Chapter Text
The nursery’s night-light bathed the room in a gentle amber glow. Outside, rain tapped a soft rhythm against the tall windows—steady, soothing, almost like a lullaby timed for father and son.
Tim, wrapped in a knitted throw, finally surrendered to real sleep. His head lolled to the side in the rocking chair, dark lashes unmoving, the tension in his jaw eased for the first time since Connor’s birth. A faint snore slipped past his parted lips.
His brothers stood guard.
00:47 – Dick’s Watch
Dick sat cross-legged on the rug, journal propped against his knee. Every ten minutes he glanced up, counting the rise-and-fall of Connor’s chest. The baby slept on, hands splayed like starfish.
Perfect, Dick scribbled. He looks like both of them—and entirely himself.
Connor hiccupped in his sleep; a soft frown crossed his brow. Dick ghosted a finger along the blanket’s edge, humming the first few bars of Brahms’ lullaby. Connor relaxed again, tiny fist unclenching.
Dick grinned. “Still got it.”
01:20 – Jason’s Watch
Jason swapped in with a mug of lukewarm coffee and a paperback tucked under one arm.
“Alright, little dude,” he whispered, easing into the armchair opposite Tim, “it’s Uncle Jay time.”
He set an infrared baby monitor on the windowsill—Wayne Tech prototype, tuned to detect micro-temperature spikes. The soft green readout held steady.
Jason opened his book but kept one boot tapping in quiet time with the rain. Halfway through a chapter, Connor stirred, eyes slitting open. No cry—just a silent, confused moue.
Jason rose instantly. “Hey, champ. Need a pit stop?” He lifted Connor with practiced gentleness, checked the diaper (dry), then paced slow circles. Connor nestled against his broad chest, head fitting beneath Jason’s chin as if molded for the spot.
“Yeah, I know,” Jason murmured. “World’s weird. But you’ve got the best crew running point, trust me.”
Connor’s eyes drifted shut again. Jason waited two whole minutes before easing him back into the bassinet.
“Five-by-five, kid.”
02:05 – Damian’s Watch
Damian slipped in silent as his namesake shadow. A datapad rested in his left hand, a tiny pulse oximeter in the right.
He knelt by the bassinet, clipped the sensor gently onto Connor’s foot, and watched the readings scroll: oxygen 99%, pulse a steady 122.
“Acceptable,” he pronounced softly.
Connor let out a sudden sneeze. Damian’s spine straightened. He produced a micro-blanket, wiped the minuscule spray with surgical precision, then studied the infant’s face.
“You inherited Father’s brow,” he said after a moment. “Unfortunate. We will work on discipline.”
Connor responded with a burble that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Damian’s lips twitched—almost a smile. He placed a plush Bat-cow beside the baby before retreating to stand sentry at the window.
02:47 – Sibling Convergence
Rain intensified, rattling the panes. A mild thunderclap rolled overhead. Connor startled, tiny mouth pulling down; before a cry could form, three sets of hands converged.
Dick cranked the bassinet’s mobile, soft stars revolving overhead. Jason dimmed the light further. Damian laid a firm hand on Connor’s chest—steady, grounding. The baby blinked, sighed, and relaxed back into dreams.
Across the room, Tim shifted but did not wake.
The brothers exchanged a quiet nod—mission accomplished—then settled into a loose triangle of vigilance: Dick by the bassinet, Jason on the windowsill, Damian near Tim’s chair.
Silence returned, broken only by rain and the occasional coo.
04:12 – Dawn’s First Light
Gray light seeped into the nursery; the storm had wandered off east. Birds began tentative morning calls.
Tim stirred, eyes fluttering open. For one disoriented heartbeat the room swam—until he saw Connor, sleeping peacefully, a small plush cow under one arm. He saw Dick dozing upright, Jason half-reading half-napping, Damian standing sentinel with impeccable posture.
Tim exhaled—the first deep, full breath he’d taken in days.
He brushed a grateful glance across each brother, then rose, joints stiff. As he leaned over the bassinet, Connor’s lids cracked open. Recognition sparked; a slow, gummy smile spread across the baby’s face.
Tim’s heart lurched, full to bursting.
“Morning, little star,” he whispered.
Behind him, Dick stirred. “Told you we had him.”
Tim swallowed past the lump in his throat, eyes misting. “Thank you.”
Jason smirked. “Anytime, Parent-of-the-Year.”
Damian merely nodded, but his voice was soft. “He is… adequate.”
Tim gathered Connor into his arms, blanket and Bat-cow and all. Dawn painted them gold.
For one fragile, perfect moment, the world was nothing but the warm weight of his son, the sleepy loyalty of his brothers, and the lingering rhythm of rain against distant eaves—
—and Tim knew, bone-deep, that closing his eyes hadn’t meant letting go.
It had meant trusting his family to keep watch.