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“This,” Bruce announces. “is a problem.”
“No,” Dick retorts, his voice soft and gooey as he gazes down at his lap. “This is a baby. And not just any baby! A baby dragon. And not just any baby dragon! It’s Timmy, the baby dragon!”
Said baby dragon casually opens his mouth to reveal sharp (tiny) fangs (capable of piercing skin, wood, and cookies) and stares up at him with slitted eyes.
They zone in on Bruce before blowing out, round and dark like a cat. Tim crawls off Dick’s lap (drawing a disappointed sound out of him) and makes his way over to Bruce. He stays very still, not wanting to scare Tim off and resisting the urge to scoop him up and carry him around like a baby (part of him is also crying over seeing Tim so small, but that’s something to revisit on another day).
“Hi, Tim,” Bruce says as he looks down at his dragon son with a smile.
Tim chirps, soft and cute, and sets his cape on fire.
★★
(“I thought your cape was fire-resistant,” Dick hisses.
“So did I,” Bruce replies, staring at the charred remnants of his Batman cape. It was one of his favorites, too, and now Tim is using it as a glorified nest. He’s curled up in a little ball, tail wrapped around his body. Bruce already has 300 pictures. “I guess dragon fire is different.”
“At least he recognizes us,” Dick says, sighing. “It’d probably be a lot worse if he didn’t.”)
★★
Bruce leans back in his chair in his study, phone pressed against his ear while he waits for someone to answer his call. It doesn’t take very long, and soon enough, a familiar voice says, “Yes, hello? Bruce? What’s wrong? Is Tim okay?”
“Jack,” Bruce greets. “Tim is fine, I swear, but I just wanted to call and let you know there’s been an incident.”
“Oh, god,” Jack says, sounding horrified. “Who did he eat?”
“No one,” Bruce quickly reassures and then pauses, thinking. “I hope.”
It’s been pretty quiet since Bruce went up to his study to try and muster up the courage to call Jack Drake.
Normally, he’d rejoice to hear nothing going on, but ever since Tim got de-aged, the manor has been filled with the sounds of Tim’s growls and snarls whenever he chases after something or play fights with the various stuffed animals Dick purchased for him, or Bruce hears Dick’s faint screaming when something inevitably catches fire followed by the fire extinguisher going off.
Maybe Tim did eat Dick, Bruce muses, tuning out the sound of Jack’s panicked voice. If he did, then I’ll have to withhold dessert from him… if Alfred lets me.
“Everything’s fine,” he says, cutting off Jack’s tirade. “I just wanted to let you know he got magically de-aged, and we’re doing our best to adjust to this change and accommodate his needs. I was also wondering if you had any tips on how to deal with a… baby dragon.”
“Oh,” Jack says, sounding relieved. “Phew! I thought something bad happened!” He laughs. “Alright! Some of my tips should be in the PDF file I sent you before, but I can whip up another one! I’ll give you a warning, though: Tim wasn’t properly humanized as a child. He mostly runs on instinct, which was encouraged by Janet, so…”
Bruce lets the man ramble about their his son, getting distracted when he hears something scratching his door.
No, not something, Bruce thinks as he walks over to open it. Someone.
Tim sits there in his human form(!!!), somehow looking cuter than when he’s in his dragon form. His hair is all fluffy, his chubby cheeks beg to be pinched, and he somehow looks even smaller in one of Bruce’s old band shirts (which he’s wearing like a dress).
He smiles up at Bruce with sharp teeth and crawls over, claws digging into the rug, to wrap his whole body around one of Bruce’s legs.
“Bwoose,” Tim says happily and starts chewing on his pants.
Bruce lets him. He has more pairs in his closet, and it’s not like he can’t order more.
“Listen, Jack,” Bruce says, cutting the other man’s gushing tirade about Tim’s strange habits as a child. “I have to go, but thanks for your help. I’ll be sure to take good care of Tim while he’s young again.” He glances at Tim and holds the phone toward him. “Do you want to speak to your father?”
“Hi, Dad,” Tim says, reaching up to knock Bruce’s phone out of his hand. “Bye, Dad.”
Bruce almost sighs. Thankfully, his phone is shatterproof, so he doesn’t even bat an eye over the action. He leans down to pick up his phone and then limps over to his desk with the additional weight on his leg, plopping down on his seat and not moving a muscle when Tim crawls up his body to sit on his lap.
“Am I going to find claw marks on the door if I leave this room?” he asks, rubbing Tim’s head when he bumps against Bruce’s hand like he’s a cat. “Is Alfred going to be upset?”
“Upset with Bwoose,” Tim says, hissing a little. “Not me.”
“No, of course not,” Bruce mutters. “You’re his little darling right now.”
