Chapter Text
The next week wasn’t much better than the last, but this time Tim let himself be hugged. Let himself be coddled. Let himself be held when he cried. Because it was so much better in his family’s arms than it was alone.
Selina stayed.
It didn’t take much convincing—he’d just asked, quietly, one night, when the hallway was dim and he couldn’t sleep. He’d asked her, so softly, if she’d stay here at the Manor with him. She’d crouched to his level, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and whispered, “Of course, baby.” By morning, she’d moved in with all her five cats and one duffel bag.
Bruce had returned from WE not long after, only to find the front hall filled with hissing, yowling, and the unmistakable sound of something ceramic shattering. He hadn’t even blinked. Just sighed, turned around, and came back an hour later with an entire truck’s worth of cat supplies. Litter boxes, towers, food bowls, scratching posts, toys, and every brand of wet food sold in Gotham.
Ace was thrilled. Possibly too thrilled. He kept bounding after cats, trying to befriend them, not realizing that they likely saw him as an apex predator . Most wanted nothing to do with him, but Bandit, of course, loved him—causing Goblin to follow her lead.
Juno and Shadow, Selina’s oldest cats, spent most of the day sleeping in sunbeams, rolling to catch the warmth. Whisker, the little troublemaker, had a vendetta against anything stored on a high shelf. Domino had claimed the fireplace mantel as his personal throne, glaring down with judge-like disdain.
The Manor had never been this full. Not even during holidays. There was no silence anymore—just meows and thuds and purring and the occasional bark when Ace got too excited. Tim didn’t mind. He liked the noise. It made the dark places in his brain feel quieter.
When the first snow started falling, it was gentle—lazy flakes that drifted down like they were in no hurry at all. Gotham’s skies darkened too fast, like they did every winter, but the Wayne Manor never lost its warmth.
Tim sat cross-legged in the family room, by the window. The fire was crackling softly nearby, and Bandit had curled up in his lap, purring and kneading his blanket. Whisker was draped across his legs too, head tucked into Tim’s blanket like it belonged there. The stupid, adorable Goober sat beside him on the beanbag.
Jason was sprawled on the other beanbag beside him, flipping through Pride and Prejudice . He had really taken a liking to Jane Austen—Bruce had bought her entire works, first editions, for him on his birthday, just a month or two before Tim came here.
August 16th, Tim noted, was Jason’s birthday—same as Alfred’s, actually. He committed it to memory. Bruce’s was February 19th , Selina’s was March 14th.
Tim would make sure he gave them all the best presents ever.
Alfred moved quietly around the room, poking the fire, straightening a pillow here or there, pretending not to notice when Goblin stole an entire slice of cheese from the charcuterie board and dragged it up the couch to Dick.
Dick, who’d taken a week off before starting his new gymnastics gig, lay over one side of the couch in some weird cat-like pose—upside down, his back balanced on the couch’s back, feet dangling behind, head dangling over the sitting side. Goblin climbed him and settled on his stomach, cheese in his mouth, and Dick just laughed.
Domino hissed at anyone who got too close to his mantel.
Selina was kneeling on the carpet with Juno and Shadow in her lap, chatting softly with Bruce, who was the only one sitting normally on the couch. Ace rested his head on Bruce’s knee, eyes half-closed, content, sometimes glancing up at Dick.
It was… domestic , Tim thought.
Too domestic. It made a lump form in his throat.
He rubbed Bandit’s back gently, staring out the window at the snow. It melted on the glass before it could pile up. The trees outside were starting to lose their golden-brown leaves. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the sound of a fire until this moment.
His parents were dead.
Still dead.
Nothing had changed about that.
They’d just… died . Just like that. By accident or for revenge, Tim would never know.
That pilot had gotten drunk and made a mistake and now half a dozen people were dead, Tim’s parents included. And Jack and Janet might even have deserved this.
But Tim didn’t feel like he was floating anymore. He didn’t feel like he was falling through time, or sleepwalking through the days, or punching a hole into the world trying to figure out why. That ache hadn’t gone away at all—but he was held now. Even when he didn’t ask to be.
Selina made hot chocolate the way he liked it. Jason checked on him without making it obvious. Dick had brought him a brand new camera and asked if he wanted to show him how to take good photos. Bruce stayed close, but quiet, like he knew Tim still wasn’t ready for too many words.
And Alfred just kept being Alfred , unshakable, endlessly kind. One night, Tim had been up at 3 A.M., shivering in the kitchen, and Alfred had simply appeared with a blanket and asked, “Cocoa or tea, Master Timothy?”
Cocoa. Always cocoa.
He barely thought about coffee anymore.
