"Put him down," Tim insisted, tugging on Damian’s arm. "He’s not a baby. Wake him up and make him walk."
Dick moved Damian to his other side, away from Tim’s reach. “He’s not that heavy,” he said, rubbing Damian’s back through the cape and tunic. Dick turned his face toward the boy’s head pillowed on his shoulder, and his lips brushed over Damian’s temple.
Tim’s stomach contracted painfully. “Bruce would make him walk,” he muttered as the car came into view.
After Dick settled Damian into the backseat, careful not to wake him, he walked around to the passenger’s side and opened Tim’s door. “Get out,” he said.
Tim looked up at Dick’s face behind Batman’s cowl in apprehension, but found himself obeying the order automatically, unbuckling his restraint and rising to stand beside the car. Dick lifted him, arms locking tightly around him and one hand smoothing down his hair.
"If you fell asleep, Tim," he began, kissing the top of his head once, "I’d carry you, too. Okay?"
Tim nodded, feeling sheepish and hoping no one was watching to see Batman cradling Red Robin like a small child. “Yeah, Dick. I understand.”
Dick smiled at him— always strange to see his warm smile beneath the cowl— and put him down. When they were on the road a few minutes later, Dick explaining the details of their next case, Tim glanced at the backseat to see Damian wide awake. He wondered if the little boy had ever been asleep at all.