As much as Alfred despairs over Tim’s eating habits, he still dotes on and spoils Tim on the regular, now more than ever. Dick thinks it has something to do with Tim’s innocent face and how it makes everyone want to cater to his every whim. Cass agrees. Bruce wonders if Tim has secret hypnotizing powers none of them know about.
“Why don’t we just stay here for a while, hm?” Bruce asks, opening one of his drawers and pulling out a bag of chips for Tim. “We can blame someone else for that mess. I’m sure Jason will be willing to take the fall for you.” He pauses and grumbles, “If he ever stops by, I mean.”
“Jay,” Tim says in a forlorn tone before snatching the chip bag out of Bruce’s hand with his teeth and shaking his head back and forth, tearing it open and spilling chips all over their laps.
He picks up one chip between two talons and holds it to Bruce’s mouth. When Bruce does nothing, Tim grunts and pushes it against his lips, repeating this action until Bruce finally opens up and lets his kid place the individual chip (lightly salted) inside his mouth.
“Thank you,” he says, patting Tim’s head.
There’s a moment where Tim looks pleased with himself, as if he’s happy that he provided for Bruce, and then his expression shifts into one of hunger as he proceeds to demolish the rest of the chips. He gets crumbs and salt all over his hands and face, and on Bruce himself, and starts reaching for Bruce’s secret snack drawer.
“You won’t like those,” Bruce warns when Tim pulls out a bag of spicy peanuts. Jason got Bruce hooked on them back when he was a kid. “They’ll be too spicy for you.”
Tim stares at him, unamused, and blows smoke in his face.
“Just because you breathe fire doesn’t mean you can handle spicy food,” Bruce tells him, sitting back and letting him do the work. Actions have consequences, and Tim is about to learn from his mistake. “But okay, go ahead and prove me wrong.”
“Silly,” Tim mutters with a hiss and shoves the peanuts in his mouth, pack and all.
Bruce scrambles to take the plastic out of his mouth, but Tim holds onto it with his sharp teeth. The bag breaks open, and Bruce soon has an armful of a crying dragon child who keeps spewing fire over his shoulder because the peanuts were indeed too spicy for his little mouth.
He goes through two fire extinguishers and several bottles of water before Tim’s okay.
★★
Bruce thought regular Tim was a lot to handle.
Nope. He was wrong. Very wrong.
Tiny dragon Tim is an even worse menace, and he actually fits in the palms of Bruce’s hands! So, definitely a handful in more ways than one.
(Something he definitely doesn’t cry about later when he’s alone.)
Yes, Tim is adorable and sometimes very cuddly (when he wants something), but other times, he either tries to bite them, blows smoke in their face, or sets their clothing on fire. And despite numerous lectures and scolding from all of them, he still continues exhibiting these behaviors.
He has also claimed nearly all of Bruce’s capes and used them to create a little nest in the Batcave, where he pretends to sleep and flies over to them when he sees they’re trying to leave for patrol.
Jack’s PDF on baby dragon care helps, but even then, it’s not enough.
“Master Tim,” Alfred suddenly says sharply. “We do not bite the furniture here.”
Bruce turns in time to see Tim blow out a small cloud of smoke when he huffs. The tiny dragon growls, a sound that might be fearsome if he were his original size but instead sounds very cute, and snaps his teeth in their direction.
“And we do not talk back to people, either,” Alfred says, holding up a finger. Bruce immediately straightens his poster on instinct, not wanting to risk Alfred’s wrath. “If you continue this behavior, I may throw away the cookies I was preparing for you.”
“No, no!” Tim cries, shifting to a form that’s half-human, half-dragon. Black and blue scales coat his arms while tiny horns poke out of his hair. His tail whips behind him as he rushes over to Alfred, clutching his pant leg. “I’m sowee, Alf! I’m sowee!”
“I accept your apology,” Alfred says with a sniff. “And I hope you’ve learned your lesson about unleashing your frustration onto our antique furniture. If this behavior continues, not only will I throw away your cookies, but I will also plan a camping trip for the whole family.”
Tim’s eyes widen. “No, no, no!” he cries. “Don’t make me do that! Pwease! I won’t bite no more t’ings! I pwomise! I’ll be good!”
Bruce nearly goes over to soothe him, and judging by the way Dick jerks in his seat, he wants to do the same. Instead, they both sit there and watch as Alfred smiles, pulling a chocolate chip cookie out of one of his pockets (or somewhere secret, who knows) and passing it over to Tim.
“I believe you,” Alfred says, patting Tim’s head once. “Now, run along and play with your toys. If you’re looking for destruction, then feel free to tear those apart.”
Tim lights up. “Okay!” he says, shoving the cookie into his mouth and running out of the room.
