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“Oh dear, oh dear,” Alfred said softly, smearing an antibiotic cream over the scrape on Tim Drake’s knee, and plastering on a bandaid. Damian Wayne was snarling, perched in a chair closeby. He was holding a handkerchief to his bleeding nose. “I’m afraid Master Bruce will not be pleased when he hears about this.”
Tim made a face. At the moment, he was too angry with his little brother to worry about what Bruce would do when he found the bookshelf in the north parlor knocked over. Tombs of literature were scattered across the floor and several prized antiques smashed into pieces. One waterford crystal vase looked as though it could possibly be repaired, but two others were definitely beyond help, and worst of all, an intricate wood and china clock that Tim knew had belonged to Bruce’s grandfather was completely ruined.
“Father won’t be angry with me,” Damian said, turning up his nose. “After all, it isn’t my fault this happened. Drake was the one who pushed me into the shelf.” Tim felt his blood boil and Alfred had to hold the thirteen-year-old to prevent him from springing up.
“It isn’t your fault my ass, you little sh—”
“Master Timothy!” Alfred exclaimed.
“YOU came in here specifically to pick a fight with me and you know it!” Tim shouted, over the butler. “I’m sick of you acting like you’re better than everyone else! Why won’t you just leave me alone?!”
“You always have to make everything about you!” Damian shouted back, his bottom lip curling. “It’s not my fault you’re an uncultured little cretin who nobody likes!!”
“What is going on in here?” Bruce exclaimed, appearing in the doorway. His expression was cross as he looked at the mess. Alfred sighed, holding a snarling Tim down in the chair with one hand and Damian away from him with another.
“The young masters got into rather a nasty kerfuffle, I’m afraid,” he began.
“He hit me!” Damian snapped, whipping his handkerchief off to reveal his bloody nose.
“He hit me first!” Tim nearly screamed, exasperatedly pointing to his swollen eye area.
“BOTH OF YOU are in BIG trouble!” Bruce roared, scaring the boys backwards a few steps. “I tolerate too much rough-housing between all of you to begin with, but this has gotten completely out of hand.” He pointed to the shards of glass scattered on the floor, and then looked each of his sons in the eye.
“Drake started it!” Damian accused, with fire in his eyes, unafraid of Bruce’s stern expression. Tim blushed furiously.
“I did NOT!” He reputed. “I was just trying to read in peace, and Damian had to come along and be a nuisance!’
“Enough! Library. Now.” Bruce led his sons into the west library, as Alfred began to clean up the broken pieces of porcelain, tsk-ing softly to himself. The cherry wood glow of the library had Tim blushing and biting his lip as he recalled another incident which had ended in his punishment here, when he was nine. They were in for spankings and both boys knew it. Damian stared at the floor, furiously, refusing to look at Tim or his Father.
“Alright, both of you know how this works,” Bruce said sternly, pulling a desk chair out to the center of the carpet, and taking a seat. “Oldest first. Damian Wayne, you wipe that smirk off your face right now because you’re going right after him and you won’t be able to sit for a week once I’m through with you.” Damian scowled. Tim bit his lip.
“Dad, please,” he said softly, remorse beginning to flood over him. “We didn’t mean to break the clock, I swear.”
“It isn’t about the clock, Tim,” Bruce interjected. “Well, it isn’t just about the clock. It’s about not giving your little brother a bloody nose every time you two don’t see eye to eye. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again— sharing the Robin title should be a bond, not a rift between you. The boys looked at their feet, still annoyed, but feeling more ashamed by the minute.
“Come on, Tim. I know you can be a good big brother and set an example,” Bruce said firmly, patting his lap. Tim stared at the damask pattern carpet, blinking back tears.
I don’t want to be a big brother, he thought bitterly. I never asked to be one. It isn’t fair.
“You’re stalling. Let’s get this over with.”
He’s crying already— what a baby! Damian thought, annoyed as he stole a glance at the older boy. He crossed his arms and pouted.
“Please don’t spank me Dad, I’m sorry!” Tim pleaded, his bottom lip trembling as hot tears began to spill out of his eyes. How humiliating! It was bad enough having to be punished, but in front of nasty little Damian?
“Timothy, enough,” Bruce said, beginning to lose his patience. “Get over here.” The morose boy shuffled over to where his father was seated, looking up at him through big, ashamed blue eyes.
“Daddy please no…!” Tim begged one last time, as Bruce took him by the arm and guided him over the lap of his trousers. At thirteen, the boy had just had a growth spurt and was even lankier than usual, but even so, he looked small and vulnerable lying across Bruce Wayne’s muscular thighs.
