Archive of Our Own

His mouth tasted like mud. 

Grit crunched between his teeth and coated his tongue. His limbs felt heavy, as if encased in cement. Cautiously, Bruce opened his dry eyes. Blurred shapes slowly came into focus until at last he could see the bare earth he was tasting and the dim outline of trees. 

Where was he? There weren't many trees or pavement free areas in the city. Which was where he was supposed to be. The boys couldn’t agree on dinner so they went out to a food truck park smack dab in the middle of Gotham. Dick and Jason were walking ahead as they discussed some long text thread on Dick’s phone leaving Bruce to play referee as Tim and Damian glowered and sniped at each other. It’d been a long week. Everyone was understandably worn down. But they were together and even with the arguments, Bruce felt whole. All of them in one place felt right in a way he couldn't explain.

Now nothing made sense. His shoulders burned as if straining for too long. There was an uncomfortable tingling sensation spreading through his hands and up his forearms. Ambient nature sounds filled the air instead of horns and muffled club beats. All of this was pointing towards something being very wrong. He needed to pull himself together and figure out where the boys were. He needed to–

 Rough hands grabbed him. The world turned sharply on its axis, his head swimming and stomach churning with it. 

“Wakey wakey,” Someone sang. The words echoed and whined in Bruce’s skull like microphone feedback. Cords bit into his biceps and wrists when he flexed, keeping them immobilized behind his back. They must be the source of his shoulder pain. Pebbles stabbed into his knees. “How nice of you to finally join us, Mister Wayne.” 

“Dad,” A familiar voice gasped. They sounded almost relieved. 

Jason? Bruce squinted against blaring headlights to see all four of his boys kneeling in a line on his left, facing someone to his right. Their hands were tied at the wrist behind them and all of them bore signs of a struggle.

“You okay?” Dick asked. Before Bruce could answer, a boot slammed against Dick’s spine and shoved him forward until his face was grinding against the dirt. Footsteps came stomping over.

“Shut up!” Black Mask roared. Dick managed to snarl defiantly. “How many times do I have to tell you?” Jason lunged, as if he intended to slam himself into Sionis, but a henchman seized him by the hair, violently twisting as he hauled Jason back in place. “God!” Sionis threw his hands up, exasperated. “Every Wayne and Wayne-adjacent is maddening to be around.”

“Don’t touch them, Sionis!” Bruce made his raspy voice as authoritative as he could manage. “What the hell is this?” Did he know? Did he know who Bruce was? Who his children were? Tendrils of fear began twisting across his chest.

“Settling old scores, Brucie.” With a prim tug on his suit pants, Black Mask crouched down in front of Bruce. Behind him, Dick was released and pulled upright. Twin streaks of blood cut through the dirt smeared on his cheek. “You stole my family’s business from me.”

“What?" Bruce couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. “This is about business? You ran it to the ground on your own. I tried to save it and a sliver of your family’s dignity!”

“Dignity?” Black Mask lunged forward, stabbing a finger at Bruce’s face. “You ran me off the board! You took everything from me! I was humiliated!” Panting with rage, Roman stood and adjusted his suit, “I bided my time, waited until your empire was at its height for my revenge. This time you’ll watch as your future is ripped away and everything crumbles around you.

“You picked the new directors for my company,” With a flourish, Roman pulled a gun out from under his jacket, “Now I pick which son I kill.”

“No!” Bruce surged forward, attempting to get his feet under him. Hands yanked him back and like Dick he was shoved forward into the warm, crumbling dirt. Brittle leaves tumbled away as he heaved out angry breaths. The night was too hot and humid thanks to the early summer heat wave. But the sweat pasting his clothes to his body wasn’t entirely from the temperature.

This wasn’t the first time guns were pointed at them and it wouldn’t be the last. But that was in uniform. Tonight it wasn’t vigilantes lined up, it was four civilians in plain clothes. Teammates that Bruce raised and watched flourish despite the slew of adversities they all faced. His boys who still piled in his bed at midnight to gossip and bicker and laugh even when he half-heartedly grunted for them to leave so he could sleep. 

His children he promised to protect with his life.

