Work Text:
Bruce pretended like he was doing work, case files open on the Batcomputer even though all his attention was fixed on the zeta. Alfred, who would’ve normally made a pointed comment or two, was dusting a surface that was already clean, and thus had no room to talk.
The zeta chimed. The knots in Bruce’s stomach twisted tighter.
“Location: Titans Tower. Designation: Nightwing, B-01; Robin, B-02.”
The second it took for the zeta door to open felt like an eternity.
Bright laughter filtered through the moment the tube opened, and something in Bruce relaxed. “—just showing off for Kori,” Jason grinned, dressed in workout wear and a domino instead of his Robin suit. Dick followed him out, looking exasperated, no domino and hair damp.
“A decon shower is standard procedure after a mission in space—”
“Is it standard procedure to share the same shower—”
“Oh, do you think I didn’t catch the eyes you were making at Roy, Little Wing—”
“Dick,” Bruce cut off his eldest before Jason could fully turn into a tomato, and also made a note to update his files on Speedy. “Jason.” His children turned towards him with easy grins. “Welcome home.”
Something inside him clicked into place, relief suffusing throughout him at the sight of them, all under one roof. Jason bounded forward and Bruce wrapped him in a tight hug before extending a hand to beckon forward a more reluctant Dick.
“Brought him home safe and sound,” Dick pointed out, a hesitancy in his eyes, “Just like I promised.”
“Thank you, chum,” Bruce smiled, “I never doubted you.”
Dick brightened at that, and Bruce had both his children in his arms, and it didn’t even matter that they’d decided to play at being monkeys. He could carry them up the stairs and into the Manor where Alfred had dinner waiting for them.
“So, how was space?”
Jason immediately started, his grin mischievous, “Dick almost got married to this random alien prince—”
“I did not—”
“Only because Kori went all scary Starfire on him—”
“I can’t believe I haven’t strangled you, you little—”
“Language, Master Dick—”
Bruce woke up still laughing, helpless chuckles as he buried his face into his pillow. He should check their filed report to double check that the Titans had run into no problems on their trip, and maybe hack into Oliver’s servers to keep tabs on Roy Harper. With Dick, it had been overprotectiveness, Dick loved easily and absolutely, but Jason was a romantic, so better to keep tabs now, before—before he—
Bruce remembered.
Everything went cold.
For an instant, the world shuddered, two contradictory emotions splitting it into different directions. Then reality reasserted itself, and Bruce was left in his empty bedroom with a sinking feeling in his stomach. He got up and walked out into the achingly quiet hallway.
Dick’s room was deserted. Jason’s room was—was—Bruce didn’t dare open the door. He merely curled up in the hallway and rested his head against it.
That was where Alfred found him in the morning, quiet and pale, with itchy, dried tear tracks on his cheeks.
It was a long walk up from the Cave to the Manor above, the halls shadowed and silent. Bruce could feel the weight of grief on his shoulders, strengthening with every step up the stairs. He paused at the first door from the staircase before continuing on to the third and opening the door to Jason’s room.
Blue eyes peered at him in the darkness. Bruce waited a second for his eyes to adjust to the moonlight filtering through the curtains and registered the outline of a weirdly shaped lump on the bed. After a few more seconds it resolved itself from a tangle of dark-haired heads and askew limbs into two children, one curled up on top of the other.
“How is he?” Bruce asked softly. The aching loss was a tangible thing he’d felt too many times already.
“Cried himself to sleep,” Jason said softly. He was stroking a hand through his brother’s hair, expression wan. “Any update?”
“No,” Bruce said, crossing the room to sit on the side of the bed. Jack Drake was still barely clinging to life in the hospital he’d been airlifted to. Janet Drake was dead. All of Batman’s resources, all of Bruce’s resources, and he was helpless to stop another child from becoming an orphan.
“This sucks,” Jason muttered, voice bitter as he rested his cheek against Tim’s head, and Bruce leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead.
