Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

9 year old Dick Grayson was just about to go to bed after a longgg longgg longgg patrol when he realized that something was amiss. Usually, after brushing his teeth and washing his face and using whatever other ridiculous products Bruce insists he uses, he can go straight to bed cuddled up with Zikta. Tonight, something was off, Bruce was way more bat than man. He had been at work nonstop. He hasn't even been able to show up to dinner for 3 days. Dick had been having nightmares on repeat and although Bruce assures him that it's not his fault Dick can't help but feel guilty. So that is why he can't ignore the nagging urge to check on his father figure.

The old oak door creaks obnoxiously and the boy steps into the massive hall covered by an old Arabic-style runner. He turns and starts the abnormally long walk to the master suite, and when he cracks open one of the decoratively carved double doors his heart clenches. The man is not in his bed not at his desk. The Alaskan king is made up just as it was left that morning. However, a sliver of light beckons him to the en-suite bathroom. Now to be clear if he were in a more present state of mind there would be no way Dick would ever consider entering the head Wayne's bathroom without explicit permission, but tonight curiosity gnaws at him removing any doubt that he should enter.

The master bathroom is huge with a 2 sink vanity that spans the wall along with a mirror, a toilet divided by a half wall, a small closet, and of course, a shower separate from THE bathtub to end all bathtubs. It is attached to the wall and can fit an abnormal number of people. It has jets and is covered in enough marble to make the Taj Mahal shudder. It is where Bruce sits right now surrounded by bubbles with some kind of under-eye patches on and a nice glass of something amber and potent.

“Do you need something?”

Dick startles at the question. He had been extremely quiet coming in. There couldn't have been much of a way for Bruce to know he was there, but he was the Batman so of course he knew. Only that's kind of hard to remember when the Batman in question is surrounded with fluffy bubbles.

“What are you doing?” Dick counter questions

“What does it look like I'm doing?” he doesn't even need to open his eyes to know who is there and what their general direction might be, its admirable.

“Umm-”

“Relaxing. I'm relaxing,” He states rather aggressively and takes another drink of the liquor from god knows where in the world. Any other 9-year-old would be frightened by any intoxicated adult, but as the boy wonder who chases thugs and stops insane crime lords on the daily, he is intrigued. One again his curiosity beats his survival instinct and he pulls up a stool.

It is no secret that Bruce is a mass of muscle, complete force to be reckoned with. Someone who is always 10 steps ahead of you, always in control. Never a hair out of place, suit always ironed flat. So to see such a man sitting in a bath full of lavender-infused bubbles and green tea infused under eye patches is a reality check Dick didnt know he needed. This guy who is loved by all, always doing 50 things at once and never messing up. And to think these are the shoes he is expected to fill one day. One day, maybe he will draw himself a bubble bath after a hard day hustling through corporate America,a crime fighter at night and the ladies oh the ladies, will be obsessed. He is gonna grow up to be just as tall and strong, and he is going to use Bruce's stupid products so his skin will glow and the jealous competition can give him backhanded compliments that he and B can laugh about over Alfred's cookies. And-

“Dick?”

“Yeah?”

“Im never letting you get a job”

“Oh.” well that took a turn

“Listen to me, Dickey, I'm 23 years old, bub, I should be working in a shitty pizza shop or something, but no I have to wake up evrey morning and do piles and piles and piles of paperwork and oh god the meetings” he begins messaging his temples obviously these meetings are something else. “They come up with some stupid idea, I tell them why their wrong of course they don't listen because god forbid the CEO of the company wants to make a suggestion, Its insufferable, and Leroy Thompson oh my hes ancient and on his third divorce since i met him ive known him four years four. And he wants to talk about me sleeping around, ugh.” He takes a minute to reflect on what he just said to his once again 9-year-old boy.

“What does that mean, sleeping around ive heard people say it before, does that mean you get married a bunch of times?”

“Take this away from me, bud.” He hands the boy the mostly empty cup that reeks of cinnamon and hand sanitizer. Responsively, the boy sets it down on the faraway vanity and returns to his post. Where Bruce, seems to have reverted back to lying in the steaming porcelain eyes once again closed.

“B?”

“Mhm?”