Now Sionis prowled down the line, circling behind them. “I put a lot of care and consideration into this, like you did with the board, of course. At first I thought the heir would be suitable,” Light glinted as the muzzle pointed at the back of Dick’s head, “But then I did my research. He’s flighty, not much of a business head on him. Poor choice. Your second one vanished for years backpacking in Europe and Asia, also a terrible choice.” The barrel skimmed the back of Jason’s neck, hair still held painfully tight. Jason bared his teeth. 

“This one,” Roman passed over Damian and instead pushed Tim’s head into a bow with the gun, smiling wickedly when Tim easily complied, “He’s the prodigy.” 

Why was he giving in? Tim was like Bruce, a planner to his core, quick and adaptive no matter what was happening. He must have something up his sleeve, right? Bruce’s stomach lurched as Tim’s eyes slid closed. It felt too much like acceptance. Or worse, resignation.

Tim’s reaction made Dick thrash, hissing threats until a palm cracked across his face and his hair was also seized, immobilizing him. 

“Kid’s never had a day off in his life, huh? But he’s also the heir to Drake Industries and I’ll be honest. I’m petty! They don’t get a slice of my revenge. Which leaves me with the spare…”

Damian didn’t react when Sionis circled around and the gun pressed against his forehead. He stared cooly up at Roman, wearing Talia’s signature look of indifference. “Know what the best part of this is, junior? You’re Brucie’s only biological child. We can end the Wayne line right here, right now. Talk about ripping away the future, huh?”

Black Mask dragged Damian out of line to Tim’s other side. “Look at your dear old dad." Roman demanded, keeping Damian's head in place by pressing the muzzle to his cheek. "He's a coward who steals from others in their most vulnerable moments. Go ahead old pal, tell your kiddo it’ll be okay.” From his angle on the ground, Bruce spotted Damian’s bound hands reaching desperately behind him and Tim leaning over so three of their fingers could link together. 

“Lie to him!” Sionis shouted as Bruce was hauled upright, “Like you lied to me! Or I'll make sure he begs for death!” 

“You’ll be alright, Damian.” Bruce panted. The muzzle dug harder into his son’s cheek as Roman cackled. Damian blinked frightened eyes. His lips moved silently. Then he blinked again and his mother’s fierce mask was back in place.

It must be a trick of the light. Those couldn't be tears. Damian was not whispering ‘baba’ as he clung to his brother, all their arguing forgotten. Bruce told himself lie after lie, anything to keep his mind grounded and thinking about ways out of this. 

But he had nothing. There were too many guns pointed at them, too many ropes tied around his arms, no chance to slip into shadows to strike from, too much fear clogging up his pounding skull.

Damian knew that too. 

Bruce choked on his next lie. “It’s okay, habibi.”  

A frustrated growl interrupted the tension. “Fuck this! Sionis–shoot me!” Jason shouted. Sounds of horror exploded from his brothers. Any hope of a plan Bruce might have cooked up fled as the world rocked once again. 

“Shoot me,” Jason repeated, “Fuck the company, I’m his favorite. Everyone knows it!” Interested, Roman shoved Damian back into his original spot and waved off the man holding Jason’s hair. “Doesn’t matter what I do, he still wants me around. Isn’t that right, B? All those fights and broken promises yet you still keep inviting me over for dinner.” Jason looked down the line at him, a mockery of a smile tugging at his mouth. “I’m your achilles heel.” 

If Jason meant to be reassuring, he failed miserably. It only made Bruce fight harder against his restraints, thrashing like a fish in a net. The worst part wasn't hearing his child beg for death, it was knowing why he was saying it.

‘No more dead Robins, B.’

“What a fantastic argument.” Leisurely, Roman aimed the gun at Jason’s head.

“No!” Bruce lunged forward only to be hauled back. “Jason, no! Don’t you dare, Roman!” Frantic, he shook his head at Jason, as if that would make him recant his words. You’re still a Robin! Bruce wanted to scream. You were my Robin! My pride and joy, flying alongside me! Let me die if it means you live!  

“You piece of shit!” Dick roared, struggling even though his hair was twisted so tight he was in danger of having bloody chunks ripped out. “I’ll kill you, Roman! You hear me? I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Shoot me!” Jason shouted over their protests, chin raised defiantly to stare down the barrel. “Do it you coward!”  

