Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The cacophony of Bludhaven surrounds him as he perches on a ledge.

Smog and pollution fill his senses while the people below bustle about, walking along the sidewalk, chatting amongst each other at the bus stop, or simply peering through the windows of nearby stores. Cars honk on the streets, and Dick observes one guy poke his head out of the car to shout his frustration at someone in the lane beside him. He swings to a nearby lamppost, peering at them curiously, ready to intervene if necessary.

Angry car guy happens to glance up at him. Dick lets a languid smile stretch across his face, lifting a hand in a friendly wave and watches as the red on the guy’s face disappears, causing him to look a little wan instead.

As soon as the light turns green, the man speeds off, and the rest of the cars follow. Dick lingers for a moment before slowly picking himself up, grappling to the nearest building, and swinging over to continue his rounds so he can get home to his little brother.

While leaping from rooftop to rooftop, Dick spies a flash of yellow in his peripheral vision.

He turns in time to see a red and green figure disappear behind an HVAC unit on the roof across from him.

Dick sighs before changing trajectory to follow a wayward Robin.

★★

“I thought you were staying in tonight,” Dick says when he finally catches up to his brother. “I was going to surprise you with pizza.”

Tim turns toward him, his body covered by his cape. “We can still get some,” he murmurs, looking uncharacteristically uncertain. “And it’s not a big deal. I started getting restless while I was lying in bed, and I felt like I’d been away for too long.

Because you were grieving, Dick thinks as he stares at his little brother—at the way he curls in on himself slightly, shoulders carrying a weight that wasn’t there before. Because you’ve lost too much already, and I haven’t pushed you to come out because I’m afraid I’ll lose you, too.

He voices none of this. Instead, Dick ruffles Tim’s hair, happy when the kid doesn’t immediately move away from his touch. “Are you saying I can’t do my job?” he teases. “I’ll have you know, I was doing excellent all by my lonesome—I only got chased by the cops once! That’s less than usual!” He pauses, smiling softly at him. “But I appreciate the company.”

Tim seems to brighten at that, although it’s barely noticeable. The only reason Dick catches it is because he’s already observing him closely, making sure he’s truly okay.

“I guess it’s a good thing I came out, then,” Tim says, a playful lilt in his voice. “I gotta keep Nightwing safe from the precinct that hates him.”

“They don’t hate me,” Dick protests, placing his hands on his hips. He rocks back and forth on his heels, chewing on his bottom lip. “They just… want me to stop interfering with the law and are under orders to arrest me. That’s not the same as hatred!”

“Okay, fine. I have to protect Nightwing from the precinct that gets annoyed by him every night.”

“That’s better,” Dick says, grinning. “Thanks for the correction, Robin.”

Tim grunts (such a Bruce sound) and turns away from him completely. Dick observes his slumped posture, feeling a flicker of guilt. He shuffles closer to his brother, moving noisily to not frighten him, and places a hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“If you ask if I’m okay, I’m going to kick you,” Tim mutters. “And I don’t care if you’re standing on the ledge. I’ll still do it. I’m sick and tired of people asking me that question.”

“Okay,” Dick says easily. “But I just want to say you can talk to me about anything, Robin. I hope you know that.”

Tim glances at him, raising a hand and pressing against the side of his domino. The whites of the mask slide up, revealing pale blue eyes full of gratitude. “I know,” he says softly. “Thanks, ‘Wing.”

“Anytime, baby bird,” Dick replies happily.

“Baby bird?” Tim repeats, looking bemused. 

“Yeah!” Dick gestures to himself. “Big bird.” He points at Tim, grinning. “Baby bird.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It makes plenty of sense!” Dick counters, crossing his arms. “I used to be Robin, and then I moved on from the nest and spread my wings. Now, you’re Robin, which makes you the baby bird since you’re still tiny and cute.” He pauses, grinning when Tim’s cheeks tinge pink. “Truth be told, if you ever reach the point where you’re ready to move on and make a new identity for yourself, you’ll still be a baby bird to me.”

“Thanks,” Tim says dryly, but he’s smiling, so Dick counts it as a win. “I’m not going to call you ‘big bird,’ though. It sounds a little insulting. To me, at least.”

“Aw, come on!” Dick pouts. “It’s perfectly silly!” He nudges Tim’s side when he adds, “To me, at least.”

Tim chuckles—small and brief, but there, which is another win for one Dick Grayson. “Well, I think you’re perfectly silly,” he says, smirking, before pulling out his grapnel launcher and firing it at the nearest building. Tim disappears with a cocky little salute, and Dick stares after him, aghast.

“Oh, it’s on, little brother,” Dick mutters as he follows.

Soon, the skies of Bludhaven are filled with the sound of Tim’s cackles as he evades Dick again and again, all while Dick chases him across rooftops. His competitive side protests every loss, but Dick can’t find it in him to care when Tim looks so delighted to participate in such a silly game.

Seeing his carefree smile after witnessing nothing but emptiness and sorrow in the boy—that’s what matters most.

★★

Patrol continues.

It goes much more smoothly with Tim at his side.

Dick finds that more of Tim’s playful side shows up the longer they’re out, especially when he remains continuously distracted by lowly criminals and people of the city that need help. He also makes sure to keep up a steady conversation with Tim whenever there’s a brief lull, ranging from topics like the recent game, school, work, and, unfortunately, certain things Dick wants to avoid.

“So, what’s going on with you and Babs?” Tim asks from where he’s hanging upside down on the pull-up bar in the playground. “Last I heard, you were together, and then you weren’t, and now, she doesn’t acknowledge you and throws things at me if I even try to mention you. Which kinda sucks because I like to talk about you.”

