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Dick didn’t know how to feel. He didn’t know whether to be excited or nervous or jealous or angry or frustrated, he just knew that he was scared.
Bruce had gone into a flurry of panic when Talia’s water broke, and Alfred had to be the one to steer Bruce and Talia to the car. Dick had gotten in the car too, but he didn’t get to stay at the hospital—Alfred dropped him off at school before returning to the Manor. The baby was born right after Dick got home, and Bruce sent a flurry of pictures but apparently Talia was not up for visitors, and of course their wing of the hospital had ultra-high security to prevent any attacks from the League of Assassins.
Alfred strictly vetoed patrol. Bruce didn’t come home, and Dick had to go to bed without his goodnight kiss. Yet another tradition that Talia had usurped, and Dick wasn’t feeling too charitable about the baby either.
A real son. Bruce had a real son, and his name was Damian Wayne, and—and there was no need for Dick anymore. Bruce had gotten his child-rearing practice in, but now he had a child of his own. Talia didn’t like Dick, and the feeling was mutual, and Bruce had promised that the assassin wouldn’t come between Dick and Bruce back when he was only courting her, but who knew what Talia could get him to agree to now that she had Damian.
Dick didn’t sleep very well.
Talia was scheduled to come home while Dick was at school, and the entire day Dick fidgeted in his seat, wondering if he’d get to go home at all. Was Alfred going to pick him up? What if they sent him away tonight? What if the Manor gates were closed and barred when he got there, all his possessions strewn on the road, Talia smirking at him from the other side?
Dread and apprehension knotted firmly in his gut.
But Alfred still came to pick him up, and the Manor gates weren’t blocked, and Talia wasn’t there to slam the front door in his face. Alfred saw the way Dick tiptoed inside as though expecting to meet an unchained tiger, and offered a helpful, “They’re in the den.”
The den, where Dick and Bruce spent time together as a family, watching movies or playing board games. Yet another facet invaded by Talia and the baby. “Go on then,” Alfred said, mistaking his reluctance for hesitance, “Go meet the little lad.”
Dick would rather not. Maybe if he stayed completely out of Talia and Damian’s way, she wouldn’t try to force him out. It was a big manor. Dick could manage. And Damian was nowhere near being old enough for a cape, and Talia wouldn’t take up Shrike for at least another month, so Dick could still get Batman-and-Robin time.
That would be enough. He didn’t want to rock the boat.
But his footsteps carried him to the den all the same.
Talia was sitting on the armchair, a bundle of blankets in her lap, looking exhausted but smiling radiantly. Bruce was on the couch, also clearly tired but looking so fond it made something in Dick’s heart ache.
He should go. He should just—he didn’t want to intrude. Dick tried to take a step back, but the movement caught Bruce’s eye, and the full force of the beaming smile was turned on Dick.
“Back from school, chum?” Bruce beamed at him, “Do you want to meet Damian?” Talia also turned to regard him, her expression softer than it usually was but just as inscrutable.
Dick couldn’t flee now, that would be rude. “Sure,” he said hoarsely, plastering a circus smile on his face as he edged into the room. He didn’t particularly want to get close to Talia—he’d watched a documentary a week ago about tiger moms that mauled anyone that stepped too close to their cubs, and Talia definitely qualified—but Damian was in her lap, and he finally inched close enough to see the baby.
Damian was…small. He wasn’t wearing a cap anymore, and Dick could see his head of dark hair. The baby yawned, one fist lifting into the air, before subsiding with a grump. “He’s cute,” Dick whispered, almost forgetting that he was standing right next to Talia.
“Very cute,” Bruce said in the tone of a man who’d reached enlightenment, “Do you want to hold him, chum?”
Dick didn’t want to wake up to a knife in his throat, no, but Bruce was ushering him to the couch and Talia didn’t make any motion to contradict him so Dick held his hands out to receive the baby.
Talia set Damian in his arms like she was bestowing treasure. The baby sleepily yawned, made a near soundless grumble, and scrunched up his little nose. Dick brushed a finger against his hair, and the baby raised his hands in sleepy consternation. When Dick pressed a finger to that small, curled up hand, Damian grasped it with surprising force.
Oh.
Oh.
Dick’s heart fractured into tiny pieces and then melted into a puddle.
There was no way Dick would be able to stay away from this little baby bat.
“You’re adorable,” Dick informed the baby. Damian’s face scrunched up further and Dick rocked him slightly to get him to settle, humming the tune to a long-forgotten lullaby. Damian grumped, but drifted back to sleep, apparently deciding that the indignity wasn’t worth waking up.
He was so, so cute. The flash Dick had gotten of his eyes was pale blue, and his face was still ruddy, but he was the most adorable baby Dick had ever seen, and no he was not going to accept criticism. Dick never ever wanted to let him go. The soft, warm weight in his hands felt like Dick was cradling the sun in his arms and everything inside him was gooey like half-melted butter. He didn’t even care that Talia had gotten up to move to a seat closer to him.
“Be good for your akhi,” Talia said warmly, her green eyes soft as she looked at her newborn baby, and Dick—froze.
She just—
She called him Damian’s brother.
He was—she was—Dick had a baby brother.
