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1. Dick
His parents had been ripped from him, the circus was gone and his place in it, and he couldn’t EVEN UNDERSTAND THE LANGUAGE!
To say he was overwhelmed would be an understatement.
He found Bruce in the nice room. The one with all the soft couches and the only fireplace that Alfred actually lights. It’s much warmer in this room than any other place in the house.
It’s a really big house. Bruce is really big too.
The first time he saw B, he thought he was a giant coming to eat him. His mama had taken her last breath and suddenly he was completely covered in black. At first he’d thought he’d gone blind but it was just Bruce shielding him in the only way he knew how. It was his first hug from B. It couldn’t fix his parents death, it couldn’t bring them back, but it did mean no one could see him. More importantly, he could bury his ears in his biceps so he couldn’t hear the crowd yelling or hear his father gurgle the blood in his lungs.
B’s arms became his safe space. In the clothed warmth, no one could see him cry. He was safe there. No one could touch him. He couldn’t hear anything. He hadn’t realized just how loud the world was till he didn’t want to hear anything anymore.
Bruce was reading a book in his softest turtleneck. Dick climbed right up in his lap without pause or caution. B let out a breath that on anyone else would be of surprise but on him was more like a laugh. Dick shoved his face into the center of Bruce’s chest and wrapped his tiny arms around his waist. B lent down and wrapped one arm around his back between his shoulder blades. The other went under his butt to hold him in a more comfortable position. His lips pressed to Dickie’s head and it was perfect.
Dick was completely surrounded in warmth and love.
10 out of 10 hug.
2. Jason
He hated throwing up. He supposed that everyone did but for him it was a death sentence.
With Willis, he hated the smell but especially the sound. Jason tried to throw up as quietly as possible but you try purging your stomach without making a sound. Fuckin impossible. His father wasn’t the hitting type but boy-god did he like to yell.
On the street, he could only get so much food, so whatever he lost was a waste on all accounts. It didn’t matter that that mac n cheese was definitely expired and might be slightly poisonous to him. He couldn’t be sure where he’d get his next meal. He’d eat and shut up about it.
Bruce and Alfred had made it clear time and time again that he could eat whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. There was no limit and the pantry was open at all times, no matter how late or early. Words were great and all but his mom had told him that she’d stop using and look where that got her.
Bit dark there, Jason?
All this aside, so far aside, like bury 6 feet deep aside, (Fuck he’s still doing it), he hated wasting food. Especially food prepared so carefully by Alfred. So he kept eating till his plate was empty even if he was full after the 4th bite. He’d had a massive breakfast and lunch. Alfred was determined to add 50 pounds on his bones by Christmas. An admirable task but it meant that Jason often ate for 3 people in one day.
It was just too much today and after he was excused from the table looking a little green, he all but ran to his room and the ensuite. He just barely made it to the toilet before Alfred’s beauty made its vengeful return. Jason tried to be as quiet as he used to when he was little but Bruce was Batman so of course he heard.
“Oh, my little prince, what has become of you?” B whispered as he ducked into the room, trying to keep himself small. Jason still jumped sometimes when he came up behind him unexpectedly.
Jay felt tears rolling down his cheeks, “ I ‘frew up.” He hated this. He was so ridiculous. He was fine, but his stomach was cramping and so was his back from this crouched position. His mouth tasted terrible and his head was going to be pounding in a little bit, he was sure.
“I’m sorry, Jaylad. I know that sucks. Can I help?”
Jay just shrugged. What was he supposed to say? B took that as an answer and began running his hand up and down Jason’s back. It helped with the nausea and meant Jay didn’t have to hold all his weight anymore. They stay like that for a few minutes, just breathing.
“Do you think you’re done?” B whispered but didn’t stop his petting. It was really nice.
Jay nodded, he really freakin hoped so. B flushed the toilet and stood with Jason as they moved to the sink. He prepared his toothbrush and handed it off. After he was done, Bruce helped him wash his face and then change his clothes to the softest PJs he’d ever felt in his life. There was always at least one hand on Jason at all times. It felt like his only tether to the real world.
“Alright, your majesty, I think an early bedtime might be in order.” Bruce says as they move to his bed. Jason climbs up and Bruce tucks him in. He runs a hand through his rumpled curls and Jason thinks he’s melting. He presses a kiss to Jay’s forehead then makes to leave. Jason catches his sleeve and through half-lidded eyes tugs.
“Stay.” It’s a whispered plea. One Jason has never made before and will take to his grave.