Black Mask smiled. Before shifting the gun to his left.

Back to Damian.

Jason's eyes widened in horror as realization struck with the crack of the gun. It echoed through the trees, stealing yet another loved one from Bruce's life. 

But it wasn't Damian who toppled over with a rattling gasp, bleeding from a hole in his chest. 

It was Tim. 

Tim, who threw himself in front of his little brother at the last second. The little brother who now watched terrified as Tim slumped into Jason's lap. 

An animalistic scream filled the clearing. Guttural and bone-chilling, the sound of it dragged invisible claws down everyone's throats. It wasn't until a rag stinking of motor oil was shoved into his mouth that Bruce realized the horrible, wild sound was coming from him.  

In his darkest moments, thinking about his worst fears, he always imagined facing the death of another child stoically. Not for lack of love, but because the mere thought of losing one again was unfathomable. What more could he give in the face of all-consuming despair than catatonia? 

Yet now he felt the complete opposite of paralyzed. There was no disassociation or retreating into his mind. Rage consumed every fiber of him .

Bruce wanted to free his hands even if it meant ripping the very skin off so he could cradle his bleeding child. He was wrath incarnate, desperate to end the lives of their captors himself. He was a sobbing, broken father, helplessly watching as Dick called Tim's name and pleaded for a response. Damian was hurling insults as he threw himself towards his brothers, tear tracks reflecting on his face in the headlights. 

Jason only stared.

“Guess it was the prodigy after all.” Black Mask said with a shrug and turned to face Bruce. “At least you have three more.”

“Bastard!” Damian spat.

“Let’s wrap it up boys! We’re done here.” Black Mask pocketed his gun as men rushed to their cars. "Oh, I almost forgot," Roman paused his climb into the SUV and dramatically pressed a hand to his heart, "my utmost condolences for your loss."

Doors slammed and cars took off with a roar, spitting dirt and pebbles from their tires. Mocking laughter sped past through open windows. The moment they were in the dark, Dick was moving. He tucked his legs up tight to his chest and maneuvered his arms in front so he could work the knot with his teeth. Once free, Dick tossed the rope aside and staggered to his feet.

Bruce spit the gag out. “Concealed blade in my belt.” He croaked when Dick came stumbling over. Blood rushed painfully into his arms as Dick used the razors to cut the ropes. He flexed the aching, prickling muscles while Dick made quick work of Damian’s bonds. 

“Tim!” Damian turned to Jason, who was in the midst of having his own wrists freed, and pressed his hands to Tim’s chest. The band logo on Tim’s shirt was tinted red now, the image quickly disappearing as the fabric soaked up more dark blood. “Don’t you dare die, you imbecile!”

“Let’s lay him flat.” Dick attempted to move his little brother but Jason’s newly freed arms snapped up, holding Tim on his lap. 

“No.” Jason snarled. “He’s not being put on the fucking dirt alone. He can’t be alone!”

“Jay, we’re right here.”

“It’s alright.” Bruce knelt and pressed fingers to Tim’s neck. “He can stay with you, Jason.” A weak and rapid pulse greeted him, so easy to lose if he moved his fingers even a little bit. Tim stared unseeing at the night sky. It was a full moon. Only an hour ago he’d made werewolf jokes while his brothers begged him not to jinx their night off. 

Now quick, shallow breaths puffed from Tim’s pale lips. Not again. Not again. Think, Bruce, think! Tim needed immediate surgery, he couldn’t wait for an ambulance and a ride back into Gotham when they were finally located. Crimson dribbled from the corner of Tim’s mouth followed by a choking noise as his eyes rolled back.

"Clark! I need you!" Bruce’s instinctive scream vanished into the silent night. Blood roared in his ears, sounding as frantic as he felt. None of them would survive losing Tim. He couldn't lose another child. Oh God, it should be him not Tim. "Clark, please! Help–"

As one the trees snapped forward, leaves rustling loud enough to drown Bruce out. Before they could settle, Clark was kneeling beside him. His eyes glowed as he scanned Tim's crimson chest. 

His shoulders dropped a millimeter.

No. 

No, no, no.  

