Synopsis: Someone has stolen all the money from the Wayne Foundation Youth Charity Fund. Batman and Red Hood go after the man who did it. While doing research on the thief, Tim is hit by a mysterious beam from an odd weapon sitting on a shelf and is de-aged. Oh boy, what are they going to do with a four-year-old Tim?

Part 7: Adressinng Tim's New Situation

Alfred came into the nursery carrying fresh clothes and diapers for the children. "Master Richard . . . Who is this? I was not informed we had visitors."

"Well, there was a small incident, and this is Tim."

Alfred's eyes grew wide. "Master Timothy?"

"Yeah . . . It's me," Tim said, sheepishly. "Um . . . Would you have something for me to wear until I get back to normal?"

"I might have just the thing. I will have to get it from the attic."

"See, I knew Alfred would come to the rescue," Dick said, happily.

"Okay. Let's see what he's got."

Dick kept musing about his baby brother and seeing him as a young child. As he got up from the floor, still holding onto Tim, he followed Alfred to the door that led up to the third floor and the attic space. 'I just want to hold Tim forever. I don't see why his parents would leave him alone by himself when he was younger. I wouldn't be able to ignore this cute face'

"I can walk you know," Tim said. "And I think Sammie might get jealous if you keep holding me."

"I'm sure she won't," Dick said, brushing the thought off in total denial.

Alfred led the pair, unlocking a door across from Master Jason and Sasha's room. It opened a door to a set of stairs leading up.

Dick followed Alfred up the stairs with Tim in his arms. He couldn't help but nuzzle the top of his head. 'I used to do that when he was a baby,' Dick remembered. 'God, I missed out so much of Tim's early childhood. I don't want to lose that ever, again.'

Alfred entered the large attic space. He moved around the holiday decoration boxes to some old trunks. He opened one and pulled out some old clothes. "These were Master Bruce's when he was small. We shall see if they fit you."

Dick put Tim down so he could try on the clothes.

Alfred handed Tim underwear, a green shirt with long sleeves and a pair of jeans with elastic around the waste. He handed Tim some socks and a pair of shoes.

"Why would someone keep underwear and socks?" Tim questioned. "Don't those wear out?"

"Yes, they do," Alfred explained. "Chidren grow very quickly, and grow out of clothing so fast, so spare clothing is not unheard of."

"I still don't understand."

"I have not said this, and it would have hurt Master Bruce so much more knowing it, but Master Bruce wasn't supposed to be an only child. And those clothes that were set aside, even though they were Master Bruce's, were for the day his younger sibling might need them."

"You mean, Bruce's mother was . . ."

"Yes, Master Richard. In fact, that evening when they were supposed to return home from the cinema, Thomas and Martha were going to break the news to their son that they were expecting their second child. Mrs. Wayne was only in her first trimester and had not began to show any evidence, other than being ill in the morning. Young Master Bruce would have been so happy if that were the case, but sadly, it was not meant to be since . . ."

"They were killed that night and the baby . . ."

"Died as well," Tim finished. "And the clothing was never worn." Tim fingered the clothing that Alfred had handed to him. "Then I'll wear everything, but I'll need more than just this. I don't know how long I'll be like this."

"I shall provide you with everything that you need, along with something to sleep in. Alfred held up a onesie with a hood.

"Um . . . You're kidding me, right?"

"Oh my! It's a bird," Dick said, excitedly. "See the cute beak and the wings on the arms. You'd really be a baby bird."

"No, I'm not wearing that."

Dick grabbed the onesie from Alfred. "Yes, you are! You have to. . . . . Please . . . For me?"

Dick had that look on his face, that puppy-dog look that made it difficult to resist or to refuse him anything. Bruce would give into that face, and now Dick was giving Tim that face.

Tim groaned. "Oh, all right. One night only," Tim replied, hoping he wasn't going to be stuck in this size for no more than twnty-four hours. 'With my luck it will probably be a week.'

Dick did a victory dance in his head. "Thank you."

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am, my adorable baby brother," Dick said, picking Tim up and holding him, again. "We should go color . . . or play with a toy . . . or go to the park . . . or make cookies. Cookies sound like a good idea." Dick was rattling off several items.

Tim was shaking his head until Dick mentioned cookies. "Cookies? . . . . That . . . Um . . . Sounds good . . . And I liked playing with my trucks." Tim's eyes went wide. 'What am I saying.'

Dick headed out of the attic, carrying Tim. "Oh, we're going to have so much fun!"

"Master Richard . . . " Alfred called out to his charges.

"What?" Dick turned to face Alfred.

Alfred held out the clothes, underwear, socks, and shoes for Master Timothy to wear. Dick snatched up the pair of underwear still holding onto the onesie. He knew what he wanted Tim to wear right off. He helped Tim to dress despite Tim's protest that he could dress himself. Tim gave in when Dick gave him a pout.

"Well . . . I guess it can't hurt . . ."

