#scheming timothy (gremlin) drake

[kindaangelic]

Love Me a Little

Tim felt humiliated. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life, and with Dick, no less. He should have seen this coming, he should have dodged that bolt of magic, he should have moved faster, should've, would've, could've- But hindsight did nothing for the fact that he was now a tiny baby who was having his suitably tiny butt powdered by Dick Grayson, Mother Extraordinaire. “All done!” Dick crowed, administering a final, powdery, pat on his tush. “Don't you feel fresh now, Timmy?” Tim did feel as fresh as the morning dew, but he wasn't going to let Dick have the satisfaction of knowing that. Instead, he mewled plaintively, reaching out for the void to engulf him. By sheer happenstance, the direction in which he stretched was exactly where Jason was passing by after his nap. “Do you want to go to Jay?” Dick asked, bouncing him. “Jason, Timmy wants his big brother!” Jason blinked sleepily at his brothers and itched himself slowly, deliberately, before snagging Tim in one arm. “Hey, TimTam,” Jason yawned. “Don't you look all fresh and nice. Did Dickface give you a bath?” Tim squirmed uncomfortably, loath to relive the torturous memories of Bathtime. He let out a warbling wail, and looked angrily at Jason, who proceeded to mess up Dick’s hard work by blowing raspberries in Tim’s tummy, eliciting squeals from the unhappy yet tickled baby. “Hey, he likes it,” Jason said, completely misinterpreting Tim’s tortured noises for happiness. “Tim, who's your favourite brother?” Tim lunged towards Dick, making grabby hands at his saviour, who swept Tim out of the tickle monster’s arms. “Traitor,” Jason said good-naturedly. “It's lucky that he won't remember all of this when he turns back, huh?” “Oh, for sure,” Dick agreed. “Can you imagine him remembering all of this, or understanding us?” “Pfft,” Jason muffled a laugh, “I'm pretty sure he'd run away first.” “Yeah, it's pretty funny, huh?” Tim glared at his chortling brothers, and wondered if the League of Assassins was still recruiting. ----------- Tim dozed off as Dick and Jason carried him around the house, waking only when he felt a scratchy material on his face. Did those two numbskulls put him on the carpet!? Tim blinked awake, only to realize that the scratchy feeling was not from the carpet, but from where he was smushed against Bruce’s bare, hairy, chest, as the man lounged in front of the television where he was having his bi-monthly existential crisis. Said crisis usually consisted of asking questions such as am I really making a difference? Would my parents approve of my lifestyle? Why won't my children ever hug me? Why does Dick hug me so much? The answers to which were, in order, yes, I can't speak for the dead, because you're unapproachable, and because Dick has made it his personal mission in life to hug everything into submission, and frankly, his success rate is startlingly high. Currently, Bruce was cradling Tim and a bowl of popcorn (plain) against his bare chest and stomach, respectively, as the television blared news about Superman’s latest feat of hunkyness - rescuing a kitten from a tree - while Tim was having a mental freakout about lying next to Bruce’s nipple. Bruce came out of his stupor as Tim stirred awake and regarded his now infant son carefully. “I miss this,” Bruce said after a while. “You don't remember this, but you used to be here all the time when you were a baby. Perks of being the bachelor neighbor, I got to babysit you a lot. We used to do this a lot, too,” he admitted, gesturing at himself and the television, as Tim listened, enraptured. “My existential crises were different though. They were more centered around starting out as Batman and if I was really gay. I'm bisexual,” Bruce reaffirmed. Tim giggled, and Bruce smirked. “Yes, it seems so frivolous now, doesn't it? But when I was in my twenties, Superman’s pectorals haunted my dreams. Now, he haunts me in real life with his stupidity and talking and emotions, ugh.” Tim looked around guiltily, thinking back on all the times he had imagined Conner’s pecs bouncing. “Why am I talking about Clark?” Bruce interrupted himself. “Stupid Clark. This is father-son bonding time,” Bruce said, addressing Tim seriously. “As I was saying, you were here all the time. You said your first word here, you know. It was ‘bat’.” Bruce paused before continuing, “I should have known. I should have adopted you then. Maybe we would have had more time together, and you wouldn't have left home,” he said softly. Tim mashed his face into Bruce’s chest to convey his feelings, which Bruce seemed to understand. “You were my baby for the longest time, and I couldn't accept that you were going to leave. I keep losing kids and I don't know why,” he complained softly. “Dick went to crummy Blüdhaven, Jason died, came back, and hates me, Cassandra is in Hong freaking Kong, and Damian keeps calling me ‘Father’ like I don't know. Is ‘daddy’ too difficult a word? And you left and got a stupid flat in a stupid apartment complex,” Bruce