Chapter Text
Bruce is staring at his computer screen. His office chair creaks as he leans forward – at least he hopes it’s his chair and not his knees. He isn’t looking forward to writing the email he’s procrastinated for the last ten minutes.
He takes a Batman-level sigh and starts.
I am sending this email in regard to the b-
His finger pauses as the Crab Dance song plays through his computer speaker. This isn’t the first time that the techno meme song has gone off, and each time it’s accompanied by three sets of giggles from the couch on the far-side of his office.
He turns toward his three little gigglers. Tim is laughing the hardest, which means he’s innocent. This is clearly all Jason and Dick’s fault. Those two are going to be the death of him. The death of his sanity at the very least.
Bruce leans his elbows on the desk and rests his chin on his hands.
“Why is my computer playing this weird song?” he asks. He has asked the same question every time.
Jason’s eyes dart back to the book in his hands.
Tim bites his lip and suddenly the knitting needles in his hands, with a tiny square attached, are the most interesting thing in the world. Tim’s having a rough morning, so he’s wearing the glasses that make him look like Superman’s doppelganger.
And Dick? Dick doesn’t break eye contact with Bruce, continuing to stare him down.
Like a demon.
Bruce is not about to lose a staring contest to a child.
Bruce narrows his eyes slightly and gives Dick his most intimidating glare. Dick flinches, and his eyes widen, but he doesn’t blink so it’s still game on.
It’s impressive when Dick hits the one-minute mark, and that’s when Jason and Tim have started aggressively cheering Dick on.
Traitors. If it isn’t bad enough that Dick’s favorite superhero is Superman of all people, Bruce expected at least one of his youngest children to be on team Bruce for the staring contest.
Dick’s knees are bouncing, which causes Bruce to feel a twinge of sympathy. As hard as Dick tries, it will probably be his trouble with his attention span that causes him to lose.
But then, something unexpected happens. It happens so fast that Bruce almost misses it. Tim snaps his fingers and Ace barks from across the room. Batman-level reflexes cause Bruce’s eyes to dart in the direction of perceived danger, and just like that, he’s lost the staring contest.
The world had better watch out for Tim. Bruce is positive that Timmy is going to grow up to be a better strategist than even Batman. Technically, a few seconds ago, he was.
The three boys cheer and Jason holds up Dick’s hand like a boxer winning a championship fight, but Bruce points at Tim. “You little cheater.”
Tim laughs and ducks behind Jason for safety. Bruce stands and takes heavy steps toward the couch, making Tim laugh harder.
Jason is holding a pillow to shield both him and Tim, but right before Bruce reaches the couch, the doorbell rings.
Clark is in Metropolis for the day, doing his day job at the Daily Planet, and Ma Kent is at the market and shouldn’t be home for another hour. It could be a package, but the drivers never rang the doorbell before.
The doorbell dings again, and then another few times, rapid fire, and Bruce groans. He’s pretty sure he knows who it is.
He gets to the entryway and growls, “I heard you,” over the sound of constant dinging.
He yanks the door open and sure enough, The Flash is standing outside, still pressing the doorbell.
“Stop,” Bruce says, with the exasperation of scolding a child for the tenth time.
“Heyo, Bats. I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d stop by to make sure you haven’t given dear Alfred the ‘ol ringy dingy and forfeited the bet.”
“I haven’t called Alfred,” Bruce says with no emotion, but his eyebrow twitches upward. “You have so little faith in me.”
“I got fifty bucks riding on you calling Alfred for assistance, a little side bet I have going on, and I don’t expect to lose.”
Flash looks around Bruce’s shoulder looking for… maybe Alfred hiding behind the coat rack?
Bruce snorts, “Alfred’s not here, you can search the house if you want, Barry.”
“Cool,” Barry says, zipping inside the house.
“Hi, Mr. Flash,” Tim says, waving from down the hall. “Can you really shoot lightning out of your fingers?”
“Hell yeah. Oops. I mean, heck yeah, little guy. Hey, can you do me a favor? Can you tell me if Alfred’s home?”
Tim crosses his arms over his chest and frowns.
