Work Text:
Hidden within the infinite cosmos of the things Red Robin is capable of, Tim has hidden one fear. He can go toe to toe with Ra’s and his league and not flinch the slightest bit. He can take down aliens, thugs, and the criminally insane. Heck, he can even take on Damian , who is arguably the biggest hazard to his health these days.
But he has one fear. One that has become more and more realized as the days pass by.
He is afraid to look at Bruce and ask if the man loves him. Ever loved him.
It’s important that he doesn't ask, because he thinks he knows the answer but he isn't sure. Knowing might destroy him, he thinks.
Even after all this time, the worst possible thing he can imagine is being alone. His mom is gone. His dad is gone. Dana was never in the picture like that, and Alfred’s love exists on an entirely different level.
He would never disrespect the elderly butler by questioning his attachment to Bruce’s wards. But Alfred’s love was different. Alfred loved them because of the light they brought to Bruce’s eyes. He might love them for who they were, but if he had to categorize it, he would say it was grandfatherly love.
He never wanted to know if Bruce stopped loving him as a child. Because then…
Because then that would mean that no one did. That would make him no one’s child.
And he wasn’t deranged; he knew he was technically no one’s child the second Jack shuddered through his last breath. But he still had Bruce.
Bruce, who he could still remember from so long ago that he wasn’t sure if he had made up the memory or not.
Wayne manor had hosted a ball when he was around three or so. His parents had deigned to bring him, for once, as they resided close and the nanny was available to come along. He remembered that his mother had let him play with the necklace she wore on the drive over.
He knew that much was true, since he still had the necklace and knew that his father had found it while deep ocean diving off the coast of Eritrea, in the Red Sea. They loved to tell him that story and he had many a night where he went to bed with visions of someday going back and retrieving the matching bracelet his father always wistfully rued he hadn't been able to retrieve. Whenever his father brought up the bracelet, it was the only time Tim ever saw his mother’s eyes get that soft. He wanted to see that look directed at him too.
When you are a kid, you think things like that are possible.
So the Wayne’s held a ball, he got to go, and halfway through his parents left without notice when they got an alert that one of their dig sites had turned up some major finds. It was all par for course.
But Tim had resisted that night. He was feeling all the feelings toddlers feel and managed to evade the nanny, poor woman, he really should check to make sure the fund he had set up for her was still sufficient.
He had somehow, with his tiny uncoordinated feet, stumbled into a darkened hallway. The sounds of partygoers laughing and the clink of glasses sounded from just feet behind him, but Tim was used to wandering long, dark, empty halls. So he had toddled off.
He hadn’t been expecting to bump into a tall figure in the darkened hallway, and his age excused his reaction. The second the first sniffle escaped him, he was scooped up into fit arms and desperately hushed.
“It's okay! It’s okay kiddo, I’m sorry I scared you, but you are fine….what are you doing out here anyway?”
And because Tim was too terrified to offer his own astute input, Bruce had taken it upon himself to continue the conversation.
They had wandered the halls, as Bruce revealed that he was also hiding from the numerous ladies with their cheek pinching fingers and when Tim got tired, Bruce shifted him into a more comfortable position on his shoulder, rucking up the suit to create a bit more of a buffer between Tim’s cheek and his hard shoulder.
He had been lulled to sleep with the sound of a soothing deep voice in his ear, and a hand periodically petting his back.
He had no memory of what had happened afterwards, which made him question the validity of the memory, as he was sure there must have been SOME fallout to disappearing for hours. Or so he hoped.
He would have liked to ask Bruce, but he wasn’t sure if the elder man remembered the ball at all, having been to hundreds, or if the memory was even worth remembering to him.
It seemed that would be another thing he feared asking.
Xxxxxxxxxxxx
Bruce stared at the body lying prone on the bed and felt his heart breaking.
It was some ungodly hour of the night and he had finally convinced Dick, Jason, and even Damian to get some rest from their constant vigil. Alfred hovered in and out of his periphery, and he had already suggested that the elder man rest for the night. He understood why that might be difficult.
Tim was Bruce’s first baby. And no one knew. Besides Alfred. He doubted even Tim remembered.