Soon, Bruce hears distant snarls and growls, followed by the sounds of squeaky toys dying a sad death. He suddenly recalls a strange charge on his card and turns toward Alfred to ask, “Did you buy a bunch of pet toys for Tim?”
“Would you rather lose a majority of our household furniture?” Alfred counters dryly. “Also, please consider finding a way to make ourselves fireproof, Master Bruce. We may be able to excuse the mass amounts of fire extinguishers we purchased, but I doubt we can make up one when you get burned by Master Tim’s flames.”
“Hn.” Bruce inclines his head. “I’ll think of something.”
★★
A week later, he finally finds a solution.
“I have enough fireproof charms for all of us,” Bruce says, holding out the pendants. “It should protect us from Tim’s flames and stop him from burning so many clothes.”
Including Bruce’s favorite Gotham University sweatshirt. It was old and ratty and perfectly worn in, but now it had a scorch mark along one sleeve and was missing half of the hem, and it smelled like Dick’s hair after he tried to straighten it the one (and only) time.
He was deeply upset about it, but Tim shared(!) some of his cookies, so Bruce forgave him.
“Did you find these at a costume shop?” Dick asks after he takes one, staring at his necklace with a furrowed brow. “Also, how do you know they’ll make us fireproof? What if you got scammed, Bruce?”
“I’m Batman,” Bruce replies, frowning. “I don’t get scammed.”
“Remember that time someone tried to sell you some soft-serve ice cream from their truck, and they ended up kidnapping you?” Dick asks loudly, putting the necklace on. It pulses with a red light before going back to normal, which Dick doesn’t notice because he’s too busy running his mouth. “I sure do, Bruce, because I had to put on the Batman suit to go and save you.”
“Getting scammed as a civilian doesn’t count,” Bruce explains, also putting on one of the necklaces. The same thing happens, and he feels the protective spell fall upon his shoulders like a blanket. Ew. “It’s for my cover.”
Dick waves a hand. “Excuses, excuses,” he complains. “Do you want me to give Jason his necklace? You know, since he hates you most days?”
Bruce stops.
He stares at the remaining pendants.
There are two left. For Cass and Alfred.
“I need to call Constantine again,” Bruce mutters, standing and ignoring the shiver that crawls down his spine. He hates working with the magic user. Not only does he smell, but he’s annoying, too. “Please make sure Tim doesn’t get into my vault of suits.”
“Did you really forget Jason?” Dick loudly asks when Bruce quickly makes his exit. “Oh my god, you forgot Jason!”
★★
After retrieving another pendant from Constantine (and ignoring all his questions about why he needs it), Bruce politely asks Alfred to call Jason over. For once, Alfred doesn’t reprimand him or make Bruce do it himself, mostly because he’s distracted by Tim trying to eat some of the flowers in his garden.
“Why the fuck am I here?” Jason demands when he barges into Bruce’s study. He also knocks over Bruce’s plant, rearranges Bruce’s books, and flips all of the trinkets on Bruce’s desk so they’re upside down. “What happened? Who died?”
“No one died,” Bruce says tiredly, staring at the dirt on his rug. Maybe he can put the mess underneath it… No one will know… “Tim got de-aged. He keeps setting things on fire. Here’s a fireproof necklace to keep you safe.”
Jason stares at him. “Why,” he says slowly. “would I need this?”
A dark shadow suddenly speeds into the room. Bruce gets a glimpse of Cass’ amused expression, and then there’s a baby dragon flying toward him. He snags Tim out of the air before he can crash into Bruce (again) and holds Tim out in front of him, catching sight of the glint in his slitted eyes.
“Because of this,” he says, right as Tim opens his mouth and exhales flames onto Bruce’s face.
Bruce hears Jason’s frightened shout (and a part of him grows warm over the knowledge that his son still cares), but Bruce is fine, really. All he feels is an uncomfortable amount of warmth, but nothing’s melting, and there’s no pain, and his eyebrows are barely singed when Tim finally stops affectionately setting him on fire.
“Thank you, Tim,” Bruce says, watching as Tim’s tail swishes. “I missed you too.”
“Oh my fucking god,” Jason says, sounding alarmed. “Alright, you convinced me. I’ll never take off the necklace, not even when Tim changes back to an overgrown lizard.”
Tim looks over and chirps.
“Oh, no! Don’t you go acting cute with me!” Jason turns. “I’m leaving!”
Bruce nearly drops Tim when he starts wiggling around frantically. He sets the boy down on the floor, watching as he scampers over to Jason. His second eldest son is already stopped by Cass at the door, who watches what’s happening with an amused expression.
Most of Tim’s dragon features retreat into himself, leaving only his cute little horns and a tail that he trips over.
Tim ends up sprawled across the floor in front of Jason, and the whole room freezes.
Bruce is even afraid to breathe.
