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“I’m glad we packed everything early,” Conner was saying beside him, his voice light with one hand on the wheel. “You’d laugh if you saw how many changes of clothes I shoved in my bag. I panicked. Just started grabbing stuff like we were going on vacation.”
Tim let out a little hum of acknowledgment. He didn’t trust his voice at the moment, nor his eyes as everything seemed to lose its focus. His hearing slowly faded to static as he stared out the window, breath fogging up the glass.
“-ob?”
One, two, three, four…
“-obbie?”
The next drop hit, splattering. It streamed down the glass, racing against others. Tim traced it with his eyes. His lips moved soundlessly, counting.
The rain hadn’t let up since noon.
Thick and steady, it beat against the windshield like a metronome. One heavy drop after another, the streetlights blurred together into streaks of orange and white. Gotham traffic had been rendered a mess of slick roads, stalled cars, and lights flickering in the storm’s wake. Horns honked and wipers creaked, the HVAC humming to fend off the evening’s damp chill. But Tim ignored it all, sat silent in the passenger’s seat.
Five. Then six. Then a lull. He reset and started again. One, two, three, four…
“Tim?”
Tim had always been good at compartmentalizing.
So when the contractions started earlier that day, something dull and irregular, he simply chalked it up to the tail end of pregnancy aches and kept going with his daily routine. He cleaned the apartment. Rechecked his go-bag. Reviewed their hospital route. Ate three bites of toast and glared at the rest.
He was doing fine. Great , in fact.
By the time Conner walked in from patrol, hair tousled and uniform damp with rain, Tim was pacing the living room with forced calm. He was twenty minutes apart then, water having broken an hour ago.
“You good?” his boyfriend had asked, frowning.
Tim nodded. “Fine.”
“You sure?” He knew better than to use his X-ray vision without explicit permission.
“Just some Braxton-Hicks. Nothing’s consistent.”
Kon had taken the bait without another word and left to shower.
That had been three hours ago.
Now, they were on the road, or had been before rush hour brought everything to a loaded stall. They’d managed half the journey to Gotham General before traffic hit, but fifteen minutes still sounded like one minute too many. Tim would never say so, though.
He may be great at compartmentalizing, but he was even better at managing his time. Or so he told himself. The dwindling reprieves between contractions was making that really difficult to believe right now.
Inhale. Exhale. Five, six, seven, eight-
“Timothy!”
Startled, Tim quickly lost count as he turned to find Kon staring at him with wide eyes, his knuckles going white along the steering wheel. His boyfriend’s mouth was pressed into a thin line.
“You can’t zone out like that, babe. You have to communicate,” Conner said, trying to keep his voice casual, yet his nerves were evident by his shaky tone. “You’ve been real quiet, Rob. And—And I don’t know how to help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”
Tim allowed himself thirty seconds before answering, wetting his lips as his current contraction faded away. He had two minutes max to appease his boyfriend before the next one started.
“I’m okay,” he eventually got out, lying through his teeth. His voice came out tighter than expected, and Kon’s head immediately tilted at the strain. Shit.
“You don’t sound okay.”
Tim shifted slightly, wincing. “I’m just… managing things.”
He sneakily pressed his hand into the space just below his bump, curled underneath the band of his sweatpants. When he didn’t like what he felt, he quickly made a show of kicking off his shoes, angling himself away from Conner’s gaze in lieu of getting comfortable. The less questions, the better.
But “shutting up” wasn’t in Kon’s vocabulary.
“Tim,” his boyfriend said quietly, eyes flicking from the road to his profile. “I can hear your heartbeat.”
Tim pointedly didn’t answer.
“It’s…fast. Like, really fast. And your breathing’s all over the place.”
“I’m fine,” Tim reiterated for the umpteenth time, sounding like a broken record. “Just get us to the hospital.”
With an audible sigh, Connor took the hint and dropped the conversation, focusing back onto the road as traffic continued to crawl forward. He did, however, lay his right hand along the center console, palm up and inviting. Tim gripped the door handle instead, looking away. He knew better than to offer easy access to his pulse point.
From his peripheral, he could see as tanned fingers eventually slid back up to the wheel. Another sigh followed soon after, filling up the cab. How dramatic.
The silence stretched between them as the car inched forward. Little by little.
Tim focused on counting again—this time the swish of the wipers, the flick of break lights on the vehicle ahead, the ache coiling low in his back like a twisting fist.
He could feel it beginning again.
