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It had been a hell of a week.
On Monday, Bruce had been called to Damian's school. Upon arrival, he learned that his youngest had both started and finished a school-wide brawl in the cafeteria that resulted in four hospitalizations, dozens of angry parents, and $15,000 worth of damages.
Damian was suspended for nine days and charged with community service, which he'd been whining about since ("It's not fair, father. I serve the community well by incapacitating criminals at night. I should not be required to pick up garbage"). Bruce had brought Damian home and promptly benched him, which resulted in another $5000 tantrum.
On Tuesday, Tim was abducted on his way to and was released a few hours later with a black eye, poor spirits, and symptoms of minor withdrawal. It wasn't until later that Bruce realized Tim had been dosed with a slow-reacting poison that caused both hysterics and delusions. It had all gone horribly wrong when, while Bruce worked to find a cure, a giggling, oddly cuddly Tim attempted to snuggle Damian. The younger boy had reacted explosively and with what he believed to be reasonable disgust, and Tim spent the night lying in the medical bay with a gaping wound in his side.
Wednesday morning, Dick burst into the manor lamenting his latest break-up with Barbara and swearing off women forever ("we are finally agreed upon something, Grayson”). That night on patrol, Bruce allowed his oldest to relive his glory days and help him on a drug bust. Bruce regretted is almost instantly as Nightwing and Oracle snarked at each other until Barbara logged off for the night and Bruce missed out on his chance to interrupt the meeting.
On Thursday, Tim returned to active duty and worked a case with the Red Hood, which resulted in a sheepish Jason returning that night with a furious, once more bedridden Tim Drake. Apparently, Roy had developed a GPS tracking bullet, which would allow Jason to control the flight of the ammunition midair after he'd shot it. Of course, the technology malfunctioned and rather than striking Black Mask, it had lodged itself in Tim's right thigh.
Friday came, and with it a mass breakout at Arkham Asylum. Bruce called in all of his allies, and they spent the rest of the week working tirelessly to contain it.
Now, Sunday night, most of the inmates had been caught and incarcerated. Some of the heavy hitters were still out there, but Alfred had ordered all of them to spend the rest of the day resting.
So, Dick had cornered them all into a movie night. Bruce had been sent to get popcorn but paused in the doorway of the home theatre. He leaned against the polished wooden frame, watching his collection of misfits.
Twenty years ago, Bruce would never have been able to imagine how big his family would grow. He'd been at the beginning of his role as Gotham's first vigilante, and he had carefully constructed steel walls around his heart. To clean up Gotham, he'd reasoned, he needed to be alone. Connections would only slow him down and provide unnecessary distractions.
Then, almost as if the universe stepped in, Bruce went to the circus and found a pair of young, broken blue eyes.
Dick Grayson came into Bruce's life like a wrecking ball, smashing through Bruce's defenses faster than he could put them up. Dick was vibrant and energetic, a ray of light breaking through the darkness Bruce had learned to live in. It was awkward in the beginning; Bruce wasn't sure how to interact with the nine-year-old, and he did more wrong than he ever did right.
Despite his failings as a parent, Dick flourished in his new life, like he was born to fly over dark Gotham streets. Soon enough, Robin had made a name for himself and was ready to meet the Justice League. Bruce ignored the backlash and argued his case, and within a few months Dick wasn't the only kid in a mask.
The formation of the Teen Titans remained one of Bruce's biggest regrets. It had seemed innocent enough at first, a convenient way to keep the new generation of heroes busy. Then, as the young team grew older and bolder, they started drawing the wrong kind of attention and taking harder hits. Bruce couldn't count how many nights Dick had been unable to patrol due to significant injuries from Titans missions.
Even worse, as the team fractured and rifts formed between the members, Dick became more and more isolated. By the time he was sixteen, Dick had a temper as hot and quick as lighting a match, leading to far too many confrontations between Bruce and his oldest son.
Then, another explosive argument later, Dick left. Bruce had pushed too far, been too careless with the most precious thing in his life, had broken his increasingly strained relationship with Dick. His boy left the city, and established himself as his own man, his own hero. Nightwing soared through Blüdhaven, single-handedly fighting the corruption that had poisoned the city.