“Do I… make you more stressed?” Dick cringes where he sits and fiddles his fingers together nervously. Bruce snaps his head toward the boy

“Oh Honey of course not” He lifts a warm soapy hand to hold the boys face and he begins to rub his thumb along the babyfat lined jaw.

“Out of all my jobs and responsibilities, you are my top priority, no matter how busy or stressed I am I will always make myself available to you, also If you were such a stress in my life I would have kicked you out the second you came in here, yes?”

“Yes” the boy perks up again

“Alright towel” The man slugs to action unvealing his dewy undereyes and pulling the plug on the bath Dick grabs the black towel and tosses it to the man and makes his way into the main bedroom to sit and wait on the edge of the massive bed.

Soon enough Bruce is walking out in black sweatpants and his usual dramatc satn robe smelling of lavender and peppermint. He walks over to where Dick sits eyes drooping head resting on his knuckles. He situates the child on his hip and walks to return him to his room down the hall.

He enters the blue colored room illuminated by a small lamp on the wooden nightstand that resides behind the queen-sized bed supplied with a wooden side guard on one side (Installed after one too many sleep roll-related accidents). He gently lays the youth down and tucks the covers tightly around him. Instead of simply exiting the room he sits down on the side of the bed and watches as the boy falls asleep while petting the dark wavy locks he remembers to remind Dick of a very important thing.

“I love you, sweetheart.” The boy sinks a little deeper into the plush mattress and a smile appears on his face. Bruce coos and drags a finger down the bridge of his little nose. This is true relaxation, watching his precious child safe and happy. He watches until Dicks breaths find a deep steady rythm. He gets up, walks to his room, and doesn't wake up until noon.

Chapter Text

Bruce has been gone for a whole week. He had to go to stupid Singapore for his stupid job and leave little old Jason to wallow away in the vacant halls of a dusty manor (Not literally dusty, Alfred would never allow that. Alfred, a wonderful man but not the most creative when suggesting activities, no, he won't be dusting the balusters, and he refuses to even figure out what that would entail. But Tuesday night as he tucks himself in once again at 9:45 he hears a familiar voice that has him jumping out of bed and running to his door to investigate.

“Master Bruce, is there anything else you require of me?”

“Ugh Just- don't wake me up before 2:00”

“I will see you at noon.”

Jason waits for the footsteps to retreat for him to make his way to Bruce's bedroom. The bathroom door is wide open and light is spilling out. Bruce is standing in a pair of flannel pajama bottoms and oh no…. Sunglasses. It is currently 12:30 am, there is no logical excuse for anyone to need sunglasses at this time unless they were drunk, high, or hungover. His hypothesis is further proven when the usually put-together man leans his head on the cabinet door and sighs. Jason should leave now before Bruce gets mad or worse, but he's Robin and that is Batman is this not his job? He continues watching as Bruce seemingly convinces himself to brush his teeth when a yawn accidentally slips out of his mouth. He freezes in fear as Bruce's head turns slowly to face him (slow reflexes also concerning).

“Jay” The man breathes slowly out and opens his arm, and despite the boys strongest instincts he can't help but latch on.

“B?” Jason's cheek rests on his father's warm stomach it grounds him in place as he tries to understand what is going on. Bruce hums in response and begins to run his hand through the messy curls against his torso. As he brushes his teeth, the boy lazily fidgets with the drawstring on the flannel pants as he stares off into thought. Little does he know, above him Bruce is battling the mother of all migraines from a mix of jetlag, rapid depressurization from the landing, and a million other variables. The warmth helps him focus on something other than the pounding in his head.

Sharp blue squinting eyes are revealed as the man finally removes the black designer sunglasses probably worth as much as Jason's bed, and places them playfully on the 13-year-old’s head. Jason hops up on the vanity as Bruce washes and dries his face. He watches as the man pulls out a small jar of thick cream, takes a glob, and dots it around his face, then rubs it in. He takes some more out of the jar and dabs some on the boy as well. He then takes out some kind of serum and drops it around his face, then puts the bottle away.

“Hey, what's that?”

“A retinoid”

“Do I get some too?”