Thankfully, he and Cass know better than to look at Tim or talk to him whenever he has a clumsy moment, and they stare straight at each other. Tim makes a sound, but they don’t look away, knowing how it’ll end.
Unfortunately, Jason wasn’t around for the memo.
“Tim, are you okay?” Jason asks worriedly, crouching down beside the dragonling. “Are you hurt? Are you bleeding? Talk to me!”
Tim sniffles.
“We need Alfred!” Jason cries, scooping Tim into his arms and darting out the door. “Alfred! Alfie! Where are you? Tim got hurt, and he needs medical assistance! Hurry!”
His panicked voice grows fainter until it disappears altogether.
Slowly, Bruce relaxes, dropping into his chair with a sigh. He barely looks up when Cass hops onto his desk, swinging her feet with a satisfied expression.
“Tim did that on purpose,” Bruce says, glancing at his daughter. “Didn’t he?”
Cass smiles, and that answers everything.
★★
“Batman,” Commissioner Gordon says slowly. “Is your cape moving?”
Bruce shuts his eyes. Now that he’s concentrating on it, he can feel it rustle every so often, and he can also feel something pressing against his back. “Yes,” he says finally, pulling out his grapnel launcher. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Alright.” Gordon sounds dubious. “I suppose we can take it from here if you need to leave.”
He merely grunts in return, firing his grapple at the building closest to them. Bruce moves away from the crime scene, stopping at a building that’s tall enough to shield him from sight. He reholsters his grapple and extends his cape, peering into the darkness and seeing two gleaming eyes.
“Robin,” Bruce says tiredly. “What are you doing here?”
Tim crawls down his body until he’s sitting on one boot. He stares up at Bruce with a cocked head and chirps softly, eyes round.
Bruce sighs. There’s no way he can stay mad at that face. “You’re still going to be in trouble,” he says, pulling a jerky stick out of his pocket and holding it out to Tim. His son accepts it very gently between his teeth and proceeds to shake his head back and forth, trying to tear it apart. “But I haven’t finished my patrol, and it’d be a waste of time to take you back home and come back…”
He tries to come up with a solution, and the answer nearly topples him over thanks to Tim starting a game of tug of war with Bruce’s cape and his sharp teeth.
“There’s an idea,” Bruce murmurs and swiftly removes it.
★★
(“This is humiwiating, ” Tim says with a sniff, gazing up at him sadly. “Bwoose, you have to fwee me. No one can see me wike this! My weputation won’t wecover.”
“No one will see you at all,” Bruce replies, adjusting the makeshift baby sling wrapped around his chest. “As long as you don’t poke your head out, then you’ll be fine. Why don’t you try and take a nap? You forgot to take one earlier.”
“How ‘bout you take a nap,” Tim grumbles, but the grumpy effect is ruined when he yawns, eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t wet ‘Wing see me, okay?”
“Okay,” Bruce says, suddenly glad that Dick’s on the other side of Gotham.
If he saw Tim now, then Bruce would have to deal with his jealous, passive-aggressive comments, and then Tim would likely have to hide from Dick every day afterward because Dick would try to recreate the baby sling image with him at home.
“Don’t get hurt,” Tim warns as he burrows into the cape, one hand clutching a Batarang like a comfort toy. “Or I bite you.”
“You already bite me,” Bruce says. The first was deep enough to leave a scar, while the rest were little nibbles after they all lectured him about biting the people he loves. That’s when Tim moved on to set them on fire instead. “But okay. I’ll be careful.”
Tim pats his chest. “Good human,” he says.
And even though it feels slightly patronizing, the praise still makes Bruce puff up with pride.)
★★
“Bwoossssssse.”
Bruce grunts and turns over.
“Bwoossssse!!!!”
He turns over again, but alas, the tiny, angry voice persists. Bruce opens his eyes right as Tim leans close, cheeks puffed out.
“Wake UP!” Tim shouts, shoving a hand against his cheek. Bruce feels the little pinpricks of claws and stays very still, not wanting to scar his face. “I’ve been waiting and waiting for you, and you keep ‘EEPING. Get up! It’s bweakfas’ time!” He hisses toward the end, gazing down at him with a cute pout. “Huwwy. I’m hungy.”
Bruce’s eyes flick to his bedside clock. It’s noon. Shit, he slept in.
“It’s lunch, Tim,” Bruce patiently explains, slowly removing Tim’s hand from his face. “Why didn’t you have anything earlier?”
“I was ‘eeping too,” Tim tells him. “And bweakfas’ shouldn’t be cone-fined to the morning. I want it evewy day, so if I say it’s bweakfas’ time, then it’s bweakfas’ time. Got it?”
“Confined,” Bruce corrects, wincing when Tim’s expression shifts to one of anger. It’s very cute, but it’s usually followed by a tantrum or a fire. Or both. “Okay! Let me brush my teeth, and I’ll go down with you.”