Bruce gives the smallest smile and joins him under the covers. It’s definitely too small for the both of them so Jason curls up as tight as he can to B’s side and sticks his face in Bruce’s neck. Bruce wraps his massive arms around him and it’s like a blessing. Nothing has ever felt so safe and warm. Bruce runs his fingers through his curls again and the other keeps the covers from slipping. Good thing too because Jason takes one big deep breath then he’s slipping. It takes him only 2 more passes of Bruce’s fingers before he’s dead to the world.
0 out of 10 throwing up experience alone. Much, much better with Bruce. Still only a 7 though. His throat is completely torn up in the morning and he has to explain to Alfred that 3 meals for one person in just one hour is simply too much. Alfred takes it with grace and they have a long conversation about speaking up for oneself. It sucks but Bruce keeps him wrapped up in his lap the whole time. Could be worse, could be so much worse.
3. Tim
Tim was sick often. He knows its a stereotype, a trope beat all to death but it wasn’t his fault he didn’t have a spleen. He’d actually really like it back, get on that would you? In the meantime, he gets sick if just sees someone else sneeze. It’s absolute bullshit but something he’s very used to. He can tell within a few hours if it's gonna be a get-the-gurney and I.V.s type of sickness or just buy an extra box of tissues sick. Neither are fun but one gets long speeches about safety, the other speeches about wills and sticking around, dammit.
This one felt like something in between. He was going to get benched but he knew that before he’d even gotten out of bed this morning. He didn’t even get dressed, just brushed his teeth because that was always harder to do once the sickness really took over and mossied down to breakfast. He was not expecting to last more than 4 minutes by his calculation before Alfred caught him out. And just like clock work…
3:47 3:48 3:49
“Master Tim! You look dreadful. Are you feeling ill?”
Woah, new record.
“Yea–” he hacked up a lung, it was wet and gross. Great. “Yeah, not feeling the best.”
“Timmy, that sounds terrible.” Dick frowns and runs his hand along the back of his neck. Tim leans into it a little, but brushes him off. He doesn’t need Dick thinking he’s dependent on him. Not just his hugs and tokens of affection or being in the manor at all. He had worked so hard to be independent from Bruce and Tim would not jeopardize that.
Besides, physical touch wasn’t Tim’s thing. Promise. Definitely.
Alfred gets a thermometer and BEEP BEEP. Yup, totally benched.
“102. 2. You had better sit down. Let’s get some breakfast and I’ll set up the den.”
Dick passes him the oatmeal and Tim lets his forehead hit the table, maybe a little too hard.
“Does your head hurt?”
“Well it does nooowww.” He whines. God he sounds like a baby. Maybe he’s more sick than he thought because now he doesn’t want to move. Wants to curl in a small ball and just dissolve. Yeah, dissolve, that sounds good.
“Okay, eat then we move to the couch.” Dick says while pushing the bowl lightly into Tim’s head.
“Don’t you have work?”
“Yeah, but I can call off—”
“No, you already call off enough. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” He eats a few bites of the oatmeal and moves to the den with Dick’s arm around his shoulder. It’s really nice but Dick has to leave.
Alfred set everything up like he always does and it’s lovely. He’s a saint that they really don’t deserve. Tim burrows into his corner and tries not to cough desperately and is only mildly successful. Bruce doesn’t have a meeting till 2 so Tim has to stay really quiet till then because if he sees Tim like this all bets are off for him staying home too. He really doesn’t need more people to hover over him.
He doesn’t mean to say it’s bad or something! He isn’t ungrateful! He loves them all so much, it’s just so much all the time. He’s fine. He always is. This line of thinking must be so deadly it truly is trying to kill him because suddenly he’s coughing so hard that he might just throw up to get this mucus out of him.
In the blink of an eye, there's a trash can in front of his face and after a good minute of hacking, he finally leans back and breathes. Once he catches what little air he can manage in these conditions he looks up to see his savior.
Shit. It’s Bruce. Of course. Tim has the worst luck imaginable.
“Sick?”
“Feeling great actually. I could take Superman right now.” His voice sounds worse somehow. Like a garbage disposal full of forks. Does that make sense? Doesn’t matter, it’s true.
Bruce lets out a small huff. Batman didn’t find your joke funny but he takes pity on you.
He puts the trash can to the side and sits beside him on the couch and lays on hand on his forehead. Tim would love to tell you that he resisted and didn't put his whole weight into it but he really doesn’t have the energy to lie right now. Bruce’s hand is cold compared to his head and he’s so tired. He closes his eyes as B pushes his fingers through his hair and scratches softly at his scalp. Tim goes completely boneless and melts into B’s side.