“Alfie’s not here. Dad is taking really good care of us, and this week has been very challenging. Ace ate a Lego and had to go to the hospital and then me and Jason got sick and had to go to two different hospitals, and Dick got lactose intolerant, and Dad didn’t call Alfie once. My fever was 99.9 this morning and if it’s gone tomorrow, we can go to the toy store.”
Barry shifts his weight uncomfortably, “Sorry you’re sick, little man. That sucks.”
“Not when you have a dad like Dad,” Tim says with a huge smile. He’s the best spokesperson Bruce has ever had.
Ace comes charging into the narrow space of the entryway and instead of trying to scare the stranger away, Ace lays on the floor and expects belly rubs. Barry laughs and gives Ace exactly what he wants.
Dick is next to appear.
“You’re the Flash!” He grabs Barry’s hand. “Come outside and you can throw me and Jason as hard as you can, and we can see who goes the farthest before you catch us.”
Jason takes Flash’s other hand, “I think I’ll go farther than Dickie. You could fling Timmy the farthest, but it’s too dangerous for him ‘cuz he’s too little.”
Bruce clears his throat.
“No one is being slingshot across the street. You’re injured, Jay. Remember?” He directs his attention to Barry, “You want coffee, or something to eat?”
“Uh, sure.”
Barry’s still holding hands with the two Robins, so they lead him to the kitchen. Tim is walking in front of Barry, but since the little guy is walking backwards so he can talk, Barry keeps almost tripping over him.
“What does it feel like to vibrate through a wall? Does it feel like nothing, or is it a little feeling like being tickled?” Tim asks.
“It, um, it feels okay, I guess?”
“That wasn’t one of the two choices,” Tim says, scurrying next to Bruce’s side. Tim still gets shy around new people. Bruce puts a gentle hand on Tim’s back. He’s still trying to find the right balance that’s comforting to his son, but not overwhelming. Especially since Tim woke up feeling overstimulated today.
Tim looks up at him and gives him a smile. Bruce’s moment of parental triumph is unfortunately cut short when his phone rings. He knows that ring. It’s his emergency WE ring. Lucius Fox, the CEO and one of his most trusted friends, only calls him when Wayne Tower is on the verge of burning down to the ground.
Bruce answers the call and when Lucius responds with “Code Red”, Bruce sighs and takes the phone away from his ear.
“I need to take this call. Barry, can you watch the kids? I won’t be more than half an hour.”
“Sure,” Barry says. “How hard can it be?”
Bruce turns to walk to his office and calls over his shoulder, “Famous last words, Allen.”
----
Barry Allen lives his life at superspeed. He talks fast, eats fast, thinks fast, you name it, he can do it in a flash… but somehow, he can’t keep up with the Bat kids. Bruce has been on the phone for five minutes and three seconds (Barry set a countdown on his watch after the first minute) and the kitchen has descended into chaos.
During the span of five minutes, Dick has broken three mugs and two plates trying to get to the “good” hot chocolate mugs in the back of the cabinet. Barry speed-cleaned all the glass from the floor, but he missed the one piece that Tim couldn’t avoid stepping on. Jason treated the wound (which thankfully was just a little cut, not an imbedded shard of glass like Barry had imagined). Barry and Dick took over hot chocolate duty at that point, but Barry grabbed one of the piping hot mugs too quickly and some hot chocolate splashed on Dick’s hand.
And that was three seconds ago.
Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow,” Dick yelps, shaking his hand like it’s on fire. It probably feels like it is.
“Run it under lukewarm water,” Jason says from next to Tim.
Barry has Dick in front of the sink and the water turned to full blast before Jason finishes the sentence. Barry sticks Dick’s hand under the water, but Dick hisses and pulls away, “No. Ow. It’s too cold,” he says bouncing on his toes.
“Sorry, kiddo. Did I hurt you?”
“No,” Dick lies, as he turns down the cold water and turns on the hot water along with the cold.
Jason passes behind Barry and grunts, “Got up too quick.” He opens the fridge and takes out a handful of ice packs and presses them to his side. Barry’s not sure why Jason needs more than one ice pack, but he doesn’t ask.
