Chapter Text
Tim resolutely did not fidget as he sat in the waiting room. The chair was hard plastic and not very comfortable, but at least he fit neatly on the seat. Bruce on the other hand dwarfed his poor chair and if he were anybody but Batman, he’d be shifting uncomfortably.
The walls were off-white. Tim had already subconsciously cataloged the exits thanks to his Bat training. The door to his left was the way outside into the parking lot, there was a window on the far wall that could be broken with ease (by B at least), and next to the reception desk there was a door leading further into the doctors office. Despite it being ass-o’clock in the morning, there were five other people in the waiting room. One corner adjacent to where Tim was sitting was a children's area with a train table, doll house, and toy box. He ignored it.
It had been five days now since he came up out of littlespace, and Tim felt that things had finally calmed down. The legal battle had begun and B was granted emergency custody of him. Jason had stormed off in a huff not long after Tim came up, but he promised to visit and gave him his phone number and a safehouse address. Dick on the other hand had taken time off of work but Tim was currently avoiding him. The babying was a bit much. He wasn’t little anymore, he was fourteen.
(They hadn’t talked about Robin yet. Tim thought maybe B was waiting for everything to blow over before reinstating him. He really hoped Robin wasn’t taken from him, but why would Bruce be trying to adopt him if he couldn’t go out anymore?)
Tim had already talked to a cop, a social worker, and one of B’s lawyers, but there wasn’t much he could do as a minor. He didn’t really know how he felt about his parents right now, but he was happy to be staying with the Waynes, and he made that very clear to all the professionals he spoke to. If anyone tried to make him stay anywhere else he’d enact his fake-uncle contingency. (That was the contingency he’d use if and when the Waynes decided he was too much work.)
One thing the court case needed was for Tim to be officially classified. Hence the doctor's office. He had asked B if they could just do it in the cave or even go to Leslie’s clinic, but Bruce said they had to go to someone well-known, specialized for classification, and completely unaffiliated with either side of the case. It wasn’t a secret Bruce Wayne donated a lot to Leslie’s free clinic.
A woman in scrubs came out of the office door and called for Tim. Well, she called for Timothy, and he grimaced inwardly at the name. He’d never let it show on his face. He was too well trained for that. Bruce stood up first, Tim trailed behind, and the woman led them into an alcove with a scale, a couple chairs, and a blood pressure machine.
“Alright, Timothy, I’m going to have you pop your shoes off and get on the scale so I can get a height and weight. Stand up nice and straight for me.” Her tone was both friendly and a bit patronizing. Still, he did what she asked, sparing only a quick glance at Bruce, who was smiling. B was halfway into his Brucie persona, but Tim could see the placating grin behind the facade. It told him to play along like he was a normal teen, not a Bat-trained computer genius/detective. So Tim stood up straight on the little platform instead of making a biting remark that he knew how a scale worked. He was admittedly a little pissy. Sue him. “Okay, got it, you can step off and sit in the seat over there. 62 inches and 104lbs.”
Tim sat patiently and let the woman take his blood pressure and temperature. She didn’t read those numbers aloud and Tim didn’t really care anyway. She led them to an exam room and gestured inside.
“Please wait here, the doctor will be with you shortly.” And with that, the woman closed the door behind her and it was back to being the two of them.
Tim hadn’t been to the doctor much but knew what an exam room should look like. But instead of the big, paper covered seat in the middle of the room, it was pushed off to the side and folded in on itself. There was a rolly chair by a monitor clearly meant for the doctor and across from it were three plastic chairs. Tim and Bruce sat down there. There were colorful posters on the walls, which were light yellow instead of the white everywhere else thus far. Beyond the chairs, the floor space was taken up by a series of toys ranging from cars to dolls. It was a Little classification office all right.
“I looked into the doctor,” Bruce murmured. Tim assumed he had but leaned a bit closer to show he was listening. “She’s been practicing for nineteen years, specializing in Littles. Nothing on her criminal record except two speeding tickets, both over a decade ago. No relation to any felon who’s done more than carjacking. Gotham native, three siblings, one living parent. Currently engaged to an engineer, who also has no affiliation with higher level criminals.”
