Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So, what’s with the bag?” Dick glances at Jason as he asks the question, but his gaze is soon drawn back to the adorable sight of tiny Tim. The little guy is clambering up on a kitchen stool almost as tall as he is, a look of fierce concentration on his miniature face.

Aw, how is he so cute? I need to take all the pictures while he’s like this. Dick follows up on the thought by lifting his phone and snapping a quick photo.

“Ho ho ho,” Jason says, then huffs as he sets down the large burlap bag he’s been carrying. It lands on the floor with a dull squish and a mysterious sloshing sound. “One thing I can tell ya, it ain’t fu- I mean, frikkin’ Christmas presents.”

Timmy finally manages to make it up on the stool, and immediately spots a mug of what looks like hot chocolate, steaming on the counter. Dick smiles at the sight, realizing Alfred must have prepared it for the little boy. Alfred’s incredible. He somehow produced a tiny outfit in exactly Timmy’s size for him to change into the moment Jason brought him in. The man really does seem to be omniscient sometimes.

Perching on the stool, the little boy carefully lifts the mug with both hands before cautiously tasting it. The look of absolute shock and wonder on his face makes Dick want to wrap him up in a blanket and protect him forever. It also has him wishing the Drakes were still alive to answer for their neglect. He’s pieced together a lot over the years about his middle brother’s childhood, and the picture isn’t pretty. How can a six year old boy not know what hot chocolate tastes like?

Jason is observing as well, a dark glower on his face. “Even I got to drink hot chocolate growin’ up, and my life was a goddamn mess,” he mutters under his breath. He’s obviously thinking along the same lines as Dick.

Well, at least we have Timmy now. Hey, maybe we can make sure he experiences some of the things he missed during his real childhood! And then hopefully he’ll have those new memories to carry with him, once we get him changed back to his normal age.

Dick’s pretty sure he’s wearing a besotted smile as he watches the admittedly very cute little kid sipping at his hot chocolate. After a minute, he looks back at Jason. His gaze catches on the large bag again and he frowns slightly. His brother still hasn’t really answered his question. Jason doesn’t have the best history when it comes to mysterious bags with questionable contents—well, questionable is probably the kindest word to describe that one time with all those severed heads. Ew. Still, he’s come a really long way since then, healing emotionally and beginning to move past some of the trauma and anger related to his death and resurrection.

I really hope that isn’t a bag of heads. Or any kind of human body parts, actually. Why can’t it just be gifts? I like gifts.

Clearing his throat, he tries the question again. “I don’t think I’ve seen you let go of that thing once since you guys got here, and I’m guessing it’s probably not your laundry.” He raises an interrogative eyebrow. “Seriously, what’s in the bag, Jason?”

Jason groans in what sounds like annoyance, hefting the bag a little before letting it fall back to the floor with a sullen squish. “Yeah, I haven’t let go of it yet ‘cause I can’t.” At Dick’s concerned look, Jason rolls his eyes. “When that fu—” He cuts himself off, his eyes flicking guiltily over to Timmy, who’s watching them both with bright interest in his big, profoundly innocent blue eyes. Jason quickly changes his word choice. “Fudging bi—I mean, witch hit Tim with that spell just before I knocked her out, there was a bunch of smoke. By the time it cleared, there was Timmy, looking like he does now, surrounded by all this… well…”

He hesitates, making a face. “Anyway, I called Zatanna and she showed up to take the witch away. She checked out the spell, and explained magic doesn’t really circumvent conservation of mass, it just usually looks like it does when performed by an experienced practitioner. Like, most of the time if magic shrinks something, the extra mass is converted to energy or whatever. I guess this magician sucked at that, so all the extra mass when Timmy got transformed… well. It was just sorta… still there.”

Wait, what? Like… bits and pieces of him?

Against his will, Dick’s eyes track very slowly back down to the large bag, resting innocuously on the floor at Jason’s feet. “Uh.” He stares at it, hesitating. He doesn’t actually want the answer to the question he’s about to ask. It forces its way out of his mouth anyway, maybe because his detective training just refuses to let a mystery go unsolved. More likely, it’s just ghoulish curiosity. “So that’s…?”

Jason grins, apparently enjoying his discomfort. “Fu—uh, fudge yeah! It’s the rest of him. Zatanna says I gotta keep it close, ‘cause he’ll need it when the spell runs out and he changes back.”

Ew. Oh dear god, why did I have to ask? I could have gone the rest of my life happy, not having heard that.

Dick swallows, feeling slightly queasy. He edges a couple of careful, tiny steps farther away from Jason and the bag of profound horror. “Oh. That’s… disgusting, Jay, what the heck?”

“Eh, what can ya do? Magic!” Jason waggles his eyebrows and then laughs at whatever Dick’s face looks like right now. He clearly finds the entire situation hilarious, because he’s a massive jerk. His sense of humor has always been a little twisted.

Dick pouts, then searches the counter. Something’s missing. It takes him a moment to realize exactly what. “Hey wait, where’s my coffee?” He’s sure he had a mug a few minutes ago, before all the excitement of Jason bringing Timmy home.

Jason shrugs. “Dunno, all’s I saw when we came in was the hot chocolate Alfie set out for Timmers.” He blinks at Dick, who blinks back at him as realization gradually dawns on both of them.

Dismayed, Dick winces. “Alfred didn’t make any hot chocolate for Timmy, did he?” He sighs.

Oops.

Jason snorts, shaking his head. “Welp, guess that explains why the kid liked it so damn much. And why he was surprised at the taste. Even Tim probably didn’t drink coffee regularly yet as a six year old. Little coffee monster.” He sounds both resigned and reluctantly amused.

As one, they both turn back to check on Timmy—who, Dick realizes with slowly growing dismay, is gone.

Double oops. Well, he’s only six. How far could he possibly have gone?

Chapter Text

“Ah, fudge. I mean, fuck,” Jason swears, making a comical face. “Damn, I can’t wait till Timbo turns back to normal. At this rate, I’m gonna get so used to censoring myself, I’ll probably slip up in front of some lowlifes next time I’m out on patrol and fudge over my whole darn reputation.” He pauses for a moment, slowly blushing as he realizes what he just said. “You didn’t hear that.” The tips of his ears are turning red.

Dick grins, taking way too much enjoyment in his brother’s predicament. “No, it makes perfect sense! That darn reputation did take you a heckin’ lot of goshdarn work to build up.”

Jason eyes him, scowling, clearly not appreciating his contributions to the conversation. Whatever. Dick knows he’s a joy to be around. “You’re not helping, Dickhead. God fuckin’ damnit. Fuck. I’ll deal with that shit later. Right now…” He shakes his head, then looks around, a worried expression creeping onto his face.

Dick nods, sobering. Entertaining as it is to watch him trip all over himself trying to adjust to having a little kid around, they have other priorities. “Where did he go?” The stool is empty, as is the mug from which the little boy was drinking the last time he saw him.

“How is he already so damn sneaky? He’s only six!” Jason hefts the bag with a grunt and a very disturbing slosh, then opens the pantry and pokes his head in. After a moment, he turns and begins to check inside of cabinets the small child might reasonably be able to cram himself into.

“Well, he followed us around Gotham unobserved for years and figured out our secret identities when he was that age—or at least, not much older than that,” Dick reasons. Wait… extremely curious, intelligent child with a deep-seated interest in Batman, sneaking off to explore the home belonging to his biggest hero… Hmm. “Actually, that gives me a pretty good idea for where he might have gone.”

“No, wait, seriously?” Jason raises an eyebrow. “He’s fuckin’ six, and goddamn tiny. Why didn’t I know he figured it all out that early?” He frowns.

“Maybe because you guys don’t have the best history?” Dick shrugs at the other man’s pained expression. “I mean, I know you get along okay these days, but it would make sense if Tim doesn’t talk about the past with you. He might not want to upset you, y’know?”

Jason still looks disturbed. “Hell. I think you might be right. Guess I gotta have a heart to heart with Baby Bird, once he’s back to normal. Sounds like he’s got a lot of stories, and I’m more than ready to hear ‘em, now.”

I’m glad Jay’s come this far. Our family’s weathered so much, it’s good to see some of the rifts finally starting to heal.

Dick smiles, then makes his way down the hall as Jason follows him, checking out some of the more obvious hiding places for a kid along the way. They stop in front of the clock that conceals the main entrance to the Batcave from within Wayne Manor.

“No way he already figured out the secret entrance—” Jason trails off, apparently remembering who they’re talking about. “Yeah, okay, it’s Tim. Of fuckin’ course that’s where he’d be.”

Dick opens the clock and enters, followed by Jason. They both stare down into the Cave, where they see an excited Timmy exploring the Batcave, expression eager and curious. He’s apparently somehow conscripted Damian into showing him around. The sixteen year old looks bemused, entirely out of his depth dealing with the small child at his side. It’s oddly adorable.

“I wonder how he knew this was here?” Dick whispers. “I thought maybe we’d find him looking for the entrance? But there he is. Are you sure he doesn’t remember anything from when he was older?”

Jason shrugs, shifting the bag on his shoulders with a wet squishing sound that makes Dick bite back a whimper and recoil slightly in disgust as he remembers what’s in there. His cruel brother simply chuckles at his reaction before starting down the stairs, letting out a loud whistle to get the younger boys’ attention. “Yo Dames, you let Little Bit in here, or did he get in on his own?”

Damian scoffs at the suggestion. “I am by no means fool enough to compromise the security of the Cave, particularly on behalf of any incarnation of Drake!” He glances down as he speaks and thus catches Timmy’s flinch. There’s no missing the way the tiny boy curls inward at his words, a blank mask shuttering his formerly open expression.

Damian’s mouth drops open slightly in a rare show of surprise. He flushes, immediately stooping to the child’s level to awkwardly reassure him. “My apologies, young Timothy. I meant no insult to you. While your older self and I enjoy a certain level of playful banter, it was inappropriate of me to speak so regarding you. Please excuse me.” He glares earnestly at the small child, as though to convince him of his honesty through the sheer ferocity of his glowering countenance.

Aw, Dami…

Dick figures this is actually going well, considering Damian definitely hasn’t spent very much time around small children.