Dick tests the water temperature with his non-burnt hand. It must be alright because he sticks his burnt hand under the stream. Through gritted teeth he says, “Jay pulled a muscle throwing up the other day. Can I have sprinkles on my hot chocolate? Alfie says that rainbow sprinkles have no place on a properly prepared hot beverage, but it’s not like I’m putting whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles on a cup of tea. Ooo, I bet that would taste –
“ – disgusting,” Jason interrupts, hopping up on the counter. He’s pressing the group of ice packs against his side and swinging his legs as he watches the water fall onto Dick’s hand.
“Dickie, you gotta keep your hand under there for twenty minutes,” Jason says, pushing Dick’s hand back under the direct stream.
Dick whimpers, but Barry promises, “If you do it, I’ll put rainbow sprinkles on your hot chocolate.”
This gets a huge smile from Dick, but Tim’s voice chimes in from next to the four mugs of cooling – but still hot – hot chocolate.
“I can add rainbow sprinkles to yours right now,” he says, using his hand to boost him up onto the counter so he can reach the top cabinet. One of the mugs of piping hot catastrophe teeters on the edge of the counter, and wobbles even more when Tim’s hand brushes against it.
Barry uses every fiber of superspeed in his body to race over to Tim and whisk the kid away from becoming the second burn victim.
Tim makes a sound like a squeaky toy as Barry dashes them both to the sink. Barry plops Tim on the counter next to Jason and takes a sigh of relief.
“I was just trying to help,” Little Timmy says with a huff. “The hot chocolate’s getting cold and then no one’s going to want to drink it and I don’t think we can put hot chocolate in Ace’s water dish.”
Tim leans his head on Jason’s shoulder and Jason whines, “Dude, why are you so sweaty?”
“I think my fever broke,” Tim says with a yawn. “I feel kinda dizzy.”
“And that seemed like a good time to climb on the counter and get sprinkles?” Jason asks, offering one of the ice packs from his vast collection.
Tim waves his hand, rejecting the ice offering.
“No, m’not hot, m’cold,” he slurs.
Barry, feeling useful for a second, snaps his fingers, “I’ll get the thermometer. Where do you keep it?”
Before Jason answers, Dick groans and bounces on his toes quicker. “Uncle Barry, I gotta pee. Holding my hand under water is making me have to go really, really bad.”
Dr. Jason shakes his head, “Too bad, Dickie. You gotta keep your hand under constant running water for twenty minutes. You don’t want your hand to get amputated, do you?”
“I don’t think that’s medically accurate,” Tim says softly.
“That’s what the internet says,” Jason argues back with a shrug.
Dick looks up at Barry, even more distressed than before.
“Uncle Barry,” he whines. “I really have to go, but if I get my hand chopped off, I’ll have to get a prosthetic hand, and then I can’t be Robin anymore because Dick Grayson and Robin will both have prosthetic hands, and everyone will know our secret identities. Wait, maybe I can ask Dad to make a realistic cyber hand like the one Luke Skywalker has in Star Wars. Wayne Tech makes all kinds of futuristic technology.”
Tim rubs the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, and shakes his head. “Star Wars isn’t the future. It was a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.”
“I have to goooo,” Dick whines. His eyes are actually filling with tears and Barry has never been this stressed in his life. He takes a deep breath and holds up a finger.
“Hang on, little dude. I’ll be right back.”
Dick bites his lip and nods while hopping from one foot to the other.
Barry is out of the kitchen in a flash and skids into Bruce’s office.
“ – international merger sounds like the best course of action -,” Bruce looks up, “ – hold on, Lucius. I need to handle something for a moment.”
Bruce puts the phone on mute and smirks, “You lasted longer than I thought you would, Allen.”
“Oh my god, Bruce. Pleeeeease help me,” Barry begs, sinking down to his knees and pressing his palms together. “Green Arrow sent me over to see if you secretly called Alfred back, but I don’t even care about the bet anymore. There’s no way one man can take care of all three of your Batkids. I’m about to lose my mind!”
Bruce nods and unmutes the call.
“Give me five minutes, Lucius, and all call you back. Something came up with the kids.”
He lifts a sympathetic eyebrow at Barry.
“Alright, Allen. Lead me to the fire.”
----
Bruce honestly was expecting far worse.
