Work Text:
1 year old
The swing had been a great addition in the Cave. Sure, it might have looked a little out of place, considering it was the headquarter of a bunch of highly trained vigilantes in Gotham, but now that Darcy was fully capable of sitting up and actually needed entertainment of some sort — more than lying in a bassinet could give her — it was a great way for Jason to keep her with him as he trained, while making sure she wasn’t able to get herself in trouble.
He pushed her with a hand, getting a giggle in return, and he quickly dropped to the ground, chest slamming down as he ducked under the swing whooshing past him. Once it was “safe” again he jumped to his feet, just to get on the floor again when momentum got Darcy back in his space.
She squealed in delight, tiny hands gripping the ropes as the swing carried her in the air.
Sweat dripped down his jaw and Jason smirked, his muscles burning pleasantly and the Cave echoing with the thud of his body hitting the mats. “That’s right, Little Feather,” he told her. “Dada’s cardio depends on you. Don’t let me slack, uh.”
A shadow moved from the entrance, arms crossed and judgment clear on his expression. “This is hardly a regulated training regimen.”
Jason grunted, throwing himself flat again as the swing came back. “Relax, Baby Bat. It’s good for reflexes.”
He jumped up. “You can call it family bonding, if it makes you feel better.”
Darcy giggled louder, before she raised her eyes to her uncle and kicked her legs in excitement.
Frown mellowing in front of the little girl’s reaction, Damian moved toward them with Titus and Ace trailing behind him. “She requires proper supervision,” he said. Without waiting for permission, he caught the swing mid-arc and steadied it before scooping his niece up and holding her with the same care he’d always shown her.
“Hey!” Jason grumbled, panting. He wasn’t really annoyed, not when he still felt something funny in his stomach every time someone in his family showed how much they all loved his daughter — still, it was his duty as an older brother to complain.
Damian moved out of the training area into the rest of the Cave, followed by both dogs and Jason, and settled onto a couch that had been placed near the computer when Darcy had arrived at the Manor.
“She fussed,” Damian justified himself, although no one there was required to actually give a reason for wanting to be with her. “Clearly she desired someone competent.”
He shifted her so that her head would rest against his chest. “Perhaps she is already impatient to be trained.”
“Nope,” was the only answer Jason gave him as he grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat off his face, hands and neck. He desperately needed a shower. “One year old, Baby Bat. The only training she needs is keeping her socks on.”
Damian ignored him. He stroked a hand over Titus’s massive head, which was now on his thigh while Ace’s warmed his opposite foot, and lowered his voice, conspiratorial. “One day, little one, I shall teach you where to strike to disarm an opponent.”
Titus licked one of Darcy’s tiny hands and she giggled, turning over and over to look at the dog, at Damian and at Jason like she was trying to make sure they were all seeing what was happening. She squirmed, lips moving. “Da…”
Both brothers froze.
Darcy frowned, clearly focusing on her task. “Da…”
“She is attempting my name,” Damian murmured, eyes wide in awe.
Jason dropped the towel and rushed over. “No way she means you,” he croaked. He kneeled in front of them to catch his daughter’s eyes. “You can do it, baby. Say dada. Da-da.”
“Da…”
“Da-mian,” the teenager encouraged her.
“Da-da,” Jason insisted, glaring at his brother.
Darcy patted Titus, still trying to lick her hand, and giggled again. “Didush!”
Jason stared. Gaped, even.
Somewhere not far away, Tim cackled.
“Did…” Jason began, a finger pointed at the one-year-old. “Did she just call the fucking dog before me?!”
Damian’s smirk was immediate and far too victorious. “Impeccable judgment.”
“Language, Master Jason,” Alfred’s dry voice echoed from the stairs, perfectly timed. “Unless you wish her second proper word to be a vulgarity.”
Titus barked, because of course Jason had no allies in there, and still kneeling he dropped his head on the couch near Damian’s knees. “Unbelievable.”