Despite himself, Tim felt better. Had Bruce been able to tell he was nervous? Going to a doctor was a relatively new experience for him, and Tim had heard horror stories, both as Robin and before. Rogues pretending to be doctors, goons pretending to be doctors, actual doctors becoming rouges. Nobody would be able to get past B though. Tim was just about as safe as could be.
There was a firm knock before the door cracked open, and the doctor poked her head through before smiling and coming in. The grin was wry and genuine. The doctor was unusually short with brown hair and wire-framed glasses covering warm eyes. She was holding a file but didn’t open it, instead setting it beside the monitor as she took a seat in the rolly chair.
“Hello, my name is Dr Brenna Reilly, but you can just call me Dr Brenna. I see here your name is Timothy, do you go by that?” She looked directly at Tim, barely sparing Bruce a glance. He hesitated before answering.
“It’s Tim.”
“Tim it is then, I’ll mark that in the chart. And of course it’s good to meet you too, Mr Wayne.”
“Please, call me Bruce.”
“Alright, Bruce.” Dr Brenna turned her attention back to Tim. “We’re here so we can both medically classify you and formulate a plan for your headspace. That’s stuff like who’s going to look after you when you can’t and what sort of supplies will be best. Now, this appointment will be a bit atypical due to the court case. I’ve received the basic information I need, I have no desire to pry into your business further than I need to. What that means for this appointment is I’m also going to perform a general check-up, although honestly I typically do anyway when I see patients. Bruce is your legal guardian right now, but I hold the power to kick him out the room if you want. I know classification appointments can be very personal and you haven’t been in his custody for very long.”
Tim paused to parse through the information. He could have B leave the room if he wanted, do the rest of the appointment himself. Part of Tim thought that sounded fantastic. He was an independent person and this was a place to showcase that. He didn’t need Bruce here with him. But, another part of Tim wanted him to stay. He wasn’t nervous, he wasn’t, but Bruce’s presence was comforting. Besides, B seemed genuine in his promise to care for him. It had been days since he came up out of his headspace and the constant reassurances were starting to sink in that the Wayne family wanted him in their lives.
Being a Little was inherently embarrassing. It wasn’t even just the lowered social status, the fact that people would take him less seriously. Nor that he would stay shorter and overall weaker than people his age. The worst part wasn’t even that he’d be legally in custody of someone else for most of his life, although he would get much more rights than a child. Tim’s memories were hazy but he knew he had pissed his pants and Dick had to clean him up. His food had to be cut up for him and he kept clinging to people. When in headspace, Tim was worse than useless. He was a burden. He couldn’t expect someone to want to take care of him for decades. Being Little wasn’t going away. But Bruce had said he would take care of him. Tim was getting the feeling Bruce wasn’t going away either.
“He can stay.” If B was going to stick around, he would need all the information he could get.
“Okay, but let me know if you change your mind at any time. The first thing we’re going to do is a simple blood draw, that’ll go straight to the lab and we’ll get the results within the hour. While that’s getting analyzed is when we’ll do the general check-up and talk about your experiences in headspace so far. You’ve made my job a little easier since we already know you’re a Little, just not the ranges. You dropped this past week, right?” While asking the question, Dr Brenna turned and began to prepare a needle for the blood draw.
“Yeah. Well, um, the start was over a week ago, I think.”
“You dropped eleven days ago in the evening,” Bruce provided. “Then you were little for five full days, and today marks five days since.”
“That’s a lengthy drop, but not too unusual considering the circumstances. Do you have a date for your presentation drop?” The needle came closer. Tim was not looking at it. Dr Brenna tied the tourniquet.
“I don’t, um, it was in March. I was, I was eleven.” The alcohol wipe was cold and Tim tensed despite himself.
