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Bruce was careful as he lifted the baby from the crib, the little boy’s warmth feeling oddly right when he tucked him against his chest, a little head settling in the crook of Bruce’s neck.
It took a moment before Bruce realised that he was swaying, slowly, as if to soothe the still somehow sleeping perfection that was Timothy Drake. One of Tim’s hands flexed, catching on the edge of Bruce’s shirt.
“Easy now,” Bruce murmured. “I’ve got you, Little One.”
Every step that Bruce took was slow, not wanting to wake the boy any sooner than he had to.
By the stairwell Tim had started to stir but he didn’t cry, simply tilting his head back in an attempt to see Bruce’s face. Bruce adjusted his hold, keeping Tim steady, taking every single step one by one as if a one wrong move would risk his precious cargo.
Tim was still peering up at him, with dark doe eyes that held more spark than Bruce had ever seen in one so young before. He was four months, as far as they could gather, or at least he was currently four months old.
The spell had hit him a week ago and while Bruce had been assured that given enough time his son would return to his normal nineteen year old self, he couldn’t help but enjoy these little moments with the baby that he’d never had as his own.
Tim sneezed, hitting his head lightly on Bruce’s shoulder.
Bruce chuckled, readjusting his hold again as Tim woke up even more, apparently remembering that he was fully capable of readjusting himself. He was starting to wiggle around and Bruce found himself marvelling at just how determined Tim was to do whatever it was he had decided he wanted to do.
Of course, it was a little less impressive when Tim threw his entire weight backwards, giving Bruce the biggest heart attack in his entire life as he shot forward to keep Tim from falling.
Bruce blew out a relieved breath which apparently was very amusing to Tim.
“Honestly, Father, maybe this is why Mother raised me alone.”
“Good Morning, Damian.” Bruce said.
Damian took his place right by Bruce’s side as they continued on through the hallway towards the kitchen, failing to hide just how often he would glance up at the baby in Bruce’s arms.
From the very first moment that Tim had been transformed into his younger self, Damian had been utterly enraptured with him. In fact, Damian had been the first one to find Tim, having narrowly avoided the same fate.
Bruce did not let himself wonder if Damian had been this warm when he was a baby, he had long since accepted that the time he had lost with his children from when they were younger than he had met did not matter as much as the time he still had with them currently.
After all, his eldest had been eight when Bruce had first taken him in, and yet Dick was just as precious and just as loved as the warm baby within Bruce’s arms.
Tim was shifting again, one hand gripped determinately on Bruce’s shirt while the other reached out towards Damian.
Damian clicked his tongue but he still reached out his own hand, letting Tim hold onto his finger.
Once again, Damian was unable to hide the pure adoration he had, and Bruce for one was glad to see Damian feel safe enough to be so open with an expression he had once been convinced was a weakness.
As they reached the kitchen itself, Damian trotted off, apparently giving himself the task of preparing Tim’s milk.
Alfred, having known precisely that Damian liked doing it, was waiting patiently with all the equipment ready to go. Bruce nodded a thank you to the man then focused on keeping Tim entertained until everything was ready.
Bruce didn’t sit down on one of the chairs, knowing that Tim would be most comfortable in the living room, instead swaying side to side as an echo of a woman’s voice played in his ear.
There was another reason that Damian liked to prepare Tim’s food, though Bruce’s heart ached knowing that for some reason, Damian was worried that Tim might somehow be poisoned or otherwise put into danger.
The mere thought of why Damian might fear such a thing had Bruce going over towards him, still rocking Tim as he pressed a kiss to the top of his son’s head.
“Father, I am not a child.” Damian clicked his tongue.
Bruce simply hummed, bumping his hip against Damian’s own, revelling in the way that Damian’s eyes lit up just so.
It had taken a while to be able to make such casual contact with Damian, time that Bruce had given him without hesitation. Damian was to be given safety above all else, safety and love, and that included making it clear that his personal space was to be respected at all times.
Tim tried to reach out towards Damian again, and this time Bruce let him dip a little so that he could grab a fistful of Damian’s hair.
Damian scowled, clicking his tongue yet again, but he made no motion to reach for the knives that Bruce knew were hidden beneath his clothing, nor did he make any attempt whatsoever to lash out at Tim.
