Chapter Text
“You know you can sleep, right?” Dick questioned to a sulking Bruce. The man’s blue eyes were clouded with obvious exhaustion. Over the years, Bruce had built up a tolerance to getting four to five hours of rest a night at best, much to Alfred’s chagrin. Yet, every so often, the nasty effects of the less-than-healthy sleep schedule came crashing down. It left Bruce sluggish and leaning on clumsy. More than that though, it turned his usual brooding disposition into one of almost toddleresque grumpiness.
Which, unfortunately for him, Dick found hilarious.
Bruce turned to Dick with a deceptively placating glance. “You know that I can’t.”
Dick’s lips twitched up into a cheeky smile. “No, actually, I don’t.”
“None of the affected members of the League know what the spell Le Fay cast does,” Bruce practically growled, turning back to the bat-computer. “And the people who would know are too busy to analyze it. If we fall asleep before figuring it out, there’s a risk of exacerbating the injury.”
“Spells aren’t concussions, B.”
“Malicious ones can be.” Bruce retorted, trying and failing to disguise a yawn. Dick switched tactics, deciding to play along until the inevitable happened. Which, noting the way Bruce’s eyes blinked shut for longer than normal, wasn't going to take long. He took a sip of the tea Alfred had left for them and glanced at the screen Bruce was so engrossed with.
“So, you think the effects are latent? No one showed any immediate signs?”
Bruce thought about it for a moment, a rare instance of uncertainty, before responding. “Barry gradually started talking slower after he was hit, even when we got back to the watchtower. However, I wouldn’t notice any effects if the spell was simply to remove our powers. Clark and Diana…” he hesitated “Seemed more emotive and confrontational than normal. Hal was vacant. Well,” He breathed out his nose in what Dick interpreted to be a laugh. “More so than usual.”
“And you?” Dick asked softly. Bruce glanced up for a brief moment and quickly looked away. Which was, no matter how Dick looked at it, out of character at best.
“I made a point of it to throw up as many mental blocks as I could until I got back to the cave.” Bruce huffed as he kicked his toe into the ground. Dick cocked his head and stored the anxious mannerism away with the rest of his observations. “As you know, the way those walls break tells you a lot. I could keep them up long enough to get out of the watchtower, but once they were down, I didn’t notice any significant changes. Just…”
“Just?” Dick asked gently, encouraging him to go on.
“The spell may be to lower defenses,” He said after a moment of deliberation, eyes scrunching as the gears turned. “The effects are distracting and my brain has been cloudy since impact.” Bruce glanced down at his feet again. Dick grabbed the other mug of tea and pressed it gently into Batman’s ungloved hands. Bruce shook his head and took a sip from the mug.
“Strange,” Dick hummed, strolling from behind the chair to lean on the computer desk. “Anything else?” He asked, turning off the computer in the process. Bruce didn’t even seem to register it, which was borderline terrifying. Dick swallowed hard.
“The meditation I was doing to keep the walls up was broken when I saw Alfred. Forcing myself to rebuild them was more difficult than it should have been.”
Dick glanced over Bruce, trying to finish connecting the dots for the latter. Bruce clearly had the same idea, studying Dick’s face as his brain worked toward the inevitable conclusion. It was familiar, an old habit both of them would easily recognize on the other.
That was why it was so easy to tell something was off.
“B, why don’t you get changed into civies and then we can discuss this upstairs?” Dick tried, biting his lip and tilting his head. To his shock, Bruce gave a clumsy nod as though he hadn’t been fighting him on the point less than two minutes earlier.
“‘Kay,” Bruce yawned, stumbling onto shaky feet and heading to the cave’s equivalent of a locker room. He turned around, facial expression out of character, and asked softly, “You’ll be here when I get back?”
On a normal day, this wouldn’t be a question. It’d be a command more or less, one Dick would consider complying with. Today, Dick was starting to suspect more and more, was not a normal day. He hid the panic that he was starting to feel under a reassuring smile. “Of course, Bruce. I’m not going anywhere.”
The nod that followed reminded Dick of Damian. Too serious, and while in character, something so wrong about it. As Bruce turned away, Dick flipped the computer back on. Opening back up the nightly report, Dick wrote in something he hadn’t considered in a while.
The victims show signs of age regression. Will need further analysis.
Bruce came back from changing clothes on tired feet. Dick’s eyes met his, filling him with warmth. He didn’t tell Dick that he loved him nearly enough, didn’t tell any of his kids that enough.