“I hope it’s only the good things you like to talk about,” Dick comments, pulling himself up onto the other bar. He balances himself on it, arms lax at his side. “But, uh. Nothing. Nothing’s going on.”

(“Congratulations. You’ve managed to turn into Bruce after all.”)

He still feels the sting of her words in his brittle heart and can distinctly recall the look of anger and contempt on her face as she gazed at him, eyes peering into his soul and finding the darkness he tries so hard to hide. Dick inhales deeply, feeling a wave of self-loathing, as well as the phantom touch of hands all over his body.

His ears ring.

He thinks he can hear rain.

“I don’t think anything’s going to happen again,” he admits in a rush, hoping it covers up his shaky breathing. Dick climbs onto the highest pull-up bar, tipping his head back to stare up at the sky. He wishes he could disappear amongst the stars. “It’s probably for the best. We’re too different, and I don’t think…”

I don’t think she’d like who I am right now, Dick thinks, biting the inside of his cheek. I don’t think I like myself all too much, either.

He can feel the weight of Tim’s stare on him—scrutinizing and searching, not unlike the stares he receives from Bruce. Dick sighs and glances at him, offering a smile in hopes of easing the worry that sits so plainly on Tim’s face. It’s in the furrow of his brow and the slight purse of his lips.

“I just don’t think it’s a good time for either of us,” he finishes, smiling wryly. “And it may never happen again, which is fine. I’d say we’re better off as friends, and maybe we’ll reach that point again with a bit more time.”

“Oh,” Tim says, and Dick imagines he’s blinking behind the mask. “Okay. Sorry for bringing it up.”

“No, it’s fine.” Dick waves a hand. “You were curious. It’s only natural for you to ask questions about my doomed relationships. That’s what little brothers do.”

“What about potential relationships?” Tim muses. “Like, are you interested in anyone? Do you have any dates planned? Am I going to get kicked out of the apartment if you invite someone over?”

“I think I’m going to stay single for a while,” Dick says with a laugh, hoping it sounds more casual than self-deprecating. “And no, I’m not interested in anyone. I have nothing planned, and I would never kick you out just so I could have a date over. If I ever met someone worth bringing home, they’d have to deal with the fact that my kid brother is going to be there.”

Tim smiles at him, bright and brief, and then asks, “How’s Wally?”

“Huh?” Dick nearly slips off the bar. “Uh, what? He’s fine, I’m sure. Why are you asking about him?” He can’t stop the way his words tumble into each other, and he doesn’t know what to make of the sudden bout of nervousness that sweeps through him. “Did you hear something?”

“No? I was just wondering.” Tim pulls himself up so he’s sitting on top of the bar, head cocked as he gazes at Dick. “I just feel like I haven’t seen him around as much since I’ve been living with you, that’s all. Do your friends even know where you live?”

“Probably?” His pounding heart slowly calms, and the heat disappears from his face. Dick taps a finger against his chin, thinking. “Actually, I don’t even know. They knew the address to my last apartment—you know, the one that blew up—but I can’t remember if I told them about the new one.”

It’s possible he didn’t, but not because he’s so forgetful. No, Dick just doesn’t want his friends around him, afraid he might infect them with his poison, too.

“We should probably get back to patrol,” Dick says after a while, flipping off the bar and landing on the ground with nary a stumble. “Who knows what could happen in our absence!”

Tim snorts, standing to do the same. He does trip over himself, but Dick moves closer to catch his elbow, helping him straighten out. “Honestly, anything,” he says, fixing his cape. “My mind went straight to explosions, but then I remembered this isn’t Gotham, and if anything, it’d be mild at best, while Gotham would crumble to the ground.”

Dick laughs. “You’re not wrong, Robin,” he says, throwing an arm across Tim’s shoulders and tugging him against his side. He relishes the warmth that he feels from his brother, wishing things could stay this calm and peaceful forever. “But at least we’ll be here to stop a hypothetical explosion.”

They leave the playground and venture back into the heart of the city, where Nightwing and Robin stop a couple of car robberies, help an old woman take her groceries home, and pull a cat out of a tree for a hopeful little girl.

At some point, they end up in one of the many grimy alleyways, only this time, it’s so Tim can coax a dog out of hiding with a few choice words and a handful of treats.

Slowly, the poor thing leaves its corner, tail wagging when Tim drops the promised food onto the ground. It nudges Tim’s hand before eating the offering, releasing happy ‘woofing’ sounds as it gobbles it all.

Although things have been difficult for Tim, there’s something nice about seeing him smile so sweetly at the stray dog as he lavishes it with attention, rubbing his gloved hands all over its flank.

“I’ve always wanted a dog, you know,” Tim comments, grabbing another treat from one of his many pouches and holding it out to the pup. “My mom never agreed whenever I tried to ask. She said the fur would get everywhere, and it’d be too much of a hassle to clean.” His mouth twists, sorrow flickering over his face. “My dad seemed interested, but eventually, he denied my request, saying he’d never be around to care for it, so it wouldn’t be fair to the dog… Even though I was at home every day.”

Dick’s heart clenches. He crouches beside his brother, letting the dog sniff him, smiling when the tail wags even faster. 

“Maybe we can get a dog,” he says without thinking. The words just spill out of him,  but Dick finds that he doesn’t regret it when he catches the way Tim’s face lights up at the suggestion.

“Really?” Tim says hopefully. “But… What about B? Won’t he get mad?”

“Why would he?” Dick replies, shrugging. “It’s my apartment. Besides, when have I ever listened to B? Also, he has one. It’d be hypocritical of him to deny us a pet when he’s the one who taught his dog how to fight crime.”

“I love that dog,” Tim says earnestly. “He’s great.”

