go away for a while.

He lifts his head and stares at his ragged appearance in the mirror, frowning at his unkempt hair and the bags under his red-rimmed eyes. Dick sniffs and grabs a hair tie off the door handle, creating a loose ponytail so he doesn’t have to deal with it. A few wispy strands curl around his face, but Dick pays them no mind since they make him look a little less messy.

“Alright,” he says after a while. “Let’s go see my brothers.”

★★

Dick slowly makes his way down the stairs with a tray in hand, occasionally pausing to steel himself for what he’s about to face and adjust the stuffed dinosaur under his arm.

The Cave is silent—no Bruce working on cases throughout the night, no Damian getting an additional workout in to tire out his body, and no Cass hiding out in the various nooks and crannies around the Cave, hiding after a day of overstimulation.

As Dick walks closer to the cell, he starts to hear a bit of singing. He smiles when he catches sight of Tim twirling around a still Jason, moving Zitka around Jason’s head like the stuffed elephant is dancing. Dick can’t quite make out the lyrics to the song, but he thinks it has something to do with baking a cake… or eating a cookie, one of the two.

Jason spots him first, and he immediately shoves Tim behind him, staring at Dick warily. The boy releases a soft, very cute “eep!” He also lights up when he lifts his head and catches Dick’s eye, waving the hand not holding Zitka.

“Hi, Dickie!” he chirps.

“Hi, baby,” Dick says, carefully taking a seat in front of the cell and setting Batwalker down on the floor behind him. “I thought you might be hungry, so I brought some food.” There’s a small panel beside the door, so Dick tugs it open to deposit the tray of food into the drawer, pushing it through to the other side. “It’s okay,” he assures when Jason tenses. “I won’t hurt Tim. I would never hurt him.”

“Ooh, what you make?” Tim asks. He tries to move past Jason, who holds out an arm to keep Tim in place. “Jay!” the boy complains, stomping one foot. “I’m hungy! I gotta eat!”

Jason stares at Dick for a long moment, glowing eyes pinning him in place. Then, he grunts and makes his way over, pulling the tray out and setting it on the floor. He turns slightly, beckoning Tim over, and Tim practically bounces to Jason’s side with Zitka. 

“Oh, yeah,” Dick says, pulling the drawer back to his side. There’s enough space for him to place Batwalker inside, and Tim gasps, clapping his hands together.

“Batwalker!” he cheers, quickly falling to his knees to grab his precious stuffed dinosaur. “You bwought him to me! Thank you, Dickie!”

“You’re welcome, Timmy,” Dick says with a smile. “Why don’t you go sit and eat your sandwich, okay? I want to try and talk to Jay.” He pauses, pointing to the tray. “Yours is the cookie butter one, and I also made sure to get you some apple juice. There’s a pack of cookies for you to share with Jason, too.”

“Okay!” Tim looks down at the food and then at the two stuffed animals in his arms. He dips his head to kiss one of Zitka’s ears before passing it over to Jason. “Keep her safe!” Tim says, grabbing his plate of food and taking it over to the corner of the cell. “M’gonna eat, Jay! And then we nap! Got it?”

Then, without waiting for an answer, Tim plops down, sets Batwalker down next to him, and immediately gobbles down his sandwich.

“At least he’s entertained,” Dick remarks, bemused. He glances at Jason, who hasn’t looked away from him and exhales shakily. “I won’t hurt you, either,” Dick promises, placing a hand on the glass. “I know I haven’t done my best in the past, but I’m trying, Jay. I’ve been trying this whole time. That’s all I ever do in this family.”

His eyes flick over to the security camera and back, and Dick leans forward, gently tapping his forehead against the surface of the cell. “Hey,” he says quietly. “Take care of him for us, okay? And come back whenever you’re ready, okay? But…”

Dick’s breath fogs up the glass as he tries to compose himself. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold it together,” he confesses in a whisper, not even trying to hide the way his voice breaks. “And I don’t know how to look at B knowing he was sitting on this for so many years…” He laughs humorlessly. “God, he never changes, huh?”

Jason hums, and Dick feels his eyes burn when he gently bumps his forehead against the glass, lining his hand up with Dick’s on the opposite side.

“Thanks, Jay,” Dick murmurs.

Jason makes another one of those rough sounds and pulls away. He grabs his plate and pauses, pointing at the panel where Dick delivered the food before moving towards Tim.

Dick watches them for a while, letting Tim’s soft chatter wash over him as he enjoys one of his cookies, encouraging Jason to eat by holding the sandwich up to Jason’s mouth. He smiles at the sight and then refocuses his attention on the panel, puzzled when he spies a small book in the drawer. Dick pulls it over to his side before carefully taking it out.

It’s a small collection of poems with a drawing of an eye coming out of a faucet on the red cover. There’s only one dog-eared page in the entire book, and Dick flips to it immediately, stopping when he spies a circled stanza with his name written in the margin.

“More than the cheekbones I inherited from my mother,
more than my left hand, the spear,
or my right hand, the hammer, more
than humility, like my father’s heavy hand
on the back of my neck,
it is my love
for the sleeping ones
which recommends me.
It is my attention to their needs, my special tenderness
as I study this one’s face,
or tuck a blanket around that one,
as I pull the shades down
so the sun isn’t in their eyes,
or arrange flowers over their heads.
As I tip-toe by them
in absolute silence, and full of love,
observing their peace, yearning for a kiss, awaiting
their wakening.”

Dick’s heart swells in his chest with an emotion that’s strong to name, and he sniffles, wiping at his damp eyes. He brushes a gentle thumb over the rest of the writing around the stanza, hearing Jason’s voice in his head when he reads his words. Dick glances at his brothers again with a smile on his face.

Tim is now licking the cookie butter spread off his hand, the other one holding a cookie up to Jason’s face. Jason seems to be going through his plain, peanut butter and jelly sandwich at a slow, almost robotic pace, luminous eyes staring ahead. The boy eventually huffs and climbs onto Jason’s lap, but not before wiping his hand off on Jason’s hoodie.

“Thanks, Jay,” Dick murmurs again, shifting until he’s sitting with his back against the front of the cell. He flips to the first page of the poetry collection, settling into a comfortable position so he can read and protect his brothers.

Chapter Text

Tap, tap, tap.

Dick grunts, squeezing his eyes tighter in an attempt to ignore whatever’s trying to disturb his rest. It’s probably just that damn bird at his window again—the one Wally keeps feeding because he’s trying to prove he doesn’t fear Gotham’s wildlife.

A challenge that only started because Wally shrieked to the heavens when he encountered one of the city’s mutated sewer rats when they tried to walk to get some food.

Tap, tap, tap.

“One of these days,” Dick grumbles, cracking his eyes open. He frowns when he spies some stalagmite hanging above his head and the Batcomputer a few feet away from him. Dick shifts and winces at the soreness that emanates from his lower back, rubbing the back of his neck as he sits up straighter. 

His half-asleep mind tries to piece together the mystery of why he’s sitting in the Cave, and then the memory of coming down here to check on his brothers practically slams into him, and he whirls around.

Tim’s face is pressed against the glass, fogging it up with every exhale. He brightens when he sees Dick and knocks his fist against the surface.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Hi, Tim,” Dick says, amused.

His little brother grins back at him and leans away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hi, Dickie,” he says. “You were snowing.”

“Was not!” Dick replies, knocking his fist against the glass. “What did we tell you about lying, Timmy? Huh? Do you remember?”

“You didn’t tell me anything!” Tim says. “Daddy says I’m not supposed to wie to Batman, and that’s all!” He looks around before grinning, lowering his voice when he says, “But I wied to Daddy before, and he never knew! It’s easy!”

Dick squints at him. “Are you sure about that?” he asks.

“Uh-huh!” Tim nods, hair bouncing. “It’s okay, Dickie! I’ll teach you.”

“Thanks, baby,” Dick says dryly. He files this information away to poke at another day and continues, “How are you feeling? Did you sleep okay?”

“I sleep okay,” Tim answers and then says in a rush, “And Jay did also! But we gotta get outta here because Jay wants to get out, and so do I, and we hungy! Super hungy! And also, I miss Dami and Daddy, and Batwalker needs to go see Fwashwaptor and Aquanyx.”

Dick huffs out a laugh when his little brother gulps some air afterwards. He opens his mouth to respond but pauses when he hears the creak of the cot. Dick looks past Tim to see Jason pushing himself up, hair tousled and eyes still glowing a luminous green.

“Jay!” Tim says with a gasp. “You finawwy wake up!” He runs over to Jason and wraps his arms around one of Jason’s legs, trying to climb up his body and ultimately failing. “I was talking to Dickie,” he says once he’s on the floor again. “We’ll weave soon!”

“Maybe,” Dick quickly interjects. “We have to make sure Jason’s okay to come out first.” It’s a small set of rules that Jason put in place for the possibility of others having to deal with his Pit episodes. “If he can respond to us, then I’ll let him out.”

“Jay can do it!” Tim says with determination. He reaches up to grab one of Jason’s hands and tries to tug him over, but Jason remains unmoved, and Dick withholds a laugh when he sees Tim’s feet sliding across the floor as he does his best to move his older brother. “Jay, come on!” Tim stomps one foot. “We gotta go over to Dickie!”

“Dick,” Jason says, voice lilting at the end. He’s staring at Dick with a perplexed look, like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle in front of him.

“No,” Tim says with a huff. “Dickie!”

“Dick…?”

“Dickie,” Tim repeats, slowly sounding out the words. “Wike that, Jay! You gotta say it wike that!” He points at Dick through the glass and says again, “Dickie.”

Jason frowns, cocking his head to the side. His jaw flexes, and one of his hands comes up to Tim’s head, gently playing with a few strands. “Dickie,” he says finally, sounding satisfied.

“Yeah, Jay! That’s Dickie!” Tim beams at Dick. “See? He can come out!”

Dick meets Jason’s gaze, and he thinks he spies a flicker of recognition. “Alright,” he says cautiously. “But if I tell you to move away from him at any point, then you need to listen to me. Got that, Timmy?”

Jason hums. It sounds like approval.

“I gots it,” Tim says with a nod. He starts walking toward the door, only to stop and gasp. “I almost forgot!” he exclaims and runs back to the cot. Dick watches as he scoops up Batwalker and Zitka before rushing back to Jason’s side. “Okay,” Tim says finally. “Weady!”

“You’re a silly little bird,” Dick says, amused. He glances up at the camera in the corner, offering a little wave before unlocking the cell door.

Tim exits first, peering around curiously before blinking up at Dick. “How come Daddy’s not down here?” he asks, holding up Zitka. “He wikes to be here in the morning, I wemember.”

“B probably didn’t want to bug you guys,” Dick says, glancing over at Jason. The other man warily approaches the door, and Dick holds out a hand, softening his voice when he says, “It’s alright, Little Wing. Timmy’s safe out here with me, and so are you.”

Jason frowns, looking uncertain. “Timmy?” he says, glancing at the boy. “Okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Tim assures, smiling brightly. “If you come out, then we can go and pway! Just wike I told you! It’ll be fun, Jay!”

“Hm.” Jason slowly reaches out to take Dick’s hand, and Dick gently tugs him out of the cell. He shuts the door and leads him over to the stairs, smiling when Tim rushes ahead, his excitement echoing off the walls when he encourages them to walk faster.

“Come on, guys!” Tim says while they’re climbing up the steps. “I wanna see evewyone! They’re waiting for me!” He giggles and adds, “And I’m gonna tell Dami to make me some soup. He said he would so he can be better than Jay!”

“Of course he did,” Dick mutters.

Finally, they reach the manor, and Tim runs down the hall and back a few times, which Dick allows just so he can get rid of his pent-up energy. He takes a step in the direction of the kitchen, only to be stopped by a tug from Jason.

“Dick,” Jason murmurs, squeezing his hand. “Dickie.”

“Yeah,” Dick says softly, returning the gesture. “I’m here, Jason. I’m here.”

“Me too!” Tim suddenly crows, slamming into Dick’s legs and causing him to stumble into Jason. Thankfully, the other man barely sways since he’s so sturdy, but the action still knocks the breath out of Dick. “I’m here, Jay! I’m never gonna go away! You’re stuck with me fowever!”

“What about me?” Dick asks after getting a hold of himself, pouting down at his baby brother. “Don’t I get to keep you, Timmy?”

“Evewyone keeps me,” Tim says firmly and then grins. “Can I get soup from Dami, now?”

“Hm.” Dick pulls out his phone to check the time, surprised to note that it’s pretty early in the morning. “Well, maybe we should let him sleep for a while longer. I’ll whip up some eggs in the meantime.” He pauses, peering down at the kid. “Unless you want something else?”

Tim scrunches up his nose. “No egg,” he says, shaking his head. “Sounds gwoss today. What about the thing?” He frowns. “Um… the bwead thing with the sugar.”

“French toast?” Dick offers.

“Yeah! That!” Tim looks up at him hopefully. “Can you make that for us, Dickie?”

“I’ll do my best,” he replies, ruffling Tim’s hair. “Now, let’s go make some breakfast. It can’t be too hard, right?”

★★

Wrong.

He ends up with a few burnt pieces, mostly due to him chasing after his mischievous little brother, forcing him to leave the french toast on the pan. Dick ends up cooking with Tim tucked under one arm, ignoring the boy’s squirming as he transfers his french toast pieces over to a plate.

“Well,” he says, staring down at the attempt that turned out moderately okay. There’s a lot, thankfully, but they don’t look as good as the picture on the recipe he found online. “I guess it’ll have to do.” Dick starts sprinkling some powdered sugar on it, resisting the urge to coat it completely. No, he needs to make room for the syrup.

“Needs more,” Tim comments, kicking Dick’s back. He barely feels it, and he ignores the other kicks when he bends down to grab the bottle of maple syrup. “More! More! More!”

“How are you so hyper already?” Dick wonders, walking over to the fridge to snag the cup of apple juice he prepared before cooking. He shifts Tim onto his hip and passes it over, snagging the plate on the way out of the kitchen. “You’re a strange kid, Timmy.”

“Yeah,” Tim says. “I am.” He starts squirming again as they near the dining table, where Jason sits with his fingers laced together in front of him. “Jay! Bweakfas’ is weady!”

“We’re all going to share,” Dick explains to the other man as he slides the plate in front of him. He wrestles Tim into the highchair and immediately passes over a piece of french toast, which causes the boy to shift his focus onto it and stop moving so much. “But if you or Timmy want more, then I’ll go make some.”

Jason says nothing, which isn’t surprising, but he does reach out to grab a piece of Dick’s french toast. Dick watches as he robotically slips it into his mouth, and he smiles when he catches sight of the small quirk of Jason’s lips.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Dick says. He twists the cap off the syrup bottle and pours some onto a corner of the plate, pointing to it. “That’s where you’re going to dunk the pieces, okay? Try not to make a mess, Timmy.”

“Okay!” Tim says cheerfully, and immediately spills some onto the table when he drowns his french toast in it. “Oops.”

Dick sighs, staring at the puddle that’s steadily growing bigger. “You know what,” he says, sitting beside Tim. “I’ll deal with it after.”

He manages to snag a few pieces for himself and Jason, though Tim eats most of it. The boy’s hands and face are covered in syrup by the end of the meal, though his shirt is strangely untouched. Dick mentally pats himself on the back for creating a successful breakfast before he starts wrestling with his baby brother to get him clean.

Tim fights him the entire time, squirming and flailing, even begging for Jason to save him, but Dick is unmoved by his pleas and continues wiping the syrup off his face with a wet wipe, narrowly dodging the snap of Tim’s teeth a couple of times.

“Anything left for me?”

Dick looks up, smiling when he sees Steph standing in the doorway. She’s dressed in a black coat, a gray sweater, and black leggings tucked into her black combat boots. The purple laces match the purple scarf wrapped around her neck.

“Hey,” he says, glancing over at the empty plate. “Unfortunately, no. Tim demolished the entire thing.”

“I was hungy!” Tim cries, smacking Dick’s hand away. “No, Dickie! I don’t need to be cwean! I’m just gonna get dirty again when I go outside and pway!”

“And who says you’re going to go outside, huh?” Dick asks with an arched brow, pointing to Steph’s boots. “Look, there’s mud. That means it’s too slippery outside, and a little bird like you will trip and fall!”

“I won’t!” Tim says, shaking his head. “I won’t fall!”

“I dunno, Timmy,” Steph chimes in. “I almost fell when I came up to the manor! Are you sure you wanna risk it?” She edges closer, reaching out to tap Batwalker’s head. “What about your dinosaur? What if he gets dirty? He doesn’t deserve that!”

Tim gasps, gaze flicking from Dick to Steph and back. “Okay,” he says, eyes wide. “No pway outside. I go pway with my Barbies.”

“Thanks,” Dick whispers to Steph after he finally wipes the last bit of syrup off Tim’s face. He grabs another wet wipe and starts working on Tim’s tiny hands, getting a couple of scratches in the process. “So,” he says, glancing over at Steph. “What brings you out here?”

“Barbara sent me over,” she answers, removing her scarf and draping it over one of the chairs. Steph leans against the table and crosses her arms, gazing at him with a serious expression. “She wanted more information about the bomb you dropped on her after she got a chance to process it, mostly because she couldn’t find anything about it in the system, other than his death certificate.”

“Yeah, uh…” Dick pauses. He doesn’t even know where to start. “Listen,” he says. “Normally, I’d be willing to sit down and explain it all just so you don’t have to deal with B and his innate desire to keep everything a secret, but…” He gestures to Tim and Jason, the latter of the two now staring at Steph with a quirked brow. “I kinda have my hands full.”

Tim tries to climb out of the chair the moment he’s clean, and Dick swiftly picks him up and dumps him into Jason’s lap. Jason immediately wraps his arms around the boy, and Tim deflates.

“Dickie,” Tim complains. “I wanna pway!”

“You can play after I’m done cleaning up,” Dick replies, wiping the table down. “We have to keep this house neat while Alfred’s away, or else he’ll be disappointed in us.” He smiles wearily at Steph. “See?”

“I get what you mean,” Steph says. She leans closer to Jason and hums. “Something bad must have happened to trigger this episode.”

“It relates to what caused the death of—” Dick stops, chewing on his bottom lip as he considers Jason’s wary posture. He taps on Steph’s shoulder, waiting for her to look at him before carefully signing the letters: J-O-K-E-R.

“Ah,” Steph says, nodding. “Alright, then… I guess I’ll go ask Cass about it.” She gathers her scarf and starts making her way out the door, pausing before completely stepping out. “How bad is it, Dick?”

“Bad,” Dick tells her, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Really bad.” He glances down at Tim, safe in Jason’s arms, and moves over to Steph, lowering his voice. “Tim’s involved, and…” Dick’s hands tremble at his sides, and he curls them into fists, feeling the bite of his nails against his palms. “We got the whole story last night, and none of us knew beforehand. Just… remember that when Cass tells you what happened.”

“Sure thing,” Steph says softly. Her eyes flick over to his two little brothers, still sitting at the dining table, and she adds, “I might stay for a while, then. If that’s okay with you.”

“You should probably ask B,” Dick points out and shrugs. “But it’s fine with me.”

“Thanks.” She offers a two-fingered salute before leaving, and Dick watches her go with a heavy heart, knowing she’s going to be upset about what happened to Tim.

He inhales deeply, waiting until he feels his lungs burn before exhaling, pasting a smile onto his face as he whirls around and places his hands on his hips. “Alright!” Dick chirps. “How about we go and watch a movie, hmm? What do you think Jason wants to watch?”

“Wego Movie,” Tim replies, tipping his head back against Jason’s shoulder. “Wight, Jay? You wanna watch that?”

“They make movies, too?” Dick rubs his jaw, considering. “Huh, okay.”

It’s actually a funny movie, and Tim falls asleep immediately afterwards, curled up on Jason’s chest. Dick takes the chance to nap, and he wakes up to see Tim only an inch away from his face.

“Tim!” Dick shouts.

The boy laughs and tumbles off him and the couch, landing on the floor and kicking his feet up while he starts singing that ‘Everything is Awesome’ song from the film. He hops up and grabs Batwalker, and Dick watches as he spins around the room with the dinosaur, somehow managing to get through the entire song before starting over again.

It’s cute, really cute, and a part of Dick wishes he had the energy to pull his phone out to record his sweet baby brother singing. The rest of him is still half-asleep and groggy from the nap, so he’s not that appreciative of the loud song.

“Everything’s totally not cool when you’re part of a team,” Dick mutters, covering his face with a cushion. “I’m blaming Bruce for this.”

Jason sighs somewhere near him, and Dick blindly reaches out to pat his shoulder. It makes Dick feel a little better to know that someone else is suffering just as much as him.

“Again!” Tim demands after a while, coming over to tug on Dick’s shirt. “Put the movie on again! Pwease? Batwalker wants to see it! He told me!” Dick feels Tim climbing onto the couch when he doesn’t respond right away, and soon enough, the pillow is removed. “Dickie!” Tim complains, lightly smacking his face. “Wake up! We gotta watch The Wego Movie!”

“I’m going to turn you into a Lego,” Dick tells him, quickly wrapping his arms around his baby brother and tugging him down to blow a raspberry against Tim’s cheek, causing the boy to shriek with laughter. “How about that, huh?”

“Wego Tim!” Tim exclaims, wiggling in his hold. “I wanna be a Wego! Turn me into one, Dickie! Do it!”

“But then I won’t have my sweet little Timmy with me!” Dick says, blowing a raspberry against his shoulder this time. He gets an accidental smack to the back of his head for this, but it’s worth it to hear Tim’s cute giggles. “I can’t let that happen!”