Miraculously, instead of fleeing in terror or bursting into tears, Timmy unfreezes, blinking up at the other boy. He then smiles shyly and nods before turning to Jason. “I, uh, found my way in here on my own.”

“How?” Dick asks plaintively. Smart kid or not, it doesn’t make sense.

Timmy shrugs diffidently. “It was obvious, really. I woke up in a pile of… stuff—” A soft noise of horror escapes Dick as he darts a quick glance at the bag of nightmares on Jason’s back.

Damian looks confused, so Dick explains the situation to him in a hurried whisper, resulting in an alarmed expression on Damian’s face as both of them quickly back a few steps farther away from Jason and his ghastly burden.

Timmy just regards them with a mildly confused, concerned expression before continuing. “—Along with something that looked an awful lot like a vigilante costume sized to fit a grown-up. And I was next to a guy with a Bat on his chest. As if that weren’t enough, I also overheard Batman’s voice ordering the guy to take me back to the Batcave before someone else who sounded an awful lot like Mr. Pennyworth interrupted to tell him the Cave was no place for children.” The little boy tilts his head at them and shrugs again. “So… When I got here, I started looking around for a cave. And then I saw him—” he nods to an embarrassed-looking Damian, “—open that clock, and I just followed him in.”

That’s pretty resourceful for a kid his age. Dick’s impressed. “Good job, Timmy!” He pats the little boy on the head and then tries to mask the quick flash of pity he feels when Timmy first flinches away, then leans into his hand with a tremulous little sigh.

A frown grows on Damian’s face as he watches the interaction.

Chapter Text

Damian stares at the child before him, so small and vulnerable. This boy is not what he would have imagined, had he ever cared to think of what his brother might have been like at this age. The thought makes him uncomfortable. It feels as though he is seeing something he should not.

Drake will not be pleased to find he has revealed vulnerabilities whilst in this state. Still… I had not realized his childhood was such as to render him touch starved.

He is aware of both Todd and Grayson watching him, bodies slightly tense in readiness to intervene—perhaps they expect him to lash out at the child? He frowns, hoping they feel appropriately guilty when all he does is smile in what he imagines is a reassuring manner and take his smallest brother’s hand. “Come, young Timothy, and I shall introduce you to my cat.”

It’s impossible to continue to refer to this tiny person as Drake, even in the confines of his own mind. Timothy it is, then.

Timothy’s eyes grow even wider, a feat Damian had not previously thought possible. “I’ve always wanted a cat!” he squeaks, small frame practically vibrating with sheer excitement.

Damian blinks, but manages not to react with more than a small nod.

Timothy likes cats? I wonder why I was not aware of this.

A slight feeling of guilt rises as he wonders whether this is one more thing he took from his middle brother in their early years, when his ignorance and competitiveness very nearly drove the older teen out of the family altogether. Did everyone but him know that Timothy liked cats, and perhaps wanted one of his own? He meets his older brothers’ eyes over Timothy, questioning, and both Grayson and Todd shake their heads slightly, expressions troubled.

“Fu- uh, fudge, that seems like somethin’ at least one of us shoulda known,” Todd mutters, sounding aggrieved. He sighs, shifting the bag—apparently filled with quantities of organic matter in an unknown but likely disgusting state of early decay—on his shoulders with a faint rustling sound accompanied by a small, viscous-sounding splash. “Seems like I’m finding out all kinds of shi- uh, stuff, about Timbo today.”

Damian would take a moment to puzzle over this statement, and the incongruous nature of Todd’s almost resentful tone, if he were not entirely distracted by the reminder of what, precisely, is contained in the bag resting upon Todd’s shoulder.

Pah, I cannot believe he brought such an offensive sack of offal into the Cave. Surely he could have left it on the landing?

Todd smirks annoyingly as Damian and Grayson both cast looks of utter horror at the bag. Ignoring him, Damian turns to shepherd Timothy carefully up the stairs and back to the Manor proper to meet Alfred the cat.

If my brother has a fondness for cats, and has perhaps been denying himself the pleasure of their company for years so as not to offend me, then I must make amends to right this wrong. I truly thought we had worked through our differences, but perhaps he is still wary of offending me or impinging on what he may perceive as my territory. I shall show him his concerns are unnecessary. And then when he returns to normal, I shall recruit him for assistance running fundraisers to assist Gotham’s proliferation of strays.

“Come along, Timothy, and we shall find Alfred the cat. At this time of evening, he tends to enjoy resting in front of the fireplace in the library.” He leads the way, pausing frequently to wait while the curious little boy at his side stops to inspect various paintings and curiosities along the way. His brother’s inquisitive nature, at least, is exactly as he would have expected at this age. It’s oddly reassuring.

“What’s over there?” Timothy points down one of the many branching hallways.

Glancing in the direction he’s indicating, Damian shrugs. “This is the family wing. Our bedrooms are there.”

“Oh,” Timothy says, deflating slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. Should we go back to the kitchen? I don’t want to be a bother or disturb anyone—if this part of the house is just supposed to be for family—”

To his horror, Damian realizes no one has yet thought to inform Timothy of his role and place in the Wayne family. A flurry of emotions tumble through his mind, including disbelief, indignation, and resentment—surely he’s the worst possible person to share this information with the boy? However, as he glances around, he realizes Grayson is no longer with them, apparently having decided Timothy was safe enough with him. Most likely, he has gone to Father to report the additional details about the spell, and the abominable bag of refuse. Todd himself is nowhere to be seen.

Blinking down at the flustered child before him, Damian decides to break the news cleanly and quickly. “You are a part of this family, Timothy.” He hesitates, uncertain how much of his current situation the child has been made aware of. “Do you know what happened to you?”

Timothy’s staring at him, eyes wide. “Well, I figured out pretty fast I’m supposed to be bigger. That uniform I was sort of wearing when I woke up—it was big enough for a grown up. And everyone here seems to know me. I thought maybe I work with you guys, when I’m older? And something bad happened, with that spell Jason was talking about. I guess it must have made me look like this again.”

“That is an accurate summary of the situation,” Damian says, experiencing a flood of relief that this child is intelligent and mature enough to accept such an outlandish experience without tears or recalcitrance. “However, you are still missing important pieces of information. For example, you do not merely work with us—you were adopted into the family when you were a teenager. You have a room in the family wing, and just as much a right to be here as any of us.”

As he speaks the words he never in a thousand years would have expected to say back when he first arrived at the Manor, Damian feels a sense of relief like a weight lifting from his back. While he and Drake arrived at a kind of peace some time ago, their competitive banter softened until it lacked true intent or viciousness, that truce remained unspoken. Drake seemed satisfied enough with the ability to walk through his own home without being attacked, verbally or physically, and Damian was relieved when the other teen didn’t seem to require an actual apology from him. Such an admission of wrongdoing would have lacerated his pride abominably.

Now, he wonders if it was a mistake to leave so much unsaid. Watching the little boy’s mouth fall open, emotions flitting across his expressive face, he realizes with some surprise that it wouldn’t hurt anymore to apologize to Drake. It might even give him a needed sense of reparation and closure to an ugly chapter of his life.

When you grow up again, Timothy, I will apologize to you properly. Make sure you know you are my brother, and welcome.

“Oh,” Timothy says after a moment. He blinks. “My parents—?”

Of course. Damian should have realized the boy would extrapolate his parents’ deaths after being informed he was adopted. His eyes widen and he throws another frantic look up the hallway, searching for Grayson, Father, damnation, even Todd—

Of course, no one is there to ease the burden of this revelation. “They passed away whilst you were a teenager, and Father chose to adopt you. I… am sorry, for your future loss.” He blinks, uncertain what to do.

Timothy is very silent for a long moment, and then Damian starts at the feeling of something touching his hand. Looking down, he sees the boy’s tiny, pale hand has slipped into his. He closes his own hand automatically, cradling the little one in his grip. “I’d like to see your cat now, please,” the boy says softly.

Nodding, Damian resumes walking toward the library. That’s something he can do.

Chapter Text

As he hauls himself up the stairs at the end of the procession, Jason sighs gustily and stretches. This is the first chance he’s really had to just relax and think since all the shit went down earlier with that stupid magician.

He frowns, pausing mid-stretch to heft the bag a couple of times, judging its weight. His eyes narrow. If Timmy weighs more than forty pounds right now, fully clothed and soaking wet, Jason’ll eat his damn helmet. That, plus what’s in the bag…

There’s no way that’s enough. Damn it, Baby Bird, you need to eat more!

Sure, Tim’s clearly small framed. When the spell first hit, Jason initially thought the kid was maybe four years old at most until the boy corrected him, but…

He glares at the bag angrily, irrationally resenting it for not weighing more.

That’s not healthy, Tim! Well, guess someone needs to be looked after a little better once he’s back to normal. Pancakes, Timbo, and dinners that consist of more than just energy drinks and coffee. I’m gonna take care of you until I’m sure you’re not gonna collapse on patrol some night.

Feeling slightly better now his mind is made up, Jason resumes his trek up the stairs and out through the clock. It takes a bit of searching—and damn, there’s a lot of holly and shit strewn all over the Manor right now—but he eventually finds the rest of the family assembled in the library. It looks like everyone’s pretending to read or play board games together. Of course, they’re actually all staring, entranced, at the adorable spectacle of Timmy cradling Alfred the cat in his lap.

The little boy is gazing down with an expression of awed rapture at the comfortably purring cat, one arm curled around the small body as he uses his other hand to carefully, gently stroke the soft black fur. Alfred the cat kneads his white paws and his eyes fall closed, a loud, happy rumble emanating from him as Timmy’s eyes shine with happiness.

Damian is seated right next to them on the couch, hands sinking to his lap from where they had been hovering in the air, probably because he hadn’t expected Tim to know how to properly handle a cat. The teen has a gobsmacked look on his face and he’s staring at Timmy like he’s never seen him before.

Damn, it’s always fun to get a reminder that the demon brat’s a real goddamn boy these days. Good to see he’s being nice to the kid.

A loud click draws Jason’s attention over to Dick, who’s grinning from ear to ear and taking more pictures, because of course he is. A soft chime from the direction of the side table, where Steph and Cass are pretending to play checkers, is shortly followed by their whispers and giggles.

Jason’s phone chimes in his pocket a moment later. He rolls his eyes, but pulls it out to check the picture.