“The truest words ever spoken, Robin,” Dick says, patting the dog a few times before standing. “But we should get going. Crime doesn’t stop itself, and we’ve still got plenty of hours to make sure the city’s safe.”

“And then we can have pizza?” Tim asks, peering up at him.

“And then we can have pizza,” Dick agrees.

They leave the dog (after another petting session) and scale the building closest to them.

In the distance, there’s a burst of blue light. It pulsates in one stationary spot before flying up into the sky, exploding like a firework and lighting up the entirety of Bludhaven. Even from here, Dick can smell ozone, and he can feel a strange pressure on his body, making him feel uncomfortable in his skin.

It’s familiar.

“Ugh,” Tim says beside him. “Magic.”

★★

Dick and Tim split up in the hopes of catching the magic user off guard from different angles.

They’re not doing anything beyond using their magic to change random objects into something new or swapping the colors of certain things. Thankfully, there are no civilians around, either, which means Dick doesn’t have to worry about protecting the masses while fighting the person and simultaneously avoiding their magic.

He lands behind them and quickly backflips away from a burst of blue light, narrowly avoiding getting hit. Dick smirks when they whirl toward him, spouting some monologue he doesn’t care to hear.

Most of his focus is on Tim, who grapples up to the building across from them while Dick taunts the magic user, drawing them towards them to give Tim enough room to attack and hopefully knock them out with a quick bop to the head with his bo-staff.

Quick and easy, the way Bruce taught them.

The sky lights up with each burst of magic that Dick continuously dodges, feeling the dangerous, thrilling swoop in his stomach when he avoids each hit. He even manages to get in a hit with one of his Escrima Sticks, laughing in delight when they release a wordless shriek of rage.

It’s the opening Robin needs to swoop in and stop the possible threat before anything else can happen, and with a big swoop and a flashy flip, Robin sticks the landing…

And freezes.

Unfortunately, it’s at the wrong moment.

The magic user turns right as Tim stills, and Dick watches as the irritation shifts to one of confusion before finally settling on fury. Dick wants to say there’s recognition there, too, but he’s soon distracted by the magic user aiming their staff at Tim.

“You,” they snarl.

It only takes a second.

Dick can see the whites of Tim’s domino mask widen, lips parted in shock as a blast of magic hits him in the chest. The force of it causes Tim to stumble backward and then sends him careening off the edge without a sound.

“NO!” Dick roars and leaps forward, jabbing one end of his Escrima Stick into the magic user’s neck. He presses down on the hidden button on the other end, recently added by Tim, and watches as they convulse thanks to electricity. It’s probably a little too high, but right now, Dick doesn’t give a fuck, not when his little brother is already over the rooftop and probably broken on the ground.

The magic user slumps to the ground, unconscious, and Dick hastily cuffs their hands together before rushing to where Tim fell.

“Tim!” Dick cries, peering over the ledge.

He spies a vibrant yellow cape on the ground, unmoving, and quickly makes his way down. Once Dick lands on the ground, he rushes over to Tim’s side, brushing his fingers over the crumpled costume. It gives beneath his touch, turning into a pool of nothing, and the dread makes his stomach churn with nausea.

“No,” he whispers, eyes burning. “Timmy…”

Dick doesn’t know what type of spell the magic user cast, but it must have vaporized Tim or something because there’s not a single piece of Tim left (that he can see), not even a strand of hair or a finger.

“Not again,” Dick says next, curling over the Robin suit in grief. Warmth is slowly fading from it, leaving behind a chill that’s sure to seep into his bones soon after. “Please come back, Tim.” He’s babbling, trying so hard not to cry. “Please, don’t leave me. I can’t do this alone. Don’t go. Tim. Timmy. Tim. ”

Oh, god. What will Dick say to Alfred? To Bruce? To all of Tim’s friends? How will he look poor Dana in the eyes and tell her she lost the last person close to her?

Dick shudders, curling up on the cold, wet ground beside the suit. He doesn’t even care that he’s going to get dirty, nor does he care that someone might find him—Dick just lost another brother because he wasn’t fast enough, because he wasn’t there when it mattered.

He deserves to rot.

While he’s drowning in his sorrow, Dick almost misses the faint movement coming from the beneath the cape. He startles when something squeaks and sits up, staring at the material of the Robin suit and watching as it wiggles around. This continues for several seconds before a tiny head pokes out of the bundle of clothes.

Small, wide eyes stare at him, the brightness nearly hidden behind floppy black hair. Dick stares blankly at the chubby cheeks that beg to be pinched, familiarity itching at his mind.

There’s just something about the expression on the baby’s face—and clearly, they’re a baby, what with how small they look—that tickles his brain. Dick squints and scoots closer, trying to get a better look, and finds himself caught by how blue their eyes look. 

On anyone else, they might seem too icy with how pale they seem, but on this child, who simply gazes at him curiously (again, familiar), they look much warmer, open, and honest.

Dick feels the stirrings of hope in his chest as he finally places the familiarity. Hesitantly, he holds out a hand and slowly says, “Tim…?”

That little face breaks out into a smile, revealing a gap between his front teeth, providing more proof to the insane theory in his head. The child says nothing as they crawl out of the bundle of clothes, and Dick quickly grabs Tim (right?) before he can put his hands on the dirty ground.

“Tim,” he whispers, daring to believe.

He grabs the Robin cape and wraps it around his brother, covering him up to keep him warm. Then, Dick practically wraps his entire body around Tim, holding him close and rocking them from side to side.

Thankfully, Tim doesn’t seem to mind, but after a while, he starts wiggling around in his embrace, pushing at his arms with his tiny (!) hands. He doesn’t voice any protests, but he releases a couple of annoyed grunts, so Dick loosens his hold, leaning back to peer down at the little miracle on his lap.