“Dick was afraid of needles,” Bruce blurted out. It was loud and awkward but Tim latched onto the voice like a lifeline. “He tried every trick in the book to avoid going to the doctor whether there’d be needles or not. We wouldn’t tell him, just pick him up from school and drive to Leslie’s. Then he’d try to escape. I once had to pluck him out of the vent system, another time he front flipped out of the window.” Tim laughed. Knowing Dick now, it was hard to think he’d mellowed with age but he had. It was a good thing Bruce took him in. Only Batman could wrangle a homicidal nine-year-old acrobat.
Dr Brenna had been close but then she rolled away. Oh. The blood draw was over. Tim had barely even noticed the needle go in. The doctor handed the vial of blood to someone right outside the door before sitting back down in her chair.
“I’ve had plenty of runners over the years, but front flipping is a new one. That’s one of the reasons we get it out the way quick. I’ll mark the chart, March, three years ago.” A pained expression took over Dr Brenna’s face but she was back to smiling within seconds. “Tell me a bit about your drops. How often, how long do you stay down, who generally takes care of you.”
“At first,” Tim started, “my parents would take time off from their trips and come home every few weeks and I’d um, drop, the full day, day-and-a-half they’d stay. But then they … stopped coming home as much, so I would skip school every couple weeks. That became a habit to the point I wouldn’t drop anymore when Mother and Father came home, so they stayed away longer.”
“Were you by yourself for most of your drops then?”
“Yeah.” There was a moment of silence. “But it’s fine. I’m not a baby Little or anything. I managed.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t have anybody to care for you properly. You deserve to have someone there for you no matter your headspace, no matter your classification at all. I’m going to do my best to help you,” Dr Brenna said seriously, more stern than pitiful. She sounded a bit like Alfred. Tim turned his head away. “Do you own anything specific to your headspace? Clothes or supplies?”
“I didn’t, not until last time. J– Dick bought me some stuff.” Tim almost said Jason’s name. Considering he was legally dead, they were omitting him from any stories. “Soft pajamas with animals on them and stuff, and a sippy cup.” His face flushed. “And a pacifier.” Tim knew it was important to be honest to doctors. Didn’t mean he had to like it.
“Dick bought chunkier utensils too, which I believe were appreciated. We also made use of the pull-ups he purchased,” Bruce added. Geez, thanks B.
“Did you have an accident, then, or was it merely preventative?” She was cool and clinical but that didn’t make Tim want to answer. He had never really talked about being little before. It was always a big secret, seemingly on par with Robin.
“Yeah, I had…an accident, yeah. Just the one.”
“What about during previous drops, have you struggled with incontinence before?”
“Only a couple times. I use the bathroom a lot so I don’t usually.”
“Would you say you have to keep up on it to avoid accidents?”
“...yes.”
“So it sounds like pull-ups are a good option for when you’re little. Do you have any issues with incontinence when big?”
“No, what? Of course not.”
“It’s not uncommon, especially for people with younger headspaces. I don’t think you’ll struggle with that but if it does happen, it’s nothing abnormal,” Dr Brenna said firmly. Tim nodded but avoided eye contact. Hopefully that would never happen. He wouldn’t let it.
There were more probing questions. Tim appreciated the doctor’s professionalism but that didn’t mean it was fun. He answered most of them himself but Bruce would step in for small things Tim didn’t know about himself when he was little. He didn’t pay too much attention to his own fine motor skills or gait, but B observed everything. Tim hadn’t realized he’d been looking that closely. Dr Brenna had to use some examples when asking about motor skills for big Tim, but he knew he could use a keyboard and tie his shoes just fine. He also thought his emotional regulation was just fine but he and Bruce also loved repressing all their emotions, which worked out great for both of them. (No, he did not need to deal with those later, shut up.)
“Next up is the general check-up, but first we have a little, well, a little test for Littles. What I have here is concentrated artificial caregiver pheromones.” The doctor held up an innocent looking white packet. Tim had actually seen a few before in the Cave, B kept one in his toolbelt. It was a great tool for calming down Littles, who were in more danger of hurting themselves or others than children. “Every Little reacts a bit differently and it’s good information to have. I believe you mentioned Dick is a Caregiver?”