Once Tim was dressed, Dick carried Tim downstairs and made his way to the kitchen and sat Tim down on the island counter. Dick looked in Alfred's recipe box for just the right cookies to bake then pulled out the ingredients he would need to make the cookies. He then grabbed a bowl, a wisk, and the cookie sheet out from where Alfred kept his various pots and pans. He sat the items on the counter.

"I can read off everything on the recipe card."

"Okay. What's first?" *Dick smiled.

"Set the oven for 350 and then greace the cookie sheet."

Dick performed those first two tasks. "What's next."

"Oe cup of butter, one cup of sugar and a cup of packed brown sugar," Tim read off. "You're supposed to cream them together."

Dick whistled a tune as he did what Tim instructed. It had been a long time since he made coookies, not since before his parents' died. He would make cookies with his mother on the days they didn't have a show or when they were wintering down in Florida. He was having fun. 'I should do this more often.'

"Now you're supposed to add two eggs and a teaspoon of vanilla."

"Two eggs." Dick picked two from the carton, one in each hand and cracked them at the same time. "Check and now a teaspoon of vanilla." Dick opened up the vanilla and poured it into the measuring spoon then into the bowl. He took the time to whisk those together, so they were well mixed.

"You're supposed to take two teaspoons of baking soda and add it to two teaspoons of hot water then add that."

"On it."

Dick went and got two teaspoons of hot water. Putting it in a small separate bowl and then got the baking soda. Mixed those two together and then poured it into the bowl.

"Now add three cups of flour."

Dick opened up the flour canister. He got a cup of it, but placed a bit on his finger and then swiped it across Tim's forehead. "Simba!"

"Simba . . . . achoo," Tim sneezed from the flour dust.

"Just like Simba, from The Lion King. Oh, Timmy you watched Disney movies right?"

"Yeah . . . I don't think I saw that one."

Dick nearly dropped the second cup of flour. "My goodness! How have you never seen The Lion King? It's popular and there's a Broadway show about it." Dick said. 'What is up with my younger brothers not watching all of the Disney movies.' Dick poured in two more cups of flour and started mixing the cookies. "When Jason gets back, and we change you to your normal size. You, Jay, Dami, and I are having a Disney day. No if ands or butts about it."

"Um, don't forget to add two cups of chocolate chips and one cup of chopped walnuts."

"Don't change the subject Timmy." Dick went and poured in the chocolate chips, chopped up walnuts., and added those. After they were mixed in, he started dropping tablespoons of the dough on the cookie sheet. "The Lion King is like . . . amazing . . . and you've never watched . . . my heart hurts."

"I didn't get to see to many movies. I would get a new one on my birthday or Christmas, but that stopped when my Mom died so I missed a lot of new ones. And it was during the time I became Robin."

"Well, if I had known that I would have taken you to see the Lion King. You've been with us a few years now. So, guess what? Prepare for singing and dancing cause we're going to be watching a lot of movies."

'That actually sounded fun,' thought Tim. 'Maybe it wasn't too bad being a kid, again. Even for a short time.'

"We just need Dami and Jay. Damian never watched Disney movies either, and I think deep down inside Jason is a Disney fanatic."

"Now we bake them for ten minutes. Those look like they will be really good," Tim yawned.

"Oh, someone is getting sleepy," Dick teased as he placed the cookies into the oven to bake. "Think you can make it ten minutes so you could get your cookie?"

"I think so."

"So, who do you think you'll be sleeping with tonight? The children?"

"Well, I guess I have to," Tim replied. "I can't sleep with my wife. It would look strange. How are we going to explain me being a kid, again?"

Talon made a suggestion in the back of Dick's mind. "No, Talon, he's not staying in the nest. Though that's not a bad idea either. Oh, Talon wants to know if you made any progress on the mask."

"No, the person isn't in any criminal database," Tim answered. "I've been running a match on the DNA and so far, no match. Are the cookies almost ready?" Tim yawned again.

Dick smiled when the timer went off. He grabbed an oven mitt and took out the tray. He placed it on the counter a bit away from Tim so he wouldn't get burned. He then moved each cookie to a cooling rack and placed more dough on the cookie sheet and placed that batch into the oven and set the timer. Dick could see out of the corner of his eye that his litte brother looked like he was falling asleep sitting up.

Tim was rubbing his eyes. The counter was starting to look comfortable. Tim laid his head down on the small pile of kitchen towels that Alfred had yet to put away in the drawer.

"Awww," Dick took off the mitt. The cookies had to cool down any way. He picked up Tim and he curled up falling asleep. Dick carried his brother and sat down at the small table near the bay window where Alfred often sat to drink his tea. Dick couldn't help smiling and thinking of his parents. 'I found him, Mom, Dad,' Dick thought to himself. 'I know why you sent him away, it was for this, so we could find each other, again. I wish you could have seen him growing up, too. I've got a second chance, and I'm not going to waste it.'

Continues with Part 8: The News Spreads