"Get him to the hospital." Bruce demanded, not letting Clark speak. Tim’s life wasn’t ending here, his destiny was not to die in the middle of the woods at only nineteen years old! "Get Leslie Thompkins, she knows his medical history. We'll wait for the police. Go!"

Clark slid his arms under Tim's limp form with a loving reverence, arranging his limp hands to rest on his blood soaked stomach. Then they were gone, leaves swirling in Clark’s wake.

Bruce watched them go for a moment, no more than a rapidly fading streak. Safe. Tim was safe with Clark and Leslie. He would get the help he needed. Time to refocus on the other problems at hand. 

None of the boys moved. Dick was staring Bruce down. He must've caught Clark's hesitation and wanted reassurance that he was wrong and it didn't mean what he thought. Bruce looked away. There was nothing to give. 

On his left, Jason was staring beyond his bloodstained jeans. Each breath sounded quicker than the last, shallower, tighter. 

"Jason. Jay. I need you to look at me." Jason raised his head stiffly. Bruce cupped his face, running his thumbs over blood speckled cheeks, brows, jaw, anything to help ground his son. "You're here and you're safe now. Okay? You’re alive. You’re safe. We’re with you."

The usual comforting words went right past him. "It was supposed to be me." Jason's whisper sounded dazed, "I was prepared. I didn’t want to but I was ready." 

No wonder Jason was barely hanging onto reality right now. What dark depth of his mind did he go to in order to face death again? Where did seeing Tim collapse send him?

"Oh Jesus, Jay." Dick grabbed his brother's shoulder but Jason flinched back, shaking them both off.

"Jason, I need you here right now." Bruce pleaded, hands still uselessly outstretched. "If that's too hard, then be Red Hood. But I need you here. Once we're at the hospital then we can let go."

"Asshole." Accusation built in Jason's gaze, along with awareness. His breaths were still far too shallow and tight. "I'm soaked in his fucking blood and you want me present?"

It was cruel. Maybe kindness would've been letting Jason float through this nightmare a little longer. But he'd been headed towards a major panic attack and Bruce needed to look after Damian now and shit, he was a terrible father wasn't he? 

Trees whipped wildly in the wind as Clark returned. “Emergency services will take too long. Let me take you all to the hospital.”

“Tim?”

“Headed into emergency surgery at a level one trauma center. Leslie is there consulting on his medical history.”

A sliver of relief wound through Bruce. “Thank you. Take Jason first. Then Dick.” 

Jason’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “What? No! No, I don’t–”

“Jay, it’s okay.” Dick said, “I’ll be there in a literal second.” 

“Everything will be alright, boys.” The reflex to comfort, to soothe, to keep lying, came too easy. Easy but hollow.

In a flash of red and blue, Jason was gone, still protesting. 

Bruce let out a shaking breath. “He needed to be first,” He explained, not sure why he was justifying his decisions or who he was speaking to. “The blood and his mental state–”

“I know,” was Dick’s quiet reply. His eyes were closed but his fists clenched tight around his knees. 

At last Bruce turned to his youngest. "Damian?" Tears were running silently down Damian's cheeks. Bloody hands hung limp at his side. What was he thinking about? Who was he seeing? Alfred seemed like the most obvious answer but Bruce didn't want to linger there. Not now.

"Are you hurt?" The teen shook his head. Using the edge of his shirt, Bruce began wiping the blood from Damian’s hands, cringing at the rust colored streaks left behind. Not caring, or maybe also beginning to disassociate, Damian grabbed onto Bruce's hands. His breaths were too even, too precise. In through his nose and out through his mouth. Fingernails dug into Bruce's skin. 

“You’re okay.” Bruce murmured, rubbing the pulse point of Damian's wrists with his thumbs. "It's over."

A rush of wind and dirt marked Clark’s third arrival. “Ready Dick?”

Dick’s resolute glare as Clark lifted him reminded Bruce once again that his children were also vigilantes with years of experience under their own belts. 

And they saw through his lies.

---

By the time Bruce was dropped off in the ER, the place was swarming with police and nurses. A steady stream kept coming and going from the room he was led into.

“Are my sons alright?” Bruce asked anyone he could in between the questions he was bombarded with. But no one had any answers for him and keeping his growing frustration in check was becoming more and more difficult. 