Dick keeps tickling him until they’re both out of breath. He wraps an arm around his little brother, stroking his back while Tim hums the tune of the song.

“We can watch the movie one more time, okay?” Dick says, leaning over to slide the remote off the coffee table. “And then, we’re gonna go find Damian and bother him for a while. I’m sure he misses you.”

“Evewyone miss me,” Tim tells him, reaching up to pat his cheek. Pap, pap, pap. “Wego time, Dickie.”

“Yes, sir,” Dick replies, complying with Tim’s request and putting The Lego Movie on. He tosses the remote back onto the table, where it clatters loudly, and then drops a hand to where Jason now sits on the floor, pausing for a moment before threading his fingers through his brother’s hair.

Jason hums and tips his head back, expression smoothing out into something akin to contentedness. Dick smiles and continues his ministrations, focusing on the movie while Tim starts singing again.

This small feeling of joy makes him want to float up to the sky and burst like a firework, and Dick hopes it can last.

★★

A couple of days pass.

Jason’s eyes seem less luminescent, but he’s still mostly nonverbal, only speaking to either Dick or Tim and even then, it’s only a couple of words. He also refuses to move away from Tim, and Dick chalks it up to him being protective of the boy due to the images that initially triggered the episode.

Bruce remains absent throughout it all.

Dick catches glimpses of the older man here and there, but Bruce never comes closer. 

Normally, Dick would chide him for being too distant, especially during such a vulnerable time for everyone, but he always catches the way Jason tenses whenever Bruce is near, and he figures that Bruce is doing it for his sake.

Damian stays away, too, though he does entertain Tim whenever the boy seeks him out. Dick can’t help but notice the bags under Damian’s eyes and the darkness they hold whenever he gazes at Tim. He sticks to his art room whenever Tim’s distracted with something else, and Dick has had to stop by to drop off food for him more often than not.

Cass barely comes out, and when she does, she’s either training downstairs or flying gracefully through the air in her dance studio, her music filling the room and drifting down the hall, sometimes grabbing Tim’s attention. He’ll dance alongside her, and she’ll help him through the movements with a smile, but there’s no mistaking the pain in her eyes whenever she stares at Tim’s carefree face.

Steph barely ventures out into the manor, and when she does, she avoids Tim. She’s been holed up in Cass’ room since she first arrived, and Dick hopes they’re dealing with it together. 

It’s difficult to exist in a household with living ghosts, and Dick feels a little spread thin since he’s pouring all of his attention into caring for Tim and Jason. The boy never notices (which is great) and can easily distract Dick from his thoughts by pleading to watch a movie, play games, or listen to a story.

They actually got through a couple of chapters of The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane before Tim decided they needed to change to Pride and Prejudice for Jason.

(Dick only read it once before, and that was only after Jason died. He wanted to feel close to his dead brother, and Dick got so caught up in his grief that he cried on a couple of pages with quotes he remembered Jason saying aloud because he wanted to memorize a few things for an upcoming presentation.

So, it was nice to go through the book with Jason beside him.)

Jason, on the other hand, notices something’s wrong with Dick.

He can see it in the furrow of Jason’s brow whenever the other man glances at him and when he tries to push his share of food in Dick’s direction, trying to feed him when Dick can’t even put a morsel into his mouth. 

It’s a sweet gesture that’s not unlike the way he acts on a regular basis. The only difference is that there’s no grumble from Jason as he shoves over a bag full of fries during patrol, snapping that they made his order wrong and that was the only reason why he was giving it away.

Dick loves his brothers, yes, but spending all of his time with them makes him wish he had a moment to himself so he can scream into a pillow or go up to the roof and sit there for a while.

He barely sleeps, mind plagued by images of the Joker hurting his brothers. It evolves from there, warping into a scene where Dick’s surrounded by his dead family, blood on his hands, and his face painted white. Every time Dick wakes up from these nightmares, a scream locked behind his teeth, he immediately checks his reflection, fearing that he might see a red smile waiting for him.

A small tug on his shirt drags him out of his thoughts, and he looks down to see Tim gazing up at him expectantly.

“Dickie,” he says. “I want a snack.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dick crouches in front of the boy, reaching over to grab one of his tiny hands. He presses his thumb against Tim’s palm, and Tim immediately curls his fingers around it. “What kind of snack do you want? Chips? Candy? Maybe some birdseed…”

“No birdseed!” Tim says, pouting. “M’not a birdy, Dickie! I told you before!”

“Then tell me what you want, Timmy!” Dick pokes his tummy. “We have… everything.” He’s not even joking. Dick suspects that Bruce shipped a lot of snacks that normally wouldn’t be found in the manor just to keep Tim happy.

“Um…” Tim looks thoughtful as he taps his foot, his other hand squeezing one of Batwalker’s arms. “Um! Popcone!” He frowns. “I mean, popcorn! Yeah!” Tim releases Dick’s thumb to nestle against Dick’s chest, smiling up at him. “Can you make some for me and Jay, pwease?” he asks sweetly. “I’ll share with you!”

“Fine, fine,” Dick says, kissing one of his squishy cheeks. “Anything else?”

“No, Dickie! That’s all!” The boy beams at him, wrapping his arms around Dick before bouncing back to Jason. “T’ank you, Dickie!”

Dick makes his way into the kitchen to place a packet of popcorn in the microwave, feeling lighter. His little brother is always there to make him feel better without knowing what’s wrong with Dick, a parallel to how he acts when he’s older.

His brother has the kindest heart, so attune to everyone’s emotions but always ignoring his own, and Dick misses him fiercely. 

He misses the way Tim would make him laugh with some funny story from school whenever Dick was feeling particularly low or the way Tim would just spill about all of his problems, trusting Dick to listen. Tim would also show this same care toward Bruce by sitting beside the man when he was acting broody, chatting about a break in a case or some documentary he watched until Bruce moved on from short grunts to short words and phrases.

At least Dick can repay the favor with the four-year-old version of his brother.

The microwave beeps, and Dick hisses when he instinctively reaches the bag. He shakes off the slight feeling of pain in his fingers, carefully picking it up from the top and carrying it over to the counter. Dick opens and dumps it into a large bowl, munching on a few as he walks back to the sitting room.

“Popcorn, popcorn, popcorn!” Tim chants when Dick steps through the door. He’s hanging off the couch, making grabby hands in Dick’s direction. “Popcorn!!”

“I’ll give you the popcorn once you’re sitting down,” Dick informs him, circling the couch to stare at his baby brother. “Can you do that for me?”

Tim sighs like it’s an affront to his entire being, but he slides down the couch and sits on the cushions. “There,” he says, nodding. “I did it.”

“Good job,” Dick says, passing over the bowl. He ruffles Tim’s hair after he takes it and then has to move aside when Jason decides to get up and sit beside Tim. “Do you want to watch The Lego Movie again?” Dick asks, grabbing the remote. “Or should I put something else on?”

“Lego,” Jason says, surprising Dick. “Lego… Tim.”

“For me?” Tim looks up at Jason with wide eyes full of awe, and then he beams. “Yeah! Dickie! Put it on, pwease!” He shoves his whole hand into the popcorn bowl, swirls it around, and then pulls out a handful. “Here,” he says. “For you.”

“Thanks, baby,” he says, amused. Dick accepts the popcorn and glances at Jason, who gazes back at him steadily. He slowly reaches out with his clean hand and combs his fingers through Jason’s hair, watching as a tiny smile appears on his face. It makes him look so much younger, and something in Dick aches.

“You’re a great big brother, Little Wing,” Dick murmurs, patting his head. “And that’s why you have to sit through another round of ‘Everything is Awesome’ while I stand at the door.”

Jason rolls his eyes, reaching up to bat Dick’s hand away.

Dick turns on the movie and tidies up the room while it plays, dumping all of Tim’s toys into a small bin they placed in the sitting room for this reason. He knows there’s no point to this when Tim’s likely to pull everything out the moment he decides he’s done eating his popcorn, but it makes Dick feel better, so it’s fine.

And he’s proven correct when Tim slides off the couch to toddle over to the bin. Dick quickly makes his way over so he can clean the butter off his hands (Tim would wipe them on his shirt, otherwise), and then he retreats to the entrance of the room, where the sound of Tim’s chatter washes over him.

Some of the tension lingering inside of Dick uncoils. He leans against the doorway, watching his (current) smallest brother show off one of his puzzle toys to his other little brother, who grunts in response, eyes still as green as the waters that brought him back.

Dick hears a creak of wood and turns to see Steph coming down the hall. She’s dressed in a purple and gray jogger set, and her hair is pulled into a low ponytail.

“Hey,” she says with a smile, coming up to stand beside him.

“Hi,” Dick replies. “Going for a run?”

“Yeah, with Cass,” Steph replies. “I just wanted to check up on our resident Baby Boy Wonder while I’m waiting for her.” She peers into the room, a grin spreading across her face. “Aw,” she coos. “Aren’t they precious?”

“Yes,” Dick says happily. He glances over at his brothers again, feeling a flicker of warmth in his chest. “I’ve already taken about a hundred photos.”

“And your phone isn’t out of space yet?”

“It’s getting there,” Dick admits. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to worry about that for a while due to the benefits of having a dad whose company created these phones. “But I can’t help it! Just look at him!”

Tim lifts his head, tongue poking out of his mouth as he looks over in their direction. He suddenly smiles and waves his hand. His giggle carries across the room when Dick waves back at him, and Dick takes a moment to place a hand on his chest, so overwhelmed by his cute little brother.

“See,” he says, wiping away a tear. “Too cute.”

“It’s nice to see him so happy,” Steph says. “Considering…” She frowns, looking upset. “Well, you know.”

“Yeah,” Dick says quietly, turning towards her. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than the first night,” she answers. “It’s just hard to think about.” Steph presses her lips together. “All this time, he was living with this, and none of us ever knew.” She sniffs, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with her sleeves. “This is so messed up.”

“Yeah,” Dick says solemnly. Now that they’re standing right beside each other, he can see her red-rimmed gaze and the way her hands tremble minutely. “Don’t I know it.”

“Cass showed me the drawings,” Steph continues in a low voice, wrapping her arms around herself. “God, they’re… terrifying.” She visibly swallows and adds, “Apparently, there’s also a picture of himself in the aftermath.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Damian said he found it, but he didn’t want to show us.” She chuckles. “Actually, he took the drawings away from us to put them back in their original spot, claiming it'd make Tim feel better. He likes to keep the scary things under his bed.” Steph’s amusement fades. “It makes you wonder how long he’s been doing that.”

“I don’t know,” Dick admits. He’s not sure he wants to know, either. 

“Barbara says he’s probably keeping stuff at his apartment, too,” she continues. “Maybe in his servers. I think she’s already starting to look through his files.”

“How’s she taking it?” Dick asks curiously.

“Not well,” Steph answers with a sad smile. “I think she’s a little pissed off at her dad for not telling her, but we’ve been texting about it, and she told me she understands why he did what he did. It’s just… hard for her to sit with the knowledge that he knew this whole time.”

“I get it,” he replies, eyes flicking over to the stairs that lead up to Bruce’s study. “Really.”

Steph snorts. “Yeah,” she mutters, bumping her foot against the doorway. “I bet you do.”

“Dickie,” Tim calls, pushing himself up. “Can you get me and Jay some water? He’s thiwsty!”

“Oh, is he, now?” Dick peers over at Jason, who gazes back at him with an arched brow. “How do you know?”

“He told me!” Tim pauses. “Actually, he told Batwalker, and Batwalker told me!”

“Right, of course,” Dick says with a nod. “Alright, Timmy. I’ll go get a couple of water bottles, but I’m going to leave Steph here to watch over you, okay? That means you can’t get into any mischief.”

“I never get into miscwick,” Tim replies, huffing. “I’m not wike Jack Fwost!”

“Mischief,” Dick corrects.

“That’s what I said!”

“Just get outta here,” Steph cuts in, waving a hand at Dick. “It’s just going to start all over again at this rate. I’ll make sure he doesn’t blow up the TV.”

“Please don’t give him any ideas,” he says flatly before walking over to the kitchen. Dick grabs a couple of water bottles and a few packets of fruit snacks, cookies, and chips, knowing Tim will want a snack after having a drink. 

He brings his spoils over to the boy, and Dick receives a bunch of sticky kisses all over his cheek in return. Tim also wraps his arms around Dick’s neck, clinging to him like a little koala when Dick stands up and spins them around a couple of times just to hear his sweet giggle.

“I wuv you, Dickie,” Tim says after Dick sets him down on the floor, smiling up at him.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Dick says, gently pinching his cheek and giving it a shake.

Tim reaches up and grabs Dick’s nose. “Honk,” he says before piling the water bottles and snacks into his arms. Tim carefully makes his way over to Jason, dumping everything on the floor in front of him. 

“Is it hard?” Steph asks once Dick returns to her side. “Taking care of Tim, I mean.”

“Not really,” Dick answers, huffing out a laugh. “Even though he keeps taking years off my life by telling me all the secrets his older self kept, I’m having a great time. He’s very sweet. And cute, but don’t tell him that, or else he’ll get upset.” He pauses, glancing at Tim, and admits quietly, “I do miss him, though.”

“I get what you mean,” Steph says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Like yeah, he’s an adorable kid, but I had so many things to say to him, and I was building up these conversations in my head while I was with Cass, only to get the message about what happened.” Her shoulders slump. “I was hoping, well…” Steph bites her lip. “Can I tell you something?”

“Always,” Dick replies instantly.

“And you won’t tell anyone?”

“Promise.”

“I was hoping to talk to him about our breakup,” she says softly. “It was a bit of a mess, and he wouldn’t want to tell me why he wanted to end things, only that he wanted to figure stuff out, and I got so mad because I thought I deserved a reason.”

“Understandable,” Dick says, trying to quell the protectiveness trying to surge forward. “But if it’s not something he wants to talk about, then he shouldn’t be pushed into it. I’m sure he would have talked to you after he got through it.”

“Yeah, I know. Cass made sure to knock that into my head.” Steph sighs, turning her head away. “I think time away from Gotham was exactly what I needed,” she confesses. “It helped me find myself, in a way, since I’d forgotten myself outside of Tim and being a vigilante.” Steph pauses and adds, “It also helped me realize that we’re better off as friends.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Steph stares at him with a shocked expression, and Dick realizes he said that out loud. 

“Oh,” he says, a touch sheepish. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, but…” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “After you two got back together, I noticed a few problems and arguments that always left both sides unhappy, but it’s not a new thing between you two.”

“What do you mean by that?” Steph says, crossing her arms. She narrows her eyes and starts tapping a foot. “I thought we were pretty great.”

“Well…”

“Well, what?”

Dick looks into the room, where Tim is now trying to get Jason to use one of the puzzle toys, face covered in crumbs. Jason simply holds it in his hands, though there’s a hint of a frown on his face, like there’s some part of him fighting to emerge and figure it out.

“Remember when he was dating that Ariana girl in high school?” Dick begins. “Back when you didn’t know his identity?”

“Yeah?”

“He was pretty confused about his feelings for you and for his girlfriend, but he’d admit that sometimes you got a bit… pushy with him. He always tried to play it off like it was nothing, and I honestly think he believed it was nothing, but…” Dick shakes his head. “That’s not something you should do to people, even if you like them.”

Anger blazes in her eyes, and Dick tenses in preparation for an argument. She stares at him for a long moment, and then she abruptly deflates.

“Yeah,” she says. “I know, but I was a stupid kid, Dick.”

“I was a stupid kid, too,” Dick says quietly, glancing at his brothers again. “When someone didn’t listen to me after I said no.”

He hears her sharp inhale, and Dick doesn’t look at her, not wanting to see the horror or pity he might find there. Jason’s head is tilted toward them, but he’s focused on the toy in his hands, brows furrowed as Tim explains every aspect of the puzzle. His explanation cuts in and out because he keeps getting distracted by it, and Dick figures that he’ll end up completing it before Jason even makes an attempt.

“Tim made a few mistakes handling the whole situation,” Dick continues, brushing off the memories that threaten to overwhelm him. “I’m not denying that, and it’s something we definitely talked about—and I know you two had a conversation about it, too.”

“How did you know?”

“He told me.”

“Right, of course.”

Dick flashes a humorless smile in her direction, not meeting her gaze. “So, yeah,” he says. “I think you two are better off as friends. You’re so much happier, too. And…” Tim’s sitting on Jason’s lap with the puzzle toy in his hands, tongue poking out of his mouth as he finishes it. Dick watches them for a moment before finishing, “He hasn’t been around since your last break-up, only in the field, but I can tell he’s doing better.

Steph cocks her head to the side. “How so?” she asks curiously.

“Heard him singing again,” Dick says, reaching up to tap his ear. “Over our comms. He used to do that when we’d patrol together, back when he was Robin, and it was nice to hear it again.” He huffs out a laugh, smiling fondly. “Tim also told me he was figuring some stuff out, and he even wanted to talk to me about it, but then…” He gestures to Tim, de-aged to four and currently crowing about completing another puzzle. “Y’know.”

“Damn,” Steph whispers, curling into herself. “God, I should have given him the support he needed instead of yelling at him for being so detached from us. No wonder he kicked me…”

“I think that was because he was sick and cranky,” Dick replies and frowns. “You said that to him?”

“I know, I know,” Steph moans, putting her face in her hands. “It was awful of me, I know! But I was just so angry over what he was telling me!” She exhales loudly and lifts her head. “I should have been a better friend,” she says. “And that’s something I’ll work on in the future when he’s back to his normal age. His… feelings aren’t about me, and I think I’ve been making them about me for some time now.”

Dick says nothing, smiling at her.

“Which you already knew,” Steph says dryly. “Probably.” She reaches up to pull her hair out of the ponytail, combing through the strands with her fingers. “Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” Dick points out cheekily, delighted when Steph rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at him. “Go ahead, though. I’m all ears.”

“I’m just curious, really,” she says, stuffing the hair tie into her mouth as she pushes her hair back. Her question comes out a bit muffled when she speaks, “Did you hate me? Back then? Because sometimes I got the feeling that you did.”

Dick thinks it over, and this brief moment of hesitation ends up being a mistake.

“Oh, god,” Steph says, sounding horrified. “You hated me.”

“No!” Dick protests, reaching out to grab her arm. “I didn’t hate you, I swear! It’s just…” He bites his lip, trying to figure out the best way to explain himself. “After Tim started talking about what was going on with you two,” he says. “I…” 

Dick pauses, exhales slowly, and continues, “Listen, I’m sorry for anything I said or did that made you feel like I hated you, but I promise I didn’t. I was just really protective of Tim, especially after…” He turns his head to look at Jason—alive and breathing. Dick finishes in a quieter voice, “Especially after losing Jason.”

“Oh, Dick…”

“I wasn’t the best brother to Jason,” he says quickly, not wanting to lose traction. “And that’s something I wanted to fix with Tim, even though he wasn’t with us all the time. It bled into the regular stuff going on in his life, too, which included all the girl trouble.” Dick shakes his head, mentally berating himself for making Steph feel this way. “But I should have been an adult about it,” he says, squeezing her arm. “And I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Steph replies after grabbing her hair tie. She wraps it around her hair, creating a much higher ponytail. “It was just a feeling I got, sometimes.” Steph smiles up at him. “And I get it, really. You were just being a good big brother. But if it helps, I do forgive you.”

“Thanks,” Dick mumbles, relief spreading through him. He leans over and wraps an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her against his side. “It’s nice to see you around.”

“I’m probably going to hang around even longer,” Steph says, returning the side hug. “Already talked it over with my mom with the excuse that I’m going to help Cass continue her studies, and she bought it. Honestly, I think she’s just glad I have a best friend to hang out with because it means she gets the house to herself.”

“Probably,” Dick acknowledges. “I bet B felt the same way when I made friends with the Titans and went over to San Francisco some weekends.”

Movement behind them catches his attention, and Dick turns in time to see Cass hopping off the final step on the stairs, dressed in black leggings and a gray long-sleeve. She catches his eye and smiles, bringing her hands up to sign, “Walking now. Will stay in the area.”

“Sounds good,” Dick replies, signing as he speaks. “Keep your phones on you and take care. Try and be back in time for lunch. I might end up ordering something.”

“Pizza,” Steph says, nodding. “You should totally do pizza. Can’t go wrong with that, right? And we could eat the leftovers later! Or tomorrow!”

“Only if it’s cold,” Cass says, smiling. “Tastes better that way.”

“Does not! Leftover pizza tastes the best when it’s nearly burnt to a crisp in the oven!” Steph turns toward him, a look of dismay on her face. “Tell her, Dick!”

“I’m sorry, Steph,” Dick says solemnly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “But I must stand by my sister and say that I agree with her methods. Cold pizza is significantly better and also quicker to prepare. You just get a paper plate, slap it on there, and boom! It’s done!”

“Eat out of box,” Cass replies, eyes dancing with mirth. “Even faster.”

“This family,” Steph declares, starting to walk away. “is a nightmare, and I refuse to stand here and listen to you two slander the best method of pizza consumption. Both of you are henceforth banned from my household, and from now on, we are enemies at the dinner table.”

Dick bites back his laughter as she storms away, and when he glances at Cass, he sees that she’s doing the same. He steps closer to his sister and pulls her in for a quick hug. “Enjoy your walk,” he says, kissing the top of her head. “Don’t get lost.”

“Me? Never.” Cass smiles up at him, her eyes flicking all over his face. She also takes a step back, and Dick tries not to tense up, knowing she’s trying to get a good read on him. “You okay?” she asks. “Twitchy. Sad. Mad. Roller coaster.”