Dick had a baby brother.
Suddenly, the bundle in his arms was the most precious thing in the entire universe.
Bruce, if he was pressed, would admit that he was a little bit miffed. Just a little. A tiny sliver. The whole house was thrilled about Damian, he couldn’t begrudge any of them their happiness, but there was a part of him that was still the slightest bit possessive.
Damian was his baby. His son.
And yet Dick spent more time with him than Bruce did.
At first Bruce was just happy that they were getting along. Talia’s introduction to the family had been…rocky, some parts rushed due to the necessity of cutting out Ra’s’ influence, and Bruce was aware that there was a coolness between his wife and his first son.
First son. Because Bruce had two sons now.
But any half-formed thought that Dick’s increasing avoidance was due to jealousy had vanished with how much he doted on his little brother. Dick was always at his little brother’s side, always excited and enthusiastic and cheerful, and the baby responded with matching happy burbles. Dick could calm Damian down from a screaming rage faster than Alfred, and had once snatched Damian right out of an exhausted Bruce’s arms to soothe the baby.
Talia didn’t seem to have any problems with it, and Bruce was of course happy that his children were spending time together, and he was aware that sleeplessness and stress was making his emotions go haywire, but he couldn’t help the surge of annoyance when he woke up to Damian’s fitful gasps only to see Dick already standing next to the crib, humming a lullaby.
Bruce narrowed his eyes. The arm around his waist tightened as Talia pushed herself up on an elbow, saw that Dick had beaten them to it, and dropped down fully on Bruce’s chest with a sleepy sigh.
“I wonder where he kept the comm,” she murmured lowly, “I can’t find it anywhere.” Bruce didn’t know. All he knew was that Damian was quieting down as Dick sang and rocked him to bed. “Beloved?” Talia said as the silence stretched.
“I don’t know,” came out clipped and short. Almost petulant.
Talia raised her head enough to look up at him, “Is everything okay?”
Bruce looked at Dick, not her. “He’s good at that,” he muttered. Dick was swaying in place, Damian’s sobs all but vanished.
Talia was silent for a moment, and then she started shaking. A couple of exhausted snickers leaked out. “Are you jealous that your eldest is so good at calming him?” she chuckled into his ear, “Oh, Beloved. Enjoy the peace you’ve been given, and sleep.”
“I’m trying,” Bruce whispered crankily, “The baby keeps waking me up.” Regardless of how fast Dick teleported to their room, Damian’s cries were still loud enough to wake the dead.
Talia’s breathing was soft and steady, and for a moment, he almost thought that she’d slipped back to sleep. “…Maybe we should move the crib to Richard’s room,” Talia mused.
Bruce glared at her. It wasn’t effective. “He needs to be fed,” Bruce reminded her, a little sourly because Dick never took Damian away from Talia.
“Good point. You can go to Richard’s room, and Richard can sleep in here. Win-win.”
“Are you banishing me from my own bedroom?”
“I will if you don’t stop sulking. Get some sleep, Beloved. Even if Damian imprints on Richard, you’ll still be his grandfather.”
“Talia,” he only remembered to lower his voice at the last moment, and it came out strangled. Talia muffled her snickers against his shirt, and Dick, leaning over the crib to put Damian back to bed, stilled and swung his gaze their way.
“Did I wake you?” Dick whispered softly, tiptoeing away from the crib.
“No, chum, Damian woke us,” Bruce said, extending a hand, “C’mere.” Dick warily moved closer, and Bruce tugged at his arm until he bent low enough for Bruce to press a kiss to his hair. “Thank you,” Bruce said softly, and even in the darkness he could see Dick beaming. “Now go to sleep, chum. We’ll be okay.”
“Okay,” Dick whispered back, “Goodnight Bruce.” He murmured a ‘goodnight, Dami’ to the crib and then inched out.
Bruce snuggled closer to Talia and let her quiet breaths lull him to sleep. He had two children, and they both would be fine.
Talia leaned against the doorway and watched her foster son sitting on the window seat, pressed against the glass, and narrating the view from the garden in a mixture of English and Arabic. Damian looked to be fast asleep, but that clearly didn’t stop Richard.
Those last few weeks of pregnancy Talia had grappled with on and off terror. Richard didn’t like her, made it clear that he didn’t need a mother, much less a stepmother, and made it very obvious that he thought she wasn’t good enough for Bruce. And if Richard decided to put up a fuss—well.
She’d had more than one nightmare of being on the run with a newborn child, alone and hunted, with her father’s voice echoing in her ears.
But now it was apparent that Richard would never leave Damian. The boy doted on the baby, and had apparently decided to treat Talia with grudging tolerance now that they were on the same side. Talia took what she got.
She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, smelling the cinnamon drifting from the kitchen, hearing the distant sound of footsteps as Bruce headed down, letting Richard’s lilting voice drift over her with descriptions of flowers and birds and trees and the sky.
There had been a couple of moments that she’d regretted leaving the League. The League was her life, she’d known nothing else before Bruce had shown her the possibilities. But now, Talia wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.
Here, she was safe.
Here, her son was safe.
Here, her family would grow up, safe and happy and loved, and Talia was proud that she’d made the right decision.