It all started in October with a comment from Dick.

"Hey, Dad?"

"Yeah," Bruce Wayne managed to reply while brushing his teeth.

His muscles were aching and they had just returned from a long Bat-patrol where they had succeeded in catching a couple of stray drug-dealers that they had chanced to pass by. It hadn't been anything too difficult, but it had been a busy week and the work was finally putting a strain on his body.

His faithful Robin was already in his pajamas, sitting on his father's large bed.

"The kid next door is really cute."

Bruce turned around and looked at the wistful expression on Dick's face.

"Who? Jack Drake's boy?"

His son nodded and Bruce tried to recall what he looked like.

"Why do you say that?" he prompted further.

Dick sighed and got up to do a handstand on the carpet, walking on his hands. It was a habit for the former circus performer to get into weird positions when he was thinking about something. One time when he was nine, he had been found sitting on top of a chandelier after Alfred had searched nearly two hours for him.

"Jay-Jay –"

Bruce couldn't help smiling at Jason's nickname. He knew that Dick had invented it just to annoy his brother.

" – and I were minding our own business, you know, playing extreme Frisbee and I was teaching him some new moves from 'Jiujutsu' too 'cause he's been bugging me about it and, all of a sudden, I look up and I see 'im, sitting there, on the other side of all of those big trees."

Dick flipped up to stand and started to laugh.

"I don't think Jason noticed – you know, he's so thickheaded he doesn't notice anything."

'Thickheaded' wasn't the right word to describe it, but 'partially blind' was better.

Jason had only started being trained a year ago and had not yet begun to develop his sixth sense the way Dick had already done after five years of personally being disciplined by the Batman. Aside from this fact, perception wasn't a natural talent for Jason and he usually missed what Bruce or Dick could see. This was another one of the many reasons why he wasn't allowed to go into Gotham with Dick, even for the lightest of hands-on training.

It made Bruce extremely nervous and he wasn't about to let a robin even an inch out of the nest until he was damn sure that it could fly.

"It was the cutest thing you ever saw, really. The kid is sitting on this 'Pokémon' blanket in his backyard with this fluffy lion thing beside him and he's eating pretzels and there's this big book in front of him, but I watch him a little more and he isn't really reading at all. He's watching us!"

It made for a sweet picture in Bruce's head and he had to agree with Dick. The acrobat twisted so that his head was hanging off of the bed as he flopped down and he crossed his arms under it.

"So, I swipe a little more at Jaybird just to show the kid who's better and, god, it's so nice to have a fan. It makes me feel like Batman!"

Bruce had already finished washing up and walked up to ruffle his son's hair.

"What? Robin isn't good enough?"

Dick smirked and turned around.

"We both know who's cooler."

Bruce cuffed him at the back of the head before turning off the light and climbing into the duvet. Dick came in as well and, when he got close enough, Bruce tweaked his nose.

"You're becoming a real suck-up. Did you know that?"

Both having superior night-vision, Dick knew that he would see it when he batted his lashes dramatically.

"Anything for you, Daddy. You're the bestest!"

Bruce pushed his face away, groaning.

"Go to sleep, Richard."

Dick pouted for a second before punching a pillow and laying down on it. Bruce was certain that he felt silent snickers reverberate through the mattress.

It might have shocked the city of Gotham to know that the closest that 'Playboy Wayne' had ever come to a sexy, playful bedmate in the past several years was his hyperactive, snoring and sometimes drooling son.

It was a comforting habit for Dick. In the circus, he had slept between his parents and, after coming to Wayne Manor, he simply did what he had always done. For Bruce, it wasn't at all unpleasant – even when the boy kicked him sometimes or woke him up with garbling sleep talk that usually had something to do with defeating an evil marshmallow – and, when he adopted Jason at the age of nine, he caught himself hoping that the other child would adopt the same practice.

However, Jason was not Dick and, although he appreciated physical affection just as much as the other boy, he absolutely could not sleep with another person in the same bed. And, that was fine with Bruce, even if he enjoyed it immensely when Dick dragged him into their bedroom – willing or not - for Christmas or another important holiday.

His thoughts shifted back to Jack Drake. He didn't know the man very well, even though they were neighbors. Bruce was under the impression that he was hardly there and that the mother probably stayed at home with their son. He had once asked Dick if he wished that he had a mother and the boy had responded with 'But, Alfred's the best mother in the world!'.

He drifted off, thinking about Alfred in a pink 'Mother Knows Best' apron and a vague memory of a black-haired five-year-old smiling brightly up at him.