“Well, I know you’re Tim, but can you confirm this for me?” Dick asks, frowning when Tim merely blinks at him, continuing to stay silent. “Timmy? You okay?”

Tim nods, but still, he says nothing. 

Dick stands with Tim in his arms, gathering the rest of the Robin suit and rolling it all into a ball. He tucks it beneath his free arm after moving Tim to his hip, trying to figure out the mystery of Tim’s voice. When he exits the alley, he recalls a note attached to Tim’s childhood medical files, indicating he was non-verbal for some time.

“Ah,” he says, walking toward one of the many stashes he has across the city. “Okay. That’s okay, Tim. I won’t force you to talk.” Dick smiles down at Tim, who immediately copies the action, and god, the way his whole face lights up makes Dick’s heart feel so full.

He reaches the cache and dumps the rest of the Robin suit inside, shifting Tim to his other hip. Dick chews on his bottom lip, wondering what he should do next, and glances at his brother, who picks at the cape that’s still wrapped around him, little brows furrowed in concentration.

“Alright, Timmy,” Dick says, looking over at the nearest building. It’s large and bright, and it’ll have everything he needs. “We need to get you some clothes.”

★★

(Maybe it’s a little bit insane to immediately accept the idea that his brother has been de-aged by magic, but really, it’s all Dick can do.

It’s also not the craziest thing that can happen.

He lives in a world where there’s enough mystical energy, in various forms, to go around, where an alien crashed in the fields of Kansas and flies over to Bludhaven to occasionally drop off some pie for Dick, where one of his best friends in the whole universe has superpowers that connects him to a cosmic force Dick could never hope to understand.

So, yes. Dick can easily accept this wild theory that his little brother is now a baby because otherwise, he has to accept the alternative, and that’s not something he wants to even consider.

This is the lesser of a singular evil, and Dick doesn’t want to live through losing another brother.)

★★

Nightwing often makes stops at stores.

Typically, he’ll buy food, clothes, or supplies for people he meets on the streets, providing whatever they need for the night or week. He has also made stops to purchase a toy or blanket for a child being interviewed by a police officer or a social worker, wanting to make the experience more comfortable for them, hoping to make them smile.

Dick never thought he’d be entering a supercenter to buy clothes for his recently de-aged brother.

“Try not to move around too much,” Dick says as he places the boy into the cart, ignoring all the looks thrown his way. There are a few whispers here and there and maybe a couple of scowls, but Dick doesn’t give them any attention as he’s too focused on Tim. “I’ll put something on you, pay for it, then we can do more shopping. Does that sound okay?”

Tim nods.

“Good.” Dick nods back. “First stop, clothes. I want to get something on you that’s not Robin’s cape.” He glances down at Tim’s little feet. “And maybe some socks, too. We can’t let you get cold.”

He directs the cart toward the children’s clothing aisle, pausing beside the rack of clearance items. Dick sifts through it all, eyeing Tim to guesstimate his size before pulling out a red flannel pajama set.

“How about this?” he asks.

Tim stares at the clothing items for a very long moment before shaking his head, nose wrinkling in what seems to be disgust. He kicks his legs against the cart, glancing at the rack on the other side, and slowly reaches out to grab something new.

Dick picks it out and stares at the new pajama set.

The sweatpants are light pink, and there’s a yellow bat beneath one of the pockets with the word BATMAN emblazoned on it. It comes with a pink and white hoodie that has a pink Batman symbol across the chest, as well as a plain white t-shirt. Dick squints and realizes that the hood has bat ears.

“Huh,” he says, looking at Tim. “You want this?”

Tim nods and yanks it out of his hands, placing it on his lap. He strokes one of his tiny hands over the bat symbol, a gentle smile on his face.

“We’ll put that on you in a sec,” Dick says as he walks to the undergarments section. “Right now, we need to get the next important thing.”

He grabs a packet of the softest socks, tears it open, and slides a pair onto his brother’s feet. Tim stares at them, wiggling his toes around before nodding, and Dick nods back, continuing his journey. He picks up a pack of underwear and prepares to open it but stops, questioning the decision. Dick glances at the baby aisle nearby and sighs, tossing the bag into the cart and guiding them to the pull-up section.

“Okay, this is the last thing,” Dick says as he grabs one of the smaller boxes, figuring he could take out one and donate the rest to a shelter. “And then we can do some real shopping.”

(Tim nearly throws a tantrum when Dick takes out one of the pull-ups in the bathroom. His face turns red, and his breath comes out in short puffs. He even stomps one foot with his arms crossed when Dick tries to persuade him to put it on, and Tim only snatches it from Dick’s hand when he promises to buy him ice cream.

“At least he didn’t bite me,” Dick mutters as he holds the bathroom door closed for Tim so he can get dressed.

He used to practically chomp on Bruce’s arm whenever the older man tried to put a tie on him for galas. After the first few incidents, Bruce invested in a clip-on tie, and the rest was history.)

★★

“Are you still mad at me?” Dick asks, ducking his head to meet Tim’s gaze. He bites back a smile when Tim puffs out his cheeks and pointedly turns away, everything about him expressing his displeasure. “I’m sorry, Timmy! But they need to be washed first, and you need something under your clothes! I’ll take them off after I do a load of laundry, okay?”

Tim huffs.

Dick pushes the cart out of the hair care aisle, trying not to laugh. “What if I buy you a toy, hm?” he asks, almost grinning when Tim immediately perks up. “Will you forgive me if I let you pick something out?”

He nods rapidly, and Dick guides them toward the toy section. Tim seems to get more and more excited the closer they get, wiggling around and kicking his feet out, twisting his body to gaze at the colorful selection on the racks. He releases a soft gasp, eyes going wide when Dick steers them deeper into the aisle.

