Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Damian exited his history teacher's classroom extremely frustrated. His teacher was an absolute imbecile. She had been animatedly lecturing about how Christopher Columbus had discovered the Americas. It was absolutely beyond him how a woman certified to teach students history didn't know that A. His name was Cristoforo Colombo (he was Italian), and B. Colombo didn't discover the Americas, Leif Erikson did. When he attempted to correct her she had patronizingly told him that he was mistaken. He was not about to let that idiot misinform his "peers," so he huffed, got up, and walked to the class computers. The teacher had whined for him to return to his seat as he finished typing his search into the engine.

"You were saying…" he droned, gesturing to the computer screen. It displayed the following sentences; Leif Erikson, Leiv Eiriksson or Leif Ericson ( c. 970 – c. 1020) was a Norse explorer from Iceland. He is thought to have been the first European to have set foot on continental North America (excluding Greenland), approximately half a millennium before Christopher Columbus. The class giggled. The teacher seethed.

"Vice principal's office," she dramatically pointed toward the door, "now!"

So, Damian found himself walking into Mrs. Jordan's office. The office staff woman told him to go right in.

"Mr. Wayne," he took a seat as Mrs. Jordan walked over to her wall of filing cabinets, presumably to retrieve his file. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"I assure you, there is no reason for me to be," the boy replied.

"Well, Miss Hildebrandt sent you here for a reason. What was it?"

"Invalid," Damien deadpanned.

"Yes, I'm well aware of how you feel about why she sent you here. What I want to know is why she sent you."

"I have no answer. She didn't explain my failure, and I’ve found none myself." Mrs. Jordan sighed.

"Okay.. then, walk me through what happened before she sent you to my office." Mrs. Jordan was a smart woman, but that wasn't what made her such a good principle. She knew her students. She knew their behaviors. She knew when they were messing with her, and when they really meant what they were saying. Damian Wayne truly didn't think he'd done anything wrong.

"Miss Hildebrandt had been giving the class false information. I tried to tell her so, and she told me I was the one who was wrong. So I went to the computer and found proof that I was correct. She insulted my intelligence and failed her honored station. I defended my intelligence and prevented her from spreading false information. And she sent me to you." Mrs. Jordan got a knowing look in her eyes, nodding her head. Damian Wayne was a smart child, some might even say gifted. However, his IQ did not match his manners. He had a tendency to be rude without meaning to be. It was something that had been constantly getting him into trouble.

"I see," the vice principal sighed, "Damian, it wasn't what you did that was wrong, but how, when and where. I won't punish you, but should your teacher make a mistake again, please address it privately after class. I will speak to your teacher, get her side of the story, and address any issues, later. That being said, I trust this will not happen again…" Mrs. Jordan raised her eyebrow and smirked at Damian.

"No. Of course not, Mrs. Jordan," Damian replied. They both rose from their seats as Mrs. Jordan motion toward the door.

BOOM!!!

The ground chuck, and fire alarms blared. The student and vice principal shared a glance before rushing out the door.

"What happened?" Everyone turned to Damian. "This is ridiculous," the boy muttered, before brushing past the receptionist. He made his way to the hallway, calls of his name drifting after him.

Unbelievable. They needed to get the situation under control. That meant knowing what the situation was. And since the office staff were too incompetent to know or to incompetent to tell him, he had to assess and react to the threat alone; no team, no weapons, no armor, no mask. That was fine. His mother had made sure he never needed them. The sound was stronger in his left ear. Since he'd been facing the door from inside Mrs. Jordan's office, the explosion had originated from the north side of the middle school. Good; he didn't have to switch buildings.

"Attention! Gotham Academy Elementary, Middle, and High Schools, this is your principal, Dr. Bradnor, speaking. Please follow all fire evacuation protocols and await further instruction."

The buildings for all Gotham Academy's schools were on the same property and had one principle to avoid confusion. Each school, however, had its own vice principal, set of department chairs, and (inconveniently) alarm system. Meaning; someone had to announce to the other schools that they had to evacuate during a threat. Why they didn't just connect the alarm systems, Damian would never know. The elementary school lay on the southwestern side of the property, the middle school on the northwestern, and the high school covered the entire east side. The most likely area for an explosion to have taken place in a school would have been in the boiler room or the labs in the northeastern corner of the middle school. Since the boiler room was on the south side, Damian headed for the labs, hoping this was stupid students, and not one of Gotham's resident crazies.

Fire licked at the doors by the time Damian reached the entrance to the science wing. The boy raised his elbow to his mouth and nose, attempting to filter as much as he could, hopefully prolonging the amount of time he could help. The heat wasn't the problem. Damian had lived in the Middle East for 10 years. Heat wasn't a problem. Smoke inhalation, however, was unavoidable. The League had trained him to work through it for a time, but they couldn't make him invincible. He ran into the first lab to find no victims, the second was the same. The third lab held a boy cowering and crying in the corner. Damian restrained himself from rolling his eyes at the child's inability to function properly during a crisis and directed him to evacuate.

The fourth lab appeared to be the source of the explosion, if the damage was anything to go by. Not to mention the victims, four including the teacher. Two students and the teacher were unconscious and the fourth girl's leg was trapped under a lab table. Damian decided to start with the girl who was trapped.

"Hey!" He yelled, getting her attention, "I'm going to lift the table! As soon as you're able, pull your leg free!" The girl nodded furiously, and Damian gripped the table. "On the count of 3!" Damian coughed, "1… 2… 3!" Damian pulled up, and the girl yanked her leg out from under the table. "Can you make it out alone?" Damian yelled to be heard over the blaze. The girl shakily got to her feet, tested the weight on her leg, and winced, but nodded. "Then, get out of here!" The girl limped to the door as Damian turned to the other victims.

Another, thankfully smaller, explosion in the corner of the lab rocked the building and Damian was thrown off his feet. He knew the blast had earned him a concussion as soon as he sat up. Come on! He did not have time for this! He slowly stood up from the floor, taking a minute to catch his bearings, before he headed to the small cluster of unconscious victims.

Damian could carry one out by himself, maybe two if he carried the students, but he'd still have to double back for the teacher, especially with his current injuries. He moved to the older man's side, who he recognized as Mr. Daridge. He shook the man a bit, yelled his name, and after a few seconds, the teacher stirred.

"Mr. Daridge, there has been an explosion in this lab!" Damian coughed again, they didn't have much time, " Everyone else has been evacuated, save two unconscious students. Are you capable of carrying one of them out, or do I need to do it myself?" Mr. Daridge looked at Damian, confused for a moment before he slowly and shakily nodded. Had they been on the first floor, Damian would have let him help. But they were on the second floor, meaning they had to carry the students down the stairs. Since Mr. Daridge most likely had a head injury, Damian didn't want to risk it. He was already risking it himself, but he'd been trained to operate under any circumstances. Mr. Daridge probably hadn't. The boy moved to the two boys on the floor, coughing as he tried to rouse them. Of course, the useless teacher woke up, but not the students who had probably caused the mess and/or could be helpful in addressing it. Damian huffed, he'd have to do this in steps, take one student before he doubled back for the other.
Get to the door.
Get to the top of the stairs.
Get to the landing.
Get to the bottom of the stairs.
Get to the exit.
Hopefully, by then, emergency response will have arrived or the school staff would be organized enough to be competent, for once.