When Tim tried to outright climb onto Damian’s head, Bruce pulled him away.
With Damian refocusing on his task of warming the milk, checking and rechecking that the bottle was clean even though they both knew that Alfred kept all the supplies meticulous.
Tim started to fuss, apparently getting hungry now that his entertaining big little brother was too far away to mess with, but before he started to outright cry there was a shadow that loomed over Bruce’s shoulder.
“Good morning.” Bruce said.
Tim reached behind Bruce and Bruce let him do just that, keeping him steady until Jason was able to pull Tim fully up over Bruce’s shoulder.
“Monin’,” Jason said. “Someone’s squirmy today.”
As Bruce turned, he saw Tim bury himself into the warmth of Jason’s jacket, a jacket that he immediately began drooling all over.
“Christ, Drakeyboy,” Jason complained. “You’re ruining my fit.”
Even with Jason’s glare, Tim just made a happy sound, playing around with the fabric and gripping onto it.
“Are you alright with him?” Bruce asked.
“No, Old Man, I’m going to drop him.” Jason said flatly. “Yeah, I’m good with the little shit.”
“Language, Master Jason.”
“What?” Jason scoffed. “The Kid’s a literal kid. He can’t exactly repeat my words. Hey, Tim, say little shit. Say fuck. Say-”
“That is quite enough of that, Young Sir.” Alfred said. “I will not tolerate you speaking in such a way to my gr-”
Jason’s grin was wicked and Bruce found himself smiling alongside it.
Alfred had caught himself, this time, but Jason still went all the way to the fridge, holding Tim stable with one hand while his other marked off another talley on newest game Bruce’s boys, and Cass, had come up with.
“Jeez, Alfie,” Jason said. “Who knew that the way to make you say those words is to get the little twerp turned into a little twerp.”
“I said no such thing.” Alfred sniffed.
And yet he had still meant it, maybe not in his words today but in his actions every single day long before Tim had ever been spelled to be like this. Bruce found his chest warming with the knowledge that Alfred considered Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian and Cass to be his Grandchildren, because that meant something about the way that he saw Bruce as well.
Of course, Alfred was not Bruce’s father. Alfred understood that as well as Bruce did, just as they both understood that sometimes blood was not all that defined connection.
The moment that Damian turned around and saw Jason holding Tim, Damian was launching towards the both of them. He faltered, ducking his head quickly as if embarrassed.
“Easy, Kid,” Jason said, voice genuinely soothing. “I’m not going to hurt him.”
Damian was clicking his tongue yet again, shifting his weight from foot to foot before finally deciding that Jason was to be trusted, at least for now, turning back to his task. He tested the temperature of the milk and apparently it was ready at last.
Every step Jason took towards the living room, Damian was right there by his side, constantly glancing up at Tim then away again, Bruce trailing after his three boys.
Cass met them at the couches, just as enamoured with Tim’s current form as Damian was, and Bruce found himself coming up behind her and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She tilted her head back and beamed, a sight so beautiful that Bruce felt that maybe he had done right by her.
As Jason sat down, Tim sneezed into his shoulder and in that single instant Damian was right there, hand reaching out as if to somehow save Tim from any discomfort at all only for the hand to fall once more alongside his head.
“Damian,” Bruce said. “Come sit by me.”
Damian trudged over, bottle of milk now in Jason’s free hand.
When Damian sat down, his back was ramrod straight, his head held high as if he were expected to represent an entire nation. Bruce gave him time to realise that such poise was not expected of him, at least not within the safety of these walls, though it took an eternity for Damian to actually let himself slouch a little.
Damian slipped his shoes off, ensured that they were in a neat line alongside the couch, finally tugging his legs up to his chest. Once he had made himself small, Damian let out a silent but unmistakably relieved breath.
Even sitting next to Bruce, it didn’t take long for Damian’s focus to wander back towards Tim.
Bruce readjusted a little, putting his arm onto the back of the couch. He did not expect anything to come from it, simply getting more comfortable for until Jason grew sick of taking care of Tim’s feed, and yet a weight hesitantly pressed against his side all the same.
It was Damian, gaze now locked on some arbitrary spot on the coffee table, and while everything within Bruce wanted to hold him even closer, he refrained, letting Damian instead be the one to decide just how much contact there was between them.