“I know, Jay-lad,” Bruce said softly, sweeping a lock of hair out of Tim’s face. The kid’s expression was scrunched, even in sleep. “Thank you for taking care of him.”
“No problem. You know, maybe you should call Dick, get him over here for cuddles and distraction.”
That wasn’t a bad idea. There was nothing more they could do for Jack Drake and spending the whole time in an anxiety spiral could be avoided by giving Tim something to do.
“Good idea, Jay,” Bruce said as the world shifted around him. He groped for his phone—better to send the message before he forgot—and had it all the way typed out before he blinked and realized where he was.
The Manor was cold and stifling and the grief in Bruce’s heart wasn’t new.
He took a deep, ragged breath as his heart broke all over again, fingers tightening on his phone. He was in bed and he flung the covers off as he got up, walking out of his room and two doors down.
Empty. Of course it was empty. Bruce stared into the room of a boy that had died before his time and felt his heart break all over again as tears slid down his cheeks.
The light of the phone screen mocked him and Bruce viciously deleted the message. He needed to differentiate dreams and reality. He stepped back, closing the door behind him—and then remembered the kid, pale-faced and trembling, who’d practically fled to his guest room before Bruce could try to talk to him.
Bruce quietly opened Tim’s door. He looked to be asleep. Bruce stared for a long, stretching moment, before taking out his phone and retyping the message. He sent it to Dick.
“You always had good ideas, Jay,” he said hoarsely to a child that was no longer there.
Bruce looked up at the sound of the quiet, purposeful knock on the door. Alfred stood there, watching him. “Master Jason is home,” he said.
For a moment, Bruce just blinked at him, uncomprehending. The fog of paperwork loomed large before Alfred’s words finally broke through. Bruce was on his feet before he even thought about it.
“Jay’s home?”
Jason was in the kitchen, sneaking cookies off the cooling rack and Bruce paused on the threshold to drink him in, to catalogue all the tiny ways he’d changed. He was styling his hair now, a marked departure from his comments during Dick’s ill-fated hair escapades, and a lock of hair at the front was dyed white.
“Hey, Dad,” Jason looked up and smiled. In the next instant Bruce had wrapped him in a hug.
“Welcome home,” he said, throat thick and voice hoarse.
“Jeez, you don’t need to sound like that, I was only gone for a couple of months,” Jason grumbled but he didn’t try to wriggle out of Bruce’s grip. It felt soothing and warm to have his son back in his arms, safe and sound.
“How was college?” Bruce asked, finally releasing Jason, “Everything okay?”
“Yup, one of my exams ended up being cancelled so I thought I’d drive down early, surprise you guys,” Jason grinned, and looked around the kitchen, “Where’s everyone else?”
No sooner had he asked the question than a dark-haired head poked through the kitchen door. “Jason?” Tim said slowly, before brightening at the sight of his brother, “Jason! You’re back!” Bruce could hear the sound of footsteps clattering down the stairs.
“Hello, Timbird,” Jason laughed as Tim squeezed him tight in a hug. Cass and Steph appeared at the door soon after and piled on as well, leaving Jason staggering in the middle of the kitchen. “Hi, guys! Uh—I still need to breathe, you know.”
“You didn’t come home for spring break!” Steph accused, looking like she was doing her best to break Jason’s ribs.
“That was two whole months ago, don’t tell me you’re still mad.”
Three glowers assured him they were. Jason looked up and made a pleading face at Bruce, and Bruce pointedly refused to rescue him. Jason had brought this upon himself.
“Okay, okay, am I forgiven if I brought you guys gifts?”
Like bloodhounds with a scent, the children perked up.
“Gifts?” Cass asked with the tone of voice that promised if Jason was not being serious, he might lose a finger.
“Gifts,” Jason confirmed, “They’re in my car—and they’re gone.” Jason smiled, self-satisfied, as Tim, Steph, and Cass immediately made a dash for the garage. “Thank god Dickhead warned me.”