"Mr. Daridge, get out of the building! I'll get the students!" Damian coughed, and Mr. Daridge looked like he was about to argue, "Sir, you have a head injury! And if I don't get these two out now, they might not get out. I can't deal with them and be worried about you! Go!" The teacher hesitated before doing as he was told. Damian tried to huff, but only ended up coughing again. He was running out of time.

Damian grabbed the first boy under the arms and around his chest, to avoid dislocating his shoulders as he dragged him, before pulling him out of the room and into the center of the hallway. He did the same with the second boy, except he pulled him to the top of the stairs. Damian ran down to the landing to make sure the exit was clear before running back to get the first child. By the time Damian had both boys on the landing, he was coughing almost constantly. But he kept going. He had to.

Just as he got outside, the second boy started to wake and fire rescue came rushing in. He heard someone shouting his name, but it was muffled and far away. The light was bothering his eyes, and the sirens were too loud, and Damian honestly couldn't find it in himself to care who was calling out to him or why. The firemen lifted the two unconscious students and attempted to do the same to him, something he vehemently protested. He would walk away standing tall on his own, thank you. He was Robin. He was an Al-Ghul. Dammit, he was a Wayne. He was going to walk away strong.

At least, he tried to. He took a few steps before he swayed and collapsed. Someone standing next to him, must have expected it, because the next thing Damian knew, he was being gently laid on a gurney, and a paramedic was shining a penlight in his eyes, and he just wanted to go home. Home, where Father would want a report before hopefully being proud. Home, where Grayson would mother-hen and cuddle him "'til the cows came home." Home, where Todd would glare at him before smirking and ruffling his hair. Home, where Drake would look at him for a moment before giving a nod of approval. Home, where Pennyworth was the only sane one and would allow him to rest.

"Don't worry, baby-bat. I know you wanna go home. I promise we will, as soon as the doctors say it's okay." Oh, so he said that out loud. He wondered where baby-bat came from. It was certainly nothing he'd heard before. The paramedics took his vitals before strapping him down to the gurney, fitting an oxygen mask to his face, and loading him into the back of the ambulance. He would have fought, but his limbs were too heavy, and his mind was clouded. The lights in there were too bright, and Damian closed his eyes, attempting to block them out. The sirens started blaring, the vehicle started moving, and Damian felt something pinch his inner wrist. He cracked his eyes open to see the paramedic had inserted an IV. He would have asked what it was for if he wasn't so tired. He closed his eyes again. It was too late that he realized he was falling asleep.

Chapter Text

Tim heard Mrs. Jordan over the announcements and sighed. He supposed it was inevitable. In Gotham, you couldn't go a month without a major disaster, usually caused by one of Arkham's finest. It was only a matter of time before a normal disaster occurred. He and the rest of his math class had heard the explosion, muffled by what he could only assume were walls and distance. They got up calmly and quietly made their way out of the building and to the predesignated locations, a few students whispering to each other, wondering what had happened this time. It was kind of sad. Gotham's children were so used to this, calm and collected in the face of chaos and danger. Some of the younger children were shielded by overprotective parents, and therefore didn't see the ugly and evil that lurked in Gotham's dark nights until they were older, but by high school, everyone knew.

It was protocol that after an emergency, all the students were to be sent home, so many of the older siblings would check in with teachers before going to find their youngers. Tim told Mrs. Alpert he was going to find his little brother, and she waved him off without looking up from her clipboard.

Tim made his way to the middle school classes, along with other high school students after younger brothers and sisters. The teen knew his brother was with Miss Hildebrandt, he'd been complaining about her for the past few weeks. Tim didn't understand why. She was new to Gotham Academy, so she'd never taught Tim, but she seemed nice. He finally found her and her class toward the end of the row, but he didn't see Damian. Tim guessed it was because the younger boy was too short to be seen over his classmates. He couldn't wait to tell Damian that.

"Hi… Miss Hildebrandt," Tim smiled as the teacher turned to him, "I'm Damian Wayne's brother, Tim. My teacher let me come over here, since we have to leave after the emergency is under control and I drive Damian home…" The woman's smile faltered when he mentioned Damian.

"Oh, well, you'd have to go to the office checkpoint for him." She replied, the saccharine smile plastered on her face screaming fake. Now Tim understood why Damian hated the woman; she was a patronizing Barbie at best. Tim threw her a smile he knew would look fake, he was passive aggressive that way, before heading to the office evacuation point.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Jordan," the vice principal turned to him before a smile, a real smile, not like Miss Hildebrandt's, lit up the woman's face.

"Timothy, I haven't seen you in a while, but I remember reading your report from last quarter. Very impressive!" Tim nodded in thanks. "Not that I don't enjoy the company, Timothy, but is there a reason you decided to come see me now, of all times?"

"Oh, right, sorry! I'm looking for my brother, Damian?"

"Have you checked with Miss Hildebrandt?"

"Miss Hildebrandt sent me to you." Tim couldn't hold back a sneer at the woman's name. Mrs. Jordan shook her head.

"Miss Hildebrandt has managed to earn the ire of another Wayne, I see." Tim gave her a look that said everything she needed to hear. Looks like she'll be speaking to some people about Miss Hildebrandt. "But about your brother, you're sure he wasn't with Miss Hildebrandt?" The teen shook his head. The vice principal had been a teacher at Gotham Academy when Dick Grayson had first come to the school, and had known every Wayne since then. She knew Tim, and Damian, well enough to know that the youngest Wayne wasn't with his class. Mrs. Jordan pulled a walkie talkie off her waistband.

"Has anyone seen Damian Wayne? He's a middle school student with black hair and blue eyes." A chorus of a dozen different versions of no rang through the walkie. "If anyone sees him, tell him to head over to the office checkpoint, then report it to me immediately."

"No one's gonna see him-"

Of course someone's going to see him, Timothy. I'm sure he's fine."

"No, Mrs. Jordan. You didn't let me finish. I know my brother. No one's going to see Damian because he's still in the building." Tim's face was painted with a look that Mrs. Jordan didn't quite recognize, but she knew didn't belong on someone so young. The vice principal watched the teen whip out his phone, dialing a number. Mrs. Jordan watched as Tim's breathing became more ragged by the second before, thankfully, whoever was on the other end of the line picked up.

