Chapter Text
“Raven!” Dick knew his shouting was probably blowing out the sensitive cowl speakers but he couldn’t care less. “Raven, I need you!”
“What’s wrong?” Worry tinged her voice, understandably so.
“It’s Damian. He’s…he got hit with a spell.” Dick didn’t have the brain space to explain what he was seeing, not while sprinting with a literal ton of Kevlar dragging behind him and trying to keep his grip on a writhing Robin. Darts whistled past his ear—dammit, why wouldn’t they stay down!—and pinged off the wall. Dick chucked smoke pellets then a concussion pellet five seconds later. “I’m sending you my coordinates. Please, you have to come right now or else he’ll–”
“I’m on my way.”
She arrived in a swirl of purple at the same time Dick came crashing through the doors, Damian bundled in his arms. The boy’s breaths were coming in short pants, hands clutching at his chest as he bucked. Dick lay Damian on the hood of the Batmobile and immediately spun around to make sure they weren’t followed out. He should’ve expected something insane from Gotham. It’d been quiet for too long and their investigation led to abandoned catacombs below a condemned bank. Prime nonsense territory.
“Can you help him?”
“Do you know the spell that was used?” Raven asked. Violet light glowed from her eyes as she passed a hand over Damian’s twisting body, reflecting off chrome and grimy concrete.
“No. He triggered a trap.” Trying to not act as frantic as he was feeling, Dick looked between Raven and Damian. “Well? Can you help him or not?”
“Don’t snap at me, Batman,” She said in an icy voice, holding both hands over Damian, "I'm doing what I can." The purple haze grew stronger as she spoke foreign words, a breeze rippling her dark hair. A flare of light. And then…
Dick didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. Maybe he could manage all three at the same time.
Slowly, Raven lowered her hands. “I was able to pause the effects. But unless we know the exact spell used, trying to reverse it could be dangerous. This is magic I’m unfamiliar with. You’re better off seeking more help from Zantanna or Constantine.”
Dick merely nodded, digging through Damian’s now loose and crumpled suit. “You said it’s paused?”
“Yes.”
“So…” and that urge to laugh-cry-scream grew stronger, “he’ll stay this age?”
They both stared at the green-eyed toddler tangled in the crumpled Robin uniform.
“Yes." She winced. "What age do you think he is?”
“He’s got a couple front teeth breaking through so…nine or ten months?” Saying the words made it all suddenly hit home . “Oh holy shit,” On instinct Dick went to run fingers through his hair only to collide with the constricting cowl. Damian’s lip trembled and his eyes welled with tears. Awkwardly, Raven patted his chubby baby arm. “I'm so fucked.”
Turns out Bruce built a baby seat into the Batmobile. It only took Dick about five minutes to wrestle it out while on comms with Alfred. In the background, Damian wailed as Raven tried and failed to soothe him.
“You're so stubborn!” Dick grumbled as he attempted to buckle the wriggling and whining baby into the seat. “Dammit, Damian, stop—” Tiny hands with razor nails grabbed at him. The one time Damian managed to seize an escaped lock of his hair a few minutes ago, he almost ripped it from Dick’s skull. At least the violence was the same.
Once they were driving back to the Manor, the hum of the car seemed to lull Damian into a calmer, almost sleepy state. His eyes were fluttering closed, snapping open, then closing again. It was cute and an hour ago that comment would’ve earned Dick a punch to the gut and a threat against his life. Dick heaved yet another soul-deep sigh. How did everything go so wrong, so fast? More proof that he wasn’t cut out for this. Any of it.
Arriving at the Bunker didn't bring as much comfort as hoped. “Hi Alfie,” Dick didn't bother hiding his exhaustion as he lifted Damian out of the car and set him on his hip. Damian’s eyes fluttered shut again as his head tipped onto Dick’s chest. He set a hand on the baby’s back to keep him there and in a monotone voice added, “Surprise.”
Alfred pressed a hand to his mouth as he walked over. “I almost didn’t believe it when you called. What in the world happened?”
“Stubborn kid didn’t listen when I told him to disengage. As usual. Got a face full of magic and started pulling de-aging immediately. Raven was able to pause the effects.” He heaved a long sigh. “We’re one man short of being 'Three Men and a Baby'.”
“I certainly hope we’ll have a better handle on things than they did!” Alfred exclaimed and Damian’s eyes popped open before closing again.