Damn, that’s really fudgin’ cute, he thinks as he stares at it. After a moment, he saves it as his lockscreen. Fuck, I’m getting soft.

Across the room, Bruce is watching the boys over the top of the newspaper he’s pretending to read. The look on his face is so familiar it sends Jason’s heart plummeting for a second. That’s guilt.

The fuck does B have to be guilty about right now?

Jason glares at the older man. If B’s feeling guilty, he’s probably been an ass to someone, so he totally deserves it. Bruce spots him scowling and clears his throat, quickly resuming his study of the newspaper, but the damage is done.

“Got somethin’ to share with the class, old man?” Jason adjusts his grip on the bag and notices with amusement that everyone in the room—except Timmy and the cat—eyes it with mistrust for a long moment. It’s like they think it’s going to burst open and traumatize them at any moment. It’s hilarious.

Bruce and Dick both look like they want to pretend it doesn’t exist, Damian seems ready to jump out of his seat and leap away if Jason takes one step closer to him, and Steph looks like she might be sick. Cass just steadily gazes at him for a long, torturous moment before smirking and redirecting her attention to Bruce, who clears his throat awkwardly before beginning to speak.

“Years ago, I was… aware Tim wanted a pet.” The man keeps his gaze fixed on the little boy, whose eyes are now drooping as he yawns, head lolling sideways onto a very uncomfortable-looking Damian’s shoulder. It’s only like six o’clock in the evening, but kids need a lot of sleep. Probably.

Bruce continues talking after a long pause. “I told him no.”

Of course you did, ya big bastard. Jason stares judgingly at Bruce, who manages to look slightly remorseful, the emotionally constipated lug.

Cass tilts her head, drawing Bruce’s attention. “Fix it,” she suggests softly, eyes shining.

Bruce lifts a brow, looking back over to the couch. Damian, apparently now resigned to his fate as a pillow, is staring down at the sleeping boy resting against his side with a comical mixture of bemused horror and reluctant fondness. Watching them together, an uncharacteristically soft expression crosses Bruce’s face. Slowly, he nods.

Damian’s head turns at that, an expression of banked excitement lighting his face and making him look younger than sixteen. “We are getting another cat?” he whispers, sounding delighted.

“For Tim!” Dick scolds mildly. “You can’t just take Timmy’s new cat once we get it!”

“I would not.” Damian rolls his eyes at the insult and uses his free hand to put his earbuds in, thumbing his phone to start some music. He then slides the phone into his pocket and closes his eyes, apparently planning to shut himself away from the room and all the minor annoyances therein in the timeless manner of all teenagers, everywhere.

Got the right idea there, Baby Bat. Jason heaves a sigh, then drops into a nearby armchair, letting the bag settle on the floor at his side with a faint splash. Damn, for bein’ such a tiny little thing, Baby Bird sure starts to get heavy after a while.

He rolls his shoulders, grunting, then pauses. Everyone’s staring at the bag again, expressions of morbid curiosity and revulsion on their faces. Even Damian has opened one eye to regard it for a moment with a mistrustful scowl before he transfers the glare to Jason.

Eventually, apparently satisfied that Jason isn’t gonna do something awful like grab someone and stuff them into the bag—or whatever the fuck kind of craziness everyone expects from him—Damian’s eye slowly closes again. He relaxes back into the couch as the others resume their activities, one by one.

Lulled into a relaxed state by the quiet murmur of voices and his own massive sleep debt, Jason drifts off.

Chapter Text

Watching his children murmur quietly amongst themselves as they relax in the library, Bruce feels an uncharacteristic sense of warmth permeate his being as he allows himself to doze in a semi-conscious state in his favorite armchair.

It was a considerable shock earlier when he received Jason’s communication, calling for backup at barely past dusk. Normally, it takes considerably longer before anyone encounters significant difficulties on patrol. In fact, the call came through slightly before patrol would normally start for most of them as apparently Red Hood and Red Robin had decided to team up for an early joint patrol. Regardless, the information that Tim had been affected by an unknown spell had caused him considerable concern.

He needn’t have worried. According to Zatanna, the spell was cast by an inexperienced magic user and should wear off on its own within a few hours to a day. Against his will, Bruce’s gaze drifts in the direction of the bag of—material—resting on the floor by Jason’s side. He shudders, looking away.

I wish it were safe to leave that revolting thing outside the room. Actually, I wonder how being near a fire is affecting it…?

Bruce grimaces, mentally noting he should consult with Zatanna at some point to find out if they need to have a preservation charm cast on the material within to prevent any unpleasant aromas. His eyes narrow. It wouldn’t take long for someone to dash into the hallway to retrieve the bag, if Tim were to show signs of beginning to revert. In fact, he wouldn’t put it past Jason to exaggerate the need to keep the bag close, simply to maximize his ability to torment his siblings. Suspicions rising, he turns to regard his son—who, he sees after a moment’s surprise, is currently peacefully asleep.

His brows rise and he allows himself a faint smile at the sight. Vigilante work is grueling, and the schedule is demanding. He’ll let him sleep for as long as he needs.

“They’re dropping like flies,” Dick murmurs, following his gaze.

Brows rising, Bruce turns to look around the room. Sure enough, Damian appears to have fallen asleep as well, chin resting on top of Timmy’s head where they sit together on the couch. Near the side table, Stephanie and Cass seem to have given up their game and are currently nestled together in a pile of cushions they appear to have assembled on the window seat. They may not actually be asleep, but there’s no way he’s moving that blanket aside to check. “I see,” he says, voice low to avoid disturbing any of them. If his children are falling asleep so easily this early in the evening, they must need the rest.

At that moment, the door quietly opens and Alfred steps into the room holding a large tray in his hands. A single brow rises as he takes in the scene. “Gingerbread and tea,” he murmurs as he places the tray on the table at Bruce’s elbow and then begins to pour. “Master Bruce.” He hands him a cup of perfectly prepared tea and a small plate piled with festively shaped cookies. A tempting, spiced aroma rises, making his mouth water.

“Thank you, Alfred.” They had an early, light supper of sandwiches here in the library a few minutes ago, no one wanting to overwhelm the child with a formal family meal. Apparently Alfred decided they needed tea and dessert, as well.

Nobody stirs at the sound of their voices, and Bruce wonders with amusement what it would take to wake any of them right now. “Whatever happened to their highly trained vigilante reflexes?”

“They feel safe,” Dick says softly, a warm smile on his face as his gaze travels across his siblings. “If this were anywhere else, they’d all wake up the second we made any noise. But here, they know on some level they don’t need to worry about that.” His head tilts. “Well, okay, maybe not Timmy. Looks like he was a heavy sleeper as a kid. But the others, yeah.” He turns with a quiet word of thanks as Alfred hands him his own highly sugared tea and snack.

The thought that all of them consider the Manor, and his presence, a safe haven fills Bruce with warmth. As he regards his sleeping children, especially the pair on the couch, a frown grows on his face as words from earlier in the evening play through his mind.

I never considered the difference in my treatment of Tim versus Damian. But it was there, all the same. Tim was always so easy—never asked for much, and generally accepted it if he didn’t get something he wanted. At least, if it only affected him. Now, if he considered it to be for the greater good, then god help me if I tried to stop or deny him anything he set his mind on.

Remembering the boy who’d wanted a cat—and accepted it so quietly and understandingly when he was denied, Bruce wonders for the first time how it must have felt for him, when Damian came into their lives and home, and received pet after pet. The pang of guilt and regret he feels is deep, and familiar.

There is nothing I can do to change the past. When Tim came to me, I was in something of a fugue state of grief and routine, and it took a lot—nearly everything that was left of his childhood—for me to come out of it.

What can he do to make it up to the boy? Giving him a cat is the obvious solution, but that won’t stop the situation from recurring. Tim is his quiet, accepting child, who won’t speak up for himself. It can be difficult to discern his needs past the louder demands of his more vocal siblings.

Still, Bruce is Batman. Now that he’s consciously recognized the problem, he should be able to keep an eye on it and do better by his precious son.

“Hey B, what kind of cat are you getting Timmy?” Dick’s smiling at him encouragingly, an understanding expression on his kind face. It’s entirely possible his oldest son has been following his thoughts this entire time.

Bruce briefly wonders why he trained all of his children as detectives, then dismisses the thought as unworthy. He’s proud of them, even when their insights are personally inconvenient or irritating. He considers Dick’s question, then chuckles softly. “I have no idea, but I know exactly who to ask.”

Selina will definitely appreciate the chance to find a new home for one of her many strays. He reaches for his phone and lifts it to make a call, then hesitates, gaze traveling once again over his sleeping family members. Stephanie and Cass are both stirring and reaching for refreshments, having apparently been revived by the scent of fresh gingerbread, but the others slumber on.

Maybe I should text.

Keying in a message and then sending it off, Bruce allows himself another faint smile. It may be too little, too late, but at least he’s trying. Tim will finally get his cat.

Chapter Text

“Wait—what do you mean, he’s fuckin’ gone? He’s a baby, there were six goddamn Bats in that room, and one of us was Cass. How the hell did Tiny Tim give everyone the slip while I was asleep?”

I can’t believe we fuckin’ lost the little brat again. Why is he so sneaky?

All Jason gets are blank, worried stares and helpless shrugs. Cass looks vaguely guilty, glancing once at Steph and blushing faintly. Well, that explains that one. Those two have been pretty damn obvious in their interest in each other lately. Fine, he’ll allow it. Young love can be distracting. Probably. Maybe he’d know if he’d had a chance to actually go on the date he’d planned earlier—

He cuts off that train of thought as useless right now, and a little bit weird, considering. Anyway. When Jason woke up, Damian was sound asleep on the couch, while B was fuckin’ snoring in the chair, so that just leaves…

Jason spins to aim his glare directly at Dick, who retreats to the chandelier with a startled, “Meep!”

“Dickie,” Jason says softly, heaving the bag onto his shoulder and slowly stalking closer. He doesn’t take his eyes off his acrobat brother, because the shifty fucker will flip right out the window if he gives him a chance. “Where’s Timmy? Huh?”

“I didn’t see him leave!” Dick peeks at Jason from between two ornate branches on the heavy chandelier, which chooses that moment to emit a worrying creak.