The questioning was useless. What could the GCPD do about Black Mask anyway? The medical attention was unnecessary as well. Compared to his boys, he was in pristine condition. When they left him alone in the room at last, two detectives stood outside talking in low voices and casting furtive glances at him through the door’s narrow window. 

Were they suspicious of him? Of all people? Did they think Bruce conspired with this maniac to kill his child and traumatize the others? Or maybe they were simply deciding who would come in and deliver the bad news. Who would tell poor Bruce Wayne his son was lying dead on the operating table? That he died on the way to the OR? Arrived lifeless in Superman’s arms?

Death after death replayed in his mind. Jason’s broken, soot smeared body. Dick flatlining before his eyes. Damian's too small and too bloody form, curled on the floor. Nothing left of Tim but a bo staff amongst ashes and blood. 

Not another. He couldn’t handle another. Old instincts told him to run. Bolt from the hospital and hide below ground, hide away from everyone he loves because love only brings more pain. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Bruce was close to losing his mind when the door finally opened with a metallic click. Leslie came in wearing a borrowed white coat over house clothes and a temporary badge. Her white hair was hastily pulled back with a claw clip. Weariness dragged at her face.

Bruce shot to his feet. “Tim?” 

“Critical but stablizing.” Leslie said. “His surgery is almost complete, they’re closing now. He’ll be moving to a room in the ICU after.” 

Relief knocked his knees out from under him and Bruce collapsed back onto the hospital bed. Stubble scraped his palms as he rubbed his face. “Thank you.” 

Leslie sat beside him. “I didn’t do anything besides making sure they know he needs extra observation and medicine due to his spleen.”

“Yes, but you came. You were here with him.”

“Your friend in blue didn’t give much of a choice. Talk about a short commute.” A wry smile crossed her face before she sighed. “Tim is very lucky he arrived so quickly. Superman helped them diagnose a pneumothorax and hemothorax before he was taken into the OR, along with damage to outer layers of his heart. If you’d waited for an ambulance…”

“We’d be having a different conversation.” The mere thought made bile rise in his throat. “Do you know anything about the other boys?”

“Jason was being treated for shock. Surprisingly–or rather unsurprisingly–it wasn’t him raising hell but Dick. He refused to cooperate until he saw Jason. They threatened to sedate him, he threatened a lawsuit.”

It was definitely unsurprising. Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jay was disassociating in the woods. It seemed like he was close to a panic attack.”

Leslie nodded. “He started doing much better with regulating once Dick was in the room, though he was still refusing to let him come near and was barely tolerating one nurse when I left. Dick’s fine. Prescribed ice packs for his head and bruises along with a few bandages for cuts. Damian too.”

“Is Damian alone? They shouldn’t–”

“He’s with his brothers now, also thanks to Dick. You were kept separate for extra questioning despite our protests.” Bruce barely had time to dwell on ‘our protests’ before Leslie was chucking a small black tote bag at him. "Here, fresh clothes. I made sure the boys all got their bags too and Jason took a shower since he got the worst of it.”

It should’ve been reassuring to hear that everyone was okay. His children were safe. But no relief came. Tim was still fighting for his life. Dick was being forced to care for his brothers alone after enduring the same trauma. 

Bruce yanked open the bag, desperate for a distraction. It was from one of his caches by the hospital, stocked for the entire family in case of situations like this. His contained black loafers, slightly crinkled gray slacks, and...a black turtleneck. He stared down at the shirt, so perfectly fitting for Bruce Wayne. The playboy CEO who purchased designer t-shirts and belts just because he could and almost got his family killed. 

Bruce hunched over, burying both hands in his hair. “This is my fault, Leslie.” He barely managed a whisper. “Not Batman’s… mine and mine alone. They were hurt because of a business deal. A stupid takeover I haven't thought about in years. Black Mask didn't have to stop with just one boy, he could've...God, what is the point of this whole crusade if I can’t keep them safe?”

Leslie lay a hand on his arm. It radiated warmth and comfort, just like it did all those years ago in a dark alley. “It’s not your fault, Bruce.”

He almost believed her. “That’s something I never thought I’d hear from you.”