Bruce had been in a meeting when his phone rang. The entire board had turned to him, and the man sighed, pulling out his phone to check the caller ID: Tim. Bruce smiled at the board before excusing himself and walking out of the room. Only once he was in his closed office down the hall did he answer. Big mistake. He could hear the beginnings of a panic attack through the phone. Whatever had caused this one, it was serious. Tim had been on a relatively normal sleep schedule for the past few weeks, a major accomplishment for him, and his panic attacks were usually a result of an inability to quiet his mind and get proper rest. One can survive on nothing but coffee for only so long, Tim! Bruce knew that Tim needed something to focus on. Without it, he'd focus on the building panic until it caused him to self-combust. Bruce started talking.

"Tim. Listen to me. It's Bruce. I need you to focus. Name 5 things you can see."

"Teachers,... brick, pavement,... trees,... cars." Okay, so he was outside of school. Strange. There were still 2 hours left of the day.

"Name 4 things you can hear."

"Talking, honking, your voice,... sirens." Bruce could hear them, now, through the phone. He wanted to ask what that was about, but he knew he needed to prioritize.

"3 things you can smell."

"Apple blossoms, gasoline, smoke." Not the most comforting images of the school his children attend.

"2 things you can touch."

"My phone, the ground."

"1 thing you can taste."

"Alfred's cookies from lunch last period… Thanks dad." While the use of the title concerned him, he couldn't help but smile. None of the boys called him dad unless they were drugged or scared, but Bruce wished they called him dad more than that. But he didn't want to pressure them so he kept his mouth shut.

"Wanna tell me what's up?"

"Yeah, sorry, I-"

"Don't be sorry, it was out of your control."

"Right. Ok." Tim took a breath, "There's been an explosion. We don't know the cause. It doesn't seem to be an attack, though. But, Damian's missing..." Bruce almost dropped the phone. He expected things to happen, how could he not? They were "the Bat-family," as Dick had named them. But this wasn't Robin, his partner, in danger from a supervillain that Batman could pummel and save him from. This was Damian, his son, in danger from nature and unlucky chance. He had to sit and wait, helpless.

"Tim, I'll be there in 5 minutes." Bruce said, as he picked up his coat and briefcase. He had no intentions of returning to the office that night, and it was Friday. He wasn't going to leave anything behind, because after today, he knew he'd want to keep his family close. He may be Batman, but he's still Bruce Wayne. Just like Batman is overprotective of his team, Bruce Wayne is overprotective of his family.

"But Bruce, the tower is at least 15 minutes away with traffic."

"Always logical, Tim," Bruce chuckled, "but humor me this once." Bruce sighed, writing a message on a notepad about the explosion before holding it up to his secretary. Her eyes went wide before she nodded and began typing furiously at her computer. As he left his office, he was bombarded by his board about why he was leaving.

"Leave Mr. Wayne be!" Lucy, his secretary, whisper-screeched. "There was an explosion at the school his sons attend! Have a little compassion. Imagine if that was your child!..." Her voice faded into the background as Bruce entered the elevator. Bruce wrote himself a mental note to never get on Lucy's bad side, and give her a raise.

"Tim, don't worry about calling your brothers. I'll handle it. But I need you to keep a level head and an eye on the situation." Bruce was not excited to talk to his other two sons, but he'd rather they heard from him than Tim as he worked himself into another panic because they never prepared for this.

"Ok, Bruce. I'll see what I can find out."

"There you go, Tim. Don't worry, everything will be fine. Gotta go. I'll see you soon." He hung up the phone and scrolled through his contacts, happy that Alfred's name was first. He clicked the contact and he slipped into the car and his phone wirelessly connected to the audio system. The phone rang twice before Alfred's calm voice filtered through the speakers.

"Master Bruce, I wasn't expecting you to call so early. What happened?" Anyone who said Alfred Pennyworth wasn't a member of the Bat-family was dead wrong. In fact, Alfred's probably more the patriarch than Bruce, and he's the Batman!

"An explosion at Gotham Academy. Damian…" the man had to pause, to collect himself as he told Alfred what was happening, "Damian's gone missing in the chaos." There was a hmn on the other end of the line, clearly Alfred thinking over what to say.

"The best thing you can do now is go to the school and tell your elder sons what's happening. Knowing you, you decided to start with me as a test run." Damn, Bat-family patriarch.

"Yeah, sorry Alfred." Bruce had a feeling Alfred knew he was rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, a tick most of his sons got from him, according to the butler.

"Don't think of it, sir. I'm honored to have that trust." Bruce could practically hear the smile in Alfred's voice, "I'll meet you at the academy." With that, the man hung up, leaving Bruce to collect his thoughts and choose which son to call first. He ended up choosing Dick, and by the time he finally called, he was halfway to the school.

Dick couldn't believe his luck! He and Jason hadn't hung out in a while, and he managed to run into him in that little sub shop they both like. Obviously, being the good big brother he is, he called out to Jason and sat down at his table, fully intent on taking advantage of the opportunity he'd been presented with. Jay didn't agree with his assessment of the situation.

"Ok, you little sh-"

"Ah, ah, ah." Dick warns happily, waving his pointer finger at his brother, "There are children present." Jason gave Dick his own finger wave.

"Fine, Goldie, we can keep it PG. I let you sit with me, I talked to you, I'm even letting you pay because you're a fu-" he stops dead in his tracks at the look on Dick's face. He may be the Red Hood, but he still wants to please his brother, something he doesn't want to begin to understand. "...flipping weirdo and want to pay for both of our lunches. Now, will you leave me alone?"

"Jaybird, come on!" The nickname earned him an almost Bat-level glare, the key word being almost. "We never hang ou-" Dick was cut off by the Barney the Dinosaur theme song, don't ask. Jason looked like he was trying not to make a face after biting into a sour lemon. Dick smirked as he picked up the phone without looking at the ID.

"Hey, Bruce!" The cheerful voice of Bruce's eldest son fills Bruce's car.

"Dick, I gotta tell you something, but I don't have a lot of time. I have to tell Jason, as well."

"Oh, great. Jason's actually here, with me. We were just catching up over lunch."

"More like he intruded upon my lunch."

"Jason!" Dick gasped dramatically, turning away from Jason and putting his hand to his chest, "And here I thought you enjoyed my company!"

"Boys!" Woah. Bruce is on a short fuse. Whatever this was, Dick knew it was serious. He shared a glance with his brother; they both knew.

"Bruce, take a breath, and explain." At times like this, Bruce's children knew they needed to keep their father figure as calm and rational as possible. However, it surprised Dick that Jason had taken the lead in this initiative. But he wasn't going to complain. They could hear Bruce suck in and release a gulp of air through the phone. You had to really know Bruce to hear it, but who would know the man better than his children? It sounded like he was drowning.

"It's Damian." Oh, God, what had his baby brother done, now? Damian is a wonderful kid. Really, he is. But he has an uncanny ability to be rude without realizing, and it often gets him into trouble. They'd been working on it; talked through every incident and discussed better ways to handle similar situations in the future. Dick saw Jason smile mischievously. He and Tim always found it strangely pleasing when Damian got into trouble. "There was an explosion at the academy and he's missing." The smile fell from Jason's face in an instant. Dick felt like he couldn't breathe. "Tim is fine, he's the one who called to tell me. I already called Alfred, so he knows and is meeting me at the school."