“Dick, get down from there,” Bruce orders in a tired voice without opening his eyes. “One of these days it will break, and then where will you be?”

“Flipping away to land safely on the bookshelves?” Dick tries.

“In big fuckin’ trouble—actually, that’s where you are now if you don’t help me find Timmy—” Jason edges slightly to the side to get out from under the chandelier, though. No reason to take unnecessary risks.

“I’m sorry! I was taking a nap!” Dick sounds really damn guilty, and Jason sighs. It’s not like he can blame the guy for falling asleep when pretty much everyone else in the room did the same thing. Well, maybe not Steph and Cass, who were probably holding hands and playing footsie or whatever. That’s really goddamn cute and he’ll totally be happy for them later, once they’ve found Timmy.

Except…

“Dickie,” Jason says slowly, brows drawing together as he stares at the other man. “When I woke up just now, you were literally doing a handstand over by the window.”

“Yeah,” Dick nods, flipping down from the chandelier to land on his feet at Jason’s side. “Like I said, I was taking a nap.” Well, okay then.

Fuckin’ weirdo, Jason thinks, with an unwilling wave of fondness. “Okay, let’s do this!”

After all, how hard can it be to find one little kid…

In a gigantic mansion…

With so many rooms Jason’s pretty sure no one’s ever explored it all.

Aw, fuck. Well, hopefully he’ll come out when he gets hungry. Although at this point, I wouldn’t put it past him to find the hoards of peanut butter and marshmallows his older self probably has stashed all over this damn house. He could live off that shit for weeks.

He heaves a huge sigh, rubbing at his forehead. “Okay, I’ll start with the Cave.” Chances are good the bright, impetuous little boy would want to go back and explore in there some more, unsupervised.

Dick nods, still looking vaguely guilty. “I’ll check the attic. There are a lot of small spaces and boxes up there a kid might get stuck in.”

Fuck, Jason hadn’t even thought of that. “Cool,” he nods.

Bruce rises to his feet. “I will inform Oracle, and request her help checking the internal security camera recordings.” He moves toward the door.

“I shall begin to check the grounds. Titus will assist.” Damian leaves the room at a pace that almost makes it look like he’s actually worried about the missing boy.

“And Cass and I will check the rest of the Manor, starting with the family wing. Maybe he just woke up sleepy and went to find a bed to lie down in,” Steph contributes, bouncing toward the door. She doesn’t seem too worried. Catching Jason’s eye, she winks. “Don’t worry. Tim’s resourceful at any age. He’ll be fine.”

Jason blinks at her, heat rising to his cheeks. “I’m not worried,” he blusters. “Why would you think I was worried?”

She eyes him knowingly for a moment, then grins. “Oh, no reason.” She winks again.

The fuck? What does she know?

The woman doesn’t give him time to ask, instead slipping out of the room with Cass by her side. As they leave, Cass sends him a knowing, sympathetic look. Damn. That’s probably how Steph knows. There aren’t many secrets between those two. Oh well, worry about that shit later. Dick’s already gone, probably straight out the window to take a shortcut up the side of the house to the attic.

Well, guess I better get down to the Cave. I sure as shit hope B finds something on those recordings fast, because the last thing I wanna do tonight is to go spelunking in bat shit lookin’ for a lost kid. This is not how I saw this evening going. 

The nice dinner he’d planned to make is just going to have to wait. Well, everything should keep okay until tomorrow. He huffs, frowning. Next time Tim spots a suspicious magic trace on one of his damn tracking gizmos and decides he needs to investigate it, he can damn well check it out alone. Jason considers, and then revises that thought. He’ll still go along to provide backup for Red Robin, but next time, he’ll stick close enough to jump in front of any stray magic spells that get thrown their way.

Shaking his head, Jason makes his way back down to the Cave and starts his search. Batman’s already at the computer, absorbed in his task and apparently totally ignoring the incongruent presence of a large red bow on the Batcomputer.

Jason chuckles, not having noticed that before in his distraction. Looks like Dick and the girls made it down to the Cave in their decorating frenzy earlier in the day. Hell, at this point it wouldn’t surprise him to see another giant red bow, plus tinsel and festive lights on the damn Batmobile. At the thought, he turns toward the car, brow raised.

Now, that’s an idea. What kid could resist a chance to check out the honest to god Batmobile?

He heads over, eyes scanning the vicinity for a small, eminently sneaky figure. He doesn’t find anything, but the comically oversized bow wrapped around the entire vehicle like it’s a giant present is hilarious. The tinsel on the car’s steering wheel and mistletoe hung over the driver’s seat make him laugh, too. As he turns, looking for the next logical place to check, his gaze catches on the dinosaur. Yeah, that’s a possibility. The problem is, there are just too many places in the Cave that would absolutely appeal to a young Tim.

Damn, this might just take all night at this rate. Oh well. Timmy’s worth it.

Chapter Text

Babs stretches and sighs, considering the merits of a mug of spiced cider. Thoughts of the festive spread Alfred’s likely to be putting on later intrude, but she pushes them back. There’s still more work to do tonight. She’s tracking the money trail for an international cartel, and it would be great to have something to send to Black Canary by morning. Ideally, much sooner. On the other hand, cider.

She’s broken from her musings by a priority alert from the Cave. “Oracle here,” she says, voice modulator activated. “Go ahead.” As she listens, she keys in a quick subroutine to continue searching and flagging dirty accounts and shell companies for potential money laundering. She’ll still have to verify them manually, but at least the grunt work will be done. Considering the deaging incident earlier this evening involving Red Robin, she has a feeling the Bat business is going to take priority.

“Little Red is missing,” Batman’s gravelly voice says without preamble, using their previously agreed upon code name for Timmy. “I’m checking the Manor cameras as we speak. Your assistance would be appreciated.”

Well, that’s something I can do. I wonder where Timmy wandered off to? Knowing what he was like at that age, I wouldn’t be surprised if he went walkabouts in downtown Gotham. Although how he’d make it that far is a puzzle. Maybe he just went to check out the old Drake Manor?

“Understood. Checking now.” She syncs with the Batcomputer and quickly checks on Batman’s progress. It looks like he lost the child’s trail almost immediately, the little boy apparently having a natural predilection for evading cameras. “I find it slightly disturbing how good he is at giving us the slip. Just how old is he, again?”

“Six,” Batman replies grimly. “And already experienced at following us on patrol.”

On a hunch, Oracle switches to the external Wayne Manor security cameras. In current time, they show Damian and Titus, doing a sweep across the grounds. As she watches, it looks like they pick something up, the big dog purposefully trotting along with his nose to the ground. She opens a line. “Robin, what have you got?”

His voice answers immediately as he disappears outside the viewframe of the camera she’s watching. “Titus has picked up a trail, but…” He curses in Arabic. “It appears to end here.”

She switches to another camera to find him again, looking up and down the road just outside the Manor gates, and immediately understands what probably happened. “He must have gotten into a car.” Swallowing back a curse of her own, she pushes aside the many harrowing possibilities that scenario invokes in favor of focusing on finding him.

That kid better not have been kidnapped, or I won’t be able to answer for what any of us is going to do, she thinks, grimly.

Skipping back through the footage at the entrance to Wayne Manor by thirty-second intervals, she quickly spots Timmy, squeezing between the bars of the heavy gate. Checking the time stamp, she sees it was about an hour ago. Great. On the screen, he waits for a moment, then brightens, looking at something on the road beyond. Oracle switches to an outward-facing camera and watches the tiny child enter a brightly painted cab. “What the hell?” she murmurs, brows rising in surprise.

“What?” Batman growls savagely, and she remembers he’s been listening this entire time.

“He took a cab,” she answers simply, a faint smile curving her lips. “Resourceful little brat.” She jumps through traffic cameras, easily following the cab’s progress toward the city. While she’s tracking the vehicle’s movements, she photographs the license plate and then pulls up details on a second screen. “The cab company and driver appear to be legit, although I don’t know what kind of self-respecting cabbie picks up an unaccompanied six year old child.”

“He’s resourceful, as you said. I’m sure he came up with a believable story.” Batman sounds tired now. “Besides, this is Gotham. People don’t ask questions.” There’s silence from his end for a moment, then a quiet murmur as he speaks to someone. “Red Hood is suiting up and will head into Gotham now. I’m calling the others down to suit up as well.”

“Acknowledged.” Opening a new window, she keeps an eye on Hood’s tracker, already blinking toward the city. There’s no way he’s adhering to speed limits. Looking back to the window with details for the cabbie, Oracle reads on, then laughs out loud. “Little Red’s trip was booked over the Wayne Manor landline and paid for using Richard Grayson’s credit card. Pickpocketing skills, as well?”

Damian snorts. “Doubtful. Grayson fell asleep whilst performing a handstand. I would not be surprised had his wallet simply slipped out of his pocket, and T- Little Red simply took advantage of the opportunity provided.”

She smiles at his slip, noting he was about to use his brother’s first name instead of the code name. In her entire time knowing the pair, Damian’s never once used Tim’s first name before. That’s progress.

Looking back at the windows showing footage for various traffic cameras, she hits on a view of the cab slowing down. The door opens, and a small figure exits the vehicle with a cheery wave, then points at the bright lights of the building in front of him. “Well, I’ve tracked him to Burnley. It looks like the cab let him out in front of an apartment complex—he probably convinced the cabbie that he lives there.” She rapidly scans more traffic cameras, searching for a small form exiting the complex, and finds him moving rapidly toward an old church to the north. Her heart almost stops as he quickly scales the building when he reaches it, using the ornate Gothic design elements as hand and footholds. “Oh, kid.”

“What?” Batman says, voice tightly controlled. In the background, she can hear him barking orders to the others. It sounds like they’re all suiting up now.

Oracle jumps from camera to camera, finally finding a security camera on a neighboring liquor store with a view of the church rooftop. Hmm, interesting. “It looks like Little Red just climbed St. Mary’s Cathedral in Burnley, sat by the northern gargoyle statue for about ten minutes, and then climbed down. He headed southeast, in the direction of the bridges over the Sprang. If he keeps going that way, he’ll end up in the Bowery.”