All negative emotions fade from Tim’s face. “Okay!” he chirps and proceeds to burrow into Bruce’s spot after Bruce slides off the bed.
After Bruce goes through his morning routine, he comes back to find a slumbering Tim in his bed. He carefully scoops the boy up, not daring to wake him, and leaves the room. If Bruce so much as thought about leaving Tim there, causing him to miss a meal, then he’d never hear the end of it.
★★
“I found a rat outside my door this morning,” Dick says, gazing at him tiredly. “And it was a mutated one, too. I screamed so loud that Uncle Clark texted me and asked if I was okay. Cass had to toss it into the garbage because I didn’t want to get near it.”
“What!” Tim cries, setting the syrup bottle aside. It coats his eggs, and the sticky mess slowly slides down his hands. Bruce dreads the upcoming bath. “You throw’ed it away! How could you? I was pwoviding for you! Wike a good dragon who takes care of hoard!”
His lower lip wobbles.
Dick’s eyes widen. “No, Timmy! I—” He pauses, exhales, and continues in a gentle voice, “I appreciate the gesture, but… I’m allergic to rats. And squirrels. And rabbits. And bats. So, I’m glad you want to provide for me, but I could d—”
Bruce shakes his head.
“—get a bad stomach ache if I eat any of your offerings,” Dick finishes, nodding. “And we don’t want that, right?”
“No!” Tim shakes his head frantically. “I’m sowee, Dickie! I’ll give you cookies instead!”
“Thanks, Tim,” Dick says with a smile. He also ruffles Tim’s hair and Tim, surprisingly, butts his head against Dick’s hand, as if asking for more affection. Hm, maybe Dick’s humanity lessons are going somewhere.
(They usually involve a lot of hugs and cuddles while Tim wails for release in Dick’s arms.)
“What about Bwoose?” Tim asks after shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth. His cheeks bulge, and he gets syrup (and ketchup… and mustard… and mayonnaise?) smeared across them. Not that he cares, of course, but Bruce worries about the future state of their bathtub. “Can I give him wats?”
Dick looks right at Bruce and smiles the most evil smile Bruce has ever seen. And he has to look at Oliver’s mustache grin every time they have a Justice League meeting, so that’s saying something.
“Yes,” he says. “He loves rats. Please make sure to give him one every day if you can.”
I should have left him at the circus, Bruce thinks, glaring at Dick, who merely wiggles his fingers in his direction. Or maybe I should have stopped at none.
★★
Bruce looks up when his door creaks open.
At first, nothing else happens, but then Bruce spies two gleaming eyes in the dark, followed by a small voice that hesitantly whispers, “Bwoose?”
“Yes, Tim?” he says, setting his book aside. Bruce sits up, watching as a small shadow crawls into the room before those same eyes peer at him over the foot of his bed. “What’s wrong? Did you need something?”
Lightning suddenly strikes, lighting up the room, followed by the harsh rumble of thunder. He catches the way Tim practically jumps into the air, and then he has an armful of a trembling dragon-boy. Bruce doesn’t hesitate to hold him close, hushing his poor boy and brushing his fingers through Tim’s baby-soft hair.
“It’s okay,” Bruce murmurs, leaning back against his pillows. “I’m here. I won’t let it hurt you.”
“M’not scared,” Tim mumbles but stiffens when thunder roars again. He buries his face in Bruce’s chest, clawed hands clinging to his sleep shirt and most definitely causing tears. “Jus’ wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Bruce feels an absurd amount of affection for the strange little creature in his arms. It’s so similar to the day he realized he truly cared for Tim beyond his role as Robin. “Thank you, Tim,” he says, rubbing his back. “You’re always good at taking care of me.”
“Hafta,” Tim replies. “Silly Bwoose can’t do it himself.”
He chuckles. “You might have a point,” Bruce says. “But I know I can always count on my Robin, my Tim, no matter what age or size.” He cups the back of Tim’s head, simply resting his hand there. “I hope you can say the same for me.”
Tim tucks his head into Bruce’s neck. “Uh-huh,” he says. “Always.”
★★
(“Bwoose,” Tim whispers after the storm passes, sounding half-asleep. “You my favowite.”
Bruce smiles, tucking the blanket around his shoulders. “And you’re mine,” he whispers back, but Tim’s already long gone.)
★★
Baby dragon Tim can be destructive, and he keeps exhaling flames onto the people he loves. There are days when they have to chase him around the manor to prevent further mayhem, but the sweet moments often make up for it.
Sometimes, Bruce finds Cass and Tim curled up together beneath a patch of sunlight, fast asleep and completely relaxed. He notices that Cass partially covers Tim’s body, as if protecting him from any threats.