The next contraction was immediate. Sharp. A deep and dragging force that curled around his spine and gripped his hips in a vice. Tim stiffened with it, nostrils flaring as he sat straighter in his seat. One hand braced against the armrest, the other creeping down toward his belly as if holding it might somehow slow things down.
They were so close to their exit now, only three cars between them and the highway, a straight shot to Gotham General. They were nearly home free. If Tim could just hold on for a little bit longer—
“Fuck!”
A hand quickly shot out to pin him back against the seat as their car came to a screeching halt, tires scraping against asphalt. A flash of white darted through their lane, speeding off without hesitation. A cacophony of noise immediately filled the air after it. Horns blared and drivers yelled out open windows, throwing rude gestures and flashing headlights.
Conner panted loudly across from Tim, his palm still pressed over the seatbelt and into his thumping heart.
“Are—Are you okay?”
His boyfriend’s voice barely broke through the throbbing pain in Tim’s lower back. The world was slanting at strange angles now, his mind fogging over as the contraction built into something relentless, coiling tighter with each passing second. Whatever semblance of control he’d managed to maintain throughout the drive had been violently ripped away. Now, his body was doing things on its own accord and it hurt.
Tim just gritted his teeth, breath stuttering.
“Sweetheart?” Kon was leaning over, reaching across the gear shift. “Talk to me. Are you—did that scare you or was that a contraction?”
“…Both,” Tim ground out, head tipping back into the headrest. His voice cracked on the second syllable. He’d meant to sound composed.
His boyfriend was already moving. “Okay. Okay. Hey, we’re almost there, just a few more blocks. I’m going to get us out of this traffic—hang on.”
Without waiting for confirmation, Conner threw on the turn signal and angled them out of the jammed lane, tires crunching over the median as he bolted toward the shoulder. Horns honked in protest, but Kon didn’t flinch. His jaw was set. His eyes hard. Their SUV peeled down the wet lane, hazard lights flashing.
Tim barely noticed.
This contraction didn’t ebb like the others. Instead, it rolled, cresting into another wave of pressure—deeper, stronger. Hot sweat bloomed across his hairline. He couldn’t stop himself from panting.
“Oh my god—” he gasped, fingers digging into the seat, “Kon, it’s— fuck —it’s different.”
“What do you mean different?”
Tim groaned, curling forward slightly despite the seatbelt. “It’s not stopping.”
At that, Conner swore under his breath, knuckles blanching against the steering wheel as he sped past a row of stalled cars. “How far apart have they been? You said seven minutes, right? When we got in the car?”
“I lied.”
Tim knew to brace himself when Kon’s foot slammed into the break for the second time that evening.
“What?!”
Piercing blue eyes looked at him as if he’d grown a second head.
“I said I fucking lied, okay!” Tim snapped, shoving his hair away from his face with a growl. Everything was suddenly too much and he was hot. He didn’t care if he broke the zipper to Dick’s GSU sweatshirt at that moment. He just wanted it off and now. But his fingers weren’t working and his hips were burning and—
“Hey, hey breathe. Deep breaths, baby.”
Conner’s hand was pressing on his chest again, warm and grounding even through the cotton of his soaked t-shirt. “Look at me, Rob. Right here. Deep breaths, okay? Just like we practiced. You’ve got this. You’re doing amazing.”
A large palm cupped his face. Rough, calloused skin brushed along his jawline, trying to calm him down. Tim leaned into the comfort. He felt like he was buzzing, suddenly babbling without stopping, his own words foreign to his ears.
“Why are you sorry, sweetheart?”
But Tim couldn’t even answer, too focused on the way his body seemed to be forcing everything down. He met the pressure head on, muscles straining as he tucked his chin towards his chest.
Conner’s hand stilled against his cheek, blue eyes widening when he realized-
“Tim, hun…Are you— Are you pushing?”
His boyfriend said it so gently, but Tim’s head still snapped up at him as if offended, his eyes wild. “No, I’m not!”
“Yes,” Conner said, calmly, steadily, “you are. Your heart rate spikes every two minutes, and you keep holding your breath during contractions. Not to mention that I can hear—“
“Can you not use your goddamn Kryptonian powers to eavesdrop on me right now?!” Tim snapped, voice cracking.
There was a pause.
Kon didn’t flinch. Didn’t bristle. He just looked at Tim, really looked at him, and said softly, “You’ve been in labor all day. Haven’t you?”
Tim’s lips trembled.