“Anything you like?” Dick asks, slowing down a little. He picks up a couple of Ninja Turtle figures, peering closely at their hasty paint jobs. “Preferably, something that didn’t take two seconds to make.” Dick places them back on the shelf and moves on, pausing beside all the Batman-themed toys. “Hey, how about a Batmobile?”

He grabs a box that depicts an image of one of the older models, smiling to himself. Dick’s sorely tempted to snap a picture and send it to Bruce, but that might lead to questions he’s not ready to answer.

“How long do you think this will last?” Dick wonders, passing the toy over to his brother. Tim holds it in his lap, lightly tapping the corners with his hand and completely ignoring his question. Not that he can answer… “My guess is a couple of days, but I can’t say I won’t be unhappy if you change back in a week or two. You’re very cute.”

Tim suddenly looks up at him, pouting. He points at himself and shakes his head.

“No, what? You’re not cute?” Dick chuckles when Tim nods. “Sorry, Tim. I didn’t mean to offend you. But you really are the cutest little thing in the world!” Somehow, Tim pouts even more. “I thought this even before you got baby-fied.” He pauses. “Do you even remember anything? Like, you know who I am to you, right?”

His brother looks momentarily confused, but it soon fades into something like realization. Tim releases the box and brings one hand up to his chest, making an L shape by extending his thumb and index finger. His other one goes to his forehead, where he pauses, looking thoughtful, before he pinches the air and brings it down to hover over the first, forming the same shape.

Brother.

“Aww,” Dick can’t help but coo, feeling a touch of warmth in his heart. “Good! Do you know any other signs, Tim?”

They move through the toy aisles while Tim goes through some simple signs. It must be remnants of what he knew as a teenager because Dick doesn’t recall seeing anything about knowing sign language in Tim’s file. Maybe he learned to communicate with Cass better.

His knowledge of different signs slows down a bit when they enter the baby snack aisle, and Tim gets distracted by one of the puzzle toys he picked out. Dick ends up taking it out of the package for him (since he’s going to buy it anyways), listening to the sounds of Tim flicking switches and clicking little buttons.

“Hey, Tim?” Dick says later when he’s placing a pack of kid’s apple juice pouches into the cart, watching as Tim clicks all the buttons on his toy. They pop right back out, making him gasp. “How old are you?”

Tim blinks at him before holding up three fingers. He frowns at them, lowering and raising a couple of digits until he finally shows Dick his index finger and thumb, holding them out proudly.

“Two?” Dick smiles when Tim nods, hair bouncing. “Wow, Tim-Tam. That’s pretty big!”

His little brother beams at him, showing off the gap between his two front teeth. Dick nearly falls over and dies from how cute he looks. God, he’s like a little cherub—or a kitten! Dick can’t handle it! He has to do something, or he might explode!

“Can I give you a kissy, Tim?” Dick asks, placing a carton of strawberry-flavored puff stars into the cart. “Please?”

Tim stares at him, brows furrowed in thought. Dick meanders down the aisle, glancing over all the baby snacks while occasionally peeking at his brother. Eventually, Tim brings a hand up to his mouth and presses his lips against his palm, releasing it with a loud mwuah. He then holds it up to Dick, who blinks at it before smiling and leaning forward, letting Tim press it against his cheek.

“Aw, thank you, sweetie,” Dick says. “I appreciate it.”

He continues shopping, steering them towards the food section to pick out some things to make at the apartment. There’s a sale on boxed mac and cheese where four boxes cost a dollar, so Dick tosses quite a bit of boxes in there, figuring Tim might have the same palate as his teenage counterpart.

“Hey, Tim?” Dick says after picking out all of his groceries for the next week and a half (he hopes). “Can I tell you something?”

He waits until Tim’s looking at him. Then, Dick kisses his hand and holds it out to Tim, who peers at his open palm curiously. Then, after what seems to be seconds of deliberation, Tim ‘accepts’ the kiss and tucks it away in his hoodie pocket, kicking his feet and returning to his toy. Dick bites back a grin, pushing the cart towards the clothing section, figuring Tim might want some options.

After all, Tim will be living with him for the foreseeable future.

★★

“Oof,” Dick says when he sees the price on the screen, eyeing his pile of goods. He sighs and starts picking through them, smiling apologetically at the cashier. “Is it alright if I take some stuff out?” he asks. “Just my things—I’ll keep everything for him.”

“Sure, that’s fine!” She smiles at him, bubbly, despite the late hour. “Just set it aside, and I’ll start taking it out of the system.”

“Thanks.”

Dick sets aside a couple of microwaveable dinners, the huge container of coffee creamer, cookie dough, a set of mini towels, and some of the snacks he picked out for himself, leaving only the boxed mac and cheese, cans of soup, Tim’s snacks, a candy bar (Dick’s favorite), their ice cream cartons, and lastly, Tim’s clothes and toys, which includes the puzzle one, a box of flashcards containing images and words, and the pricey Batmobile.

The price drops considerably, but it’s still pretty hefty, and Dick doesn’t think he’s got that much cash on him.

He’s glad there’s no one behind him in the line because they’d probably be annoyed with him and how indecisive he’s being with his items. Not that he normally cares about the opinions of the public, but he does care a little bit more tonight because he’s got Tim with him.

The cart suddenly wiggles, and Dick looks over to see Tim trying to climb out. He practically lunges over to grab him before he can stand, heart pounding in his chest. Tim merely blinks at him like he didn’t scare the living daylights out of Dick.

“You wanna go down?” he asks, and Tim immediately nods, squirming in his hold. “Okay, okay, I’ll set you down. But you can’t do that again, alright?” Dick places Tim on the floor and holds up a finger, wagging it slightly. “It’s dangerous, bud. What if you fell and hit your head?”