“Shh,” Bruce scolded, positioning Tim, before reaching around to unbutton the boy’s denim trousers and pull them down to his knees. Tim began to weep, his protests ceasing. Bruce sighed. “You know I don’t like to do this, Timmy, but you leave me no choice when you fight with your brothers.”
Tim nodded, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. He knew it was going to hurt, but worse than that, he hated the tone of disappointment in his father’s voice. Timmy was the good brother, the rule-follower, the straight-laced Robin who rarely found himself in this position, unlike Dick, who often leapt before he looked, Jason, the rebel of the family, and Damian who, needless to say, tested the limits every chance he got.
As Bruce raised his arm high into the air, above the seat of Tim’s blue gingham boxers, Damian felt a twinge of regret. He had been spanked by his father before and it was not a pleasant experience. Bruce Wayne was a formidable disciplinarian. Whap! Whap! Whap! Bruce wasted no time, as he brought his hand down three times fast, warming Tim’s poor bottom.
“Ngh…” The boy groaned a bit, as the slaps got harder and faster. It didn’t take long for them to start stinging quite a bit and the thin layer of cotton offered him little protection. After a dozen more, Bruce reached inside the waistband of Tim’s boxers and yanked them down to his knees as well, a furious blush rising in the boy’s cheeks to meet the healthy pink of his bottom. SMACK! “Augh!” Tim groaned, wincing. Damian’s eyes widened. SMACK! SLAP! SMACK! WHACK! Those slaps were a lot louder and hurt a lot more on exposed flesh, and new tears began to spill out of Timmy’s eyes.
Bruce had a firm, experienced hand and he delivered the spanking at a swift pace, taking care to redden each buttock individually and then both of them together with his large palm. WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
“Ohh Ow! OW!!” Tim couldn’t help but cry out with each new smack, shifting his hips involuntarily in a vain effort to evade his punisher’s hand. “OW! UGH!! OUCH!!” His backside was smarting terribly, a bright cherry glow rising on his flesh. “Daddy…!!” He pleaded, digging his hands into the sides of the chair to keep himself from throwing them backwards, which he knew would only earn him harder smacks.
Damian gulped. Usually his father’s large biceps were a source of pride… but faced with his current predicament, he wasn’t so sure. He began to feel a bit guilty for fighting as he watched Tim struggle to remain composed under great distress. The ten-year-old was no stranger to Bruce’s discipline methods, but he had never had to stand there and watch it happen to someone else. Those smacks were hard and relentless and Drake’s bottom looked sore and hot to the touch. Damian shuffled his feet uncomfortably, trying not to think about the fact that he was next.
“I don’t like to punish you like this, Timothy,” Bruce said in his deep, authoritative voice, continuing his rapid fire of spanks. “But you need to learn that fighting in the house is absolutely unacceptable.”
“Ouugh!!” Timothy wailed as a particularly sharp whack collided with his upper thigh. “I know! I know, dad, I’m sorry!!!”
“You obviously do not know,” Bruce continued, sternly clapping his son’s smarting rear, “Otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten into a fight with Damian and punched him in the face. What if you had really hurt him? You’re stronger than you think, Timothy, don’t forget that!” Tim sniffled, tears flowing freely from his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, dad. I didn’t mean to hurt him,” he pleaded, his face burning.
“And knocking over furniture? You could have seriously hurt yourself! Not to mention the antique clock you two ruined in your scuffle! You’re lucky nothing else got broken!” SLAP! SLAP! SLAP!
“Waaauughh, I’m s-sorry daddy!!!” Tim sobbed, burying his head against Bruce’s trouser leg.
“I know you are, son,” Bruce said in his deep voice. “But I’m not going to let this happen again. That’s why I’m going to give you thirteen swats with the ruler, to make sure this lesson sinks in.” Damian’s eyes widened. The ruler?! Tim let out a sharp gasp, as Bruce reached behind him for the dreaded wooden implement.
“Bruuuce, please don’t!!” Tim whimpered, wiping his eyes on his shirt sleeve as he wiggled over his father’s lap. The thought of thirteen hard smacks on his already smarting bum was horrifying. “I’ll never do it again, I swear!”
“You’d better not,” Bruce agreed in a hard tone of voice. “Count them for me, Timothy.” He brought the ruler down with a resounding CRACK.
“OH!” Tim gasped, his bottom bucking upwards as the harsh swat landed on his already sore flesh. “One! Thank you, sir!” Damian blushed, furiously. Father didn’t actually expect his sons to thank him for this injustice, did he?! But as Bruce whacked the ruler down a second time, it seemed that was exactly what he expected.
