Chapter Text
Batman was regarded as the World’s Greatest Detective. He prided himself on his preparedness for every situation. He had lists and lists of contingency plans. How to take down Superman, Flash, Green Lantern (Hal Jordan should be quaking in his boots), and all the rest of the Justice League. What to do if Batman was compromised (this one particularly for his Robins to carry out). What to do if Nightwing or Red Hood or Robin was compromised. Plans for the Zombie apocalypse, nuclear fallout, time loops.
Everything that he could think of had a detailed plan filed away somewhere in the Batcave.
Not this.
Batman was prepared for everything except this.
What to do if his son stole his other son.
Because what in the world did Timothy Drake-Wayne mean by calling Jason Todd-Wayne Mom? Because what the actual fiddle-sticks did that mean?
The first time he heard it, he was completely blindsided. Red Hood had carried an injured Robin into the cave. Robin had a head abrasion and a big dose of cuddle pollen in his system.
Batman planned his reprimand for Robin. After all, he’d ordered Robin to return to the cave, but he’d been ignored. Robin had gone solo without any back-up, and this was the result. It was reckless and dangerous, and something that was absolutely not acceptable.
However, Robin had been dosed with cuddle-pollen, so reprimands would have to wait until the pollen wore off.
Jason, his helmet and domino removed, was holding up pretty well. He’d seemed shaken when he brought Tim inside, but once a concussion had been ruled out, Jason relaxed.
Bruce was proud of his son. Even though he wished Jason would use less fatal methods to conduct his business, they were slowly working out a middle ground between Jason’s lethality and Bruce’s determination for letting the law run its course. Maybe they could soon have family breakfasts together again.
Jason sat with remarkable patience as Tim lay curled up in his arms.
“Alright, give him to me. You’ve had a long night, and you should go change into something more comfortable,” Bruce said. He was already dressed in his sweats since he’d been getting ready for bed when the call came from Oracle.
Jason didn’t argue (which was a miracle in and of itself). He carefully shifted Tim into Bruce’s arms. Something in the quiet moment felt tender and special in Bruce’s heart. The soft, worried expression on Jason’s face (a non-angry look on his son’s face that he hadn’t seen in years), and the touchstarved-clinginess spurred on by cuddle-pollen that loosened Tim’s normal tension. He cradled Tim in his arms, heart melting as the teen leaned against his chest.
Jason slowly pulled back.
“You should stay the night. Have breakfast with us,” Bruce said, holding eye contact with his middle son.
“No way,” Jason said immediately. Bruce held in a sad sigh. He hated seeing Jason leave, but he wouldn’t force his son to stay, either. He had to let his kids do their own thing and trust they would come to him when they need to. The fierce urge to control and protect had only ever driven his sons away, and it was an instinct he was working with Black Canary to curb.
Jason started to slip away, when suddenly Tim tensed up. With a yelp Tim shoved himself out of Bruce’s arms and latched onto Jason like a koala.
“No! Mom, don’t leave!” Tim yelped, his voice muffled by Jason’s shirt.
Bruce was baffled for a second before he shook himself. Tim loved messing with his brothers, using the baby-brother card with a deftness that played Dick and Jason like fiddles.
“Let your brother go,” Bruce scolded lightly. He stepped forward to take the wayward teen back from Jason, who looked as surprised at the turn of events as he felt.
“Timmers is perfectly fine right here, asshat!” Jason snapped with a bright ferocity that stopped Bruce in his tracks. Where the fudge-nuggets did that come from? One second ago, Jason looked like he wanted to escape, but now he was clutching Tim and refusing to let go.
Jesus, Bruce was right. Tim played his older brother like a fiddle, pulling on all the right heartstrings. Tim melted in Jason’s arms and settled in with a happy hum. Bruce was tempted to join the hug, but with the way Jason was acting, he was more likely to lose his fingers to Jason’s snapping teeth.
He sighed.
“You should call dickface. He’ll want to know his baby bird is in need of cuddles,” Jason shouted as he left the medbay. Bruce’s phone was already out to do just that.