“There’s a lot going on right now,” Dick admits because there’s no hiding from her, rubbing the back of his neck. He leans back against the doorframe, tipping his head toward the sitting room to watch Tim bring out his Barbies, setting one down on Jason’s lap before lining up the rest. “Too much. It’s hard to think.”

“Do you want to talk?” Cass says aloud, her voice soft and hesitant. “I can listen.”

Dick smiles at her. “I know,” he replies, feeling a flicker of warmth in his chest. It’s nice to be cared for, but this is a whole can of worms that Steph shouldn’t have to deal with just because Dick needs to get a few things off his chest. It’s not her burden to bear. “But I’m okay. I’ve got a few people in my corner already, and they’re always there whenever I need them.”

She stares at him for a long moment, eyes searching. Finally, she nods. “Okay,” Cass signs. “See you, big brother.”

“See you,” Dick says, watching her go. He stays in that same spot for a moment longer and then turns to walk into the sitting room, heart bursting with affection when Jason and Tim look up at him with smiles on their faces.

“Dickie!” Tim says happily. “Wet’s pway together!”

“Alright, baby,” Dick says, taking a seat on the floor and accepting the toy that Tim passes over. “Whatever you want.”

★★

“Edward knew what it was like to say over and over again the names of those you had left behind. He knew what it was like to miss someone. And so he listened. And in his listening, his heart opened wide and wider still…”

Dick pauses when his door creaks open, smiling when he sees familiar green eyes peering in through the crack. “Hey, Damian,” he says quietly, beckoning his brother inside. “Need something?”

“Perhaps,” Damian says, opening the door wider. He takes a few steps inside and stops, gazing at him with an almost hesitant look on his face. “Would it be alright if I joined you?” he asks quietly.

“Yes,” Tim speaks up from his little corner. He has two blankets wrapped around him, his face poking out of the only opening. “Dami, come up here! Dickie’s weading to us!”

“Which book?” Damian asks, climbing up onto the bed. He pauses before sliding into the spot between Dick and Jason, who seems to be dozing off, the glow of his eyes partially hidden behind a half-lidded gaze.

“We’re trying to finish this one,” Dick says, tilting the cover of The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane towards him. “It’s slow work, but we’ll get there. Eventually.”

“Eventuawwy,” Tim agrees with a nod. He starts wiggling around, extracting an arm and waving it about. “But now that Dami’s here, it’s time to pway!” Tim pushes out the other arm and starts tugging at the blankets, falling over and flailing. “Oops! Help!”

Dick sighs and shuts the book, placing it on his bedside table before leaning over to free his brother from his blanket prison. “There,” he says once Tim is free, also helping the boy slide off the bed. “Just don’t make a mess.”

“I never make a mess,” Tim says and proceeds to knock over the bucket of toys that he keeps in Dick’s room. “Um… okay, sometimes I make a mess.”

“That’s okay, baby,” Dick says, biting back a smile. “We can clean it up later.”

“Okay…” Tim draws out, taking a seat beside the mess of toys and grabbing a couple of Barbies. “Dami! Come pway with me! I won’t ask again!”

“What could he possibly do to me if I don’t listen?” Damian mutters, but he dutifully slides off the bed and makes his way over to Tim. “Okay, Timothy. I’m here. Please explain the game we are playing.”

“Barbies,” Tim says, passing over the doll with red hair. “You can be this Barbie, okay? And I’m gonna be this one!” He holds up the blonde doll, shaking her around. “We gonna be sisters who, um, work to make wockets! And we’re twying to go to space! Got it?”

“I hope so…”

“Good.” Tim nods, pitching his voice higher when he speaks again, “Hi, Miss Barbie! Did you finish adding fuel to our wocket? And did you check the, um… oxidizer to make sure it’s okay? We gotta be weady to go soon!”

“Yes,” Damian says flatly. “But I believe we may need to pack more meals.”

“Why?”

“Because nutrition is important, even in space.”

Dick dozes off with the sound of his little brothers playing with the Barbies on the floor, only stirring when Jason moves over him to get down on the floor after Tim’s polite request for him to join. He sits on the edge of the bed and beckons Damian over, wrapping his arms around him as he watches Tim shove a Barbie at Jason with a demand to braid her hair.

“How are you doing?” Dick asks when Damian hops up to sit beside him, reaching out to ruffle Damian’s hair. “Getting ready for school?”

“Yes,” Damian answers, half-heartedly swatting his hand away. “And I’m… doing fine, considering.” He sighs. “It’s difficult to think about, and I almost wish I didn’t know, but I’m glad the truth is out.”

“Me too.” Mostly.

“And I can’t imagine how Timothy must have felt to sit with it for so long. I don’t know how Father kept it to himself this whole time.” Damian glances at him, an innocent expression on his face (Dick doesn’t trust it for one second). “Perhaps you should speak to him.”

“Ha,” Dick says flatly. “Subtle.”

He probably should talk to Bruce because now that he’s thinking about it, his old resentment starts rearing its head. Dick also knows that if he continues to avoid this conversation, it’s just going to fester and grow until he inevitably blows up at Bruce, shaking the whole manor apart with his anger.

And his family doesn’t deserve to hear any of that.

“Alright, alright,” he says with a sigh, wrapping an arm around Damian and tugging the boy against his side. Dick can’t stop the fond smile that spreads across his face, nor can he fight the tears that prick his eyes when he says, “When did you go and grow up, huh? I thought I told you not to do that.”

Damian sniffs haughtily. “You only said that because you know I’ll grow to be taller than you,” he replies, smug.

“Untrue,” Dick says, pinching his cheek. “Lies!” But they all know it’s true—and it’s to be expected, what with Dick being the oldest. His only hope is Tim, and that’s the only reason why Dick kept bringing coffee around whenever he managed to snag a patrol slot with him.

They sit in silence for a bit, and Dick watches as Tim adds Ken to the scenario he just made up (something about mermaids and sharks—maybe he should buy a mermaid Barbie for Tim), chewing on his lower lip.

“Hey, Dami?”

“Yes?”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“I suppose.

“Watch over Tim and Jason for me? I have to go talk to Bruce.”

Damian’s arm tightens around him momentarily, and then he pulls back, gazing up at Dick with a serious expression. “Okay,” he says. “Nothing will happen to them while you’re gone.” 

“Thanks, baby bat,” Dick murmurs, combing his fingers through Damian’s hair. It’s getting longer, and he knows that Damian’s going to demand a haircut from Alfred once the older man returns. “Tim’s probably going to ask you to make him some soup while I’m there.”

“Then I should get started,” Damian declares, briefly leaning into Dick’s touch before smacking his hand away. He pulls away from the embrace and slides off the bed, marching over to where Tim’s swinging a Barbie over his head by the hair. “Come along, Timothy! We’re going to have lunch!”

“Okay!” Tim says joyfully and tries to get up, but he accidentally lets go of the doll, and it flies toward the wall. Something cracks and Dick shuts his eyes, his mind filled with the sound of Tim’s loud, “Uh-oh!”

“Did it break?” Dick asks.

“Um… yeah. The wall bwoke it.”

He sighs, putting his face in his hands. “You know what,” Dick says, peeking through his fingers. “We’ll leave it there for now, okay? I’ll buy you a replacement Barbie later.”

“There’s also a hole,” Damian helpfully adds.

“And I’ll fix that myself,” Dick says firmly. “Or… move some furniture in front of it so Alfred doesn’t find it.” That’s a trick he used to pull when he was younger and tried to practice some of his circus moves in the middle of the night. “Now run along, baby brothers!”

“I am not a baby,” Damian mutters, while Tim cries, “M’no baby, Dickie!”

He herds them out of his room. Tim takes Jason’s hand and starts tugging him toward the stairs, prattling on about… The Lego Movie. Damian feigns interest, nodding and humming every now and then, but Dick can see the dread on his face when he glances back, the look in his eyes screaming for help.

Dick bites back a laugh, shooing him away. Damian scowls at him before turning to Tim again, and Dick watches them go with a smile that fades the moment they disappear. He turns and makes his way down the hall, coming to a stop in front of Bruce’s study. 

The door is shut, and he hears nothing beyond the wood. Still, Dick’s stomach churns with anxiety and irritation. His hands curl into fists at his sides as he takes a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the conversation that awaits him.

Then, with barely a sliver of hesitation, Dick twists the doorknob and lets himself into the room.

★★

“You should have told me.”

A soft clicking sound fills the room as Dick stares at Bruce from across the desk, drumming his fingers across the arm of the chair he’s sitting on. It’s the only thing they’ve been listening to since Dick entered and sat himself down in the armchair, watching his father figure without saying a word.

The older man sighs but doesn’t look at him, tracing the rim of his whiskey-filled glass. 

“He asked me not to, Dick.”

Click, click, click.

“He’s my brother,” Dick says, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together. “I deserved to know.”

The ice bumps together when Bruce lifts the glass to finish the rest of his drink, a few droplets clinging to his lips. Dick watches as Bruce wipes it off with the back of his hand before leaning back in his chair, finally meeting Dick’s gaze.

He looks tired.

“And Tim is my son,” Bruce replies. “I was keeping his best interests in mind.”

Dick scoffs, narrowing his eyes. “He wasn’t back then,” he points out. “I saw how you treated him when he first became Robin.” He starts bouncing his foot, suddenly full of restless energy. “I guess you had a change of heart after seeing him all tortured and traumatized.” Dick laughs sardonically. “That’s what it takes to be your son, right?”

“That’s not fair.”

“But it’s true,” Dick retorts, cocking his head to the side. “Your little band of Robins aren’t anything unless they’ve witnessed darkness, the same kind that stains your soul.” His voice is vicious and cold because Dick wants it to hurt—the way all of their usual conversations do. “Am I wrong?”

Click, click, click.

He knows it’s not true, but seeing the stricken look on Bruce’s face gives him a curl of satisfaction. Dick plants his hand on Bruce’s desk and pushes himself up, feeling better now that he’s staring down at the man.

“You didn’t know how to deal with this brand of trauma,” he continues. “So you threw him back into the field—maybe hoping he’d die from a gunshot instead of a knife to the wrist.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Bruce snaps. He stands, too, and the light from the lamp makes the shadows under his eyes look more prominent. “I did my best protecting him out there after the fact! Tim got all the support he needed!”

Click, click, click.

“He could have had more!” Dick says. “Your brand of support includes your stupid crusade that cost us our lives!” He knocks that stupid Newton’s cradle off Bruce’s desk, along with a few sheets of paper, and that damn whiskey glass shatters on the floor, too, shards glittering on the rug. “Tim could have had his friends, or therapy, or—”

“Dick…”

“Tim could have had me!” he shouts, voice breaking at the end. “I should have been there for him, Bruce! I’m his big brother! I’m supposed to make things better!”

They’re left staring at each other in the silence that follows, where Dick is breathing hard, clammy hands curled into fists, and eyes stinging with unshed tears.

“Every time I think things are going great,” he eventually whispers. “You do something to screw it all up.”

Bruce says nothing.

“And I know sometimes you mean well,” Dick continues. “Really, I do, but—” He stops, teeth clacking together, and moves away from the desk, gazing at the pictures hanging on the wall. The smiling faces of his family stare back at him, and Dick has to look away when he sees a photo of Tim right after he first became Robin, beaming brightly at the camera, not yet weighed down by all the losses in his life.

“I’m tired of this, Bruce,” he says, gazing at his father.

“I know,” Bruce says wearily.

“I’m tired of you,” Dick whispers, and the confession causes a tear to slip out. It slides down his cheek and drips off his chin, a few more following. He stares down at his calloused, scarred hands and swallows around the lump in his throat. 

“I need to go,” he murmurs, turning to wrench the door open. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

The door slams shut behind him, but Dick doesn’t care. He buries his face in the hall and sniffles, trying to calm his pounding heart. After a while, Dick wipes his eyes and quickly walks to his room, hating the tight feeling in his chest and the way his stomach churns with anxiety.

He pulls out his phone the moment he’s far enough away from Bruce’s study, typing a message out to Wally with shaking hands.

future wife: coming home. see you soon.

★★

“Dickie?”

He turns after shoving another shirt into the duffle bag and sees Tim peeking into the room with Jason right behind him. “Hi, Timmy,” Dick says softly, trying not to picture him with a painted face and green hair—but it’s hard when that red smile keeps haunting him, his argument with Bruce swirling around in his head. “What’s going on?”

“I wanted to see you,” Tim replies, walking into the room. He stops beside Dick and holds up his arms, Batwalker dangling from one hand. “Uppy.”

Dick bends down to scoop up his little brother and holds him close. He takes a moment to shut his eyes and breathe in the scent of his strawberry shampoo, happy with the knowledge that he’s safe. “Did you already eat?” he asks. “Or do you need me to make you something?”

“Uh-huh!” Tim says, toying with the collar of Dick’s shirt. “I ate! Dami made some soup with the, um, ABCs! And I put some cwackers in it, too!”

“And you didn’t dump it on anyone’s head?”

“No, but Batwalker almost spilled it.”

“Oh, did he?”

“Yeah.” Tim rests his head on Dick’s shoulder and hums. “We gonna go watch a movie wight now, and I thought maybe Dickie would wanna watch it with us, so I came to ask.”

“Thanks, Timmy,” Dick says, kissing his head. “But I can’t right now. I have to pack.”

“Pack?” Tim leans away, gazing at him with a curious expression. “Are we going somewhere?”

“No, baby,” Dick says with a sigh. “Just me.”

“Oh.”

“I have to go home for a bit,” Dick tells him as he sets Tim down on his bed. “Back in Bludhaven.” The boy stares at him blankly when Dick crouches in front of him. “You’ll be good for everyone, won’t you?” he asks, reaching out to ruffle Tim’s hair. “I promise I won’t be gone long.”

“Okay,” Tim says, subdued. “I be good.”

Dick leans over and kisses his forehead. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says.

He looks up when he hears a shuffle of steps and sees Jason gazing down at him with furrowed brows, hands clenched at his sides. It seems like he’s struggling with something, and Dick quickly rises, placing a hand on his arms.

“Jay?” he asks. “Everything okay?”

“Dickie,” Jason says. “Bird.”

Dick huffs out a laugh, rubbing his face. “Yeah, that’s me,” he says with a fond smile. “Dickiebird—your big brother.”

“Going away?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“You okay?”

Dick opens his mouth, only to pause, considering the question. He glances down at his trembling hands, slowly curling them into fists, and sighs, the knot of consternation sitting in his chest making it a bit hard to breathe. “I will be,” he says, turning back to his duffle bag. “Hopefully.”

He moves about the room to gather the rest of his belongings, occasionally taking a moment to close his eyes and get a better grip on his wayward emotions. Dick eventually makes his way out of the room, but not without his brothers following him.

Tim, especially, hovers close to Dick, looking nervous and afraid. He toys with the hem of his shirt, eyes darting all over the place.

Dick sets his bag down so he can kneel in front of his brother. “I’ll be back,” he assures once more, brushing away a few strands of Tim’s hair so he can lean forward and kiss his forehead. “I just need to be with Wally for a while. It’s like when I left with Jason for the weekend, remember? That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Tim says quietly, not looking at him. “But…”

“Yeah?” Dick pokes his stomach, glad to hear a small huff of laughter from Tim. “But what, baby? What do you want to tell me?”

Tim finally looks up. His eyes seem to be searching, and he shakes his head after a while. “Nothing,” he says and then throws himself forward, wrapping his arms around Dick’s neck. “I’ll miss you.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Dick squeezes him, shutting his eyes and burying his face in Tim’s hair. It’s such a sweet gesture from Tim, and it almost makes Dick drop his duffle bag so he can stay with his baby brother. “I’ll miss you, too. So much.”

But he can’t do that, not while anxiety and anger writhe under his skin, making it feel like it’s pulled too tight over muscle and bone. 

He’s been doing so much since the truth came out, trying to keep it together while also taking care of his little brother, still locked away in his mind and running on protective instinct, and the current youngest. Dick can feel himself splitting apart at the seams. He knows some time away will help him—either by distance or by giving him the chance to have a breakdown without any witnesses.

Dick kisses his head one more time before pulling away, grabbing his duffle bag off the floor, and hefting it up his shoulder. He turns so he won’t be tempted to stay by Tim’s sad face and makes his way down to the garage where his car awaits.

★★

The apartment is quiet.

Dick hangs up his keys by the door after shutting it behind him, gazing around the inside. It’s empty, which isn’t surprising—Wally messaged him about being stuck in Central City dealing with a fire, so Dick’s not too worried about the silence.

He heads into the bedroom and dumps his bag on top of the bed, taking a moment to stretch. Dick yawns afterwards, unzipping his bag to take out his things, only to pause when he catches sight of something surprising.

“Oh,” Dick murmurs, blinking back tears. “Hi, Zitka.”

The small stuffed elephant sits on top of his clothes, staring up at him kindly (in his personal opinion). Dick scoops her up and holds her close to his chest, sniffling as he drags a hand over her worn fluff.

“How’d you end up in my things, huh?” Dick wonders, dropping down onto the bed. “Last I remember, you were keeping Jason company.”

Zitka doesn’t respond, but that’s okay. Dick gets the sense that she’s happy to be there. He curls up on his side and tries to think, and then— oh.

“Jason must have put you with my things, huh?” Dick murmurs, kissing her trunk. “Always trying to make things better for me, even when he needs you more.”

Maybe he should get a teddy bear for Jason. Something for Damian, too, while he’s at it. Dick thinks they could benefit from a stuffed friend of their own because Dick certainly did when he was a kid and only had Zitka to talk to before he finally opened up to Bruce.

“This is a mess, Zitka,” Dick murmurs, shutting his eyes. The exhaustion from his conversation with Bruce finally sweeps over him, and he can feel his mind starting to drift. “But I’m glad you’re here with me…”

His oldest friend doesn’t answer, but Dick doesn’t care. He soaks up the comfort she brings through their embrace and drifts off into a much-needed sleep.

★★

Dick slowly floats to awareness, the feeling of someone stroking a hand through his hair making him hum.

He shifts against the warm sheets before yawning, lips twitching when lips brush against his cheek. Dick opens his eyes, blinking rapidly to let them adjust to the change in light before turning to look at the person standing beside the bed.

“Hi, Walls,” Dick murmurs, tilting his head into Wally’s touch.

“Hi, gorgeous,” Wally replies, smiling down at him.

Heat rises to his cheeks, but Dick doesn’t hide out of embarrassment like he normally does. Instead, he turns to press a kiss to Wally’s palm, humming when he feels a small spark travel through him, zipping down his spine and making him feel all tingly.

“Missed you,” Dick says, reaching up to tug Wally onto the bed. His boyfriend hovers over him, hair tousled and eyes bright. “Thought you’d be gone longer.”

“Not much happened,” Wally replies. “And they’ll call me if they need me.” A smile stretches across his face, one that fills Dick’s stomach with butterflies. “I missed you, too.” And then he leans down, a puff of air ghosting over Dick’s lips before they kiss.

Dick releases his beloved Zitka to wrap an arm around Wally, clutching his shoulder as he pulls the other man down. He shifts a bit, trying to get more comfortable, but the heat of Wally’s body against him makes Dick feel a bit dizzy, and he makes a noise of protest when Wally breaks the kiss.

“Sorry,” he says, face red. It makes his freckles stand out, which Dick loves to see. “I didn’t want to squish your friend.” Wally tips over, bouncing on the empty spot beside Dick, and reaches past Dick to pick up Zitka. He places her on Dick’s chest, smiling at him. “Who’s this?”

“Uh…” Dick flushes for a different reason. “This is Zitka…”

“Ah.” The expression on Wally’s face is so tender, and it stays there when Wally looks over at Zitka, gently patting her head. “It’s nice to meet you, Zitka.”

Something affectionate and warm swells in his chest at the sight of Wally treating Zitka like a person just because she means so much to Dick. He carefully sets her down on his bedside table and drags Wally in for another kiss, pouring all of his love into it.

It gets heated pretty quickly.

All the negative feelings from earlier get buried beneath the warmth simmering beneath his skin, and Dick arches up into Wally, hoping to forget everything that happened. 

Dick slips a hand under Wally’s shirt, scraping his nails over the other man’s abdomen. He nips at his bottom lip when he hears the soft hitch of Wally’s breath, and then, abruptly, the kiss stops, and his hand is pulled away by Wally’s gentle grip.

He opens his eyes, pouting. “What?” he asks, brushing their noses together. “Don’t you want me?”

“Always,” Wally immediately replies. He strokes a thumb across Dick’s inner wrist, making Dick shiver, and asks quietly, “Remember what we talked about, Dick?”

Dick tips his head back against the pillow with a sigh, blinking back tears as he stares at the ceiling. “Wally…”

“You can say it, babe,” Wally says gently. “I know you can.”

His lip wobbles and Dick bites the inside of his cheek so Wally won’t notice (but it probably didn’t work because Wally notices everything about him). After a while, Dick exhales shakily and says, “I shouldn’t use sex to distract myself from whatever’s upsetting me. It’ll just make me feel worse.”

“There you go.” Wally releases his hand and leans down. Dick squeezes his eyes shut, but all he feels is a soft pressure against his forehead. It lingers for a few seconds before disappearing, and when Dick opens his eyes, he sees Wally gazing down at him with pride. “What else?”

“I shouldn’t use it to punish myself, either,” Dick dutifully murmurs, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Especially when I don’t want it.”

“That’s right, baby.” Wally kisses his nose next, and it makes Dick tear up again. “You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Dick sniffles. “A lot,” he says.

“It’s okay,” Wally replies in a soothing voice. He shifts, and suddenly Dick’s head is resting on Wally’s chest, the fast beat of his heart quelling some of Dick’s anxiety. “I’ve got all day and night for you.”

