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Bruce snapped alert, shaking off fatigue like it was water. His skin crawled with unease, and though he wasn’t sure what could be causing it, he knew better than to brush it off and ignore his instincts. It wasn't normal for him to wake up so soon after he'd finished patrol—not unless his senses, fine-tuned from years of vigilante work, detected something off.
The man forced himself to grow still, listening for any sign of an intruder, but there was nothing. Just an eerie silence that wrapped around his brain and sent ice down his spine. This sort of quiet was rare in his home, even—especially—at night. There was always someone moving, whether it was Dick sneaking into the gym to train, Anna smuggling books from the library, or Alfred doing some late-night butler work. But tonight it was different, almost as if the air itself was trying to keep him away.
He didn’t like it.
Something wasn't right.
Sliding out of bed, Bruce sprinted to the hall where the kids’ rooms were. His footfalls were silent despite the urgency in his movement. It was too quiet, something was wrong. He wouldn’t let himself relax until he had seen both his kids safe and unharmed, made sure they were protected. Because they were his kids, both of them, despite only one being related by blood.
His tense posture relaxed just a bit as he peeked through the first door. Dick was curled up in his blankets, dark hair framing a young face whose expression was more peaceful then he’d ever seen it in waking. Bruce couldn’t help but smile—maybe taking the boy on as Robin really had been the right decision.
Satisfied there was no danger, he let the door shut with a soft creak before turning to the room next to Dick’s. His fingers curled around the handle, ready to twist it, but something made him hesitate. Brown eyes caught on the small letters engraved on the plague, his breath catching in his throat. Anna-Elizabeth Wayne.
His daughter.
The whole thing felt unreal. He’d been a father for four years, yet sometimes it was still like he’d yet to process it fully. There was something about the little girl that seemed otherworldly, like she was glowing from the inside out. He wondered just how someone so perfect had come from someone like him. But he knew that Anna-Elizabeth was his—there were no doubts in his mind despite having no memory of sleeping with the woman who claimed to be her mother. Even if he hadn’t ordered a DNA test when she’d first been left at his doorstep with only a cradle and a note, he’d still know.
Because her eyes were a direct reflection of his own—those of a child who was far too smart and knew so much more than what was healthy.
And how true that was. Her knowledge and observational skills had surprised him on more than one occasion, though he'd never admit to it. The Batman would not be upstaged by a four-year-old.
A creak from the door brought his mind back to the present. Pushing through the fog that had suddenly clouded his brain, he stepped into the room.
He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. Anna-Elizabeth’s room was trashed. Papers scattered the floor, a far cry from her usual almost obsessive neatness, the waxy crayon drawings barely visible amongst the flurry. Her precious books were shoved into a messy pile at the base of her bed. Bruce immediately assumed the worst, falling into a fighting stance.
His eyes scanned the room, stopping on a large lump covered by the bedding. Slowly, he stepped towards it, reaching towards what could only be his daughter.
Now he was concentrating he could make out ragged breathing, the sound hitching slightly as though she was trying not to cry. Concern gripped his heart, and with a swift motion he whipped the blanket off the bed, revealing the four-year-old curled beneath it.
The girl was curled into a ball, her small arms wrapped tightly around her legs as her shoulders shook. Wide grey eyes stared unseeingly at the wall, glistening with unshed tears. Her blond curls were tangled together into something that resembled a birds’ nest. Overall, she looked terrible.
“Anna-Elizabeth,” Bruce muttered. The only sign she had heard him was her small whimper. He froze, unsure of what to do. Should he get Alfred? Dick had become unresponsive like this several times when he'd first taken the boy in, and the butler had the most experience dealing with it. But he didn't want to leave his daughter alone in this state, either. If something happened she wouldn't be able to look after herself. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping to help ground her. “Anna.”
Her eyes flicked to him. Good, he’d take that as a good sign. Breathing deeply to stop himself from panicking, he pulled his daughter closer. “What’s wrong?” he whispered.
Anna glanced at her hands and took a breath. Then another. Then her head tilted so her eyes were looking directly into his own, and she spoke.
“Had a nightmare.” Her voice was hoarse but laced with determination, as if she’d made a decision he wasn’t privy to. Bruce hummed, reaching over and rubbing her back the way Alfred used to for him after his parents’ deaths. Anna leant into his side, planting her hands and heaving herself up. He could feel the faint tremors running through her body. “There were monsters. And then I woke up, and I know they aren’t here but I kept seeing shadows, and I just…” her voice trailed into a mumble.
Bruce responded by pulling her into a hug. For a heartbeat Anna stiffened, before melting into his embrace, her four-year-old hands grasping at the fabric of his clothes. She started to sob again. He sat there and held her.
He wasn’t sure how long it had been when she let go, but he didn’t care. Pushing himself into standing, Bruce flicked on the lights. “It’s safe here, Anna. There are no monsters, promise.” His daughter nodded.
“I know. It’s foolish for me to think there is.” Her words were a knife to the chest, sending sharp and painful emotions flooding through him. A child—someone who was barely more than a toddler—shouldn’t be thinking like that.
“ Anna,” he started, but she cut him off, her face suspiciously blank. Like she’d put on a mask.
“I’m tired,” Anna muttered, grabbing the silver blanket he had removed. Bruce didn’t argue, just watched as his daughter wrapped himself in the fabric. Her eyes drifted shut.
He waited a few minutes before flicking the light switch and stepping towards the door. He’d call Alfred, get him to keep an eye on her and help if she had any more nightmares, then head to sleep himself. His patrol as Batman (and now this) had left him tired.
“Wait.” Anna-Elizabeth’s voice was slurred from exhaustion, but he understood her words. Bruce paused, glancing back. “Dad, can you stay with me?”
And maybe it was fatigue, or maybe it was just Anna looking so vulnerable, but he pushed his earlier plans to the side, letting the door shut and sitting back down on the bed. The girl made a small noise as she finally let herself rest, and Bruce felt the soft smile that adorned his face. He brushed her hair from her face and tucked the blanket in.
“Good night, little owl,” he whispered. Maybe he wasn’t totally bad at this after all.