“I didn’t want this,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to give birth in the car. I promise. I didn’t even think I was in real labor. I—I thought we had time.”
Another contraction slammed through him. His hips tilted instinctively and he bore down with a low, helpless sound. Conner swiftly pulled them off the road, setting the car into park before throwing open his door. He raced over to the passenger side in a matter of seconds, shoving the seat back as far as it would go and cramming himself into the tiny footwell, blocking the worst of the rain.
“I thought I could handle it,” Tim whispered hoarsely, legs braced on either side of his boyfriend’s shoulders. “I always handle things. And now look—I waited too long. I ignored it. I ignored my body, Kon, and now—”
His voice broke. Tears slipped down his cheeks, hot and embarrassed. His whole body shook.
“We would’ve been at the hospital by now if I hadn’t been so fucking stubborn!”
Conner’s heart clenched at the raw anguish in his boyfriend’s voice. His partner—his brilliant, stubborn, methodical Tim—was unraveling in front of him, and not because of the pain, but because he thought he’d failed.
“You didn’t mess this up,” he said immediately, firmly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Tim let out a jagged sob and tried to curl in on himself, but his belly made it impossible. Another contraction seized him in that moment, dragging a loud, keening moan from deep within his chest. His legs trembled as he pressed into the back of the seat, hips canting forward again.
“I can’t stop it,” Tim choked out, hand clawing at his sweatpants. His fingers were shaking so badly he couldn’t grip the fabric. “He’s right there, Kon. I can feel him.”
“Okay, okay—just—hold on,” Conner soothed, squeezing his knee. He grabbed the sweatshirt Tim had halfway peeled off and yanked it down the rest of the way, bundling it quickly to form a makeshift receiving blanket. “We’re doing this here. Right here. Don’t panic.”
Tim let out a hysterical laugh, teeth bared. “You say that after I tell you our son is about to be born in a fucking car, Kon-El.”
“Hey. Language.” Conner looked up just long enough to flash him a shaky grin. “He’s got super hearing, remember?”
“Fuck you.”
“I know, baby. Just breathe.”
Tim bit down hard on his bottom lip as he slumped back, then shifted forward again when the contraction forced his body into motion. The seatbelt was cutting across his belly, making everything worse. “Undo it,” he gasped.
Conner reached up and clicked the belt loose with one hand. “Okay. Feet up. Come on—use the dash and the glove box. You’ve got this.”
With considerable effort and a hiss of pain, Tim braced himself across the narrow space, Kon’s shoulders supporting most of his weight. His knees were bent, heels digging into the dash as his sweatpants and briefs were peeled from his skin. Cold air immediately attacked the exposed flesh, bathing his calves with goosebumps.
He couldn’t help but cover himself up once he was bare, keeping a hand between his legs. He hated feeling so open and vulnerable, but Conner just squeezed his ankle and soothed him, speaking in a low tone.
“Hey, it’s okay. Let me see, sweetheart.”
Tim swallowed hard, muscles shaking as he slowly, reluctantly, let his hand fall away. Kon sucked in a sharp breath.
“Oh, babe,” he breathed, voice full of awe and panic all at once. “You’re…crowning. His head’s right there. I can see his hair.”
And that was when it all became terrifyingly real.
Tim was going to give birth. Here. In their car. On the side of the freeway, with traffic still stalled beside them and Conner kneeling in the tiny footwell with Dick’s borrowed hoodie crumpled in his lap. This was real. It was happening. There was no more pretending he could handle this alone. No more compartmentalizing. His body had taken the wheel and wasn’t giving it back.
A sob clawed up his throat.
“Hey,” Conner said softly, gaze flicking up with such warmth and such love it hurt. “You’re doing amazing. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”
But Tim didn’t feel amazing. He felt raw. Wide open. His whole body strained and flooded with heat, and yet his hands were cold, his face wet. And not just from the sweat. He was crying again and hadn’t realized it. Silent, helpless tears.
For the first time, he didn’t feel like Red Robin. He didn’t feel like a leader. A tactician. A planner.
He just felt small.
Like a child who’d gotten in over his head.
“I want my dad,” he whispered.
His voice was so quiet it barely registered over the rain. But it felt enormous in his chest. Like it had been there all along, just waiting to be spoken aloud.
“I—I want my dad.”