★★

The whole story comes out in bits and pieces, mostly because Dick occasionally needs to pause to cry, burying his tears in Wally’s shoulder or chest while the other man holds him through it. He never says a word, letting Dick get through the whole thing, and by the end, Dick’s voice is hoarse, his eyes hurt, but he feels so much better.

“So, yeah,” he croaks, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes. “That’s what happened. It’s why I haven’t really texted you. I’ve been busy watching my brothers.”

“It’s alright, Dick,” Wally says quietly, voice a bit distant. Dick knows he’s trying to process all the information at a slower pace since his mind often runs faster than he’d like, and he patiently waits for his boyfriend to get through it all. “You had a lot going on.” 

He starts brushing a hand down Dick’s back, rubbing his thumb into a couple of knots on his spine. Dick groans and goes boneless on top of him, letting Wally turn him into putty.

“This is cheating,” Dick mutters, but he definitely doesn’t protest.

“How?” Wally asks, amused. “I’m just trying to make my pretty boyfriend feel better by giving him a much-needed massage, and I haven’t even brought out the vibrating fingers yet.”

Dick falls into a light doze while Wally works at his tense muscles, enjoying the warmth of his body and the familiar movements of his hands.

Wally knows his body so well, and he does an excellent job of ridding Dick of any soreness (or, in some cases, causing a different kind). He’s so tempted to fall into a deeper sleep and let himself forget about his troubles when Wally clears his throat and shifts, dragging a whine out of Dick’s throat.

“Why’d you stop?” he slurs, lifting his head to glare at his boyfriend. “T’was gettin’ good.”

“Because I have some things to tell you,” Wally says, and although his words are serious, the expression on his face is light and happy. He threads his fingers through Dick’s hair, and Dick hums when he starts scratching Dick’s scalp. “You’re a great big brother, Dick, and you take on so much. I think you handled everything as well as you could, and I’m pretty proud that you managed to step back and leave so you could get a break from the situation. Or, rather, from your dad.”

“You don’t think I’m stupid?” Dick mumbles, dropping his gaze. “For getting mad at him, I mean.”

“Not at all,” Wally replies, and then continues in a gentler voice, “I do think you should think it over, though, and try to match the situation to yourself.”

“What do you mean?”

“How would you feel if you told Bruce to not tell anyone about what happened when—” Wally cuts himself off with an angry twist to his mouth, and Dick knows it’s not directed at him, only at the scenario he nearly mentions. “Anyways, imagine if he told everyone else before you were ready. You’d feel pretty upset about it, right? Especially with everything that went down between you two in the past.”

“I—” Dick’s initial reaction is to bristle and defend himself, but he knows there’s truth to Wally’s words. He slumps on top of him, hiding his face in Wally’s chest. “Yeah, I guess…”

“Batman guards secrets better than anyone I’ve ever known, and that’s counting our first meeting and our years of friendship.” Wally smiles at him, and Dick can’t help but respond in kind. “And… if you were in Batman’s boots, and Tim had asked you to keep it a secret from everyone, including those closest to you both… Would you have done it?”

Dick doesn’t even have to think about it. “Yes,” he says and then sighs. “Dammit.”

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be angry with him,” Wally adds, now rubbing the back of Dick’s neck. “He kept it a secret, and you have that thing with him about not doing it anymore. Feel how you feel, babe, and I’ll support you all the way.”

“Thanks,” Dick says, shifting until he’s hovering above Wally. He stares at his boyfriend, entranced by those green eyes, and slowly leans down to kiss him, not even complaining when Wally rolls them over to take the lead.

“You’re wonderful,” Wally murmurs, kissing his nose. “And so, so strong.” A couple of kisses on his eyelids. “I’m amazed by you every single day.” His forehead gets a kiss, too. “I’m super lucky to have you in my life.” The corner of his mouth and Dick huffs when Wally completely ignores the way he turns to try and catch him in a real kiss. “And I love you with every cell in my body.”

“I love you too,” Dick whispers, and somehow, that’s what causes his vision to go blurry with tears. “Thanks for helping me. I know it’s a lot to dump on you.”

“Through joy and sorrow,” Wally says, brushing their noses together. “Sickness and health, as long as we both shall live.”

“We’re not even married yet, Walls…”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

Dick shuts his eyes when Wally kisses him again, the bed creaking when Wally shifts to press down against him. He tangles his fingers in Wally’s soft hair, humming when he receives a careful nip on his bottom lip.

“You should sleep some more,” Wally says, dropping down into the space beside him and bouncing on the bed. “I know you’re still tired, gorgeous, especially after a long talk like that.” He pauses and then adds, “I promise I’ll make you breakfast in the morning. Or whenever we wake up.”

“If it’s not eggs, I’m dumping you,” Dick informs him and tips his head back with a sigh. “Okay, you’re right. I just need to change out of my clothes.” He glances at Wally. “Unless my super fast boyfriend wants to change us in a millisecond to make things easier…”

Wally grins at him, eyes sparking with a little lightning. “If only,” he says, kissing his cheek with a loud ‘mwuah’ sound. “But you know as well as I do that it could be dangerous. Plus, I like watching you change.”

“You’re so gross,” Dick says with a laugh, shoving his face away. He climbs over his boyfriend, swatting at his grabby hands, and pulls his pajamas out of his duffle bag. His cheeks burn when he hears Wally’s wolf whistle after peeling off his jacket and shirt, and he gets back at the other man by smothering him with a pillow after he returns to bed.

Wally flails for a while, body shaking with muffled laughter. Dick eventually removes it when he deems it as punishment enough. Then, he flops right on top of Wally, wrapping himself around the other man while he wheezes.

“Goodnight,” he chirps.

“Night, gorgeous.”

This time, Dick really does smack him for using the pet name, heat climbing up to his ears. Still, he snuggles up against his boyfriend, soaking up the warmth that makes him so distinct from other people (since speedsters run hotter), and lets himself be swept away by the exhaustion that came from the day yet again.

★★

After three days of recharging his batteries, going out into Bludhaven as Nightwing, and dealing with his sudden spike of anxiety, Wally sits him down at their island. He sets a plate down in front of Dick, slides over a glass of orange juice, and leans over while holding a yolk-covered pan.

“I think you should go home,” Wally says, sliding a pile of scrambled eggs onto Dick’s plate. “After my very nutritious meal that I worked so hard on, of course.”

Dick pierces a piece with his fork and slips it into his mouth, staring at his boyfriend while he chews. “Are you,” he says slowly. “kicking me out of my own apartment?”

“Yes.” Wally pauses. “No.”

“You sound awfully unsure, Wally West…”

“Don’t full name me,” Wally whines, dropping his head onto the table. “That’s so mean!”

“And it’s mean to tell your boyfriend to leave out of the blue, but that’s just me…” Dick goes back to eating his meal, taking a sip of his orange juice while he stares at his overdramatic partner.

“Ugh,” Wally says, sounding exasperated, but there’s nothing but fondness on his face when he lifts his head, resting his chin on his hands. “I just think you need to go back,” he explains, a touch of concern entering his eyes. “And it’s not because I don’t want you here, baby. I’m just…” He sighs, voice growing softer, “You’re too worried about your family right now, and I understand why, but it’s stopping you from relaxing.”

“No, it’s not!”

“Babe,” Wally says patiently. “You’re still so tense, even after all those massages I gave you.” A pause, and then Wally smirks. “Well, except for one of them.”

“Stop,” Dick grumbles, shifting in his seat.

“That’s not what you were saying before…”

Dick rolls his eyes, finishing up the rest of his eggs. He’s blushing, he knows, but it’s hard to avoid the reaction when his brain gets stuck in a loop thinking about Wally’s words, remembering all the times Wally made him—

“Alright,” he says, pushing himself up. “Fine, I’ll go back to the manor.” Dick rubs his cheek, turning away from Wally to avoid looking at his grin. “And deprive you of my presence…”

“I’ll miss you so much,” Wally says, placing a hand on his chest and using the other to wipe away a fake tear. “I may need you to send me a picture of yourself every day so I never forget the sight of your beautiful face.”

“You’re annoying,” Dick declares, but there’s a smile on his face and a notable lack of heat when he speaks, so it doesn’t hold much weight. “I’m going to go pack, and then I’ll be off.”

“Text me when you get there?”

“Of course.”

Wally zips over, and Dick lets the other man kiss him several more times while they stand in the middle of their apartment. He pulls away when he feels a hand creeping up his shirt, shoving the speedster away with a laugh.

“Go eat,” Dick orders. “Because you won’t get a chance to do so when you’re off stopping Rogues in Central, and then you’ll cry about it in our messages.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Wally says with a two-fingered salute and a wink, appearing back at the stove in a flash of yellow lightning. Dick watches him cook for a bit, affection making his heart skip, before turning to go into the bedroom, ignoring the trepidation that comes with the idea of going back home.

★★

His phone buzzes as he’s leaving his apartment, and Dick pulls it out, smiling when he sees a message from Damian. He stops beside his car, idly spinning his keys around his finger as he unlocks the phone and pulls up their message thread.

Former Sidekicks Support Group Social Club

d: I have a request for you.
d: Go to Timothy’s apartment and gather all of his ongoing case files.
d: They may be scattered around the place, but it should not take long.

D: what makes you think i’m going to be in the area

d: You just left your apartment.

D: how do you know that!!!!

d: Your tracker went off.

D: dami…
D: we talked about this, remember?
D: boundaries?
D: putting a tracker on me definitely blows past them

d: How else am I supposed to know where you’re going?

D: by asking me 😑

d: I will consider that.

D: you absolutely will not

d: You haven’t answered me.

D: i don’t have keys… how am i supposed to get in?

d: Through the secret entrance.
d: Timothy has our biometrics registered, so you should be allowed entry.

D: ugh, fine, i’ll stop by
D: who sent you to do the dirty work

d: I am asking for myself.

D: was it bruce

d: I refuse to answer. Goodbye.

D: damian!
D: 🙄

Dick shakes his head, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. “That kid,” he mutters as he unlocks his car, sliding into the driver’s seat and tossing his duffle bag into the back. “Just like Bruce, I swear…”

At least he can stall his return for a little while longer.

★★

Tim’s apartment is neat, unfitting for the messy teen that Dick remembers.

It actually looks like something straight out of a home decor magazine, which is definitely not a compliment. Dick wrinkles his nose as he walks past the blank walls, stopping in front of Tim’s bedroom.

“Yup,” Dick says as he steps inside. “This is more like it.”

Papers are scattered around the floor, each one set beside each other until it creates a little spiral. Dick can easily envision his little brother standing above all the information, holding his chin as he ponders his case, trying to visually map it out.

He carefully piles them on top of each other, placing them in a random manilla folder he finds amongst the mess. Dick brushes aside some of the clutter on Tim’s bed and sets it down in the new empty space, and then he grabs an empty box and gets to work with placing Tim’s files inside it, sorting through everything on his desk.

Dick finds Tim’s phone sitting underneath the large pile of casework. He pauses, considering, and then dumps the set of papers into the box so he can scoop it up. It flickers to life with a simple tap to the screen, and Dick’s surprised to see that the phone is at 37% battery life.

“Huh,” he says, swiping to the side. Tim probably messed around with it, as he’s prone to do whenever he’s bored, and there are electronics in his reach with the excuse that he’s trying to make it better.

The phone prompts him for a passcode, and Dick stops, mulling it over. He wonders what might be Tim’s passcode. Tim’s the type of person to be a real asshole and use a bunch of numbers just to throw people off, but he can also be pretty lazy and go with something simple, like a specific date.

First, Dick tries Steph’s birthday, but the phone vibrates angrily and tells him that it’s incorrect, also warning him that he has two attempts left. He sighs and paces the room for a bit, trying to think of something else. After a while, Dick inputs Bruce’s birthday, and he scoffs when the phone buzzes.

“There are too many birthdays to get through,” Dick mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. He gently knocks the phone against his head, hoping it might kickstart his brain into finding the correct answer. “One attempt left, Grayson. You’ve got to make it count…”

Dick lifts his head and locks eyes with his reflection.

The bags under his eyes tell a tale of his exhaustion, which pairs great with his slightly washed-out face. He privately promises to go out and get some sun (when it decides to appear in Gotham) before refocusing on Tim’s phone, tapping a finger against the side.

“What about a brother?” Dick wonders. “Wouldn’t hurt to try, right? If it doesn’t work, then I’ll hold onto it until it gives me more attempts, and I’ll try something else.” 

He types in his birthday, not really expecting much, and waits for the phone to vibrate and lock him out. It lags for a moment, and Dick sighs, getting ready to dump it into his bag and be done with Tim’s apartment.

“Oh,” he says when it unlocks, revealing hundreds of notifications in Tim’s email and texts. “Oh, Tim…”

Dick blinks away the wetness in his eyes and cradles the phone against his chest. Affection surges through him, and Dick feels overwhelmed by the relief that follows because he thought things were bad between them.

“God, this is stupid,” he says with a laugh, wiping his eyes. “Don’t cry over such a small thing. It’s just a passcode.” 

But it means so much to Dick, and now he knows there’s a strong chance of mending his relationship with Tim.

After a while, Dick wrangles his emotions under control, though an occasional sniffle sneaks out as he flips over Tim’s phone. He’s about to clear all the notifications when a new one pops up from an… oddly named group chat, and the phone automatically opens it up without Dick tapping on anything (maybe that’s a feature Tim added).

TIM'S WORLD DOMINATION PLANS

bassandra: im just saying we should go to gotham and take tim for a while. I can phase through the manor and steal him and be out of there in like 5 seconds

cartholomew: and risk the wrath of Batman and the other Bats?
cartholomew: I think not
cartholomew: we should just wait for Batman to give us the okay.

kimothy: im with cassie on this

bassandra: YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SPEAK CONNER KON-EL KENT
bassandra: YOU GOT TO SEE TIM
bassandra: GET AWAY FROM US

kimothy: HEY!

cartholomew: sorry, Kon, I'm with Bart on this one. you got to see him before all of us so your opinion is automatically void.

kimothy: 😔 i hate it here

Dick scrolls up while Tim’s friends (an easy guess, based on their names) keep chatting. The phone lags when he moves past a bunch of heart emojis from Bart, and then he finds the reason why the speedster had such a reaction.

There are a few photos of Tim from when he was sick. He’s smiling at the camera while Kon simply sticks out his tongue, and although Tim looks pale and exhausted, there’s no mistaking the joy in his eyes as he leans against Kon—a boy who rushed over the moment he heard the four-year-old version of his best friend call for him.

(“They miss him,” Kon had mentioned off-hand after Bruce left the room, gazing down at Tim with a sad smile. “We all do. It’s not the same without him.” )

He chews on his bottom lip as he stares at Tim’s smiling face. Then, Dick starts typing in the chat, sending the message before he can think twice about it (and chuckling when he sees Tim’s username in this group chat).

tonner: hey, this is tim’s big brother.
tonner: you guys should come over tomorrow.

bassandra: YES
bassandra: THANK YOU
bassandra: 🥳🕺👏✨🎉
bassandra: SO EXCITING!

kimothy: wait
kimothy: which big brother
kimothy: the one that tried to kill him or the other one

tonner: dick
tonner: the best one

kimothy: oh
kimothy: hi
kimothy: why do you have tim’s phone

tonner: stopped by his apartment to pick up his cases
tonner: managed to crack the code, and your chat automatically popped up

cartholomew: yeah, we enabled that setting to distract Tim from work
cartholomew: are you sure we can come over, though?
cartholomew: what about Batman?

tonner: what about batman 🙂

bassandra: ooo
bassandra: i sense a batmood 🧐

cartholomew: okay…

tonner: listen, i was batman once
tonner: so i say it’s fine

bassandra: sounds fair to me!

kimothy: i know that’s coming from dick
kimothy: but seeing that message from tim is unnerving

cartholomew: yep.

bassandra: we’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, mr. tim’s big brother
bassandra: o7

tonner: not too early.
tonner: some of us need sleep
tonner: cya

Dick exits the conversation and locks the phone, tucking it away in his pocket. He puts his hands on his hips and looks around the room, mentally cataloging everything he packed away to pick out anything he may have missed. Dick finds a couple of papers tucked between a couple of books on one of Tim’s shelves, and he snags those, too, freezing when a book tumbles out and lands on the floor, opening on a random page.

I dream of him, sometimes, Dick reads as he picks it up, Tim’s familiar scrawl filling up the page. And it’s like nothing ever happened. He looks as broody as always, but there’s always a smile on his face whenever I stop by, the same one he gets… used to get when I’d go down into the Cave in the middle of the night to keep him company. And then I wake up and remember, and I feel more motivated to find Bruce. It’s the only thing keeping me going.

Dick shuts the book.

He stares down at the blank cover, realizing that this must be Tim’s log of the year from hell. Dick could find all the answers here because he knows Tim, and he knows that this journal will contain more details than the reports he turned in about his year abroad and his encounter with the League of Assassins. It could give Dick so much insight into his brother and what he went through during his quest to find Bruce.

With this in mind, Dick puts the book back on the shelf.

Tim can tell me himself, Dick thinks as he gathers up the boxes of ongoing cases. He glances around the room, hoping he didn’t forget anything, and makes his way over to the small elevator. Whenever he’s ready, I’ll be there to listen.

And not a moment sooner because that would certainly break Tim’s trust in him, and that’s not something Dick wants to do, especially when they’re still on such shaky grounds.

★★

Dick stops by the Cave after parking in the garage. He drops off all of Tim’s files and checks on a few things before heading upstairs, duffle bag hoisted over his shoulder. Dick makes sure to dump that into his room and then goes off in search of his family, feeling a need to see Tim and Jason, most of all.

He finds them in one of the many empty rooms of the manor, this one filled with old or broken furniture (the latter because of him, mostly).

Tim is sitting on the floor, rolling a couple of toy cars around, those tiny wheels squeaking against the tile. Jason’s crouching beside him, pushing a small Batmobile model towards the boy.

He tries to be silent when he pushes the door open enough to step into the room, but Dick knows he’s not successful when Jason glances his way. Dick notes that the green glow in both eyes are mere flecks now, and his facial expression seems more like himself—annoyance at being disturbed, tinged with a flicker of fondness once their eyes meet.

“Dick,” he says.

Tim’s head shoots up, and he gazes at Dick with surprise, eyes wide and everything. He doesn’t tear himself away from Jason, nor does he voice any greetings. Instead, he shifts closer to Jason and hides in his chest, confusing Dick.

“Timmy?” Dick asks, edging closer. “What’s wrong?”

“You left,” Jason says slowly, like the words are foreign in his mouth. “Tim thought…” He makes a frustrated sound, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. “Tim thought… he made you leave,” Jason finishes after a beat, nodding. “He’s upset.”

“Oh,” Dick murmurs, something twinging in his chest. He crouches in front of the broken couch and tries to catch Tim’s eye. “Tim?” he says gently. “Baby? Can you look at me?”

Tim fiddles with the strings of Jason’s hoodie, and Dick waits patiently for the boy to follow through with Dick’s request. Eventually, Tim turns in his direction, but he doesn’t quite meet Dick’s gaze. It reminds Dick of how he went nonverbal in the aftermath of that League attack, and it makes his heart ache.

“Do you think I left because of you?” Dick prods.

His baby brother’s eyes start shining, and the tears spill over when he nods. “I-I—” Tim starts to say, only to clamp his lips together, sniffling. He brings his hands up and shakily signs his response, and what he says threatens to shatter Dick completely.

“I thought you went away because I was a bad boy.”

“Oh, honey,” Dick whispers, reaching over to pull Tim into his arms. He shelters Tim against his chest, wrapping his arms around the boy and feeling tears prick at his eyes when Tim immediately starts crying, his hitched breaths filling the room. “No, Timmy, no. I didn’t leave because of you.” He curls a hand around the back of Tim’s head and rocks him. “You’re not a bad boy, either. You haven’t been a bad boy since you came home with us, and even if you were, I wouldn’t leave because of that.”

Tim hiccups on a sob. “P-Pwomise?” he croaks out.

Dick sweeps his hair back so he can kiss Tim’s forehead. “I promise, sweetheart,” he says. 

“Okay,” Tim whispers. “I-I wuv you, Dickie.”

“I love you too, Timmy,” Dick says, using the sleeves of his shirt to wipe his face. “I’m sorry I made you feel like I left because of you, though. Can you forgive me? It’s okay if you don’t want to, though. I’ll do my best to make it up to you.”

Tim sniffles, burrowing into his chest. “I forgive Dickie,” he says. And then, so quiet that Dick nearly misses it, he adds, “Pwease don’t weave me…”

“Never, baby,” Dick promises fiercely, combing his fingers through Tim’s hair. The boy shudders and practically melts against him, one hand fisted in Dick’s shirt. “Nothing you do will ever make me leave you.”

It hurts to hear Tim’s quiet sobs and feel the way his body shakes from the force of them. He tenses when a hand slides over his shoulder, relaxing only when he looks up and meets Jason’s gaze.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hey,” Jason replies, releasing him and taking a seat beside him. “Missed you.” A pause. “Too quiet without you.”

“Thanks,” Dick says, lips twitching. “I appreciate it.”

Jason rolls his eyes, leaning over to gently tug on a strand of Tim’s hair. “Not sleeping well,” he says. “Kept crying. Pretended he wasn’t.”

“Yeah. That happens a lot in this family.”

Dick gently scratches Tim’s scalp, listening to the way the sobs taper off into small, hitched breaths. His tiny fist remains clutched in Dick’s shirt, and Dick can tell by the way his head lolls against Dick’s shoulder that he’s going to sleep soon. 