Tim stares at him, unamused, before turning away. He walks over to the pile of stuff Dick’s going to buy and picks out the Batmobile toy. At first, he just stares at it, brushing a hand over the picture on the front, and then he starts carrying it over to the pile of things that Dick plans on leaving behind.

“Oh, no!” Dick exclaims. “You don’t have to do that!”

He attempts to take the toy back, but Tim yanks it out of his hands and pouts at him.

“It’s okay, kiddo,” Dick says, holding up both hands in surrender. “I’m getting it for you, so you don’t have to put it there. It’s fine! Really!”

But Tim shakes his head and adds it to the ‘no’ pile. His face is carefully blank, but it’s not as well-constructed as it is when he’s a teenager, so Dick can easily detect the disappointment, and he feels even worse.

The cashier suddenly leans over the counter, smiling down at Tim. “Hey, there,” she says warmly. “If you’re worried about Nightwing spending too much money on a toy, you can look through the donation box over there for something.” She gestures to a bin pushed up against the wall closest to them, depicting fun circus animals and the words ‘TRINKETS 4 TOTS’ written beneath the images. “Maybe you’ll find a toy you like.”

Tim stares at her with wide eyes before nodding and toddling over to the box. He holds the edges with both hands and stands up on his tiptoes to peer inside, and Dick watches as he starts digging around the box with one hand, tongue sticking out in concentration.

“Thanks,” Dick says quietly, keeping an eye on his brother while the cashier continues taking several items off his transaction. “I appreciate it.”

“Any time,” she replies cheerfully. “Anything else you want to take off?”

By the time Dick’s getting ready to pay with his sorry-looking crumpled wad of bills, Tim returns, holding a stuffed bear in his arms.

No, not just a bear, Dick realizes, smiling. A Batbear.

The plush has black fur with yellow bat symbols all over its body and dark eyes outlined with a bit of yellow. One foot has the very same symbol on it, cracked in a couple of places, but still in good condition. It’s also about the size of Tim’s chest, so it’ll be the perfect cuddle buddy.

“Wow, you found a great toy!” the cashier girl says, smiling widely. “Is Batman your favorite superhero?”

Tim suddenly looks shy as he shakes his head. Then, he points at Dick—at Nightwing.

“Nightwing’s your favorite?” she asks, and Tim nods, partially hiding his pink face behind his new bear. “Aw, that’s so sweet! Aren’t you so lucky he decided to help you today?”

Lucky indeed, Dick thinks fondly, briefly ruffling Tim’s hair. The boy stares at him with wide eyes before they crinkle at the corners, indicating his joy. Maybe I’m lucky, too.

★★

Dick puts all of Tim’s new clothes to wash the moment he gets to his apartment unseen, and he tosses his blankets and sheets in there, too.

Even though he griped about the price when he first signed the lease, Dick’s suddenly glad for it as it gives him the privacy he needs to wash all sorts of items, which includes all the bloodstained towels he accumulated due to his nightly escapades, and now, the pile of children’s clothing with him.

“You can change soon,” Dick says to Tim as he toddles around the living room with the Batman bear tucked under one arm, exploring every nook and cranny with a curiosity that only a child could have. Then again, teenage Tim did the same thing when he first moved in, so maybe it’s a Tim thing. “It should be quick.”

Tim makes an unhappy expression, eyes narrowed in Dick’s direction. He huffs and stalks over to one of the grocery bags Dick left on the floor, digging through it until he triumphantly holds up the puzzle toy. 

Then, he plops down right there, placing the bear between his legs as he fiddles with the toy.

“I’m going to go change, okay?” Dick says, waiting for Tim’s nod. “I’ll be quick. Try not to get in too much trouble while I’m gone.”

Tim briefly lifts his head, grinning toothily before refocusing on his puzzle.

Dick leaves him to it, slipping into his room and shutting the door halfway. He peels off the top of his Nightwing suit, wincing when the movement tugs at a few old bruises and tosses it into his closet. Then, he shuts the door and pulls on one of his older shirts—a soft yellow with the words CENTRAL CITY written across the front, stolen from Wally’s drawer so long ago—before quickly exchanging the bottom half of his costume for some cozy sweatpants.

Dick glances at Tim, who’s still distracted by the toy, and goes into the bathroom to remove his domino mask. He applies the solvent delicately, slowly working it beneath the edges, and then pins his hair back so he can wash his face. 

At some point, the door creaks open. Dick looks over while he’s using cleanser on his skin and sees two owl-like eyes peering at him from the small opening.

“Hi, Timbo,” Dick says before ducking his head to rinse the product off his face. He pats his face dry with a small face cloth and wipes his hands down his shirt, certainly leaving streaks of wetness behind. “Did you want something?”

Tim doesn’t say a word, of course, but Dick catches the way his shoulder slump in what seems to be relief. The boy stays there while Dick goes through the rest of his facial routine, and follows him back out into the living room, where he flops down on the ground with the rest of his toys Dick picked out for him, flashcards spilled out all across the rug.

Dick puts his groceries away, pausing to stare at one of the macaroni boxes. Hm…

“How do we feel about mac and cheese, Timmy?” Dick asks as he stares at his little brother. After a beat, he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What am I even saying? Of course, you’ll like it.”

Tim nods without looking up.

“Well, I’m going to make the best mac and cheese ever,” Dick promises, going into the living room to crouch beside him. “It might only be boxed macaroni, but I’ll spruce it up, Alfred style!”

His baby brother glances at him, lips pursed in a way that oddly makes him think of Bruce. He then reaches out with his tiny hand to grab one of his flashcards, which depicts a picture of flames with the word ‘FIRE’ written beneath it in Comic Sans.