A small hand petted clumsily his hair, just on the side of too harshly, and he smiled against the fabric. Raising his head again, he looked straight into Darcy’s eyes, now staring at him intently, and made sure to show her everything was fine.
He was proud of her, no matter what, and while anyone else might have called him sappy when noticing his love-struck expression, he didn’t give a damn. No ego would ever stop him from showing his daughter how deeply he cared about her.
“All good,” he murmured, just because. He then plucked her from Damian’s arms, holding her close and kissing her cheek. “I’m so proud, your first word!”
And he was. So, so proud.
They stared at each other for a few seconds as he rose to his feet with her small body on his chest, green and blue eyes meeting and just sharing a moment of silence, of pride, of love.
She blinked at him and tilted her head, like she was enjoying the attention. She put both hands on his cheeks. She squished them. Then, with all the seriousness a one-year-old could have, her lips parted.
“Dada.”
Jason’s throat closed. His eyes burned.
When he laughed, breathless and surprised, his voice cracked into something suspiciously close to a sob. “That’s my girl,” he whispered, before nodding. “Yeah, Little Feather. I’m your dada.”
“Tt. Rigged,” Damian muttered, getting up and stepping away, but Jason didn’t move, he just stared at his daughter and tried to commit to memory every single detail of that heart-warming first time.
Alfred smiled faintly, somewhere in the background. “Congratulations, Master Jason.”
Jason pressed his forehead to his daughter’s, laughing when she went cross-eyes. “Yeah,” he replied and cleared his throat, moving back. “Thanks.”
He couldn’t turn, or acknowledge anyone in other way, but he was fairly sure he’d be forgiven. “Tim?”
His brother moved closer, a smile on his lips. “Yeah?”
“Can you get me the camera footage?”
Another smile, even bigger than the first one. “Of course.”
Jason kissed Darcy’s hair, chest breaking apart with the amount of love he was feeling. “Best workout of my life,” he whispered.
She giggled and squished his cheeks again. “Dada!”
2 years old
Seasoned parents and grandparents had the habit of describing a child turning two as the end of a peaceful era, and the beginning of a tiring, troublesome one. Maybe they were right, maybe they were exaggerating; either way, there was no one in the Wayne family — and affiliated — who would have put Darcy in the same category as a kid in the “terrible twos”.
She was, no matter who you asked, an angel.
An angel, for example, who would simply giggle and smile and stay still when used as a doll by her aunties.
“I thought we had settled on this!” Barbara argued, waving the small jacket in her hand in front of Steph.
The blonde was kneeling on the ground, passing a skirt to Cass and grabbing a plastic bag, which she immediately dug into. “I know, I know,” she muttered, focused on her task, “but just for a sec! We get a picture and then we change her.”
Darcy put her fingers in Cass’ dark hair, having her head at the right height because the young woman was kneeling in front of her, bent to fix her newly put on skirt.
Raising her head, Cass met her niece’s eyes and smiled. “Pretty,” she said.
Darcy beamed and cupped her cheeks. “Auntie.”
“Look at her!” Steph exclaimed as she grabbed one of her tiny hands and gave her a plastic, golden string.
The three women moved back, cooing and snapping picture after picture of the newly dressed toddler, with her blue skirt and the red shirt with the famous eagle emblem that, alone, made the outfit recognizable. A belt, plastic bracelets and the fake lasso finished the look — especially because Darcy had immediately taken off the headpiece.
Babs snapped another picture, knowing full well everyone would have loved to see the toddler dressed as Wonder Woman, and with the wisdom of her two years Darcy posed and smiled and didn’t complain, actually basking in the attention and the continuous praises.
She did look pretty, of course. Her black hair reached her chin and her eyes were of a shade of blue that would have been impressive, if only more than half of the family didn’t have it as well. Of course, she was also a kid, a little girl who would have been adorable in any circumstance.
And, well, she also had the ultimate trump card.
She was the baby of the family.
Which meant tons of pictures and cooing sounds and kisses.