“Alright,” he murmurs, slowly pushing himself up to stand. Tim makes a noise of protest, but when Dick glances down, he sees the boy’s eyes closed, too tired to even properly complain. “Let’s get some sleep, then.” Dick carefully shifts Tim to one arm and holds out a hand. “Come join us.”

Jason stares up at him for a long moment. “Yeah,” he says quietly, reaching up to take it. “Okay.”

★★

Dick wakes up feeling way too hot and sweaty.

He looks down at himself, only to see his torso piled high with his little siblings. Tim is starfished across his chest, Batwalker tucked under one arm, while Jason and Damian are plastered against his sides. Cass’ partially curled around Tim, the rest of her encroaching on Damian’s space.

I’m stuck here, Dick thinks, tipping his head back to stare up at the ceiling. Forever.

Not that he minds. He loves his siblings, and he especially loves that they’re now comfortable enough to share the bed with him, but it’s difficult to lie there peacefully when there’s nothing to distract him from the way his thoughts continue to clash and collide with each other.

It doesn’t help that the constant theme running through his head is a reminder to talk with Bruce.

Tim sighs in his sleep, mumbling about something called ‘turtle chips’ before he turns, rolling off Dick and landing on top of Jason, who snorts, making a confused sound. Dick holds his breath, waiting until his breathing evens out, and then Dick begins the slow process of extracting himself from everyone.

He thinks he’s in the clear when he manages to shimmy down to the end of the bed, but then all of his hopes and dreams are dashed when a hand snags his wrist.

Dick sighs and looks back to see Cass gazing at him with sleepy eyes. She releases his hand, bringing it up to carefully sign, “Where are you going?”

“Bruce,” Dick replies, finally slipping off the bed and silently landing on the floor. He gazes at his siblings with a smile and explains, “Gotta talk to him. Will be back later.”

“I’ll make sure they sleep more,” Cass says, offering a thumbs up before shifting into Dick’s previous spot, wrapping her arms around Damian and tugging the boy against her chest. Damian grumbles in his sleep, but otherwise, he does not move or wake, and Dick’s honestly impressed she managed to do that.

He silently slips out of the room, carefully shutting the door behind him before making his way down the hall. Dick pauses halfway through his journey, considering, and promptly rushes forward, throwing himself into a front handspring and landing with his arms up in the air. There’s no applause, of course, but Dick can imagine a crowd clapping over this simple move.

And then he hears a few fingersnaps, like he’s at one of those poetry slams Jason drags him to when he’s feeling particularly brotherly.

Dick opens his eyes, surprised to see Bruce standing a few feet away. “Didn’t expect to see you out here,” he says as he makes his way over, stealing the hot cup of coffee out of his hand.

“In my own house?” Bruce says, bemused.

“Fair point.” Dick eyes the other man while he takes a sip, only to grimace a second later because there’s barely enough sugar to satisfy Dick. “Listen,” he says as he passes the mug back. “Can we talk?”

“Sure,” Bruce says, gesturing to the hallway. “Let’s head over to my study.”

“Surprised you weren't there already…”

“I was looking at some of Tim’s files,” Bruce says, a bit muffled due to him pausing to have some coffee. “Wanted to see what information he came across for one of the cases we were both investigating. I have to sort them first because they’re a bit of a mess. He can be a bit unorganized when he’s distracted by information.”

“He’s not the only one,” Dick mutters.

Bruce smirks at him, stopping in front of his study. He swiftly turns the knob, letting the door swing open. Dick shuts the door behind him and drops down in the chair across the desk, noting the lack of Newton’s cradle. Maybe Dick broke it.

“So,” Bruce says as he sets his coffee down on the table. “What did you want to talk about?” He sounds a bit wary, almost like he expects Dick to blow up at him—a fair assumption, considering their rocky relationship in Dick’s early adulthood.

“You know,” Dick says, waving a hand. “This and that.” He chews on his bottom lip, thinking, and leans forward. “I’m… sorry for leaving the way I did.”

“I’m not the one who was upset by your departure,” Bruce says.

“I know.” Dick offers a wry smile. “I already apologized to Timmy. He was worried I left because he was bad, which makes me want to throttle his parents for making him think that, and I told him I never would. It might be something we have to work on with him while he’s young, and maybe when he’s older, too.”

“Good idea,” Bruce says. “We’ll figure something out.”

“And… I also wanted to say that I’m sorry for the things I said to you,” he adds, voice soft and unsure. It’s a first, for sure. Dick could never apologize for the vitriol he spit at Bruce back in the day when he was fresh off being fired and kicked out and then dealing with being replaced as Robin and as a son. “It wasn’t fair to you,” he says, staring down at his hands. “I know you don’t see us that way.”

“Thank you,” Bruce says quietly. “And you should know…” He pauses, exhaling. His fingers tap along the desk, a brief staccato that pulls his attention back to the older man. “If I could have, I would have absolutely chosen another life for all of you, but I’m selfish enough to be happy to have you by my side and know that you won’t struggle to keep yourselves safe, that I won’t lose you like I lost—” 

Bruce stops there, but Dick knows what he means. It’s something he feels whenever he sees his loved ones alive and well—the memory of his parents’ deaths barely an echo in his mind.

“I know,” he replies, offering a tentative smile. Dick feels a flicker of happiness when he receives an equally hesitant one in response, and then he leans forward, clasping his hands together.

“I’m still mad at you,” Dick tells him. “Because you promised that there’d be no more secret between us, but…” He sighs, digging his thumb into a knuckle. “I get that you were thinking of Tim and his comfort first, and I know I would have asked too many questions if you told me the Joker was dead, questions that might have revealed what happened to Tim.”

“Probably,” Bruce says wryly. All amusement disappears from his face when he speaks again, “I regret how you all found out, but I didn’t want to break Tim’s trust by telling you all when he wasn’t ready for you to know.”

“What’s another secret, right?” Dick remarks though he’s unable to keep the tinge of bitterness out of his voice. 

“And I’d do the same for the rest of you,” Bruce continues, meeting his gaze. “Anything you don’t want to reveal will remain with me until you give the okay, and even then, I’d only break that promise if your lives were in danger.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

There’s something steady and reassuring in those blue eyes, and it reminds Dick of the day Bruce came for him after Dick had been missing for a few months.

He wore a similar look while he waited for Dick to come out of his hiding spot, and Dick, too used to being drugged for his captor’s pleasure, was untrusting of whether it was real or not. Then, Bruce said something—a phrase that only he would know. It anchored Dick to reality, and when he finally edged closer to the older man, all Bruce did was open his arms, and Dick jumped into them, letting himself be shielded by Batman’s cape.

After going back home, Dick went through every medical exam known to man, and he begged Bruce not to tell anyone about what happened. He never heard the promise, too lost in his tears, but he felt it in the way Bruce curled a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him close, thumb stroking the skin while Dick was lulled into a semblance of calm by the sound of Bruce’s calm heartbeat.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, feeling a curl of shame in his gut. “You wouldn’t, huh.” He stares at his father, chewing on his bottom lip before he rises and shuffles around the desk, stopping when he’s standing only a couple of inches away from Bruce.

“I never really thanked you for that,” Dick murmurs. “It was… an awful time, and I know I was pretty difficult to deal with, especially when you were the only one who knew what happened to me at the time. And even then, I couldn’t…” Dick looks away. “I couldn’t tell you everything. Still can’t.”

“And that’s fine,” Bruce says firmly. “I told you before that you never had to, and that’s something I still believe.” A wry smile flits across his face. “Which may be hard to believe. I can acknowledge how… invasive I can be in your life.”

“Invasive,” Dick snorts. “That’s one word for it.”

“Regardless,” Bruce continues. “You never have to thank me for saving you. I just wish I could have done more for you or found you sooner. It was—” He purses his lips together, looking a bit frustrated. “I spent so much time searching for you, Dick. You can’t imagine my relief when you called from that payphone.”

“Bet you can’t imagine mine when I finally realized you were real,” Dick counters with a brief chuckle. He smiles at Bruce, and then he carefully wraps his arms around the other man, dropping his head onto his shoulder. Dick slumps against Bruce when he automatically wraps an arm around Dick, situating him on his lap.

He sniffles, remembering all the times Bruce held him like this whenever he got too lost in his head. Especially during the times when he tried to escape to return to his Master. Bruce was truly his only anchor to reality back then, and Dick’s grateful for it even now.

“I know I would have done the same thing for Tim if he asked,” Dick says after a while, voice quiet. “Wally helped me see that. But… I’m still going to be upset because you broke a promise, one that we made long before Tim was ever Robin.”

“Okay. I understand.”

“And I need you to promise me that you won’t do it again.”

“I’ll try my best, Dick. If it involves one of the others and their secrets, I won’t share that unless they give me permission.”

Dick hums, shutting his eyes and breathing in the familiar smoky scent, one that comforted him after a slideshow of nightmares when he was younger. “Alright,” he says. “I think I can accept that.”

They stay like that for a while, and Dick only pulls away when he hears a soft chime. He lifts his head to glance quizzically at the tablet off to the side, sliding off to grab it. Dick passes it over to Bruce, peering when Bruce starts tapping through the screen.

“Oh,” Bruce says, sounding pleased. “Alfred’s home.”

“Why was Alfred gone for so long?” Dick wonders, hopping onto the desk. “I missed him.

“He was picking something up for me,” Bruce answers. “Unfortunately, there was a bit of a delay, so he had to stick around until the transaction could be completed.”

“What was it?”

“Oh, nothing.” Bruce waves a hand. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Dick catches the sheepish look on Bruce’s face and narrows his eyes. “What did you do?” he asks suspiciously.

Bruce’s eyes dart around the room before he sighs, setting the tablet down. “Well,” he says, tapping on it to bring up the security footage from the garage. “Tim mentioned that he wanted a puppy…”

“You didn’t,” Dick says, shocked.

Bruce says nothing. He gestures to the screen, and Dick sees Alfred pulling a large crate out of the backseat.

“You didn’t!” Dick exclaims. “Oh my god, Bruce!”

“He said he wanted one!” Bruce tries to defend, but it sounds so weak to Dick’s ears.

“That doesn’t mean you had to get him a puppy!” Dick replies, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Remember when I was a kid and asked you to buy some of that soda I liked for the house, and you tried to buy the whole company? What did I tell you back then?”

Bruce sighs, and recites in a monotone voice, “I don’t have to buy everything just because my child says they want it, no matter how much money I have.”

“Yes! Exactly!”

“This isn’t an impulsive decision, Dick,” Bruce says, shutting off his tablet. He lifts his head, and Dick’s taken aback by the earnest expression on his face. “Tim always asks for so little at his normal age, and to know that the desire to have a pet was denied by his parents, and how that may have stopped him from asking me for one…” Bruce pauses, shaking his head. “I just couldn’t let that lie.”

(“Mother didn’t wike pets. She said they shed all over the house and mess up stuff, so she told me we can’t have a puppy… I always wanted a fwuffy one that’s happy.” )

Dick slumps because yes, that’s true. Tim isn’t the kind of person to go out of his way to ask for something, and he always seems surprised whenever someone gives him an item or treat that he mentioned wanting off-hand, like it’s absurd for anyone to remember a tiny fact about him.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “You have a point.”

“Plus,” Bruce adds. “We can train the dog to protect Tim or even teach it to assist Tim in a variety of ways. I think he’d enjoy doing that when he’s older.”

“We’re going to have a dog fetching Tim’s Batarangs when we’re training in the Cave,” Dick remarks dryly. “Either that, or he’s going to teach it to throw them, and then we’re going to have a few extra holes in the manor.”

“Maybe I should handle the training,” Bruce muses.

“Yeah, maybe you should.” Dick pats his shoulder and hops off the desk, clapping his hands together. “Alright! I’ll go and wake the little monster while you get everything ready! Got it? Got it!” He goes over and opens the door, turning to grin at Bruce before cartwheeling out just so he can hear Bruce’s exasperated sigh.

Some things change, and some things stay the same.

And now, the biggest change will be a new puppy in the house, Dick muses as he rushes to his bedroom, ready to dive onto the bed and squish his siblings.

★★

“Why I gotta be here?” Tim mumbles, rubbing a fist against his eye. “It too early…”

“It’s twelve,” Dick points out. “Not that early, actually.”

“Early for me, Dickie.”

They’re all standing in the foyer, and Dick hums a little tune when he feels Jason and Damian’s glares burn into the side of his head. It’s not his fault they weren’t prepared for a flying older brother! Cass was, and now she’s rocking back on her heels with a smile on her face.

“Because Bruce has a surprise for you,” Dick says, poking his side. “Don’t you want to see it?”

“No,” Tim grunts, dropping his head onto Dick’s shoulder. “Wanna sleep.”

“You should close your eyes,” Bruce says, coming up to ruffle Tim’s hair. “But don’t fall asleep, ducky, or else you’ll miss your gift. Okay?”

“Quack,” Tim says, obeying Bruce’s gentle order. Dick bounces him a little as they wait, and eventually, the soft shuffle of steps gets his attention. He turns to see Alfred carefully making his way over to them, one hand holding a large crate, the other carrying a bag full of supplies (he assumes). Dick beams at the older man, glad to receive a smile in response.

“Alfred,” Bruce says when he stands, inclining his head.

The older man returns the gesture before setting the crate down. He bends down and unlatches the gate. Dick leans forward, filled with anticipation, and he sees everyone else do the same. After a while, the box shifts, and a white snout pokes out.

Slowly, a small Samoyed puppy climbs out, nails clicking against the wooden floor. It lifts its head and sniffs the air for a moment before whining, plopping down on the floor, and tucking its nose in its soft-looking, white fluff.

“What was that?” Tim asks, lifting his head off Dick’s shoulder. He keeps his eyes shut when he furrows his brows, a concerned expression on his face. “Is evewybody okay?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Bruce assures, coming closer. He taps Tim’s nose and says, “Why don’t you open your eyes, Tim?”

“Okay…” Tim says cautiously. He cracks his eyes open, blinking a couple of times before looking around. Dick bites back a grin when his look of confusion disappears after he finds the puppy on the ground, changing into one of surprise. “Is that…” he says, voice trembling.

“Yes, honey,” Dick says, kissing the side of his head. He carefully crouches down and lowers his little brother to the floor, rubbing a hand down his back. “Remember what you said about wanting a puppy? Well, dad decided to get you one.”

“A puppy…” Tim whispers in a wondrous tone. He takes a few steps forward and stops, unsure, but the movement is enough to catch the dog’s attention, and Dick feels like the whole world comes to a standstill when both boy and puppy stare at each other.

Then, the pup’s tail starts wagging as it pushes itself up on slightly wobbly legs.

“A puppy!” Tim repeats, sounding excited, and then he’s bounding forward, falling to his knees in front of the animal. Dick can see the way his hand shakes when he reaches forward to pet it, and the Samoyed allows Tim to pat it once before jumping onto Tim, knocking him to the floor to start licking his face. Soon, the room is filled with Tim’s bright laughter.

Dick wants to cry. They look so cute.

“Where did you find this one, Alfred?” Damian asks, stepping closer to peer down at the puppy. It stops slobbering all over Tim’s cheeks to look up at him, woofing once before continuing, all while Tim giggles and kicks his feet up.

“I went out of state to adopt her,” Alfred says as he stands beside Dick, a ghost of a smile on his face. “She was found barking at a storefront, and she led the man to the rest of her siblings, all presumably abandoned by the owner after the mother gave birth. I stayed a bit longer to aid in catching them with Master Bruce’s help over email, and the shelter wanted to make sure she was healthy and vaccinated before I could take her home.”

“Wow,” Dick remarks, nudging the older man’s side. “Sounds like you had a fun adventure.”

“Indeed,” Alfred replies. “Though, I daresay you had one as well. Not as fun as mine, I imagine.”

“No, not really,” Dick says, eyes flicking over to Bruce and back. “I’m assuming he told you that the secret’s out?”

“Yes,” Alfred says quietly. “And I’d like to also apologize for my part in this, but be assured that I was simply keeping Master Timothy’s best interests at heart.”

“I know,” Dick says, staring at where his baby brother is hugging his new puppy close. Damian’s crouched beside him, gently brushing a hand down the animal’s back, while Cass and Jason hover. “I would have done the same.”

Alfred eventually retreats to the kitchen to get started on lunch. Jason follows after him, though he keeps tossing glances over his shoulder to look at Tim as he leaves, most likely still dealing with his latent protective instincts.

Damian runs off with the claim of letting Titus and Alfred the Cat get used to the puppy’s scent before allowing them to meet. This was said after he spent a good chunk of time rubbing his face and hands all over the puppy’s fluffy fur, and while Dick believes him, he also knows it was an excuse to pet the new member of the family.

“What are you gonna name her, Timmy?” Dick asks, crouching beside them. The puppy turns to him and playfully nips at his pants before going back to nuzzling Tim, tail wagging a mile a minute. “You want any suggestions?”

“No, thank you,” Tim says in-between his giggles, tipping his head back to gaze up at Dick with a grin. “I alweady got a name in my head!”

“Oh, yeah?” Dick reaches out to tweak his nose. “Are you going to share with the class, or do I have to guess?”

“I name her after my favowite food,” Tim tells him. “And that’s all I’m gonna say! No more cwues! Dickie has to figure it out!” He (gently) pushes the puppy off of him and stands up, bouncing in place. “Okay, puppy!” he declares, putting his hands on his hips. “We’re gonna go wunning! Weady? Les’go!” And with that, he takes off down the hall, his new friend scampering after him.

“Favorite food, huh?” Dick mutters, gathering all the new dog supplies. “That could literally be anything. That kid loves so many things…”

He’ll figure it out. Eventually.

Chapter Text

Dick casually walks through the kitchen with a mug of hot chocolate in his hand, bypassing the dog crate and ignoring the slumbering pup curled around a sleeping boy.

Wait.

He walks backwards and stops beside the crate, peering through the gate to see Tim with his puppy. The door isn’t locked, which means he did this of his own volition—which makes sense, considering how upset he was when he had to be separated from his puppy for bedtime.

“Tim,” Dick says, gently rapping a fist against the metal. Tim barely stirs, and the dog snuffles, tucking her nose into his neck. “Timmy, it’s time to wake up!” His little brother furrows his brows and squirms, so Dick knocks on the crate again. “I’m going to eat all your snacks if you don’t open your eyes!”

“Noooooo,” Tim says sleepily, turning over. “Dickie, not my ‘mawwows…”

The puppy woofs softly and opens her eyes. She gazes up at Dick in what appears to be disgruntlement, but that changes when she sniffs the air and refocuses on Tim. Her tail starts wagging really fast, and she expresses her exuberance over seeing him by licking his whole face, making him laugh loudly.

“T-That tickles!” he says, wrapping his arms around the puppy’s neck. “Okay! I’m up! Stop being so silly!”

“You’re the silly one,” Dick comments, leaning down to unlatch the door and let it swing open. The pup abandons her task of showering Tim with affection and walks out, standing on the tiles with slightly wobbly legs. “What are you doing in there, huh?” he asks. “Little boys like you are supposed to be asleep in bed, not in dog crates.”

“Um…” Tim crawls out next and sits beside his dog, gazing up at him with a pout. “I couldn’t just weave her here, Dickie! She was wonewy and she needed me! I could feel it in my heart!”

“Uh-huh, right.” Dick crosses his arms, arching a brow. “And who let you come down here all on your own? You were supposed to be with Damian.” The boy fell asleep in Damian’s bed last night while chattering about his puppy, and Dick left him there because he looked so cute curled up beside his other little brother.

“I woke up and wanted to go, and Dami wasn’t gonna wet me, but then I told him I’m gonna check on my puppy, and he say okay and went back to sleep.”

“Of course he did,” Dick mutters, setting his mug down on a nearby table. He leans over to pick Tim up, setting the boy on his hip. “Let’s brush your teeth and get some breakfast going, hmm? Or maybe Alfred has something prepared for us.”

He starts to walk in the direction of the closest bathroom, only to stop because the puppy keeps weaving her way between his legs, staring up at Tim. She barks once when he stops, and Dick smiles, poking his little brother’s stomach.

“I think your new friend doesn’t like it when I hold you,” he says, amused.

“That’s because she wuvs me,” Tim says with a nod. “She wants to be with me all the time.” He starts squirming around. “You can put me down now! I go by myself!”

“Okay, but you have to hold my hand,” Dick warns, setting the boy down. Together, they walk to the bathroom, where Dick helps Tim brush his teeth while Tim’s new puppy sits by their feet, tapping her paws on the tile.

“Did you eat already?” Dick asks, flattening one side of Tim’s hair. It looks like a little cowlick, and he suspects the puppy had a go at it when they were in the crate together.

“Nope!” Tim swats his hand away, toothpaste foam dripping down his cheek. “Alfie says he’s gonna make some egg sammiches—no, sandwiches! Yeah.” Tim nods. “With cheese on ‘em, too! And he said he’s gonna give me some yogurt because it’s tasty and that I get to have all the apple juice.”

“I doubt that last part,” Dick says wryly, giving Tim his water cup to rinse his mouth. He lifts his head while Tim’s doing that, noting the lack of bags under his eyes and the lingering smile stretched across his blemish-free face. His hair is looking nice and glossy, too, and Dick can’t help but marvel over the bit of happiness that he’s feeling.

Then, he hears the sound of water splashing onto the tile, followed by Tim’s little, “Uh-oh!”

The smile fades, and Dick sighs, closing his eyes for just a moment before looking down at the floor. A small puddle forms at Tim’s feet, but thankfully, the puppy is already licking it up, getting the fur around her snout wet.