“My son Dick, yes. So is our butler, Alfred.”
“So the pheromones shouldn’t be too new, most people interact with a few Caregivers on a regular basis. What’s going to happen is I’m going to open the packet and you are going to take a quick whiff. Let whatever happens happen. Most Littles feel a bit drowsy for a minute, others actually feel a bit more energized.”
Bruce looked a bit apprehensive but masked it in a way only people who knew him could see it. Tim wondered why. B didn’t say anything though so he gave a quick nod and leaned forward a bit. Dr Brenna tore the packet open. Tim inhaled and could smell the woody, vaguely sweet scent.
Everything slowed down. It was like there was a big blanket covering the room, sounds were muffled and the air was less sharp. Tim’s previously racing mind slowed and unbeknownst to him, the tension melted off his shoulders. Someone was talking but he wasn’t listening. Timmy’s brain floated around a bit before focusing on the maroon color of his Converse and the feeling of them clacking together. He looked up. Bruce and the doctor lady were both looking back at him.
Timmy was at the doctor, which was kinda scary. He didn’t like that the woman was looking at him, even if she seemed nice. He leaned a bit closer to Bruce. Bruce was safe.
[{(o)}]
“Are you back with us, Tim?” Dr Brenna asked. Tim’s gaze was a bit unfocused and when he sagged a bit towards Bruce, he shifted so he could put a head on his shoulder.
“I didn’ go anywhere,” Tim, no, Timmy, said quietly. “I’m in the chair.”
“I can see that.”
Bruce had no clue what to do about Tim seeking comfort. Dick had always clung whether he liked it or not, and Jason had never been one for hugs, even years after Bruce adopted him. (Even now). But Timmy liked Jason, all he had to do was open his arms and Timmy would come sit with him. Bruce shifted again. He moved one arm to the Little’s back and the other made its way up awkwardly. Timmy glanced at the doctor before climbing into his lap, burying his face in the crook of Bruce’s neck. Bruce wrapped his arms around his son.
“I must say, it isn’t often we have a Little who drops from that. Not abnormal, mind, just a bit unusual. I’ll give Tim some time to get acclimated and grounded and the two of us can chat. We have quite a while blocked out for the appointment, I’m in no rush if you aren’t.”
Bruce liked Brenna Reilly. Well, as much as he could like someone he barely knew or trusted. She was professional but also warm enough to put Tim at ease. The woman asked good questions, didn’t pry, and showed no sign of being starstruck by Bruce Wayne being in the clinic. After this appointment he would find a way to anonymously donate to the clinic. Perhaps a while after the court case wrapped up so he couldn’t be accused of paying off the doctor.
He hadn’t given Tim all the details of the case so far. Bruce was trying to protect him as he hadn’t been able, no, hadn’t done before. Tim was his youngest son, his littlest, his Little. He could tell the boy was already struggling, there was no need to tell him his parents were trying to give Bruce custody to avoid court. The Drakes knew they were in a rough situation, likely jail time even they couldn’t pay their way out of. Bruce tried his best to embody justice. He worked with the police and avoided unnecessary violence. Jason used to kick unconscious criminals and Bruce would tell him off. But sometimes Jason would nail a pedophile right in the crotch and Bruce would turn a blind eye. He paid off the cops too sometimes, and threatened school principals, and after Jason…he would kick and kick and kick past what was necessary violence, if violence ever could be. Bruce didn’t pretend to be a good person, he knew he wasn’t always right, even if he hated to admit it. Part of him wanted to take the custody paperwork and let the Drakes free if it meant having Tim right now. Another part wanted to hunt down the bastards Tim called parents and grab them by the throat. To shake and pull and shout. How fucking dare they do that to Tim? But Bruce couldn’t do that. He would take them to court with his best lawyers and they would lose because they had no ground to stand on. The justice system would do its job. Batman wasn’t needed here. Tim needed Bruce right now.
