kaciart:
“Tired, Babybird?”
Author’s Notes
This drabble was inspired by a series of Tiny!Tim fanart pieces created by the incredibly talented kaciart. Though the images themselves are extremely adorable slice of life scenes mostly between Tim and Dick, as I looked over the lot of the images, I got to wondering about what might’ve happened to de-age Tim in the first place.
Hence the words written below.
Special note to Kaciart: I hope you like the story. I absolutely adore your artwork.
Title: « REWIND «
To everyone else in the Watchtower, the confirmation that Tim had been permanently changed was being treated like the absolute worst news in the world. Dick frowned deeply as he listened to the words that were tossed around between their friends.
“…Tragic…”
“…Horrible accident…”
“…Catastrophic…”
“…Poor Tim…”
The man behind Nightwing’s mask heard the words, and for the umpteenth time since he learned of his younger brother’s unfortunate transformation he felt a knot twist in the pit of his stomach. He pushed himself off of the wall he’d been leaning against and started walking away from the other Titans and League members gathered around Zatanna and Dr. Mid-Nite, who’d just finished giving their report on Tim’s condition.
“Dick? Where are you going?” Wally asked, catching the black and blue vigilante moving out of the corner of his eye.
“I’m going to take Tim home.” The tests Zatanna and Mid-Nite had conducted on his younger brother had exhausted the poor boy, so Dick had left him on a cot in the examination room so that he could get some sleep.
“But we need to figure out what we’re going to do next!” Connor said. “There’s got to be a way to fix whatever the hell it was Klarion did to him!”
“I already told you,” Zatanna cut in, a frustrated expression on her own face. “There’s nothing that can be done! His biological clock has been permanently rewound. Even if we could turn it forward again and return him to his original age, he’s already lost all his memories of the last thirteen—”
“I can’t accept that!” Cassie interrupted, her declaration joined by several affirmations from her fellow Titans. “There has to be a spell or some medicine—”
“Physically, there’s nothing wrong with him. Tim should be able to age normally from—”
“He wouldn’t just give up on—”
“There is no spell to reverse this! I’ve told you all—”
“We can’t do nothing—”
“WILL YOU ALL JUST SHUT UP?!”
Nightwing’s voice, taking a tone too similar to that of his mentor, rose sharply above the cacophony, bringing everyone to a startled silence. Only when all was finally quiet did he notice the sound of timid whimpering. A quick look around was all it took for Dick to locate the source of the pitiful noise, and the sight of the tiny boy huddled in the shadow of a nearby pillar was more than enough to break his heart. The others and their arguments were quickly set aside as he moved to where the boy was hiding.
“Timmy?” he murmured gently as he knelt down to be closer to the four-year old boy’s level. Dick’s chest tightened when the child flinched away from his outstretched hand, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and trembling with fear. Only then did he remember how much the uniform as a whole scared his little brother now. Kicking himself mentally, he removed his mask and squirreled it away in a compartment in his gauntlet. This time, when he reached out for Timothy, the boy didn’t draw back. “C’mon kiddo. It’s alright. It’s just me.”
Timidly, like a skittish fawn, a now four-year old Tim crawled on his hands and knees out of the shadows. He paused only once, round blue eyes telegraphing his anxiety as he glanced around the room. Then, as quickly as his legs could carry him, the boy pushed himself up and dashed for Dick, tackling him hard enough to rock the older man back slightly on his heels.
“I wanna go home!” Tim whined into Dick’s chest as he buried his face against the blue stripe of his brother’s uniform. “Please! I don’t wanna be here anymore!”
Dick gathered Tim up in his arms and cradled him close. His lips found their way to the crown of the boy’s head. “Whatever you want, Timmy,” he whispered into the child’s hair before rising to his own feet, his little brother still nestled in his strong arms. After giving the others one last warning look, daring any of them to try and stop him from leaving, he exited the conference room and made his way to the teleport tubes.
It had been an insanely difficult week for everyone involved. What had originally started off as a simple mission to go after Klarion the Witch Boy and stop the havok he’d been wreaking in New Orleans became anything but when a seventeen-year old Tim, as Red Robin, got blasted with a spell that stole exactly thirteen years from his life. Thirteen years worth of physical growth and thirteen years worth of memories were suddenly extinguished in the blink of an eye.
Interestingly enough, Tim had not been the original target of Klarion’s spell at the time when it happened.
The witch boy’s original target had been Damian, who’d been working with the Titans as Robin on the fateful day.
That first week, after they got Tim back home to Wayne Manor, had been utterly disastrous. The worst part was trying to explain to the now confused, scared little boy that he couldn’t go home to his mom and dad, no matter how much he begged and pleaded, that they were gone forever. They didn’t even bother to explain to the child about his connection to Bruce now. The first time the de-aged boy unknowingly met his adopted father was when the man was in his full Batman uniform and had just returned home after a difficult night on the streets of Gotham that was reflected both on his armor and in his demeanor.
Dick knew Bruce would never admit it aloud, but the terror-stricken look Timothy had given him that night cut his adopted father straight to the quick. In typical “Bruce” fashion, the older man dealt with it by trying to avoid the child as much as possible, in and out of uniform, much to his eldest son’s growing irritation.
Alfred helped when and where he could. Thank God for that wonderful old man! Damian even did what he was asked with only the barest modicum of half-hearted snark towards his former bitter rival. Mostly likely, it was due to the fact that he knew he owed his once-elder/now-younger brother a debt he might never be able to repay. However, when all was said and done, it was Dick who truly cared the most for Tim.
He was the one who comforted him when the nightmares woke him in the middle of the night…
He was the one who held him as he sobbed broken-heartedly, grieving for the mom and dad he would never see again…
He was the only one who could coax even the barest hint of a smile out of the boy when things seemed to finally be settling down.
“So there’s nothing they can do to fix him?” Bruce asked after Dick had put Tim to bed. The brothers had returned to Wayne Manor barely an hour ago, and the younger one had been utterly exhausted by the trip.
“Zatanna and Dr. Mid-Nite did everything they could. They’re convinced that Tim’s condition is permanent, though of course his friends have other ideas.”
“And what do you think?”
Dick looked towards the stairwell that led up to the bedrooms. “I think I just want to make sure that Tim’s going to be alright, no matter how old he is right now.” He looked up at Bruce. “Tim really needs you right now. You’re still his father, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”
Bruce looked down into his coffee. “I don’t know—”
His eldest son’s eyes went wide in disbelief, the narrowed in anger. “Don’t know?! How can you say that?!”
“Tim is terrified of me,” Bruce said with a trace of sadness. “Even when I’m out of uniform. And I don’t have the slightest clue about how to handle someone as young as him.” He sighed. “I don’t know if I’m the right person he really needs in his life right now to help get him through all of this.”
“Then who do you think is the right one?”