So it should have been easier. He should feel better. He was warm and safe and fed and cared for. The people who were hugging him meant it . He knew that now. He knew it in the little ways. In the way Bruce’s hand lingered just a second longer on his shoulder. In the way Selina pressed her cheek to his temple and let her voice go soft, like she was talking to one of her own cats. Like he really was her kitten .
And they’d both even adopted him! They were his parents now!
And still—
Still there was guilt. Deep and thick and festering.
He didn’t miss his birth parents.
He couldn’t miss people who had treated him like luggage. Like an accessory. Like something you feed and dress and occasionally scold, but not know . His mother had once mistaken his birthday while telling her aristocratic friends about it. His father barely ever remembered what grade he was in.
He didn’t miss them.
But he felt guilty for that.
What kind of kid doesn’t miss their dead parents?
Truth was, he wasn’t grieving his parents much. He was grieving the idea of parents.
The ones he’d read about in books. The ones he saw in movies. The ones who said I love you even when they were angry. The ones who showed up.
Maybe that was the worst part—realizing they’d never existed.
He stared down at Bandit, who snuffled softly in her sleep. Then at the Goober’s googly eyes.
He didn’t even go to their funeral. Should he have gone? Perhaps it would’ve made everything worse. But now the tabloids were talking about him, how he didn’t even say goodbye properly.
And their last words to him had been when each of them called and made it clear they never loved him.
But he didn’t feel like an orphan.
Not with Bruce here. Not with Selina. Not with this weird, soft, chaotic family that had sort of absorbed him without asking for anything in return.
He felt like a son and a brother .
Like someone who belonged .
He’d never belonged before. Not at school, not at home, not even online, really. He’d been the boy with too many secrets and not enough friends. The quiet kid. The lonely kid. The one who was always watching , trying to understand how people fit together and how he didn’t.
But now?
He wasn’t sure why the words came. Maybe it was the firelight, or the fact that nobody had walked away—not after the phone call, not after the bad dreams, not even when he ran off. Maybe it was just time.
It bubbled up in his throat and sat there for a moment, hesitating. Then, in the hush, the words spilled out of him, barely more than a whisper.
“I love you guys.”
There was a stillness—no tension, just surprise. Heads turned, and all eyes landed on him.
He’d always thought silence meant disapproval. That quiet meant someone was waiting to pounce. But this silence was soft, expectant. The kind that listens.
So Tim didn’t flinch. For once, he didn’t feel exposed or small under their attention. This wasn’t like when his parents would pause mid-conversation to ask something sharp and demanding. This wasn’t judgment. These were the people who held him when he cried, who looked for him when he ran, who didn’t leave, even when they could have.
So he said it again. Just to be sure.
“I love you,” he said softly. “All of you.”
He smiled a little, then scratched Bandit’s chin again and glanced at the other animals around the room. Then at the Goober. “You guys too.”
Goblin let out a quiet “mrrow” from Dick’s chest, and Tim smiled.
Selina moved first. She rose from her spot on the floor beside the fireplace, where Juno and Shadow had been curling around her, and crossed the room to kneel beside Tim’s beanbag. She reached out gently, brushing a hand through his messy hair. Tim leaned into her, eyes closing.
This felt safe .
“I love you too, my kitten,” she said. Her voice was warm and clear, full of the kind of certainty Tim had only ever seen in movies.
Alfred, still standing near the fireplace poker, gave a nod and offered a small, fond smile. “It is much reciprocated, Master Timothy. You are dearly cherished in this home.”
Bruce didn’t say anything right away, but when Tim looked over, his adoptive father was already watching him with a softness that didn’t need words. Then Bruce gave a little smile—the real kind, not the ones he wore in public—and said, simply, “I love you, Tim.”
Tim’s chest tightened, but not in a bad way. Not like before. It felt like warmth seeping into the places that had been hollow for a long, long time.
Dick, still upside down on the couch with his head dangling off the edge, made a heart shape with his fingers.
“Love you too, baby bird,” he said, his voice a little dreamy. “Forever. Even if you one day grow wings and fly off into the night, I’ll find you and give you a big hug. Every day.”
Tim felt like crying, but not in a bad way. “You’re so weird.”
Dick grinned. “You’re stuck with me.”
Jason, who had been quiet so far and lounging with his arms folded behind his head, sat up a little and nudged Tim’s leg with his socked foot.
“Best little brother I could’ve asked for,” he said, not looking directly at Tim. “Even if you’re a pain sometimes.”
Tim rolled his eyes but didn’t hide his grin.
Bandit shifted and curled up tighter, nuzzling Tim’s hand. Whisker blinked sleepily, and Shadow pounced closer to nudge Selina’s leg, demanding attention. The fire cracked again, and Alfred straightened, brushing his hands together.
“Well,” he said, clearing his throat lightly. “Now that our affection has been properly declared, I believe it’s time for something equally sacred—tea.”