“T-two! Thank you, sir! OW! Three-- thank you, sir!”
“Good boy. You’re doing very well, Tim. Now let’s get these last ten over with.”
“Yes, sir,” Tim wept, WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! WHAP! The young teenager let out a ferocious howl as four quick relentless smacks crashed into his upper thighs. “F-four, five, six, seven, sir! Ngh!! Thank you, sir!” Damian paled visibly. Drake was going to have some deep bruises.
“OHH!! Ten and eleven!! Thank you sir!” Hot tears were spilling down Tim’s face and onto the carpet as Bruce crisscrossed his impeccable marks. “Nggghhhh, twelve, sir, thank y-OOWW OW th-thirteen, thank you, sir!!” At the final, tremendous crack, Tim dissolved into a mess of sniffling and tears. Bruce quickly pulled him up into a tight embrace, the boy’s sore, aching bottom resting on his knee.
“There, there, it’s okay,” Bruce said, his voice softening as he rubbed circles into Tim’s back. The poor boy was sweating profusely, as he cried into his father’s shoulder. Damian’s eyes were riveted, horrified, on Tim’s backside which was bright red, scattered with small purple speckles on his right, where Bruce’s fingers struck the hardest, and deep red, rising welts from the ruler. “Shhh, it’s alright Timmy,” Bruce whispered, pulling his son up into a big hug. “We’re all done. You’re okay.” Tim nodded, getting snot and tears all over his father’s shirt, but Bruce didn’t mind. He rubbed the boy’s back and gave his bottom a comforting pat until Tim had stopped shaking and small hands loosened their grip on the back of his shirt. Damian was getting more and more nervous by the second.
“Now,” he said firmly, helping Timmy to stand and pull his jeans and boxers up over his freshly spanked bottom, as the boy’s trembling hands did the zipper. “You go and stand by the fireplace, Timmy. Your punishment is over, but we’re all going to talk again once I’m done with Damian.” Tim nodded, and walked over to stand facing the wall, giving Damian an apologetic pout as he went.
The youngest Robin gulped. He was trying with all his might to show that he couldn’t care less about the rules and could take a punishment much better than sissy Drake, but truth be told, he was more than a little frightened.
“Come here, boy,” Bruce commanded, his stern voice returning for the second round.
“Yes Father,” Damian grumbled, his little hands curling into defensive fists. Before the boy could get his bearings, Bruce plucked him from the ground as if he were a pet, and placed him across his lap. “Hey!!” Damian yelped, surprised, as his father quickly pulled down his cargo shorts, bearing his dark gray briefs. Urk! Damian’s legs and arms dangled precariously over the carpet. It was not a comfortable position. He kicked his legs a bit trying to right himself.
“Why are you getting spanked, Damian?” Bruce asked sternly, placing a firm hand on his youngest son’s back to steady him.
“Huh!? No fair! You didn’t make Drake answ--Ow!!”
“Tell me why you are getting spanked,” Bruce repeated, landing a hard swat to Damian’s bottom.
“Because Drake decided to test my patience,” Damian snapped, his smart mouth getting the better of him, “and because you’re a fucking hardass who believes in arcane punishments.”
“Wrong answer,” Bruce remarked irritably, beginning to slap the boy’s buttocks repeatedly. SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “Let’s see if you can get it right after this!”
“Nghgh!!” Damian growled, kicking his legs more fervently. “Stop it, Father! You— OW! You have no right to do this!”
“Oh, I beg to differ!” Bruce replied, smacking his son’s upper thighs. “I have had just enough of your bratty behaviour and rude language, Damian Wayne!” He yanked down the boy’s underpants to his knees, and brought his hand high into the air once again.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
“Ugh!!” Damian groaned, reaching a hand back to shield himself, which Bruce neatly caught and pinned in a hammerlock against his back. “STOP IT!!” The ten-year-old whined more insistently, kicking his legs in frustration. “You’re such an asshole!” Tim’s eyebrows shot up. He had to admit it— even with his trousers around his ankles and his butt in the air, Damian had spirit.
“You’ll hold your tongue, if you know what’s good for you!” Bruce retorted, feeling his left eyebrow twitch in annoyance as he continued spanking the boy. “Or I’ll take a leaf out of Alfred’s book and wash your mouth out with soap!” Tim knew for a fact that Bruce had done this to Jason and Dick on occasion, so it was not an empty threat.
“Ttch!” Damian grumbled, but bit his bottom lip, feeling tears threatening to spill from his eyes soon. “Father…!” he moaned, squirming uncomfortably. He wanted nothing more than to rub his stinging hindquarters which were currently blossoming a vibrant shade of rose.