His boyfriend’s head snapped up, stunned. “Tim…”
He shook his head quickly, eyes glassy. “I don’t mean just Bruce. I mean—Jason too. Or even Dick. Hell, even the demon spawn. Just someone who would know what to say. I don’t—I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Conner reached up immediately and took Tim’s face in both hands, not caring that his elbow slammed into the console when he did so, or that his back was soaked through with rain, or that the sound of horns and rushing tired was swelling all around them.
“You don’t have to know what you’re doing,” he said, voice steady and low and sure, even though his heart was beating like a jackhammer. “That’s not your job right now.”
Tim blinked fast, breath catching.
“You’ve done everything, Robbie. Everything. You planned and prepped and packed—God, you even thought about hospital routes and backup chargers and snacks. You don’t need to know what to do anymore. You just need to let this happen. Let your body do what it’s doing. And let me be the one who knows what to say. Let me take care of you now. Okay?”
Something in Tim’s expression broke, softened. He gave the smallest of nods, his lips parting in an attempt to throw him a weak smile.
Conner exhaled with relief, leaning forward to kiss his flushed cheek. “Good.”
“Is it—” Tim croaked once he pulled back, voice weak as his muscles rippled underneath his skin. He took a deep breath before starting again, wetting his chapped lips. “Is it dark?”
Kon blinked up at him, brushing limp bangs away from his eyes. “Is what, baby?”
“His hair,” Tim bit out. “Is it…is it dark?”
There was a pause, and then Conner let out the smallest, strangest little laugh. It cracked right down the middle.
“Yeah,” he whispered, grinning through gathering tears. “Yeah, sweetheart—it is.”
Tim let out a short, broken breath. Some wild, buried part of him had braced for the ghost of his mother’s blonde hair to show up in their son. But no. This baby was his.
“Here,” his boyfriend suddenly grabbed his shaking fingers, gently cradling them between his own, “Feel for yourself.”
With one trembling hand, Kon helped Tim reach down between his thighs, his heart hammering in his throat, and touched—
He froze.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, fingers brushing something slick and warm. Round, firm, and oh so real. “That’s… that’s his head.”
Kon nodded, now fully crying. His voice thick with emotion. “That’s him. He’s right there.”
Tim’s hand hovered, barely touching. Then he cupped gently, protectively, as another contraction surged through his body and made him whimper. His fingertips ran through the soft, matted curls.
“He has so much hair,” he whispered, stunned. “It’s like—he’s got a full head.”
Kon gave another watery laugh. “Good to know Lex’s genes skipped every generation.”
Tim let out an exhausted chuckle at that. Although it almost immediately morphed into a strained groan as the contraction peaked.
His entire body tensed with the force of it, spine arching as pressure bore down with primal insistence. His fingers clawed at the seat for purchase, his free hand squeezing Conner’s forearm so tightly it left half-moon marks. Every breath he managed came with a low, guttural moan. There was no more holding back now.
“Okay,” Tim huffed, cheeks puffing out from the force of his breath. The dash creaked as he fixed his stance.
He could still see Conner’s face below, crouched between his legs in the dim light. His features held the most awestruck, terrified expression Tim had ever seen.
“Okay,” he said again, more to himself than anything. “I’ve got this. He’s almost here. I just have to finish it.”
“You’re doing amazing,” Kon breathed, eyes wide and trembling with emotion.
Tim just shook his head and braced his feet even harder against the dash. “No more cheerleading. I don’t need praise, I need intel. How far is he?”
Kon blinked, then instinctively dropped into a more clinical voice. “Crowning. Full view.”
Tim nodded. Good. He could work with that. He took a breath in and squared his jaw, slipping back into the mental zone he knew best. Compartmentalization. Tactical awareness. Focus under pressure.
Red Robin.
“I’m going to push on the next one,” he said, eyes narrowing in concentration,” and when his head is out, I want you to check for the cord. I need to know exactly what is happening.”
Conner opened his mouth to argue—Tim was still trembling, his skin flushed and his shirt soaked through—but one look at that laser-focused expression and he shut it.
“Copy that,” he said, throat tight.
Tim nodded, already curling forward, hands on the backs of his thighs, breath coming in steady pants. “Alright, kiddo,” he muttered under his breath. “Let’s get you out.”
The next contraction slammed into him without mercy, the ring of fire in full effect now as he bore down. His hips strained outward, everything stretching to make room as his baby pressed down and out. Tim cried out without shame, his voice cracking under the sheer pressure of it.
There was a rush of heat, a slippery shift, and then—
“Head’s out!”