In spite of everything, a smile started to pull at Dick’s mouth. “He’s pretty damn cute though, isn’t he? Especially since he’s not trying to stab any of us or run off. Can’t even yell insults like this. Silver lining.”
“Indeed.” Alfred’s mustache twitched as his gaze grew impossibly soft. “He’s almost the spitting image of Master Bruce as a child.”
The comment stung like plunging into freezing water. Bruce would be equally panicked, if not more so with the situation, beneath a cool outward appearance. He also would’ve treasured the chance to see his son as a baby, free of the League’s influence.
But Bruce was dead.
“Here, why don't you go to grandpa Alfie for a little?” Fighting to keep his voice normal, Dick passed Damian to Alfred. For a moment Damian opened his eyes with a small whimper, looking back at Dick. But the fear ebbed away when Alfred smoothed a hand over Damian's thick mop of black hair.
“Do we have nursery supplies?” Dick asked. At the Manor there was a small stash in a cobwebbed corner of the attic, left over from the brief time Bruce spent as an emergency foster care placement. Jason talked him into it, not that he needed much convincing, but there were no placements ready and then only weeks later…Jason was dead. Bruce took himself off the list right after.
“Whatever might be squirreled away at the Manor is likely in questionable condition.”
“Okay, one crib added to the shopping cart. Think anyone delivers this late at night?”
“For the right price.” Alfred didn’t take his eyes off Damian. Was this a balm for his grief? A second chance to see the son he lost? Or was it just driving the knife in deeper? “I’m afraid this little one will need pajamas as well as a bath. Thank you for volunteering to do that, Master Richard, while I finish preparing dinner. How considerate.”
“You sneak,” Dick complained with a smile, “If you’re cooking and I’m washing a baby, who is buying literally everything?”
“We’re so fucked.”
“Miss Stephanie!”
Steph didn't bother apologizing. She just stared at the baby in Alfred's arms, mouth hanging open. A plastic shopping bag with formula, diapers, onesies, squeeze packs of baby food, and other baby items dangled from her hand. Plus a bag of chips and a frozen lasagna Dick definitely didn’t put on the list.
Laughing, Dick went back to working on the new pack ‘n play he was opening up in Damian’s room. He hadn’t told Stephanie why she was being sent a wire transfer and shopping list of baby essentials just so he could see this look on her face. "My words exactly."
"Is he…can he understand us? Will he attack me with a pacifier if I laugh at him?” Steph leaned in closer, scrutinizing Damian who grabbed for–and missed–her loose blonde hair.
"I don't think so." With a grunt, Dick popped the walls up, making sure the wires slotted correctly. “He doesn’t respond to any specific questions like Damian would if he was merely trapped in a smaller body.”
“Huh.” Steph stepped back, tapping her chin as she studied the new, babbling puzzle dropped in their lives. "How much do you know about taking care of babies?"
"A little. But I mostly babysat Lian when she could walk and talk."
“We could drop him off at a fire station.”
“ Steph.”
She pointed an accusing finger at Dick. “Don’t ‘Steph’ me! You’re trying not to laugh!”
Biting his cheek harder, Dick looked to Alfred, who was attempting to pry Damian’s drool-covered hand out of his mouth as the baby fussed unhappily. Smiling frogs decorated the light green onesie Alfred chose to put Damian in. "Master Bruce had a doting mother and overnight nanny for his earliest years but I have some knowledge,” The butler said.
“Well you’re all in luck because I do know about babies, shout out to the Babysitter’s Club.”
Dick flipped through the instruction manual to make sure he hadn’t missed a step. “Who?”
With a noise of obvious disappointment and disgust, Steph pivoted towards the door. “Come along, Alfred,” She said in a British accent, “It seems wee Master Damian requires nourishment."
Running a hand through his hair, Dick chuckled. "Looks like we have 'Three Men and a Baby' beat."
With a grimace, Steph dodged Damian’s slimy, grasping hand. “Who?”
“You’ll find out next movie night.”
Damian cried.
All. Night.
At first Dick went in to set a hand on Damian's chest and make groggy shushing noises. Once the wailing stopped, he’d slip out, only for Damian to inevitably wake himself up minutes later and the cycle would repeat. No amount of comfort, pacifiers, or offered bottles helped.