Darcy raised her little fists in the air and jumped, almost tumbling down, and only Cass’ reflexes allowed her to catch her. She settled her back on her feet as if nothing had happened, turning to look at Babs to see if it was time to move on.
“Okay,” the eldest decided, grabbing the jacket again.
“Fine,” Steph grumbled as she started undressing Darcy, although she still made sure to hold her so that she wouldn’t topple over.
“Dada come?” Darcy asked.
Cass moved her hair out of the way. “Soon.”
Under Babs’ supervision, they both made quick work of the kid’s new costume; the dark cargo pants, the padded shirt, the tiny gloves and above all the leather jacket, to which Steph had sewn a hood.
Cass grabbed it, raising the red fabric until it was covering Darcy’s head — and the kid grinned, toothy and happy, which is when Barbara called Jason and told him to get to the living room they were in.
“Like him,” Cass said tilting her head to check their finished work. “But cuter.”
Darcy, two years old, dressed as a miniature version of her father.
She giggled, small fingers patting the fabric.
And then, with a hitch of her breath, Steph flailed her arms and asked for the girls’ attention. “Oh God, I just realized!”
Babs groaned. “What?”
“Red Hood, Jason Todd, she’s two years old…” Steph explained, the biggest smile on her face. “She’s Red Toddler!”
Jason came in right on cue. He stopped, blinked twice, then blinked again as words failed him. His daughter raised her arms in his direction, hood slipping back a little to reveal her tiny proud grin, and she charged toward him shouting “Dada!”, before colliding with his knees. Jason picked her up, still dumbfounded, and stared at the leather jacket, the red hood, the cargo pants.
“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he rasped, kissing her forehead. The flash of a picture made him turn to the three women still in the room. “What…”
Babs smiled, kind and knowing. “Happy Father’s Day, Jason.”
Jason pinched the bridge of his nose but failed miserably at hiding his smile. “You’re all terrible influences,” he muttered, cheeks burning.
Still. It was the best gift they could have given him. “Thanks,” he mumbled.
Steph shuffled her feet. “Do you want to see her dressed as Wonder Woman?”
And really, how could anyone have refused?
3 years old
Bruce Wayne had been Batman for so long he now couldn’t fathom how he had lived so long without the cowl. It was part of him — the suit, the symbol, the night.
He had faced his own nightmares and won, shown compassion when needed and unwavering morals even when it felt impossible, and he was tall and strong and highly trained.
And Darcy had him wrapped around her tiny finger.
As a quite precocious three-years-old, she had already mastered the art of tugging on someone’s sleeve and looking up with wide blue eyes until resisting her became impossible. Damian, sounding too impressed for anyone else’s taste, called it manipulation. Dick called it charm. Bruce… well, Bruce called it inevitable.
Which is why he was now sitting on the floor, his long legs awkwardly folded with one foot underneath his granddaughter’s little play table and the other sending pins and needles down his skin. Across from him, Darcy was sitting on the rug, legs crossed and a tiara crooked on her head.
At first she had used a plastic one, something easy to replace in case it got broken or misplaced, but Bruce hadn’t liked the idea of his own granddaughter, the only one at the moment, playing with a toy built with cheap plastic with who knew what chemicals inside. Alfred hadn’t approved, of course, when he had noticed what he was doing, and although he hadn’t commented he had still raised an eyebrow in his direction — still, Bruce had hand-picked the smallest tiara he could find between the Wayne family’s jewels and given it to Darcy, who adored it and used it all the time.
The fact that the fake one was now set precariously on Bruce’s head, well, that had been an unforeseen consequence of Darcy suddenly finding herself with a spare.
She picked up the teapot Alfred had sacrificed in the name of authenticity and poured imaginary tea first in her own cup and then in Bruce’s, her tongue sticking out in concentration. When she was done, she quickly warned him. “Very hot, grandpa. Drink slow.”
“I’ll be careful,” he promised, nodding solemnly as if she had just told him about live explosives. The movement almost dislodged the tiara on his head and he fixed it, knowing too well that the child had decided that tea and jewels went hand in hand.