Bruce had been torn between anger and worry and pride. Dick was incredible, and Bruce never tired of watching him. But then came the death of Donna Troy, and the fire beneath Dick's feet was extinguished. Bruce tried to reconnect with his son through the tragedy, but deep-down Dick could sense Bruce's guilt and ultimately rebelled against it.
Bruce had become accustomed to a partner, and patrols were lonely. He spent more time brooding than anything else, until one night he came across a boy who changed everything. It was petty, stupid, pathetic, but Bruce couldn't help himself when he came across another sad, blue-eyed orphan living on the streets.
If Dick had been a ray of light, Jason was a roaring fire. He burned his place in Bruce's life, branding himself forever in Robin's legacy. He was brash, slow to trust and quick to anger, and Bruce loved every part of him.
Dick, however, hated the boy. This newcomer who had not only stolen his name and uniform, but his relationship with Bruce. Bruce would forever claim that he loved his children equally, but even he couldn't deny that he doted on Jason for more than he ever did on Dick.
Small, fiery Jason.
He'd been so scrawny when Bruce first took him in. Bruce could still remember his horror as Jason tried on his first Robin uniform, and he was able to count each one of his son's ribs. Alfred, who noticed the same thing, filled Jason's plate three times every night until at last, he no longer resembled a broken branch fallen from a withered tree.
As Jason grew more comfortable around both Bruce and Alfred, his shy, defensive facade melted into something softer. Jason loved books; he practically lived in the library. If he wasn't reading or doing his homework - which he did cheerfully day after day - Bruce could find him curled in a recliner in the home theatre watching musicals and chick flicks.
Despite Jason's growing confidence, Bruce was never able to convince Jason that he was enough. The boy fought endlessly to win the respect of a world that preferred Dick Grayson. Gotham elites and heroes alike brushed him off. He wasn't welcome on the Teen Titans, and there was no other hero his age for Jason to befriend. As months passed, he grew angrier and angrier, and then in an instant he was gone.
In his last hours, Jason was a hero. He'd fought to find and save his biological mother, and Bruce had failed him.
Bruce hardly remembered the dark days that followed. He grew darker, more violent. The line between hero and villain became blurred, and Bruce found himself slipping below the high standards he held for himself. The League threatened to kick him off the team on multiple occasions, but it didn't matter. Nothing did, for a long time.
When Jason returned years later, Bruce felt himself spiral all over again. His dorky, book loving, beautiful son was back but he was broken, and whatever Bruce tried to do to help only seemed to make things worse.
Bruce had failed, again, to save the precious things in his life.
But then something like a miracle happened, and Jason began to heal. Despite Bruce's initial reservations, his second child's friendship with wildcard Roy Harper and explosive alien princess Koriand'r proved to be the first step towards Jason's recovery, and his first real source of happiness since his rebirth. He'd slowly started returning to the manor ("only for Alfred's cookies. You're still an asshole, old man").
Dick had been Bruce's greatest source of light, Jason his quick descent to darkness. After the death of his second Robin, Bruce swore he would never endanger another child, never open his heart to that kind of pain.
But young Timothy Drake wouldn't take no for an answer. It was annoying. Tim's stubbornness and determinations rivaled Bruce's, and Bruce couldn't manage to shake him.
Tim was so different from Bruce's previous children. Both of his parents were alive and healthy. He had been born inside the world of Gotham's elites, born to inherit the Drake dynasty. He was impossibly tiny when he came to Bruce, who felt as though he would shatter the boy with a single hit.
He couldn't let Tim on the streets, he'd argued. He'd been dead within an hour.
But Tim proved Bruce wrong; he worked harder than either of the Robin's before him, determined to earn his place within the legacy. He trained for hours, pushing past every limit he had and then going even harder.
Dick loved him from the very beginning. Bruce suspected part of it was guilt over how he'd treated Jason, and now Tim was his chance to make it right. He overcompensated and showered Tim with praise and affection and brotherly bonding time spent on trains ("It's totally safe, B, stop worrying").