Although the reason for this feeling, he had the distinct impression, was going to be the bane of his existence. When he was out of the way of people that he cared about and things that triggered memories, his brain cooperated with him more. It made the conclusion of some sort of regression obvious. He’d had run-ins with it before this, through a spell cast by Le Fay no less. The last time had included a physical aspect in tandem, but the same feelings had been present. It had been the same mind-numbing, heart-melting feeling of warmth, just on a much, much smaller scale. Even then, he wasn’t aware that it could get worse.
He’d been wrong, of course. This was exponentially worse. So, so much worse.
Yet, he couldn’t fight it. Every time he tried it came back stronger and with less control. He tried to think of who would have to see him like this and who he could work around. Damian was out of the house and would be for a while thanks to a mission with the Titans. Jason and Tim didn't live at the manor either, which, at the moment, was a weight off his shoulders. He didn't even want to consider how they would react to something like this. Alfred had resigned himself to whatever antics went on in Bruce’s life, which meant that he could, hopefully, lock himself in his room and ride this out.
Or, at least he could if it wasn't for Dick.
The only reason he was even at the manor was for fine-tuning on his equipment, something that would normally take an hour or two at most. Yet his son had caught him in a moment of weakness, and he was familiar enough with Dick to know that he would only leave if Bruce could prove to him it was better off he did. Most nights he’d fight him on it and drive him away, regret it later as guilt and shamed gnawed at him, and then do it all over again the next time.
Which was maybe what made right now harder, he realized, lowering his head into his hands: He didn’t want Dick to leave. He couldn’t convince himself there was a good reason for his son to go, rarely ever could.
He looked for one anyway.
No matter how he sliced it, there wouldn't be a good outcome for this situation if Dick stayed. It would be utterly mortifying for him, he knew that with utmost certainty. Yet, it sounded so tempting to let himself be coddled by his eldest son. Dick always gave the best hugs.
Absently, Bruce let his feet carry him back to where Dick promised he’d be. Sure enough, his son sat in the computer chair, eyebrow quirked up endearingly. “Ready to go?” Dick asked standing up and stretching. Bruce nodded his head quickly, not trusting himself to speak. This confirmed his theory, he thought absently. The same feeling he had when he saw Alfred was hitting him twice as hard now. He was slipping and he knew it.
Instead of fighting it as he had earlier, he walked toward Dick on achy feet, eyes threatening to close and not open again until morning. His son gave a reassuring smile before beginning the well-worn path to the stairs. Bruce followed shortly behind, tracing Dick’s footsteps sleepily, thumb inching its way toward his mouth.
“Dark,” Bruce lisped slightly when they arrived at the ground level of the manor. Dick turned, straining his eyes to look at him in the dim lighting. A moment of deliberation told him to go along with this. After all, a quick call to Zatanna told him that it wasn’t permanent and that she’d look for a spell to counteract it. On top of that, there was very little any of the affected team could do to fight it.
Might as well see what Bruce would be like as a little, or at least, that’s what he thought they called it.
Given the thumb in his mouth and lisp, Dick could tell Bruce was going to be on the younger side of the spectrum, which meant he’d have to respond as such. They’d been through similar enough things before. “Do you like the dark?” Dick asked softly. Bruce shook his head.
“Scawy.” was the response. Dick found himself smiling.
“It’s okay, B. Here,” Dick gently wrapped his hand around Bruce’s, calloused fingers instinctively gripping back. Dick raised his hand to show the connection. “I’ll keep you safe.”
Bruce nodded and squeezed his hand. They walked through the hallway slower than either of them would normally, both of them struggling to make heads or tails of the situation. In an attempt to fill the awkward space, Dick took to nervous rambling. Bruce didn’t respond, but Dick didn’t expect him to. It was, almost embarrassingly, grounding to fall back on something familiar.
By the time they reached Bruce’s room Dick’s phone started ringing. He sat down on the edge of his mentor’s bed, watching absentmindedly as Bruce followed suit. He picked up his phone. “Hey Z,” Dick yawned. “Did something new come up?”
Her voice was tight, but whether it was from nerves or withheld laughter, Dick couldn’t tell. “I ran some tests on Clark, analyzed the spell. Honestly, Dick, I’m not sure how they manage to do this.”
“You say that as if I know,” Dick snorted, glancing at Bruce. He looked straight ahead, eyes glazed, a telltale sign of the meditation exercises. “What did you come up with?”