It takes less than thirty minutes to get from utter chaos to the boys and Barry sitting at the table drinking hot chocolate and laughing. Bruce did it all while making sure that Dick did not lose a hand or wet his pants.
Bruce confirms that Tim’s fever is officially gone, and checks to make sure Jason properly took care of Tim’s cut foot, before enjoying a steaming mug of hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream and a chocolate syrup drizzle.
Barry and Jason have identical drinks with the chocolate drizzle, but Tim and Dick have opted for rainbow sprinkles. Tim is picking off all of his green sprinkles and giving them to Dick.
Tim smiles proudly at Barry and announces, “I’m neurodivergent.”
Tim looks over at Bruce and smiles even wider, adding, “And Dad says that is okay.”
“Your dad’s right,” Barry says.
“Of course he’s right,” Tim says scrunching his eyebrows together. “He’s Batman.”
Barry looks over at Bruce and winks, “I gotta watch out for that one. You have a little mini-me, Brucie.”
After everyone finishes their drinks, Bruce walks Barry to the door. Barry agrees to call off the bet because according to him, ‘I couldn’t even last ten minutes alone without begging for help. At least you lasted more than that before you called in Superman.’
The Bat family waves and Barry waves back before whizzing away in a streak of lightning.
Bruce takes a deep breath and looks at his family. Now that Tim’s fever is gone, he has his happy, healthy family back.
He feels the warm buzz of happiness flow through him, but when the buzzing continues, he realizes it’s his phone buzzing in his pocket.
It’s Alfred, so he clicks it on speaker so that the boys can say hi too.
“Alfred,” Bruce says with a smile, “It’s good to hear from you. How is everything going? Are you taking time to relax like I’ve ordered you to.”
“I’m afraid not,” Alfred answers with a raspy voice, followed by a congested sniff. “I seem to have contracted a rather nasty cold. I believe it may even be the flu.” He pauses to cough. “I have not felt this ill in a while.”
“I’ll send Clark to get you and bring you back. I’ll have chicken noodle soup and warm towels waiting for you when you arrive.”
“Master Bruce, it would be unwise for me to return. I will no doubt infect the rest of the family.”
“Families share colds, Alfred. The important thing is that you have a caring support system to look after you until you’re back on your feet. Besides, I rarely get sick. I have an ironclad immune system.”
“Very well,” Alfred says with a sniffle.
Three days later
Clark is making the choo choo sound with a spoon, and Bruce groans, shifting with weight so the pillows are more comfortable behind his back.
“Open wide, Brucie. The chicken noodle soup train is pulling out of the station.”
Bruce glares but takes the spoonful of soup because it’s delicious. Although, before the next spoonful he sends out a warning.
“I am aware of twenty different ways to kill a Kryptonian. Ten of which I would be able to accomplish from this bed, regardless of my current weakened state. I suggest that the train stays in the station, Clark.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re a jerk when you’re sick?” Clark scoffs.
“Clark Joseph Kent. Did you just use the j-word? What would Ma Kent say if she knew you used such language?”
“Shut up and eat your soup,” Clark says with a laugh. “When I finish with you, I’ve got to deliver three little gremlins ice pops. Dickie’s holding my Superman suit hostage until I bring the ice pops that come in those clear bags that you have to cut off the top with scissors. The closest store that sells them opens in ten minutes and I want to be the first one there.”
Tim pops his head in the doorway.
“Excuse me. Remember how we gave away all the Legos to the needy kids? Um, we missed one, and Ace found it under Jason’s bed and ate it. It was a small Lego, but Dickie said I should tell you. I also threw up two times today, but it’s okay because it all landed in the toilet. Okay, bye.”
Tim scurries off and Bruce groans, “Are you sure you want to go on that date, Clark? If we fall in love, you’re going to inherit three little walking disasters.”
“You’re not getting out of our date that easy, Batman. And for the record, if this counts as our first date, I’m expecting date two to be much better.”
“I’m a billionaire, Clark. Date number two is going to blow your mind.”
Bruce ends his brag with three violent sneezes.
“Easy, there, Mr. Moneybags. Before you blow my mind, you need to blow your nose.”