“Hm. My meeting was canceled, so you’re stuck with me.”
Damn Batman reading his mind.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” He grumbles out in that baritone that has been comforting to Tim since he was 9 and running the streets to stay out of his lonely, empty house.
Bruce drapes the blanket from the couch and covers them both and boots up a boring episode of Gray Ghost. They’re all boring to Tim but Bruce loves them so much that puts up with it. Not like he’ll be up long enough to actually care. He’s completely covered by Bruce’s bulk and he doesn’t have to think. Bruce will keep him safe and warm. He’ll take care of the meds and the world. He doesn’t have to hold the world on his shoulders because Bruce has bigger ones. No one can touch him here in Bruce’s grasp, not brothers or monsters under the bed.
15 out of 10 sick day.
4. Damian
Damian was a prince, which meant that everything he did must be perfect and he must appear as such as well. This meant that the American style of clothing was far too simple for him. He had tried to keep a low-profile as his father instructed for schooling and other such outings. But…
Damian missed his robes. He kept a few here in the manor but had not worn them. The fabric was looser and moved with him rather than limiting his movements as western clothing often did. He had picked the loosest jeans Richard would allow but he preferred stealing his older brothers’ shirt because they were so big. (Of course, he wanted Father’s the most but he thought it too unbecoming for even him to steal them.)
He also really appreciated that his robes delineated him as of a higher class with only a glance. It was obvious he was a prince in robes. They held gold yes, but the depth of color and rich fabrics made them feel royal too. His mother would often brush kohl along his eyes too and it felt like he could see better. A childish notion but one that got him through long rituals and ceremonies where everyone stared at him too. This way he felt that he could see their true intentions without them seeing the real him or the weaknesses that he kept buried behind the black of his eyes. He had always related to Father in that way.
Speak of the Bat, or however that phrase Todd uses so often goes.
“Are you ready, Dami?”
The gala was in an hour but Father liked to check that everyone was ‘pressed and dressed’ early. Damian was certain it was just to make sure no one would run before the festivities had even begun.
“I hate suits.” He scowled at the infernal thing, pulling at the cuffs and collar. Father wore his like armor and he’d explained many months ago that at this point to him it was armor. That the cowl felt less like a mask than the tie did. Damian did not agree. The suit was confining and thoroughly annoying. He had hated getting fitted in it and he hated wearing it. He knew that the gala would be at least 3 hours and he was expected to wear it the whole time. This was torture that Father had promised would not occur here.
“What’s the problem, son?” Bruce kneels down to be the same height. He forces eye contact as well. He brushes one hand over his shoulder and down onto his back where he holds him slightly. Damian refuses to admit how good it feels.
By the look in his Father’s eye, he knows. Ugh, Batman.
“I hate suits. They are constricting and I could not defend the family with this thing constricting me.”
“You don’t need to worry about defending us. We have many contingencies in place. You know them, you have trained for them.”
“Still, Father. I hate this suit.”
He runs his hand up and down again as he thinks. Father looks up and scans his wardrobe. Damian had pulled a robe toward the front to feel his mother’s patchwork stitch on the inside. He missed— nothing. But sometimes it was nice to remember that his Mother had once taken care of him; that she was still out there.
Father stood and grabbed the most formal of the robes from the closet and inspected it. He presented it to Damian with a small smile on his face.
“Would you prefer this?”
Damian meets his eye in disbelief. “You– would allow me to wear my robes?”
“Would it make you more comfortable?”
Damian only nods, still stunned his Father would suggest such a solution.
“Then wear them. I can guarantee however that the upper crust will have something to say about it so be forewarned. I will take care of it if they go too far. You need only come find me and they–”
He rushes to hug his waist, burying his face in Father’s stomach. He laughs and bends once more to fully hug Damian. It is so warm here. Gotham always feels so cold compared to the place Damian grew up.
But here in the arms of his Father… he has never felt so warm.
9 out of 10. Would be better but alas he was still wearing that god-awful suit!
5. Jason (again)
He was fine. He had survived worse. The fear toxin was almost out of his system. He had managed to get to the safehouse made specifically for this and had taken the antidote. His guns were out of his grasp so he wasn’t going to shoot himself but still in range in case someone heard him scream. He was as safe as he possibly could be. The hallucinations weren’t actually that bad this time. The pit was terrible and created half his new fears but the advanced healing meant it got through his system faster. Trade-offs.
He was fine. He had survived worse.
But… he– fuck. He could really use a fuckin hug right about now.
