Chapter Text
Bruce knows he came back wrong, because he feels them all before he even really wakes up.
He’s lying on the cot in the Cave – that much he can tell amidst the fog he seems to be floating in, trying to reach toward consciousness – the fabric scratching at his back even through the Kevlar of his under-armor. His ears pick up the rumble of voices above him and, farther and higher, the chattering of bats, as clearly as if they were right beside him.
He can smell his family around him: Dick’s faint cologne to his right by the cot, Alfred’s too, as well as the hint of Earl Grey tea he must have drunk a couple of hours earlier before they all returned from patrol. He smells the leather of Tim’s gloves, standing a few meters to his left alongside Duke and Cassandra. Gunpowder from Jason’s weapons and the residue on his hands. And Damian, who smells faintly like Gotham’s rain and his herbal shampoo, but is also covered in the heavy, unmistakable stench of cat and dog.
Titus, Bruce’s mind supplies, and Alfred the cat. He scrunches his nose, surprised by how violently the smell irritates him.
“Bruce?”
Dick’s hand lands on his shoulder and brings him back to the world of the living. The touch is familiar, warm and alive, and Bruce feels his mouth water as he senses his son’s pulse through his skin.
Him and Alfred help him sit, examining him carefully, the tense air deflating as they see him awake and seemingly lucid. Someone has already bandaged his arm and ribs where he had been injured. He feels dizzy and a little confused but is aware of his surroundings, trying to focus on Alfred's questions.
Tim rolls the chair of the Batcomputer back, the sound making Bruce's already frayed mind turn to him: "We've collected some DNA samples from the creature who attacked you," the young hero explains. "Thankfully you didn't get slobbered on for nothing." He jokes, trying to add some levity to the situation after the scare they must have had.
Man-Bat, Klarion, and Scarecrow had teamed up recently and had made it Gotham's problem. A trio – well, more of a duo, as Man-Bat had been there against his will – that should never have been anywhere near each other, yet somehow had joined forces long enough to unleash utter mayhem, abducting homeless residents who would be later found half-eaten. The survivors would be found with bite wounds, babbling about monsters before vanishing days later.
Bruce and his children had tracked some of them, hoping that wherever the victims had disappeared to would lead them to the culprits, and thankfully it did as the team had found traces of all three villains. After locating their lair, and with the help of Zatanna, the two villains had been neutralized and brought to justice, while Zatanna took it upon herself to handle Man-Bat while she and the Justice League Dark looked for a solution to break the hold Klarion had on him, the sorcerer refusing to help.
Concerning the victims, it had turned out that they had been changed into monsters, vampire-like creatures that would hunger for flesh and blood. During the raid to capture Klarion and Scarecrow, hell broke loose, feral victims turned monsters attacking out of fear and hunger alike, and in the kerfuffle, Bruce had been injured, one of the creatures managing to catch him off guard long enough to get their fangs in, piercing even the thick fabric of his forearm protection. He knocked out the beast before they could go for his neck, but ended up with claws stabbing through his armor and into his ribs for his trouble.
In the end they managed it though, the bad guys had been taken down, most of the victims were being taken care of by Zatanna and her team, a few still missing but, as assured by her, would be easy enough to locate.
And Bruce, well. He had come back wrong.
Bruce closes his eyes, his mind now clearer but feeling a migraine coming with the cacophony of sound and smell he could perceive all around him. He shrinks a little in on himself, Dick's hand a steady weight on his back, that damn pulse still right there, making his stomach growl. He tries to rein it in, ignoring the dread starting to gnaw in his guts as he knows what this could mean.
He exhales through his nose, burying his face in his knees, bending himself in half as around him, his children let out sounds of concern and confusion at his actions. He should be standing and telling them what he thinks has happened, knows he's freaking them out, but as he's thinking through how to explain his theory before speaking, he’s distracted by footsteps.
And even with his eyes screwed closed, he can tell exactly who’s moving where, pinpointing their positions by sound and smell alone. He can smell and hear the blood pumping through their veins, the pulse under bruised skin, the faint copper scent of a half-closed wound nearby. It makes him want to reach out, grab the nearest member of his family and—
Damian’s cat mewls at something across the Cave, and a sharp irritation claws up Bruce’s spine for reasons he can’t name.
Dick calls his name again, shaking him a little, his voice sharper, a little more worried now, almost afraid by the sound of it.
“—please lie down, you look pale,” his eldest says, trying to push him to do as instructed.
Alfred steps in too, one hand on his arm but addressing the kids.
"Are any of you in need of medical assistance? I need to take care of Master Bruce, but I would like to make sure none of you are hurt first." The butler says, turning to them, humming as the children immediately deny having suffered any injuries.
But Bruce knows better. He can tell exactly where they got hurt and how badly, and whatever is wrong with him now, it won't overcome the need to have his kids be okay, so he interjects.
“Duke has a gash on his left side. It’s not bleeding anymore, but it needs cleaning," he declares, words muffled as his face is still smudged against his knees. Duke startles then, before sheepishly making his way forward as Alfred sternly asks if it's true.
"And Jason has a bruised rib he’s trying to hide.” Bruce then adds, to which Jason bristles as he and Duke are immediately herded toward Alfred.
"Which one of you losers snitched?" the young man demands, begrudgingly sitting on a cot and discarding his under-armor to let Alfred see what he's working with.
"No one did," Bruce mutters, swallowing thickly as the smell of blood grows stronger once Duke's armor comes off and the dry but still open wound is exposed to the air.
“Bullshit,” Jason fires back amidst his slowly growing panic. “You didn’t even see me fall.”