“Well, Le Fay intended to weaken the League, obviously. This spell was used hundreds of years ago to do things like immobilizing enemy defenses during things like castle raids. That notwithstanding, she added her own bells and whistles. I know Batman has mental immunities to these sorts of things, but try to get him not to use them. The more the victims struggle to stay in control, the more they lose it."
"That would make sense," Dick thought absently.
"That said," Zatanna continued. "The initial resistance did help. You're probably better off than the Allens right now."
"What happened with Barry?" Dick questioned tentatively. Bruce turned to him, alarmed.
"Is Flash okay?" Bruce asked. Dick shrugged in response and pressed the speaker on the phone.
"Z, you're on speaker. What's up with the Allens?"
"Flash didn't have any form of resistance when Le Fay hit him, meaning he barely has any now."
"So-"
"So he's acting completely like a baby." She breathed, sounding far too amused for the situation.
Next to him, Bruce gave an almost imperceivable wince. Dick pinched his eyes shut, feeling a headache coming on.
"How are Iris and Wally taking it?" He asked, knowing the redhead had gone to visit them before this all happened.
"About as well as you'd imagine. Clark and Diana aren't much better off, and Hal has gone completely silent. I tried to convince him that the sooner he let go the better off he'd be, but he's not having it."
"How long is this supposed to last?" Bruce asked tiredly. Dick looked back at his phone in interest.
"It shouldn't be more than a week," Zatanna responded, sounding sympathetic."We're relieving the affected members of their duties until it's fixed, so you're covered on that front."
"Well, that's a relief," Dick huffed. He clasped a hand over Bruce's knee in a loose attempt at comfort. "Look, Z, I should get going."
"I know," Her voice sparkled over the static of the phone. "But before you do go, I thought I'd let you know that I'm transporting materials to you over the Zeta tube. I don't know how much of it you'll need, but it's better to be safe than sorry."
"You're a lifesaver."
"Don't you forget it, Dick. I'll call later this week to give you the low down, but for now, it's late where you are. Get some sleep."
"Sounds good. Night, Z."
"Nigh', Zee." Bruce echoed, a certain sleepy static lacing his words.
An exhalation buzzed through the phone receiver, followed by a fond, if a bit resigned, "Nighty night, Batclan."
The receiver clicked, the telltale buzz signaling that she'd hung up. Dick looked at Bruce, not surprised to find him staring out into space again. "I'm going to go pick up the stuff she sent," Dick spoke, breaking the silence. The man sitting next to him didn't respond past a small frown. "I'll be back in five."
He rose to his feet gracefully, casting one last sidelong glance at Bruce before striding out the door. The walk to the cave felt much faster, especially when he slid down the stair railings and bypassed their steps. Sure enough, the bags rested on the landing of the Zeta beam, the synthetic and falsely positive bag designs encroaching the cave's aesthetic. Allowing his curiosity to get the best of him, Dick leaned down to rifle through them, tensing up at what he saw; Baby bottles, pacifiers, rattles, and diapers, to name a few of the more obvious items, lined the insides of the bags, all of which were in adult sizes. Still, he knew better than to doubt Zatanna's advice. If she said he might need them, she was probably speaking from experience.
Oh. That was what she meant by poor Barry.
Dick shuddered and began to, yet again, ascend the staircase, bags in tow. Still, if this was what he had to do, so be it. They'd been through worse. Hell, he’d gone through this exact same thing with the titans a few years back. Mother Mae Eye was a name he’d prefer to forget.
He decided to make a pit stop at his room when he passed by, picking up Zitka from her place on the nightstand. She'd become softer with age, fur smelling like lavender from a recent wash. If he'd been regressed instead, he knew he'd want her. With that thought in mind, he closed the rest of the distance between his room and Bruce's.
The large, oak door clicked as he opened it. "I'm back," Dick singsonged, raising one of his bagged arms in greeting. Bruce sat still on the edge of his mattress, tears leaking out of his eyes.
Dick honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him cry.
He dropped the bags on autopilot, feet crossing the floor easily before crouching down in front of Bruce so that he could be eye level. His hand raised to wipe away the stray tears. "What's wrong?"
Bruce let out a shaky sob, leaning forward to rest against Dick. "Missed you." He mumbled. Dick breathed an even sigh, allowing an arm to come up and rest on Bruce's back.
How hard had Bruce been fighting it if it was this bad?
Tears began hitting Dick’s shirt, small drops soaking in to dampen his shoulder. He decided to forgo whatever strange feelings could pop up and began to make soft cooing noises. The cries never got very loud, leading him to believe that Bruce was still in subconscious control. Zatanna hadn't said anything about that, so he let it slide.