Dick laughs, shaking his head. 

“I’m not Bruce, Tim,” he says. “I can cook.”

Damn well, in fact (according to his friends in the Titans), but Dick hasn’t had the chance to create a home-cooked meal with everything going on, and he knew his efforts would be wasted on Tim, who was too lost in his grief over his father to even think about eating.

He stares at his brother, watching as he sets his puzzle toy aside in favor of the block set Dick bought him. Tim starts stacking them, creating random combinations of letters, or simply clacking them together, appearing pleased with the sound.

“You’re so smart, Timmy,” Dick murmurs, tapping on the fire card. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

Tim bobs his head before grinning toothily at him.

“Of course they have,” Dick says, pushing himself up. He stretches his arms above his head, waiting until he hears his back crack before lowering them, smiling at Tim. “What was I even thinking?”

Dick grabs the remote off his rickety coffee table and turns on the TV. He bangs it a few times to get it working and starts flipping through the channels, stopping on one showing old episodes of Scooby-Doo. Tim immediately shows interest when the theme song starts playing, and he crawls over, dragging the Batman bear with him.

He leaves his brother there and goes into the kitchen, gathering everything he needs to make a pot of mac and cheese. Dick doesn’t even need to glance at a recipe as it’s ingrained in his head after countless nights of making the same noodles. It’s not long before he’s got a huge, steaming pot in front of him, the kitchen all warm and smelling like parmesan and garlic.

Yum.

Dick scoops some out into a bowl for Tim once it’s cool enough, carrying that and the pot into the living room. He sets both down on the floor before passing a fork over to Tim, who holds it awkwardly in his hand, staring at it like he’s never seen one before.

He smiles and scoots backward, leaning against the couch, and pulls the pot closer to himself. Then, Dick grabs a forkful of mac and cheese, opening the bag of bacon bits to put a couple on top before finally sliding the morsel of food into his mouth.

It’s delicious.

Silently, they eat their meal and watch Scooby-Doo. Dick does get up at some point to grab a couple of juice pouches for them, and he ends up needing to lean over to help Tim unwrap the straw and push it into the foil-covered hole.

After a while, Tim walks over, staring at the pot of mac and cheese before his head swivels to the bag in Dick’s hand. He frowns and crouches beside Dick, pointing at the bacon bits.

“You wanna try some?” Dick asks, offering Tim the bag.

Tim peers inside curiously. Slowly, he reaches into the bag with one of his teeny, tiny hands, pulling out a singular bacon bit. Tim stares at it for several seconds before putting it in his mouth, and he chews on it with a perplexed look. After a while, his expression shifts to disgust, and he pulls out the saliva-covered bacon bit and tosses it into the mac and cheese pot.

“Oh,” Dick says, blinking. “Not good?”

The boy shakes his head, crawling back over to his bowl and going back to eating the rest of his mac and cheese. There are only a couple of bites left, so Dick watches as Tim soon sets the empty bowl aside, yawning and curling up on the floor with his hands tucked beneath his head, eyes fluttering shut.

“Ah,” Dick says. “Nap time.”

Dick polishes off a bit more mac and cheese before carrying the pot into the kitchen, grabbing one of his Tupperware containers, and scraping the leftovers into it. He places it in the fridge for tomorrow, dumping the dirty dishes into the sink to wash later, and returns to his dozing little brother.

“Can I carry you?” he whispers, crouching beside him. Tim does nothing for a while, and then he rolls onto his back and holds up a hand, so Dick takes it as an agreement.

Slowly, carefully, Dick slides his hands under Tim’s body. He stands, holding Tim in his arms, and walks over to the couch to place him on top. Dick slides a pillow beneath his head and covers him with the blanket he typically leaves there for nights when he’s too lazy or hurt to go to bed (although he did recently give up his bed for Tim while he was staying with Dick).

“There we go,” he murmurs, tucking the throw around his shoulders. Dick watches as he burrows against the cushions, and then he gets up, stopping when something tugs on his shirt.

He peers down to see that his little brother latched onto him, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes. Slowly, a pout forms on Tim’s face, and Dick allows himself to chuckle as he sits back down, reaching up to brush some of Tim’s hair away from his forehead.

“You want me to stay?” he guesses, feeling pleased when Tim nods. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

A small, happy smile overtakes Tim’s face. He pops his lips together, and Dick stares, perplexed, before it hits him.

“Oh, you want a kiss?” he asks, delighted when Tim nods. “Okay. I’ll give you a kiss.”

Dick brings his hands up to his mouth, pressing his lips to his palm and exaggerating his loud mwuah sound, which causes Tim to smile wider. Slowly, he brings it down to Tim’s cheek, hovering above it for a moment before gently resting it against his little cheek. Tim releases a tiny huff of what sounds like laughter before wrapping his arms around Dick’s arm, squeezing it once before releasing him.

“Aw,” he murmurs, feeling like his heart might leap out of his chest. “Thanks, Timmy.”

He sits there until he’s certain his brother is asleep. Then, he gets up to clean up Tim’s mess of toys. Dick places everything on the coffee table, pausing to carry the stuffed bear over to Tim and tucking it between the boy and the sofa. He smiles when Tim curls toward it in his sleep, murmuring something unintelligible, and continues his chores, wanting the whole place to look somewhat spotless for his brother.

Dick stops at some point to place Tim’s new clothes in the dryer. Eventually, he finds himself seated beside Tim again, gently shaking him awake.

“You can change now,” he says when Tim whines in distress, passing over the warm pile of clothes. “And then you can go back to sleep.” Dick helps Tim off the couch and guides him to his room. “Go in there and change. You know how to do it, right?”

