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Bruce drove frantically en route to Gotham General Hospital. Apparently, Timmy had an infection – not a serious one, no. (Thank whatever Gods or Goddesses that liked to play with the Bats’ fate) But severe enough that Timmy had to be sent to the hospital.
Upon Bruce’s arrival to Timmy’s hospital room, he could see his baby looking out the window, an IV attached to his left hand.
Bruce didn’t bother knocking, waltzing in noisily, every step louder than the rest, with the bag he packed earlier hanging on his shoulder. Timmy turned his head toward him, eyes widening significantly and the boy (because Timmy will always be a boy to Bruce) smiled.
“Hey B,” he said, his eyes full of love and adoration. Bruce’s heart spluttered. “Hi baby,” he said back. The boy blushed, looking down at his covers as if to hide the soft pinkness across his cheeks.
Bruce smiled. His baby was so silly. The man set his bag down on the side table, to the right of Timmy’s bed and settled down right to his boy.
Timmy wrapped his arms around Bruce, looking up at his icy blue eyes. The eyes that have hurt him, but also comforted him.
Bruce’s presence was still more often than not comforting.
“Want me to sing something for you?” Bruce inquired. Most of his babies liked to be sung to. “Yes please,” Timmy replied quickly. His dad chuckled, “Alright.”
Timmy shut his eyes, his grip around his dad’s waist tight. And Bruce began, “Baby mine, don’t you cry.” Timmy smiled, humming along, a tad bit off key. Perhaps it’s been too long since they’ve heard the original and its music, Bruce reasoned.
Never one big on rhythm, his Timmy. Besides his occasional dancing, maybe.
“Baby mine, dry your eyes,” Bruce bopped his baby’s nose, causing Timmy to let out a little hum. “Rest your head close to my heart.” Timmy nuzzled closer to find his dad’s heartbeat.
Bruce breathed in, leaning his head on Timmy’s and shutting his eyes, exhaling. “Never to part–” The man felt Timmy singing along, head still resting comfortably on his chest.
“Baby of mine.” Bruce felt Timmy exhaling softly and looked to his face to see a smile so soft. Then the man frowned, eyes bouncing around the room.
Timmy opened his eyes, looking up at his dad, “B?” The man in question stopped frowning, raising an eyebrow and looked down at his baby. “Something wrong?” Timmy asked, worry making its way into his face, eyebrows into a frown.
“No, baby,” Bruce chuckled, dropping the eyebrow and rubbing a hand up and down Timmy’s back. “I might’ve forgotten the rest of the lyrics, is all.”
Timmy chuckled too, a pretty light and soft thing. “You mean you definitely forgot the rest of the lyrics?” His dad smiled at him, “Yeah.”
“You’re so cute, you know that, baby?” Bruce bopped his baby’s nose. Timmy squaked, “Am not!” Bruce smiled wider, “Sure you aren’t.” He pursed his lips, looking away from the boy for a moment.
“But you know you’re my baby, right, baby?” Timmy turned pink instantly, burying his face into his dad’s chest. “That’ll be a yes, then?” Bruce persisted. “Yes, Dad,” Timmy told him. And Bruce's heart fluttered.
“Well now, baby, did they tell you when you would get discharged?” Timmy looked at his dad again, making a curious hum. “I haven’t told any of your siblings, you see.” Timmy’s mouth formed in a silent “oh.”
“Well, they told me they’d just be monitoring for a few hours, and if everything was a-okay, I could go home under regular supervision,” the boy told his dad, pointer finger tapping his chin. “Alright, baby, no need to inform your siblings, then, hm?”
And Timmy smiled, “Yeah,” nuzzling his dad’s chest again. “No need, Dad.” The boy’s breaths slowed and Bruce watched his baby drift to sleep.
“It’s alright, baby,” he whispered. “I’m here.”