"We'll meet you both there." Dick barely registered his own response. He got up, thankfully remembering to place the check and tip on the table for the waitress, before he and Jason left the restaurant, more tense than they'd been in a while.

Dick got into the car, started the ignition and pulled into Gotham traffic. Jason sat in the passenger seat next to him, chin resting on his fist as he peered out the window, clearly lost in thought. After a few minutes, Jason jerked and punched the window in anger, and Dick was silently grateful that he let Tim install those reinforced windows in his car. Dick noticed his knuckles were white as they gripped the steering wheel. He took a deep breath and prayed that Damian was ok.

Tim had been standing there watching when someone started screaming for help. Out of instinct, he ran toward the sound, the school staff taking a moment to react before running after the teen. When he reached the people yelling, Tim was at the northern side of the school. A teacher was walking away from the northern doors with a boy pulled off to the side, crying, and a limping girl, both covered in smoke. He knew the boy wasn’t Damian even before he looked at him. The teen jogged over to the teacher and helped get the girl away from the building.

"Are you hurt?" Tim asked once they'd set the child down in the grass. The kid tried to respond but couldn't get her breathing under control. "Look, I can't help if I don't know what's wrong. You gotta tell me if you're hurt."

"Leave her alone!" The teacher that Tim had helped to carry the girl pulled him away by the shoulder. "She just came out of a burning building. That had to have been terrifying. You're not even a teacher! Who do you think you are?" Tim turned to face the teacher fully; Miss Hildebrandt. Tim schooled his features, not letting a single emotion shine through.

"I have first response and first aid training, something I doubt you have." At the woman's incredulous look, Tim continued, gaining some feeling,"I am a Wayne, and I’m a son of Gotham. We take every precaution for the safety of ourselves and those around us. So, let me help this kid as much as I can, while you think about who's getting blamed for my brother still being inside when your classroom is on the south side of the school." Tim turned away from her, looking back to the girl, who had regained some composure. "Ok, kid. Let's try this again." Tim took a deep breath, gesturing for the girl to do the same, "What's your name?"

"Christina." Tim smiled, hoping to reassure her.

"Ok, Christina. I'm Timothy, but you can call me Tim." Christina smiled a little, and Tim counted that as a win. Tim held up 4 fingers. "You know the drill. How many?" Tim changed the number about 3 times, and the child responded with the correct answer each time. Tim took herer pulse, "Does the light or noise bother you at all?" Christina shook her head. Ok, good, Tim thought, concussion not likely. He moved on. "Does anything hurt?" The girl seemed to think about her answer before shaking her head again. "Are you sure?" Christina bashfully pointed to her ankle, embarrassed Tim had read right through herer. In Christina's defence, the older teen had plenty of experience. Tim sighed. He knew that the kid's lungs had to be bothering herer, due to smoke inhalation, but he couldn’t do anything about that. But, he could do something for her ankle; it, but he couldn't worry about that right now. He turned his attention to her ankle, it had already started swelling. He gently placed his fingertips against the sides of the joint, the light touches enough to tell him that it wasn't dislocated or broken, only sprained. "We're gonna put some ice on your ankle and elevate it. Ok, Christina?" The girl nodded and Tim turned to Mrs. Jordan who had sent a fuming Miss Hildebrandt off to get what he had suggested. "I'm pretty sure it's only sprained, but you're gonna want to wait for the EMT's and doctor's opinions to be sure. Otherwise, she's sure to have lingering effects of smoke inhalation, so there's no way she isn't taking a trip to the ER. I doubt she'll be admitted though.” Mrs. Jordan nodded her head in understanding.

“The other child is only shaken, thankfully. So, that’s good ne-”

“Here comes another!” Two teachers were running forward now to catch someone stumbling from the fire. By the looks of it, it was Mr. Daridge.

“Bring him over here!” the vice principal yelled, waving her hand to the ones who’d rushed forward to catch the man. Mrs. Jordan turned to Tim, “I hate to ask this of you, but do you think you can stay here and help?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Tim replied, “not until we find my brother,” Mrs. Jordan got a sympathetic look on her face. She placed her hand on the teen’s shoulder, hoping to give him strength. The teachers lowered Mr. Daridge to the ground before walking off to regain control of their classes. Tim could tell just by looking at him that he had a concussion. His eyes were squinted and he was trying to raise his hand to block out the light. The other arm was wrapped around his upper torso; likely rib damage. Tim hoped nothing was broken. The teen got down close to the teacher's ear, speaking as softly as possible without being drowned out by the alarms. “Mr. Daridge, I know it’s going to be uncomfortable, but I have to check for injuries. Is there anywhere specific that is giving you pain?”

“My head… and my chest,” the teacher wheezed. Tim lightly grazed his hands over the teacher’s ribcage, trying to ignore the flinches and winces. Damn, broken.

“Mr. Daridge, I need you to lay as still as possible. If your ribs are broken, we don’t want to jostle them.” Mr. Daridge slowly nodded as the sound of sirens came into range. As a team of paramedics ran over, and Tim began to step back, the man grabbed his hand.

“Thank you…” he whispered. Tim smiled and nodded, and the teacher smiled back.

“What can you tell us, kid?” the EMT’s in Gotham didn’t let age fool them"

"Alright," Mrs. Jordan sighed, nodding her head, "the other child is okay, just shaken. So, I guess that's good ne-"

"Here comes another one!" Two teachers rushed forward to catch a man as he stumbled from the building. It looked like Mr. Daridge. Mrs. Jordan looked to Tim, not sure how to ask.

"Don't worry. I'm not going anywhere," the teacher nodded, waving to the teachers to bring the next victim to Tim. The teen could faintly hear the incoming sirens as the teacher was set down on the grass in front of him.

Bruce pulled into the parking lot just behind one of the ambulances. He saw his two elder sons parked in the corner with Alfred in the spot next to them. Alfred stood in front of his car's back bumper, clearly recognizing Bruce's car and alerting the younger men. Jason was leaning against the side of Dick's car, appearing unconcerned. But Jason was Bruce's son, and he noticed the way Jason was shaking his cigarette, trying to calm his nerves. Dick, by contrast, wasn't even trying to hide his worry. His arms were crossed in front of him, one lifted up as he drummed his fingers against his chin, while he paced in front of his car. Bruce parked in the spot next to Alfred, and took a breath before opening the door. He went to Alfred first.

"What's going on?"

"I'm not quite sure, sir. They won't allow any of the parents to retrieve their children. We're not even allowed to leave the parking lot." The butler replied, voice slightly tense. Bruce nodded before moving on to Dick.

"Hey, Dick, breathe." Bruce placed his hands on his son's shoulders, stopping his pacing. Dick's shoulders and chest rose as he sucked in a gulp of air, letting it out gently. "He's going to be fine. I'm sure he's just in the wrong place."