When Tim had been young, too young, so so very young , Janet and Jack left him alone for the first time. Bruce had found him on the third night. Or so he learned later. He had been jogging the property line between his house and the Drake Estate, and found that when he had stopped for a breath, coincidentally nearest to the Drake house, he could hear faint sounds of crying.
As he listened closer, he could make out that it was a baby crying. He had grown alarmed, wondering if he should sprint back to his house to wake his parents, or even Alfred, before dismissing the idea. It would take too much time.
Instead, Bruce stepped over into Drake property and tried to ascertain where exactly the crying was coming from. He squinted in the dark, and then finally saw a light blue glow emanating outwards from an open window. He had scaled up the side of the house without a second thought.
Hindsight told him that he probably should have ran around the estate and rang the doorbell, but he figured at the time if no one was doing anything to stop the baby from crying, no one was around to mistake him for an intruder and shoot him in the head.
Even though technically he was an intruder. That didn't matter. Semantics.
The crying sounded louder once he hopped through the open window and Bruce froze for a second, wondering if he had been heard. The door to the nursery was firmly shut and Bruce looked around for a monitoring device before realizing there was none.
There was just a crying baby alone in a room with the door shut and the window wide open. Bruce couldn't describe the red hot feeling that overtook him.
With three long silent steps he was at the edge of the cradle, looking down at the wailing infant. The poor thing’s eyes were scrunched shut and his mouth wide open as he wailed his little heart out. His knees were pulled up to his chest and his tiny hands were balled into fists. The wet smudges on his chubby cheeks told Bruce that he had probably been crying for quite some time now.
Bruce wanted to hurt the person that had abandoned this baby here. But first he had to take care of the baby. He breathed deeply trying to clear out his anger, remembering that he once heard, at a party his parents had hosted, that babies could sense emotion. Or something. Either way, if that was true, he didn’t want the baby to become more upset.
He took a finger and nudged it against one of the clenched fists, rubbing against one tiny pudgy thumb. The reaction was instantaneous.
The baby’s eyes popped open, revealing an intense blue and he hiccuped in shock at the sight of a man suddenly standing over him.
Then both pudgy arms were thrust upwards in desperate attempt to make sure that this stranger that he had never seen before wouldn’t leave. Bruce was helpless to obey.
He instantly scooped up the tiny being, rocking him back and forth and letting him burrow into his neck. He felt his shirt instantly soak with the force of the tears and did his best to soothe the helpless shuddering body as it worked through the sobs. He hoped the sweat that he had worked up on his jog wouldn't affect the baby harmfully in any way.
It took about ten minutes before the last sob worked its way out of the baby and by that time Bruce was certain that he never wanted to let go of this child. He tried to turn his head to look at the now silent baby, but the little guy had his head firmly wedged into the crevice where Bruce’s neck met his shoulder.
He crossed over to the rocking chair in the room and heard a small noise of protest when he shifted to sit down. A calming hand across the baby’s back quieted the hitch in his breath again.
He sat there like that, rocking back and forth slowly, running one hand down the infant’s back occasionally, and staring at the room around him.
This was not the room of an abandoned unloved baby. For one, it was decked out in all the things that Bruce himself had grown up with; he could see the name brand clothes in the closet, the softest baby blankets piled in the crib, and the top of the line toys scattered around the room. The walls looked handpainted, depicting fantastical images from around the world.
Then who...Of course. The realization hit Bruce like a ton of bricks and he froze for a moment. This was Timothy Drake. The answer was literally in front of him. The walls he had been staring at were obviously hand painted by Jack and Janet Drake, probably from memories of images they had seen first hand on their travels.
The entire socialite community had been aflutter when the Drakes had announced that they were expecting. He had even seen his mother dancing around one of the family rooms, playfully hugging a tiny onesie, amongst numerous other things, that she had brought for Janet’s baby shower. Bruce wondered if that onesie was floating around the room somewhere.
“Hi Tim,” He whispered against the sleeping baby’s head.
Or not sleeping. The tiny head shifted against his body, and Bruce could feel the weak muscles strain to straighten themselves. He carefully pulled Tim away from his body, keeping a firm grasp on him so he wouldn’t think he was going to put him down, and looked down.
The blue eyes were even more entrancing when lit up by the moonlight. They were huge in the way that only babies seemed to have, and Tim’s were lined with the remnants of tears. But the baby wasn't crying anymore. Instead he was staring into Bruce’s soul.