No exceptions — not even for the Dark Knight.
He raised the cup to his lips and faked a sip, keeping a straight face through the charade. “Exquisite.”
Darcy giggled, satisfied, and did the same.
“More tea, my princess?” he asked her, raising the teapot.
“Yes, my king!” she squealed.
“What do we say?”
“Thank you, grandpa.”
Bruce pretended to pour. “You’re very welcome, sweetheart.”
He heard a shuffling noise from the hallway, but he kept his back straight — like anyone invited to a princess party should — and lifted the tiny cup, balancing it between fingers that had dismantled bombs with steady precision many, many times. He didn’t care who would see him.
“Hi uncle Tim! Hi uncle Duke!” Darcy said at that point, waving happily toward the door.
Bruce finally turned around, lifting a single eyebrow when he noticed the phone in Tim’s hands. He was sure the family group chat was already filled with evidence.
Duke laughed. “You’re whipped, B.”
And Bruce knew it was true. He knew his smile was soft and his expression filled with love in a way he didn’t show often, and that he had spent an hour sitting on the floor pretending to drink tea with a plastic tiara on his head. He also knew being mocked wasn’t a high price to pay; not when his children where safe, and happy, and he had a little girl asking for him to spend time with her, to step into her imaginary world by her side. A tiny, smiley thing who would hug him and kiss his cheek and brighten all of their lives.
Darcy had brought Jason home, and with him all his siblings as well.
There was little Bruce wouldn’t do, for her.
She was their future.
Their beating heart.
He carefully helped her as she gave a cup to her stuffed T-Rex, not too different from the big one in the Cave, and when he looked back at Tim and Duke, who were still grinning, he saw the moment they caught his narrowing eyes.
“She’s my granddaughter,” Bruce pointed out, “there’s very little I wouldn’t do for her.”
Then he smiled, all sugar. “Of course, I’ll be the same with any grandchild of mine.”
Both Tim and Duke straightened up, sharing an alarmed look and raising their hands in a defensive position.
“Hey, now,” Duke murmured, “I’m way too young!”
Tim coughed into his fist. “Don’t mind us. Continue your… royal duties.”
Bruce smiled, amused by the way the two young men quickly backed away until they could run into the hallway and disappear somewhere in the Manor, and bent a little forward to catch Darcy’s eyes.
“Would the princess like another cup?”
4 years old
It was a calm day of spring, peaceful in the way only having every single rogue in Arkham could be, and the afternoon sun poured through the tall windows of the living room. Dick was enjoying the barely warm rays on his skin, as he had chosen the armchair exactly for its position, while a few birds sang from the trees outside, hidden from view but not from people’s ears.
Jason was sitting on the couch nearby, flipping through one of the many parenting books he had never lost the habit of reading; he’d leave them around the Manor more often than not and it wasn’t surprising to see someone else pick them up to add notes or simply get a sense of Darcy’s new needs now that she was growing up — faster than anyone could have imagined, especially because, whether it was genetics or being surrounded at all times by people so skilled and educated, Darcy was quite advanced for her age.
Still, she was just four years old.
And sometimes… sometimes it was painfully clear.
She was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, crayons scattered around her like a tiny battlefield, her tongue peeking out in concentration as she drew the second of two stick figures holding hands. Alfred hummed, amused, as he walked by her to dust a shelf, and Dick followed him with his eyes, frowning because the butler had the habit of pretending not to listen or notice things, when he always listened and noticed.
And he had found something funny.
“Uncle Dick!” Darcy called him. She stood up and brought the paper with her, ponytail bouncing with the movement and the biggest smile on her face.
Dick smiled back, because he really couldn’t help it, not with her, and took the drawing from her hands when she pushed it in his direction. “That’s beautiful, Little Feather,” he complimented her before even looking down at the two stick figures. “Who are they?”
Darcy climbed on his lap and he leaned back to make space for her.