"Knowing him, probably on purpose." Bruce turned and gave Jason a look. The younger male held his hands up, but said nothing. Dick nodded his head.

"Yeah, you're right. He's probably fine." Bruce gave his son a sympathetic smile before heading over to Jason.

"You good?" Bruce eyed him. He couldn't say it outright, not with all these people around. But Jason knew he was asking about his emotions in relation to the Pit.

"I'm okay, for now." Bruce sighed in relief, patting his son on the back.

"Alright, I'm going to go find out what's going on, see if I can get through to Jim." Everyone nodded, letting him know they understood before he made his way toward the pop up command station near the middle school beside the parking lot.

"Sir, you can't be back here." An officer put their hand up in front of his chest to stop him. He looked down at the hand in front of him before returning his gaze to the officer's face, making sure to catch a glance at his ID.

"Officer Prescott," the cop seemed surprised that Bruce knew his name, "I assume Commissioner Gordon is here. Would you mind getting him for me? Tell him Bruce Wayne is here." He'd called Jim after he'd hung up with the boys, and the commissioner had promised to let him through when he arrived. Prescott gave him a suspicious once-over before turning off to find the commissioner. He returned less than three minutes later with Jim in tow.

"Bruce, come on in." Jim shook his hand before turning back toward command. "Tim's helping out the EMT's; I think a girl sprained her ankle but the paramedics were focused on a teacher with broken ribs. I need an ambassador between the first responders and the parents and loved ones. Do you mind?" He leaned forward and whispered, "There's no other way I can get them to let you back here."

"That's fine, Jim. What've we got, so far?"

"Everyone's been accounted for except for three students, including your son. Three people have come out of the building with injuries. All of them have smoke inhalation. One girl has an injured ankle, and a teacher has broken ribs and a concussion. It seems the teacher and three students were performing a make-up lab during a lunch period, and something went wrong, causing an explosion. Fire chief is telling me to get rid of anyone who doesn't need to be here, so I gotta start dismissing the kids.

"Have you gathered the victim's parents? You should probably pull them aside before you start releasing the other kids to their families."

"Yeah, the Dunbars, the Mackleroys, the DiMarcos, and the Pierces. I'm gonna send officers to explain what's gonna happen to the teachers, so they can explain to their students. We're gonna dismiss them from youngest to oldest." Bruce nodded to the commissioner as the man started yelling for the deputies. Bruce was approached by the sergeant, who gave him the rundown of what he would have to say.

"Do you mind if my sons and my friend come back here? My son is one of the students still missing, and by the looks of things, this could take a while." The sergeant registered what he said and immediately nodded. Bruce smiled, "Thanks." He quickly texted Alfred to bring the boys. Knowing they wouldn't be let through without an escort, he looked around. "Prescott!" The officer in question turned toward him, "They're letting my family through the barrier. Can you let them in?" The officer looked to the sergeant, who nodded, before running off to the parking lot.

"You called Jim, didn't you?" It wasn't really a question.

"Dick, the old man has allies, he might as well use 'em."

"Boys…" Bruce sighed. They all turned their gazes to the building.

"I see Tim!"

"Dick, wait up!"

"Boys!"

Alfred watched as his charges, his family, ran off after each. He sighed as Jim came up next to him.

"You'd better go." Gordon smiled, "Someone has to keep them out of trouble."

"Indeed, sir." The butler replied, walking toward the others, but not before the commissioner caught sight of a slight tug at the corners of his lips.

"There you go, Christina. All wrapped up." Tim smiled at the girl and she smiled back. He was about to turn around when someone tackled him down into the grass. "What the-"

"Language, young ears!" He knew that voice.

"Dick!" He twisted around and wrapped his arms around his brother. The eldest son chuckled a bit

"Thank God, you're okay."

"We already knew that Dickiebird." Jason cut in as Dick released Tim. Dick shook his head, and Tim rolled his eyes before sobering.

"They still haven't found him."

"They will." Bruce said, joining the conversation, "And when they do, he is going to be fine." They all nodded to their father, hoping that he was right. A commotion near the doors to the school caught their attention. They all stood up, spreading out a bit to get a view of the situation.

A child lay on the ground by the door, first responders rushing forward to carry him away from the building. A police officer rushed to yank the door open, holding it for two other students, once seemingly being held up by the other.

"Damian?" Tim whispered, almost unsure if what he saw was real.

"Dami!" Dick and Jason both bolted, with Tim not far behind. Bruce was frozen in place for a second, too relieved to move, before sprinting toward his youngest son as well.

"Excuse me," Alfred stepped up to an EMT, "you may wish to inform your partner that you are going to be dealing with the overprotective family of one of the boys that just came from the building." The woman smiled, nodding, before rushing back toward her colleague. She whispered something in his ear, and he gave her a look that said I know. Alfred chuckled and sighed, tipping his head back, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Dami!"

"Damian!"

"Son!"

The other boy had been lifted away, and the paramedics seemed to want to whisk him off as well. But he fought them, albeit weakly. Bruce knew he was going to keel over any second. His sons were held back by officers, two on each screaming boy, and the officer's were struggling to contain them. The paramedic stepped back from Damian, thinking he just needed a minute. Bruce slipped past the officers that came for him, and kneeled at Damian's side just in time for his son to collapse into his arms.

"Sir-"

"Please, tell the officer's to let his brothers through." The man got a look of recognition in his eyes before calling out to the cops.

"Hey! They're family. Let them through!" The officers released the boys and they rushed to their father, sitting on the ground next to him as he cradled their baby brother.

"Mr. Wayne, we need to check your son. He could be hurt." A woman had arrived, and seemed hesitant to speak. Bruce nodded, stood up, and carried Damian to a gurney. He positioned himself behind Damian's head, giving the medics space to work. His sons had taken places around the gurney, too. Dick was beside Bruce, running his fingers through Damian's hair, while Tim and Jason were closer to his knees, each brother holding one of his hands.

"-wanna go home." Damian whined, shifting on the gurney.

"Don't worry, baby-bat. I know you wanna go home. I promise we will, as soon as the doctors say it's okay." Dick promised, laying a kiss on Damian's hairline. The boy settled after that as the EMT's finished up, telling them they had to load him up and get him to Gotham General. They all looked at each other before their gazes shifted to Bruce.

"Dick, you go. You always seem to calm him. Tim, Jason, go get Alfred, drive home, then come to the hospital together in one car. I'll take my car straight there. We'll all meet at the ER entrance, alright?" The boys each nodded before moving to do as their father said.

"Mr. Wayne!" The middle school's vice principal came running from what looked like a triage area, "Commissioner Gordon is looking for you, something about a parent ambassador…"

"Tell him he's gonna have to find someone else. Tell him they found my son!"
It wasn't a long drive to Gotham General hospital, maybe 10 minutes, but it felt like an eternity to Bruce. He pulled into a parking spot not far from the ER entrance. He jumped out of the car, rushing to the entrance, but skidded to a stop in front of the doors. He took a minute to gain his composure. He could do this. Damian would be fine. It wouldn't be like the last time… it wouldn't be like Jason. He ran inside.