That night, as he laid in bed (Alone – no cuddles for Batman), staring at the ceiling, Bruce contemplated his life. Had Tim actually called Jason mom? Did that mean anything? Probably not, right? It was just one of Tim’s signature manipulation tactics because he wanted his older brother to cuddle him instead of Bruce.
Why didn’t Tim want Bruce to hold him? Did he do something wrong recently to earn the cold shoulder? Oh no!
Bruce consulted his phone calendar with a speed rivalling Flash. His heart pounded ferociously in his chest.
Oh, thank god. Bruce hadn’t missed any important events in Tim’s life; no science fairs or upcoming photo galleries. (He’d missed one recently but that was a couple months ago and Tim had forgiven him… right?). Ok, nothing to panic over. He hadn’t missed anything. Phew, ok, heart stop racing, now. It’s not necessary.
Tomorrow, he would take Tim out to ice cream. If Tim was holding onto any resentments, Bruce will find out and clear everything up, with his expert emotional intelligence. Ok, he wasn’t an expert… but his therapy with Black Canary had been helping, and she said he was doing better. That had to count for something.
“What?” Maybe Bruce didn’t hear that properly.
“Jason and I are going on a cruise next week,” Tim said simply, like he’d been commenting on the weather.
Tim pulled the coffee pot from Bruce’s frozen hands and poured himself a cup. Dick leaned against the doorway to the kitchen with an expression Bruce can only describe as chaos-evil-incarnate. It was an expression Bruce associated with shattered chandeliers and terrified rogues.
“No, before that. What did you say?” Bruce asked.
“They’re Going On A Cruise For Their Mother-Son. Bonding. Trip!” Dick shouted even though he stood only a few feet away.
Bruce stared at his oldest’s face. He waited patiently. For the punchline to fall. For the hidden camera to appear. For the laughs as all his kids made fun of his stunned face. For literally anything.
Nothing.
Nothing except the evil satisfaction on Dick’s face, and the nonchalance of Tim’s.
There were heavy footsteps in the hall and then Jason appeared in the door, shouldering Dick out of the way.
“Jaylad,” Bruce greeted. Here was the person who would put to rest these absurd claims. Bruce opened his mouth to ask, to follow-up with Tim and Dick’s outlandish statements, but his tongue struggled to articulate the confusion.
“Bruce,” Jason snarked. “Move, old man. I want a bagel.”
“Here, mom, I’ll get it for you,” Tim said. He reached an arm around Bruce’s frozen figure to grab the bag of bagels. Because yes, Bruce was stock-still, frozen like a statue. His internal processor was working double-time trying to parse the words that have been said in this kitchen within the last five minutes.
“Thanks, son,” Jason said with a cheeky smirk.
Bruce was going to have a cardiac.
His sons (they were his sons… they were definitely all adopted… At least last he checked, unless Tim did something… or Babs… he hadn’t pissed her off lately that he knew of…) moved and talked around him, ignoring his presence like he was a gargoyle perched on the edge of the roof. Unmoving and ugly and unloved.
The kitchen grew dim as time passed, and the sun went down. Bruce was left alone in the dark. Alfred appeared with his traditional stoicness.
“Master Bruce, if you intend on lurking in the kitchen, may I suggest relocating over there? I need the counter space for chopping.”
“Alf,” Bruce said, his voice like wind through dead leaves. “Tim calls Jason mom.”
“I see nothing wrong with the terms of endearment, chum,” Alfred said pointedly.
“…”
“I’m frankly glad I got to live long enough to meet a great-grandson,” Alfred said.
Bruce marched straight to the Batcomputer and pulled up his adoption records. He had to make sure everything was in order. It was still his name on Tim’s adoption certificate. And Jason’s, and Dick’s too. Everyone was accounted for.
Phew ok. No need for panic. His sons were just having fun at his expense. They loved giving him grey hairs and heart attacks. In a week, they would forget all about this silly little joke and everything would go back to normal.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered without looking.
“Good evening, Mr. Wayne! It’s Penny, your social worker. I hope I’m not interrupting your night, but I wanted to call you about a pending adoption request for the custody of Timothy Drake.”