(Dick had physically stopped Bruce from pulling on the Batsuit and hunting the Drakes down after he heard Tim give his statement to the police. They technically weren’t supposed to be listening, but of course they did anyway. The worst part was how calm Tim had been about it. This was right after they had gotten used to Timmy, who cried when left alone for a moment and was scared of the bathtub. Dick had grabbed him and yelled, and Bruce shouted back, and then they were both screaming but not at each other, they were screaming together at the injustices that had been done to their youngest. Dick had always been overly emotional and when he cried sometimes Bruce felt like he was crying too, something he hadn’t done since Jason. Dick cried and broke down and they sat on the cold floor of the cave and Bruce hugged his oldest.)
Bruce held Timmy a bit tighter and ran a hand through his dark hair like Jason would. He put on a Brucie smile and looked up at the doctor.
“Sure, I took the day off of work so we have nowhere to be. The receptionist had mentioned when I scheduled the appointment that this could happen. Dick, my oldest, packed a bag just in case with Timmy’s pull-ups and favorite toy, it’s in the car.”
“It’s good to be prepared. I recommend always having a diaper bag on hand when caring for a Little, you never know. I swear my niece goes through a pack of wet wipes every time she drops.” Dr Brenna paused to smile to herself before sobering. “I imagine it will be a rough transition having a Little in your home, it always is, but most parents that come through here have cared for young children before and/or know someone who will have primary caregiver duties.” It was common knowledge that Bruce had adopted his three boys when they were all older. A nine-year-old was not a toddler.
“I know, but I have Dick and Alfred to help me, and to tell the truth I always wanted a small child. Life has apparently deemed I have to deal with hormonal teens, probably as payment for how awful I used to be as one.” Bruce wasn’t lying about his desire for a small child, even if it had faded over the years. Small children had small problems that were easy to fix, and they loved despite adult problems that tore people apart. Batman wasn’t necessary when Timmy just needed to be held to calm down. Big Tim would be more difficult, but when had Bruce ever shied from a challenge?
“When you leave, I’ll give a pamphlet I made for local support for caregivers. You don’t have to be a capital-c Caregiver to use them. It’s easy to burn out when caring for a Little. I also have some parenting resources on there for all ages.”
“That would be appreciated, thank you.” Bruce saw that the woman’s eyes were trained on Timmy so he looked down. The toddler was staring at the toys on the other side of the small room. “Tim, do you want to go play?”
“I can play?”
“The toys are for anyone,” Dr Brenna provided, “even big grown-ups like Bruce.” Timmy barely looked at the doctor, instead looking up at Bruce.
“I’m allowed?”
“Yes, you are allowed to play with the toys.” With Bruce’s permission, Timmy wiggled until the man set him down, at which point he made his way over to the plastic cars. He grabbed a few and came right back, sitting at Bruce’s feet, facing Dr Brenna. Timmy rolled them back and forth on the tile.
Dr Brenna had some more questions for Bruce. He shared the family’s opinions on Timmy’s headspace range and the behaviors they had all observed. Bruce also talked about the separation anxiety. The doctor would be reporting to the court and she would likely have some good insights about the issue. It wasn’t a huge problem if Timmy wanted to be close to somebody, but it could grow to be inconvenient, especially during naptime.
“That’s something that can be worked on over time, I would definitely wait until he gets comfortable to push. I would also recommend therapy. There are a number of therapists here in Gotham who work with Littles, so the appointment would be at the same time whether Tim is in headspace or not.”
“I’ll have to talk to Tim about it, see if he’s open to talking to someone. He’s…a very private person,” Bruce said like he didn’t cope by being Batman instead of talking about his problems.
“Of course. That’s the nice thing about Littles, you can talk to them when they’re big and they can make their own decisions. Typically I would ask whether you have the room to have a designated little space, but it feels like a dumb question when it comes to you, Mr Wayne.”
“Yes, the manor has a few extra rooms,” Brucie said wryly. “We’ve already set aside a room in the family wing for a playroom/bedroom. Tim seems a bit apprehensive about doing any shopping yet, Dick says he’ll feel better once the court case is over.”