“Hi baby. Hi Tim. I’m Bruce.” Bruce wasn’t sure what it was, but apparently something he said tickled Tim’s funny bone and a small smile appeared on the tear streaked face. Bruce stared in wonder.
“Hi Tim?” No reaction. “Hi Baby?” Blank stare. Bruce sat back stumped for a second and then said,
“I’m Bruce,” A peal of delighted laughter escaped the baby and Bruce could not stop the feeling of utter joy that exploded within him.
Was this was it was like to have a child? A baby? He wanted one. He wanted this one.
“I’m Bruce,” Tim waved his little hands, unable to contain his excitement.
How anyone could leave such a wonderful creature alone he wasn’t sure. He wanted to hold Tim and never let go.
“I’m Bruce,” A small foot kicked against his chest as Tim used his entire body to laugh, and Bruce felt laughter bubble up within him.
Even the rage he was feeling at the Drakes turned into pity for them. How could the Drakes go off looking for treasure when the greatest most priceless treasure was sitting right here in their own home? But that was fine. If they didn’t want him, Bruce would be more than happy to take over.
“I’m Bruce and I am always going to be here for you.”
Xxxxxxxxxxx
The heart monitor sounded an alarm, breaking Bruce out of his thoughts, and for a moment he froze as terror overtook him.
Not my baby, please not my baby.
The numbers on the monitor swam in front of his eyes as he tried to blindly decipher them in his panic. Bruce felt the fear almost overtake him when a steady hand landed on his shoulder.
“He is stabilizing.” Alfred said calmly, not moving away until Bruce unlocked himself from the tense position he had froze into.
“He will be okay.” The Butler continued soothingly.
“He will be okay…” Bruce repeated numbly. Then the words sunk in. “He will be okay . Alfred, Alfred my baby is going to be okay .”
The twinkle that so rarely lit up Alfred’s eyes these days shone bright, “Yes he will Master Bruce. Yes he will.”
Alfred moved away from Bruce’s side, busying himself with the preparation for when Tim would wake. Bruce watched, still slightly dazed, as Alfred laid out the medicine and moved to dust off the theraphy equipment that they would use when Tim was finally well enough to get out of bed.
All he could see was the first time Tim had walked towards him without any help. The blue mat that Alfred was rolling out...was the carpet at Drake manor. And Bruce had snuck in again right after class, before going home.
He normally didn’t come during the day but it must have been fated that day. Because Tim had taken one look at him from where he had been sitting alone with a bunch of brightly covered plush toys, gumming on a bright yellow one, and let a huge smile envelop his face.
And then his eight month old baby had pushed himself to his knees, freezing Bruce in his tracks by the window, and then used his hands to push the rest of his body into an upright position.
Tim had looked over to make sure Bruce was watching, or that Bruce was still there and then taken his first shaky step. Towards Bruce.
Bruce, who had fallen to his knees with his arms out, shaking and nearly overcome with elation.
His baby was walking .
Tim had walked all the way up to the gate and then stuck his little hands up in the air and in the same moment Bruce had swooped over to him and was clutching him in his arms and throwing him up in the air.
Tim was laughing his little heart out and Bruce wished he could be just as loud….
“I will take my leave for the night then Master Bruce. Please call me if you need assistance.” Alfred’s voice broke into Bruce’s memory and for a moment he was puzzled, but then snapped back into the present.
“Of course Alfred. I will let you know if anything changes,” He promised, “Thanks for everything.”
“It is never any trouble to do for my loved ones, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, resting a light hand on Bruce’s shoulder before walking away.
Bruce stretched out in the chair, listening as the elevator cranked its way up and let Alfred out into the manor safely.
He watched Tim breathe a fraction easier than he had been earlier, and studied his vitals.
Tim had been three years and eight months the last time he had seen him as a baby. Somehow, his adorable boy had wandered into the dark halls of the Wayne Manor during a ball that his parents had hosted. He hadn’t even been aware that the Drakes had attended.
Bruce had been lurking in a nearby parlor room, close enough to the party that if his presence was missed he could appear suddenly, but far enough that the polite company they held would not overstep to look for him.