“What’s this for,” Bruce repeated, in a more level tone as he began to assault the crown of Damian’s small buttocks with sharp and deliberate swats.
“Ow!! Ouch!! Augh!! F-fighting with Drake!” Damian yelled. The underwear around his knees prevented him from kicking too hard and Bruce held him firmly in place. “I shouldn’t have hit him!”
“That’s right,” the handsome man replied, changing tactics to spank the delicate lower half of the boy’s bottom. “With four headstrong boys in the house, I understand there will be some horseplay, but don’t think for even a minute that fighting of this level is acceptable behaviour! We all put ourselves in enough danger with our jobs! It’s absolute madness to cause harm to each other over such trivial arguments!”
Damian buried his face against Bruce’s trousers, annoyed, ashamed, and feeling stupider by the moment for picking a fight in the first place. His bottom felt like it was on fire.
“Will you ever do it again?”
“NO!!” Damian wailed, as his father walloped him soundly.
“Good. Let’s make sure of that.” Bruce reached for the ruler once again, stopping to roll up his shirtsleeves. He readjusted the wriggling boy on his lap,
“Father, please!! There’s no need!!” Damian cried, his eyes widening in horror as he realized what Bruce meant to do. Secretly he had been hoping that the ruler was only reserved for the older boys.
“Ten swats,” said Bruce. “And you’re going to count them, just like your brother.”
Damian let out a low whimper and braced himself as he heard the sound of wood whooshing through the air.
“OUGH!!!!” He howled violently, as the first swat struck him across both buttocks, and he nearly forgot that he was supposed to count, until Bruce prompted him with an impatient warning.
“I don’t hear any counting, Damian,” he growled,
“One!” the boy snarled, wincing in pain.
“One what?”
“Thank you, Father!” he added, remembering how Drake had done it.
“Good,” Bruce noted. The loud thwack of wood hitting bare skin was dreadful.
“OW!! Two! Thank you, father. OUCH!!! Nhghg! Three, thank you, father!” THWACK! As the ruler came down a fourth time, Bruce heard the resolve crack in his son’s voice. “F-four! Thank, ngh, you Father.” Damian’s breath was hoarse now, his face wet and salty with tears. Bruce had let go of the boy’s arm and it was now tightly wrapped around his muscular thigh.
“Six more, Damian. I know you can take them.” Bruce said, rubbing the boy’s back before taking aim once more. WHACK! WHACK! Tim winced from where he was standing, nose to the wall.
“OH!! Five! Six!” Damian wailed. “Thank you father! OUCH!!” his bottom bucked in agony. “Seven! Eight! Thank you, father!” Bruce felt the little boy’s hands curl tightly into the folds of his trousers as he lifted the ruler for the last two times, and crisscrossed it over Damian’s bottom. “NINE! Thank you, father! TEN! Thank you father!” Damian gasped, openly sobbing at this point, as Bruce flung the nasty implement away onto his desk, and pulled his sniffling ten-year-old up into a bear hug.
“Shh, you did very well,” he said softly, wiping the boy’s brow and rubbing gentle circles into his back. “It’s alright now.” Damian breathed a huge sigh of relief and sank into the hug, his wet tears falling on Bruce’s shoulder. Damian felt humiliated that he had cried so much, and in front of Tim at that, but feeling his Father’s strong steady arms around him soothed him and took the worries out of his mind. After a few moments, Bruce caught his older boy glancing behind him anxiously. “Come here, Timmy,” He said in a gentle tone. Tim rushed towards his Father, freshly sniffling.
“I’m sorry, dad. I’m sorry, Damian,” He whispered as Bruce pulled him into the hug.
“I’m sorry, too,” Damian admitted, blushing and hiding his face in Bruce’s shoulder as he pulled his trousers up.
“I know you are. It’s all alright now,” Bruce smiled, patting Damian’s shoulder and ruffling Timmy’s hair. He was proud of his older son for setting a good example and apologizing. He gave each boy a kiss on the head, growling playfully as he snuggled them tight, making them giggle. “I love you both and I hope you know I hate to punish you like that.” Damian nodded, looking at the ground sheepishly.
“We know, dad. It won’t happen again,” Tim promised, giving his bottom a rub. Damian reached out a hand and Tim shook it, causing Bruce to beam with pride and ruffle his boys’ hair again. Times like these where they just got to sit and comfort each other were so special and rare.
“Now, it’s almost dinnertime and the big boys are coming over,” Bruce smiled. Dick and Jason! Both boys grinned excitedly. “What do you say we all watch a movie together afterward?” They left the library, feeling relieved and comforted as Bruce clicked off the light.