“Sowee, Dickie,” Tim says, holding up his cup. “I got too much water.”

“I can see that,” Dick replies, shutting off the faucet and picking Tim up. He carefully navigates around the spill and sets Tim down by the door. Dick grabs one of those absorbent towels out from the cabinet and drops it onto the puddle, wiping the rest of it up and dodging the curious sniffs from the pup.

“She wikes you,” Tim says, giggling.

“Not as much as she likes you,” Dick replies, absent-mindedly patting the dog. He then escorts Tim to the dining room, where a few plates of food await them, along with a half-asleep Damian slumped against one of the tables. Unusual, but Dick attributes this behavior to Damian trying to fix his sleep schedule before school starts up again.

“Hi, Dami,” Tim says as he rounds the table. “Did you get a good sleep?”

“Yes,” Damian mutters. “Even though you kept kicking me in your sleep because you were so worried about your new friend.”

“Oops,” Tim says, climbing up to sit with him in the same chair. “Sowee, Dami.”

“It’s alright.” Damian slides a plate closer to Tim. “Here, eat your breakfast, and then we will go outside to introduce your dog to the other animals around the manor.”

“Okay!”

Eventually, Dick’s the only one left in the dining room, picking at Tim’s leftovers because the kid couldn’t be bothered to finish it, too excited to go out with Damian and his puppy. He pops a few pieces of fruit into his mouth before he goes and takes the rest of the plates into the kitchen, wanting to pack some of it up for later.

This is when Jason enters the room, hair mussed and clothes rumpled. He yawns as he walks over to the coffee machine, pouring himself a mug. Dick pushes himself away from the counter and makes his way over to Jason, stopping in front of the other man.

“What,” Jason grunts.

“Good morning,” Dick chirps. “Sleep okay?”

“Slept fine. Get out of my face.”

“Hmm…” Dick grabs Jason’s mug, setting it aside before cupping his brother’s face. Jason looks mildly shocked as Dick leans in to peer at his eyes, squishing Jason’s cheeks together. He ignores the way Jason struggles in his hold, feeling a flicker of satisfaction when he notices the green flecks look dimmer, a sign that he’s at the tail end of his Pit episode.

“Stop,” Jason complains, trying to shove his arms away. “Dick, ‘eave me a’one!”

“No,” Dick says cheerfully and goes up on his tiptoes to kiss Jason’s forehead, letting out the most obnoxious ‘mwuah’ sound and making sure to leave a shiny imprint of chapstick and saliva. “I wanted a good look at my cute little brother.”

“Little!” Jason says indignantly.

“Baby,” he corrects with a grin, releasing Jason to dodge the kick aimed at his shin. “My sweet baby brother who used to beg me to read with him…”

“That never happened!” Jason’s face is red. “Shut up!”

“Make me,” Dick challenges.

Bruce walks in after Dick successfully manages to get his little brother in a headlock, and he locks eyes with the older man while giving Jason the harshest noogie he’s ever given.

“Hey, B,” Dick says casually, barely twitching when Jason bites his arm.

“It’s too early for this,” Bruce mutters, walking past them and snagging Jason’s cup of coffee. He pauses, glancing around, and then asks warily, “Where’s Tim?”

“Damian took him outside to introduce the puppy to his other animals,” he answers, releasing Jason after the other man stomps on his foot. Dick elbows him harshly, aiming for the bruise he knows is on that side, and faces Bruce again while Jason hisses. “They should still be out there.”

“Good,” Bruce says, eyeing them both. “I think we should all make sure it’s going okay.”

“Why?” Jason says, running his fingers through his hair and separating a couple of knots. “They’re fine.”

“I think Bruce wants to spy on them,” Dick mock whispers, smirking when he catches Bruce’s eye-roll. “And probably snap a bunch of pictures of his youngest kids being cute with all the animals.”

Dick snags a sandwich on the way out and splits it in half, handing one to Jason and scarfing down his piece in record time. He’s wiping the crumbs off the back of Bruce’s shirt before they make it outside, passing it off as patting Bruce’s back.

Damian and Tim are crouched in the grass, a bunch of chickens clucking around them. The puppy is pushing her snout into one of Damian’s hands, the one that presumably contains the feed. Dick can hear Damian speaking to Tim in a low tone before he tosses some grain a few feet away from his spot.

“See, I told you they’re fine!” Jason says, looking annoyed as he gestures toward them. “Now, I’m gonna go back inside and finish some work. If any of you bother me, I’m liable to kick you.”

And with that, Jason whirls around and stomps towards the house, disappearing past the doors… but not before Dick catches sight of his phone pointed in the direction of Damian and Tim, most likely taking pictures of the two. He vows to make fun of Jason for it later as he slides over to Bruce, letting the sound of Damian’s soft tones wash over him.

“Still can’t believe you got him a puppy,” Dick comments, watching as the dog gives up on trying to get the feed and instead starts attacking a couple of weeds, smacking them with her paw. “Actually, I can’t believe you managed to keep it a secret from me. You’re terrible at keeping presents a secret.”

“I’m not,” Bruce grunts.

“Yeah, okay,” Dick says mockingly. His eyes flick over to Tim, and then he quickly glances at the sun high up in the sky, abruptly remembering what’s coming soon. “Oh, yeah,” he says, turning to Bruce. Dick leans over and lowers his voice to say, “I invited his friends over.”

“Why?” Bruce says, looking pained.

“Well, I thought it’d be okay since you already extended the invitation for them to come over,” Dick replies with an innocent smile. “And I figured it was time to let his friends see him. Y’know, before they decided to try and kidnap him.”

Bruce’s tense posture slowly loosens, and he huffs out a laugh. “You have a point,” he says wryly. “God knows how many times your speedster friend came over to kidnap you.”

“You knew about that?” Dick exclaims, heat spreading across his face. And he thought they were being so sneaky when Wally would take him out to hang, talk, or just sit in silence in the most peaceful spots around Gotham or Central. “And you never said anything?”

“You needed it,” Bruce says simply. “I wasn’t going to deny you that small slice of happiness.”

Dick huffs, glancing over at the boys so Bruce won’t see his smile. Warmth swells in his heart, too, because while Bruce can be a hardass and frustrating to deal with at times, there are still moments like these that make him appreciate the other man and everything he does for them.

“Well, thanks,” he says quietly, gently bumping their shoulders together. “Wally used to be so afraid that you’d catch him, but I really thought I knew you well enough to be sneaky about his visits.”

“It took a while,” Bruce replies. “But I caught on eventually.”

Dick catches a glimpse of contentedness on Bruce’s face, and he’s suddenly overcome with the urge to tell Bruce about Wally. He feels a kernel of anxiety, unsure of how to go about it. Dick opens and shuts his mouth several times and then barrels through his cowardice, quietly saying, “Hey, Bruce? About Wally—”

He’s cut off when someone throws themselves at his legs, and Dick would have stumbled if Bruce didn’t place a hand on his back to keep him steady.

“Whoa!” Dick says, looking down to see Tim grinning up at him. “Where’s the fire, Timmy?”

“I dunno!” Tim giggles. “Dami says he’s gonna stay out here and see if Bat-Cow is okay and that I should go eat more, too! I tell him that m’not hungy! I wanna go color! So he says I can bowwow his pencils again and also says that Dickie can get it for me.” He pauses his confusing spiel and then holds up his arms. “Cawwy me.”

“Sure,” Dick says and proceeds to scoop Tim up in a way that causes him to hang upside down in his embrace, pretending to ignore the way Tim tries to swipe at him while he laughs. “Let’s go, baby!”

★★

The coffee table in the sitting room is covered with colored pencils, crayons, and Justice League coloring books. There’s also a small bowl full of pretzels shaped like little bats and a cup full of water, a snack that Alfred dropped off for Tim when he passed through the room.

“Dickie,” Tim says while he’s dragging a neon green crayon across Superman’s cape. “Do you think dogs can have some pwetzels? ‘Cause I wanna give some to M—um, my puppy, but I dunno for sure. Dami says I gotta ask first.”

“Probably not,” Dick answers, carefully coloring a page in the book that Tim kindly let him borrow. Right now, he’s giving Uncle Ollie a whole new, mustard yellow look. “It might be too salty for her.”

“Oh, yeah. And then she’ll get thirsty.”

Dick looks over at the puppy curled up by the door. “You know, Timmy,” he says casually, picking up a burnt orange crayon to add some definition to Green Arrow’s new suit. “You still haven’t told me her name.”

“That’s because you hafta guess, Dickie!”

“Alright, alright,” Dick says, tapping a finger against his chin. “Is her name… Waffle?”

“No,” Tim answers, shaking his head. “That’s not it! You gotta twy again, Dickie.”

“Alright, alright. How about… Soup?”

“No! That’s too silly!”

“Not as silly as you,” Dick replies, reaching over to tickle his little brother’s side. Tim immediately starts to giggle, trying to squirm away from Dick, and he only relents when Tim starts smacking his wrist. “Okay, I got it!” he says brightly. “Her name is Ice Cream!”

Tim sighs. It’s the kind that makes his whole body heave. “No, Dickie!” he says, slamming his crayon down and grabbing another. “You gotta think better!”

“You eat too many things, kiddo,” Dick grumbles, leaning over to ruffle Tim’s hair. “How am I supposed to know which one’s your favorite? You picked up a chip off the floor, said it was the best thing ever, and told me you wanted to eat it forever.”

“Nuh-uh!” Tim cries, cheeks turning rosy red. “That’s a wie! I didn’t eat it!”

“Didn’t eat what?” Jason asks as he re-enters the room. He now has a few manila folders tucked under one arm, most of his attention focused on the phone in his hand. “Did you get into the kibble again, Timmy?”

“No,” Tim says sullenly. “You hid it fwom me.”

“Yeah, because you kept trying to eat it!” Jason shakes his head, dropping down onto the armchair that Bruce uses the most and flipping through some papers. “Even after I told you it was for puppies.”

“I’m a puppy,” Tim says, pouting. “And I want some kibble.”

“No kibble,” Dick says firmly and moves on before Tim can try to convince him with those dangerous puppy eyes of his. “Back to guessing your puppy’s name! What about Pancake?”

“Nope!” Tim giggles. “Gotta twy again, Dickie!”

“It’s Marshmallow,” Jason says, not even looking up from his folder. “That’s his favorite food. Even though it’s more like a treat…”

Dick recalls all the times he found his little brother stuffing his face with the sugary treat. He’d always whirl around with a deer in headlights look, cheeks bulging and marshmallow fluff clinging to his lip, and a handful of marshmallows in his hand. 

Funnily enough, this mostly happened when Tim was an adult.

“Jay!” Tim cries indignantly, whirling around. “You wuined my guessing game!” He curls his fingers around the crayon in his hand and throws it at Jason. It lands by his feet, cracking in half, and Dick covers his mouth to hide his smile when he sees Tim huffing and puffing like an angry little kitten.

“Oh, sorry, Timmy,” Jason says, not sounding sorry at all. “I didn’t realize it was a game! But I’m right, aren’t I? You named her Marshmallow.”

Tim pouts. “Yeah,” he says, grabbing another crayon and sighing. “I did…” He sniffles (dramatically, because Dick can’t see any tears in his eyes). “But I didn’t expect to be so pwedictable! This is the wowst day of my wife!”

He gets it from you, Jason mouths at him, and Dick flips him off when he’s sure Tim’s not looking.

Dick’s about to respond, but he’s quickly distracted by the buzz of his phone. His heart flutters when he sees that it’s a message from Wally, and he can’t stop the huff of laughter that escapes after he reads the simple text from his boyfriend relaying a message from Bart—Tim’s friends are on the way.

“Hey, Timmy,” Dick says, leaning over to tweak the boy’s nose. Tim blinks up at him, tongue poking out of his mouth. “Can you do something for me?”

“Uh-huh!” Tim nods. “Whatcha need?”

“It’s important,” Dick adds, moving Tim’s chair so they’re facing each other. He places a hand on Tim’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I know you can do it because I trust you.”

“I’m wistening.”

“Jason’s going to take you upstairs while I clean up down here, and I need you to get yourself ready because we’re going to have some people over. You can wear whatever you want, as long as it’s comfortable because we’re going outside for a while. Got it?”

“Got it!” Tim chirps and then gives him a pleading look. “Can Marshmawwow come up with me?”

“No, baby,” Dick says, not quite ready to deal with all the fur. “But she’ll be waiting for you down here.”

“Aw, okay.”

Dick scoops Tim up and walks over to Jason, dumping the boy onto his lap. Jason scowls at him, and Dick simply offers a smile in return.

“When did I agree to this?” Jason hisses while he stands with Tim in his arms. “I have a lot of work to do!”

“It’s part of being a big brother,” Dick says blithely, sneaking a peek at his work. There are a lot of numbers on those pages, and normally, he’d try to help, but the knowledge that Tim’s friends will soon be here causes the mathlete part of his brain to short circuit. “You signed up the moment you accepted Tim and Damian into your life.”

“Who said I accepted them?” Jason retorts, even as he rubs a hand down Tim’s back and lets the boy grab his hair. “I’m about to return them at this rate.”

Tim suddenly presses one of his tiny palms against Jason’s cheek. “Jay,” he says sweetly. “I wuv you.”

Dick bites back a grin when Jason visibly melts, the annoyed look shifting into something much softer. He busies himself with packing up all the colored pencils and crayons, discreetly glancing at the pair and almost cooing when Jason kisses Tim’s forehead and quietly says, “Love you too, pumpkin.”

“Sucker,” Dick whispers to himself after they leave the room and continues to clean up after his baby brother.

★★

Dick strides over to the door when rapid knocking sounds through the foyer, and he swings it open to reveal Bart Allen, Cassandra Sandsmark, and Conner Kent.

“Hi,” Bart chirps, lowering his fist. “Where’s Tim?”

Conner elbows his side. “Dude,” he hisses. “Don’t be rude!” He glances at Dick with a nervous look. “Uh, Hi, Mr. Nightwing,” Kon says politely. “Thanks for inviting us over to spend time with Tim. May we come in and see him?”

“Sure,” Dick replies, bemused. He opens the door wider. “Tim’s getting ready, so he won’t be down for a bit, which gives us some time to talk.”

“Oh, boy,” Cassie mutters as they walk into the manor.

He leads them into a different sitting room, the one that Bruce uses when he wants to intimidate the reporters or business partners he doesn’t like.

It’s not as bright as the one Tim uses on a daily basis, but it’s still light enough that no one will comment on the gloominess of it all. There are a few portraits on the wall and a lack of personable items that would normally make the room feel homier. This one, in particular, also has a great view of the steps and the foyer, so Bruce can easily see when people try to snoop around and catch them in the act.

(Dick always had the best time scaring them from the top of the steps. He’d smile brightly and slide down the rail to loudly ask why they were so far from the bathroom. The panicked faces they used to make were always his favorite, and he loved to laugh about it with Bruce after everyone left.)

“Alright, we’re going to cover some ground rules while we’re waiting for Tim to come down,” he informs them, plastering on his kindest smile ever (Tim used to call it his ‘scary’ one, for some reason) and gesturing to the couch. “So, you’re going to sit down and let me talk. Got it?”

“Got it,” Kon says quickly, dropping down onto the couch. He reaches out, tugs Bart and Cassie down, too, and then folds his hands together, sitting up straight. “Lay it out for us, Nightwing.”

“Rule number one.” Dick holds up a finger, eyes flicking over to Cassie. “No flying.”

“Understood,” Cassie says with a nod.

“Rule number two.” Dick gestures to Bart, crossing his arms when he says, “No superspeed. And I don’t want to hear excuses about how you can go slow. I’ve heard them before from Wally, and I’m telling you now that it won’t change my mind.”

“Roger Dodger,” Bart says, offering a little salute.

“And lastly, rule number three.” Dick stands in front of Kon, pursing his lips. He scrutinizes the boy closely, only because it’s funny to see him sweat, and it also gives him the chance to come up with something else. Finally, he says, “No anything.”

“No anything? ” Kon repeats, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you think I won’t like it, then don’t do it with Tim while all four of you are playing outside,” Dick tells him. “Bruce has some spare kryptonite lying around, and I won’t hesitate to use it to beat your a—”

“Dickieeeeeee,” Tim calls out from the hall. “Where you go?”

Dick immediately smiles when he hears Tim’s sweet voice. “In here,” he says, raising his voice so Tim can hear. After a beat, the sound of something squeaking nears the room, and then Tim peeks inside, smiling brightly when their eyes catch.

“I got dwessed,” Tim says, and Dick’s heart basically implodes when he moves, showing off his whole outfit. “See? Wike you told me!”

“I see, baby,” Dick says, choked up and overwhelmed with love for his baby brother. “You look so good!”

Tim’s wearing a cute, long-sleeved, black Batgirl dress with small puffs of yellow tulle on his shoulders and a black cape behind him. His black tights are tucked into a pair of socks with the Bat symbol all over, and the outfit all comes together with the green and gray dinosaur shoes (that squeak like a toy whenever Tim walks) and the yellow headband with black bat ears around his head.

“T’ank you,” Tim says with a nod. “I do. Cass says so also.”

“Oh, yeah? Is she the one who gave you the dress?”

“Uh-huh! She kick Jay out of the woom and helped me get weady.” Tim taps his head. “She help with this because I didn’t know how to put it on. And now I’m here!”

Dick can see the way Tim’s friends perk up at the sight of the boy—actually, Bart is just about vibrating out of his seat, a grin stretched across his face. He gently nudges his little brother, and when Tim blinks up at him, Dick gestures to the couch.

“Tim,” he says. “There’s a surprise for you!”

“Huh?” Tim looks over, and Dick almost laughs over how he widens his eyes. He releases a big gasp, and the force of it causes him to rock against Dick’s legs. “Cassie? Bart?? Kon??? Whatcha guys doin’ here? How are you here?”

“Your big brother invited us,” Cassie says, sliding off the couch and taking a seat on the floor. She holds out a hand, smiling softly. “And we’re very grateful for that because we miss you.”

“I miss you too!” Tim exclaims. He toddles over to her, poking various spots on her palm before resting his hand there, beaming at her. “I tol’ Kon that, too! He came to see me when I was sick because, um…” Tim pauses, looking back at Dickie. “Um…”

“Because you had a bad dream,” Dick reminds him.

“Oh! Yeah!” Tim looks back at Cassie and nods. “That!”

“I wanna cry,” Bart whispers behind Cassie, and the slight shine in Cassie’s eyes tells Dick that she’s of the same sentiment. “He’s so stinkin’ cute! How is this possible? And his hand! Look at his hand! It’s so tiny!”

Cassie sniffles. “Well,” she says, releasing Tim and standing up. “Even though I already know deep in my heart that it’s you, I know your older self would kick us in the head for not going over those protocols you made us go over like fifty billion times. And as the leader in your absence, I say we go through with it right now.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, bobbing his head. He points at his dinosaur shoes. “I would kick you with these! And then!” Here, Tim stomps his foot, causing it to squeak. “And then that would happen!”

“Nice,” Kon says, holding out a fist.

Tim stares at it curiously and slowly reaches out to grab it. Then, he just stands there while he holds Kon’s hand, smiling.

“Thanky,” he says.

“Uh, you’re welcome?” Kon replies while Cassie and Bart snicker beside him. “But that wasn’t for you to hold, buddy. That was…” He pauses. “You know what, never mind. Do what you want, Tim.”

“Okay,” Tim says, smacking Kon’s hand with a loud, “Boop!”

“Now that we’re done with that,” Cassie says. “How about we get back to the issue at hand? How can we tell this is really Tim? I mean, some of our plans sort of require his equipment, which we do not have on hand…”

“I know how!” Bart suddenly says, reaching out to poke Kon and Cassie. “And so do you!” They exchange glances while Bart waggles his eyebrows, eventually fanning himself with one hand and fluttering his lashes while looking at them.

“Oh,” Cassie replies, eyes wide. “Oh, right!”

“No,” Kon says flatly. “I’m not doing it.”

“But do you think he’ll know it?” Cassie asks, sounding worried. “I mean, is our Tim in there right now, or is it the four-year-old Tim that doesn’t know us?”

“He said our names, right?” Bart muses, rubbing his chin. “I feel like that means he knows us, somehow. We should give our strategy a shot.”

“Tim has some memories from his older self,” Dick confirms, hoping they all find it reassuring. “Not everything, but he does know some things. It comes and goes.”

“Interesting,” Bart says, nodding once and then turning to face Cassie and Conner. “So, it looks like we can go through with it. Are you ready?”

“I refuse to do this,” Kon says, practically pleading. “Please don’t make me.”

Cassie claps her hands together, smiling brightly. “I’m ready,” she says with a nod.

Bart grins, eyes glowing with a bit of yellow lightning. He suddenly appears right beside Tim, and Dick’s so used to speedsters that he doesn’t even flinch. Tim doesn’t, either, and all he does is gaze up at Bart with curious eyes.

“Hey, I just met you,” Bart starts singing, and Dick doesn’t even try to hide his exasperated sigh.

“And this is crazy!” Cassie continues, edging closer to Tim.

There’s a momentary pause where both Bart and Cassie glance at Conner, who raises his eyes upward like he’s begging for some patience. Tim, Bart, and Cassie all follow his gaze, and Dick does, too, after a beat, but all he sees is the reinforced chandelier.

“But here’s my number…” Kon eventually mumbles, which drags cheers out of Bart and Cassie before the three of them gaze at Tim expectantly.