Chapter Text

It wasn't a long drive to Gotham General hospital, maybe 10 minutes, but it felt like an eternity to Bruce. He pulled into a parking spot not far from the ER entrance. He jumped out of the car, rushing to the entrance, but skidded to a stop in front of the doors. He took a minute to gain his composure. He could do this. Damian would be fine. It wouldn't be like the last time… it wouldn't be like Jason. He ran inside.

"Bruce!" Dick practically crashed into him, "They wouldn't let me go with him! They said I couldn't go with him!" The younger man gripped the elder's arms in a vice-like grip. "They said only family could go with him! They said I wasn't fa-" Dick's voice broke, followed quickly by his already cracked resolve… and Bruce's heart. His son buried his head on his shoulder, and Bruce combed his fingers through Dick's hair, shushing him as he cried. "They said I wasn't family," Dick whispered. Why did they do that? Dick was Damian's family just as much as Bruce was. Just because they didn't share DNA? That is not what made a family. Once the younger male had calmed down, Bruce guided him over to the reception desk.

"Sir," the nurse sighed, exasperated upon seeing Dick again, "I've already told you. Only family can go back right now…" the man swiveled around in his chair, filing something away in one of the cabinets behind the desk.

"Excuse me," Bruce wanted to yell, scream at this man for disrespecting his son, but he knew that would get him nowhere, so he held his tongue. "We are the family of Damian Wayne. He's about twelve. He's one of the victims brought in from the Gotham Academy explosion." The nurse turned back around, an expression of horror blooming on his face upon realizing who he was speaking to. Bruce may or may not be a major donor for the hospital (and the reason that man received a paycheck).

"Mr. Wayne," the man stuttered, "I am so, so sorry. I thought you were…" his gaze shifted to Dick, "...someone else." Bruce raised an eyebrow and pointed to Dick. The nurse cringed before nodding his head.

"You didn’t ask if and how my sons are related?” The man seemed to freeze, realizing his mistake. Bruce sighed in frustration before moving on. “Where’s Damian?" The nurse shook himself before furiously typing at his computer.

"26A. Malika," the man waved to a woman in her mid-thirties walking past. "Could you bring the Wayne family to room 26A?" The woman did a double take as she looked over the two men in front of the desk.

"I'm Dr. Robinson, but you can call me Malika. Follow me." The doctor walked quickly down the hallway, running Bruce and Dick through what was happening. "I'm the head for Damian's team here in the ER. As far as we can tell, he has some pretty bad smoke inhalation and a nasty concussion. Though, we can't be sure as he refused to allow us to treat him after he woke up during the initial exam. There is, however, a concerning amount of scars covering his body, of varying severity…"

"His mother had him for the first ten years of his life," Dick couldn't spit the words out fast enough, cutting off any attempts Bruce had planned to stop Dick's rant against Talia. That man had a hatred for her that was not to be challenged. When it came to protecting his brothers, but especially his baby brother, nothing could stop him. "As you can imagine, she wasn't a model parent. She never intended to tell Bruce he existed, but eventually she had to, and we've done everything in our power to keep him safe from her since. And if you have any further questions, you can take it up with social services and our attorneys." The younger male glared at the doctor, though she nodded in understanding.

"I'm sorry to have offended you Mr. Grayson, Mr. Wayne. We didn't have all the information, we were going off of what we were given." Malika grimaced. She'd seen abused children. She was a doctor in Gotham, she'd seen everything! But that pain, the pain of knowing your child was hurt and there was nothing you could do about it, she knew first hand. She and her husband had adopted their son two years prior, and the poor kid had borne the brunt of his drunkard father's rage for six years. Now, at thirteen, he was learning how to live with that pain, but it was a struggle. The pain the Wayne family held was a pain she could sympathize with. She would do everything she could to help, not because this was the Waynes, but because this was personal. "Damian, though clearly nauseous and in pain, has refused to cooperate without his family present, but remained calm. When we asked him about the scars, he was extremely agitated and offended by the implication that it was the fault of a member of his family. Given that his mother was the guilty party, that now makes sense; he couldn't stand the idea that we believed the people who were protecting and loving him, the first people to do so, were actually the ones hurting him. Well, now that that's been sorted out, why don't I take you to Damian?"

The doctor led them down a few more turns, then gestured to a door on the right side of the hall before opening the door.

"Dr. Robinson, if you are here to convince me to accept medical treatment, I will tell you again, I won't allow you to do anything without a member of my family present. Where is Grayson? Father? Todd? Pennyworth? I'll even take Drake at this point!" The two men shook their heads, smiling fondly.

"I know Damian. I'm not here to try to make you take treatment without your family here. I'm here because you have some visitors." The doctor stepped aside to allow the two men to enter the doorway. Upon seeing Damian, Dick rushed inside. The boy was propped up in the bed, a bandage on the left side of his forehead, and a nasal cannula resting gently against his face. Damian shuffled amongst the stiff, white sheets, sitting up further in the bed before being pulled into the arms of his older brother.

"I'll give you some time alone. I'll be back within the hour. If you have any questions or need anything at all, just ask one of the nurses at the desk, they'd be happy to help. " Malika nodded to the father before turning back down the hall.

Bruce returned his gaze to his sons. Dick had shifted so that he was sitting against the bed, Damian leaned against his chest, an arm wrapped around the boy with a hand running through his hair. Damian was smiling softly, enjoying the treatment, calmed by his brother's presence. Bruce decided it was time to stop being a creeper just observing from the doorway, and moved into the room. Damian's eyes found his and, to the man's surprise, the boy reached out to him. He barely held himself back from running to his side, briskly coming to the side Dick wasn't occupying. He pulled up a chair, sitting down and taking the hand of the boy who suddenly looked so small. That had been happening a lot lately. Just last week, they'd come home late from patrol. They'd changed and showered, and written up their report. Bruce had turned around to ask Damian if he felt there was something to add, only to find him slumped over at the desk behind him. Unable to wake him, Bruce had simply walked over, and cradled him as he carried the boy to bed, a fond smile gracing his face. It was the first time that Bruce had carried Damian to bed, and Bruce secretly hoped it wouldn't be the last.

Bruce watched his son now as he gave a pained smile, clearly trying to mask his pain. It was strange to think that, a year ago, that same face would have fooled him. But now, Bruce only wished he hadn't bothered trying to hide it. He brought a hand to his son's face, running his thumb along the cheekbone beneath it.

"You were refusing treatment without one of us here." There was no question or judgement. He'd grown into being Damian's father, he knew the importance of his word choices now.

"How can I trust their intentions? I do not know them, and therefore, I do not trust them. Besides, I don't need it." It was short and to the point, though Damian spoke slowly, making an effort not to let his accent slip. It told both Bruce and Dick all they needed to know.

