Morning came a little more rushed than usual at Wayne Manor.

Not chaotic—Bruce didn’t do chaos—but adjusted. Alfred was still away, Dick was in Blüdhaven, Jason off with the Outlaws, and that left very few options for a four-year-old who refused to be left entirely on his own.

Which was how Bruce Wayne found himself standing outside a modest apartment door, Damian balanced on his hip, one small arm loosely wrapped around his shoulder.

Damian wasn’t nervous.

Not exactly.

But he was quieter than usual, his face half-buried against Bruce’s shoulder as he peeked at the unfamiliar hallway. His fingers twisted slightly into the fabric of Bruce’s jacket—subtle, but telling.

Bruce knocked.

A moment later, the door swung open to reveal Tim, already awake, already dressed, and very clearly expecting them.

“Hey,” Tim said, a small smile forming the second he saw Damian. “There he is.”

Damian’s head lifted immediately.

“Tim!” he chirped, voice soft but brightening instantly, one hand letting go of Bruce so he could reach toward him.

Tim stepped aside, letting them in. The apartment was lived-in but clean—books stacked in neat chaos, a laptop open on the table, sunlight spilling in through the windows.

And then—

“Oh—hi.”

Another voice.

Damian froze.

His movement stilled mid-reach, his small hand slowly curling back into Bruce’s jacket as his gaze shifted toward the unfamiliar figure standing near the kitchen.

Bernard.

He looked friendly—open posture, careful smile—but to Damian, that didn’t matter.

He wasn’t known.

And that made him uncertain.

Damian leaned back into Bruce slightly, pressing closer, his earlier excitement fading into quiet observation. He didn’t hide completely, but he didn’t reach out either.

Just… watched.

Tim noticed immediately.

“It’s okay,” Tim said gently, stepping a little closer but not pushing. “That’s Bernard. Remember? I told you about him.”

Damian blinked at him, processing, then gave a very small nod—more acknowledgment than comfort.

Bernard crouched down slightly, lowering himself without getting too close. “Hey, Damian,” he said softly. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

No response.

But Damian didn’t turn away.

Which, for him, was already something.

Bruce shifted Damian slightly on his hip before speaking, his tone calm but purposeful as he looked between Tim and Bernard.

“He’s comfortable with familiar routines,” Bruce explained. “He may take time to warm up to new people. Don’t rush him.”

Bernard nodded immediately. “Got it.”

“He’ll usually tell you what he needs,” Bruce continued. “But sometimes not directly. Pay attention to how he acts—he communicates more than he says.”

Tim leaned against the counter, listening closely. “He eats around noon, right?”

Bruce nodded. “And he’ll likely get tired mid-afternoon. He may not say it, but you’ll notice.”

Damian shifted slightly, his head turning between them as they talked—listening, even if he didn’t fully follow.

“And if anything feels off,” Bruce added, voice steady, “call me.”

“Of course,” Tim said without hesitation.

Bernard nodded again. “Absolutely.”

There was a brief pause.

Then Bruce looked back at Damian.

“…I have to go to work now.”

Damian’s grip tightened instantly.

Not dramatic. Not loud.

Just… there.

“…You go?” he asked quietly.

Bruce’s expression softened. “I do.”

Damian frowned slightly, his brows pulling together as he looked past Bruce toward the door, then back at Tim.

Tim smiled gently. “You can hang out with me all day, yeah?”

That helped.

A little.

Damian hesitated, then slowly reached toward Tim again.

This time, he followed through.

Bruce carefully passed him over, though Damian’s hand lingered on his sleeve for just a second longer before letting go completely. Tim settled him comfortably on his hip, steady and familiar.

Damian leaned into him, still watching Bruce.

“You’ll be okay,” Bruce said quietly.

Damian nodded, though it was small.

“…’kay.”

Bruce reached up, brushing Damian’s hair back gently, his hand lingering for just a moment before stepping away.