Bruce didn't want to love Tim. In fact, he did everything in his power to drive the boy away. Bruce was cold, angry, even cruel at times. He would shout and insult, dismiss and ignore. It didn't matter, though. Tim stuck around and wormed his way past Bruce's defenses and into his heart. The process only accelerated after the untimely death and incapacitation of Janet and Jack Drake. With no mother and a father unconscious in the hospital with little chance of waking up, Tim came to stay in the manor full-time.
Bruce had managed to hold Tim at arm’s length until that point, but once Tim moved in it was all over. Bruce fell in love with the boy; he was bright and hopeful, intelligent and dedicated. All Tim ever wanted to do was save lives. Bruce felt a pain akin to losing Jason when Jack Drake awoke and Tim - forced to choose between two parents - chose Jack, and Bruce lost another son. Selfishly, foolishly, Bruce wished Jack had never woken up.
Soon enough, Bruce's wish came true, and Tim was an orphan. First his mother, then his father. These losses were followed by the violent death of Tim's girlfriend, then two of his best friends. Before Bruce could pick up the pieces he was gone, too, lost and spinning through time.
When Bruce returned, Tim was almost a totally different person. He'd grown, become accustomed to operating within shades of gray. He wasn't the same naive boy who believed in heroes.
Damian was another story entirely. He came arrogant, trained, independent. He didn't how to to work as a team, didn't even see the point in it. To Damian, the only way to claim his place within the Robin legacy was to eliminate the rest.
Bruce hadn't known what to do with him. Here was the child Bruce thought he'd lost so many years ago, the remnant of who Bruce used to be. Damian was so angry, so quick to violence. And before Bruce had even worked out a plan, he was sent stumbling through the centuries.
When Tim had rescued him, Bruce returned home to a son who no longer wanted to claim him as his father. Dick had taken over, had loved the small assassin when nobody else would. That love had made a remarkable, almost unbelievable change in Damian.
Soon, Damian followed in Bruce's footsteps and found a small, lonely, traumatized orphan to take care of. Colin took up a place Damian's heart, gave him a place to go when he couldn't handle being around his brothers. Damian would spend hours fretting over the state of the manor when he knew Colin was coming over soon. He wanted everything to be clean, perfect, pristine so that his friends jaw would drop in wonder when he came in.
Damian's change only increased when he met Jon Kent. Bruce had been wary, had tried to warn Clark that Damian would run all over the younger boy, but was left shocked. As far as Bruce knew, Damian would say vicious things, and more often than not Jon would respond in kind. Soon enough the two of them were running small missions together, and Damian was letting Dick coach him in social interactions.
All of Bruce's greatest fears, however, shot back to the surface when Damian reformed the Teen Titans and recruited the newest generation of young heroes to join him. They were an odd bunch, all of them carrying heavier baggage than anyone at their early age should. They were so young, and already had so much trauma, and Bruce was terrified of what they might do to his son. Damian was much easier to love than he was to like, and he feared they wouldn't even give him a chance.
So far, all the team had done was continue to smooth out Damian's rough edges, but as Bruce stood in the doorway watching his children, he felt the all too familiar anxiety return.
But Damian was safe. Maybe, just for tonight they all were. For this one night, Bruce could lower his guard just a fraction.
He loved them, more than Bruce thought would ever be possible. They'd all grown to fill every dark hole in Bruce's life.
Looking at them now - Dick sprawled across the leather sofa, one arm thrown around Damian as the younger boy curled into his side, Jason lying on the ground with his feet propped up next to Tim who sat in the armchair - Bruce felt his chest burn with pride.
These were his boys. His family was messy by normal standards, but Bruce wouldn't change any of it for the whole world. He had to protect them, had to shield them from whatever horrors the world had yet to throw at them.
“B, quit being a stalker,” Dick called out, gesturing for Bruce to join him on the couch. “C’mon, the movie’s only just starting!”
Bruce allowed a small smile, a small crack in his armor as he made his way over to his oldest. He sat on the expensive leather couch, felt Damian’s socked feet press against his thigh, the warmth easing the tendrils of fear twisting in his stomach.
For tonight, they were fine. For tonight, Bruce would allow himself to be happy, surrounded by his children.