Bruce had long lost the battle to his smile.
“Oh, Jason?” Tim poked his head back in the kitchen, “Uh, don’t be mad, but I borrowed a book from your room for a book report and I was reading it on patrol and ImayhavedroppeditintoGothamBay—”
“What.”
“I bought a replacement!” Tim defended, high-pitched, backing away from the doorway as Jason’s expression narrowed. “I’m sorry!”
“You took my stuff!”
“I’m sorry!” Tim repeated, and made the wise decision to start running. “Steph made me drop it!” he called out, earning a shriek of traitor from deeper in the house and an inarticulate growl of rage as Jason began chasing him.
“Get back here, you little shit!” Jason shouted, “I am going to murder you!”
Bruce took a deep breath. Heavy footsteps, cursing, and shouts resounded in the air. Ah, the sound of a full house.
Something crashed in the distance.
“It’s nice to have Master Jason home,” Alfred said, pulling out the ingredients to make more cookies.
Bruce yawned and lifted his head blearily, rubbing a hand over his face. He’d nodded off in front of the Batcomputer again. He glanced at the sparring area to make sure his children weren’t actually murdering each other—
It was empty.
The whole Cave was empty.
Bruce blinked and shook off the last vestiges of sleep before turning back to the screens—what had he been doing—and froze.
The Red Hood glared out at him, red helmet gleaming, guns starkly obvious. Designation: Drug Lord was affixed in stark letters. Threat Status: Enemy.
The file was alarmingly large. The violence horrifying. Forcing himself to fill out all the details about training and background and plans had been…heartbreaking.
Bruce closed the file on his second son and headed up to the Manor to try for some actual sleep.
Bruce looked up from the screen when he heard the roar of the motorcycle, louder and more obnoxious than any of the others. The familiar red helmet and leather jacket was accompanied by a dark cape and a red and green uniform.
“Jason, Damian,” Bruce called out neutrally as both his sons dismounted, “Had a nice patrol?”
“Nothing special,” Jason shrugged, removing his helmet. His jacket looked oddly bulkier than it usually was. Damian was also standing awkwardly, half-hidden behind Jason.
“Damian?”
“Business as usual,” his youngest sniffed, “Nothing to report.”
“Mm,” Bruce said, narrowing his eyes and watching them fidget.
“Well, I’m just going to go say hi to Alfie before hitting the road again,” Jason said, voice too loud and too even, making for the stairs. Damian hurried along in his wake.
“Wait.”
Jason stopped but didn’t turn, “What do you want, old man?”
“You know the rule. No costumes upstairs.”
“And you know I don’t follow your rules,” Jason waved off, heading for the stairs again, “Besides, I’ll only be a minute.” Damian was conspicuously silent.
“Wait,” Bruce repeated.
“What now, old man?” Jason blew out a sharp breath and craned his head to glare at Bruce, “What’s with the interrogation—”
“How many?” Bruce asked evenly.
“What?”
“How many kittens are you both carrying in your pockets?” Bruce asked, keeping Jason’s stare.
“I literally have no idea what you’re talking about, old man.”
Bruce narrowed his eyes, just a fraction, just enough for Batman’s Disappointed Face. Damian, attuned to Dick’s expressiveness, stayed strong. Jason folded like a bad hand. “How did you know?” he grumbled, stalking back towards Bruce.
“You mean, aside from the meowing?”
Jason colored. “Father,” Damian piped up, “We attempted to locate Catwoman but then discovered she is out of town. All of the shelters are currently closed, the nighttime temperature is unseasonably cold, and we were unable to locate their mother.”
“Yeah, Dad,” Jason made wide, pleading eyes at him, “We couldn’t just leave them there.” That expression was a carefully calculated one, the ‘woe is me, poor starving orphan lost in this cruel world’ that Jason used to such great effect throughout his childhood. And that Bruce still didn’t have any defenses for.