When Bruce finally let himself fully look down at Damian, Damian’s eyes were drooping.
He hadn’t let himself sleep again, then.
“Damian,” Bruce rumbled.
Bruce regretted it the very moment he had said Damian’s name because Damian was snapping upright in an instant, hand rushing for a hidden blade. Bruce watched the gears turn in Damian’s head, then watched the dark scowl develop until all at once Damian was up and off the couch, disappearing into the hallway.
“Great job.” Jason said.
“Jason.” Bruce warned. “Stay out of it.”
“What? All I’m saying is that all your parenting classes are paying off, you don’t even need to threaten to bench him and he already hates you.”
“Jason.”
“Relax,” Jason said. “He doesn’t hate you. It’s just weird, you know.”
Bruce stared at him.
Jason rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath. He readjusted Tim a little, gently brushing away some dark hair from Tim’s face.
“There wasn’t exactly a shit tonne of baby assassins back in the League. In fact, there was only Damian. He’s not used to this kind of thing.”
“That’s no excuse for not sleeping through the night.”
“You’re acting like Damian’s the one who’s been magically puffed into a little kid. Well, littler than he is already. This is weird as hell, Bruce, all he knows about child rearing is how he himself was raised.”
“Tim’s condition is temporary.”
“Sure,” Jason said. “But to Damian, seeing Tim vulnerable like this? You know full well that’s gotta stir up some fucked up shit. Are you really that surprised that he spent all night outside of Tim’s crib again?”
“Tim is perfectly safe.”
Except there were risks with every single thing and there are so many things that could go wrong with babies and all the research in the world might not be enough to keep Tim truely safe and maybe something would go wrong and Bruce couldn’t bear the thought that something might go wrong and-
“I know that.” Jason said, without a single ounce of hesitation. “You know that. Damian is trying to know that.”
“I understand.” Bruce said.
“Do you, B?”
“Damian was in a difficult situation as-”
“Difficult situation?” Jason scoffed. “Do you mean the crazy cult thing? Or the assassin thing? Or the conditioning he was put through from god knows how young? Or maybe the fact that he has known his entire life that he will never live up to his Grandfather’s expectations. Hell, he probably knows that Ra’s considered to use him as a vessel to move his soul onto if he so felt like it.”
“I understand.”
“Bruce.” Jason said. “Look, I don’t remember much about my dip in the pit and all that, but I do remember him. Parts, at least. I never saw the damn brat cry a single time, no matter what they put him through.”
Tim started squirming and Jason tried to get him to resettle again but Tim clearly didn’t want more food. Instead, Jason set aside the bottle and patting him on the back. When Tim fussed, Jason soothed him easily, even going so far as pecking him on the temple.
“You’re good with him.” Bruce said.
“Thanks to my own fucked up childhood I guess.” Jason said. “Street kids gotta stick together and all that shit.”
Bruce blinked slowly, trying to imagine a young Jason trying to keep someone else’s little one safe and warm even though he himself wasn’t.
There was silence, for a little while. It wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was natural between them. Like all his other kids, Tim included, Bruce could not deny that they had had an entire lifetime before coming into his care.
And with Jason… Well, there were a lot of things from Jason’s younger childhood that Bruce did not know if he’d ever fully know.
“His name was Peter.” Jason said.
Jason wouldn’t meet Bruce’s eye, pointedly focusing on Tim instead as if that would make things easier.
“His Mom wasn’t in a good place. When she had slumps… Well, I guess it wasn’t so bad taking care of him for a little while.”
“Jaylad,”
Jason shifted again, still patting Tim on the back.
“I don’t want your pity any more than the brat does, Old Man.” Jason said. “I’m just saying that it’s gotta be hard to put aside all that with Tim being even more of a stick than he is usually. He needs time, and he needs assurance that Tim is going to be looked after in a way that Damian himself never had been.”
There was a new warmth pressed up against Bruce’s side now and Bruce did not hesitate to wrap his arm around his Daughter, letting Cass get comfortable.
She, too, had had a life before Bruce. One of hardship, of pain, of fear, and while Bruce knew that he could not protect her from the darkness of the world he was still grateful that she felt comfortable enough to be so at ease with him.
