Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A… B… C… D… E…

“Uh, Clark?” Barry called out from his place behind the screen where the letters were popping up. They were paired together for Watchtower duty on an otherwise calm Friday night.

F… G… H…

“Do you know this code? It’s coming from Bats.”

Clack came over to look over Barry’s shoulder with a worried frown.

“I’m not familiar with it.”

I… J… K… L…

“Ohmygod, what if it’s a countdown?” Barry exclaimed, horrified.

Something cold ran down Clark's spine.

“A countdown to what? And from whom? And why use the alphabet instead of numbers?”

M… N… O…

“I dunno? Who knows what those people get up to? Maybe they have an Alphabet Man. It’s Gotham – they’re all weird!”

Clark raised an eyebrow that hopefully conveyed that Barry shouldn't throw rocks, considering the villains in Central City.

He took a deep breath getting back to the emergency at hand.

“I’ve never heard of them, but we can’t let it reach the end. Whoever it is, is skilled enough to hack the Batcomputer to send us this. We have to assume the worst. We have to go down there.”

Barry blanched. “You mean -?”

P… Q… R…

Clark gave him a nod that was all Superman. “I’ll take the Zeta to the Batcave.”

“Are we uh – are we allowed to do that?”

Clark’s eyes hardened. “I have to. I’ll go. You stay here.”

Seconds later, Clark was in the Batcave but there were no signs of trouble.

It was quiet and dark, the only noise coming from the shifting bats above them and only light from the computer he knew was always running.

No signs of struggle, but he still moved forward with caution.

A small clack sounded, followed by a victorious cry.

“S!”

Clark turned around, searching for the origins of the noise.

A small child stood in front of the computer, standing on his tip-toes, only just managing to look over the keyboard which had his full attention as he frowned at it in concentration.

His black hair was messy, and he wasn’t wearing anything other than a striped pyjama shirt and a sock on his left foot. His pants and underpants were conspicuously missing.

His face lit up in excitement and he stretched his little arm up, hitting one more button.

“T!”

He giggled in amazement when he saw the letter appear on the screen, sending the message to the Watchtower.

“Uh – hi?” Clark tried to greet carefully.

The boy stiffened, taking in the stranger with wide blue eyes, looking distinctly like a kid caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

Clark took a small step closer, and the kid gasped, ducking beneath the console table.

Clark sighed and slowly approached the computer, kneeling next to it.

He was about to speak to the boy when the loud noise of a door slamming could be heard from the top of the staircase leading up to the manor.

Bruce came down the stairs with heavy footfalls so unlike the near-silence with which the Batman moved.

He was intensely studying the file in his hand and froze when he saw that he had company.

The two men stared at each other until the silence was broken by a small sniffle coming from under the table.

Bruce frowned and rather than interrogating his fellow leaguer, which he looked very ready to, he too turned his attention downwards and froze again.

Clark raised an eyebrow at him, wordlessly asking him to take point. It was his cave, after all.

As Clark shot off a text to Barry telling him there was no emergency, Bruce slowly lowered himself to the floor, looking more carefully at the little intruder. Who was holding his hands in front of his eyes.

“Hey buddy,” Bruce said in an uncharacteristically gentle tone.

The boy pressed his hands harder against his face.

“You can’t see me,” he whispered.

Bruce’s mouth twitched and Clark felt himself smile involuntary.

“Why do you think we can’t see you?” Bruce asked.

“I can’t see you, so you can’t see me,” the boy reasoned.

Clark covered his mouth, not to let a laugh escape.

Bruce floundered for a moment, clearly a little out of his depth.

“Can you uh – what’s your name?”

The boy moved a finger to look at them.

“I’m Tim,” he told them so quietly that Clark wasn’t sure Bruce would have heard it since he didn’t have super-hearing.

“Hi Tim, I’m Bruce,” he gently introduced himself though. “This here is my friend, Superman.”

“I know,” the boy whispered.

Bruce shifted so he could sit more comfortably.

“Tim, could you please tell me; how did you get down here?”

Tim covered his eyes fully again and pinched his lips tightly closed.

Bruce sighed softly.

“I had to potty,” the boy whispered quietly.

Well. That explained the lack of pants, Clark supposed, but not much else.

Bruce hummed. “How old are you, Tim?”

Tim moved his right hand from his eyes to show them three fingers.

Bruce took his hand to hold gently before the kid could cover his eyes again.

“Where are your parents?” Clark asked.

Tim jumped like he had forgotten Superman was even there.

He pointed up.

“They’re upstairs?”

Tim shook his head and pointed up harder.

Clark winced. “Oh... they’re uh –“

“Airplane!” the boy cut him off, his eyes lighting up a bit and Clark sighed in relief.

Bruce smiled at him. “They’re on an airplane? That’s exciting.”

Tim nodded, finally letting the other hand fall from his face. “They go far, far away. Work.”

Bruce and Clark shared concerned glances.

“Okay. If your mom and dad aren’t here, who tucks you in at night?”

The boy frowned like he didn’t understand the question.

“Uh – who’s your grown-up?” Clark rephrased.

“Shel – Shelley?” he said, more like a question than anything else.

Bruce frowned, looking at Clark.

“I gotta...” he trailed off, pointing up at the computer. “Could you...?” he asked, pointing at the kid.

Clark cleared his throat and helped the kid out from underneath the console. “So, kid. We should probably find your um... pants.”