“One week,” he said as sternly as he could.
“What?”
“You can keep them here for one week only while you find alternative arrangements,” Bruce said, glowering, “And you’re telling Alfred.”
Jason and Damian’s faces split to identical grins.
“Thank you, Father.”
“Thanks, old man!”
Both of them dashed towards the stairs, the meowing growing louder. Bruce frowned.
“Wait—you didn’t say how many there are—” and Bruce awoke with the jolt of panic the thought inspired. He imagined Alfred’s expression upon seeing the Manor overrun with multiplying kittens and took several stretching seconds to realize he was in the Cave, staring at a blank screen.
There were no kittens. He was alone. Damian was silently creeping across the Cave floor in his pajamas, heading towards the locker room, and Bruce frowned.
The sound of a meow was unmistakable.
Bruce sighed out loud and Damian froze. “I’m assuming that’s not Alfred the cat,” Bruce said dryly, cataloguing the bag of treats in Damian’s hand.
Damian swiveled around, poker-faced, like he hadn’t been busted trying to sneak more animals into the house. To be fair, he did it so often he’d gotten quite good at the expression of innocence. “I was planning on taking them to Kyle in the morning.”
“Were you,” Bruce raised an eyebrow. Selina definitely took great pleasure in adding to the Manor’s menagerie.
“They have no mother,” Damian said, clipped, “Surely you didn’t expect me to leave them there.”
Damian was very good at making arguments Bruce couldn’t resist. He suspected Tim’s coaching.
“At least try to find a foster family this time,” Bruce groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. At the very least, Damian took very good care of his pets, so Alfred had little room to complain.
“Of course, Father.”
“And where’s Jason?” Bruce scanned the shadows for a hulking figure, because if he couldn’t scold Damian, at least he could scold his second son for enabling him—
“Hood?” Damian’s nose wrinkled up, confused, “Why would he be here?”
It felt like a bucket of ice water over his head.
Why indeed.
“Never mind,” Bruce turned away, waving Damian off, “I was thinking of something else. Let me know when you want me to take you to Selina’s.”
The tiny little meows echoed in the Cave long after Damian had taken the kittens upstairs.
“What’re you doing?”
Bruce lifted his head from the files to see Jason with two different books in his hands, staring at him quizzically. Bruce didn’t usually take his work to the library, but he was tired of sitting in his study, and he’d decided upon a change of pace.
“Work.”
Jason snorted. “Work, he says, like he ever does anything else,” he mocked, throwing himself into the other seat of the couch and nearly tipping the whole thing over. “You work too much, Dad.”
“You seem to be enjoying the fruits of my labor just fine,” Bruce said dryly, eyeing the extra shelves he’d needed to build to fit Jason’s collection of books.
Jason made a dramatic sound and clutched his collar, “Are you cutting me off?”
“Jason—”
“Is this it? Is this when my fortune runs out? Have you finally tired of my hedonistic ways? Will I be left destitute and starving on the streets—”
“I’d definitely appreciate not walking into the den to see you and Roy making out two steps from the door,” Bruce said, turning back to the files and otherwise ignoring his second son’s dramatics. Alfred’s influence, all of them.
“But you said you want grandchildren,” Jason blinked at him innocently.
Bruce stared at him flatly, “I’m always willing to give you a refresher on the Talk, Jay, if you’ve forgotten how babies are made—”
“Okay, okay! I take it back, jeez,” Jason pointedly turned to his book, muttering under his breath about the evils of powerpoints. Bruce focused his attention back on the file and struggled to read the words.
His efforts were halted by the weight landing in his lap. He looked down. Jason looked up, eyes wide and Robin-innocent.
Bruce caved first. “What are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable,” Jason wriggled a little more, as though he wasn’t sprawled across stacks of papers, and dropped his head back down on Bruce’s thigh. “Is there a problem?”