The Wayne Manor was filled with noise again as Bruce ascended the hidden elevator with his two sons, leaving the Bat-cave.

"God, Dick! If you had given me two seconds, I would have shown Dad that I knew where you were!"

"I gave you ten minutes, Jaybird. If you couldn't find me by then, I would have been waiting a full hour and - heh - let me tell you, even I get cramps from hanging from a metal rafter."

"Dad!"

"You could have given him more time, Dick," Bruce remarked calmly.

They had just finished two hours in the training room and Jason was frustrated. He had reminded the boy a thousand times that Dick had five more years of training than his brother under his belt, but it didn't seem to lessen the squabbles.

The elevator stopped, the door opening, and Dick skipped out singing Alfred's name.

Knowing that Jason wouldn't mind so long as Dick didn't see it, Bruce snuck in a consoling kiss to Jason's sweaty hair and slung an arm around his shoulders.

"We all progress at our own pace. I think you're doing great."

"Thanks," he mumbled, clearly unconvinced.

"You're just about at the same level that your brother was after a full year."

The twelve-year-old perked up the tiniest bit and Bruce would have said more, but they had reached the kitchen and Dick was too loud for normal conversation.

"Mac-and-cheese, mac-and-cheese! My tummy is a-rumbling, Al-fred!"

Jason covered his ears and scurried away while his eldest danced a ring around his unamused butler, who was currently cleaning the counters.

"Master Richard, while I do appreciate your lovely singing talents, I do insist that you lower your voice and ask for a snack like the proper, young man you most certainly are."

Dick stopped moving and wound his arms around the older man's back as the stern butler wiped in circular motions.

"Could I have some macaroni and cheese because I've been exercising for two hours and I'm as hungry as a bear, pretty please?"

"Yes, you may. Now, take a shower because I am sorry to say that you positively reek."

His son flashed an impish grin and then disappeared through the doorway. Bruce sat down on a stool.

"They're a handful, aren't they?"

"Only the best boys are, Master Bruce."

"Hmm."

"Would you also like some mac-and-cheese, sir?"

He checked his watch. It was two in the afternoon and he had missed lunch.

"That would be nice. Thank you."

Alfred put the sponge away and then turned around, a hard expression on his face.

"What's wrong?" Bruce asked, surprised.

"I've been thinking about it all morning and I can't seem to get it out of my head. Where are that boy's parents?"

Bruce shook his head, confused.

"Which boy are you talking about?"

Alfred hadn't looked this distressed since the day that Jason had accidentally broken his right hand, punching a wall out of anger during training, a few months ago.

"That little Timothy Drake who lives next door - we had a Butler's Association Meeting the other day, you know the one?"

Bruce nodded. Alfred seemed to belong to more secret committees than Batman did.

"Well, everyone knows about almost everything in this neighborhood and his name came up. Apparently, that wonderful boy is left all by himself for months on end and there isn't a thing anyone can do about it."

His eyes widened in disbelief.

"But, that's child abuse, Alfred. There's no way-"

"Oh, but there is a way, Master Bruce. As long as the child is fed, clothed, washed and educated, there isn't anything to say about it. They've hired highly capable help to do all of that so there isn't any reason why those parents of his can't fly off to wherever they want."

Bruce could hardly believe the claim. Why hadn't he seen it before? The kid was just next-door.

"They should be sued then. Someone should try to take him away."

Alfred shook his head.

"It would be a long and painful lawsuit, Master Bruce. It would be very hard to persuade the courts. It's a subtle case - there are millions of children with parents who don't necessarily care for them. Timothy isn't beaten, is in highly good health and shows exemplary performance in school, so they say. When you think about it in a different way, it isn't very different from sending your son or daughter to boarding school. Very little personal contact, but all of the care required for a child."

Bruce ran a hand through his hair and tried to think of an arguing point.

"Still...still..."

"And, theoretically speaking, even if you succeeded in taking away the boy, where would he go? Those orphan homes are in detestable condition...children are often abused there. How long would it take until he was adopted...what if he never was? How would you know that what you were doing was better for him, sir?"

He glared at the kitchen tile, frustrated with the universe.

"It isn't fair. None of it is fair."

The balding butler frowned and put down the box of pasta he had picked up.

"I'm sorry for bringing it up. I shouldn't have told you. I know how you feel about these matters."

Bruce was silent, thinking of all the things that he would have said to Jack Drake if he had been there.