Tim gasped, his whole body trembling. He slumped back against the seat for a heartbeat, breath ragged, mouth open. His thighs were shaking violently, but he didn’t rest long.
“Cord. Now.” His voice was hoarse but sharp. “Base of the neck. Be gentle. If it’s tight, loop and reduce—”
Conner didn’t hesitate. His hands moved fast but careful, sliding two fingers behind their baby’s head, feeling beneath the warm, wet skin. “No cord. Neck’s clear. He’s facing down and everything. You’re all set, Red.”
Tim didn’t need to be told twice. He bore down so hard he thought he might pass out, holding his breath. The pain was so intense it felt like the world had narrowed to that single, blinding sensation. But he pushed , god, he pushed: knees bent wide, head down, breath stuttering out of him in loud. ragged bursts.
And then—
A hot, slick rush, followed by an immense drop in pressure.
“He’s out!” Conner suddenly cried. “Robbie! He’s here! He’s out, and he’s perfect!”
The baby let out a sudden, loud, furious wail. His limbs kicked. His lungs filled the car with a squalling, insistent sound that stole the breath from Tim’s chest and left him blinking in open shock.
For one long, suspended moment, Tim froze. Not because he was panicking, but because it felt like the whole world had changed in a single second and he couldn’t catch up.
Kon’s voice broke through the fog, choked up with emotion. “He’s okay. He’s okay, Red. Oh my god.”
Tim blinked and came back to himself.
“Clear his airway,” he managed hoarsely, still catching his breath. “Swipe his nose and mouth out with a clean finger.”
“Rob—“
“Position him prone. Stimulate his back. Grab a dry towel. I—I can’t remember if I packed any sterile scissors—”
“Tim,” Conner was already wiping the baby’s face with the sleeve of Dick’s hoodie, cradling his slick, wriggling body close to keep him warm. “He’s okay. There’s no distress. He’s absolutely perfect.”
Tim’s head lolled back against the seat. His entire body trembled, not with pain anymore, but with adrenaline, with the sudden weightlessness that came with release. He couldn’t hear anything but the baby’s cries for a moment. It was a thin, angry wail that didn’t let up, piercing and raw and somehow the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.
His vision blurred with tears.
“Let me see him,” he said softly, barely recognizing his own voice. The timbre of it had changed, no longer barking out orders. It wasn’t Red Robin anymore. Just Tim. Just someone who had survived something big and didn’t quite know what came next.
Kon was already pressing the baby close to his chest, swaddled as best he could in the thick cotton of Dick’s ruined hoodie. His hands trembled as he passed the bundle over, palms carefully supporting the boy’s tiny head.
Tim arms wrapped instinctively around the little body. The moment his son touched his body, felt his warmth, the cries began to subside. Not fully, but just enough to make the space between them feel suddenly quieter.
The boy rooted blindly for a moment, nuzzling clumsily into his damp t-shirt and squishing his cheek into the hollow of Tim’s collarbone. His tiny fingers curled like question marks into the fabric, flexing against his father’s chest. His face was wrinkled and furious and wet, but alive.
So alive.
Tim could only stare at him.
He had known babies would be small, medically speaking. He’d memorized proper weight ranges and fetal measurements and APGAR scoring all throughout his pregnancy (just in case), but nothing could have prepared him for how small his son would look. Not fragile exactly. Just…new.
Everything about him was flushed and soft and real.
“I can feel his heartbeat,” Tim whispered after a moment, so quietly it almost wasn’t there. “It’s fast.”
He pressed his lips gently to the crown of the boy’s head and breathed in deep. A wave of endorphins seemed to shoot through his veins at the scent, all warm and fuzzy. He inhaled again, humming contently.
God, he smelled good.
“Jesus, no wonder people have more than one kid,” Conner chuckled, watching him. “He’s like homemade heroin.”
Tim didn’t laugh. But the smallest smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he pressed his cheek to the baby’s head, closing his eyes.
“Kon?”
“Yeah?”
“We made a person. Together.”
“We really did.”
Tim let out another weak breath, barely a whisper of laughter in it. “I think I tore.”
“I think you definitely tore.”
There was a long pause, filled only by the hiss of rain and the soft, shallow breaths of the newborn now tucked safe in his arms.
“…Worth it,” he whispered.
“Fuck, yeah.” Kon leaned in and kissed his temple. “So worth it.”