“Fuck,” Red Hood’s voice replies. “Okay, I’m there already. I’ll look around, see if I can find him.” He goes silent again, and she watches his tracker moving quickly in a meticulous pattern through the dangerous neighborhood.

Oracle interrupts after a few more minutes of jumping from camera to camera, trying to pick up the trail. “I’ve got him again. He headed south, took the bridge across the Sprang—”

“To Arkham?” Batman’s voice slips his control, allowing his horror and concern to show through.

“No, he took the eastern bridge, straight to the Upper East Side.” She continues to follow the small figure on his trek through Gotham, speeding up the pursuit so she can find where he actually is now instead of where he’s been.

“Thank fuck,” Red Hood’s voice replies. Several more clicks sound, presumably as the others join them on the comms. “Where to now, Boss?”

“Continue your search. The rest of you, head into Gotham—” Batman begins.

Hood snorts. “I was talkin’ to Oracle, but whatever. Lemme know when you got him!” There’s a loud engine rev, and then the comm cuts out.

Batman’s sigh probably isn’t meant to be audible. “Hood, head to his last known whereabouts. Everyone else, spread out in grid pattern alpha and be on the lookout. As we’ve seen, the target knows the city and can move fast.”

“Geez, B, do you have to call him the target? That sounds wrong!” Nightwing complains.

“Yeah, that’s pretty effed up,” Batgirl agrees. Batman sighs again.

Oracle smirks, then continues to track Timmy through the city, reporting his progress as she sees it. Trackers for the others are on the map now, just coming across the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge. As she watches, they scatter, going for full coverage of the city to try to get a visual while they wait for updates.

She loses Timmy briefly as he winds his way through the streets of the Upper East Side, then picks him up again, scaling a building just across from Robinson Park. Checking the trackers, she sees Hood’s the closest. Of course.

“Red Hood, head southwest on Dillon Ave, then south on Monroe. He’s heading up the office building at Monroe and Fifth. If you hurry, you should be able to catch him before he’s on the move again.”

Hood grunts acknowledgement, his course changing immediately. Yeah, that tracker’s definitely moving way too fast for city streets. Oracle shakes her head, smirking. He clearly has no idea how obvious he is. Hopefully, Timmy will change back to normal soon and the two of them can finally talk things out.

I’m tired of watching those two idiots pine for each other. Oh well, at least it’s entertaining.

Flipping back to her cartel search, she’s pleasantly surprised to find several hits.

Well, maybe I can finish this up in time to join the others at the Manor for some holiday cheer later tonight, after all.

Chapter Text

Timmy did not come out when he got hungry, because Timmy was apparently no longer in the Manor. At least Oracle figured that out within a few minutes of the entire family getting in on the search for the little brat. Red Hood shakes his head, trying not to imagine the possible consequences if it had taken them longer to realize the kid was actually wandering around goddamn Gotham, not safely hiding in a closet or under the Batcomputer or whatever.

Of course, Timmy is so tiny and slippery, he’s doing a damn good job of evading the cameras in the city.

Fuck.

Well, whatever. Hood was in the Cave when the news came in, so he got a head start on bringing the search to Gotham. Riding on the motorcycle with that huge bag of extras was a bitch and a half, but he would put up with a hell of a lot worse for Tim. The rest of the team is heading out now, too, so they’ll find the kid, even if Oracle can’t come through on another sighting.

A sound from an alleyway catches his attention as he rides slowly by, and he stops and gets off his motorcycle. It’s so fucking cold, he’s pretty sure his balls have retreated into his body cavity. Wherever the damn kid is now, he’s just wearing a sweatshirt. Anxiety ratcheting up another notch, he casts a quick glance at the sky.

I don’t like the look of those clouds. The snow better hold off until we find him. No way is that kid prepared for that kinda weather. And searching for him in a snow flurry—fuck. No, we just gotta find him fast.

He checks the alleyway, and finds himself both disappointed and relieved when the rustling noise that drew his attention turns out to be an overgrown Gotham sewer rat, fighting with a raccoon over an old beer can. He’s disappointed because it would be really fuckin’ great to find the kid and be able to take him home and keep him safe. He’s relieved because he never wants to see innocent little Timmy wandering lost and helpless in a filthy alleyway in the goddamn Bowery.

“Clear here,” he mutters into his comm, recoiling slightly as the raccoon looks right at him and hisses. The sewer rat takes that opportunity to snatch the beer can in its tiny, probably mutated little claws and drag it away toward the nearest storm drain, because of fuckin’ course it does.

Oracle speaks over him, voice urgent. “I’ve got him again. He headed south, took the bridge across the Sprang—”

Oh, shit, Hood thinks, heading back over to his bike. He quickly secures the bag, then jumps on, only pausing to confirm his direction.

“To Arkham?” Batman’s voice sounds horrified, and no fucking wonder. It would be just their luck to have some asshole break out, just at the wrong moment, and grab the kid while he wandered past the damn insane asylum.

“No, he took the eastern bridge, straight to the Upper East Side,” Oracle answers.

“Thank fuck,” Red Hood’s voice replies, sagging with relief. “Where to now, Boss?” Maybe she has a sighting for which way the kid went once he crossed the river. Oracle’s the best. She won’t let anything slip by, or give up until they’ve got him home and safe.

Batman answers, because of course he does. “Continue your search. The rest of you, head into Gotham—”

Damn, B really gets off on telling people to do shit.

Hood snorts. “I was talkin’ to Oracle, but whatever. Lemme know when you got him!” He revvs the engine and takes off, losing whatever reply the Bat gives. He heads east and passes the bridge to Arkham with a quick, wary glance, thankful the brat at least managed to avoid one of the many dangers Gotham has to offer. Leaning into the next turn and taking it so fast the tires squeal in protest, he rapidly reviews his options, then decides to just go through the damn neighborhood in a grid pattern.

Right as he’s turning onto Murphy, ready to start canvassing for signs of a scrawny little kid wandering around, Oracle’s voice interrupts again. “Red Hood, head southwest on Dillon Ave, then south on Monroe. He’s heading up the office building at Monroe and Fifth. If you hurry, you should be able to catch him before he’s on the move again.”

Oh, thank fuck. That’s not too bad. Wait… That’s a really tall building. Goddamnit.

Hood grunts an acknowledgement, doing a u-turn and then flying down the road to get there as fast as possible, worry growing and heart racing. That office building is ten fucking stories tall. The kid has no gear, and he’s just wearing ordinary sneakers.

If he falls—

Cursing, Jason speeds up even more. The office building finally comes into sight, rising a couple of stories higher than the expensive condominiums and apartments around it. As he recalls, it offers a damn good view over Robinson Park and the surrounding city. Glancing up as he parks in front of it—illegally, not that he gives a shit about that—he doesn’t see any signs of a little kid scaling the visible fire escapes. Maybe he’s around the back?

Jesus, I hope he hasn’t already moved on. What the fuck is he after, anyway? He can’t possibly expect to get any Bat sightings or whatever. Unless he wanted to throw us all into a panic so he could watch us in action, for old time’s sake?

Hood sighs, hefting the bag and settling it on his shoulders before striding forward. He looks up, chooses his target, and then shoots his grapnel so he can haul himself up onto the roof to keep looking. His arm’s gonna be really fucking sore tomorrow at this rate, but it’s not like he can just leave the damn bag behind.

Landing on the roof, he spins in place and looks around. Damn good view out across Robinson Park from up here, but no sign of the kid. He winces, wondering what might happen if the spell wears off before he catches up. If Timmy’s not within easy reach of the stuff in the bag… He’s been trying hard not to think about that possibility, ever since he realized the kid was missing. Hopefully they won’t have to find out.

Timmy, ya better not try to change back to normal right now. Not sure what’ll happen if you do, but it probably won’t be pretty.

As he looks out across the neighboring rooftops, wondering if Oracle had the wrong building, an amused sounding voice interrupts his dark musings. “Well, that took you long enough.”

Hood spins in shock, drawing his guns before he even has a chance to focus on what he’s aiming at. When he gets a good look, his heart jumps into his throat, it’s pounding so hard.

Fuck, fuckity fuck FUCK!

Chapter Text

Tim slips carefully through the dimly lit streets, the entire city as quiet as Gotham ever gets. It’s a cold, blustery night, which goes a long way to support the others’ claims of some kind of magic at work here. After all, the last day he remembers before waking up with Jason peering down at him in concern, it was summer.

Jason’s interesting. He’s really big and kind of scary, but it didn’t take Tim long at all to figure out he’s basically a human marshmallow. That’s cool. Tim likes marshmallows. The others he’s met don’t seem bad either. Alfred is just as kind and thoughtful as Tim remembers from galas at Wayne Manor. And Bruce is Batman. Dick’s amazing, of course—even more acrobatic and cool than when he was Robin, if that’s even possible. Damian’s quiet, definitely more reserved than Dick, but he was very kind to Tim as well, even if he seemed a little awkward. And the women are so cool. Cass is even stealthier than Batman, and Steph doesn’t seem to care who she sasses. Tim just wishes Barbara was around, too. He was a little afraid to ask about her, though.

After all, he’s in the future, sort of. Asking questions might get him sad answers, like when he asked about his parents. He blinks, not wanting to think about that right now.

I wonder if they ever stopped traveling, or took me with them? He blinks faster, eyes stinging with how cold it is. I hope so.

He heads down a narrow alley and then looks around, trying to figure out which fire escape he wants to climb. The one he used to use seems a bit run down now, and he’s not sure he wants to trust it with his weight. Carefully selecting a different fire escape, he hops up to catch hold of it and then pulls himself up. The metal is so cold, it burns, and he takes a moment to wish he had gloves. Alfred probably would have given him some, but then he’d want to know why, and Tim never would have been able to get out of Wayne Manor.

It’s not that he isn’t grateful for their help—he is. But he needs some time to think. His life in the future seems to have gone completely off the rails from the careful plans his parents have for him, and he hasn’t quite been able to decide yet if it’s better this way, or worse. Going to a few of his favorite vantage points for watching Batman so he can view things from a new perspective seemed like a good idea earlier. Right now, though, his hands feel frozen, the fire escape is slippery, and he’s starting to wonder if this might not be the best plan.