Jason stood then, cradling Tim close to his chest. He swayed, hushing Tim as he fussed until finally it seemed that Tim was feeling better again.
“I guess though,” Jason said, still not looking at him. “You don’t do so bad, Old Man.”
Dick was barely through the doorway before he was already reaching out towards Tim, buzzing with energy that had no doubt been building since the very moment he’d heard what had happened.
Bruce couldn’t help but chuckle as he passed Tim over, not before a peck on the head of course, his own skin itching for only a moment as he reconfirmed that Dick knew how to hold him safely.
It took less than a moment for Dick’s movements to change, marvelling at the little precious thing in his arms while he rocked from side to side.
“The missi-”
“No cape talk.” Dick shot back. “Just cute baby talk. Oh my gosh, Timmy, you’re so dang adorable!”
“Dang?” Bruce quirked a brow.
“He’s a precious child, he does not deserve to hear the vulgarities that come out of Jason fucking Todd’s mouth and he won’t hear them from my fucking mouth either.”
Bruce gestured for Dick to come fully in, which he did with a genuine bounce in his step that made Bruce think fondly of the eight year old boy who had once walked, or rather bounced, through these halls.
“Has he been sleeping?” Dick asked.
“Certainly more than he usually does.” Bruce mused. “Have you been?”
Dick waved him off, which was answer enough.
“Dick.” Bruce said lowly.
“Relax, B, I’m good, swear, I took a quick nap on the way back. Oh you are so cute!”
Instead of settling in against Dick’s neck like he had done a dozen times with Bruce, it was almost as if being in his brother’s arms gave Tim energy he hadn’t had before. He squirmed, not to get away from Dick so much as to play around with him, a hand tugging at Dick’s hair.
Dick’s laugh was pure and loving and Bruce found his heart swelling alongside it.
His two boys were so precious together but when Bruce stepped forward to place a hand on Dick’s shoulder to say just how much he cherished him, Dick was dancing away.
“You know, Timmy” Dick said. “Babs showed me the photo of you in your Red Robin gear and I have to say, you have never looked more dashing!”
“Dick,” Bruce said. “We do not know if he is cognitively nineteen or four months.”
“As if you haven’t been coddling him for days.” Dick laughed. “It’s my turn now, B, and I’m going to spend my turn making by little brother have the best time in his life. Hey, do you think I can whip up a mini bo staff for him? Come on, it’d be great!”
“Dick,” Bruce warned.
But Dick was too busy continuing on, bringing out more sounds of joy from Tim than Bruce had ever heard.
Bruce followed after his sons, not just as they are now but as they have been. Dick, that eight year old boy who had gone through unbelievable pain and yet had hung down from the chandelier with the brightest grin that Bruce had ever thought possible. Tim, those brilliant intelligent eyes sparking with a curiosity and mischief that in equal parts worried and amazed Bruce.
These had not always been his boys, they had had parents before him just as he himself had.
Tim wasn’t sleeping.
He had been inconsolable for hours, no matter what Bruce or even Alfred tried. In the new full week that Tim had been in this form, he’d barely cried at all and yet now he was outright sobbing regardless of who it was holding him.
Damian was practically shaking with how tightly he was gripping the hilt of one of his blades as he stood ready at the bedroom door, ready for an attack that Bruce knew would not come, and while Bruce yearned to go to him to assure him that they were safe, he knew that assurances would did little to combat whatever it was that was swirling in Damian’s head.
They’d moved the rocking chair into Tim’s room, just for now, the rocking chair that Bruce had been told had been his own from when he was this age. Actually, it was older even than himself. This rocking chair was
Bruce hushed him but Tim only wailed louder, struggling against the swaddle they had wrapped around him.
Realising it was stressing him more than it was soothing him, Bruce untied the fabric, letting it fall away until it was only his pyjamas. Tonight, they were Superman themed, Dick having claimed that it was what Tim had wanted as if at four months old he was full of opinions on what he was wearing.
Well, he did have some opinions, as they had quickly discovered when they’d put him into a fabric he apparently did not like the texture of.
“It’s okay, Love,” Bruce murmured. “I’ve got you.”
If Tim were older, Bruce would have guided him through calming breaths. He would have let Tim process whatever it was that was bothering him, he would give Tim every assurance that this too shall pass.
