Chapter Text
Morning came slowly to Wayne Manor.
Not because the sun was late, but because everyone inside the house had slept like they were recovering from a war. The Manor had seen battles, invasions, magical curses, and alien attacks — but nothing had prepared it for a newborn.
Tim woke first.
Not because he wanted to, but because Noah decided 6:12 a.m. was the perfect time to announce his hunger to the world. Tim blinked blearily, sat up, and immediately felt the ache in his shoulders from hours of rocking, pacing, and holding a baby who had no concept of sleep schedules.
Conner stirred beside him on the mattress Alfred had set up on the floor. "Is he crying or am I dreaming."
Tim rubbed his eyes. "Crying."
Conner groaned. "Okay. I'm up."
They shuffled to the crib like two zombies with good intentions. Noah was red‑faced, tiny fists waving, lungs surprisingly powerful for someone who weighed less than a bag of flour.
Tim scooped him up. "Good morning, little guy."
Conner leaned over, brushing a hand through Noah's dark hair. "He looks like he didn't sleep at all."
Tim snorted. "He didn't."
Down the hall, the Manor was slowly coming alive.
Bruce emerged from his room looking like he'd been awake for hours — but the faint shadows under his eyes betrayed him. Damian walked out behind him, hair sticking up in every direction, muttering something about "infant decibel levels."
Dick appeared next, yawning so wide his jaw cracked. "Is it morning. Did we survive."
Duke followed, rubbing his face. "Barely."
Barbara rolled in from the elevator, coffee in hand. "I heard crying at 3 a.m., 4 a.m., 5 a.m., and 5:45. Is that normal."
"Apparently," Tim said, bouncing Noah gently.
Jon Kent zipped into the hallway, bright‑eyed and far too awake. "Good morning! Is the baby awake? Can I hold him? Did he sleep? Did you sleep? Did anyone sleep."
Conner pointed at him. "You're banned from caffeine forever."
A knock echoed through the Manor.
Before anyone could move, Alfred opened the door — and Martha Kent swept inside like a warm Kansas breeze.
"Oh my goodness," she gasped, hands flying to her mouth. "Where is he. Where's my new grandbaby."
Pa Kent followed behind her, carrying a tin of cookies and looking both proud and overwhelmed. "Morning, everyone. We brought snacks. And emotional support."
Bruce stepped forward, greeting them with a rare, genuine smile. "Martha. Jonathan. Welcome."
Martha hugged Bruce like he was one of her own. "You didn't tell me he was this tiny!"
Bruce blinked. "I... didn't get the chance."
Martha marched straight toward Tim and Conner, eyes shining. "Let me see him."
Tim gently shifted Noah in his arms so she could look. Martha's breath caught.
"Oh," she whispered. "He's perfect."
Pa Kent leaned in, eyes soft. "He's got Tim's nose."
"And Conner's eyebrows," Martha added proudly.
Conner flushed. "Yeah... we noticed."
Jon bounced excitedly. "Grandma, look! He grabbed my finger yesterday!"
Martha beamed. "Of course he did. He knows family when he sees it."
The Batkids gathered around like they were presenting a royal heir.
Dick leaned in first. "Oh my god, he's so tiny."
Damian crossed his arms. "He is smaller than Titus' head."
Barbara smiled. "He's adorable."
Stephanie burst into the room with a camera. "I'm taking pictures. No one stop me."
Bruce gave her a look.
She took pictures anyway.
Conner cleared his throat, shifting Noah carefully in his arms. "So... we picked a name."
Everyone leaned in — the Batkids, Bruce, Alfred, Martha, Pa, Jon — all of them waiting.
Tim smiled softly, eyes warm. "His name is Noah Jonathan Drake‑Kent."
The room went still for a heartbeat.
Then it exploded.
Martha gasped, hands flying to her mouth. "Oh, that's beautiful. That's perfect."
Pa nodded proudly. "Strong name. Good name."
Dick grinned. "Noah Jonathan Drake‑Kent. That sounds like someone who's gonna run this whole family one day."
Barbara nodded. "It fits him."
Duke smiled. "He already looks like a Noah."
Stephanie squealed. "I LOVE IT. I'm putting it on a onesie."
Damian tilted his head. "A respectable name. Balanced. Traditional. Acceptable."
Jon beamed. "Hi, Noah Jonathan! I'm your cousin! Or nephew! Or something! I'll figure it out!"
Conner laughed. "We'll sort out the family tree later."
Bruce stepped closer, expression softening. "Welcome to the family, Noah Jonathan."
Alfred bowed his head slightly, voice warm. "A distinguished name for a distinguished young gentleman."
Noah let out a tiny coo, as if approving his own introduction.
Tim leaned into Conner, exhausted and glowing. "He's really ours."
Conner kissed the top of Tim's head. "Yeah. And now everyone knows his name."
The rest of the morning unfolded in a kind of organized chaos.
• Dick learned how to warm a bottle.
• Barbara researched baby‑safe tech upgrades.
• Duke baby‑proofed the hallway.
• Stephanie tried to knit a hat and failed spectacularly.
• Damian lectured everyone on proper infant handling techniques.
• Jon hovered like an excited puppy, ready to help with anything.
• Martha reorganized the nursery in under ten minutes.
• Pa fixed a loose hinge on the crib without being asked.
Bruce and Alfred coordinated silently, moving around each other with practiced ease — one checking security, the other preparing breakfast for the entire household.
Tim and Conner watched it all with a mix of exhaustion and awe.
"This is... a lot," Tim whispered.
Conner nodded. "Yeah. But it's good."
Tim leaned his head on Conner's shoulder. "We're not alone."
"No," Conner said softly, watching Noah sleep in his arms. "We're really not."
Bruce checked his watch. "Selina's flight lands tomorrow morning."
Tim froze. "Oh god."
Conner winced. "She's going to freak out."
Martha laughed. "Oh, she's going to adore him."
Dick snorted. "She's going to steal that baby for at least an hour."
Stephanie nodded. "She's going to cry."
Damian added, "She will spoil him."
Tim sighed. "I'm not ready."
Conner squeezed his hand. "We'll survive."
Bruce placed a hand on Tim's shoulder. "She'll love him. She'll love both of you. Don't worry."
Tim nodded, trying to believe it.
By noon, the Manor felt different.
Softer.
Livelier.
Fuller.
Noah slept in Conner's arms, tiny chest rising and falling. Tim sat beside them, leaning into Conner's side, eyes half‑closed.
The family — both Waynes and Kents — moved quietly around them, protective and supportive.
Tim whispered, "We're really parents."
Conner kissed the top of his head. "Yeah. We are."
And for the first time since the pod exploded to life, Tim didn't feel overwhelmed.
He felt home.