Other times, he’ll spy Dick walking around the manor with Tim draped over his shoulders, chatting away and telling the dragon all sorts of stories and anecdotes about his daily life. Tim will also drag his serpent-like tongue over Dick’s hair, oddly reminiscent of a cat grooming a sibling or friend.
Tim often follows Alfred around the house, mirroring his actions whenever Alfred stops to clean something. He also picks up after Alfred, holding small towels and trinkets that accidentally fell (although Bruce has definitely noticed how the butler deliberately drops things on the floor just for Tim).
Of course, Bruce doesn’t miss the way he stalks Alfred through the kitchen, most likely hoping for scraps of food.
And then there’s Jason, who rarely comes over, but when he does, Tim clings to him and brings out the waterworks every time Jason tries to leave, and Jason falls for it every time. Bruce has plenty of pictures of both Jason and Tim snoozing together in the library and some of Tim wrapped around Jason’s leg or arm in an attempt to keep him there.
His favorite moments, however, are when Tim inevitably crawls over to sit beside him during late nights in the Cave, keeping him company and slowly moving onto his lap, where he curls up and falls asleep, which encourages Bruce to eventually do the same, carrying Tim upstairs so they can rest in his bed.
Bruce will miss this, but not more than he misses the Tim he got to know and love.
★★
“He’s going to change back soon,” Jason tells him. “The spell will wear off eventually.”
“I know,” Bruce says, holding the cat toy up higher.
It’s the kind that looks like a fishing rod, but instead of a hook on the end, there’s a bright yellow feather toy Tim keeps swiping at with his claws. It seems like instinctual behavior, similar to how he acts whenever someone shines a light across the floor, causing Tim to chase it.
(Which Bruce has also done too many times to count.)
“So, you have to stop hogging him from everyone.”
“I’m not hogging him.”
“Oh, really?” Jason moves closer to Tim.
The dragon-boy turns toward him with a questioning chirp, and his spiny back arches when Jason starts to reach down… but not fast enough because Bruce quickly snatches Tim and pulls him close, and then he’s forced to look away from Jason’s smug expression.
“If he wanted to go with you, then he would,” Bruce points out petulantly. He gestures to Tim, who sits on his lap without trying to bite or fight him, pawing at the cat toy.
“I bet you have snacks in your pouches,” Jason says, narrowing his eyes. “There’s no way someone would want to spend time with you, especially someone as young as Timmy here. You’re too old and lame.”
Ouch.
“That sounds like something Dick would say,” Bruce says, shaking the feather around so Tim can attack it. “Are you sure you’re not spending too much time with him? ”
“No!” Dick calls out from the other side of the Cave, where he’s going through some warm-up stretches with Cass. “Little Wing doesn’t like to visit his big brother! And he ignores all calls and refuses to reply to texts! It’s like I don’t exist to him anymore…”
“You keep spamming my phone when I’m asleep!” Jason says indignantly, whirling around to point in Dick’s direction. “Maybe I want some peace and quiet! Did you ever think about that, Dickhead?”
Tim suddenly rolls off Bruce’s lap and starts tugging on his cape, and Bruce dutifully unclips it, watching as Tim drags it over to his favorite corner of the Cave. There are several other burned and clawed capes there, piled together in a makeshift nest, and when Tim adds his latest addition, he exhales a bunch of flames over it before curling up in the center, blowing smoke out of his nose.
Bruce meanders around the Cave, getting ready for patrol. He also piles another cape into the Batmobile, not wanting to show it off in case Tim tries to take that one as well. Bruce then wanders over to Tim’s corner, accompanied by Dick, to check up on him and say goodbye for the night.
Tim gazes at Bruce with sleepy eyes, and Bruce brushes a finger over his head, feeling the ridges of his spikes and scales. His son practically purrs, pushing up against the touch for a bit until he finally turns away, tucking his snout into his twitching tail.
“I might die,” Dick whispers beside him. “How can he be so cute?”
He receives a fireball to the face. Tim doesn’t even open his eyes.
“Sorry,” Dick says. “I forgot you don’t like to be called cute.”
“We’re going to leave now, Tim,” Bruce says while Dick wipes the ash off his skin. “Please be good for Alfred, and try not to set anything on fire.” He pauses, thinking, and adds, “And don’t set anything else on fire. Also, don’t chase Ace around the house. He’s getting old and tired.”
“Don’t let Ace hear you say that,” Dick mutters.
Tim yawns, revealing (tiny) sharp fangs. He blinks up at Bruce, eyes wide like a little owl, and tips his head forward, butting it against Bruce’s boot.
“What?” Bruce asks. “Do you need something?”
He receives a huff in response and another headbutt. Tim does this several more times before Dick makes a noise, clapping his hands together with a smile.