Tim fidgets with the small yellow belt around his waist, glancing between them uncertainly. Pink slowly fills his cute, chubby cheeks as he ducks his head, and Dick refrains from cooing when he hears Tim hesitantly sing, “So call me maybe…”

This time, Bart, Cassie, and Conner let out cheers as they all simultaneously lift Tim up into their arms. Dick nearly protests but bites it back when he hears Tim’s joyous laughter from where he’s squashed between his friends, all of them wearing matching smiles that speak of their love for one another.

Cassie shuts her eyes, pressing her cheek against the top of Tim’s head. “It’s so good to see you, Tim,” she murmurs. “Even if you’re a kid.”

“Agreed,” Conner says, his voice much softer than before. There’s no mistaking the warm affection in his bright eyes as he leans back, tugging on a strand of Tim’s hair. “I’m glad you’re not sick anymore, too. I kept hearing a weird little rattle in your chest, and it kinda scared me.”

“No more wattle,” Tim says, patting the Batgirl symbol.

“Well, I, for one, love to see an even tinier Tim,” Bart says, pinching one of Tim’s cheeks. Tim snaps his teeth at him, and Bart looks unphased by the reaction. “I’m tempted to keep you, but I bet Nightwing has a way of stopping me from escaping.”

“Freeze gun,” Dick chirps, grinning at him. “And that’s only if you manage to make it past all the others.”

“Fair enough,” Bart says with a shrug.

“You can’t steal me,” Tim says while he’s wiggling around in their shared embrace. They set him down immediately, and Tim starts leading them all out of the room, walking towards the doors while he holds one of Cassie’s hands. “I wanna stay with my famiwy! I wuv them!”

Dick follows them at a sedate pace, idly listening to their conversation.

“That’s good,” Cassie says warmly. “If you ever want to get away for a while, just let us know! Or, rather, let Kon know because you know he’s always listening for you.” Here, she glances at Conner with a smirk, which causes him to look away with a faint blush for some odd reason. “But you have to sing the song, okay?”

“Okay,” Tim says, nodding.

“Do you remember the song, Tim?”

“Nope!”

“That’s fine. We’ll just come up with a new song while you’re small.”

“I got one alweady,” Tim says, sounding excited. “I heard about it in my stowies! It’s called Baby Sark, and it goes wike—”

“No, baby,” Dick says firmly, leaning over to cover Tim’s mouth. He receives a licked palm as punishment, but that’s a good tradeoff for preventing Tim’s friends from being subjected to Baby Shark, something that was only played once in the manor before it was quickly shut off and banned. “No.”

Right before Kon opens the door, he pauses, turning to look down the hall with a furrowed brow. Then, from around the corner, a ball of white fluff skids over the rug before rushing over to where they’re standing, and Dick barely has a chance to scoop Tim up to save him from being knocked over by an enthusiastic puppy.

“Huh?” Kon scratches the side of his head. “Where’d this dog come from?”

“That’s my puppy,” Tim tells him, giggling. “Her name is Marshmawwow!”

“You know,” Bart comments, leaning over to pat Marshmallow’s head. She starts licking his fingers, and some of her fur sticks up. “I’m not surprised.”

“Tell me about it,” Cassie grumbles, swatting Bart’s hand away. She smooths down the pup’s fur while she speaks, “I’m pretty sure I still have a scar from the last time he brought a bag of marshmallows to the tower. I snuck a few and woke up with his face above mine and a Batarang in his hand.”

“You didn’t ask powitewy,” Tim chides, actually wagging a finger. “That’s wude.”

“I didn’t realize my baby brother could be so violent,” Dick says, remembering all the times Tim punched him so hard he got a bruise after seeing a Volkswagen in the wild. “Wow, Timmy. I guess we need to have a talk about it.”

“No talk,” Tim says, shaking his head. “I good boy.”

“Alright,” Dick sing-songs, scooting past the others to grab the doorknob. “Whatever you say…”

Marshmallow bounds outside the moment the doors to the yard open, and Dick sets his little brother down before Tim can kick him. Tim chases after the puppy with a joyous shout, jumping into a small leaf pile with her.

“Remember my rules,” Dick whispers, clapping a hand on Kon’s shoulder as he passes by. He strides over to one of the nearby trees and plops down, leaning back against the trunk and enjoying the slight breeze and the small bit of sunshine poking through the clouds.

Dick has a great view of Tim and his friends, all of them jumping around on leaves after Tim does it again. After that, they seem to engage in a small game of tag, which Marshmallow loves, judging by the way she races across the grass to chase after three-quarters of the small group while snapping her teeth at their ankles. With Tim, she runs at his pace and lightly taps her paw against his arm.

Damian comes out with a few bottles of water, and the four of them pause for a hydration break. They stand beneath a small portion of the shade, quietly chatting, while Tim sits against Damian’s legs, drinking so much water that it spills out of his mouth and drips down his chin, droplets getting onto his dress.

“Slow,” Dick chides, leaning over to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. He realizes his mistake a second later and grimaces as he cleans that off on his pants. “Or else you’re gonna choke, Timmy.”

“Sowee,” Tim says around a mouthful of water, which results in more spilling down his front. “Um, oops.” He pulls the bottle away from his mouth and holds it out to Marshmallow. “Want some?”

“No,” Dick says firmly, taking the drink away. “No sharing with your puppy.”

“But we alweady share the bowl!” Tim complains. “And that has water, too!”

Dick shuts his eyes, wondering what he did to deserve such a chaotic little brother. He decides, right then and there, that Bruce can deal with it. Let him put his parenting skills to good use, he thinks.

“This is why I brought extras,” Damian says, twisting the cap off another water bottle and pouring some out near Marshmallow. The pup flinches, confused, and then she tentatively sniffs the mini waterfall. She laps at it after a while, tail wagging. “See?”

“Oh, thanky, Dami,” Tim says. He pushes himself up, pausing to pat Marshmallow’s head, and toddles over to Bart. Tim starts to reach up, only to pause, tiny hands flexing. “I hug Bart?” he asks, cocking his head to the side, not unlike the puppy currently gazing up at Kon, who keeps snapping his fingers in different directions to get her attention while Damian glares at him.

“Hmm…” Bart taps a finger against his chin. He wiggles his hips, spins around a couple of times, and eventually nods. “Yeah, sure! Today feels like a hugging day!”

Dick hides a smile behind his hand when Tim beams brightly and immediately rushes forward, barreling into Bart’s legs. “T’ank you,” he says, giggling when Bart abruptly picks him up, giving Dick a tiny heart attack when the boy swings a little before squeezing him.

“You’re so cute and squishy!” Bart exclaims, cupping the back of Tim’s head with one hand. He nuzzles Tim’s cheek and adds, “And soft, too!”

“Yeah,” Tim says, wrapping his arms around Bart’s neck. “You too!” Then, he turns his head and… bites Bart’s cheek?

“Hey,” Dick says, a touch sharp, as he moves closer. “We don’t bite people, Timmy. That’s not nice.”

“Oh, no! It’s totally okay!” Bart assures, stepping away from Dick and waving a hand. “That’s how we show affection sometimes! It’s the perfect way to convey our feelings of love and appreciation for one another.”

“Huh.” Dick frowns. “Who came up with this?”

“I don’t know! We just started doing it one day, and it stuck.”

Damian makes his way over to Dick when Tim decides to huddle up with his friends and discuss a new game to play. “It’s appalling that they’re even allowed to be here,” he says with a sniff, sitting down beside Dick. “What if they make a mess of the yard using their powers? How will we explain this to Pennyworth? He prides himself in having a perfect yard and garden…”

“It’ll be fine, Damian,” Dick assures, ruffling his hair. He grins when Damian swats at his hand, practically hissing. “I already told them not to use their powers.”

“And you think they’ll listen?”

“They will if they know what’s good for them,” Dick says firmly, catching how Conner glances at him, looking nervous. “We have everything we need to incapacitate them, and we also have a few cells meant to contain metahumans. Bruce isn’t afraid to use them, and neither am I.”

“What a delightful conversation I’ve walked into.”

Dick looks up to see Jason standing in front of them, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. He looks calm and at ease, even with the sunglasses covering his eyes, but Dick catches the minute flinch when someone shrieks with laughter (probably Tim). 

Hm. Probably still a bit sensitive to sound.

“Nothing new,” Dick replies innocently. “Damian’s just worried about our company, and I’m trying to remind him that we’ve got it handled if something happens.”

“Huh.” Jason rolls his shoulders back, head turning toward Damian. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got some kryptonite bullets lying around somewhere, and I know where B keeps the extra freeze rays.”

“That does help,” Damian admits.

“But I really don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Jason continues. “I mean, I’m sure Dickie here knows Tim’s friends better than anyone, but they seem like the type to tear apart the world to make sure he’s happy.”

“Where’d you get that from?” Dick asks curiously.

“I mean, you can see it plain as day when they interact with each other,” Jason says, gesturing to the small group.

Dick sees Conner, Cassie, and Bart sitting on the ground while Tim walks around the small circle, patting their heads while he speaks, “Duck, quack, duck, quack, duck, quack… ”

“Also,” Jason adds. “I have a Wonder and a Super as friends. They’re pretty protective.”

“Yeah,” Dick concedes. “You have a point.”

His friendship with Donna can be described as such, too. They go together like two peas in a pod, always there for one another during the highs, lows, and extremes of life. He feels a pang in his heart when he remembers that he hasn’t seen her in a while and resolves to message her by the end of the night. Maybe she’ll want to visit or meet up for lunch. That’d be nice.

“I suppose there’s some truth to that,” Damian adds. “Jonathan is the same whenever we’re together. Even though he knows I can handle myself…”

“That’s just how friends work, little brother,” Jason says, leaning down to flick Damian’s forehead.

Before Damian can attack Jason in retaliation (which is likely to occur and has happened several times during patrol), Tim appears out of nowhere, throwing himself down onto Damian’s lap and giggling with flushed cheeks.

“Dami, help!” he says, latching onto him like a koala. “Bart is the goose, and he’s gonna get me! Save me!”

“Hey, no fair!” Bart says, skidding to a stop beside them. He stumbles a little, probably due to him not being used to the momentum that comes from running like a non-powered individual (Wally has the same issue), and pouts down at Tim. “You can’t ask them to help you! That’s cheating!”

“Says who?” Tim retorts, grinning now.

“Says me!” Bart cries indignantly.

“Hm… I don’t think so!” Tim turns and whispers something in Damian’s ear, too soft for Dick to hear. Whatever he says causes Damian to nod, and then Tim looks back at Bart, a triumphant look on his face. “I gots to do what I gots to do to win, Bart. That’s the wules.”

And then, faster than Dick expected, Damian suddenly stands up and rushes over to the circle. There’s a moment where Bart just stares at nothing, clearly stupefied, and then he yells something incoherent before chasing after them. 

It doesn’t matter, though, because Damian makes it to the others in record time and deposits Tim into the empty space, though he does take a seat beside the boy. Bart stomps on the grass for a couple of seconds, and Dick laughs when he sees Bart eventually go around the circle, tapping their heads with a resigned look on his face.

“Huh,” Jason says. “Wonder how fast the game ends if the kid uses his speed.”

Dick huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. He glances at his little brother and hums, nudging Jason’s ankle with a foot. “Nice sunglasses,” he says when Jason looks down at him, holding up a hand. “Pass ‘em over.”

“Get your own!” Jason replies with a scowl.

“But I want them right now.”

“Then go out and buy some. I know you’ve got one of Bruce’s credit cards tucked away in your Superman wallet. Use his money for a pair like I did for mine.”

“You still have Bruce’s card?” Dick arches a brow. “And you willingly use it?”

Jason scratches the back of his neck. “Listen,” he says, crossing his arms and hunching in on himself. “He gave it to me after one of our bad arguments. Probably out of guilt, definitely in an attempt to apologize, so I like to let him know I’m alive and kicking whenever I’m gone by making a huge purchase.” He narrows his eyes. “I know you did the same back when you were living in Bludhaven for the first time.”

“Spending Bruce’s money was easier than talking to him,” Dick says, shrugging. “I still want your glasses, though. Mine are inside, and if I’m going to be out here sitting in the sun, watching over our baby brother…”

“God, you’re annoying,” Jason mutters, taking them off. “But you better take care of them, alright? They cost a lot of Bruce’s money, and I’m too lazy to go back to the store and get another pair.”

“Thank you,” Dick chirps, accepting the sunglasses and sliding them onto his face. “I love you.”

“Shut up.”

“And hey, can you do me a favor?” Dick asks, tugging on his jeans. “Go inside and grab a few snacks for Tim… and his friends, I guess. There should be a bunch in the pantry if Alfred hasn’t already set something aside for them. Actually, you could bring the leftovers from breakfast for Bart since he probably needs it…” He pauses and adds, “Also, can you get a juice box for me? I’m kinda thirsty, too.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Jason says, kicking off his hand. As he’s walking away, Dick hears him speak in a high-pitched, sarcastic voice, “ Jason do this, Jason do that… Whatever you want, your highness…”

Even with all his complaining, Jason brings everything out, and he even stops Tim in his tracks to help the kid put on a jacket. He also tosses a hoodie at Dick, and Dick immediately puts it in, realizing that it’s baggier than usual and it smells a bit like cordite…

“Is this yours?” Dick asks when Jason plops down beside him.

“Yeah,” Jason answers, waving a hand. “I figured you’d be cold, too, and Princess Dickiebird always has to have the perfect sweater on if it comes from his own closet. If it’s from someone else, then he doesn’t care.”

“Oh,” Dick says. He pulls the sleeves over his hands and tucks them into the large pocket, something warm fluttering in his chest. “I didn’t realize…”

“Yeah. It’s not too obvious, but I figured it out a while ago,” Jason says, shutting his eyes and leaning back against the tree. “You like the comfort, I’m guessing. I’m the same way with a couple of Roy’s hoodies and… even one of Bruce’s that I stole after I calmed down.”

“You too, huh?” Dick snorts. “I have one of his old college ones when I started coming back around. Don’t think he ever noticed it was missing.”

“Probably not. B’s not very good at seeing what’s in front of him.”

Silence follows, but Dick doesn’t mind. He simply sits there and enjoys the breeze, happy to have Jason beside him. At some point, he feels a soft weight on his shoulder, and Dick doesn’t need to glance down to know that Jason’s dozing off in that very spot.

Dick smiles, keeping himself still as he refocuses on his other two brothers. A breeze lifts his hair while Dick watches Damian reluctantly join in on the next round of duck, duck, goose. It’s funny to see the way his eye twitches as he taps everyone’s head and how his expression smooths out into affection whenever Tim beams up at him.

More proof that we’re all suckers for Timmy, Dick thinks as he settles back against the tree to enjoy the day.

★★

Jason manages to sleep on Dick’s shoulder for about an hour and a half before he wakes up, clearly embarrassed as he wipes his mouth while apologizing.

“It’s fine,” Dick says, tugging on one of his white strands. “I’m glad you were comfortable enough to fall asleep.” He pauses, scrutinizing his brother, and then asks, “How are you feeling?”

“M’okay,” Jason mumbles, rubbing a hand down his face. “Exhausted, but that always happens. Feelin’ more like myself with every nap I take.”

“That’s good,” Dick replies, bumping their shoulders together. “You did a great job with keeping Tim safe, y’know. Especially when I had to step away for a while.”

“Which I’m glad you did. You have a habit of trying to hold us all together even when you’re about to crack.” Jason pulls his knees up to his chest, and even though he’s the tallest of Dick’s siblings, he looks so small right now—similar to how he used to be when he first came to the manor. “I know… I mean, I guess while I’m here, I want you to know that you can talk to me. About anything.”

“Uh, thanks?” Dick smiles with bemusement. “I appreciate it, Little Wing, but… I’m okay right now. Wally helped me recharge my batteries and listened to me vent for a while.”

“Well, the offer still stands,” Jason says before pushing himself, stretching his arms above his head. His back cracks when he twists his hips, and he yawns. “I think I’m gonna head in and try to sleep some more,” he says, lightly kicking Dick’s ankle. “See you later?”

“Probably not,” Dick replies, tilting his head toward Tim. “I’d like to stay with him. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Sure, why not? I could use your skills in one of the cases I’m wrapping up.”

“Is it the drug dealer one? Or the killings going on near the docks?”

“The latter,” Jason answers, crossing his arms. “I already found the guy—dumbass got sloppy with the last kill and left some of his blood when he was displaying the body. Babs helped me test the DNA, and I finally pinned down where he’s hiding.” He smirks. “I just need to trap him.”

“Ugh, does that mean I have to wear a wig?” Dick whines.

“Unless you wanna dye your hair blonde, then yes.”

“Alright,” Dick grumbles, reaching up to comb his fingers through his hair. It’s silky as ever, and he finds no knots when he gently brushes through the wavy strands. “I’ll use one of Tim’s old wigs. I know he has some in his room somewhere.”

The killer in question has so far targeted blondes of all genders and usually strangles his victims before displaying their bodies in grotesque ways around the docks. Jason’s been working hard on this case for a while now, and he looks almost excited at the prospect of finally catching the guy, so Dick’s all-too glad to help.

Plus, Dick’s pretty good at disguises. He and Tim are well-known for their undercover work.

“I’ll keep you updated,” Jason promises, glancing over at the group and back. “Keep an eye on him, okay? Make sure he doesn’t get into the kibble again.”

“Yeah, about that—when did this happen, exactly?”

“After dinner. He knew where the food was since he saw us feed Marshmallow, and Tim told me that he wanted to try it and that it was tasty. I had to hold him down to get the pieces out of his mouth, and then I tossed the bag into a new hiding place.” Jason shakes his head. “Knowing Tim, he’ll probably try to find it, so… just watch him.”

“Of course,” Dick says, biting the inside of his cheek so he won’t burst out laughing. The thought of Jason chasing Tim down just to rid him of the kibble is such a great image. 

Jason departs with a two-fingered salute, and Dick watches his trek all the way back to the manor. His attention eventually goes back to his little brother, and he pushes Jason’s sunglasses down his nose to peer over at where Tim’s running around Superboy, bellowing something at the top of his lungs.

It stops when Kon abruptly snatches him up, much to the delight of Tim, who shrieks with laughter. His lips twitch when Kon spins them around, and even from where he’s sitting beneath the tree, he can hear the way Kon gasps with awe.

“Wow, Tim,” he marvels. “You really are so soft and squishy. And cute, too…”

Huh, Dick thinks, watching as Tim toys with one of the spikes on Conner’s jacket, seemingly okay with the comment. He doesn’t complain when Kon does it but just about brings the house down with his whining whenever the rest of us try to call him cute…

“Of course,” Damian says with a haughty sniff. “Timothy is the best.”

“Hmm…” Conner looks thoughtful. “Hey, demon,” he says after glancing over at Damian. “I’ll give you Jon if you give me Tim.”

“Hey!” Dick exclaims, dumping his phone off his lap and sitting up straighter.

Damian holds up a hand in Dick’s direction, and it quells some of his initial displeasure. “As much as I tolerate Jonathan,” he says, which really means he likes him (Dick’s well-versed in Damian-speak). “I’ll have to decline since I’m too fond of Timothy to give him up.”

“Some best friend you are,” Kon says, sticking out his tongue before turning away. Dick can hear him cooing over Tim, who allows it to happen with a happy smile.

“I’m telling Jonathan you wanted to trade him for Timothy,” Damian says, crossing his arms. “I don’t think he’ll appreciate it.”

“Oh, no,” Conner says flatly, bouncing Tim. “The horror.”

“Daddy would be mad at you, Kon,” Tim says, reaching up to pat Conner’s cheek. “He would twade me back and thwow you in jail! And I would have to tell him no! Don’t do that! But then he would wock me away in a big, big house, wike ‘Punzel, and then when you escape and come save me, I would have to give you my hair to bwing you up!”

“I don’t think that’s how hair works, Rob,” Conner replies, sounding bemused. “But if that’s the case, then I guess I won’t trade you after all. I don’t want to be thrown in jail.”

“Good.” Tim nods. “Don’t ever wet it happen, okay? ‘Cause then we can’t get mawwied if you’re a cwiminal.”

Dick chokes on a bit of saliva and falls into a coughing fit that brings tears to his eyes.

“Huh?” Kon’s eyes go wide, and a dash of pink appears on his cheeks. “W-What? Marriage? Where’d that come from, Tim?”

“I’m gonna mawwy you,” Tim informs him, smiling brightly. “Yeah…”

“No, you’re not,” Dick says after he catches his breath. He quickly pushes himself up and goes to stand by Tim, crossing his arms as he stares at him. “Where are you getting these ideas, huh? Do you want to give your big brother a heart attack?”

“Nuh-uh,” Tim says, shaking his head. “Dickie can’t have one because Dickie’s gonna be my maid of honor!”

Dick wheezes.

He hunches over his knees, thumping a fist against his chest to try and get some air in because he can’t breathe for some reason. Dick doesn’t want to think about his baby brother getting married, not yet.

“Dickie?!” Tim says, alarmed. “Dickie okay?”

“Dickie’s fine, baby,” Dick says hoarsely once his little fit passes. “Just don’t talk about marriage yet, okay? You’re too little for that.”

Maybe he can convince Bruce to write a contract for Tim to wait until he’s thirty… That might work! Especially since the man tried to do the same for Dick before Alfred stopped him. Good thing, too, because Dick remembers a clause about being locked away in a tower.

“I’m not!” Tim replies indignantly, pouting. “I’m big!”

“Besides,” Dick continues, pointedly ignoring his brother. “You haven’t even proposed to Kon, so you can’t just declare marriage without doing that first.”

“Or discussing it,” Damian chimes in, hands twitching at his sides like he wants to reach for his blade. Judging by the way Conner takes a step back, he sees it, too. “And if it were to happen, then he would have to ask our father for your hand.”