He stepped toward the hallway, voice still fond. “I shall return shortly. Please do not let our feline residents make a mess in my absence.”
Domino let out an indignant hiss.
Tim leaned his head back against the beanbag, closing his eyes for a moment, letting the sounds of his family settle around him like a blanket. The chatter. The cats. The crinkle of wrapping paper being torn apart by Whisker in the corner. The familiar rhythm of Alfred’s footsteps. The Goober staring at him.
He didn’t know how long the peace would last. Maybe there’d be nightmares again. Maybe he’d still wonder if it was all his fault, sometimes. But right now—
Right now he was warm. Right now, he was loved.
And this was so good , Tim thought, as Alfred returned to the room with a cart of food.
“If anyone wishes to eat,” he said pointedly, “I suggest you sit properly by the coffee table, like civilized human beings. And perhaps not upside-down, Master Dick.”
Dick, tilted his head up with a sheepish grin. “But Alfred,” he said, voice muffled by the angle, “gravity is a state of mind.”
Goblin, the sleek black cat sprawled comfortably on his chest, flicked his tail as if in agreement.
Alfred raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
Selina moved first, took a seat by the coffee table, and told Dick, “C’mere, kid.”
With a dramatic sigh, Dick carefully picked up Goblin, set him aside, and promptly executed a backflip off the couch. He landed in a sitting position beside Selina with a theatrical flair. “Ta-da.”
Selina snorted. “You’re such a showoff.” She reached over and ruffled his hair. “Do you practice that kind of thing just for the drama?”
“You love the drama,” he said, grinning.
“Only when I’m causing it,” Selina shot back, smirking.
Tim, still curled up by the window with Bandit sprawled across his lap and Whisker asleep on his feet, allowed himself a soft smile. His chest hurt, yes—still raw, still bruised from everything that had come before—but something about this room, this moment, made it easier to breathe. The warmth of the fireplace, the crackle of wood, the way Selina treated Dick like an annoying little kid and the way Dick beamed at her for it. It all felt so… normal .
Like the stuff of movies.
He got up slowly, Bandit and Whisker jumping down to pad after him like loyal, fuzzy guards. He tucked the Goober in his pocket. Jason followed soon after, groaning as he peeled himself off the beanbag and stretched his arms over his head.
“I can’t believe we’re having a teatime food spread,” Jason murmured with quiet surprise, plopping down beside Tim on the rug.
Tim snorted. “It was bound to happen, I guess. We are technically aristocrats and have a British butler.”
Bruce stepped down from the couch and settled on the floor with them, legs crossed like he’d done this a hundred times before. Ace followed him with a low wuff , wagging his tail and sitting neatly behind the group, well-behaved as always.
“Join us, Alf,” Bruce said mildly, as Alfred began pouring steaming mugs of hot chocolate into thick ceramic cups. “There’s more than enough room for us all. You might as well sit and enjoy it.”
Jason nodded eagerly. “Yeah, Alfie. You should sit with us.”
Tim nodded in agreement. “You’re the reason this house still runs.”
“That, Master Timothy, is entirely true,” Alfred said, handing him a hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon. There was a gentle smile on his face.
Tim took it with both hands, heart easing further as the warmth seeped into his fingers. Bandit immediately tried to stick her nose into the cup.
“No,” he said gently, nudging her away. “You might die if you eat this.”
Alfred distributed the rest of the mugs, then began setting cakes and pastries on the table. Banana bread, scones with jam, slices of rich chocolate cake, and soft rolls with clotted cream. Tim’s stomach growled loudly.
Then, before taking a seat, Alfred set out six bowls of sardines for the cats and one bowl of jerky for Ace.
“We are, of course,” Alfred added dryly, “skipping dinner entirely with this amount of sugar and starch. But what’s one evening of chaos between us?”
Selina nudged Dick with her elbow. “You hear that? Permission to gorge.”
“Music to my ears,” Dick said, already biting into a scone.
Everyone dug in after that. For several minutes, the room was filled only with the sounds of eating, pets playing, and low conversation. Tim ended up with Jason on one side and Bruce on the other, Selina and Dick just across the table, licking her fingers clean of jam as Juno curled into her lap. Alfred sat at one end of the table, like the head of the family. Domino the cat remained perched above the fireplace, glaring down like some kind of gargoyle..
Tim leaned against Jason’s shoulder without thinking. Jason didn’t comment—just shifted to help him be more comfortable, and kept chewing.
Then, just as the fire snapped behind them and Tim reached to pour himself a second cup of hot chocolate, Bruce cleared his throat.
“There are…” Bruce started, voice slow, hesitant. “A thousand different ways I imagined doing this.”
He was stiff. Still . Not like Batman, but… awkward? Shy?