"I know that you want to, but you can't kidnap all of the neglected children in the world and bring them to me so that I can feed them macaroni," Alfred said, smiling weakly. "It pains my heart too, but there are some problems that even Bruce Wayne can't solve."

He couldn't stop himself from visiting Tim the next day.

Bruce wanted to see what he looked like now, how he had grown.

He went at four in the afternoon and easily slipped into the trees to watch the boy. Even without his bat-suit, he was as good as invisible.

Tim was sitting on the lawn sprawled out on his Pokémon blanket, dotted with animated creatures, just as Dick had before described, and he didn't have a book or a lion with him this time. The baby fat in his features was in the process of disappearing and his chin had more of a determined definition to it. Bruce had no idea where he had inherited his unusually large, sky-blue eyes and dark lashes. He had met both Tim's mother and father briefly and he knew that there was barely a resemblance - like a cuckoo egg that had been dropped into the wrong nest.

In any case, the Drake boy was short, but healthy. He sat up with a straight posture in his black t-shirt and crossed his legs. Bruce almost felt like coming out of his hiding place to tell him to go inside because a seven-year-old had no business spending so much time outside in the chilly, early November weather of Gotham without a proper jacket.

But, he didn't because he couldn't seem to make himself move. The child was humming a tune to himself and had a sort of a silly, lopsided grin plastered to his face like he was thinking about a thousand bags of candy or something.

He looked at Timothy Drake, all by himself, and it was such a lonely scene that it burned itself into his memory and stayed at the forefront of his mind for the entire month.

Even Dick noticed that something was off and showed this by assaulting his father every time he entered a room. Bruce had to say that this method was very effective in jolting him into the present and he usually succeeded in dodging the attack.

Bruce watched Tim throughout December and discovered what the boy had been doing when he saw the lion's stuffed nose and the oversized binoculars pressed to the windowpane. And, what a surprising discovery that was!

It was oddly endearing to him to see so much effort expended in order to watch his family.

Well, he probably wanted to be friends with Dick and Jason, Bruce thought. It was a nice idea. Maybe, they could invite him over sometime.

He began a habit of checking in on Tim before he went out in his Bat-mobile, just to make sure that he was in his bed and everything was in order. If he lingered, it was just because he was being thorough and he had always been sort of obsessive-compulsive about tasks that he set out for himself.

When winter vacation neared and he began his mental check-list of all of the things that Santa needed to get done before the boys got home from school, he found himself wondering about what presents Tim wanted for Christmas and whether the boy was going to get them.

For that matter, how did the Drakes celebrate that particular holiday?

He got his answer when he did some surveillance out of simple curiosity, so he told himself, on the twenty-second - seventy-two hours away from the big day.

Simple curiosity turned into pure rage and he stormed into the kitchen, not sure what to do with himself.

Jason turned around on his stool, eating his lunch, and was shocked by the appearance of his father.

"Dad? Are you okay?" he questioned anxiously.

All of Bruce's words were caught in the steam of his fiery throat and he didn't want to unleash that on his youngest, who had yet to experience it.

Alfred recognized and handled the situation gracefully, ushering the indignant boy out against protests. When they were really and truly alone, Bruce let it out.

"I'll take him! I'll take him this day, this hour, this second and I don't care if it's against the law!"

"Master Bruce," the butler began calmly, having had much practice with tantrums. "Breathe slowly and explain to me what this is all about."

"They're drunkards, Alfred! Both of them - in the middle of the day, too! God, I don't care...I don't care anymore. He needs me, I know he does!"

Alfred pieced the story together quickly, being an intelligent man, and shook his head sadly.

"Oh, what have you done?"

"What have I done? You aren't seeing the point here. Aren't you listening? Don't you understand?"

"I understand very well, sir. Perhaps better than you."

He began to pace the floor, breathing out harshly.

"I'll go and get him. You know I will. This is the last straw."

"Then, why aren't you over there right now? Why are you talking to me?"

Bruce turned and wanted to yell at the old man.

"Because-"

This time Alfred raised his voice and cut him off.

"Because you know very well that you can't and so you're making yourself feel better by frightening your son and throwing a fit in my kitchen."

He swallowed a lump in his throat, tried to open his mouth again and then couldn't. Alfred untied his white apron and strode across the floor to embrace the trembling mass of a man that he had raised.

"You can't have him. You're giving your heart away to the wrong, little boy this time, Master Bruce. "

His former caretaker leaned back and looked him in the eye.