“Nope.” He then scoops Jason up and onto his hip and walks toward the small closet and takes out a locked case. He pulls out an bottle of white pills and pours 2 into his hand. The child in his arms begins to whimper

“Oh Baby no, I just have a little headache okay, Im okay im okay” He whispers into the dark curls as he walks with the boy to a decanter full of water which he pours into a glass tumbler pops the two pills in his mouth and washes them down, all while Jason begins to hyperventilate.

“Jay, do you know how painkillers work?” Bruce tracks the signals of an incoming panic attack and decides the best course of action is to distract him with information. He walks over to the worn leather couch in front of the small corner fireplace and settles the boy down next to him. Rubbing small circles into the child's hands he faces him and continues.

“What I just took was called Exedrin, it is an over-the-counter medicine, do you know what that means, hmm?” He readjusts his hold on the boy's hands “It means it is a very low-level drug, and I am not at risk for any type of addiction.”

“Like mama?”

“What your mother took was most likely heroin. That is a form of morphine. do you know what morphine is used for?” The boy shakes his head, forgetting about his panic instead focusing on reclaiming the education he was so long deprived of.

“Its used mainly for medical procedures, that is what I would use on you if you ever got really hurt on the field, and what that would do for you if you were shot or stabbed or anything in that area is make you feel dizzy and floaty so you don't feel any pain yes?”

“But why does it do bad things?”

“Well, sometimes people gain access to these substances without a reason by people who want to exploit them, then the person keeps using it so much that they can't stop and the dealer keeps making money untill they use too much and the body is overloaded.”

“Oh,” The look in his eyes is heartbreaking. He is curled up with his knees to his chest looking down at his socked feet. The migraine seemed to have been too far along for the Exedrin to do anything anyway. All he wants to do is curl up in bed and sleep a long, good sleep. He rubs his pulsing eye with the heel of his palm and wishes that one thing tonight would go smoothly.

“B, do you feel floaty?” The big blue eyes stare in concern, and Bruce's heart melts then and there

“I wish, bud, but I do think that jet lag is hitting me hard right now so why don't we go lie down?” He holds out his hand and hopes the kid will take the bait. By some miracle, the boy uncurls and walks to the large plush mattress. However, instead of the usual routine of getting in and pulling himself under the comforters until the older man lays down beside him and tucks him closely under his arm, he pushes the fluffy comforter back and waits for Bruce to get in then brings the blanket over the mans shoulders and runs off into the master bath. The tap runs momentarily, then returns the room to silence.

The child jogs back to the side of his mentor's bed and rests the heated, damp towel over his eyes and starts crawling behind where his head lies, successfully pillowing the adult's head in his lap.

“Jay, what are you-” He starts to sit up

“Stay down you big boob” He pushes the man back down with added force. Bruce easily recognizes this behavior as Jason's artificially acquired need to nurture. As much as it soothes the boy's worry to take a hands-on approach to fixing malady, it is important to highlight traditional dynamics between a parent and child. Only maybe that can wait because Jason has started rubbing at Bruce's aching neck that just spent 20 hours on a plane. The little fingers do a surprising amount on the knots in his neck, and he feels himself begin to melt into his child's touch. It is truly one of the cutest and sweetest things Bruce has ever seen(He shouldove put Dick to work like this ages ago). He lets the moment continue for all of 5 minutes of kneading and rubbing at sore muscles before he removes the now cold towel and stares up at his little angel who stares right back at him. He pulls the little head down and gives him a pronounced kiss on the forehead before he sits up and starts to shift the child into his arms, when the doe eyes return to their look of concern.

“But B, your head,” Bruce continues to pull the boy back in front of him with a chuckle

“Oh, sweetheart, you've done more than enough to help.” He just can't resist placing another few kisses onto the round freckled face as he wraps his arms around the boy, feeling better than the acemetatophin mixture could have ever made him feel.