Tim blinked and stared at him. Bruce’s voice had taken on That Tone —the one that usually preceded something big. Serious. Monumental.
“But,” Bruce went on, turning to look at Selina, “ well . Everyone who means the most to both of us is in this room right now.”
Selina froze mid-sip of her cocoa, narrowing her eyes at him. “...What are you doing, Bruce?”
“I—” Bruce fumbled slightly. “I’m doing this weird, clearly.”
Jason snorted. “Well, yeah.”
Bruce ignored him. Instead, he reached into his back pocket—Tim hadn’t even realized that lump in there—and gingerly pulled out a small black box.
Tim gasped audibly, his mouth full of cake.
Dick’s grin turned smug, like he’d known this was coming. “I really thought he’d chicken out,” he whispered to Alfred, who was discreetly reaching into his coat pocket to pull out a vintage video camera.
Selina blinked, brows still raised. “Are you… are you asking me to marry you in front of your kids?”
“ Our kids,” Bruce said softly.
Selina’s eyes seemed to melt at that, especially when Tim and Jason both eagerly nodded.
Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, continuing. “I thought it might be better, somehow. We’ve danced around this for years , Selina. You’ve been here for all of them and me. And I just—” He exhaled. “I want this. You. All of this. Officially.”
Selina stared for a long moment, then reached out and plucked the box from his hands with slender, graceful fingers. “You are terrible at this,” she said, flipping it open.
Inside was a sleek, elegant ring—platinum, with musgravite carved in the shape of a heart, studded with tiny diamonds.
Leave it to Bruce Wayne to buy a ring that easily costs tens of hundreds of dollars.
Selina smiled slowly, trying not to show the tears in her eyes. “Luckily, I’ve always had a thing for terrible men with good intentions.”
She leaned over and kissed him. Soft and steady. Bruce kissed her back, one hand brushing against her cheek.
Jason groaned loudly. “ PDA .”
“Shut up,” Dick grinned. “This is cute.”
“It’s gross,” Jason countered.
Tim just stared, wide-eyed, barely noticing that Whisker had stolen the rest of his cake. “You’re really… getting married?”
Selina turned back to them, eyes shining. “Yeah, kitten. I guess we are.”
Bruce, smiling like an idiot for once, looked around the room. “If that’s alright with all of you.”
“I’m good with it,” Dick said instantly. “As long as I get to help plan the bachelor party.”
Selina raised a brow. “That would imply Bat has friends.”
“I’ll invite the League,” Dick piped up.
“ No ,” Bruce said instantly, but he looked like he was thinking about it.
Jason kicked Bruce’s leg lightly. “You guys have already basically been married, like, forever. You know that, right?”
“We did dance around this too long,” Selina said softly.
They all laughed. Even Alfred, who had been silently recording the entire thing with steady hands and just the hint of a proud smile. “I trust,” he said softly, “that I can archive this for the family vault.”
Bruce and Selina sat together now, hand in hand, cats curling around their legs like the house itself had always been waiting for this to happen. Dick moved to sit with Alfred to give them space.
Tim felt… quiet inside. Not empty. Not sad. Just the good kind of quiet.
Something in him had gone loose and then stitched itself back together again, slowly, over the last few weeks. Selina and Bruce getting married didn’t solve anything . It didn’t bring back his parents or erase the pain. But it did settle something in his chest—a final confirmation that this was his family. Not just a household he’d been placed in. Not a legal arrangement.
A home .
This gave him something, someone , to be happy for. Something to look forward to.
The fire popped again. Domino hissed at the sound, then lazily stretched and went back to glaring.
Tim leaned his head on Jason’s shoulder again. “Do you think they’ll let us pick our own suits?”
“Not a chance,” Jason said. “Alfred’s gonna go full Royal Wedding on us. But Selina’ll probably invite some rogues and/or steal some shit. So that’ll be interesting.”
Tim smiled. “Can’t wait.”
He shifted closer to his brother, sighing softly when Jason wrapped an arm around him. He watched Bruce and Selina’s purely happy smiles as they spoke in soft tones. Watched Dick re-run the video Alfred had taken.
They were his family. Real family .
He belonged here.
There was a knock on the window.
Tim blinked. Whisker’s ears perked up.
It was just snow.
He let out a slow breath, closed his eyes for a second, and leaned forward to rest his fingers against Bandit’s soft fur. His other hand brought a mug of hot chocolate to his lips, sipping the heavenly drink.
Maybe he would photograph something later. Or go out and play with Selina on the rooftops. Or try again to beat Jason at Mario Kart. Maybe rope Dick into it, too.
For now, he was just going to stay here. In this room. In this moment.
In this house that felt more like home than the one he’d grown up in.
Because he had a family now.