Bruce tried to look stern but judging by Jason’s twitching lips, the fondness was breaking through. “I have work to do,” Bruce groaned, but dropped a hand to stroke through Jason’s locks as his son purred like a cat.
“Mmm, not anymore you don’t,” Jason yawned and let his eyes flutter shut, “‘M more important.”
Bruce couldn’t help the swell of love inside of him. “You certainly are,” he whispered, and Jason’s lips quirked into a sleepy smile.
Reality bled in slowly, with the ache in his back and the crook in his neck from slipping off to sleep in such an awkward position. Bruce immediately rescued his laptop from its precarious perch and gathered up the papers. The couch was cold.
Bruce took a jagged breath and it cracked halfway through.
It hurt. It hurt so goddamn much. The Manor was empty today, everyone off at work or school and Alfred out running errands, so Bruce could press his palms to his eyes and let the tears carve silently down. It felt like someone had reached inside his heart and showed him it was hollow and it burned like a new loss all over again.
His breaths were choked, his cheeks wet, his chest twisting tighter and tighter and the only positive was that no one was here to watch him break down.
“What happened?”
Bruce snapped his head up. Loitering in the library doorway, scowl firmly affixed on his face, was the last person Bruce expected to see. “Jay?” Bruce’s voice was hoarse, “You’re home.”
The words were instinctive, automatic, and he saw Jason’s eyes narrow at the insinuation and braced himself for the vindictive retort.
To his surprise, Jason let the implication lie. “Was supposed to meet Alfred,” his second son said instead.
Oh. That made sense. “Alfred’s out,” Bruce croaked out.
“I know,” Jason snapped, and he looked like he was going to storm away. Bruce readied himself to feel another part of his heart crack. But Jason surprised him yet again. “Why are you crying?”
The words were dripping with suspiciousness, but Jason stood there, apparently waiting for an answer.
Somehow, Bruce didn’t think he’d react well to ‘because I miss you so much it tears me apart’, and he swallowed, clearing out his throat before answering, marginally more composed, “Bad dream.”
It hadn’t been a bad dream. That was the problem. It was a good dream, the best dream, and he’d been forced to wake up and confront that reality was the nightmare.
Jason made a face at that, but thankfully didn’t probe further. Bruce didn’t want to lie to him, but he’d lost the ability to figure out how Jason would react, lost the ability to read his second son and never gained it back. Especially when Jason did things seemingly just to spite him.
It took several stretching moments to realize that Jason hadn’t moved. That he hadn’t even said anything about Bruce staring blankly at him. Hesitantly, unwilling to disrupt this…whatever it was, Bruce asked, “Is there something you wanted?”
Jason jolted, like he’d just realized he’d been standing frozen in the doorway. “From you?” he sneered, the tone doing a remarkable job of conveying ‘not even if I die again’, and stomped away. As expected.
Bruce bowed his head and took an unsteady breath.
He had to remember the positives. Jason was visiting the Manor now. That was nice. Bruce was happy that Alfred got to see his grandson more regularly. Bruce contemplated moving back to the study—what if Jason wanted to use the library?—but stayed because Jason never tried to hide when he wanted Bruce gone.
He had to get through all these files anyway. There were a lot of proposals to look through. Bruce rubbed at his eyes and picked up the next one.
He was halfway through it when he heard the sound of footsteps again. Bruce looked up, surprise bleeding into shock as Jason reappeared in the doorway with two mugs of what smelled like the hot chocolate mix they’d only started buying for Jason.
“Here,” Jason grumbled, sounding like he’d rather drink poison than hand Bruce the mug, and his scowl only deepened as he took the seat on the other side of all the files with a distinctly aggrieved air.
Bruce stared at him. Bruce blinked. The image didn’t resolve itself into making any more sense.
“Is this a dream?” he asked.
Jason stared at him like Bruce had gone crazy. “What about this makes you think that it’s a dream?” Jason retorted, bemusement more annoyed than angry.