Dick adjusted Bruce’s head carefully, moving it to rest on his shoulder instead of leaning against his chest. His hand followed suit, bracing him for support as he raised to sit on the bed. The older man leaned into him with his full weight, sniffling.
“I said I’d be back, didn’t I?” He hushed, beginning to run his hands through his mentor’s usually well-kept hair. Bruce made a discontented sound in response, pushing up slowly with closed eyes. Dick raised an eyebrow. Instead of pushing himself away and attempting to compose himself, however, he pulled Dick against him. Dick yelped in surprise. “...B?” He asked meekly, scanning Bruce’s face in confusion.
It was hard for him to pin down what was running through Bruce’s mind. The man was never easy to read, granted, but it was rare for him to be so expressive. He almost seemed scared of something, but of what Dick couldn’t tell. Rejection? Embarrassment maybe? “Sorry,” He whimpered, burying his face into Dick’s hair.
“For what?” Dick asked gently, forcing his body to relax. Sure enough, Bruce followed suit, body loosening. Still, the arms around him tightened.
“Sorry.” He repeated.
Dick made the decision then to drop it for a later day. “It’s okay Bruce,” he assured, pulling back. Bruce dropped his arms like he’d been burned, which unfortunately had become commonplace after Jason died. Still, a quick glance told him that he was far from his usual self. His eyes were wide and red-rimmed, panicky.
He takes a risk. “How about we get some shut-eye, hm?”
At the mere mention of sleep, Bruce seemed to shut down further. The change in demeanor was subtle, but he’d been trained to look for these things. Given the circumstances, there was an easy answer as to what that meant. He needed to make a decision. He glanced at Bruce one last time and then back to the bags at the door. He breathed a sigh and hoped that Zatanna wasn’t just messing with them.
Although considering the circumstances, he doubted it.
He had somehow managed to tucker himself out even more, and while Dick certainly didn’t condone the lack of care for himself, he could admit there were benefits. For instance, the man, tired from crying and general lack of sleep, paid no heed as Dick wrapped a diaper securely around his waist and accepted the pacifier nudged into his mouth. All he could focus on was how tired he was and how he didn’t want Dick to leave again. He suckled on the pacifier slowly and allowed his eyes to drift shut as his eldest pulled a sweatshirt over his head. He could hear Dick saying something, but he couldn’t register it. It was in one ear and out the other. Eventually, a soft pillow-like creature was pressed into his arms, a sweet smell accompanying it. He blinked his heavy eyes open to look at it. Zitka, a voice in the back of his mind supplied, and he gave a tired suck of affirmation. That sounded like something Dick would do.
Dick.
Bruce had meant to look around for him attentively, but sleep laced his motions and he was currently helpless to its ministrations. Fortunately, he didn't have to look very far. His son was still perched on the edge of the bed, a tense expression morphing his features. “Tha’s not righ’,” Bruce thought with a frown. He reached for Dick’s arm, tugging it lightly once he got it. When he was sure he had his attention, he raised an arm out. His eyes closed before he could see the response, and this time he couldn't force them back open.
Still, Dick let out a soft chuckle, whispered “Okay, okay,” under his breath, and pulled up the blankets. He stretched himself out to lay down next to him, so Bruce supposed he got the message. It wasn’t as if this had never happened before. Still, Dick had been 10 the last time.
He supposed, for all intents and purposes, it actually wasn’t that different.
Although it was foreign, instinct told him to curl up against Dick’s chest. The young man shifted easily to pull him closer. Dick had always been good at this kind of thing, more so than Bruce could ever hope to be.
“This is going to be weird,” Dick laughed. Bruce felt the vibrations moving through his head and down his chest, filling him with warmth. He’d always loved that sound. Bruce nuzzled closer and Dick’s hands began to rub through his hair. “Of course, I do like this new, cuddly side of you.”
The feeling of small swept over him deftly, catching him by surprise. It was like all his cares and responsibilities had faded away, the stress draining out of his body with every breath. Absently, he wondered what the risk of this spell was, before remembering that he had Dick and no one else did. Which, upon consideration, would make this whole thing a lot worse. Despite the vulnerability, he felt safe with his eldest, his first partner, his son.
He could handle this.
“Nigh’,” Bruce yawned around the guard of the pacifier, missing the soft smile taking over Dick’s face. His head bobbed down to place a kiss in his hair.
"Night B," Dick whispered back. Bruce fell asleep almost instantly, feeling more secure than he had in years.