Tim’s at the top of the fire escape, carefully climbing the building facade to make it that last few feet up onto the roof, when his foot skids along the window frame it’s resting on and slips into the open air. He gasps, trying to clutch at the bricks, but his frozen fingers won’t tighten enough to get a strong grip. His body begins to slide, and his heart races with a sudden burst of terror as he realizes he’s going to fall. A whimper slips out of his mouth and he claws desperately for a handhold before he’s falling, and then—

A hand shoots out and catches his in a strong grip. “Careful, kitten. You don’t know how many of your nine lives you’ve used up by now. Better not risk it.”

Catwoman. Oh, thank goodness!

Tim clings to her hand as she lifts him easily up onto the rooftop, pulling him into her arms. “Thank you,” he whispers, voice choked. He’s still shaking with fear and adrenaline. He hasn’t come so close to falling before—not from this high. If she hadn’t been here… Wait, why was she here? He tilts his head, confused. Looking up and blinking at her, he bites his lip. “But why are you here?”

Catwoman smiles, reaching out to tousle his hair in a familiar gesture. “Batman texted, told me he wanted a present for his kid. He also mentioned you were pint-sized again, and, well, you know what they say about curiosity and cats. The moment I realized you were this age, I was sure you’d find a way to slip your leash, so I decided to drop by some of your old favorite haunts. And lo and behold, there you were.”

Well, that makes sense. Although he doesn’t really like to think he’s that predictable. Oh well. He frowns. “Wait, present? What do you mean?”

She grins, glancing around, and tugs him over to a rooftop access door. It’s locked, but its housing protrudes and shields them from the wind. Then she reaches up to pull off a backpack he hadn’t realized she was wearing. It looks unusual—are those airholes in it? “Here you go, kitten. I chose her just for you.” She pulls out a lumpy bundle and gently hands it over to him.

Her?

Hardly daring to breathe, not allowing himself to hope, Tim carefully lifts a fold of the soft material. Then another. As he unfolds it, he realizes it’s a warm, thick scarf. It’s wrapped around—

“A kitten?” he whispers, face breaking into a huge smile as the final fold pulls away to reveal a tiny, sleeping face. She’s orange and black and white, and beautiful. “I- I can’t keep her, though,” he says sadly, gently tucking the scarf back over the little beauty before trying to hand her back to Catwoman. “My parents—”

He’s never been able to accept any of Catwoman’s offers of kittens before. His mom is allergic to most pets. Doesn’t she remember?

She smiles down at him, shaking her head as she refuses to take the kitten back. “Kiddo, your dad’s the one who told me he wanted to give you a cat.”

Just like that, he remembers that this isn’t one of the many nights he’s slipped out to watch the Dynamic Duo and run into Catwoman instead. This is the future, and he’s got a different family now. There’s an ache in his chest at the thought that his parents are gone, but… He can already see his new family is attentive, and present, in a way his parents rarely were. With growing guilt, he realizes he’s happy, even if it’s tinged with a bittersweet sense of loss. Only… “Am I happy here? Whatever my life is now, do you think it’s good?” he blurts out, then blushes, regretting having spoken up.

Catwoman regards him seriously for a long moment before she shrugs and turns away. “I wouldn’t know the details, kid, but you’ve done a he- uh, heck of a lot of amazing things over the years. Saved a lot of people, done a lot of good for this city. For the world.” She glances back at him, then smirks. “And from what I’ve seen, you have a family who loves you. That’s—well, that’s worth a lot, in this world.”

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, Tim nods, holding his new kitten closer against his chest. The tiny, soft bundle of warmth should be somewhere safe, not up here on a rooftop. Maybe it’s time to head back.

A throaty chuckle draws his attention back to Catwoman. She tosses him a grin. “Don’t look now, kitten, but I think I see someone who’s worried about you.”

Spinning, he follows her gaze. His eyes widen. 

Chapter Text

It’s Timmy. Well, and Catwoman, but Timmy’s the most important, so he’s the one Hood keeps his eyes on as he shoves the guns roughly back into their holsters. He feels sick at having aimed one toward Timmy for even a second, rubber bullets or not.

“Kid,” he sighs, dropping to his knees and opening his arms so the little boy can dive into them, where he clings like a baby koala. “Don’t fudgin’ do that again. Do you know how dang worried everyone is right now?”

Timmy tilts his head back, mouth dropping open in surprise. “I… what? You guys were… looking for me?” He blinks, looking stunned at the very idea that someone cares where the hell he is. Not for the first time, Hood darkly considers learning necromancy just so he can raise the Drakes from the dead and punish them for neglecting this kid. It’s obvious in a thousand little ways, from the way he reacts to touch to the very fact of his knowing the Gotham streets so well he can disappear even from the Bats.

Tim wouldn’t want Jason to kill his parents, or even rough them up much, so he’d hafta get creative. Hood’s good at creative. He smirks at the thought, then shakes it off so he can reassure the little guy. “Of course we were, kiddo! We’re your family.”

As Timmy blinks through his heartbreaking surprise and disbelief at that statement, Hood turns to Catwoman. “How’d you find him?” Maybe B pulled her in on the search, and didn’t tell anyone?

She shrugs, shaking her head ruefully. “I’ve been following him for a while, actually. Couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw him at first, even after Batman sent me a text. I thought I was hallucinating or seeing a ghost. It’s been years since I saw him this size. I think I’d forgotten how tiny he used to be.”

Fuckin’ what? I didn’t think she woulda met him, not until he was Robin.

“What the fu- uh, fudge.” Hood clears his throat and steadily turns red under Catwoman’s tolerantly amused gaze. He briefly regrets leaving the helmet with his bike. “You… you knew him when he was this old for real?”

Timmy nods against his chest as Catwoman sighs, a sad, almost wistful smile on her face. “Couldn’t convince him to stay at home where it was safe, so I did the next best thing and looked out for him. Kept him away from the worst of the worst, pulled him out of trouble a few times.”

She reaches out and gently ruffles the little boy’s hair. “Didn’t manage to save him from diving headlong into this life in the end, but I tried. Too bad not everyone felt the same.”

Red Hood can almost hear Batman’s offended silence over the comms. Sick burn, old man!

“It’s good to see you again, kitten. Take care of him,” she says to Hood before turning and strutting away. He doesn’t watch her go. His attention is all on the tiny, precocious, ridiculous, brilliant, adorable little brat in front of him.

“Bye, Catwoman!” the kid says, waving.

Red Hood scoops Timmy up in his arms and prepares to head back to the Manor. Maybe if they let him play around on the Batcomputer for a while, he won’t sneak out again.

Yeah, right. Better bring in the big guns. He won’t be going anywhere under Alfred’s nose.

Timmy’s shivering. Red Hood frowns, then puts him down again and shucks off his leather jacket. “Here, kid.” He starts to wrap it around the little boy, then runs into an unexpected obstacle. “What have you got in your—holy shit, is that a cat?”

The kid nods, snuggling the tiny bundle closer. “Catwoman gave her to me.” He frowns, looking defensive. “Batman said I can keep her.” He looks as though he’s afraid Red Hood will take the kitten away from him.

His heart twists even as he chuckles, shaking his head. “Hey, no, kiddo, I believe you. She’s great. Of course you can keep her.” If anyone tries to take the kitten away from this kid, Red Hood will make their life hell. He doesn’t think B’s going to be giving Timmy a hard time about it, though. Not after that sappy moment back in the library. “Just hold her tight, okay?”

He gives the boy an encouraging smile, glad now he’d had the sense to just wear the mask for this. No need to freak Timmy out by wearing a terrifying, expressionless helmet.

Timmy smiles up at him, nestling into the big leather jacket. “Okay, I’ve got her.” He looks up at Red Hood expectantly. “Are we going down the fire escape?”

Oh, kid. Why stick to the fire escape when we can fly?

“Ever flown before?” he asks as he pulls out the grapnel gun. Timmy’s eyes widen and he shakes his head, looking incredibly excited. Hood grins. “Let’s go.” He scoops the kid up again, taking extra care to make sure the kitten is safely tucked in such a way as to risk neither crushing nor falling, and then shoots the line. It catches on the building opposite. With a loud whoop, Hood takes to the air, Timmy squealing in glee and clutching at him.

It’s awesome, even though it’s a difficult flight, carrying both the kid and that bulky bag of extra ingredients. Whatever, it’s all worth it when he looks down and sees the sparkle in Timmy’s eyes. “What do you think of that?” He gives the boy a lopsided grin as he carries him over to the motorcycle. Pausing in front of it, he abruptly realizes he has a problem.

Yeah, there’s no way I’m taking this kid on that bike. Not without a helmet that fits him, and definitely not while he’s carrying a kitten.  

“That was so cool! You’re the best vigilante ever!” Timmy wiggles with excitement, and Jason feels a flush of pride.

Heh, take that, old man—

Then the kid continues, “Almost as good as Batman!”

Well, damn. Whatever, he’ll take it. “Thanks, kid.” Red Hood hands the little boy a peppermint candy cane to nibble on while he comms the others to let them know he’s got him. “Hey, you wanna ride in the Batmobile?” Hopefully it still has that giant red bow on top.

By the way the kid practically starts vibrating at his question, Red Hood’s pretty sure that’s a yes.

Chapter Text

Dick strips out of Nightwing quickly so he can hurry and join the others upstairs. Now that they’ve got Timmy back, he’s pretty sure Alfred’s going to serve up some wonderful, festive dishes, and he doesn’t want to miss a moment of it.

He finds them all in the den, seated on and around the couch in front of the brightly lit Christmas tree, watching Timmy play with his kitten. The menorah on the mantel has four candles lit tonight. Smiling at the sight of his family gathered together enjoying each other’s company, Dick flops down on the rug next to them. “Your kitten’s a beauty, Timmy. What did you name her?”

“Oh, I’m calling her Spock, because of her eyebrows.” The little boy smiles and continues playing with the extremely fluffy kitten, holding his hand out. She grasps at it with her tiny claws and teeth, then tumbles onto her side, still clutching it.

Spock? Dick mouths the word. “Uh, that’s nice.” He tilts his head, trying to get a look at the little calico’s face, and huh. She actually does have unusual, tilted black markings that kind of look like quizzical eyebrows. “Awesome.”

Damian scoffs from his position seated on the couch with Alfred the cat on his lap. He’s slowly stroking the animal. Dick has to blink to keep from laughing at the sight—with that scowl, he looks just like a cliche supervillain.

