Work Text:
"Dad, could you help me with my homework?"
Bruce almost dropped the cup. It took him a few seconds to recover, trying not to look crazy.
He couldn't, and Tim asked him, "Are you okay?"
"Yes, I…"
I'm a sentimental fool, and being called dad has that effect on me.
It was too complicated to explain to a six year old.
The thing was, Bruce never expected to be called dad.
Dick had loved his father too much, and Jason associated the word with a lot of shit I share some DNA with.
Damian spoke in a mixture of English and Arabic, but even now Bruce heard him referring to him with a formal father.
Tim had been a surprise, coming when Bruce no longer expected it (and hadn't their relationship always been like this? The boy's adoption itself had been surprising.)
"You surprised me, that's all," Bruce managed as his hands shook slightly.
If Clark were here, he'd be making fun of him.
Then even the great Batman has a soft heart under all that Kevlar!
Easy for him, his children had never bothered to call him dad!
Bruce was too harsh, too oppressive and dark to be considered a decent father figure.
He was trying to make his best, and he didn't know how much could be enough.
"Why?"
"Mhm?"
"Why did I surprise you?"
He held back a moan. Had he already mentioned how much he loved the why phase of the kids?
He replied, "You called me dad."
"Didn't you like it?"
"I do, " he said firmly. He didn't want to give rise to a misunderstanding, causing more misunderstandings that would eventually cause Tim to run away from home at seventeen (he wasn't paranoid, it had happened before, and he knew from experience that it was best to take remedial action.)
“I'm glad you feel comfortable calling me that.”
"Why?"
Heavens, it was too early for that. He coughed, "You have a father, and he's still alive."
Even if calling Jack Drake father was a considerable stretch, considering that the man had always been more interested in artifacts buried under the sand than in his own son.
Tim for Jack was just someone to inherit the company and the family name.
A perfect heir, not a child.
It had been a pleasure to send his lawyers against him.
Tim replied, "He may be my father, but you are my dad."
Here you are. A simple sentence, slice as a matter of fact. Bruce's knees felt weak, and he began to think that maybe he was really getting old.
"You take me to school," the boy continued, unaware of what he had done to the poor man's heart.
"You tell me fairy tales before going to sleep, you console me if I have a nightmare, you stay with me even if you'd rather do something else and you play with me. The teacher says these are all things a dad does. So you are my dad . "
"Tim, I..."
"I don't know what it's like to have a dad, so I won't always call you that. I also like to call you B, like Dick does."
This was already more than Bruce deserved.
"You can call me anything you want."
"Doesn't that bother you?"
"Not at all."
"So you like me calling you dad?"
"Enough."
Tim nodded, absorbing the new information. Afterward, the kid asked for help with his homework again, and Bruce gladly helped. He didn't expect consequences.
He was so wrong.
(Tim learned that by calling him dad he could get away with most of the time, and he taught it to his sibilings too. Jason laughed like crazy when he found out.)
(Bruce didn't mind that much )