“I think he wants a goodbye kiss from you!” Dick coos, looking far too gleeful. “Come on, B! You can’t leave him hanging! Not when he’s actually asking for affection!”
Bruce stares at his little dragon son, who gazes back at him steadily, tail swishing ever so slightly. Finally, Bruce slowly leans down without another word and presses his lips to the top of Tim’s head, between his two tiny horns.
He leans back and smiles softly at his son, who seems to smile back in his own strange way.
Then, there’s a bright puff of red smoke. Bruce instinctively covers his mouth with a hand and tries to wave it all away, vision blurring momentarily. It fades soon enough, and there sits an adolescent dragon with ruby-red scales.
Tim seems disoriented, but he soon picks his body up and gives it a shake, like a dog ridding itself of excess water. Between one blink and the next, he’s sitting in his human form, peering up at him curiously.
“Whoa, what happened?” Tim asks and sniffs. “Why does it smell like a campfire? Is someone making s’mores? Oooh! You should add some honey mustard! The sweet-on-sweet and crunchy combo will taste amazing!”
“Tim!” Dick cries, throwing himself down to the floor and wrapping his arms around him. “You’re back!”
“Uh…” Tim’s hands hover over Dick’s back before he slowly, hesitantly, pats it. “There, there? And yes? I’m here?” He frowns, looking at Bruce again. “Did I go somewhere, B? Or did you ask one of your Justice League minions to mindwipe me? If you did, I’m going to make you spend more time with them! That’s not proper hoard behavior!”
He somehow squirms out of Dick’s hold in the midst of his rant and sprints over to the lockers, where Bruce hears things banging around until Tim comes out wearing his Robin suit, although his mask is slightly crooked.
“There!” Tim says brightly. “Ready for patrol!”
“Not quite,” Alfred says, suddenly appearing (as he’s prone to do) and walking over to Tim. “You were hit with a spell, Master Tim, and have been out for quite some time. I’d like to run some tests to make sure your health is okay, which means you’ll have to skip patrol for the night as it may take some time to discern the state of your health.”
“Ugh, fine!” Tim says, following Alfred to their small medbay. He pauses at one of the drawers and digs around inside, making a triumphant noise when he pulls out a box of jelly beans. “If it makes you happy, Alfred…”
“It will.”
“Dang.” Tim hops onto the cot, pouting.
“We can patrol tomorrow if everything looks okay,” Bruce promises when he walks over. “I’d like to have one of our magical experts check on you as well, just so we can be certain that there are no lingering effects.” He pauses, leaning forward. “What happened, by the way? Did the person who cast the spell say anything before you were hit with it?”
“Eh, maybe? It was a little confusing,” Tim says, shoving a handful of jelly beans into his mouth. His cheeks bulge out, but he at least covers his mouth when he continues speaking, “They said somethin’ a’out true lo’e’s kiss.” Somehow, he manages to chew and swallow all those jelly beans without breaking a sweat. “Didn’t know what that meant, but then I got hit with the spell, and now, here we are!” He smiles, wide and trusting. “I knew you’d figure it out, Bruce.”
“Oh,” Bruce says softly, feeling a strange little ache in his chest. A flood of affection follows when he stares at his son, trying not to smile. “Did you really?”
“Hm, well.” Tim does a so-so motion with one hand. “I mean, I had faith! Like I always do! And you also have a bunch of magic users in your silly club in space, so I at least had some feeling that you’d be able to use the counterspell to fix whatever happened to me.” He pauses, cocking his head to the side. “What did happen to me, by the way? None of you got around to telling me that…”
Bruce chuckles. “I’ll write a report,” he promises. “A detailed one. You can read it and find out for yourself.”
Tim waves a hand. “I only grab those so I can add stickers to the pages,” he says. “And when I’m also in the mood to flip through your emo diary from your early Batman days. I really like those.” He suddenly looks around Bruce, waving a hand. “Hi, Jason!”
“Do not set me on fire!” Jason replies. His voice echoes. “And don’t steal my jacket, either!”
“I wasn’t gonna?” Tim sounds confused. “Although, I do like the idea of stealing your jacket… For some reason, I feel like making a nest out of everyone’s things. I haven’t felt that way since I was a kid! Weird.”
“Weird, indeed,” Bruce says. He hesitates before leaning over to kiss Tim’s head again.
“Huh?” Tim says when Bruce pulls away, reaching up to touch his head. He gives Bruce a concerned look, too. “B, you okay? Oh god, did you get replaced by a clone? Do I have to set the Justice League on fire for not keeping a better eye on your DNA?” Tim flicks his tongue out, a thoughtful expression on his face. “No, your scent is the same, so…”
“What’s your sudden obsession with the Justice League?” Bruce wonders, bemused.