Tim pouted. “I had to potty,” he repeated mournfully and pointed at a tiny bundle of wet clothes in the corner.

“Oh, honey,” Clark cooed. “You couldn’t find the toilet.”

“There should be some blankets in the med bay,” Bruce murmured, caught up in whatever he was working on.

Clark offered his hand to Tim who took it after a quick glance at Bruce.

Clark moved towards the med bay but was held back when the boy stretched to grab the plush dragon that he hadn’t realised was on the floor.

The sharp lights in the med bay blinked to life as they entered.

Tim hissed at the onslaught and slapped a hand up on his face again.

It wasn’t until now that he realised the general state the boy was in. The dark of the cave had hidden a lot.

Both his knees and elbows were scraped up and he had a cut on his cheek.

His shirt was dirty and torn in places and his skin was dirty with what looked like grass stains and dried blood.

“Bruce!” Clark called.

No doubt the detective had something to deduct from this. Also, Clark had no idea where Bruce kept stuff for small injuries.

He knew where the crash cart was, but Bruce preferred to deal with smaller stuff privately.

Tim was clutching his dragon tightly and Clark led him to a nearby cot, lifting him onto it with no effort.

Bruce came in with a contemplative frown on his face and stopped short when he saw the actual state of the little trespasser.

He made a detour to a medical cabinet where he grabbed what looked like a pretty standard first aid kit.

“Should I get Agent A?” Clark asked.

Bruce shook his head. “I think it’s best not to make it too crowded down here right now. Besides, A is with Dick right now.”

Right. Bruce’s kid. Clark was still getting used to Bruce being a father but looking at how he was smiling at the little boy in front of them, it wasn’t hard to see.

Bruce carefully sat on the chair next to the cot he was sitting on.

“You have some scratches Tim. Did you fall?”

Tim nodded. “There was a hole.”

Bruce lit up like he had an aha!-moment.

“You fell down a hole in the ground?”

He nodded again.

“Clark, could you fill a basin with water over there?”

Clark did as ordered, filling up a bowl that was conveniently placed near the sink. He took several washcloths as well.

When he came back, Bruce has produced evidence bags and swabs, seemingly out of nowhere. He looked like he had been busy taking samples of the dirt covering the boy as well as the dried blood on his skin.

Tim was sitting with his face buried in the dragon.

“Hey Tim,” Clark said softly to get his attention.

He looked up but kept a tight hold on the toy.

“You’re quite dirty right now.”

The boy looked at his hands in confusion as if he hadn’t noticed that at all. Which he probably hadn’t. He was three.

“We need to wash you a bit.”

Tim shook his head vehemently.

“No wash.”

Bruce sighed softly.

“Listen here, Buddy.”

Tim looked at him warily.

“Can you see you have some ouchies on your knees?”

The kid frowned at the offending scrapes.

“Right now, they hurt, right?”

He nodded slowly.

“We need to wash them right now or else they’re going to hurt even more.”

The boy’s pout turned into a scowl at that, and Clark should not have found it as adorable as he did.

Bruce smirked a little.

“And when we’re done, you get to pick a band-aid,” he tried to tempt and showed the kid a small box of colourful band-aids, gesturing for him to take it.

As the boy was distracted by rifling through the box, Bruce worked quickly, cleaning the wounds gently.

Clark was impressed. Fatherhood really suited Bruce.

Tim jerked back at the first touch, but Clark followed Bruce’s lead and kept distracting him, talking to him, and pointing out the different superhero themed band-aids. They had picked five once Bruce was done. They were mostly Batman to Clark’s chagrin, even though there was an excellent selection with many more heroes. He had picked one Superman band-aid though, but Clark wondered if that was mostly out of pity.

“Wow, Tim. I take it you like Batman?” Bruce asked with a grin.

Tim pointed at him, and Bruce’s eyebrows went high on his forehead.

“That’s right, Timmy. Good job, you figured that out. You must be very smart.”

The kid smiled shyly at that.

When the band-aids were applied, Bruce went on to wash the boy’s legs and arms, so they were free of dirt.

“I love your dragon, Tim. What’s its name?” Clark asked in an attempt to distract him further.

Tim squeezed the dragon tighter. It was blue and just as dirty as the boy had been.

“Blossom,” he murmured into the plush.

Clark smiled widely. “Blossom? That’s a great name.”

“Daddy says Blossom is bad name for boy dragons.”

Bruce took off the boy’s shirt and replaced it with a t-shirt that looked like it might be Dick’s. It would still reach far past Tim’s knees once he stood up.

The boy yawned and it was clear that he was flagging.

Clark carefully pushed him down to lay on the cot and the kid went down without much protest. He ran a hand through the boy’s hair, smiling softly when his eyes fluttered closed, and his mouth went slack at the sensation.

He jolted a bit when Bruce covered him with a blanket but fell back asleep almost instantly once he was properly settled.

Clark and Bruce shared a look, and Clark ran a hand through the boy’s hair one last time before they left him in the med-bay, turning down the lights as they went.

Bruce paced a little, clearly needing to work something out in his head.

Clark stayed quiet. Nothing good ever came out of interrupting Bruce’s thought process.

Eventually Bruce came to a stop in front of the computer.

“I believe that” he pointed at the med-bay, “is Tim Drake. My neighbour.”

Clark waited for him to elaborate.