Tim shoots him a sleepy glare, but it’s too cute, and Dick refrains from laughing to make him more upset. His little brother soon disappears into the room, and Dick walks back to the couch to wait.

He lies down and tosses an arm across his face to block out the light from his thrifted lamp, suddenly feeling exhausted.

Maybe I should contact a magic user to figure out what’s going on, Dick thinks, only to grimace when an image of Bruce’s disappointed face follows the idea. Maybe not. He’ll scold me for weeks on end and then probably take Tim back to Gotham to take care of him—as if I don’t have the capability to look after him and make sure he’s happy. Besides, the spell might lift when a magic user can spare the time to drop by, so what’s the point?

And while he mentally goes through the roster of people with magical abilities, Dick makes another realization.

He forgot about the person who turned Tim into a kid.

Dick sighs. “Oh well,” he mutters. “I’m sure they didn’t get very far, and they probably won’t even be conscious for a while. Besides, it’s not like I can go and take them into custody. I’m not going to leave Tim alone.”

With this in mind, Dick decides to leave the matter alone for now, lifting his arm when the door creaks yet again. Tim soon walks out, wearing a different pair of Batman pajamas. This time, it’s a onesie that’s supposed to look like one of many Batman suits, and the hood also has bat ears sticking out the top. There’s also a yellow cape attached to the back.

Tim walks over silently, stopping beside the couch. He chews on the zipper of his onesie until Dick gently tugs it out of his mouth, staring at Dick the entire time.

“What?” Dick asks, poking his stomach. “Did you need something?”

A hum is the only response he gets before Tim slowly climbs up, kicking his side a couple of times (and aggravating his bruises— ouch ) and crouching next to him, a peculiar look on his face. After a while, Tim flops down on top of him, arms stretched across Dick’s body. His hands barely touch his biceps.

“You just wanted a hug?” Dick asks, smiling as he curls an arm around Tim’s tiny body. “Well, there you go. You can have all the hugs in the world.”

Tim shakes his head and sighs, frowning. He drops his head onto Dick’s chest and lifts it back up immediately, staring right into his eyes for a brief moment before repeating the action.

“Oh.” Dick blinks. “Did you want to give me a hug?”

His little brother breaks out into a big smile. He nods rapidly, hair bouncing, and his next sigh sounds much more pleased as he rests his head on Dick’s chest again, only this time, he doesn’t lift it back up. Tim makes a couple of sounds, probably testing them out, and Dick leaves him to it, keeping an arm wrapped around his brother as he lets his thoughts get away from him.

Then, he hears a small voice say, “Dee.”

It doesn’t register at first, but when it starts echoing in Dick’s brain, he quickly lifts his head and stares at Tim in shock. “You just spoke,” he says stupidly.

“Dee,” Tim, amazing, wonderful Tim says again, grinning toothily at him.

“Yeah,” Dick whispers, holding back tears. A smile soon stretches across his face as he hugs his baby brother close, rubbing a hand over his back. “Yeah, Timmy. That’s me. Good job, bud.”

“Dee,” Tim repeats happily, snuggling him. “Dee, Dee, Dee.”

Eventually, his chanting tapers off into little snores, and Dick finds himself trapped beneath his little brother—not that he minds. There are worse ways to go.

“This isn’t so bad,” Dick murmurs as he stares up at his cracked ceiling. There are dark spots up there, and he hopes it isn’t mold. “I can do this. I can definitely do this.”

★★

I can’t do this.

A week has passed, and right now, Dick buries his face in his hands as Tim gags over the soup, feeling a lump in his throat.

He doesn’t know if he made it wrong, if it’s all too repetitive, or if Tim’s palate decided to change on a whim. Either way, Dick can’t let his little brother eat this meal and inevitably hold him when he throws up—which is what happened with the mac and cheese only a couple of days prior.

Dick takes a few calming breaths and drops his hands, and then immediately has to lean forward to grab the spoon out of Tim’s hand, holding it and sweeping his thumb across his tiny knuckles.

“Timmy, it’s okay,” Dick assures gently. “It’s alright, you don’t have to eat it. Leave it there, and I’ll find something else for you to eat, okay?”

“Otay,” Tim whispers, tears in his eyes. “Sowee, Dee.”

“No, sweetheart. Don’t be sorry. You can’t help it.”

Thankfully, Tim is communicating more and more with each passing day. It’s usually one-word answers or a few short phrases, but Dick doesn’t care. He tries to encourage it by talking to Tim about everything, asking questions, and waiting patiently for some sort of response before continuing.

And yes, Dick is quickly learning there are a few things he doesn’t like to hear—namely, an ‘uh-oh’ or an ‘oops’ usually declared or whispered around a large mess.

Dick clears the table and helps Tim back into the kitchen, offering another juice pouch to tide him over. He considers ordering some food, but he already did the night before, and he plans on using those leftovers for dinner tonight.

I need to do something about this, Dick thinks, holding his head in his hands and resisting the urge to cry.

His phone suddenly buzzes and chirps on the counter, plugged in and long-forgotten. Dick glances over at the screen and sees a message from the Titans group chat, one he hasn’t responded to in months, and gets an idea.

Dick snatches it off the counter and types in the number from memory, bringing it up to his ear. He shuts his eyes, breathing deeply when the phone rings and rings. Dick doesn’t know why he’s suddenly flooded with nerves and tamps down on the urge to vomit the longer it continues. He considers hanging up and trying again later when the call finally connects, and there’s a moment where he’s at a loss, hearing the confused greeting on the other end.

“Walls?” Dick finally says, staring at Tim, who rummages through their snack bin, likely looking for something other than puff stars and pretzels. “I need your help.”