“Me,” she said pointing at the red figure in a triangle that, with some creativity, might have been a dress. Now that Dick could see it better, he noticed the black line that was probably her hair.
She put a finger on the blue, taller stick. “You.”
Warmth spread in Dick’s heart. “Aw,” he cooed, hugging his niece tightly. “This is so sweet, Little Feather!”
He caught the way Jason raised his head from the book, half smiling and half frowning, like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be happy for their relationship or jealous, before he realized Dick was looking at him and he very maturely showed him his tongue. The man picked up his coffee cup in the same moment Darcy grabbed Dick’s face so he’d turn toward her.
“I have a secret!” she whispered dramatically. “Very important.”
“Oh yeah? What secret?” he humored her.
Darcy pointed at the drawing. “We’re getting married.”
Halfway through a sip of coffee, Jason choked. “What?”
“When I grow up,” she explained, completely unfazed, “I’m gonna marry uncle Dick.”
“The hell you-”
Alfred coughed delicately. “Language, Master Jason.”
Dick couldn’t help it anymore; he started to silently laugh, hiding his face against Darcy’s dark hair, feeling honored and warm and so, so loved, but also highly smug. He had read over and over about little girls wanting to marry their father or uncles or cousins, and he had seen it happen as a vigilante as well, because Nightwing was a big hit — but their little girl, the only kid in the Manor, had chosen him.
“You are?” he asked when he was sure he could show his face without offending Darcy with his laughter. “That’s a nice plan, kiddo.”
Then, because Jason was sending daggers his way, he hummed. “But maybe you’ll want someone your own age when you’re older.”
She frowned, unimpressed. “No. I want you.”
“Okay, timeout!” Jason exclaimed. “You’re four!”
Darcy frowned even more. “When I’m five?” she proposed with a shrug. She pointed at the paper still in her uncle’s hands. "I drawed it.”
“Drew,” Alfred, Jason and Dick corrected her at the same time.
“I drewed it.”
“No,” Alfred insisted, “you drew it.”
Making a face, Darcy tapped the paper again. There was a yellow square near the blue figure. “There’s cake. You like cake.”
“I love it, sweetheart,” Dick murmured and he hugged her a little more, smiling softly. It was almost too cute to bear and it made every ounce of paternal instinct flare in him.
As he idly wondered about children of his own, Darcy turned to look at Jason, a worried expression on her face. “Daddy, you have to come too!”
“Oh, can I?” he snorted.
She nodded frantically. “We can dance. Like in the movie?”
And Dick knew what she was talking about — a family-oriented rom-com they had watched a few days before, in which the bride and her father danced at her wedding on the same song they’d play when she was a child. He hadn’t realized how much it must have stayed with her, but as soon as he met Jason’s eyes he knew the other had followed his same train of thought.
Also, if Dick wasn’t mistaken, his brother was getting tongue-tied at the idea of one day walking his daughter down the aisle and giving her away.
“Yeah, baby,” Jason whispered. “We can dance.”
Dick grinned, amused and fond, and decided to give him a break by taking Darcy’s attention away from him.
“Can Alfred come too?”
She nodded. “Everyone!”
“This is adorable, Little Feather,” Dick continued, “but why me?”
Sue him, he was curious. He also wanted to know more, you know, for science.
Or bragging rights, whatever you wanted to call them.
He couldn’t wait to see the others’ faces when he told them. Bruce was going to look like he sucked a lemon. Damian… Damian might challenge him to a duel, now that he thought about it.
Darcy shrugged, unaware of all she had caused with that simple declaration. And then, another bomb. “You’re my favorite.”
Jason’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
“Master Jason,”Alfred’s voice came in, calm and dry, “I seem to recall you being similarly devoted to Wonder Woman. At a much older age.”
Jason sighed dramatically, leaning back on the couch. “Wonder Woman would be better,” he grumbled. “First word goes to the dog, now my kid’s engaged to my brother… Unbelievable.”
