Chapter Text
Duke’s homecoming is the very definition of bittersweet. It’s the culmination of months of hopeless dread surrounding his parents, and the state Jester left them in. After an agonizing, drawn out period of time where Duke’s parents slowly wasted away, their suffering finally came to an end in a horrific fire.
That night, Alfred half-drags, half-carries him into the house, Steph trailing along with a pinched, sympathetic face. Bruce’s other Robyns whisper a few words of condolence that seem to barely register to Duke. The boy just nods and trudges to his new room, eyes glassy and unfocused, cheeks tear-stained. His hands are bloody and shaking. Bruce has never seen him so devastated. Duke is normally such a relaxed, bright presence in the manor that seeing him down and grieving brings a whole new feeling of melancholy to the house; makes it feel bigger than it really is.
This is the worst part about Robyns, Bruce realizes. That things happen to them that nobody, not even the dragon of Gotham, can prevent. And it shatters him. Maybe this is why Robyns are so rare; because it’s like a piece of his soul is walking around with its own thoughts and feelings and emotions that Bruce can’t help but be overwhelmed by. It takes more effort than he would’ve anticipated not to flashback to the night his parents never returned. It’s obvious that the kids pick up on this, because Cass glomps onto his arm and doesn’t let go, and Damian is particularly unskilled at masking his concerned glances despite Dick’s attempts to distract the six-year-old.
Duke stays holed up in his room after that initial appearance. When Bruce has sent the others to bed, he goes quietly to check on Duke, and to have the conversation he wishes he doesn’t have to give.
The room is dark and cool. On the bed, there is a lump of blanket completely covering the boy underneath from the outside world. It’s utterly still, but Bruce can hear shuddering breaths from under the covers. Settling next to it, Bruce lightly brushes his hand up the blanket until he reaches the edge, gently tugging it down to reveal Duke’s tear-stained face. “Can I touch you?”
It takes a second, but Duke nods. Bruce smoothly pulls him into a hug, pressing the boy’s face into his shoulder, not minding in the slightest when he feels his sweater dampen.
“I know it feels like your world is ending,” Bruce finally says. “I know you probably don’t want to talk right now, and I’m so, so sorry you have to go through this. We’ll be here for you, whatever you’re feeling.” Duke doesn’t respond. “Say something, for me?”
There’s another pause, as Bruce’s newest Robyn struggles for words. “...It hurts , B,” Duke whispers.
Bruce sighs. “I know, chum.”
“I miss them.”
“I know, chum.”
“ Fuck.” The tears were coming in earnest, now. Duke sobs until his breath deepens and he lulls into an exhausted slumber, but even when the boy is fully asleep, Bruce doesn’t stop whispering small comforts, instincts flaring to eliminate whatever was hurting his horde like this with no way to fulfill them.
This is the hardest part of having children, Bruce thinks sadly. Not for the first time, he wonders if he’s doing the right thing. Almost immediately, each of his Robyn ’s smiles pops up behind his eyes. Dick, Jason, Cass, Tim, Damian, and Duke; all of their bright smiles were as much his lifeblood as the flowing liquid in his veins.
Some parts of parenting are hard, yes, but it’s all worth it to make his children smile. And as he looks back on all his children’s first nights, and how far they’ve come now, he can’t imagine his life without any of them.