Chapter Text

Bruce was back. After six long months of fighting and searching, all while the entire Justice League told him he was crazy. Superman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern, and even Nightwing. All heroes whose faces are plastered on lunchboxes and t-shirts and sent to hospitals to inspire hope when there is none in sight. Until it's him, until little old Timmy has- not quite concrete, but limestone evidence that maybe the man who has folders upon folders of contingency plans for every scenario might have been able to weasel his way out of being toasted by a literal god (Yeah in hindsight it doesn't look great). But he's not some kook, he's a detective trained by Batman, he's not just making shit up to avoid his grief. Training his mind, his body, all of it ignored because of a stupid file, “Unstable when faced with loss check in regularly”, “Emotional coping skills below average please offer guidance”. Notes Bruce left in little files only accessible by his closest friends. He's lucky he supposes, it's better than Damian's comments, or Jason's (yeesh). But still, the whole JLA was basically told “look out for terrible Timmy, who knows when he'll snap?”. Like he would do something so crazy and twisted, endanger himself and others for his ludicrous schemes. That's why he simply had to go to Ra’s for help, it was his only option. And thank goodness that worked out. If anyone knew where he was at that time Superman would've flown in and dropped him right in Arkham.

Now it's over, Bruce has returned home and things are back to normal. Bruce is still on bed rest in the manor and he will be for quite some time. Tim shows up for patrol and returns to his apartment, making sure to give the family space to find their dynamic again and maybe when everything is settled Tim will show up for dinner or something.

Patrol was numb and mundane. His heart fluttered as he rolled into the cave and it would be ripped out when he leaves for his apartment like a stubborn, whining dog. Stupid dog that doesn't understand, this is not your home, we have a home, the apartment. This is how it had to be. He was fine with it. He wasn't going to be a brat about it “Oh No! My apartment doesn't have (my dad) a pool, or (my family) a Library”. He wasn't that spoiled, things could be much worse. So as he sat on the peeling, cracked leather chair, he didn't think about the man who usually occupies it, he thought about his night, and his early-onset independence.
The sporadic clacking of the keyboard harmonized with the dripping of built up dew from the stalactites and the occasional fluttering of bat wings. It created a nostalgic ambiance that, if left unchecked, could have a hypnotic effect beckoning him to stay. He is reminded why that can't happen when the Jersey devil walks towards him with his usual sneer plastered on his face.

“Drake.” The boy spits like a curse

“What do you want?” He continues to type, going for an unaffected vibe- supplement his fire with ice.

“Father wishes for an audience with you.” Well that was unexpected

“What?” He has been caught completely off guard, and off guard is the last thing you want to be when in the presence of Damian.

“Drake, you may continue this petty vengeance against me and Grayson and whomever else will comfort your miniscule brain, but to cast your blame to father who insists on holding affection towards you is cowardly and I won't stand for it”

“Damian, what are you?”

“You will get changed, go upstairs and see father by the end of this hour or I will maim every bone in your body and place your head on a stake” He walks back upstairs stomping like a 6 year old after threatening him like an ancient curse personified.

Once Tim is freed from his stupor, his stomach drops. B thinks he's ignoring him- B is upset, oh god. What if he starts drinking again, what if he stopped sleeping again, what if he stopped eating again. And Tim wasn't there. How can the family find their dynamic again if Tim isn't there to make sure Bruce is safe. Dick became not only a father, but his father with 0 notice. Not only did he have to take on the cowl but take on the biggest nightmare child in the history of mommy forums. And now to have to attend to his own father. It's just not fair.

Tim steps out of the cave showers and walks over to his locker that should, in theory, be incased in dust. He opens the locker thats hinges should be rusted over and forgotten with clothes that are stale and small. Only that's not what he finds. He finds a shiny locker that's hinges make no sound while shifting open and to be punched in the face by the aroma of lavender that could only be so strong if washed within the past 2 weeks. He doesn't get choked up from the smell because that would be ridiculous. And he doesn't think twice about the fact that Alfred cleaned his locker and supplied it with a change of clothes because that is what he gets paid for. Without a minute to spare he changes into the soft sweatpants and worn t-shirt and walks up the stairs and into Bruce's study.

If the smell of the detergent was a punch in the face, the whole manor was a sledgehammer to the nuts. Thisisnotyourhome,Thisisnotyourhome,Thisisnotyourhome, He walks upstairs to the family area (not yours) and blinks back tears.