“My best guess is that he fell into a hole that led into the cave systems and then somehow made his way here.”

“Okay?”

“But that doesn’t make sense, because right now, Jack and Janet Drake are in Spain and have been for the past two days.”

“And? Didn’t the kid say he had a care-taker? Shelley?”

“Shelley was the Drake’s au pair. Until she was fired and left one week ago.”

Clark frowned. “So, who has been taking care of Timmy?”

Bruce scowled at the screen. “I don’t know. I can’t find any trace of anything other than a housekeeper in their employment records.”

“Maybe they hired someone under the table?” Clark suggested.

Bruce huffed and his scowl deepened. “Maybe. That might also explain the lack of a missing person’s report, if it’s someone scared of getting deported. Something about it is fishy though.”

“You’re going over there, aren’t you?”

Bruce scoffed. As if that was even a question.

Chapter Text

Ultimately, Bruce decided to go over as Bruce Wayne – an extremely concerned neighbour who had found a small boy on his property – neither of which were lies.

He was walking up to the big manor and was about to knock on the front door when he heard a loud banging sound coming from the side of the house.

It was another door, slamming against the wall in the wind, leaving it entirely open.

A service entrance.

Judging by the leaves in the kitchen it led into, the door had been open for a while.

At first glance, Bruce would have thought there were signs of a struggle inside, but analysing the clues led to another conclusion.

A box of Cheerio’s had been spilled on the counter and the floor where several of them had been crushed under small feet.

A carton of milk had been knocked over but had long since stopped dripping and was mostly dried over. A large pile of paper towels was lying on where the puddle would have been biggest, the empty carton roll was still left on the stand which had ended up lying on the chair that had been pushed to the counter.

The picture it painted wasn’t quite as grim as a double homicide, but it was still pretty damning.

Moving on from the kitchen, he came out in a hallway where he passed an abandoned toy truck. He went all through the entire house, finding all sorts of clues, taking pictures as he went.

A potted plant knocked over with small, dirty footprints leading away from it.

A book about dinosaurs lying on the floor.

Toothpaste smeared all over the counter in one of the bathrooms.

The lights were on in the entire house and a television was on, asking if he was still watching Storybots.

Bruce took care not to touch too much as he left. He even left the lights on.

If he was right, then this would be a crime scene.

He made his way back home, feeling ten years older than he had the day before.

He grunted in greeting as he passed Clark who had volunteered to stay with the boy, so he had a somewhat familiar face nearby in case the kid woke up.

Without a word, he got to work on the Batcomputer and seconds after sitting down, a steaming cup of coffee was placed at his right hand.

He shot Clark a small smile in gratitude before hacking deeper into the Drake’s information.

It took him a long time sifting through Janet’s email before he found what he was looking for.

Apparently, Janet had been in touch with an au pair agency to replace the one they had fired.

Unfortunately, several unopened emails showed that Janet hadn’t showed up for meeting the new au pair at the agency and the girl had backed out because of it.

The agency had offered to facilitate contact to another au pair, but as Janet hadn’t responded, they considered the contract void.

So, what – Jack and Janet had just left?

Had they just assumed the girl would show up without knowing who she was working for and where she was supposed to sleep?

Bruce scowled at the screen.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Bruce didn’t jump. Not even on the inside. He absolutely hadn’t forgotten that Clark was still in the cave.

He cleared his throat.

“I would like you to go through some surveillance footage. The cameras I have at the gate luckily covers the road outside. The only property down the road is the Drake Estate. You can use superspeed to go through it and tag the comings and goings over the last year.”

Clark raised an eyebrow. “That’s a lot of footage, Bruce.”

“I know. That’s why I’m making you do it.”

Clark sighed in defeat and a small gust of wind later, he was sitting at another monitor next to Bruce.

A tiny sniffle behind them alerted Bruce to the presence of their little intruder.

Clark had lifted the entire medical cot – child and all – into the main part of the cave where his soft breathing could keep them company as they worked.

Bruce found himself smiling softly at the boy and the stuffed dragon whose tail looked very wet as if it had been chewed on.

Clark had managed somehow to find the blanket with superman logos even though Bruce knew it was buried at the very bottom of the pile.

He had to remember to tell Alfr –

“Master Bruce? Could you perhaps explain what is going on here?”

Dammit.

He turned around to see Alfred next to the sleeping boy with an eyebrow raised.

Bruce had to remind himself that he was an adult for a moment. And Batman.

“Uh, it’s a kid,” Clark said before Bruce could start explaining.

Alfred turned the Eyebrow of Judgement at Clark and Bruce watched Superman shrink in his chair.

“Indeed, Mister Kent. It appears so.”

“I believe he fell through the tunnels and wandered in here. He had taken over the Batcomputer and was sending messages to the Watchtower.”

Alfred’s other eyebrow joined the first, high on his forehead in surprise.

“The boy is lucky to be alive if that’s the case. He could easily have gotten lost in the caves and tunnels.”

Bruce gave him a brisk nod, having thought of that at length.

The idea of the little boy lost in the tunnels forever was too much to bear and he returned to analysing the data not to dwell on the thought.

“Here’s what I found,” Clark offered, handing him several pieces of paper. “I colour-coded it.”

Alfred cleared his throat. “I shall fetch some refreshments. And perhaps some food for the boy for when he wakes up.”

Clark smiled at the butler. “That would be great. Thanks, Alfred.”