“Oh.” Tim looks between them and then turns to face the part-Kryptonian. “Kon, we discuss this on a diffewent day, okay?”

“Um…” Conner sounds so confused. “Okay? Sure?”

Bart and Cassie come over from where they were standing. The speedster mutters something, too low for Dick to hear, and it causes Conner’s face to turn bright red. Cassie snickers and smacks his shoulder before leaning over him to peer at Tim.

“Do you want to play hide-and-seek now?” she asks, reaching out to tuck a strand of Tim’s hair behind his ear. He perks up and reaches for her, and Cassie swiftly plucks him out of Conner’s arms, holding the boy against her chest. Not quite the right hold, but good enough. “We won’t use our powers like we do at the Tower.”

“God, I hated that,” Dick says, remembering all the hide-and-seek games he played with his friends. “But it was—”

“Good practice,” Cassier, Conner, and Bart all say at the same time.

“But you always found us anyways,” Cassie says, poking Tim’s stomach. He giggles. “Because you’re so good at utilizing your detective skills to win at a silly game.”

“I gotta win,” Tim tells her. “I’m, um, com-pe-ti-tive.” He sounds the word out.

“We know,” Conner says flatly. 

They disperse after a bit more conversation, and Dick alleviates his boredom by climbing the tree and sitting atop one of the strongest branches. He hears the leaves rustling shortly after and looks down to see Damian doing the same.

“This isn’t a very good hiding spot,” Dick says once Damian’s sitting beside him. “Tim’s going to find you immediately.”

“I’m not playing,” Damian replies, hands clasped in his lap. “But I am hiding.”

“I won’t rat you out if you give me a hug,” Dick says, grinning when Damian sighs and leans against him. He wraps an arm around his baby brother’s shoulders and listens to the sound of Tim calling out for his friends. “Thanks, baby bat.”

“Shut up,” Damian mutters, but he still shifts closer, practically burrowing against Dick’s side, so Dick counts that as a win in his big brother book.

★★

Eventually, the sun comes down, and night overtakes the sky.

Dick herds everyone back into the house, leading them to Tim’s sitting room so Tim can show them The Lego Movie. He trusts Damian’s capabilities in watching Tim and leaves his youngest brother to suffer with the film, slipping into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea so he can warm up.

He finds Bruce in there, munching on some of Alfred’s pastries while he flicks through one of Tim’s files. His dad looks contemplative, brows furrowed as he reads over the notes. Occasionally, Dick catches him mouthing something to himself, probably trying to parse some of Tim’s sloppy handwriting (which only gets that way when he’s thinking as he writes).

“Hey,” Dick says, patting the other man’s back as he moves past him to pour water into the kettle. He sets it down on the mug and uses his tongue to toy with a molar as he waits for his water to heat up. Dick puts his cup of tea together after a while and pours another one for Bruce, setting it down by his elbow.

“Thank you,” Bruce says as he sets the papers down. He picks up the cup and glances at Dick, a pensive expression on his face. “I used to sit out here with Tim whenever he had a bad night, and we’d have some hot chocolate, and it reminded me a lot of how I used to do that with you, too.”

“Yeah?” Dick smiles at the memory. “I remember how you’d make it extra sweet whenever you brought me back home after I tried to run away.”

Bruce chuckles, inclining his head. “That I did,” he says. The mirth in his eyes fades quickly, and he quietly adds, “Tim ran away sometimes, too. Even after what happened, he’d still go out to try and find…”

Dick takes a long sip of tea, feeling the warmth spread throughout his body. “Brainwashing is a bitch,” he comments, tapping his fingernails against the ceramic mug. “It’s hard to unlearn the things forced into your head.”

“Do you…” Bruce purses his lips. “Nevermind.”

“Do I still have the urge to run away?” Dick says wryly, because he knows Bruce. After receiving a nod in response, he sighs and leans back against the counter, chewing on his bottom lip. “I mean, sometimes I do,” he admits after a long stretch of silence, gazing into his mug. “It was easier to be with him and let him have full control over everything than to deal with some things, but I’m definitely much better than before.”

He pauses to drink more tea, pretending that the sigh he releases isn’t shaky. “And I’m only telling you because I think it might help,” Dick adds. “I don’t know if Tim feels the same way, but… it might help you understand him better.”

“Thank you,” Bruce says. “It does.”

There’s a pause where they drink tea, and Dick nibbles on Bruce’s pastry. At some point, he hears the sound of squeaking—Tim, steadily coming closer. Before it reaches the door, Dick tips his head back and says aloud, “You already gave Marshmallow a treat, Tim. Don’t try to give her more.”

The squeaking stops and slowly grows fainter. Dick’s lips twitch when he imagines Tim walking away with his head hanging, completely dejected. It’s something he often does when he’s not allowed to have any extra sweets.

“Does he still struggle?” Dick asks, glancing over at the other man. 

“Sometimes,” Bruce says. “He’d call me if he had a nightmare about what happened. Never talked about it, of course, and all he wanted was to hear me talk about something—a case, business deals… anything to get his mind off it.”

Dick can picture Bruce sitting in his study, phone pressed to his ear while he comforts Tim in low tones, talking until the fire burns out or until the sun comes up, not stopping even when Tim falls asleep on the other end. 

“That’s sweet,” he murmurs

“It was all I could do.”

“And that’s enough, Bruce. Especially when Tim asked you to keep it a secret from the rest of us.”

“I wish I could have done more for you, too.”

Dick places a hand on Bruce’s arm. “It was enough,” he says. “I wasn’t ready to talk about everything that happened to me, and you accepted it. You gave me space and silence when I needed it, and you never left, even when I was trying to push everyone away.” He stops to take a breath and then repeats, much gentler than before, “It was enough.”

“Okay,” Bruce breathes. He breaks off a piece of his pastry and passes it over, polishing off the rest. “I know I promised to stay away from him if he ever popped up in Gotham,” he says, wiping the crumbs off his mouth with a napkin. “But there are times when I wish I could hurt him like he hurt you. Break an arm or something.”

Something in Dick, fourteen and small, wearing armor that should have never been his but fit his body perfectly, awakens and nearly defends the man on instinct. Dick swallows the words back down, acidic and full of shame, and drowns them with another sip of tea, letting it bury those memories.

“I know,” he says quietly.

“You still fight him, though,” Bruce says, but there’s no judgment in his voice, only curiosity, and that’s the only reason why Dick doesn’t get angry. “And you talk to him, too.”

“I do, yeah,” Dick acknowledges, looking away. “There’s a part of me that still wants to prove myself, and the rest of me wants to finally beat him for once.” He pauses to take another drink of his tea. “He’s seen the worst of me, and I, him, and… I guess I need a reminder of what I could become if I let myself stray too far from the nest.” Dick huffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “And he knows that, too. I spent so many years trying to deny it, but I saw myself, clear as day, during my time as Renegade.”

Dick appreciates the way Bruce stays silent after he finishes speaking because it gives him a chance to quell his complex emotions regarding the matter. Even though so much time has passed between the two separate incidents, Dick still has times when he feels as lost as ever and wishes he had his Master giving out orders and taking the burden of thinking off Dick’s shoulders.

“Some part of me will always be drawn to him,” he admits. “And I hate it, I do, but it can’t be helped because I know him too well, and I’ve never known myself as well as I do whenever I’m with him.” Dick holds the cup tightly, staring down into the golden liquid. “I’ve stopped interacting with him as much, and there have been times when I’ve removed myself from the situation. My friends basically babysit me so I don’t seek him out and get my ass beat.”

“Oh?” Bruce says, sounding amused.

“I’m still trying to beat him,” Dick says wryly. “I’ll get there one day.”

Movement at the door catches his attention, and when Dick lifts his head, he sees Jason standing there, looking awkward.

“Jay?” Dick says. “What’s up?”

“I think Tim’s friends are trying to leave,” Jason says, tucking his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Uh, so I came to let you know. Don’t really know the procedure for having friends over.”

“It’s polite to see them out,” Bruce says, organizing the papers in the file and tucking it under one arm. “But we may need to distract Tim. I have a feeling he may start crying if he sees them leaving.”

“I can do that,” Dick says. “I’m great at distracting little Timmy.”

He follows Bruce out of the kitchen and starts to move past his brother, only to stop when a hand snags his arm. Dick glances over at Bruce, who disappears in the direction of the foyer and then looks at Jason. “Everything okay?” he asks, bemused.

Jason gives him a long, searching look before he sighs and nods, releasing him. “Everything’s fine,” he says and gestures to the door. “After you.”

“Such a gentleman,” Dick simpers, fluttering his lashes. “Roy’s a lucky guy!”

“And I will never let him forget it.”

Dick enters the foyer in time to see Tim clinging to one of Conner’s arms, legs dangling beneath them. The boy looks close to tears as he pleads, “Stay wonger! Pwease? We can watch more movies! There’s a wot to pick!”

“We should really go, Tim,” Cassie says, glancing over at Bruce and back. “I promise we’ll see each other again soon, alright?”

Dick’s about to go and remove his brother from the situation when Alfred appears out of nowhere, observing the scene with mild curiosity. He also catches the way Tim glances at him pleadingly, which causes a flicker of a smile to briefly show up on the older man’s face before he clears his throat, standing up straighter.

“Are you three not staying for dinner?” Alfred asks, arching a white brow. “I prepared a meal with enough calories for your speedster metabolism, Master Allen, and there’s plenty of options for you, Miss Sandsmark.” His eyes flit over to Conner, and his expression grows a bit lighter. “I’ve also prepared your favorite, Master Kent.”

“We wouldn’t want to impose,” Conner says, not even the slightest bothered that Tim is now attached to his side like a koala. “Really! We can come back another day!”

“Then allow me to pack up the meals for you three.”

Bruce grunts suddenly and turns away. “They can stay,” he says before disappearing into the dining room.

“Splendid,” Alfred says, smiling. “I’ll see you three shortly.” And with that, he follows Bruce out of the room.

“Well, there you have it,” Dick says, spreading his arms. “Now you can spend more time with Tim!”

“Under Batman’s watchful eye,” Conner mutters.

“S’okay, Kon,” Tim says happily, reaching up to grab one of Kon’s cheeks, squishing a tiny section between his forefinger and thumb. “You can sit with me! And Daddy won’t hurt you! He doesn’t do that to my fwiends!”

“But he could,” Bart whispers to Cassie. “That’s the problem.”

Dick snorts, though he covers it up with a fake coughing fit when they all look at him. “How about we go sit down, huh?” he says, clapping a hand on Conner’s shoulder and guiding him to the dining room. “We really don’t want to keep Alfred waiting, especially when he put so much thought into tonight’s meal.”

“That’s the one rule we all follow,” Jason adds. Again, he looks awkward, shoulders hunched as his eyes flick between each individual. “It usually keeps the peace.”

“Hm.” Conner squints at Jason. “Hey, aren’t you the one that—”

“Yes, yes,” Dick says quickly, stopping them in the doorway. “But Jason apologized, and he plans on doing so again when Tim is older. Tim also forgave him.” He glances at his baby brother, who is starting to slide down Conner’s side. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Uh-huh!” Tim nods. “And Jay said he would give me some candy, too!”

“Oh, did I?” Jason replies, sounding amused. He snatches Tim up the moment the boy’s feet touch the ground and tosses him into the air, causing their little brother to laugh with delight. “I think someone’s pants are on fire!”

Dick catches the way Tim’s friends all jolt at the action, but he’s not too worried. Jason would never hurt Tim intentionally, and he’s always very aware of his own strength, moreso now than ever due to Tim’s change in stature.

“No, no!” Tim says, wrapping his arms around Jason’s neck. “No pants on fire! No!”

“I dunno, Timmy… I might have to get the fire extinguisher…”

“Okay, okay! Jay never said anything about candy!” Tim covers his face with both hands, but he peeks out between his fingers, and Dick catches a hint of a grin poking out behind his palms. “But will Jay give me candy anyways? Pwease?”

“Maybe,” Jason says after a long pause, tucking Tim beneath his arm like he’s a football and not their four-year-old brother. “I’ll think about it.”

That means yes.

Dick snags his usual spot, and Jason places Tim in the high chair. Jason’s about to take a seat on Tim’s other side when Tim loudly protests, holding up a tiny hand.

“Hold!” he says. “That seat is taken!”

“Oh, really?” Jason arches a brow. “By who?”

“Kon is gonna sit with me,” Tim says and smiles at Conner. “Wight?”

“I guess so,” Conner says, slowly sliding into the empty seat beside Tim. “But I don’t have to if you want to take it, uh, Jason.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “It’s fine,” he says, waving a hand and slipping into the chair beside Dick. It’ll put him close to Bruce, but with reminders of guests and Alfred’s lessons on being polite ingrained in their heads, nothing should go down between them. “It’s better to do what he says unless you want to deal with a tantrum.”

“I never ever have tantwums,” Tim says, puffing out his cheeks. “Jay is wying!”

Dick remembers the tantrum he threw when Alfred had to wash Batwalker after the stuffed toy fell into a puddle of mud. Tim was practically screaming and sobbing while Alfred unstuffed the toy to toss into the washer, and he even threw himself to the floor when they had to dry it next. He didn’t look at or talk to anyone afterwards, choosing to hide away with his beloved plush, silently showing his displeasure with the whole situation.

“Yeah, okay,” Jason replies, in a voice that so clearly depicts his disbelief. “Sure, pumpkin. Whatever you say…”

The others eventually take their seats at the dinner table, everyone (except Bruce, Jason, and Damian) making small talk with one another while waiting for the food to come out. When Alfred starts placing the dishes down, Dick jumps up to assist, and soon enough, the table is loaded with all types of food, including those special meals for the metas that Alfred mentioned.

“Thanks for having us over,” Kon says politely as they start digging into their meals.

“Of course,” Alfred says before Bruce can open his mouth. “And you three are welcome to return any time you like. Master Timothy—”

“Tim,” Bart says and hastily adds. “He’ll never tell you, but he prefers Tim.”

“Of course,” Alfred replies, inclining his head. “As I was saying, Master Tim would greatly appreciate any and all visits, even when he’s no longer a child.”

“S’twue,” Tim says, nodding. “I ‘ppweciate.”

“That’d be lovely,” Cassie says warmly. “We haven’t had a chance to hang out with Tim, and whenever he does stop by the Tower, it’s always for a mission or some upgrades. We miss him.”

“And I know, without a shred of doubt, that he misses you three as well.”

This causes the three metahumans to brighten considerably, though Conner’s expression shifts into a mild grimace when Tim suddenly reaches out and places a half-eaten piece of chicken onto his plate, patting his arm afterwards (with a sticky hand, most likely).

“Share,” Tim says plainly and goes back to eating his food.

“Thank you, Rob,” Conner says as he picks up the chicken, tossing it into his mouth. “You’re so good at making sure I get food in me.”

“It’s true.” Bart nods. “He’s kind of like our team dad!”

“No, he’s the mom,” Conner corrects.

Cassie and Bart look at him. “Kon,” the speedster says plainly, a hint of a grin on his face. “Do we have to go over this again? Huh? Do I have to pull out the data we accumulated? We all know who the mom is, Kon, and it’s certainly not Tim.”

“I’m not doing this again,” Conner retorts, elbowing Bart. “I’m not the mom, alright? There’s no way that I’m the mom!”

“You guys are weird,” Jason says plainly as he carefully cuts a tiny piece of steak. He slides it onto Dick’s plate, and Dick places it on Tim’s plate, and Tim dumps his fork on the table so he can grab it with his hand and shove it into his mouth.

“Yummy!” he says brightly.

“Master Tim,” Alfred says sharply when he re-enters the room, holding one of Tim’s cups. “Use your utensils.”

“Oops.” Tim smiles sheepishly. “Sowee, Alfie. I fowgot.”

“You always seem to forget things when it’s convenient, baby,” Dick says, leaning over to wipe the mess off Tim’s hands with a napkin. He accepts the tumbler from Alfred and holds the straw close to Tim’s mouth, and the boy leans forward to drink, smacking his lips together.

“I wuv juice,” he says, picking up his fork. Tim’s a bit clumsy with piercing his chicken, so Dick occasionally leans over to adjust the way he holds the utensil, melting when Tim smiles sweetly at him.

Too cute. Dick cups Tim’s chubby cheeks, leans forward to kiss his forehead, and then the tip of his nose. He huffs out a laugh when he sees Tim scrunch it up, but the way his eyes crease at the corners tells Dick that he enjoyed the spontaneous affection.

“So,” Bruce says suddenly, setting his fork and knife down. He clasps his hands together and leans forward, an intense look in his eyes. “What’s this about Tim going to space with you?”

“Oh, that wasn’t anything serious, I swear!” Bart says, waving a hand. “But I can’t give you any details, Mr. Batman, sir. We have a rule that’s been implemented since day one! Whatever happens in Young Justice, stays in Young Justice!”

“You’re part of the Titans now,” Dick points out.

“Young Justice is forever,” Bart says sagely. “Doesn’t matter where we go—we’ll always be connected.” He holds up a hand and crosses his fingers together. “Like this!”

“Or like a fungus,” Cassie mutters.

“Hm.” Bruce doesn’t look impressed. 

“I’m sure it was fine,” Dick tries to placate even though he was two seconds away from a heart attack when he learned about Tim’s little adventure. He quickly turns to Bart when Bruce glares at him, attempting to diffuse the tension by asking, “So, how are you? Wally’s been wondering what you’re up to since he barely sees you in Central.”

“Uh, well, I’m good?” Bart scratches the back of his head. “I mean, nothing’s going on in my life. It’s as normal as ever.”

Conner clears his throat. Dick thinks he hears a muttered “bullshit” while he does it.

“Alright, alright. I’m kinda staying at one of Tim’s places,” Bart says with a sheepish grin. “He offered it to me when he heard I wanted to travel around for a while—said it would give him a better piece of mind if he knew I had a safe place to retreat to whenever I needed.”

“Ooh.” Cassie perks up. “Which one? Is it the villa or the beach?”

“Neither!” Bart says, turning to her. “He’s letting me borrow the cabin! The one he said he’d retire to and raise five kids when he was done with being Red Robin!”

Bruce chokes.

Jason, looking alarmed, starts thumping their father’s back while Dick feels faint. The cacophony of noise that follows sounds like white noise to his ears, and his body feels fuzzy and numb when he reaches out to grab his glass of water. Dick ends up chugging the whole thing, not caring how some of it spills down his chin. 

He slams it down and stares at Bart with wide eyes, full of disbelief when he croaks, “Five?”

Conner leans over. “Baby goats are called Kids,” he says, not unkindly.

Dick slumps against his seat, resting a hand over his chest and going through breathing exercises to try and calm his fast-beating heart. “Oh, thank god,” Dick says aloud, fanning himself next. “I’m so not ready to be an uncle.”

“Me either,” Jason says, pulling his hand away from Bruce’s back and covering his face with it. “Oh god. I think I lost like twenty years of my life after hearing that. But why goats?”

“Why not?” Damian says from the other side of the table, narrowing his eyes. “If raising Kids is something that Timothy wants to do, then we should support him and his dreams!”

“Yeah!” Tim says, banging his fork against his plate. “Slurport me and my dweams!”

“Support,” Conner quietly corrects.

“That’s what I said!”

“You don’t even know what we’re talking about, Rob.”

“Yes, I do!”

Dick leaves them to their bickering and goes back to finishing up his delicious meal, heart calm and mind less panicked over Tim’s idea of a future. It does warm his heart to know that Tim actually sees a goal to strive for when before, he expected to die as a vigilante, something he confessed to Dick during one of their rooftop hangout sessions.

It’s a sentiment that Dick used to believe, too, until he found hope in Wally.

He leans over to kiss the top of Tim’s head, breaking the boy’s argument with his friend. Tim glances up at him, his brief look of confusion shifting to one of pure joy, and he goes back to eating like nothing ever happened.

Maybe Tim found the same thing.

★★

Tim’s friends stay for a couple of hours after dinner, but eventually, they’re forced to depart.

The boy gets extra clingy with them when they’re leaving, and he even puts on some crocodile tears in an attempt to get them to stay. His act quickly falls apart when Dick tickles his sides, the fake sobs breaking into airy giggles.

“Stop it!” he says with a grin, trying to push Dick’s hands away. “Dickie! Pwease!” Tim laughs and tips his head back, reaching out toward his friends. “Help! I need help!”

“Oh, no,” Conner says, grinning wickedly. “There’s no possible way we can help you from this attack, Rob! We’re not allowed to use our powers here, remember? So, unfortunately, you’ll have to get through this all on your own… but thanks for the knowledge that you’re ticklish!”

“You betway me,” Tim says. It would sound sadder if it wasn’t for Tim’s breathy giggles. “How could you!”

“Alright, alright.” Conner swiftly takes Tim from Dick, and he watches as the other boy perches Tim on his hip. “There, I saved you. But we really have to go, Tim. If we stay any longer, then we might never leave! And I don’t think your dad would like it that much.”

Tim pouts.

“Don’t worry, Tim!” Bart says with a grin, leaning down to kiss Tim’s forehead. “We’ll be back before you know it!”

“Maybe I go see you,” Tim says hopefully. “At the Tower!”

“You could!” Bart rubs his chin. “We could probably put together a movie night for you and invite everyone from Young Justice… Cissie told me she wanted to see us soon, and I know Greta really misses you.”

Tim brightens. “Yay!” he says, throwing up both arms. “Okay!”

“We’re definitely going to send all the pictures we took with you while we’re at it,” Cassie interjects, smirking. Her expression shifts into something much softer, and she kisses the top of Tim’s head. “But that sounds fine with me, Tim. We’d love to have you over.”