"Just because you don't need it, Dami, doesn't mean we don't want you to have it." It had been Dick to teach Bruce about Damian's strange obsession with diction, and he was using those teachings now. He didn't mention the fact that Damian had implied that he trusted them, no matter how much he wanted to shout it from the top of Wayne Enterprises with joy. He stuck to the treatment angle. By making it seem as though treatment was being accepted to appease them, rather than lessen Damian's pain, it wouldn't be seen as a weakness. Damian nodded, and the older two mentally sighed in relief. Not only had he accepted the treatment, he hadn't fought them on it. It was a big step for Damian, but it was a step that needed to be taken. And both were happy that he finally trusted them with his weakness, even if Damian didn't realize that was what he was doing. Bruce brought his younger son's hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss against it. One of the things they realized was that Damian seemed to have an easier time accepting physical affection than verbal, so they put as much love as they could into their actions. But they both knew that actions wouldn't be enough today.

"Hello, gentleman." Malika was standing in the doorway. To start off, there are three men out in the waiting room who are not so gently demanding to see you young man," she directed that comment to Damian before shifting her attention up to Bruce, who had stood up from his seat. "We can begin talking about Damian's condition and treatment now, but if you'd like…" the doctor took a quick look down at her phone, "Alfred Pennyworth, Timothy Drake, and Jason Todd present, I can have a nurse bring them back."

"Please, let them in." Bruce replied.

"Before the boys lose their patience and break in." Dick says with a grin, and Damian gives a little huff of laughter at that. The doctor nodded and sent a quick text. A few minutes later, the voices of the other two Wayne boys filtered down the hall. Damian perked up at the sound, and everyone chuckled as they heard Alfred chastise them for speaking so loudly in a hospital before they reached the door in silence.

"Hey, kid. How you fee-" Jason hadn't even finished his statement before Tim had pushed past him and pulled Damian into a tight hug, careful not to jostle him too much.

"Please, don't do that again…" Tim's voice was barely a whisper. Dick reached out a hand to rub his back for a minute before Tim moved to stand again. Damian's head was cocked slightly.

"Do what?"

"Scare me."

"What do you mean scare you?" They would need to continue that conversation later, but everyone was reminded of the other presence in the room as the doctor cleared her throat.

"While I think you need some time with each other, we need to discuss the plan we have for Damian. However, since he refused treatment without you present, we didn't give him much more than an initial exam. So, if you give your permission now…" Malika let the sentence trail off as she stepped toward Damian. She thought he'd shift away from her with a new excuse to avoid an exam, but he just nodded as the family, bar Mr. Grayson, moved out of her way. She was about to ask the man to step away from the bed, when Damian snuggled slightly into his chest. She knew, then and there, if she asked him to leave, it would result in an uncooperative patient, and she had dealt with that long enough.

The exams and tests had given the results they expected; smoke inhalation and a concussion, though not as bad as expected. Damian had been admitted to the pediatric floor for the night, just for observation and to get some oxygen into him. Much to the chagrin of the hospital staff, they refused to leave him for the night, all but demanding they stay with him, even if he was asleep.

They all left the next morning, just before lunch, leaving behind amused smiles and cheerful waves, and a reminder from Dr. Robinson to come back if he was still feeling off two weeks later. While Damian insisted he could walk on his own, Bruce had lifted the boy up on his hip, one hand under his legs and the other on his back. While he protested the "childish" act, he wrapped his arms around his father's neck and laid his head against his shoulder. He was asleep before they reached the car.

Bruce gently passed the boy to Dick before climbing into the front passenger seat next to Alfred, who was driving. Tim sat in the middle while Jason sat on the other side of the car, with Damian spread out across them, still asleep. They took the drive slowly, taking in the city they'd dedicated their lives to. It looked so much better in the rare sun that had peaked out that afternoon.

As they pulled into the driveway of the manor, Damian stirred and woke up. He tried to get up and out of the car by himself, but stumbled against the door and was scooped up by Jason, who carried him inside to the living room. The rest of the family followed, except Alfred who parked the car.

"Why are we here? I have to write my report and enter it into the database. We've already wasted time with Gotham General!" Damian was clearly irritated and the others were clearly confused.

"Dami, what are you talking about?" Dick stepped up to the front, running his fingers through Damian's short hair. Damian pulled his head away, frustrated with his family's behavior, they were all around him. Jason was in one of the armchairs, his back had been leaned against one arm and a leg thrown over the other, his own arm and other leg supporting the imbalance in his own weight distribution. He had now leaned forward, both feet on the ground, his elbows resting against his knees, his hands clasped. Tim was on the couch across from him. He had been relaxed against the back with his hands behind his head and his legs crossed, but now his posture had adjusted. He sat up with a straight back, his ankles now crossed and his hands pressing into the couch. Bruce was in the other armchair, his position, slightly leaned back with his legs crossed and his arms resting against their matches on the chair, remained unchanged, but his face took on a concerned look.

"The fire? The thing that got us into this mess in the first place? I have to write my report." The boy was well and truly annoyed now. While unexpected, the fire was like any other mission, and should be treated as such. He had to write his report. At least, that's how he saw it. Tim seemed to figure this out first, and quickly thought of a logical reason to explain why a report was, in this case, unnecessary.

"We can't write reports about the accident at the school because it was an accident that didn't relate to or endanger our identities." Short, to the point, and logical. One of the rare things the two younger brothers could agree on. And the explanation seemed to work. Not only did Damian back down, it clued the rest of the family into what he was talking about.

"Besides, you got hurt. Smoke inhalation and concussion. You can't look at screens for a while, and writing is a no go. Not only does it leave a paper trail, it requires too much focus and hand-eye coordination." Jason smirked at Damian, who was visibly peeved that Jason had pointed out his weakness.

"Master Bruce," Alfred called gently from the doorway, "it's Gotham Academy…" The grandfather of the house gave Bruce a look that it seemed only he could read. Bruce's eyebrows rose before he stood from his chair and left the room, walking into the kitchen. While he would have prefered to answer the phone where he could keep an eye on his children, he had a feeling that whatever this conversation was going to turn into, it was not to happen in front of his sons, but especially not Damian.

"Bruce Wayne…" he monotoned, knowing the words were enough to signal the beginning of the conversation.

"Mr. Wayne, hi, this is Kathy Tellerson. I'm with the office here at Gotham Academy Elementary, Middle and High School. I'm calling to inform you that, due to the damages sustained during the explosion, which was completely accidental, by the way— we’ve had a lot of parents asking about that—all of the classes held in rooms that sustained damage will be moved to the elementary and high schools. We still have school this week, and will continue to have school throughout the reconstruction process, unless we are told there is a safety concern. I’m assuming the absences of your sons, Damian Wayne and Timothy Drake-Wayne, are simply because you were unaware that they had school today, because of yesterday’s events. That is perfectly fine. Just be aware that they will have to make up for any missed work. Now, that being said, the damages were severe, and reconstruction will be quite expensive. Is there any way that you think Wayne Enterprises might be able to contribute something to the reconstruction funds?...” Bruce couldn’t speak, he was so furious. How dare she ask that after an introduction like that. Bruce knew that it was irrational, but he couldn’t fight the rage that built up inside him. Well, he could’ve, but he didn’t want to.