Alfred gave him a small smile in return. “You’re very welcome Mister Kent. Your manners are most appreciated,” he added, looking pointedly at Bruce who made a small grunt in acknowledgement before returning to Clarks notes on the video footage.

“I saw that you had their flight records up,” Clark explained. “So, I tried to line that up with the car service they use and from the traffic to and from their house, and it seems like they’re almost never there. Even when they’re in Gotham, they leave in the morning and come home late at night. They’ve had five different au pairs over the past year, but look here – this was Aurora’s last workday,” he pointed at a date in early spring, “and she leaves alone in her blue Prius, but the parents leave that same evening. It isn’t until the next morning that anyone else arrives – the housekeeper I think. I think that Tim was alone all night. There are also several instances where it looks like the Drakes leave in the evening even though they don’t have an au-pair or babysitter at their house, only to return in the early hours in the morning. I mean, maybe the boy is asleep, but anything could happen, right?”

“Especially in Gotham,” Bruce added.

“Considering what happened now – him getting lost like that, we can’t let him go back to his parents, Bruce.”

Bruce nodded slowly. “Good job, Clark. We might make a detective out of you yet.”

Clark chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. He opened his mouth, but whatever he wanted to say was cut off by a small whine coming from the cot.

Bruce hurried over but Clark was already at the cot.

“Hey, buddy,” he cooed. “Did you have a nice nap?”

The only answer was another whine and Tim curled himself around his stuffed dragon.

He struggled to sit up, too tired to really hold himself up properly. Clark wrapped the kid tightly in the Superman-blanket, and picked him up, holding him close.

The boy leaned his head against Clark’s chest and made a small yawn.

Bruce snorted when he saw Clark’s sappy smile, but knew that ultimately, he didn’t have a leg to stand on.

“Ah. I see that our youngest charge is awake.”

Tim rubbed his eyes with his small fists before fixing Alfred with a stare.

“I not in charge,” he muttered into Clark’s Super suit.

“Indeed, Master Tim,” Alfred replied with amusement and showed the boy a platter of cookies.

Tim’s eyes widened comically, and he grabbed as many as he could fit in his hands.

“One at a time, Master Tim.”

The boy pouted, but dutifully put most of the cookies back.

He kept one which was quickly devoured, as he kept a keen eye on the rest of the platter, making sure not to lose track of it as Clark sat down with him on his lap.

He was about to reach for one more when Alfred pushed a glass of milk at him.

The glass was quickly emptied, and Bruce wondered how long it must have been since the boy actually ate and drank.

They should probably have gotten him to drink something before he fell asleep.

Bruce sighed.

“What do you intend to do with the boy?” Alfred asked and Bruce sighed again.

“I don’t know, Alfred.” He rubbed his face. “I can’t – what do you think I should do?” he asked, looking at the way the boy slowly tried to sneak an extra cookie from under Clark’s nose while keeping a careful eye on the man who was pretending not to notice.

“Perhaps bringing him upstairs could be the first step in the plan?” Alfred suggested pointedly. “Master Richard is already at school.”

“I should probably call Gordon.”

“I assure you, all the telephones at the Manor are fully functional, Master Bruce.”

Bruce sighed. He did that a lot, it seemed.

“Fine.”

Tim started wiggling in Clark’s lap to get down. The t-shirt he was wearing almost reached his feet.

“Easy there, little man.”

“I not a man. I’m a Tim!” he protested.

“So you are, Master Tim,” Alfred agreed, holding a hand out to the little boy.

Tim grabbed his dragon and followed the old man.

Together they went up the stairs to the Manor, with Tim tripping over the long t-shirt every few steps.

Every time he stumbled, Alfred tried to help, but the boy stubbornly refused. 

"I do it myself!"

Clark chuckled. “Congratulations. It’s a boy.” He clapped Bruce on the back, knocking the air out of him.

“What do you mean?” he wheezed.

“Well, you’re gonna keep him, right?”

Bruce grimaced. “I don’t know. I already have Dick. Why don’t you keep him?”

Clark cut him off with a shrug. “I think it doesn’t matter what any of us say. Alfred’s keeping him.”

Bruce snorted, looking up at the silhouette of the butler and the boy.

Maybe Alfred wanted to keep him, but Bruce... probably wouldn’t argue too much.

Chapter Text

It was a staring contest.

A battle of wills and so far it looked like the toddler was winning.

Commissioner Gordon sighed and finally admitted his defeat, averting his eyes from the little boy who still glared mistrustfully at the man from his spot at the coffee table.

“And you said you found him on your property?” he asked.

“Yes, luckily. I don’t know if he came through the forest or down the road, but I can think of a hundred separate ways that poor boy could have been hurt just on the way here. There’s a lake not far from here. And I don’t know for sure but there has to be some sort of predators in the forest, or he could have been hit by a car,” Bruce ranted, not having to force any of the agitation or the worry into his tone of voice. It was all quite genuine.

He sat heavily in the armchair, and Tim didn’t waste any time in crawling onto his lap, carrying Blossom the Dragon with him.

He hugged the boy tight, dragon and all, giving him an extra hard squeeze to make him giggle.

Gordon smiled softly. Bruce knew the man had children of his own.

Did he feel the fear too? That bone-chilling lump of dread in the pit of his stomach at the thought of what might have happened to that little boy if he hadn’t been found?