He places a hand on the wall in fear of collapsing when he finally enters the main living room and sees the broad silhouette of a man typing away on his laptop. He gains his composure and rounds to the front of the couch, The man is wearing a grey somehow oversized T-shirt with some basketball shorts sitting with his legs up on the L-shaped curve of the couch. (One could say this is a very intimate position to find him in, one could say only he would only allow his most trusted family to see him dressed down and vulnerable like this), Tim ignores those thoughts and lets out an extremely uncomfortable-sounding,

“B?”

The man looks him up and down and lets the ghost of a smile possess his face. He closes his laptop and crosses his legs in front of him.

“Tim” he breathes and reaches his arms out to pull Tim to sitting across from him.

“Um Damian said you needed to talk to me about something….. Is everything okay?” He cringes and braces for whatever catastrophe is coming.

“Tim. Where have you been?” Everyone is so cryptic these days.

“My apartment, remember I'm emancipated.” Obviously.

“Timothy. Im hearing stories, about how you were treated the things that were said to you, the things that happened to you, they're saying your tracker was found on Nanda Parbatt- and you just disappear- you won't talk to me, you won't talk to your siblings, even goddamn superman is telling me you won't talk to him”

Bruce is getting visibly upset, over him? He's been through so much in the past six months and here Tim goes making things worse stressing him out.

“Im sorry I- what do you want me to do?” He is completely lost, might as well ask for a map.

“I want you out of that apartment and in this house where I can take care of you- I don't care if your emancipated, just because you can feed yourself and bathe yourself and put yourself to bed does not mean you are equipped to face the complex emotions that come with adulthood, you were already stunted as a child, and the second you gained some stability It all came crashing down, Tim, let me build that back up for you”

Somewhere between opening that locker and Bruce's pleading, tears started falling like a torrential downpour that was held in and built up on the limestone foundation of evidence that his man, his father, was alive and here and holding his hands and begging to have him in his house again. And Tim had wished and dreamed of this moment while lying in his IKEA bed in his lonely apartment, telling himself that he works better alone. But the tears keep falling, silence interrupted by short hiccups. He's thrown off his train of thought by Bruce's apparent incoming anxiety attack.

“Tim I- can I please hold you sweetheart? I need you in my arms I-” His breathing is beginning to speed up, something Tim hasn't seen in a long time. The desperation in his voice only makes Tim cry more as he is pulled into Bruce's lap. The man wastes no time pulling a blanket from the arm of the couch and wrapping him tightly as he rocks him.

“B-” he manages to choke out

“I was told you disconnected from everyone, the league your siblings, all alone, Clark told me you got your spleen removed, in the middle of the desert, just the fact that you were with R’as is fucking terriflying- do you understand how scary that is to hear” The boy chokes through a nod as the man continues to rip off bandaid after festering baindaid to finally give the wounds the air they need to heal.

“I was scared- I was so scared B- I woke up lying in the sand and I wanted you there but thats why, thats why I needed to get you back” Bruce presses his cheek to the boys temple and breathes a deep breath as if he can inhale his very essence and keep it in a bottle where nobody could reach it. But when he exhales to Tim's horror he lets out a shaky breath that Tim hasn't heard since years before when he would find the man grieving in his room.

“Let me look honey- Please- to make sure its healing right” He releases Tim to be fully lying in his lap using one hand to support his head and the other to gently lift his shirt to reveal ugly black stitching on his left below his peck. He gently runs a finger below it and lets tears spill from his eyes as he examines the other scars littering his torso.

“My baby,” he breathes. “your body didn't look like this before” He looks absolutely heartbroken.

“B, don't cry I'm gonna cry more if you cry” The two idiots are both crying now, and Tim pushes himself upright to wrap his arms around Bruce. They sit there for a while until their tears subside. Bruce finally takes initiative pulling back and moving to stand up, then pulling Tim back to his chest.

“Tomorrow we clear out your apartment, you move back here, we discuss building a support system, and Alfred feeds you tons and tons of carbs, you've lost too much weight kiddo.”

“Ok,” he smiles up at the man with a euphoric sense of exhaustion- it's all over, he has his dad again.

“Goodnight sweetheart, I love you so much, never forget that.” he drops a kiss to his child's hair and holds him for just a little while longer.