He had heard the slightest sound out in the hall, a tap tap tap upon the polished wooden floors and had gone to investigate. He almost couldn't believe his eyes when he had seen his baby. Tim had been dressed in a tiny tux, his feet encased in little dress shoes that tapped on the floor as he walked.
But Tim hadn’t recognized him in the dark. Or at least at first. Bruce had reflexively reached down to pick up the toddler when he had heard the first sniffle, and effectively startled Tim into silence. He remembered sprouting off a bunch of meaningless stories as he walked through the darkened halls, no longer worried about his absence being discovered.
He knew Tim realized who he was when the toddler put his head down on Bruce’s shoulder in that one spot.
“That’s my boy,” Bruce had said, continuing his light hearted stories about the day to day insanity he experienced at college.
It had been so long since the last time he had come home. And it had been his intention to leave tonight. But, God help him, he would make sure his baby fell asleep feeling loved this one more night. And if he had to wander the halls all night, telling stories about what antics his roommates got up to and the hilarious way girls threw themselves at him, then he would do it….
“Br...se?” Bruce nearly startled out of the chair. He lunged forward, getting as close to Tim as possible. Tim, who’s eyes were cracked open the slightest bit, and Bruce could see a little bit of the electric blue that hadn’t dulled a bit in 18 years. “B...rce...,”
“I’m here baby. I’m here. What do you need?”
In his eyes, Tim’s feverish face flickered back and forth from the mature young adult he had become and the baby that he had had to leave so he could make the world a better place. A safer place.
Bruce desperately focused his mind and leaned even closer to hear Tim’s next words. The slight teen was still delirious, as far as he could tell, but if Tim asked for a goddamn pony in that moment, Bruce would buy him a herd .
“Cn...you...pl..s.” Bruce waited patiently as Tim faded out a bit, “Pl...ese lo...ve me.”
This night was doing no favors to his heart.
“I...do...n...wana...b...no one’s br...ce. Please.”
His baby was begging him to love him. His baby . Bruce felt his hands shake. He tried to steady them. His throat suddenly felt tight and dry, all the moisture seemingly fled to his eyes. Every single thing. Every single thing he had ever thought he had accomplished. Nothing was worth it. None of it was worth anything .
Not if he had somehow failed this little light of his life. The little light that had become his entire world as an infant and had made him the proudest father in the world as an adult.
Signing the papers to adopt Tim had been the epitome of his existence. No one had understood at the time what it had meant to him. And apparently he had sucked so much at expressing what it did, that his son, his son , was begging him to love him.
“Tim, Tim . My baby boy. Of course I love you. I love you so much.” He cradled Tim’s upper body carefully, knowing that Alfred would be cross later but not caring at the moment. He needed to hold Tim.
Hot tears wet the front of his shirt slowly as Bruce shifted them so he was holding Tim, supporting him entirely.
Of all his boys, Tim still remained small enough to hold like this. And, well, Damian he supposed. But Damian would never allow it. He held Tim as tightly as he dared to. Relishing at the feel of having a child in his arms once more. They should all just stay in his arms. He could, would , protect them all so well from there.
Tim faded in and out of consciousness and every time he opened his eyes Bruce made sure to tell him that he was loved. He didn’t know what was getting through to Tim when, so it was better to be on the safe side.
And he channeled positive thoughts. Because... Because children can pick up on things like that Martha, they can sense your emotions.
Exactly.
“Love you Tim. I love you so much. I will never stop loving you.”
It alarmed him that Tim still seemed to be crying, even in the moments when it seemed that he was entirely out of it. There was a very good chance that when Tim woke up fully tomorrow, he wouldn't remember any of this. But it was hurting Bruce’s heart to know that right now, in this moment, his baby was distressed. It didn't matter if he would be fine later. He needed to do something now.
And then inspiration hit. Using his muscles, making sure Tim wasn’t straining anything or uncomfortable, Bruce shifted them slowly into a very old, very familiar position.
He dropped his head down and slightly to the left and rubbed his cheek against the downy hair. He could feel it when Tim’s eyes opened again because Tim’s eye lashes brushed against his neck.
Bruce hummed low in his throat to catch his attention. He carefully took one small wrist in his hand and made sure Tim was listening before he said;
“Hi Tim. I’m Bruce and I am always going to be here for you.”
This time he would keep that promise.