"Take it back before it's too late."

He honestly tried to follow the advice.

In January, he didn't watch Tim in the backyard once or think about whether he had finished reading 'The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe' or not, but kept the nightly check-in's because he assured himself that it was strictly professional concern.

In March, he dropped the nightly check-in for good and stayed away from a certain side of the manor where he was tempted to stare at the spot in the trees where the Drake's house was visible.

In April, he didn't just have nightmares about Robin falling to his demise from a skyscraper or Jason being stabbed by the Joker in the hallways of his normally safe academy, but these included high-pitched screams that didn't belong to any age between twelve and fifteen and a real lion that devoured Tim whole.

It was then that he realized that it had been 'too late' all along and that it was stupid of either him or Alfred to think that they could have stopped the inevitable.

They symptoms had been there from the very beginning, but he had been too distracted to recognize the sickness when it started.

It was the same way it had been when he met Dick, wearing the pants that were too large for him, held in place by a plastic belt that was in poor condition and the yellow, striped shirt that read 'Monkeys Love Bananas', for the first time after the tragedy of his parents and his red cheeks were covered in fat tears and Bruce couldn't possibly look away.

The exact feeling he had when he saw Jason, every inch of him smudged like some street urchin, on the sidewalk with army camouflage Band-Aids on his arms, a red bandana tied around his forehead, a willful scowl on his face when he came closer and the first, cheeky words of 'Who the heck are you?' that cemented an impression that never went away.

He was in love all over again and it couldn't be controlled. It just was.

The only questions were 'What was he going to do about it?' and 'What was best for Tim?'.

He was at a point where he was willing to sue to have the boy and it didn't matter how long that took, but was that good enough?

Bruce would adopt Tim as soon as he was free, but would the child come out of the process psychologically undamaged?

Was that fair of Bruce to force him out of the only home he had ever known in such a brutal way?

Easter came and the man had to ask Tim over, regardless of his own conflicted feelings.

He was faced with a polite 'no' that puzzled him.

Did the seven-year-old want to be alone?

"Where were you, sir?" Alfred asked him when he came home, arranging the groceries he had bought.

Jason and Dick were at the breakfast table, painting what they called 'bad-ass eggs'.

"Tim's house."

Simultaneously, their butler dropped the celery he had been holding and Dick looked up from the bloody fangs along with impressive wolf ears that he had been helping Jason put onto his eggshell.

"You mean, from next door?" his son called.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred questioned cautiously.

"Relax," he muttered under his breath. "I just asked him whether or not he wanted to spend some time with the boys."

"Ah, good."

"Why were you there, Dad?" Jason hollered.

He left the kitchen and walked through the open archway to where they were sitting.

"I was there because Tim is very nice and I thought that he might want to spend today with us instead of all alone at his house."

"His parents aren't there again?" Dick asked with some concern.

"But, it's a holidayand it's always 'just us' on holidays," Jason enunciated in a slow manner, clearly upset by this idea.

"It wasn't 'always' that way," Dick corrected, annoyed that the twelve-year-old had interrupted his question. "Once upon a time, it was only I, father dearest and Alfred. You didn't exist."

"And, we're all very happy that Jason is here now - right, Dick?" Bruce reminded him gently.

The boy froze for a second, realizing that he had stepped on a sensitive topic, and hastily rectified the situation by pulling his slightly frowning brother in by the neck and mussing up his hair.

"Of course. I can't imagine what I would do with my life without you in it, my darling Jay-Jay-"

Jason snarled, batting Dick off of him, and he seemed satisfied.

" -I was just pointing out that traditions can change and sometimes they become better by adding another person to them. That's all."

"Yeah, I get that," Jason muttered. "This is different. Easter is a family day. Tim isn't family."

After caring for the former street orphan for the past three years and a half, Bruce knew that his son had a possessive streak. Dick had, had a strong one too when he was that age, but it had mellowed out fast with a new, little brother. It was both endearing and worrying that Jason wasn't sure how to share.

"Well, gee, thanks for informing me, Mr. Compassionate," Dick said, irritated now. "I had no clue, really. Now that I know he isn't my long-lost brother, I can stop feeling sorry for the kid, who has parents that don't give a fig about him, too."

Jason stared down at the table and everything was quiet for a while. Bruce spoke up.

"Anyway, he said that he didn't want to come so I guess that it's 'just us' this year again."

Dick continued to finish the picture on Jason's egg and the younger boy watched with guilty, grey eyes.

