Chapter Text
Smuggling Damian from London to Gotham had been no small feat. Obviously, his first priority had been the acquisition of supplies. He'd asked Alfred to purchase car seats, diapers, formula, and baby food.
Alfred had insisted on accompanying them on their return flight, but Bruce convinced him to return to Gotham a day earlier so the butler could prepare the manor for Damian's arrival.
This had left Bruce on his own as far as caring for Damian. Thankfully, Damian gave him little trouble. His son was quiet, giving only grunts of dissatisfaction when he was hungry or in need of a diaper change. The boy seemed content to observe everything around him and chew on the silicone arms of his throwing star teether.
Still, Bruce was relieved when they finally arrived in the Batcave.
Damian had fallen asleep on the ride there, but as soon as Bruce lifted him out of his car seat, his eyes popped open as if he had been awake the entire time. He gazed at his surroundings groggily before laying his head on Bruce's chest.
"This will be your home now," Bruce said, as he carried Damian up the stairs toward the manor entrance.
"Hey, B," Tim spun his chair around, pausing his work on the Batcomputer. "My weekend in the mountains was pretty uneventful. What did I miss?"
"Tim, I'd like you to meet Damian. He'll be staying with us from now on."
Tim's mouth twitched into a small, bashful grin as he approached the pair.
"Hey, Damian," he cooed. "How are you?"
"Would you like to hold him?" Bruce asked.
"Sure," Tim said, holding out his arms.
Damian, now alert, straightened up. His eyes shifted from Tim's awkward smile to his outstretched hands.
Then, Damian leaned forward and bit Tim's fingers.
"Ow!" Tim exclaimed, jerking back.
"Damian," Bruce chided, his voice a low rumble. "We don't bite."
Damian made a noise in the back of his throat, a sign of discontent. Or, perhaps, disagreement.
"It's been a long journey. He probably needs some rest. Alfred will take him."
As if on cue, the butler appeared on the stairs. He scooped Damian from Bruce's arms with a practiced ease.
"Allow me to show you to your quarters, young sir. I trust they will be to your liking."
As Alfred carried Damian to his bedroom, Tim wheeled on Bruce.
"Uh, B?" he asked, in lieu of an actual question.
"According to Talia, he's my son. We only just met, in London. I'm still processing it."
"Talia?" Tim echoed. "As in Talia al Ghul, Daughter of the Demon? That Talia?"
"Hnn."
Tim pressed his fingertips to his forehead with a sigh, "I disappear into the hills for a weekend and you suddenly have a son living with us?"
"I couldn't just leave him."
"So tell me it's not possible. Tell me you didn't have a child with the daughter of a supervillain."
Tim paused, waiting for Bruce's response. Yet Bruce maintained a stony silence.
That, in itself, was answer enough.
"It is possible," Tim shook his head. "What about us?"
Bruce rested his hand on Tim's shoulder, "This doesn't change anything. Tim, I know it'll take some time to get used to this. If he is my son—even if he's not—he deserves to have a safe home with a guardian that loves him."
Tim yanked his shoulder from Bruce's touch.
"Whatever," he muttered. "I'm glad he didn't have to earn your love, like the rest of us."
Then, he turned away from Bruce and ran out of the cave.
"Tim!" Bruce called. "Wait!"
But Tim did not look back.