He would probably feel it regardless of having any children. Anyone with the slightest bit of empathy would.

“Did you go to the Drake Estate?” Bruce asked.

Gordon nodded slowly. “We did. It seems abandoned.”

Bruce nodded.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Gordon remarked.

Bruce winced. “Let’s just say that I may or may not have called in a favour,” he admitted.

The Commissioner sighed. “Great. That’s just – Batman is not –“

“I know Batman isn’t law enforcement, but he does have other resources at his disposal. He only told me that there was no-one else at the house. Do you have any idea where the parents are? Any caretaker?”

Gordon levelled him with a serious look. “I can’t discuss the case with you Mr. Wayne, but let’s just say that CPS is on their way. They’ll be here within the hour to make arrangements.”

Bruce hugged the boy tighter.

“What kind of arrangements?”

The other man pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’ll need to be fostered, at least while the investigation is ongoing.”

“I can foster him,” Bruce immediately offered, and Gordon raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m licensed and everything. We have plenty of room and he’ll be close to his regular environment –“

Gordon cut off Bruce’s defence by holding up a hand. “Mr Wayne. I don’t doubt your resources. Obviously. I just don’t know why you want to.”

Bruce frowned. “Tim is a very sweet and smart little boy –“

“I a big boy!” Tim piped up in protest.

Bruce chuckled. “Tim is a very sweet and smart big boy,” he amended. “I don’t see why I wouldn’t want to. Having him here is a privilege.”

Tim wriggled and slid out of Bruce’s lap, going back to the colouring he had been doing before Gordon arrived.

He was on his fifth sheet of paper and Dick’s crayons were spread all over the sitting room.

He gave Gordon a piece of paper with some blue on it vaguely looking like the letter –

“’P’ is for police car!”

Bruce laughed. “That’s right buddy,” he praised. “P is for police car.”

Gordon chuckled and accepted the gift. “Bright kid. I’m sure you’ll make him CEO in no time.”

Bruce snorted. “Some of the paperwork I make does look rather similar,” he remarked, looking over the many pages of random letters and amorphous shapes made with different colour crayons.

“I should head out,” the Commissioner grumbled after a few more moments. “Do you have the clothing the boy wore? I should send it to analysis.”

Bruce nodded, retrieving the clear plastic bag he had put it in after taking his own samples.

“And you didn’t have any rodents looking at this?” Gordon asked tiredly.

Bruce pursed his lips and shook his head.

The Commissioner raised an eyebrow at him, and Bruce gave him a small smirk.

“Did you know that bats belong to the order Chiroptera in the animal kingdom and not rodentia?”

Gordon sighed heavily and Bruce felt pity for the man.

“I did not know that no.”

Something pushed against Bruce’s hand, making him look down.

“’B’ is for bats!” Tim shouted as he pushed a piece of paper at him.

Indeed, there was something that resembled a ‘B’ along with a large black blob which Bruce supposed could be a bat.

Bruce chuckled and knelt next to the boy. “This is very nice, Timmy. Thank you.”

“Batman!” Tim announced, looking at Gordon but pointing at Bruce.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

There was something in Batman’s skillset that was often ignored. Possibly the most important one.

Sure, Batman had cool gadgets and could pack a mean punch. He was the intimidation champion and could make criminals wet their pants.

But most importantly – Batman was the king of improv.

You can only get so far with carefully laid plans. You’ll be dead on your first night on the streets if you can’t think on your feet.

So, Bruce simply laughed and played along.

Playing Batman. That was something parent...-al figures did, right?

“Yes. I’m Batman,” he growled back at the boy, just a little to the left of how he would say it in costume.

Tim laughed with abandon and Bruce repeated the phrase, tickling the boy a bit to make him let out another shriek of laughter.

Gordon shook his head and huffed a small laugh.

“I’m gonna go. CPS should be here sometime later today.”

Alfred showed the Commissioner out and when he heard the door closing, Bruce turned to the boy.

“We need to teach you how to keep a secret,” he hissed and tickled him again, making him shriek with laughter.

It was dangerous how much he could get used to this.

The CPS worker had looked rather harried. She barely looked at Tim before she had Bruce sign paperwork.

After all, Bruce was already fostering, and Dick’s caseworker already came twice a month to check up on him. This way they could kill two birds with one stone, lightening the burden of their vastly understaffed personnel.

Bruce made a mental note to make a donation sometime soon.

And perhaps he could drop a hint with one of the socialites at the next gala he attended. The far majority were vapid morons who only cared about increasing their own wealth, but there were a few good ones in between, who were always looking for noble causes. The others usually followed.

Even if their donations were mostly just for show (and tax write-off’s), money was money and Gotham’s foster care system was certainly in need of some.

Overall, the procedure was quick and painless, at least for now.

Alfred had made them an afternoon snack that they were enjoying in the kitchen when Bruce heard a door slam open and then shut with a rushed shout of

“I’m home!”

Before Dick’s footsteps thundered up the stairs.

Bruce would never cease to be amused by the boy and his antics.

When he wanted to, Dick could move nearly as silently as Bruce himself, but more often than not, the little acrobat preferred to fill the silence with noise of all sorts.

He stomped like an elephant, would hum, or sing or drum on things with his hands or his feet.

He was a whirlwind of movement and noise. A little circus all to himself.

His smile fell at that thought.

Maybe it was a good thing Tim was there. To help Dick fill the silence that had a habit of creeping into every corner of the empty manor.