If Tim were older, Bruce might have known what to do.
Bruce rocked Tim gently in a chair his mother had once held him in.
“Beware the court of owls,” Bruce said, his mother’s voice echoing alongside him. “That watches all the time, ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind-”
Tim outright screamed.
Okay that apparently was not going to work either. Bruce pressed a kiss to his sweet boy’s temple, rubbing a hand on his back in what he hoped were soothing circles.
Damian turned on his heel and in an instant he was there by Bruce’s side. He reached out, metal glinting in the light but just as soon as Bruce had registered it, Damian did too. His chest hitched silently and all at once the blade was gone, disappeared once more into it’s hidden sheath.
“Quiet, Drake.” Damian hissed.
“Damian,” Bruce warned. “This isn’t his fault.”
Damian bared his teeth but the moment that Tim gave off a particularly loud cry his own eyes grew wet.
He reached out with shaking hands and while Bruce knew that he was more than strong enough to hold Tim’s weight safely, he did not pass Tim over.
“Father.”
“You’re unsteady.” Bruce said. “Take five deep breaths first.”
Damian scowled but he did as he was told, if anything scowling more darkly as the shaking in his body almost completely settled.
When Bruce was sure that Damian was okay, he eased Tim off of his chest, carefully coming off the rocking chair to let Damian sit instead. Damian didn’t, keeping Tim close.
There was a sound, almost non existent amongst Tim’s sobs. Humming, Bruce realised, a tune that Bruce did not recognise.
He couldn’t help but wonder if it had been one of Talia’s, he’d never dared to ask her if she’d ever been allowed to be so gentle with him. Bruce… Bruce liked to think that she had been.
For all Talia’s edges, her love for Damian was as undeniable as Bruce’s own love for her. She would have sang to him, even if only in the safety of her own chamber.
And Damian sang now too, softly, so quietly that Bruce almost missed it. He did not know the words, he thought that maybe they were older even than Arabic itself, and a part of Bruce was curious as to if Damian himself knew their meanings.
It was beautiful, the song, not only for the way it made Tim’s cries peter off at last but for how they made Bruce see his youngest a little more clearly than he had before.
Tim fussed a little more, then finally settled, his head resting in the crook of Damian’s neck.
Even as Damian’s voice trailed off once more, Tim did not stir again.
“Damian,”
Damian turned on his heel, holding Tim steady even as he as he had his back to Bruce.
“Crying is unbecoming.” Damian said simply. “He was risking his safety.”
“He was expressing that something was wrong.” Bruce corrected.
“A weakness.”
“A strategy.” Bruce said. “One so innate that the first thing that a baby does when it’s born is cry.”
“I did not.”
Bruce opened his mouth to argue that he absolutely would have, if only to clear his lungs, but then he found himself faltering.
“I… Do not know if you did, Damian.” Bruce said gently. “Talia never told me.”
“Mother knows well to keep vulnerabilities hidden.” Damian said. “Though her foolish affection for you was apparently a secret too grand to keep.”
With the rocking chair still untouched, Bruce sat back down onto it.
He waited for Tim to wake up again, waited for the screaming and crying to start all over again, but it didn’t. It was only when Damian inched towards Tim’s crib that Tim shifted, trying to wake, and Damian took that to be a sign that he did not want to be let go of.
Damian cast his gaze towards the chair instead but when Bruce went to stand once more, Damian gave the slightest shake of his head.
He moved, slowly, constantly glancing down at Tim as if any moment Tim would disappear.
Bruce shifted until his back was fully pressed against the back of the rocking chair, letting Damian fully be the one that chose to climb up onto his lap, Tim still cradled against Damian’s chest.
Damian readjusted until he was comfortable, apparently deciding the only way he could become so was if he had his legs dangling over the arm of the chair, most of his weight pressed up against Bruce’s torso, head going so far as to rest against Bruce’s chest.
It was a vulnerable position, from which Damian would be unable to protect himself or Tim should danger sweep into the room. There was a tension thrumming through Damian, no doubt knowing that even more so than Bruce did.
There was quiet, only Tim’s steady breathing echoing through the silence.
“Father?”
“Yes?”
“If you had known, that I was born, would you have…”
Damian’s voice trailed off again, ducking his head low against Bruce’s chest.
