Chapter Text
Having Batman as a parental figure is… quite the experience.
Both to witness as an outsider, and to actually live through.
Batman does not love loud. He will not love you with bright smiles and warm affection. He will not love you by sharing your humour and gifting you trinkets he thinks you might like. He will not love you by telling you as much.
No, he will love you in the quiet moments. The moments that slip past you that normally, you wouldn’t think about. The moments where you don’t even realise that that’s what he’s doing.
Having Batman as your parent, that takes a while to get used to. You miss it, at first, simply because you don’t realise. And sometimes, the kids do still miss it when it happens.
Dick learned this first.
He learned this when he gave Damian the mantle of Robin. Stepped in to be that parental figure in Damian’s life when Bruce was lost in the time stream. He learned what it was like to have the life of a small boy, so hurt and so lost, in the palm of your hand. What it was like to care for a child who thought they knew everything.
He did what he could to show Damian love. Gave him space, gave him time, and was gentle. Tried to be tougher and sterner when he needed to be.
They fought, of course. What parent and child relationship doesn’t include fighting at least once? Dick understood why Bruce carried his moral code, Damian still had to learn. Dick understood the importance of patience, Damian wanted immediate justice and revenge. Dick knew what it was like to leave an entire life behind, and how to let go of the hurt that came with losing that. Damian was still learning.
It brought Dick back to when he first wanted to leave Batman’s shadow, wanted to become his own hero and go out and do his own thing.
Batman had told him he wasn’t ready. Wasn’t prepared for what it took to lead a team, to make the hard decisions.
Contingency, Batman said he would need.
Dick had fought him, at the time.
Called him paranoid, bitter, heartless.
Didn’t he know what it was like to love? To trust? To hope?
Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. Dick still wasn’t sure.
But as he sat at the Batcomputer, rubbing a hand down his face as Damian stormed out of the cave, furious that he wasn’t trusted enough to be his own hero, Dick think he understood.
It was never about Dick not being ready.
It was about Bruce being scared to let Dick risk getting hurt.
Because when you’ve spent so many years holding a life in your hands, nurturing it and caring for it, of course you are going to be scared when the time comes to let that life go.
What Dick had called Bruce’s paranoia, his bitterness against the world that was unkind to him, was actually, at least in part, Bruce’s love for him.
He wishes he could tell Bruce that he understood that, now.
Damian learned second.
When Batman returned and returned to the Batman mantle, Damian became his Robin.
Dick had taught him well, prepared him for what working with Bruce would entail. Damian had gotten to experience so little before Bruce went away. Now, he would finally understand the full picture. The real experience that each and every Robin had gotten before him.
And he hated it, at first.
He had found Dick to be a better teacher. Bruce was less compromising, more focused on the mistakes that Damian made rather than his successes. Didn’t trust Damian at first to do solo recon. Held him back by putting him in roles away from any real danger. He fought Bruce relentlessly on this, citing his training with the League, with Dick. He was prepared for more. Demanded his skills be effectively utilised.
He could lead. He could make difficult decisions. He could fight. Could kill if necessary, even if now he had learned to avoid it at all costs.
It took Bruce outright sedating himself to prevent himself from being possessed, putting himself into a coma for him to realise.
Now, he was in a position where he had to work with others. He led them as well as let himself be led. Both sides of the coin.
Bruce had always trusted him. Knew that he did not require Bruce’s oversight. Could be trusted to work in a team, handle himself against the biggest of threats. He was prepared.
When Bruce chose to take himself out of the equation to prevent hurting others, Damian finally understood. It wasn’t that Bruce didn’t trust him. It was that Bruce chose to be there for him. Chose to oversee his work and be his backup because he cared. Wanted to keep Damian safe.
He chose to throw himself into the line of fire in front of his son.
When the battle had been won, Damian had hugged his father in gratitude. Bruce subtly returned it.
That was all the communication they needed.
Tim learned third.
He arguably experienced the worst parts of Bruce. A man consumed by grief, who was losing himself to it. Forgetting the hero that he was, the hero Gotham needed. And Tim stepped up to hold Bruce together with sheer determination, running off of nothing but energy drinks and a love of Gotham’s heroes.
Bruce had been hard on him. Absent in his life. Sent him away from training. Fought him tooth and nail on becoming Robin until Tim no longer gave him a choice.
When Tim had finally managed to rescue him from the time stream, brought him back and had to get him up to speed on all that he missed, Bruce hadn’t even thanked him. Not a single thank you.
Not a verbal one.
No, Bruce’s thanks took other forms.
It took the form of Bruce gradually taking responsibility over Wayne enterprises back from Tim, so he wasn’t so overworked.
It took the form of trusting Red Robin’s intel on difficult cases, looking to Tim for guidance and confirmation that they were doing the right thing.
It took the form of Tim waking up in his bed in the manor, tucked in under the covers, and some aspirin on the bedside drawers with a glass of water, when he could have sworn he was sitting at the bat computer.
Tim had been bitter for a very long time. He had sacrificed so much to get Bruce back. He had lost the Robin mantle, lost his family when Dick threatened to send him to Arkham, lost his spleen and his moral compass whilst working with the League of Assassins, despite having ultimately made significant progress in dismantling their operations for good.
And not a thank you?
Tim only realised when he woke up once, as Bruce was carrying him to bed. He blinked a few times, trying to figure out what was happening. Seemingly somehow sensing this, Bruce only hushed him and held him closer to his chest as they moved.