Alfred cleared his throat. “At least you are raising a decisive young lady, Master Jason. Congratulations.”
Jason groaned but Dick chuckled, and when Darcy, beaming even though she probably didn’t fully understand what was going on, leaned to kiss his cheek, he accepted it with another smile. “Thank you, kiddo. Tell you what, if you still feel that way in about, say, twenty years, we’ll talk. Until then, I’m your favorite uncle. Deal?”
Darcy took a second to consider the offer, before she shook his hand with all the solemnity of a tiny CEO. “Deal.”
Jason muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like over my dead body, but the little girl was already climbing down Dick’s lap to get another paper and draw whatever she had in store next — something equally shocking, perhaps, that would get her father’s white streak to grow until he didn’t have a single dark hair on his head.
“Alright, fine,” Jason grumbled after a few seconds. “But you’re not marrying anyone until you’re thirty.”
Darcy gasped. “That’s forever!”
A grin. “Exactly.”
Narrowing her eyes, Darcy took her time to consider the new deal. When she nodded, she was confident again. “But you have to wear a crown.”
Then she went back to her drawing, probably satisfied by the way she had planned her future wedding and absolutely uncaring of the three adults in the room still looking at her.
“Who does she get that bossy streak from?” Jason muttered, glancing down at his now cold coffee.
Dick shrugged. “Not important,” he replied. “I mean, have you seen my fiancée?”
A pillow went straight to his head.
5 years old
The scream was something that would inevitably be featured in Jason’s nightmares.
There was no way it wouldn’t.
Not when imagining Darcy screaming that way had already been part of his most agitated nights — but until it had been imagination, then it was okay. Terrifying, sure.
Just not real.
Born from fear, not from the past.
Now, however? Hearing that sound come out of his daughter’s mouth?
It wasn’t the kind of cry that meant “I spilled my juice” or “Titus stole my snack”, no, it was sharp, terrified.
The kind of sound that ripped Jason’s heart from his chest and made panic flare under his skin.
And suddenly he was running.
He didn’t even realize he was standing up before he was on his feet and sprinting out of the kitchen, slipping with his socks on the polished floors of the hallway and barely holding on when passing a corner, while his mind conjured the worst possible scenarios.
By the time he reached Darcy’s room, Bruce appeared right behind him, and Cass and Duke arrived from opposite doors, all of them looking ready for a fight.
“Darcy!” Jason shouted, not even trying to go for stealth; he just barged into the bedroom and immediately threw himself on his knees in front of his daughter, scanning her with his eyes and patting her down to check for injuries.
She was standing by her bed, frozen in place, one hand pressed over her mouth as tears welled up in her blue eyes. Titus and Ace were beside her, whining softly, and it was clear they had no clue what was going on, what was making their little friend so upset, what monster they were supposed to attack.
“Darce? Sweetheart?” Bruce murmured, taking a step in their direction. Cass and Duke were both standing in the doorway with their muscles relaxing minutely now that it was clear there was no intruder — but still worried about whatever might have caused that reaction.
Jason could barely breathe. After that scream, in front of those tears, with that fear still so clear on Darcy’s face?
How was he supposed to protect her if he didn’t even know what from?
And then… he saw it.
A tiny white pebble, half-hidden on the carpet.
Fuck, Jason thought. He finally felt his heart slow down to a normal pace.
“Little Feather, what happened?” he asked her, tone carefully void of the terror he had felt until that moment.
She sobbed and launched herself at him, putting her arms around his neck and squeezing him as tightly as she could. “Daddy!” she screamed, desperation clinging to her voice. “It fell!”
Jason squeezed her just as tightly with one arm, while the other one went to check her mouth. Blood tinted his fingertips. “Your tooth?” he whispered.
She nodded frantically against his shoulder, hiccupping. “It’s gone!” she cried. “I was playing with the doggies and I-”
She sobbed. “Am I broken daddy?”