grumbled. After a stretch of comfortable silence, Bruce hiked Tim up higher and looked him dead in the eye. “But I have you now, and I'm going to make the most of it. Prepare for hugs, Timothy my boy,” Bruce said, before cuddling Tim. Tim squeaked in shock, and made valiant attempts to avoid the Batman’s nipple, but appreciated the frank affection that was so rarely found in the house that did not come from Dick. ---------- “Your first word was not ‘bat’, as Master Bruce likes to think,” Alfred informed Timothy as he fed him tiny spoonfuls of applesauce. “It was ‘butt’. But Master Bruce does like his denial, doesn't he?” Tim clapped his hands gleefully, overjoyed that his first word had been said to cause someone affront. ---------- Just when he thought that everyone had had their fill of him as a baby, Damian showed up, looming ominously over Tim’s crib. Tim squeaked in horror at the purpose clear in Daman’s poisonous, green, eyes, and made to crawl away, but was held fast by the evil little gnome. “There is the possibility that this spell may not be reversible,” Damian muttered. “In that case, you will have to grow up all over again. This has been a blessing in disguise, the fates having given me the chance to forge a new relationship with you.” Tim cocked has tiny head, touched that Damian wanted to build on their relationship. “When I take the mantle of Batman, you shall be my new Robin!” Tim gawked as Damian went on to outline grandiose plans of how he and Tim would usher in an age of peace (he should have known not to let Damian read Orwellian Classics), and how with proper training, Tim would love his new elder brother and Batman. “...I shall have a high collar with my version of the cape and cowl. It offers more protection for my neck. For you, I shall keep the classic colour scheme, but we will be adding darker undertones. Here, try this on-” Tim was shocked when Damian pulled out a very small replica of the Robin costume of his imagining, and attempted to put Tim in it. Tim flailed, unwilling to indulge Damian’s fantasies of being his big brother, but failed, and was forced to look at his reflection in the mirror dressed in a modified Robin onesie. “There, see? Elegant and effective, offering brilliant range of movement and optimal protection. You will thank me for this later, Drake. In fact,” Damian paused, smirking, “you will love me, for I shall be the big brother that you never had.” Tim wailed at the thought, which brought Dick into the room. “Ooh, Bruce, look! Dami’s playing dress up with Timmy! They're so cute! And look at that!” Dick cried, pointing at Tim’s costume. “Did you make that, Dami?” Damian nodded happily. “It is for when I make Drake the Robin to my Batman.” “That's very sweet, Damian,” Bruce remarked. “I'm glad that you love your brother enough to make him Robin. I'm very proud of you.” “Thank you Father,” Damian said, preening. “You'll be a great big brother, Dami,” Dick cooed adoringly. “I know,” Damian remarked. “And with time, Drake will know it too.” Tim gulped, and willed the magic to fade faster from his body, if only to pound his little creep of a brother into the dirt for forcing him to play a role in his dystopian fantasies. ----------- “I'm sorry!” “Hmph.” “Timmy, I'm soooo soooorrrry!” “Hngh.” Jason buried his face in his hands as Dick continued to grovel. “Timmy, please! We didn't know that you could remember everything!” “You made me take bubble baths, Dick,” Tim reminded him sourly. “You made me dress up like a pumpkin, and then you took pictures! You powdered my butt. You touched my BUTT.” Dick slunk to the floor in horror while Jason gagged, prompting Tim to round on him. “And you! You put your entire uggo face in my stomach! You gave me raspberries! The gun-toting, feared anti-hero of Gotham, the Red Hood, gave me tiny tummy kisses!” Tim shrieked, pointing at a withering Jason, who promptly joined Dick in a pile of shame on the floor. In the chaos, Damian attempted to escape unnoticed, but was out of luck. “Don't think you're going to get away, you little creep,” Tim growled, snagging Damian by the waist. “‘You will learn to love me!?’ ‘I will show you what it means to be my Robin?’ What the hell, you little gremlin!?” “You should be honored, Drake!” Damian cried, attempting to scratch Tim’s eyes out. “I was going to make you into my perfect Robin!” “Oh my Gotham, that was creepy as fuck,” Jason mumbled quietly. “Dick, your little demon baby is a freaking creep.” “I was going to make you the best version of yourself, Drake!” “Dami,” Dick sighed, “you should love your brother in whatever form he is in. Tim loves you just as you are, don't you Timmy?” “I'd love him more if he was a hamster.” “Tim!” Unbeknownst to everyone, Bruce watched his children bicker from the safety of his room, and smiled at having his boys under one roof, together. Just as it should be. ---------

#batman #batfamily #tim drake #dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne #alfred pennywoth #damian wayne #batbros #baby!tim #Damian's power trips #megalomania #Bruce is a good daddy #robin