Bruce swallows, shifts and feels the warmth of Dick's hand on his back, rubbing comfortingly up and down, but all he can think is that it'd be so easy to rip it off. He clenches his hands into fists, shoving the urge down and forcing himself to respond instead:
“I can smell it.”
Silence falls on the cave, confused at first, then heavy and uneasy as comprehension sets in. Dick's hand is not on him anymore, and he hears the faint crackle of electricity as his son quietly activates his escrima sticks - not with any real intent, not yet. But just in case.
Bruce doesn't need to open his eyes to know they're on alert, as they should be, as he needs them to be, considering how unpredictable his condition is now.
He's a potential threat now; they better be prepared for that.
Someone shuffles back and then a quiet intake of breath - so quiet he doesn't think anyone else noticed, he doesn't think he would have noticed if not for his suddenly enhanced senses. He opens his eyes as the strong and metallic smell of fresh blood hits his nose.
Someone speaks then, but he's too focused on the smell, fighting his still growing irritation at Titus and Alfred the cat as they hiss and growl at him.
His attention zeroes in on Damian behind them, his son's fingers clenched in his cape as he freezes in his attempt to hide his palm…
And the bleeding scratch on it.
Bruce’s eyes lock on his youngest and refuse to move, every shift of his son’s weight registering with crystal clarity. But it’s the scratch on his palm Bruce can’t tear his attention from, and he feels himself shift, hands unfolding from where they're clenched on his lap, fighting to clear his mind, but the pets won’t stop making noise, and it grates through Bruce like barbed wire.
Why won't they shut up!
The thought comes so violently he almost chokes on it and for one horrifying second, he imagines lunging, grabbing both animals, wringing the sounds out of their necks-
Bruce squeezes his eyes shut, forcing the image back into the void.
No. He thinks desperately, Those are Damian’s pets. They're family. You don’t hurt family.
He drags in a breath, trying to steady himself - and immediately regrets it as he scent of blood floods his senses. Duke’s side and Damian’s hand, the metallic sweetness threading through the air like a lure, and he feels his mouth water until it aches, his throat goes suddenly unbearably dry, as if he hasn’t had water in days.
Distantly, he hears someone talking to him—Jason maybe, or Dick?—but their words dissolve into meaningless static. He can’t focus, can’t think, everything narrowing to heat and heartbeat and hunger.
Cass and Tim step forward, moving quickly to shield Damian and the animals, and it sparks something ugly and instinctive in Bruce. A hot, territorial anger that slithers up his spine. Mine, something inside him snarls, and he bites it back until his jaw creaks.
Dick stays beside him, his stance tight as a tight spring at Bruce’s right. “Damian,” Dick says to his brother, sharp yet steady as his eyes stays focused on Bruce, “Get out of the Cave, now." he orders, and through the hunger, Bruce can feel the pulse of blood as his son tighten his grip on his escrima, "Anyone hurt - any bleeding, any bruising - get to the elevator with Alfred. Move.”
Alfred starts herding Duke, Jason, and Damian toward the elevator as instructed, calm and deliberate, but he, too, keeps his eyes on Bruce the whole time, measuring him the way one might watch a feral animal.
And the worst part is that it’s fair. Bruce feels feral. Half-wild and caged in his own body.
They’re almost at the elevator when Damian looks back. His domino mask is gone - Bruce hadn’t even noticed him taking it off - and his bare face is visible. He looks as young as he is, open and frightened and furious all at once.
And it's all it takes for something in Bruce’s chest stutters because what the hell is he doing, looking at his son like some piece of meat ? That's his baby, that's-
Suddenly, the rage ebbs and the hunger loosens just enough for him to be able to breathe again, taking in oxygen this time and pushing aside the smell of blood.
Before he can think better of it, he stands abruptly, which may have been a mistake because everyone reacts at once. Dick lunges, electricity crackling in the air as Cass moves in a blur to tackle him and Tim tries to grab his other arm, all three treating him like he’s about to attack.
“Wait—” Bruce tries, but never gets to finish has hands clamp onto him and instinct takes over.
He throws them off like they weigh nothing and they hit the ground hard, the sound echoing in the Cave. Faintly, he hears Jason swear, the words drowned as animals erupt into barking and hissing as him and Duke jump in front of Damian and Alfred.
It's pure chaos, shouts and barking rising, a cacophony of smell and sounds that makes it difficult for him to focus on anything but the return of the hunger, and Bruce - Bruce could fall into it, could let the hunger take him, could let instinct decide for him. He wants to, the elevator is taking too long to descend, he has enough time, he is faster, he knows he is. He could jump, reach a hand and grab Damian-
“No,” he breathes harshly, an order to himself, and turns away.
He forces his feet in the opposite direction, every step feeling like wading through fire as he walks toward the back of the Cave. Someone shouts his name, then more curses but he ignores it all in order to walk faster. No one tries to grab him again, which is good, because he doesn't know what he'll do if anyone tries to touch him at this very moment. Finally, he finds what he's looking for and stops, swallowing thickly as he faces the glasses doors.
The reinforced containment cells.
He reaches a keypad and punches in the code with shaking fingers, before stepping inside one of the cells and hitting the lock. The door then seals with a hydraulic thud, the security protocol activating. Thanks to Clark's help and the data from the fortress, the cells are built to withstand nearly Kryptonian force. The monsters Klarion created were nowhere near that strong, so this is the safest place for him to be kept away from his family. At least this way, if he loses control, he’ll be the only one trapped with the consequences.
Bruce leans his forehead against the cool glass, exhaling shakily.
Outside, he hears footsteps approaching and he opens his eyes to be met with the sight of his family staring at him.
Inside, he tries not to imagine the taste of blood.