“It’s foolish.” Damian huffed.
“It isn’t foolish, Damian.” Bruce said. He leant down, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “And yes, I would have used what little I remember of the rhymes and lullabies my parents used for me with you. They’re yours just as much as they’re mine, Son.”
When Tim was just as unsettled the next night, Bruce discovered that the boy liked Damian’s lullabies just as much as he apparently liked to hear every single detail of the case that Bruce was working on.
Bruce had also discovered that Alfred very much did not appreciate Tim hearing about triple homicide with no signs of forced entry, just as he discovered that Alfred’s punishments were just as creative as ever.
Most important of all, Bruce discovered, or more so remembered, just how much he liked spending one on one time with Tim, his brilliant perfect boy that was more precious than he will ever know.
Tim’s head was laying against the table, the printed out photos spread around him.
“I’m going to kill him.” Tim muttered. “I’m going to take one of Jason’s guns, the real ones, and I’m going to kill him.”
Bruce couldn’t help but hum in amusement, slowly sipping on his coffee.
It was almost impressive, just how many photos Dick had managed to take in just the thee days he had had access to young Tim. Even more impressive was that he had printed each and every one, and even captioned some of them.
Bruce had already tucked away one of his favourites, the one where Bruce, Damian and Tim were all asleep on the rocking chair together, intending on keeping it safe forever more.
Tim had come downstairs before Bruce had even gone up to get him, a miracle all and of itself given that it was still early morning. Tim had been half dazed with clothes that he’d clearly just chucked on as he stumbled from his room, his sweater still on backwards.
It had been less than half an hour since then and while Tim seemed far more awake than he had been, he was apparently still processing everything that had happened in the time since his last memories on the streets of Gotham and waking up this morning.
“Oh but Timmy, you’re so adorable.” Dick grinned, picking up two of the photos with Dick himself in them. “I mean, c’mon, just look at how cute this is!”
Tim groaned loudly.
When Dick dared to come into Tim’s space, Tim flipped him off.
“Oh hey!” Jason’s voice boomed. “The little brat’s not so little anymore!”
“Get. Fucked. All of you.”
Jason made a show of considering it, leaning against the dining table, his arms crossed.
“Nah,” Jason said. “Dickie’s right, you were the cutest little baby, whatever happened to make you so… You.”
Tim’s head lifted from the table just long enough to glare at him before it was dropping down again, Dick having attempted to use the opportunity to show him more photos.
“Father!”
It had been almost a scream and in an instant Bruce was up and on his feet, coffee spilling onto the photos.
“Drake is gone! I knew it, Grandfather has sent his men to-”
Damian’s voice trailed off, his gaze locking onto Tim. He clicked his tongue, turning sharply away.
Tim’s head had raised again, this time blinking up at Damian’s back.
“That was weird, right?” Tim said. “Like, super weird, where’s our little murder brat and who the hell is this Kid?”
“Actually,” Jason said. “Dames’ has been pretty worried about you.”
Damian hissed and yet made no attempt to leave the dining room even though he very clearly wanted to.
“Yeah,” Dick said fondly. “He’s been doing a great job keeping you safe.”
“Safe?” Tim echoed. “Of course I’m safe, I’m here.”
Just as soon as Tim had said it, his head had dropped down to the table again, but it had not been quickly enough for Bruce to miss the flush in his cheeks.
Bruce’s entire chest warmed at the thought that Tim felt safe here, without question, without hesitation.
“Boys, how about you give some Tim time to readjust. We’ll go out for lunch, but let’s have a slow morning.”
“Whatever,” Jason said. “You’re paying, Old Man.”
As Jason passed by him, his footsteps slowed. He inched a little closer, just enough to brush against Bruce’s arm before he was shooting off and out of the room.
Dick took longer, knowing eyes tracing from Damian to Tim before settling on Bruce. When Dick met his gaze, he grinned brightly, a silent reassurance that he trusted Bruce with his little brothers.
Bruce nodded back to his eldest, his chest warming all over again when Dick too came close enough for Bruce to stand and set a hand on his shoulder before Dick too was gone.
“Damian,” Bruce said, coming towards him but still giving him space. “I am sorry that I did not tell you that Tim has returned to his normal form. That must have been scary, realising that he wasn’t in his room.”