Yeah.

Dick was born to be surrounded by people.

All children were, really.

So, what could be better than to bring two lonely boys together?

Although, there were six or seven years between them. That was quite a jump.

Perhaps he should get a third child to bridge the gap?

He slapped himself mentally.

He already had one kid to care for and one more who may or may not stay forever. That was more than enough.

“Timmy?” Bruce said carefully to get his attention.

The boy looked up from his carrot sticks.

“We should go meet Dick. My son.”

Tim cocked his head to the side like a puppy. “Dick?” he asked, with a slight level of confusion.

Perhaps he had heard the word in a less than ideal context and had a hard time consolidating the image with Bruce’s son.

Bruce held his hand out to the boy who easily slid out of the chair and together they went into the front hall.

“Dick!” he called. “Come out here, please?”

There was a sound of a door slamming and feet running down the hall upstairs which quickly turned into the rhythmic ‘thud-thud’ of several consecutive backflips. Dick landed right on top of the stairs with his usual flair and bowed before his audience.

Bruce clapped as he always did, but Tim was frozen in place, mesmerised by the sight.

Bruce chuckled. “Dick, chum, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,”

Dick looked at Tim with a wide smile before taking a few steps backwards.

“Dick –“ Bruce tried warningly, even though he knew it was in vain.

“Watch this!” Dick called out and took off in a run.

He launched himself off the mezzanine railing in a double somersault.

Tim screamed. “Don’t fall!” and reached out for the other boy.

Dick stumbled uncharacteristically when he landed, no doubt as shocked by the strong reaction.

Tim clutched Bruce’s pant leg like a lifeline, his limbs all rigid and his entire body was shaking.

Dick rushed over, kneeling next to them.

“Hey – hey, puişor. It’s okay. I’m fine, see,” he said soothing and tried to get the boy to look at him.

When Dick did get a good look at him, however, his face crumbled.

“I know him Bruce,” he whimpered. “I know him. He was there!”

Bruce knelt next to the boys, and they both scrambled into his lap, whimpering, sniffling, and shuddering turning into full on crying.

That’s how Clark found them as he came from work.

Bruce sitting in the front hall, his lap full of two bawling children.

‘Help me’ he mouthed at his friend who was standing frozen, halfway through the door.

He quickly shut it, stopping the chilly wind from blowing inside, and sat next to the miserable trio.

To Clark’s surprise, Dick crawled onto his lap, and he wound his arms around the boy, running a hand through his hair.

Bruce had pulled Tim closer and was rocking back and forth.

The boy was still shivering and every so often, sobs would wrack through his body almost convulsively. Two of his fingers were in his mouth and he was sucking on them in an attempt to self soothe.

Slowly, he calmed down, exhaustion settling into his little bones, and his breathing slowed. It still hitched and he had hiccups, but he wasn’t bordering on hyperventilating anymore.

“He was there that night,” Dick repeated in a whisper.

No one needed to ask what night it was.

Clark squeezed the boy tighter, cursing his super strength that he couldn’t hold him as tightly as he wanted.

He didn’t know Dick very well yet. Had only met him a few times, but the kid had a good heart. And no one deserved what he had endured.

“Is he okay?” the older boy asked.

“He’s fine,” Bruce assured him. “I think he’s just tired.”

“What happened?” Clark asked, and Dick’s breath hitched, threatening another bout of tears.

Bruce gave him a hand-signal that meant ‘later.’

Clark nodded and made an exaggerated inhale through the nose. “Is that Alfred’s cookies I smell?” he asked rhetorically to change the mood.

Bruce snorted and Dick made a small giggle as he got up. “Bruce says you could smell Alfred’s cookies from the moon.”

Clark winked at the boy. “I can neither confirm nor deny that claim.”

“How about you, buddy?” Bruce asked, gently moving Tim around.

“I tired,” he murmured quietly around the two fingers in his mouth.

“But would you like to have a cookie?”

The little boy nodded against Bruce’s chest but didn’t move, instead letting Bruce carry him.

Dick kept glancing at Tim, carefully walking on his feet rather than cartwheeling his way to the kitchen.

Clark wondered not for the first time if perhaps Bruce had bitten over more than he could chew.

Chapter Text

Every time Clark tried to say goodbye that evening, Tim would start to cry.

He had been able to go to work that morning, but that was probably because he had left while the boy was still asleep. Something he actually felt terrible about.

Now, Tim had zeroed in on him, and was sticking to him like a limpet.

He even sat in his lap at dinner.

He barely got to go to the bathroom alone and Tim was right outside the door waiting for him when he was done.

He only got the boy to let go after he had fallen asleep.

When he got out of the room that had been reserved for Tim, Bruce was sitting on the floor in the hall, with a tablet. His reading glasses were in his hand, and he was rubbing his eyes. Clark wondered why the hell he didn’t just get his eyes fixed. It wasn’t like Bruce couldn’t afford it.

“Dick?” Clark asked.

Bruce gestured at another door with his glasses. Clark smiled at the decorations on the door. He wondered idly who Bruce had paid to hand paint the circus tent and all the animals. Maybe he had even done it himself. He didn’t actually know that much about his friend and skills he might have that weren’t relevant to his night job.

“Dick’s asleep,” Bruce told him with a sigh.

He wasn’t moving to get up, so Clark sat down next to him on the plush carpet instead.