“No, baby, no,” he told her immediately and he pulled her closer, slowly breathing out all the tension he still carried in his back and arms. “You’re fine. You just lost your first tooth.”
He wasn’t sure who sighed louder — himself or Bruce behind him — but either way, the air in the room changed from high alert to barely suppressed amusement, like a switch had been pressed and they could now all be at ease.
Still, there was something bothering Jason.
He turned to look at his father and his siblings, a frown on his face explaining his doubt, and Cass was, of course, the first to read him. “Early,” she said quietly, “but normal. Just ahead.”
Right, Jason thought. He knew that, of course he knew that.
He was glad to have a confirmation, though.
He pressed his cheek to Darcy’s hair, closing his eyes for a second. She was only five. She was his baby.
She had been a day old, when he had found her in the cold, abandoned in an alley. One day old when he had told Leslie he’d take her to the orphanage.
One day old when Jason had chosen to be her father.
And now she was five years old.
Five.
Maybe too small to be losing teeth, definitely too small to be growing up this fast.
When he opened his eyes again, Cass was crouched by his side, hand gently stroking Darcy’s back in silent reassurance, and Bruce was inspecting the carpet like a detective looking for a clue — not too far off, honestly.
“Found it,” Duke announced from his side. He pointed at the tiny tooth, which Bruce picked up with gentle fingers, and huffed a relieved laugh. “Man, I thought she got stabbed or something!”
Jason’s hand trembled as he exhaled sharply, chuckling and groaning at the same time. “Don’t joke, I thought-”
But he couldn’t say it, could he?
I thought I’d lost her.
Darcy sniffled and pulled back enough to look at him, lower lip trembling. “It hurt.”
“I know, Little Feather,” Jason reassured her with a kiss on her hair. “I swear, it just means you’re getting bigger.”
She frowned. “I don’t wanna get bigger.”
Jason’s throat closed for a second. Me neither, kid.
He kissed her hair again. “How about I make sure the Tooth Fairy knows this is your very first one?” he tried to distract her.
Perking up a little bit, Darcy pushed away from his arms and touched the little window in her teeth first with her thumb and then with her tongue. “She gives toys?” she asked, intrigued. “Or money?”
Jason snorted. Honestly, there was little a child in Darcy position could need money for, considering the size of her trust fund, so he wasn’t surprised she preferred toys.
Before Jason could answer, however, Bruce straightened up. “Fifty dollars?”
Four voices immediately rose in the room.
“What?!” Jason snapped, as Duke choked on his spit and croaked a “No way!”. Cass echoed him with “too much” as she stood up and quickly left, but Darcy, now apparently fine, seemed interested by the idea. “Fifty?”
Duke elbowed Bruce, glaring at him. “Man, you’re gonna make every kid in Gotham think the Tooth Fairy plays favorites!”
Jason shook his head, unwillingly amused. “Your pockets, B, I hope you know it.”
Although looking vaguely offended by the way he had been called out, Bruce didn’t argue, especially considering the five-year-old girl listening to them with tear streaks still on her cheeks.
She shuffled her feet and pressed her cheek on Jason’s neck. “Daddy, it scared me.”
“I know,” he whispered.
Cass came back with a small white box in her hands, which she opened and offered to Jason; it was delicate, with a little bat doodle on the lid, and the perfect size for… “For keeping it safe,” she said.
Bruce put the tooth in with a kindness reserved entirely for children — his, or others frankly, because he had a soft spot a mile wide.
Cass smiled. “First one. To keep.”
When Jason closed the box, he felt the years all at once, and above all the distance between the man who came back from the grave and the one holding a little girl with a missing tooth. The man wishing for revenge and eaten by anger, and the one having his entire world in his arms, sweet and warm and innocent.
Darcy leaned against him again, touching once more the little gap in her mouth. “Does it grow back?”
“Yeah, baby,” he said softly. “You’ll get a new one soon.”
She frowned. “Pop out?”
Jason’s laugh came out shaky. “No, sweetheart,” he comforted her, “it will be slow.”
