Chapter Text
The manor was still.
Not the kind of silence that pressed with tension—just the soft, content quiet that only came in the early hours, when the world hadn’t fully woken and time felt suspended. The faint sound of wind rustled through the trees outside, and somewhere in the distance, the grandfather clock chimed four.
Tim sat in the nursery’s rocking chair, Connor curled against his chest, both of them wrapped in a knitted blue blanket Alfred had unearthed from the attic. His fingers traced lazy patterns over his son’s tiny back, each breath against his skin an impossible miracle.
He hadn’t meant to fall asleep here. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep at all.
But the exhaustion had hit him like a wave—after the fever, after the terror, after the crashing relief when Connor finally settled. He hadn’t been able to put him down. Not even for a minute. Not when he could still feel that terrifying heat lingering in his skin. So he sat down in the rocking chair, whispered soft words to a baby too young to understand them, and somewhere along the way, sleep claimed them both.
Now, hours later, Connor had stirred again—not crying, just shifting, tiny hands curling in the fabric of Tim’s shirt. His eyes blinked open, dark blue and a little hazy, but focused—focused—on Tim’s face.
Tim couldn’t breathe.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice still raw from too little sleep and too many emotions. “I’ve always got you.”
Connor made a soft coo, forehead nudging into Tim’s chest. Like he understood.
Tim cradled his head in one hand and held him a little tighter with the other. He couldn’t stop looking at him. The tiny nose, the impossibly long lashes, the soft swirl of black hair. His cheeks were still a little pink, but cooler now, and his breathing was steady, rhythmic.
He counted each breath. Just to be sure. He didn’t even try to stop himself.
“You’re real,” he murmured. “I don’t know how—I mean, I do know how, but—I didn’t plan this. I didn’t plan you. I was trying to bring someone back. And instead I got someone brand new.”
His voice cracked. He pressed his lips to Connor’s hair.
“You’re so new. And so small. And I don’t know what I’m doing. God, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Connor let out a tiny, sleepy sigh, eyes fluttering shut again.
“But you’re perfect,” Tim whispered. “You’re… perfect.”
The word felt too big for something so small, and yet not big enough. There were entire databases in Tim’s mind that couldn’t describe the weight in his chest when he looked at this little life he’d created. Entire languages wouldn’t be enough.
This wasn’t what he was trained for. Not what Bruce had prepped him to handle. He could defuse bombs blindfolded, hack international firewalls in under a minute, and analyze a crime scene in seconds—but none of that helped when his son coughed or cried in his sleep.
None of it prepared him for the way he could sit in one spot for hours just listening to his baby breathe.
“I used to think love was this… reckless thing. Something you fell into, something that made you vulnerable.” Tim leaned back slightly, just enough to see Connor’s face, still slack with sleep. “But this—this doesn’t make me vulnerable. This anchors me.”
Connor squirmed again, mouth opening in a soft yawn. One tiny hand reached up, brushing Tim’s jaw.
Tim stilled.
He hadn’t cried when the chamber opened. He’d been too shocked. Too afraid. Hadn’t cried when Alfred found out. Not when his brothers held him up through the panic. Not even when Connor got sick and his entire world nearly stopped.
But now—now that everything was quiet, now that Connor was here, safe, warm and alive on his chest—Tim felt something break open in his ribcage.
Tears slipped down his cheeks, quiet and unforced. He didn’t bother to wipe them away.
“I didn’t think I could feel this,” he said, voice thick. “Not after everything. Not after everyone I’ve lost.”
He closed his eyes.
“But I do. I love you so much it scares me.”
Connor stirred, gave a soft hum of agreement, and settled again.
Tim smiled through the tears. He adjusted the blanket around them both, then leaned his cheek against Connor’s head.
“Sleep, baby,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you forever.”
And in that quiet moment, the world didn’t need fixing. There was no mission, no danger, no impossible expectation hanging over him.
There was only Tim.
And his son.