⸻
It was twenty minutes later when they heard the approaching wail of an ambulance. Twenty long minutes of Kon half-crying, half-laughing as he peeled off his soaked outer layers to make a blanket for Tim, wrapping it around his waist and legs as best he could to protect his modesty and keep him warm. He found a clean muslin cloth in their go-bag and used bottled water from the console to wipe the worst of the blood and fluid away from his thighs, murmuring soft reassurances the whole time.
Tim let him. He didn’t even argue. He was too tired and in love to even try. He just focused on keeping their son warm and upright on his chest, occasionally murmuring soft things to him under his breath.
“You’re so little.”
“You look like your Uncle Jon when he was a baby.”
“I love you so much.”
Kon worked fast but carefully, eventually tying off the cord with the string from Dick’s sweatshirt. He didn’t cut it—not yet. They’d wait for the paramedics for that part. But he made sure the baby was warm, pink, and safe, then settled back into the driver’s seat to watch both his family members with wide, watery eyes.
“You’re a dad,” Tim whispered, turning to look at him.
His boyfriend blinked and let out a small, overwhelmed laugh. “So are you.”
There was a knock on the glass.
Tim startled, but Kon reached over and opened the door immediately. Gotham EMS stepped into view, umbrellas and stretchers in tow, already yelling for vitals and status reports. But before Tim could respond, a familiar voice cut through the din—
“Move!” Jason’s voice snapped, followed by the slap of boots on wet asphalt. “Where is he? Where’s the kid— Tim?!”
Tim looked up and felt something splinter in his chest. “Jay,” he choked. Kon hadn’t told him he’d contacted the older man.
Jason’s face appeared in the open door seconds later, soaked through and panting, his eyes wide and wild and already scanning for injuries. He looked down, caught sight of the bundled infant and promptly froze.
“Oh, shit,” he whispered reverently. “You really did it. You—” His voice broke off into something choked. “You had the baby.”
Tim nodded weakly, emotion thick in his throat. “I didn’t mean to.”
“You did perfect,” Jason said, ducking in to get a better look at his nephew’s face, eyes glassy. “You did fucking amazing, Timmy.”
Behind him, an EMT leaned in with a stretcher. “Mr. Drake, we need to assess you both. Can we help you onto the gurney?”
Tim hesitated.
“I’ve got you,” Kon whispered, already easing his arm around Tim’s shoulders, keeping the baby cradled between them. “We’ll go slow. We’ll all go together.”
Tim leaned into him, letting the warmth of his little family pull him forward.
Together.
Jason followed behind as they were gently eased out of the SUV and loaded into the back of the ambulance. He pulled the door closed with a soft click once they were settled.
“Home stretch,” he said gruffly, squeezing Tim’s ankle before sitting on the bench seat beside them.
His brother stayed quiet for the first couple minutes of the ride, but eventually cleared his throat, leaning in close.
“So. You should know Bruce knows.”
Tim turned his head slowly, wincing.
Jason lifted both hands as if to ward off the inevitable panic. “I didn’t tell him,” he clarified quickly. “Kon called me, not him. But B was monitoring the city comms. Picked up the EMS dispatch. Something about a medical emergency off the interstate—vehicle birth.”
Tim’s eyes fluttered closed. “God.”
“Don’t worry,” Jason said dryly. “He doesn’t know it was you. Yet.”
Tim opened one eye. “But you just said—”
“I said he knows about the delivery,” his brother said, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “Not the identity of the asshat who refused to go to the hospital on time and ended up giving birth in a Hyundai.”
“It’s not a Hyundai,” Conner mumbled beside them.
“Pretty sure that’s the least important correction right now, Kent.”
Tim moaned quietly and let his head fall back against the gurney. “He’s going to kill me.”
Jason reached up to ruffle his hair. “Don’t worry about it, Timbo. I’ll hold him off. Him and the rest of the circus. You’re getting through this before anyone starts handing out lectures.”
Tim smiled, tired, but grateful. “Thanks, Jay.”
They drifted off into a peaceful silence, just simply existing. The hum of the ambulance was steady beneath them as it continued down the rain-slicked asphalt, city lights flashing by the back windows as the paramedics worked quietly nearby, giving them space.
Tim looked down at his baby again, taking in the shock of dark hair and faint pout, already so expressive. His chest tightened. He leaned forward just a little, brushing his lips against the drying crown of his son’s head and breathing in the warm, earthy scent of newborn skin. Then, so soft even Kon almost missed it, he whispered,
“Welcome to Gotham, baby bird.”