Bruce was too tired to censor himself, and too tired to keep his voice from cracking, “You’re here.”
Jason looked poleaxed. Bruce went still, every muscle locking up. He’d said the wrong thing again. Jason was going to storm out, or maybe throw the hot chocolate at him first, and Dick and Alfred were both going to give Bruce that disappointed face because he should’ve known better, he should’ve done better, he should’ve—
Jason picked up the nearest stack of files and—hit him. Well, tapped him. On the head. “Does that feel like a dream?” he raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
Yes, Bruce didn’t say.
“What are these, anyway?” Jason scrunched his nose up at the papers.
“Proposals,” Bruce unstuck his mouth to say, “For new projects at the Wayne Foundation.” Jason seemed to be studying them with a bit more intent. “You can help me read through them,” Bruce offered, “If you’d like.”
Jason had shown just as much disinterest in running Wayne Enterprises as Dick, but a lot of enthusiasm for Wayne Foundation projects. Bruce had once hoped—but that world didn’t exist anymore. That world had been destroyed, and Bruce was left with its pieces.
Jason, incredibly, didn’t say no. Didn’t sneer or snap or growl. Merely settled in place and opened the first file. “What are you looking for?” he asked.
“Feasibility, how detailed the proposal is, whether it matches the Wayne Foundation’s scope, budgetary constraints,” Bruce outlined the criteria he was using to judge the projects, and Jason took a spare notepad from him without saying a word.
For the first time in years, the taste of store-bought mix hot chocolate didn’t make Bruce want to cry.
The giggling was what woke Bruce up. His reflexes had long since been conditioned to pinpoint that Dick laughing in that particular way meant Trouble.
Bruce cracked open his eyes. Dick was grinning in front of him, phone out and clearly taking pictures. “Hello, Bruce,” Dick’s smile looked far too evil to be managed when Bruce had a very sore neck and a fiercely complaining back. “Had a nice nap?”
Bruce squinted at him in lieu of an answer, and cast his gaze around the library. Cass and Tim were leaning against a bookshelf and snickering, and Steph and Damian were sprawled out on the rug with Titus, also looking amused.
“What?” Bruce said, before he noticed that his right thigh was curiously warm. He dropped his gaze.
Jason was curled up on the couch, all the files stacked neatly on the ground with the exception of the one tucked into his elbow, but as the couch wasn’t big enough for a full grown man to stretch out, Jason was using Bruce’s leg as a pillow.
Bruce stared. Something in his chest was hot and twisty. Dick laughed again, taking more pictures, and Jason stirred with a low groan. “Why’re you making your villain laugh?” he mumbled.
“Villain laugh?” Dick said with false innocence, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Jason lifted his head from Bruce’s leg, rubbing at his face, and squinted at his older brother.
Dick took another picture.
Jason twisted upright, blinking at his surroundings and at Bruce and at Dick, his cheeks growing pinker and pinker as Dick laughed. “Fuck you,” Jason growled, lunging off the couch and at Dick, “Give me that.”
“Tim, catch!” Dick threw the phone right before Jason tackled him and Tim took one look at Jason’s malevolent glare before playing hot potato and passing it off to Cass. Cass evaded Jason’s lunge easily, handing it over to Steph as Titus jumped up, sensing that it was playtime.
Jason cursed, loud and heartfelt as he was tripped by an overenthusiastic Great Dane and Dick recovered his phone to take more photos. Jason clearly decided to abandon containment for revenge and yanked Dick down with him to collapse against the rug. Damian waded in to rescue his precious dog and wound up tripping into a giggling Dick’s lap while Cass took out her own phone to take photos. Tim and Steph were laughing so hard that they had doubled over, faces red and breaths wheezing.
It felt…overwhelming. Overwhelming and warm and too bright for his heart to contain. Bruce took a deep breath and blinked against the tears slipping down his cheeks, his smile achingly wide.
This wasn’t a dream. And he was so thankful for it.