“Scary.” Damian tutted. “I’m not some stupid child in need of coddling.”
“No,” Bruce said. “But it’s still okay that you were worried.”
Bruce ignored Tim’s half confused half doubtful expression, waiting for Tim to put his head back down all over again only for him to not do just that, most likely out of spite.
Tim leaned back instead, tilting his head as if trying to see Damian’s face even though he was still firmly turned around.
“And it’s okay to be a little conflicted now that Tim is back to his normal self.”
“Conflicted.” Tim mouthed.
“Damian, we’ve lost time with each other. You do not have younger siblings, and the siblings you do have, you haven’t always had.”
“Todd was with the League.” Damian said primly.
“Yes,” Bruce said. “For a little while.”
“I do not need siblings, and I certainly do not need a useless baby to take care of.”
“Useless baby.” Tim mouthed with a glare. “Honestly.”
Bruce leaned closer to him, nudging Tim’s shoulder, chest blooming once again with warmth as Tim failed to hold back a smile.
Damian breathed slow and silently, twisting even more slowly until he was facing them though his head had dipped low again, gaze locked on the ground.
“Drake.” Damian said. “I am… Grateful, that you are no longer compromised.”
Tim blinked.
“Thank… You?”
“And,” Damian said. “I am grateful that you felt safe within my arms, as foolish as that was of you. I could have easily killed you a thousand times over, be glad that you still have some uses.”
This time Tim really couldn’t hold back his smile, knowing instantly what Damian truely meant.
“I love you too, you little demon spawn.” Tim said.
Damian clicked his tongue loudly and in an instant he was gone, leaving just Bruce and Tim alone with the photos of the last few days.
Without the audience of Dick, Tim shifted through them, marvelling at each one.
“You know…” Tim mumbled. “I don’t really have any photos like this.”
“Your parents never took any?”
Tim shrugged.
“I mean, I guess they did. But it was mostly fancy ones, like full on photographers with sets and lighting and editing and all that. None of these, you know, candid ones.”
Bruce let a comfortable quiet fall between them, giving Tim every chance to pick up each picture and appreciate every little detail.
“Bruce, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Do you ever… You said to Damian that you’ve lost time. I mean, I know you didn’t so much as take me in but I kind of forced my way into this family after Jason died and you were a mess of a human being,”
“Thank you for that apt description, Lad.”
Tim chuckled, focusing on a photo of him curled up in Cass’ arms.
“Do you ever wish you’d had be back then? When… When I was like this? I know you only took Dick in when he was eight, and Jason when-”
“It’s true that I took each of you in when you were already older. There is time that I will never get, but, that is also time that someone else got to love each of you. Dick’s parents, they loved him dearly, I may have only met them once but I have no doubt just how much they adored him. Catherine may not have been in the best place to raise Jason, but she loved him too, in her own way.”
“And mine?”
Bruce breathed slow and even. He closed the distance between them, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“I won’t deny that I don’t agree with everything Jack and Janet did or did not do in regards to your care, Tim.” He said. “But, I do know that you are here. Now. You are my son, just as much as you are theirs. And to me, the time we have now as we are is just as important as it might have been back then.”
“Damian had it harder, didn’t he? That’s why he was so worried about me.”
“It’s not a competition, Tim, especially not given what each of you have been through in turn. But… Yes, Damian had difficulties, some of which we might never know the full facts of.”
“Some days,” Tim said. “I kind of wished we got to him sooner, too. I wonder what he might have been like, so little like this. Do… Do you think Talia sang to him? To help him fall asleep.”
“I do.”
“I…” Tim swallowed. He brushed a budding tear from his eye. “I don’t remember my Mom singing anything. But I do remember that I still loved her, even then.”
Tim stood then, so quickly he almost overbalanced.
“I have like, so much work to catch up on. Lunch, right? We’re going out for lunch.”
Tim shot off but just as he reached the doorway, he hesitated.
“Thanks… For looking out for me. And, I guess, for liking me like this too.”
“I don’t just like you like this, Son.” Bruce said. “Nor do I simply tolerate your existence. It might have been unorthodox, how you came into my life, into this family, but I hope you know that you will always be mine.”
“Yeah.” Tim said, his voice wet. “Yeah, I know, Dad.”