It was stupid. He was an adult. One that had literally been to Hell and back. He’d died and even that couldn’t keep him down long.
…Shit. Was Ivy out? Is that why he wants a fucking hug so bad? He scoured his memory but Ivy was out 2 weeks ago for Earth Day and was put away again. So definitely no pollen. Unless of course, someone had mixen this fuckin toxin with some pollen. Fuck.
He didn’t have any more antidote for that. He’d used to the last of it this last break out.
Okay, wait. Think Jason. Did he feel cold like he usually did with the pollen? I mean, not really? A little cool but it’s fuckin Gotham. It’s always cold unless it’s July. Maybe he was fine. Fuck, that was worse though because that meant he just wanted a hug… for no reason.
Fuck this. He’ll be fine in an hour or two and then he can go pick a fight with Dickwing and it’ll all be fine.
Click.
Jason grabs his gun and flicks the safety off in a tenth of a second. He spins and finds…
The Bat with his hands up in surrender. Fuck. This is not good. He’s half drugged on fear toxin and in the worst safehouse for a bat to show up at, much less THE Bat.
He lowers the gun, “Go away.”
“Are you okay, Jay?”
“Just dandy, now reset that alarm and get the fuck out.”
He’s silent as he watches Jason with those calculating eyes that make it seem like he’s the one with X-ray vision not Supes. This is really bad because Jason knows that he’s still shaking, that he can’t seem to put the gun all the way down, that his eyes are darting all around and can’t leave the Bat’s body. Fuck, his dad’s body. His cape that he knows is so very warm and covers arms that will keep him safe from anything and everything. Fuck, so maybe he really does need that hug.
“Scarecrow was apprehended and no one was gassed.”
He’s telling him he is safe but also asking if Jason was gassed. Demanding in his own weird way. Damn him.
“Someone was gassed.” B moved automatically towards him and Jason lifts a hand,” I already took an antidote. Been in my system for at least 2 hours now. No visual hallucinations–”
“But auditory ones?”
“Well, you’re here aren’t you? And I’m really not supposed to be talking to you. You always taught us that. Fuck off Bruce. I’m fine.”
Jason finally drops his eyes and the gun to the floor. Batman isn’t here. He’s still got enough of the toxin in him to really fuck with him. He’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine.
As soft as a snowflake, B puts one hand on Jay’s shoulder. How the fuck did he do that? He was all the way across the room two seconds ago?! Jason grabs the hand to pull him off then—
It’s solid. Real. Fuck, he’s actually here.
“I’m here, Jay.” He pulls a gauntlet off with his other hand and pulls the cowl off. Jason looks up into Bruce’s face. His dad’s face. Jason can only imagine what his face looks like because suddenly he’s wrapped in those massive arms that aren’t actually that massive anymore. They used to blanket him completely, now they only just get around his shoulders.
The worst part of growing up is getting bigger than your parents. Jason never thought it would happen to him.
Bruce brings the cape around him while still remaining wrapped up in Jason. It shouldn’t be possible but what is Batman if not the man that makes impossible things happen.
Like fixing everything with a big hug.
Fuck, that’s so cheesy.
….. 10 out 10 hug.
+1 Bruce
Nightmares were old hat to Bruce now. He’d gotten them nearly every night since his parents passed. Tonight was no different. He couldn’t remember the exact nightmare, but his children were lying dead at his feet and there was a feather in his hand. Definitely one of the weirder ones but who was he to question his subconscious. He takes a few steading breaths. Most nights he can get back to sleep if he calms his nervous system down enough. If it doesn’t work within 15 minutes however, he’s in for a sleepless night.
He looks to his left and finds the clock, timing his inhales and exhales. It’s a slow and grueling process but he has 3 meetings tomorrow and he needs his rest.
It doesn't work. 15 minutes go by, 20, 30. He lays there for an hour before he gives in. He isn’t going back to sleep tonight and he’s just wasting away here.
He could eat. Not that he’s particularly hungry but it’s something to do. Alfred has taken to locking the cave and taking his tablets. He could of course get them back and sneak down to the cave but he is trying to be a better influence for his kids. Specifically Tim.
He walks down to the kitchen on silent feet more out of habit than anything but does slow when he sees the kitchen light is on.
He’s not worried about a break-in. He has a thousand cameras and detectors all over the Manor. He’s more curious to see who’s up and what they are doing.
He turns the corner and is shocked by who he sees.
“Stop being creepy, old man. Slinking around your own house is weird.” Jason says without turning. There was once a time when Bruce was able to scare him. It seems that is no longer. Pity.