“I was just looking at some articles. I contacted Dick’s therapist earlier for advice on how to deal with the situation after this afternoon.”

“And?”

Bruce sighed again. “I still can’t imagine how Tim’s parents could leave him like this. We don’t even know the full picture. If he has been left and neglected consistently, this could potentially have consequences for his entire life.”

Clark nodded. “Many things leave marks and scars, but people still manage to move on and live happy lives, I mean, you –“

Bruce cut him off with a deadpan look, only broken by the single raised eyebrow.

“I punch people in the face while wearing what’s repeatedly been called a fursuit at night, Clark. Does that sound like a healthy coping mechanism to you?”

Clark huffed a small laugh and shook his head. “My point is just that people can overcome that trauma. Also, presumably without turning to vigilantism.”

Bruce’s response to that was a low grunt.

“What did the articles suggest?” Clark asked.

“They suggest that I’m in for a tough time, is what they suggest,” he grumbled. “Apparently, what’s most important is consistency, especially now in the beginning. He’s going to have a hard time with people leaving –“

Clark winced.

“- and will possibly get very attached to new people. They recommend that I limit the people around him to a handful of people at most and build routines around those people. I need to show him that people can leave but will come back again consistently,” he finished with a frown.

“That sounds sensible enough,” Clark offered. He didn’t know much about children and their needs.

“It’s just that this – all of this is written for foster parents with two parental units. I have Alfred, I know, but Alfred isn’t exactly –“ he trailed off with a slight grimace.

“What?”

“Well, Alfred’s British,” Bruce huffed as if that covered what he meant, but Clark didn’t quite get the relevance to Alfred’s citizenship status.

“He won’t be able to provide the kind of physical reassurance that Tim needs,” Bruce elaborated.

Clark nodded. “So, what you’re telling me is that Alfred isn’t a hugger?” he asked with a small smile.

Bruce huffed a small, rueful laugh, looking down at his lap, and Clark gave his shoulder a squeeze in understanding.

“Alfred cares a lot, he really does, but his way of showing it is too subtle for Tim right now,” Bruce explained.

“So, what is the plan?”

Bruce sighed. “The instructions are for one parent to stay at home with the child while the other goes out, like to work or shopping or other errands and they agree on a time to return. That way they can show the child reliability. The problem is that if I leave, Tim becomes inconsolable and while Alfred will definitely try, it will be hard for him to cross his own boundaries to comfort him. I could easily work from home instead, but Tim isn’t as attached to Alfred, so him leaving doesn’t have as much of an impact.”

Clark hummed thoughtfully. “What about me?”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him. “What about you, Metropolis? Don’t you have a city and a job to get back to?”

Clark shrugged. “Flying and superspeed does wonders when you’re commuting. That’s the only way I made it through Journalism School without student loans. I stayed at home with Ma and Pa, so I didn’t have to pay rent,” he admitted with an amused smirk.

Bruce grunted. “I own a helicopter.”

Clark chuckled. “Anyway; I could stay here for a while if you’ll put up with me. Then you could work from home like you said and I could go to work in Metropolis. Then we could agree on a specific time when I would be back – with a little buffer for emergencies. I usually go out as Superman in the daytime anyways. Then when you go out as Batman, I could stay here with the kids. We could make it work,” he suggested with a shrug.

Bruce looked at him like he had never seen him before.

“You know what, Clark? That was actually a really great idea.”

“No need to sound so surprised,” Clark grumbled, and Bruce shoved his shoulder lightly into his as the only sign he had been joking.

Clark sighed and Bruce sighed with him. They both did that a lot, it would seem.

“You’d really do that?” Bruce asked. “For me?”

Clark huffed a small laugh. “Of course, I would. I’ll also do it for Tim, and for Dick. Hell, even Alfred. Heaven knows he needs a break from dealing with you,” he joked.

Bruce gave him a mock glare before slumping back against the wall behind him.

“Thanks, Clark.”

“Anytime,” he promised.

With that, he got up and left. It took him roughly ten minutes to go to Metropolis, pack his necessities and get back again.

In that time, Alfred had already made a room ready for him.

Clark suspected it had been ready a lot longer than that.

The next day was thankfully a Saturday.

Clark was grateful for the time they had to get somewhat situated. They’d also had a chance to do a small test run of him leaving.

His heart was torn apart when Bruce had to hold Tim back, as Clark left through the front door.

“I’ll be back at four, Sweetheart,” he promised before he left, with Tim’s anguished screaming ringing in his ears.

With the intention of calming himself down, he still kept an ear on the manor, hoping to hear it when Tim started to calm down, only he didn’t. Every time his sobs started dying down, a new round would start back up, but Clark forced himself to move on.

Bruce Wayne and his butler couldn’t be seen out and about buying children’s clothes without raising all sorts of questions that they weren’t ready for yet, so that task fell to Clark.

He didn’t know where anything was in Gotham and he was on a time crunch, so he had taken a trip back to Metropolis for his errands.

He was going through a row of children’s pants, looking for the right size for Tim. He was a bit small for a three-year-old, they found out when they measured him.

The articles they had gone through said that children grow at different paces and being taller or shorter than average wasn’t a cause for concern, as long as they grew proportionally and followed ‘their curve’ in their development.

Clark wasn’t an expert, but he thought Tim looked kinda proportional, maybe a bit on the skinny side.