“First of all, as a parent myself, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask if the school is safe, given the fact that bomb threats have been made, and carried out, before. And, what do you mean, unless you are told there is a safety concern? Not only was half the middle school destroyed, injuring six people, five of them students, you brought everyone back into the building without knowing if the structural integrity was compromised. I don’t care what the reconstruction team has to say, I already have safety concerns. Not to mention, among those injured students was my son, Damian, who was absent due to a concussion and smoke inhalation. He had been admitted to the hospital last night, and only just got released this afternoon, got home just before you called, in fact. And my other son, Tim, like the rest of the family, was concerned with his brother’s condition for the majority of the last 24 hours. No one knew, or cared, if there was school today, we had other things to worry about. And then, you have the audacity to ask me to donate to the reconstruction fund. Right now, I have half a mind to pull both boys out of the Academy!” His rant had drawn the attention of his family, except for Dick and Damian, who had migrated from the living room to see what had made the man so angry. Their faces each held a different emotion; shock (Tim), amusement (Jason), and disappointment (Alfred), but Bruce was focusing on the spluttering woman on the other end of the phone.

“Oh, Mr. Wayne, I’m so sorry. Please, I didn’t mean to imply that we weren’t concerned with the safety of your children. I assure you, they are Gotham Academy’s top priority-”

“I don’t care. I’m going to spend some much needed time with my family, and think about whether or not I really want them attending this school.” And with that, the father hung up the phone, turning to his family.

"Where's Dick and Damian?"

"Baby Bat fell asleep again, and we didn't want him to wake up alone, especially not with you yelling in the other room. Golden Boy took him up to his room." Jason explained.

"Baby Bat?" Bruce couldn't hold back the amusement in his voice. He couldn't help laughing as not only did Jason go red, but Tim as well. "Come on," Bruce sighed, nudging his boys out the kitchen door, "let's go make sure Dick isn't smothering him." Jason hummed in agreement before making his way to the stairs, pausing to snatch a book from the coffee table in the living room. Tim, however, hesitated.

"Are you really going to pull us from the Academy?" He didn't sound nervous, just curious, possibly even a little hopeful. Bruce would look into that later.

"I honestly don't know. I have to really think about whether or not I can trust them to keep you and Damian safe." Tim nodded in understanding. They'd just stood there in the kitchen for a moment before Tim threw his arms around Bruce, too fast and unexpected for the man to prepare himself, and he fell slightly into the kitchen counter.

"Thanks for bothering to think about it." Bruce wrapped his arms around the teen, squeezing for a second before letting him go as the boy shifted out of his reach. Tim sighed and smiled tiredly before following Jason out of the kitchen and up to Damian's room. Bruce watched his son go from the doorway.

"Something is troubling you, Master Bruce." It wasn't a question. Alfred wasn't going to pry, he didn't have to.

"He shouldn't thank me for caring."

"Even after all these years, Master Bruce, he remembers what Mr. And Mrs. Drake were like. And he knows that you have been better than they ever were." Bruce turned to look at Alfred, a disbelieving look in his eyes. The old butler sighed. "They may be his father and mother, having brought him into this world. But you raised him, protected him, loved him. You are his dad. And you are a damn good one, too." With that, the butler turned back to the stove. Bruce hadn't noticed the beginnings of dinner until just now, but he smirked upon realizing it to be Damian's favorite.

"I learned from the best." Bruce said, before walking out of the kitchen. He didn't see Alfred freeze while cutting the broccoli. He didn't see him grin. He didn't hear the quiet, huffed laugh. And he didn't see the fond shake of the head before Alfred returned to his work.

Bruce had decided they all would skip patrol that night, shocking the rest of the family. Alfred asked if he wasn’t feeling well. Jason had asked if he hit his head, too. He responded that he was fine. The family had, in the end, chosen to get some much needed rest, a thing that rarely happened due to their nightly activities. It was just past midnight when Bruce woke up, feeling another presence in his room. He rolled over to see Damian standing in the doorway, a blanket wrapped tightly around him. Damian, noticing Bruce awake, turned to leave.

"Damian," the son turned to his father again, "come here." The child shuffled across the hardwood, a bit wobbly, to the king-size bed, stopping just before the edge of the right side. "What's wrong?" For a moment, Bruce thought Damian wouldn't answer, but after a second's hesitation, he spoke.

"The concussion is making me slightly dizzy." Bruce hummed in understanding before reaching out and gently lifting Damian up and lowering him down on the bed. The child sat there, seemingly unsure of what to do with himself before Bruce gently pulled him down, wrapping his arm around his youngest as the child’s head lay against his shoulder. Damian hesitated for a minute, but eventually wrapped his own arm around his father, burrowing slightly into his chest.

“Do you want something for the dizziness? I can run down to the cave for some…” Bruce let his sentence drift off, much like the son curled into his side. Bruce found it felt similar to cradling an infant, but it was not a feeling he minded. There were times he wished that he’d had Damian, had all of his boys from the beginning, if only to give them better lives than the ones fate had provided, but then he wouldn’t have the truly wonderful boys he has now. There would be little things that rocked his whole world off kilter for the best reasons that probably wouldn’t have even phased him had the boys grown up in the manor. But he could dream, every now and then, that Dick never saw his parents fall, that Jason never had to steal on the streets of Gotham, that Tim had never had to live alone, that Damian had known love before he was ten years old. He relaxed back against the pillows, sighing in contentment, knowing that even if he couldn’t fix the things of the past, he could at least influence the future to make it better. It was a thought he held close, both as Bruce Wayne and as Batman. He sighed in contentment, relaxing against the pillows, as the warm presence of his son at his side allowed him to slip into the land of dreams.

The next week, Damian was looking for his spare uniform. The gym teacher had them play football outside two days prior, you know how that goes. And the art teacher had decided to be fun the day before, resulting in the majority of the class being covered in paint splatter. Now, Damian needed his spare while he waited for Alfred to clean up his usuals. But it wasn’t in his closet. Eventually, he realized it was probably in the cave. They had a machine down there specifically to clean up the mess that came with crime fighting and being heroes. Alfred probably didn’t want to get smoke in the one upstairs, so he put it in the one in the cave, and just forgot to bring it back up. He descended the stairs and walked toward the corner where they washed their uniforms, digging around only to find that his uniform wasn’t there. He turned around to go back upstairs, but a new display case caught his eye. Damian walked up to the line of glass boxes, and there it was, in the new display case. His school uniform, wrinkled, dusted with smoke and debris, and with a few small rips, stood proud on the mannequin behind a plaque.
Heroes don’t always wear masks.