“It is my own house as you say. Am I not allowed to do as I please?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Nope.”
Bruce grins, “why ever not, child of mine?”
Jason still doesn’t turn but Bruce can hear the smile on his face. “Cuz, I said so. And I’m the boss.”
“Oh you’re the boss, huh?” Bruce can’t help the massive smile on his face. This is his baby declaring he is the one in charge. It’s too much. He doesn’t think too hard about it, just gives into instinct. He leans his full body on top of Jason’s shoulders and lays his arms over his chest. He sticks his nose into Jay’s curls. They smell like the shampoo Alfred always stocks for him. It was such a struggle to find a curly product that worked for Jason’s stubborn curl. Just like the rest of him.
“B!” Jason shrieks but doesn’t push Bruce off.
When he first saw Jason again, he was struck with the thought that his son had grown up without him. That his baby had sprouted wings and he hadn’t seen it. Jason was now so much bigger than they had thought he’d get. In absolutely every way, he’d grown at least 3 times. The lazarus pit sure had some effect but as Jason stayed around the manor more and more these days, he could see all the ways he had matured too.
Jason had always had a chip on his shoulder but now the chip was a crater. It hurt and filled him with so much pride that Jason was just like him. He had all his best traits but all the worst ones too. And if Bruce was being honest, Jason looked more like him than even Damian did.
For some reason Jason had yet to push him off his shoulders and Bruce was absolutely going to take advantage of that. His son was warm and here and here and here. There was nothing short of a hurricane that could pull him from his arms, even then he'd probably just hold tighter to keep him safe.
Alas, there was a hurricane in every sense of the word on it’s way. It’s name was Dick Grayson.
“Cuddles without me? You have declared war!” Dick exclaimed as he draped himself over Bruce’s shoulders. They made a terrifying pile of bodies on the counter.
“Dick! You’re heavy” Jason complained and he tried to push Dick off with an errant hand. Bruce refused to be in the middle of one of their legendary fights. Well… anymore in the middle.
“Dad! He’s hitting me! Make him stop.” Dick whined in that petulant voice that only Jay could pull out. He wasn’t sure which relationship was the strongest between his boys but there was something so… childish between his two oldest. It was gratifying that they had found that in each other but so tiring to deal with.
“Dad! Make him stop. We were fine and then he had to come and ruin it.”
Bruce signed, “boys.”
How he loved when they called him Dad. How he hated when they made him act like a disgruntled Father.
Damian walks by from presumably his room to the study with the cave entrance.
Dick tripped him up and pulled him into Jason on the bottom. Damian squawks and Jason holds him against his side. Bruce looks down into his eyes and his reddening face. He raises one eyebrow and Dami lowers his eye as the whole pile remains silent waiting for the verdict.
“I was just going to finish my report tonight.” He whines out.
Dick is definitely laughing, Bruce can feel him shaking. Jason is probably too but it’s getting harder to distinguish between them right now.
“Did you not finish it a few hours ago just after we got back?”
“Like you said you did when I asked?” Jason chimes in.
Dami goes strangely quiet but Bruce is in too good a mood to say anything more. He knows that Damian is looking for more and more cases. His Robin is getting bigger but not that big. Speaking of though…
The clockface opens and out walks Tim.
“Tiiiimmmm–” Jason sings.
Tim jumps a little and turns to face their pile.
“What the hell is going on here?”
“Why were you in the cave past bedtime for little birdies?” Jason tightens his grip on Damian and meets Bruce’s eye. He nods and reaches an arm out slowly.
If Tim had slept in the last 48 hours, he would have noticed Bruce trying to grab him and would be able to stop him without blinking. This was as much of a test as it was a kidnapping.
Tim doesn’t notice.
Bruce somehow keeps Dick perfectly balanced on his back, one arm still around Jason as an anchor, and snags Tim’s flailing arm. He yelps but it does nothing as Bruce puts his weight into bringing the last little birdie to his arms. Dick grabs on too and with that, Tim is completely surrounded and he doesn’t even try to fight it.
He sighs long and loud and Damian lets out a little chuckle that reminds him just how young Dami actually is. It sets Jason off who has always laughed with his full chest and all the air from his lungs in one large burst pettering off into wheezes. Dick has the cackle that has scared the Gotham underbelly for over a decade at this point and it’s so nostalgic in his ear. Tim gives in too and his little chittering sounds like a true Robin bird.
It’s the best sound Bruce has ever heard. Wrapped in his children, he forgets all about his nightmare.
There isn’t a score high enough to properly explain his love for his boys and their hugs.
10 out 10.