Bruce, however, had called Leslie Thompkins. While looking for data from Tim’s other check-ups, he had found that the boy hadn’t been to any. The only medical record of him was his birth certificate.

The boy wasn’t even vaccinated.

“Clark?”

Clark jumped. He had gotten so lost in his thoughts, that he didn’t notice anyone approaching.

He turned around, pants in hand, along with the large load of t-shirts, underwear, and socks, to find himself face to face with Lois Lane who looked at his burden with a raised eyebrow before looking back up.

“Wow, Smallville. Didn’t know you had it in you,” she teased.

Clark gave her a mock disgruntled look. “A friend of mine just took in an emergency foster kid,” he defended honestly. “He can’t leave him, and he asked me to help him get some stuff since the boy doesn’t have anything other than his pyjamas.”

Her teasing look turned into one of worry. “That sounds serious. Is there anything I can do? Anything you need help with?”

Her concern made Clark feel warm and he made a small huff. “If you don’t mind. I’m in a bit of a rush, and I still need to find him some shoes and I wanted to get him some toys too.”

She nodded seriously, as if he had given her a task of investigating a corrupt businessman.

“Do you know what size shoes he wears?” she asked, and Clark shook his head.

“He wasn’t wearing shoes when he uh – when he arrived, so I just measured his foot instead.”

Lois’ eyebrows went high on her forehead. “You really weren’t kidding about the ‘emergency’ part of that foster placement, huh?”

Clark shook his head, his thoughts darkening with the manner of which Tim had arrived.

He could practically feel Lois vibrating with the need to ask questions. It was in her nature to be curious, but she held herself back, to which Clark was very grateful.

“So, uh – how about you go get the shoes and I go find some toys?” she suggested.

Clark nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that works.”

She nodded decisively. “Okay, what does he like?”

Clark hummed. “He likes letters, I guess. And Batman,” he admitted wryly. “He’s three,” he added in Tim’s defence.

Lois snorted. “There’s no accounting for taste, I guess. Superman will always be my favourite though,” she added lowly with a smirk, and Clark’s cheeks went a bit pink. He often wondered if she knew it was him, but simply kept the knowledge to herself.

“Meet you here in twenty?” he suggested after clearing his throat.

Clark made it out of the shoe store with a pair of shoes, winter boots and some slippers.

The floors weren’t cold at the Manor, but Clark bought them just in case. Besides, they were cute. They had little dogs on them.

Lois was already waiting for him when he reached the spot they agreed on, and she sure hadn’t wasted time either.

A quick look into the bags revealed children’s books, letter magnets, puzzles, Lego, toy cars and enough plastic farm animals to fill an entire barn.

He took out a small lamb and raised an eyebrow at her.

“Don’t tell me you don’t like them, Smallville,” she teased. “Besides, little kids love farm animals and shit,” she waved him off.

Clark chuckled and conceded her point, although he might be a little bit biased. Tim probably hadn’t ever seen a cow in person.

Maybe they could rectify that at some point.

He was getting ahead of himself though. Bruce only had emergency custody of the boy. Of course, Bruce had checked and there were no family members that would be able to take him in, but depending on a court case, it was still a possibility that Tim would be returned to his parents.

“Clark? Are you okay?” Lois asked.

He looked up, not having realised that he had gotten lost in his own dark thoughts.

“Sorry, it’s just a difficult situation for the kid. I bet he’s going to love the toys though. I’ll pay you back on Monday,” he promised.

“Don’t worry about it,” she waved him off with a smile. “I need to go in here,” she said and pointed to the hair salon they were standing in front of. “Do you need help to get to where you’re parked?”

“No! No, I can carry this just fine,” he hurried to assure her.

He did not want to have to pretend to have gotten his car stolen.

Again.

She gave him a big smile and kissed his cheek.

“See you Monday, Smallville,”

...

The Manor was quiet when Clark returned.

Alfred silently took the bags from him almost as soon as he entered and left, presumably to wash the new clothes before they put them to use.

Clark went in search of Bruce, but collided with a small body as he was making his way down the hall.

Dick was frowning broke into a smile when he saw who it was.

“Clark!”

“Hey, kiddo,” he greeted and ruffled his hair. “What’re you up to?”

Dick’s face fell. “I needed some help with my English homework, but Bruce is with Tim,” he explained with a small frown.

“It’s cute and all, but I could really use the help and Bruce is just –“ he cut himself off, looking down.

Clark sighed. “If you wanted, I would like to help you,” he offered.

The boy brightened a bit. “You would?”

“Sure. Just give me a few seconds to check the situation and I’ll be right there,” he promised.

Dick gave him a wide smile and ran along, back to his room and Clark kept moving.

He found Bruce and Tim in the sitting room.

All the crying must have taken its toll on the little boy who was lying fast asleep on Bruce’s chest, moving up and down with Bruce’s own even breaths.

Clark snapped a quick picture of the two of them sleeping together on the couch before grabbing a blanket.

He was about to drape it over them both, when Bruce grabbed his wrist in a hold that would definitely have injured him, had he not been who he was.

The man himself looked at him blearily.

“I’m going to help Dick,” Clark whispered.

Bruce nodded tiredly and his eyes slipped closed again as the grip on Clark's wrist slackened.

Clark felt extremely privileged to be someone the Batman felt safe enough to fall asleep around, not to even touch the idea of letting him around his children.