He thought it had been Dick, or Alfred, when this had happened before. No one had corrected him.
He knew now it was Bruce.
This was Bruce’s thank you. Bruce’s love.
He settled into Bruce’s arms, closing his eyes, humming softly.
The lack of resistance was his gesture of acknowledgement.
Jason learned last.
Really, it isn’t surprising he took the longest. When your father figure lets the man who kills you live, it isn’t too great of a leap in logic to think that they do not love you.
Jason had spat that back in Bruce’s face more times than he could count. Fought with the man over his moral code more times than the sun rose and set. Did what he could to deliberately piss the man off and make him suffer for not avenging Jason.
Becoming a crime lord was the epitome of everything Bruce fought against. So Jason welcomed it with open arms. Ran his operation in Gotham as the biggest middle finger he could give Bruce. Worked with dangerous people to run his organisation with an iron fist. Killed without hesitation.
Jason knew Bruce didn’t love him, so he shaped himself into the very thing Bruce despised. Go big or go home, right?
But of course, being a crime lord was dangerous work. Jason threw himself into the line of fire without hesitation, and usually got hurt because of it. That was just par for the course.
This was how he ended up in the batcave with a dislocated shoulder and what he guessed was three broken ribs. He had tried a few times to pop his shoulder back in, but to no avail. They were just finishing up the mission debrief for a drug bust gone very, very wrong. No one got out unscathed, but Jason had definitely taken the worst hits.
“Dismissed.”
Jason turned on his heel to head back to his bike, ready to get the fuck out of here and return to his safehouse so he could patch himself up and sleep for the next day or so.
“Jaylad.”
Jason paused mid-step, whirling around on his heel.
“Don’t.”
Bruce put his hands up in a placating gesture, despite holding a file in one of his hands.
“The file on Sionis you requested.”
Bruce approaches slowly to offer the file. Jason reaches out with his good arm to take it. When Jason’s grip tightened on the file, Bruce used it to pull Jason in, pop his shoulder back into place, before letting go of the file. He didn’t say a word, just turned around and walked back into the cave.
Jason stood there for a while, confused by the gesture. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to ask Bruce how he knew his shoulder was dislocated or why he helped by popping it back into place. He stood there for so long, Bruce had actually come back, pills in hand.
“For the ribs.”
Jason squints his eyes at Bruce for a beat. Bruce nonchalantly pops two out for himself, swallowing them dry, before handing the rest of the packet to Jason, who now takes it.
Bruce walks away again, now sitting down at the bat computer to write his report. Jason hesitates, looking at the drugs in his hand, before huffing and shaking his head, making his way up to the manor.
You don’t do that sort of thing for people you despise. Jason isn’t stupid enough to ignore that.
Jason taking the pills was more than enough acceptance of that fact.
Batman had gotten really hurt on the mission with the Justice League. He was hooked up to multiple machines in the Watchtower, still unconscious. Clark and Diana were watching over him, not wanting him to be alone when he woke. Neither of them had said a word, letting the silence permeate the space like shadows, weaving its way into every possible space.
This silence was interrupted by the sound of the zeta tubes activating, and the collective footsteps of four people moving towards them. Clark looks over to see Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin coming over. Clark smiles.
“Hey kids.”
Nightwing gives him a half-smile before dropping it.
“Where is he?”
Clark nods towards Bruce, and the kids don’t hesitate to circle around their dad. Dick takes one of Bruce’s hands, Tim takes the other. Jason goes to look at the machines as Damian sits at the bottom of Bruce’s bed.
Somehow, as if sensing his children around him, Bruce inhales sharply, his eyes fluttering open. The kids take their dominoes off, as if in mutual respect given that Bruce was not wearing his cowl. Bruce glances around at all of them, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“What…?”
“Do not speak, Father. Conserve your strength.”
Tim, looking through the clipboard of paperwork reports aloud.
“Several broken ribs, punctured lung, concussion, broken ankle, dislocated shoulder. Add a broken back and this would be Bane all over again.”
“None of us want to relive that nightmare replacement.”
Dick looks at Bruce with a small smile and squeezes his hand.
“We’ve got you, Bruce.”
Jason steps towards the bed now, a hand on Dick’s shoulder.
“We can cover Gotham whilst you rest, old man.”
Tim nods.
“We’ve already got a patrol schedule between us and Steph, Cass, and Duke.”
Damian doesn’t add, just curls up at the bottom of the bed, a careful hand on Bruce’s leg.
Bruce doesn’t say anything more, just gives a smile at his kids, before closing his eyes, letting himself drift back off into a peaceful sleep.
Clark and Diana leave the family alone, as each of the kids follow Damian’s lead and curl up around their father, keeping him close and keeping guard.
Having Batman as a parental figure is quite the experience.
Both to witness as an outsider, and to actually live through.
Batman does not love loud. He will not love you with bright smiles and warm affection. He will not love you by sharing your humour and gifting you trinkets he thinks you might like. He will not love you by telling you as much.
No, he will love you in the quiet moments. The moments that slip past you that normally, you wouldn’t think about. The moments where you don’t even realise that that’s what he’s doing.
But he will learn that there are other ways to give love. Other ways to receive it. Other ways to be that parental figure his children need.
He won’t always get it right. But the fact that he loves them will not change.