“I imagine it’s hard not knowing what will happen, although it feels like an open and shut case to me. No child wants to think of their parents as bad people.”
Bruce spared a glance at the boy at his feet. Timmy wasn’t listening at all, simply playing with the cars. He was making motor sounds under his breath and occasionally banging the cars on the floor or against each other. It was easy to forget the Drakes were Tim’s parents with how they treated him, with how Bruce thought of him as his son. Bruce’s own parents were practically saints in his mind. Timmy looked up and smiled, which Bruce returned with a slight grin.
“Cars, daddy.”
“Yes. Those are cars.”
“I have a couple questions for you, Tim, if you don’t mind. You can keep playing with the cars.”
“Okay,” Timmy said suspiciously.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Red.”
Bruce vaguely remembered Dick mentioning that. That was always Jason’s favorite too. Hopefully Timmy wouldn’t bring up his older brother, a toddler’s memory wasn’t as good as a teen’s.
“My favorite is purple, and my favorite fruit is mango. What’s your favorite fruit?”
“Blueberries! And strawberries!” Timmy clacked the plastic car against the floor.
“Those are both pretty yummy. How do you feel about living with Bruce? I know you’ve already spent some time at his house.”
“I like being at his house. Dick and Daddy play trains with me. And I don’t have to be by myself ever.”
“That sounds great. Do you wanna see something cool?” When Timmy nodded, Dr Brenna grabbed the magnified flashlight from the counter. “Okay, can you come sit in a chair for this? You can sit with Bruce.”
Timmy climbed up into his own seat but leaned into Bruce’s side. One car remained clutched in hand, although he seemed to have forgotten about it. It was a red Porsche. Did Tim want a Porsche? Should Bruce get him one?
“With this I can see inside your nose or ears. Do you want me to try it?” Dr Brenna asked. Timmy looked a bit skeptical. “Why don’t I use it on Bruce first?”
At Bruce’s nodded permission, she quickly looked inside his ears and nose. Timmy seemed more open after that so Dr Brenna quickly did the same thing to him. The woman gave simple instructions for Timmy to follow the light with his eyes and then stare straight ahead. Bruce was called to demonstrate the reflex test as the toddler did not seem to like the little hammer. He was grateful since he wasn’t sure Timmy would’ve reacted properly otherwise. He and his boys all had different reflexes built in over time, but the boy kicked each leg lightly just like he was supposed to. Timmy stuck his tongue out so the doctor could look at his throat and took deep breaths to have his lungs checked with the stethoscope.
“You’re pretty muscular, kiddo. Do you do any sports at school?”
“No.”
“He does martial arts,” Bruce explained, which wasn’t technically a lie. “Outside of school, though. Same thing with gymnastics, which he does with my son, Dick.”
“Exercise is good, there’s no need to quit now that he’s classified. Littles are more sturdy than people seem to think. Just keep in mind that Tim likely won’t be as physically strong as his age group from here on out. Gymnastics shouldn’t be an issue but I’d advise he let his martial arts instructor know he’s been classified.”
Well, Bruce was his teacher so that wouldn’t be a problem. Timmy was wiggling in his seat with a bit of a frown. He was looking up at Bruce like he wanted to say something, but his mouth stayed closed.
“Do you need something, Timmy?”
“I gotta go potty,” Timmy whispered, although not quietly enough that the doctor didn’t hear him anyway.
“I’m done with the check-up for now, we’re mostly just waiting on the blood test. Go ahead and take your time.”
“Of course, we’ll be back soon,” Bruce said politely. He picked Timmy up and made his way to the car. Dick had packed pull-ups and made him promise he’d put Timmy in one if he dropped.
Bruce nodded to the receptionist on the way out. The bag was in the trunk and he managed to pull out a pull-up with the arm that wasn’t holding Timmy. He would’ve brought out the bunny stuffed animal as well, but they were about to go into a bathroom. Bruce nodded again to the receptionist on the way back in and carried Timmy into the family restroom.