“Pah, such a name is suitable, I suppose,” Damian allows, grudgingly. “Although I still maintain Cordelia or Rosalind would be superior.”

“Quit trying to make him rename his cat,” Jason interjects good naturedly. He’s sprawled on the floor on Tim’s other side, shoulders resting comfortably against the couch. Steph and Cass, curled at that end of the couch, don’t seem to mind. They both have their feet pulled up and are wrapped together in a soft red blanket. “You can save the Shakespearean names for your own animals. Let Timmy be his own kind of nerd.”

“Yeah,” Steph contributes. “It obviously started young.” She grins at the little boy. “I still can’t get over how cute he is!”

Cass nods seriously. “Cute.” Babs laughs from where she’s ensconced in one of the two armchairs by the tree, then takes a sip from a large mug, a beatific expression on her lovely face.

Dick laughs as well, turning to look back at Timmy, and twitches in surprise when he sees that Bruce has somehow materialized in the other armchair. There’s the tiniest suggestion of a smile on his face as he watches them all.

Aw, Bat-dad. So creepily endearing.

He decides not to say anything. Bruce might skitter back down to the Cave if they call attention to his presence. Instead, he turns to Timmy. Might as well help make him feel more welcome here, for as long as they have him before the spell wears off and he ages back up to his normal self. According to what Zatanna said, that could happen at pretty much any minute now. “Hey Timmy, what kinds of things did you want for Christmas this year?” He beams. “I bet the kitten’s better than anything on your list!”

Almost immediately, he realizes he’s made a mistake. Bruce just tensed slightly, and Jason’s sitting up straighter, looking a little concerned. Why…? A heartbeat later, it occurs to him that at six years old, the only people Tim might expect to give him presents are his world-traveling parents. The ones who were so absent throughout his entire childhood, they missed his entire Batman-stalking phase, as well as his sojourn as Robin.

Oh, damn. I wonder if they were ever even home for Christmas?

He winces, hoping against hope that whatever’s about to come out of the little boy’s mouth isn’t heartbreaking.

“We’ve never celebrated Christmas at my house, so I don’t have a wish list,” Timmy says, blithely breaking Dick’s heart.

Ow. Oh, Timmy, no.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Jason says, reaching out to rest a big hand on the little boy’s shoulder. “That’s tough.”

Timmy blinks, turning to look at him questioningly. “Why?” He glances around, seeing all of their concerned expressions. “I mean, we might celebrate Christmas sometime—it just depends on if they’re ever home on the right day. Their schedule’s pretty hard to predict, so we just celebrate whatever ancient or modern holidays fall on the days they’re here.” He smiles happily. “This year, we celebrated Samhain, Saturnalia, Imbolc, and Arbor Day. It was fun.”

Dick stares at the kid, wide eyed. “Uh, wow. I had no idea—I mean.” He clears his throat, trying to reconcile his mental image of the Drakes as distant, uncaring parents with this revelation. “What kinds of things do you guys do for those?”

Shrugging, Timmy turns back to his kitten with a smile. “For the ancient holidays, Dad would read poems and literature from the applicable culture, and Mom would show me how to make period-typical food, or at least modern food from the right region. They’d talk about the history and cultural relevance behind the holidays, and modern interpretations.” He frowns. “For Arbor Day, I guess we planted some trees? That was fun, too.”

He looks down. “It can be really fun, when they’re around. I hope they stopped traveling so much eventually, or maybe took me with them…” He bites his lip, blinking hard and glancing up. “Uh, don’t tell me if that happened or not. I’d rather not know, so I can keep hoping. Please.”

Heart twisting—the Drakes definitely never stopped traveling, and he’ll eat a batarang if either of them ever even considered the idea of taking Tim with them when they left—Dick nods. He can see the others’ somber expressions as they nod as well.

“Oh,” Timmy says softly, sitting up suddenly. “I feel funny.” He sways, his little form beginning to glow with a soft, white light. “What…?”

Oh hey, guess the spell’s worn off. Whoops, better get Spock out of the line of fire.

He leans forward and deftly scoops the tiny kitten up, turning to deposit her in Damian’s already extended hands. Damian draws her close to his chest and gently strokes her as he watches the unfolding scene.

Someone sucks in a breath, and Dick quickly turns to look at Timmy. Is something going wrong? Maybe there’s another layer to the magic, or—

That’s when he sees Jason’s face. He’s grinning like a bastard, and opening the bag of horror.

“Oh no,” Dick says faintly. The absolute last thing he wants is to see whatever grotesquerie Jason has been lugging around in that bag all this time. Unfortunately, he can’t leave without abandoning Timmy to what’s probably going to be a very scary and uncomfortable transformation. What if something goes wrong? They all need to stay, just in case.

“Oh my god,” Steph whispers, staring at the bag with an expression of horrified fascination. Cass just gazes steadily at Jason, face knowing.

“Jason,” Bruce says, in a voice of utmost self-sacrifice, “do you need any… help… with that?” He sounds like he’d rather stick his hands directly into the fire than put them anywhere near the bag of infinite nightmares. Dick empathizes.

“Naw,” Jason says, chuckling softly under his breath because he is, in fact, evil. “I got this!” Everyone cringes as he finishes pulling the mouth of the bag open wide, then lets it go, allowing it to flutter down and reveal its horrible, terrible, happiness-destroying contents—

Dick squeezes his eyes shut at the last second, then peeks a moment later.

Wait a minute…

He stares, but nothing changes. “Jason,” he says, in carefully controlled tones because he doesn’t want to start shouting and scare Timmy, “what is that?”

Spread in front of Jason on the deflated bag is an array of jars and smaller bags, all of which seem to be filled with simple, innocuous powders or clear fluids. There’s nothing horrifying about any of it.

Jason grins like the bastard he is. “This is the rest of grown up Tim! Oxygen and hydrogen in the form of water, and then there’s carbon, nitrogen, calcium, phosphorus, and some other trace shit I forget the names of. Doesn’t matter, as long as it’s all here.” He snorts a laugh, clearly enjoying the hell out of this. “The fuck were you guys expecting?”

“Oh, you bas—” Dick stops himself, darting a glance to Timmy, who is still glowing faintly while he watches the proceedings with curious interest. “You big meanie,” he says instead, shaking his head slowly and giving Jason an exaggerated frown.

“Wow, you’re such a jerk,” Steph agrees, leaning down to elbow Jason. “I don’t know what Tim sees in you!”

“What?” Bruce looks over, clearly picking up on the subtext.

Cass glances around, then diverts him smoothly. “Timmy,” she says, gesturing down at the child. “Tim.”

Jason looks guiltily back at Timmy. “Ah, yeah. Right, I gotta get this stuff next to him now. Anyone wanna help me with all the jars and bags? Z helped package it up all nice for me, or else I probably woulda scraped up some dirt and trash with it when I was shoving it all into the bag.”

Everyone pitches in, helping untie the little bags and pile up the various ingredients for life beside Timmy. Once Cass sprinkles on the last element, a small pile of white powder, Timmy shimmers, and then Tim’s sitting there. He looks highly uncomfortable, probably because he’s quite literally bursting out of the outfit his six year old self was wearing a moment ago.

“Ow,” he says, wincing. “This is not comfortable.” Glancing down at himself, he blushes to the tips of his ears. Jason kindly drops his jacket around Tim’s shoulders, clearing his throat and averting his gaze politely.

“Master Tim,” Alfred’s voice says, and everyone turns to see the imperturbable man regarding the scene from the doorway. There’s a twinkle in his eye and a bundle of clothing in his arms. “Perhaps you would prefer to change into more suitable attire prior to partaking in the refreshments?”

Tim wraps the jacket around himself to at least attempt to cover his shame as he stumbles to his feet and heads for Alfred. “Yes,” he says emphatically, then pauses and glances back. “Wait, where’s Spock?”

Well, I guess that answers the question of whether or not he remembers everything that happened while he was deaged.

Dick points toward Damian, who gestures to the now sleeping kitten on his lap. “Worry not, Timothy, I will care for her in your absence.”

Aw, Dami still calls him Timothy! That’s great.

Tim and Alfred leave, and Dick turns back to Jason. “Seriously, you’re such an asshole.”

Jason snickers, leaning back against the couch and stretching, then relaxing with a huge, mischievous grin. “If you’d ever watched Fullmetal Alchemist with me, maybe you woulda figured it out earlier. What, you’d rather it was actually gross guts and stuff in there—”

Steph hits him with a pillow, which Jason reflexively confiscates and then uses to defend himself against Cass. Dick grabs a pillow from behind Damian, who carefully scoots farther away down the couch, protecting the sleeping cats on his lap. Bruce and Babs merely watch, calmly sipping their drinks as the rest of the room descends into a chaotic pillow fight.

It’s awesome.

Chapter Text

Tim stares at the candles on the mantelpiece, watching the steady flames and feeling his exhaustion catching up with him. This has been an incredibly long night. It’s nice, though, nestled on the couch between Jason and Cass, with Steph’s feet in his lap. Dick and Damian are on the floor, playing with his new kitten—he has a kitten! She’s wonderful, and this is amazing.

He feels safe. Loved.

Several empty trays rest on side tables and various other flat surfaces around the room, along with numerous empty mugs. The festive cookies, cakes, tarts, and warm drinks Alfred provided after Tim changed back are long gone. Alfred himself is seated in an armchair by the fire, while Bruce appears to be sleeping in one of the armchairs by the tree. Babs is in the other one, smiling warmly as she records Dick and Damian’s antics on her phone.

Tim yawns as his eyelids begin to fall closed. At his side, Cass twitches, then turns to look at him. “Sleep,” she says decisively.

She nudges a snoring Steph, who startles awake with a soft snort. “Wha…?” Blinking rapidly and looking around, she focuses on Cass and smiles. “Oh, time for bed. Okay.” Stumbling slightly and stealing the blanket they’ve all been sharing, she yawns so wide her jaw cracks. “G’night,” she mumbles, following Cass out of the room.

Alfred sighs, then rises slowly to his feet. “This has been most enjoyable, but perhaps it is time for all of us to be abed.” He begins to gather the various mugs onto trays, a tremor in his aged hands.