“Aren’t I supposed to let you cry yourself to sleep sometimes?” Dick muttered as Damian screeched into his shoulder, little hands balled into tight fists, face scrunched up and red. Rubbing his back seemed to calm the baby. Setting him down did not, as Dick learned a few minutes ago. The wails escalated the second Damian was lifted from his chest, like he knew the next step was Dick leaving him.
Desperate for rest, Dick turned in a circle, searching for something…there. A baby wearer. Bless Steph and her additions to his inadequate list. “Okay little man, let’s try this.”
It wasn’t easy undoing all the twist-ties and readjusting lengths with one hand and several times Dick was tempted to lay Damian on the bed so he could figure out how to clip himself into the strap covered contraption (if it was even big enough for Damian). But the kid was finally done screaming and moved on to soft sniffles and stuttering breaths as he watched with a pout.
“Of course you’d enjoy seeing me struggle.” Dick huffed as he abandoned the carrier. This was an eight hours of sleep and both hands kind of job. Green eyes blinked up at him from under wet lashes. “Feeling better?” He wiped Damian’s ruddy tear stained cheeks. No way was this the same kid who sneered down at him from the astounding heights of his superiority complex. “Okay, let’s try a new plan.”
Dick shoved pillows into a pile at the head of Damian’s queen-sized bed. Then he sat back against them as he unwrapped a length of gray fabric. “Alright. You lay here–” He rested Damian flat on his chest, head still tucked against his shoulder, “And I wrap this around my waist…and up over the shoulder…lay this part up against you, tuck it, knot it, and voila!”
The baby wrap held Damian snug against his chest, finally giving Dick’s aching arms a break. “You know, my mom used to wear me like this. Think we can give it a try?” Damian wiggled a bit in response, presumably settling in. For a moment…there was blissful peace.
Then Damian began whimpering.
Inspiration struck. With a hand on Damian’s back, Dick climbed out of the bed and crept down the hall making soft shushing noises. He hesitated for a moment at the bedroom door before steeling himself and turning the knob.
Damian’s whimpers died immediately. “Yeah…me too.” Dick sighed as they entered Bruce’s bedroom. Despite how infrequently the Nest was used, the room still smelled like him. Lingering scents of cologne and aftershave, soaps, the vague leather smell of the Batsuit, along with the distinct mix of Gotham air and sweat they all had after patrol. No amount of anticipation could've prepared Dick. This was why he avoided the master suite in the Manor and took one of the smaller rooms like Damian did when they moved into the Nest. Wearing Bruce's suit was hard enough. Sleeping in his room would feel like stepping a foot into Bruce's grave as well.
Swallowing hard, Dick went to the closet and pulled a turtleneck off a hanger. “One of his favorites,” He said to Damian, holding the shirt up to the baby, “What do you think?”
One little hand curled against Dick's neck, nails scratching a bit, while the other grabbed the turtleneck. Then Damian made a soft sound that could only be described as a coo. Tears burned behind Dick’s eyes. He looked up at the ceiling and blinked them away. The last time he felt grief like this…it was both entirely too soon and ages ago.
Instead of raging uselessly about the unfairness of this life, he looked down at the content baby. “Thank God you approve.” When Damian looked up, Dick lightly tapped his now dry nose. That earned him a tiny smile—instead of a swift punch to the ribs—before Damian laid his head back on Dick’s chest to make more soft noises and squeeze the knitted fabric experimentally in a chubby hand.
Back in Damian’s room, Dick sat back against the pile of pillows, head resting on the headboard. Damian was finally asleep, lips pursed and one little fist still gripping the sleeve of Bruce’s turtleneck draped like a blanket over him. It was surprising how reassuring the weight and steady breathing on Dick’s chest was as he finally let his eyes shut. What a night. The thought almost made him laugh hysterically. God, it wasn’t even a full night yet. This all happened in a matter of hours.
Maybe that was why Damian wouldn’t stop crying. Being hit with a spell must’ve been one hell of a shock. It might have even hurt. Now he was left with no way to communicate besides crying. And if Dick–a fully grown, highly trained vigilante–was stressed, how much more terrifying was it for a kid, let alone a baby, surrounded by people he barely trusted?
Swallowing a twinge of guilt, Dick wrapped both arms protectively around his little Robin. “Goodnight, Damian. I promise I’ll do better tomorrow.”