"He doesn't want to go swimming, okay? I asked and I hope you're happy."

Bruce looked up from the bills on his desk in surprise to glance up at Jason, who had just moodily burst through the door. It was after one in the afternoon and Dick was curled up in an armchair in the other corner of the study with his laptop.

"What - you really went? I can't believe it! Did you ask nicely?"

"Yes, idiot. You should have seen it - I was practically 'Mary-freaking-Poppins' today."

"What are you two talking about?" Bruce interjected.

Jason rolled his eyes and slumped against a wall.

"My conscience over there -"

He pointed at his brother, who beamed at him angelically.

"- kept whispering things in my ear like 'I can't remember what it felt like to have no family. Can you, Jason? I think talking to Tim will jog my memory,' and 'Oh, it's nine o' clock now - I bet little, neglected Timmy is crying himself to sleep as we speak,' until I couldn't take it anymore!"

An amused Bruce glanced at Dick, who shrugged.

"So - I go, I talk my head off and the ungrateful munchkin goes -"

He began to imitate what sounded like a four-year-old girl's voice.

"- 'no, thank you'. Like an English princess at some tea party!"

"Now, now, dear Jaybird. Just because you can't remember to say 'please' doesn't mean we all have to be uncivilized."

Jason's hands twitched as he raised them.

"I'm going to kill you, Dick -"

"He said 'no'?" Bruce asked, interested.

That was twice in a row. What was the reason?

Dick closed his laptop and sidestepped his fuming sibling.

"I'm sure that we both know why he said 'no', father. Jay, here, tried to be charming and somehow ended up threatening a seven-year-old to obey his request, like he tends to do."

"Did not-"

"Surprisingly enough, the brave, little boy managed to resist the tormenting bully and this is yet another reason why I think that Timothy Drake is awesome."

"Dad!"

Bruce put a hand on his cheek, leaning his elbow on the desk, and frowned at his son.

"Stop teasing your brother, Richard."

The scowling preteen stepped closer and he took advantage of the moment to grab his hand to squeeze it.

"Jason is very kind and we all know it. He wouldn't bully anyone."

Jason mashed his lips together and momentarily played with Bruce's thumb.

"Actually...I might have...been a tad...'aggressive', so to speak...at one point."

Dick smirked a little in victory, but his father shot him a look.

"Well, that's alright," he said softly. "We're all human. It happens to the best of us. What's important is that you made an effort to be nice to someone you didn't know and I'm proud of you for that."

Jason might have blushed the tiniest bit, although he wouldn't have admitted it to anyone in a million years.

"I guess if you want to get something done - you have to do it yourself," Dick called over his shoulder as he left the room.

"Tim really doesn't want to come over, Dad," Dick told him with disappointment two weeks later as he flopped onto the couch that Bruce was resting on. "I was sure that I had him in the palm of my hand and then he turned me down."

Bruce rubbed the top of his head where it rested against his thigh.

"I just don't get it. Doesn't he like us?"

His father let out a long breath.

"I honestly don't know, Dick. He's a complicated boy."

He traced a path from the center of his forehead to up and down the slope of his Robin's nose, pondering.

"You like him. You like him a lot."

Dick's stare was intense and knowing.

"And, how do you know that?"

"I've seen you in the branches of the tree line before. Crouched up there for an hour, too, like some huge-ass owl. I'm not stupid."

Bruce didn't say anything, waiting.

"I haven't told Jason. I would be a real moron if I did."

Dick caught his hand and they intertwined fingers.

"What do you think about having another, little brother?"

"I've got three years of experience already. I think I can handle a second one."

"Good to know, boy wonder."

"Is that what you're going to do? You're going to take him away from his parents and adopt him?"

He hesitated and then accepted a decision that he had been mulling over for days.

"I think that sooner or later Tim's parents are going to put him in a dangerous position and I can't watch that happen."

"They're alcoholics, right?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow at him.

"What? I get curious too. I watched the house once or twice when they were there in September. It looked like they had a problem, but I wasn't sure."

"Yeah, Dick. It looks like they have one."

"Oh."

His son kissed his palm and Bruce nearly jumped.

"What was that for?"

"I'm thanking you for not being an alcoholic."

Bruce kissed his forehead and Dick simply looked up at his tough, crime-fighting father for a full minute afterwards.

"And, what was that for?"

"I'm thanking you for being my son."

As it turned out, there was no need for Bruce's careful planning.

Jack and Janet Drake were found dead overseas before July was over.