OK, Just some fluff but it's the City Marks AU.
Summary: Timmy wants his papa. That's it.
Bruce’s fingers hovered over the keys of the Batcomputer, eyes scanning over the files of a particularly complicated case. But then, a gentle tug at the hem of his cape broke his focus. He blinked, glancing over his shoulder.
There stood Tim, his small frame dwarfed by the shadows of the Batcave, but his presence was unmistakable.
Tim stood there, small and quiet, fingers still gripping the fabric like he hadn’t quite decided if he was allowed to ask for attention. His hoodie sleeves were too long, hiding his hands, his hoodie was up, he had that tired look, and his hair was sticking up slightly—meaning he’d probably just woken up.
Bruce didn’t say anything at first. He simply shifted his chair slightly, making space, giving an unspoken invitation.
Tim hesitated, glancing at the Batcomputer screen, scanning for anything that might indicate Bruce was too busy. He must not have found anything urgent, because after a moment, he let go of the cape and hesitated, shifting on his feet.
Then, slowly, he reached up, wordlessly asking. Bruce understood immediately. Without a second thought, he pulled the kid into his lap, wrapping his cape around him like a protective cocoon. Tim carefully climbed into Bruce’s lap, curling up against his chest like a little bird seeking warmth.
Bruce exhaled, feeling the tension from hours of work ease just a fraction. He pressed a hand to the back of Tim’s head, rubbing slow circles over his scalp.
Tim curled up against him, pressing his face into Bruce’s chest, little hands gripping the armored fabric of his suit. He was small, too small for his age, but he was warm and safe now. Bruce rested a hand on his back, rubbing slow circles.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked softly.
Tim gave a tiny nod, then hesitated before clicking quietly—words forming in Marked-Tongue.
Bruce hummed low in his chest, a deep, grounding sound. “It's okay, I'm here." He dropped his head to nuzzle the younger cryptid. "You're safe, pup.”
Tim tucked his face further into Bruce’s chest in response. He didn’t purr—not yet—but his breathing slowed, matching the steady rise and fall of Bruce’s own.
Bruce didn’t move back to his case right away. The city could wait a little longer.
He was proud of his third(? Steph was basically Tim's twin, but she was about four months older) youngest for getting this far. When Bruce, Dick, and Jason had first found him and Steph as two runaways on the streets, they'd been so damn scared.
Steph had adjusted faster since she hadn't had it as bad, but only because she ran away earlier. Tim's father? Tim father had literally damaged the cub's vocal cords.
Now his sweet little boy could only speak Mark-Tongue without trouble, and English even hurt sometimes. And even then, he only felt safe enough to speak around his siblings and dad.
So this -seeking out comfort and actually leaning into it- was progress and it made his heart swell.