“They don’t deserve you.” Tim pouts. It’s reminiscent of the little jut of his lip when he was a toddler, and Bruce aches to gently poke it like he did when Tim was young (and boy, did he throw a fit over it). “And they keep taking you away from me for dumb meetings and silly missions! That’s not cool.”
Bruce nods, accepting this criticism, and pats his head once. “I’m leaving now,” he tells him. “Remember my rules.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Tim says, waving a hand. “So, Alfred! Won’t you tell me what happened? Clearly, it must have been something crazy since it made Bruce actually act on his emotions and show me affection. Was I in a magical coma? Did I get enough sleep?”
His chatter fades when Bruce enters the Batmobile, getting it ready for a night out.
“I’m going to print out so many baby pictures and glue them to the walls in this Cave,” Dick says when he slides into the passenger seat. Jason drives by on his bike, flashing a middle finger in Bruce’s direction with Cass perched on the back of his seat. He probably doesn’t know that she’s there. “He’s going to be sick of them!”
“Yeah,” Bruce says, thinking about how he changed his home screen picture to the one of Tim curled up on a pile of his singed Batman capes, deeply asleep. “Probably.”
“He was a cute kid,” Dick says wistfully. “Too bad you didn’t snatch him up sooner. I would have loved to grow up with him.”
Bruce grunts in agreement.
Although, a part of him wonders if having a little brother like Tim would have tamed an angry, vengeful child Dick Grayson, or if it would have further influenced his feral nature.
Dick suddenly shrieks when something lands on the roof of the Batmobile.
Bruce barely flinches.
Tim peers at them through the window while an exasperated-looking Alfred stands behind him, clearly waiting for Tim to climb off. The dragon presses a clawed hand against the glass, talons scraping over it.
“Bye, guys!” he chirps. “Have fun and be safe! Don’t forget about me while you’re out there!”
Bruce stares at the face of his dragon son, his Robin, his Tim, who curled up on his lap not too long ago to watch him flip through crime scene photos, trying to piece a case together, and burrowed into Bruce’s sheets after he woke up, absorbing the leftover warmth and inevitably falling asleep, comforted by his scent.
“Never,” he promises and is rewarded with a grin that shows rows of sharp teeth.
★★
A storm sweeps through Gotham halfway through patrol, forcing them to call it a night.
When Bruce is sitting in bed, freshly showered with an open book in hand, he hears the creak of his door. He sets his book aside so he can give Tim his full attention, watching as the dragon peers inside, eyes gleaming in the shadows.
“Hi, Tim,” Bruce says warmly, patting his comforter. “Why don’t you join me?”
“I just wanted to check up on you,” Tim says as he enters the room, shutting the door behind him. He quickly walks over, climbing onto the bed and flopping beside Bruce. “I heard from somewhere that storms can be pretty scary for humans.”
“Of course.” He tries not to smile, and he’s pretty sure he fails. “Thank you, Tim. I appreciate it.”
Tim grunts in response and remains still for a good bit of time. After a while, he lifts his head, gazing at Bruce intently.
“I haven’t read your report yet because I remember what happened,” Tim says. “But it’s a little embarrassing to think about. I can’t believe I acted like that!”
“Hm.” Bruce slowly reaches out to cup Tim’s head, brushing his fingers through the soft strands. Tim practically goes boneless at the touch, making a noise not unlike a purr. “I can understand why you’d feel that way, but I certainly enjoyed your brief adventure as a child. You were…” He pauses. “… cute.”
“I’m a dragon, B,” Tim grumbles. “M’never cute.”
Lightning flickers through the sky outside the window, followed by a deep rumble of thunder. Tim stiffens under his hand, and his eyes widen, so Bruce uses the momentary distraction to wrap an arm around him and tuck the boy against his side, hoping his touch and presence make him feel safe.
“It’s okay to be scared,” Bruce murmurs, staring at his ceiling. He remembers the rush of fear he felt one dark night, the sound of a gunshot following after him every day for the rest of his life. “I get scared sometimes, too.”
“I shouldn’t be scared of anything,” Tim says quietly. “But when I think about it, I think what makes me most afraid is the idea that something could happen to you. I don’t want to lose you, Bruce.”
He hugs Tim tighter. “Nothing will happen to me,” Bruce says quietly. “Because I have you watching my back, and I know you’ll do everything in your power to keep me safe.”
Tim smiles, a tiny, barely-there thing. “That’s right,” he says and burrows against his side. “Good human.”
★★
(“Bruce,” Tim whispers after the storm passes, sounding half-asleep. “You’re my favorite. I just wanted you to know.”
Bruce smiles, tucking the blanket around his shoulders. “Don’t tell anyone,” he whispers back. “But you’re my favorite, too.
He catches the pleased look in Tim’s eyes before he shuts them completely.)