Dick leaps to his feet. “Let us help you, Alfred!” Damian hands Tim his kitten, then smoothly rises to assist. Tim sets Spock on his lap, where she turns around once before promptly falling asleep.

I love that I named her Spock. Little me has great taste.

Bruce wakes up at the commotion, going from sleep to alertness without even twitching. He regards them all with a faintly bemused expression on his face, clearly not quite awake.

“C’mon, B, be a good host and walk me out,” Babs says, maneuvering herself into her wheelchair.

It’s not until they all slip out of the room, chatting and chuckling together, that Tim realizes he’s now alone with Jason.

That was definitely intentional, at least on some of their parts, he thinks ruefully. Cass and Steph know how he feels about Jason, and Alfred and Babs must at least suspect. It’s totally possible Dick’s sensed something, too. Actually, Damian and Bruce are the only ones he’d bet money on being totally clueless.

How embarrassing. Tim flushes, then mentally shrugs. However hopeless his crush had seemed before, tonight’s events have shown him a loving, tender side of Jason he’s never seen. At least, not directed at him. Maybe things aren’t as hopeless as he’d thought.

Turning to the man at his side, he involuntarily smiles.

Well, that explains why he was being so quiet while everyone else was getting ready to leave.

Jason’s asleep, head tilted back, lips slightly parted. His chest rises and falls gently with each breath. It’s really tempting to just curl into his side and join him. Tim hesitates, trying to decide if he should wake the other man or just let him sleep here.

He doesn’t have to do either, as it turns out. A moment later, Jason’s eyes open under his steady regard. Immediately, a warm look comes into his eyes and his face breaks into a lopsided grin. “Hey there, Baby Bird. It’s good to have you back.”

Tim huffs a little laugh. “It was still me, even when I was under the spell.” He blinks, realizing Jason might be referring to his little jaunt around Gotham. “Uh, sorry I ran away. I didn’t realize it would worry everyone so much.” Or at all, he thinks guiltily.

Jason looks sad. “Yeah, I figured. Little you didn’t seem to have much reason to think people would give a shit.”

Squirming uncomfortably, Tim frowns. “Maybe not. Okay, definitely not. I had… an unusual childhood.” He bites his lip, then closes his eyes and admits, “My parents weren’t really the best all the time. Don’t get me wrong! When they were around, it was great, but…”

“They weren’t around enough.” Jason’s voice sounds unspeakably tender and kind.

Tim shudders, blinking away the unexpected sting of tears. “Yeah,” he says, voice raspy. He sniffs. He’s too tired for conversation right now. His control is slipping. It feels safe talking to Jason, though.

The other man hesitates, then slips a big, warm arm around his shoulders. “C’mere, Tim. I got you.”

It’s the easiest thing in the world to lean into him and rest his head on that broad, strong shoulder. “Thanks, Jay.” Closing his eyes, he sniffs again, and smiles. “They were really awesome sometimes, you know? So smart, and they knew so much. I really think if they’d survived until I was an adult, we could have gotten closer.” He wants to think that, anyway. It helps with the feelings of anger and loss.

If I imagine they would have changed, been around more, it’s easier to let go of the resentment toward them for not being there back then.

Jason brings his other arm around him, pulling him in for a gentle hug. “I bet they would, Baby Bird. How could they not? You’re great.” He clears his throat, sounding embarrassed. “Uh, tell me to shut up if I’m being insensitive, but I gotta ask. Did you guys ever end up celebrating Christmas together?”

Tim smiles again, bigger this time. “Yep. The year I was ten, there was a huge snowstorm and their flight was cancelled. They ended up driving home from the airport on Christmas Eve. Dad chopped down a tree from our grounds. Mom and I made some decorations—popcorn on strings as garlands, paper snowflakes, that kind of thing. They talked about the pagan and Christian origins of the holiday, and we had hot chocolate and watched the snow falling. It was nice.”

Dwelling in that memory, he thinks of his parents again. He can see his dad’s animated face, eyes bright with excitement as he expounded on his subject. He can almost hear his mom’s rippling laughter when the first snowflake he cut out somehow ended up looking like Darth Vader. They’re gone, and the wound feels fresh and raw, brought to the surface again by his reminder of how it felt to be six and still believe things with his family might get better someday.

It hurts to know that can never happen, now.

Even as he thinks about it, though, the ache fades, slowly replaced by a feeling of warmth and happiness. Even if his first family didn’t change, they still gave him a lot—his intelligence, avid curiosity, and bent for research. Plus some fun memories, even if they’re precious few compared to what he might have yearned for. It isn’t fair.

His second family, though… Thinking about all they’ve been through over the years, good and bad, and the way they all pulled together to help him through this latest incident, he realizes with a sense of wonder that he doesn’t doubt for a moment that he’s loved, and noticed.

It’s an amazing realization. Petting the tiny kitten curled on his lap, he blinks back tears again. Jason makes a soft, concerned noise, and the arms around him tighten. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Tim. I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“I’m okay, Jay,” he whispers, blinking the wetness away. “Just happy.”

It’s true.

Chapter Text

Holding Tim in his arms by a crackling fire in a warm, candlelit room feels like the best damn holiday Jason’s ever had. It’s unbelievable, like some kind of wonderful dream. He can’t help dropping a gentle kiss on the other man’s soft, sweet-smelling hair.

Chuckling, he shakes his head. “Damn, this has been a hell of a day. I sure as fuck didn’t plan to have our first date turn out like this.”

In his arms, Tim stiffens, then leans back to stare at him, wide eyed. “Date?” he bleats, looking completely blindsided.

Oh, fuck. Oh god, he didn’t even realize it was a date. He doesn’t even want to date me. God, I’m such an idiot. Jesus, no wonder he showed up in Red Robin instead of civvies, and wanted to go on patrol—

Jason quietly panics. He straightens, then attempts to carefully but rapidly extract himself from the other man so he can flee the Manor. Maybe he can just lock himself in one of his lesser known safe houses for a few days, with a gallon of ice cream and a pile of Jane Austen movies so he can mope in peace. It’s a great plan, but his attempt to flee doesn’t work.

Tim clutches at his shoulders, apparently not willing to take pity on his humiliation and rejection and just let him go. “Wait, Jason. Date? Oh my god, that must be why you showed up in civilian clothes, and had to change before we could go on patrol together. Wait, that means you never wanted to go on patrol together—”

Huh. Guess I shoulda been more clear than just texting him, ‘Go out with me tomorrow? Meet you at corner of 6th and Dockside at 5pm.’ In retrospect, I can see how that might’ve been misleading.

Tim blinks rapidly, alternately flushing and going pale as he visibly rethinks every aspect of the evening they just had. Finally, his face breaks out in a silly smile. “You want to date me?”

He doesn’t sound unhappy about the idea. In fact, he pauses, carefully scoops up the sleeping ball of kitten on his lap, and gently reaches out to set her down safely farther away on the couch. Then he climbs right onto Jason’s goddamn lap.

Holy shit.

“Uh, Baby Bird?” Jason says, hands hovering cautiously over the other man’s hips. He wants to touch, but he has no idea what the hell is happening right now.

“I want to date you, too,” Tim whispers, leaning forward to bury his face in the crook of Jason’s neck. “I’d really, really like that.”

There’s a smile in his voice, and unbidden, Jason smiles back. “Yeah?” It feels like he’s floating.

“Yeah.” Tim snickers, still hiding his face. “I don’t know why this is so embarrassing.”

“Probably because we’re a pair of awkward dumbasses,” Jason reasons, hands finally settling on the other man’s hips. It feels right. “Pretty sure the girls figured out we were supposed to be on a date earlier. You tell anyone?”

Tim shrugs, leaning back to look at him. “I mean, kinda? I was hanging out with Steph and Cass earlier when I got your message, so I showed them. Cass got this look on her face but wouldn’t tell me why, and Steph started laughing for no reason when I told them I had to go get ready for patrol.” He snorts, raising one hand to cover his eyes. “They must think I’m an idiot.”

Jason pulls his hand away to kiss it. “No, they were probably laughing at how terrible I was at asking you out.”

Snickering, Tim shakes his head. “Both of us,” he decides. “They were definitely laughing at both of us.” Shrugging helplessly, he grins. “At least we figured ourselves out in the end?” Then he frowns. “Wait, we did, didn’t we? Are we dating now? Boyfriends?”

Rumbling a laugh, Jason squeezes the hand he’s still holding. “Hell, yeah.” The smile on Tim’s face and the look in his pretty blue eyes is so goddamn soft, he can’t help it. He leans forward, closing his eyes. Tim must lean forward, too, because a second later he feels soft lips, pressing against his own. There are hands cradling the sides of his face, like he’s something precious, and he sighs, easing back into the corner of the couch and pulling Tim with him so they can continue to explore each other more comfortably.

Fuck, he feels incredible. So damn wonderful, and he wants me.

Outside the window, the snow finally begins to fall on Gotham, but he barely notices, all his attention focused on the amazing man in his arms. Tim moves above him like a goddamn wet dream, and all he wants to do is hold on.

There’s banked heat in their kisses and the way they touch, exploring each other’s bodies. It’s a promise they’ll fulfill later, back in the safety of one of their apartments without the harrowing possibilities of Dick or Bruce or—god forbid—Alfred popping in on them at any moment.

Also, Tim’s damn kitten is awake now, and it’s watching them.

Jason grimaces, mind suddenly filled with visions of future makeouts, spoiled by tiny claws sinking into unmentionable and highly sensitive places. “Hey, Tim?” he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then smiling as he chases him and claims another, full on the lips.

“Yeah?” Tim answers after a suitable interval, panting and hazy eyed.

“Relationship negotiation—can we make a rule right now? Spock’s not allowed in the bedroom?”

Tim blinks, looking confused at the non sequitur, then turns to look for his cat. His eyes widen when he spots her, crouched on top of the couch. She’s stalking Jason’s tuft of white hair. His face breaks into a smile and he laughs in Jason’s arms. “Ah, yeah. I think that can be arranged.”

Spock pounces, and Jason swallows a curse as his cackling boyfriend tries to extract the playful kitten from his hair. It’s ridiculous. This whole thing is goddamn ridiculous.

It’s wonderful.