He pulled her even closer, moving on the floor to rest his back on the bed, while Duke and Cass took Titus and Ace out of the room with soft smiles and relieved nods. Bruce raised the box to his attention so that Jason would see him put it on a shelf, before leaving as well with a last, approving glance.
When the room finally went quiet again, Jason kissed his daughter’s temple.
“Too fast, kiddo. You’re growing up too fast.”
6 years old
Alfred didn’t particularly enjoy having people outside the family in the Manor or on the grounds, except for the occasional gala and some trusted workers he knew well, like the gardeners who would work incessantly with the arrival of spring and the few ones who would come less often during the rest of the year. Of course, Bruce wholeheartedly approved of that reticence, but paired it with Alfred’s growing age the help of everyone living in the Manor was needed in many instances.
One of them? Taking the many groceries out of the car and bringing them to the kitchen.
It had become a habit of some sort, a well-oiled machine in which they all put the bags on the table and sorted through them to separate what needed to be put in the pantry, what in the fridge, and what products were destined to the bathroom or another specific room.
They usually worked while chatting, or mocking each other, or — although Alfred usually put an immediate end to it — throwing stuff around. That day, however, was rougher than usual.
The patrol of the night before had been too long, with a couple of close calls nobody wanted to think about, and the number of rogues breaking out of Arkham had meant all hands on deck. Even Duke, who’d usually operate during the day, and Steph who had been previously benched due to a sprained ankle, had joined. Jason was now nursing bruised ribs, Damian had a small concussion, Dick had been stabbed in the arm. Tim had almost died and so would have Batman, if Cass hadn’t stepped in.
It had taken them hours, to get all the rogues back in Arkham and the civilians to the hospital or with the police, and even then they had all been cranky, arguing in harsh whispers that now were still bleeding out through frowns and silent looks.
Still, it was grocery day and Alfred needed help, so they all picked a bag and started emptying it. First, they put the perishable food in the big fridge and the frozen one in the refrigerator, prioritizing those because they couldn’t wait too long to be put away. Then the cereal boxes and pasta and canned food followed.
Soon, all that remained on the table were bathroom products.
And then, a small hand grabbed the conditioner.
Jason raised an eyebrow; he had noticed Darcy walking into the kitchen, because he was constantly aware of every single movement of his daughter, and he was interested in seeing what she was going to do. They were all trying to teach her to help and take responsibility, for example, of her own toys and books, but maybe she wanted to be included in the grocery tradition as well?
Darcy sat on a chair, before getting on her knees to be taller and rest easily her elbows on the table. Then she snatched a dark bottle of liquid soap and put it in front of the conditioner.
“Conditioner Gordon,” she greeted it with the roughest voice she could probably muster, unaware of how every single person in the room had turned to look at her, bewildered.
She made the conditioner lean forward. “Batsoap, we need your help.”
She then made the dark bottle she had named after her grandfather nod. “I’ll clean up the streets, Conditioner Gordon. It’s what I do.”
She chuckled at her own pun.
“I know you will,” Darcy continued, still moving the bottle. “Just make sure it goes smoothly.”
They all cracked a smile when she laughed, trying and failing to make her voice sound deeper. “Robin and I will take care of it.”
She picked a yellow and green sponge wrapped in plastic and tilted her hand from one side to the other to pretend it was walking, and she shook the conditioner with a frown. “Is the boy ready?”
She dropped the bottle and grabbed the soap instead, growling in what she clearly thought was Batman’s signature. “Of course. He soaked up every lesson.”
And then she was laughing loudly, letting everything go to half-cover her open mouth. Dick, who had been staring at her with stars in his eyes, followed just as loudly as he praised her for her creativity, especially because they all knew he had been the one to start her on the journey of bad puns.
Jason moved forward and scooped his daughter up, kissing her cheek and spinning her in the air with the fondest of looks, and when Darcy giggled they all smiled or chucked softly.
That little girl’s happiness was contagious — and just like that, the whole day looked brighter.