“If you were in that godforsaken costume, this might be a lecture about dragging children into the line of fire. But you’re not. You’re their father and you’re frightened. I’ve seen hundreds of parents like you. So hear me when I say this attack was not your fault. And if you need to break down, now is a good time. Scream, cry, break things, I don’t give a shit. You have enough money to replace it all in triplicate. But after,” she stabbed a finger at him, “you put yourself back together. Because if those boys get any less than your absolute all tonight…I’ll give you a lecture you’ll never forget.”

A chuckle rasped from Bruce, not a doubt in his mind that Leslie would follow through on her threat. 

Then he wept.

---

Bruce could describe the scene before him from memory. The image of family circled around a sick bed haunted his dreams and memories. But the most unnerving part was how, in the moments he allowed himself to dwell on it, he sometimes struggled to remember which time it was. Or who was supposed to be in the bed. 

Most times it didn’t matter. The particular instance wasn’t critical, just the emotions surrounding it. Other times it felt as if they were seared into his very skull. Times and names that could never be forgotten, especially when they were world shattering.

Bruce knew this moment was one that would forever haunt him with startling clarity.

Dick held Tim’s limp hand, both of their wrists marred with bracelets of purple and red. His head was tucked against Tim’s shoulder, whispering softly to his little brother. On the other side of the bed Damian rested his hand on Tim’s arm, looking utterly empty. Jason’s back was to Bruce as he stood by the foot of the bed, arms crossed tight over his chest. He didn’t acknowledge the sixth person in the room but his stiff posture and periodically uneven breathing as he eavesdropped on the conversation behind him said enough.

“-past splenectomy means we’ll keep him under more observation so we can catch any possible infections early.” The doctor spoke in a low voice. Bruce wasn’t sure why she bothered. They were standing back by the door but the room was too small for any illusion of privacy. “The main focus is helping his body recover from the massive blood loss. Bullet fragments–” the doctor began motioning to her own chest as she spoke, drawing lines towards the bottom of her heart, “caused a myocardial bleed. Because he arrived so quickly, and Superman was able to help with the initial x-ray process and diagnosis, we caught it in time.” 

“And his lungs?” Bruce asked, not looking away from the bed. He was desperate for any scrap of information he could get. It was difficult to not speak on the doctor’s level and use medical terminology a carefree billionaire shouldn’t know. 

“The chest tubes will stay in for several days as the collapsed lung heals. We don’t anticipate further complications there. He may be critical but his prognosis is very good, Mr. Wayne.”

“Thank you. To you and your entire team. I’m–” Bruce paused, clearing his throat and forcing the words out, “I’m grateful beyond words.”

The doctor smiled and tipped her head towards the bed. “Go be with your son. Nurses are only a call button away and we’ll be watching his numbers closely.”

Damian practically scurried away from the bed to make space for Bruce. Dick stood as well but when he attempted to comfort Damian, the teen hissed for Dick to leave him alone before throwing the door open and stomping out into the hallway. Bruce should be the one comforting and being rebuffed but right now he couldn’t tear himself away from the bed and another struggling child. 

I’m sorry, Damian. I’m sorry I have to choose.  

Careful of the oxygen tubes, Bruce cupped Tim's bruised cheek. He ran soothing fingers over his son’s scratched forehead– five years ago, three months ago –combed through Tim’s hair– a year ago, last week. Every gesture and memory blurred together yet stood starkly apart. Failure after failure to protect what mattered most to him. Another sick bed surrounded by frightened family.

But those were under Batman’s watch. Tonight they weren’t partners but family. It wasn’t Batman who failed Tim, it was his father. If there was a funeral it wouldn’t be in capes. They would be in suits with greedy reporters sticking cameras through hedges and fences, trying to capture a glimpse of the tragic billionaire whose family keeps dying around him. Every year photos of him visiting yet another grave would be printed in gossip rags rehashing the worst days of his life.

Bruce took a gasping breath. Air. He needed air, needed to move before the buzzing steadily building in his core devoured him. As if he were moving through a hazy dream, he pulled his shaking hand away and walked mechanically out of the dim room. He should go back in. Leslie demanded it. Damian and Jason needed him. And Dick, poor dependable Dick who’d barely crossed his mind–

Bruce came to a sudden halt, wincing and pressing fingers to his eye sockets as stabbing pains shot out across his brow. This was why he didn’t stay before. This was why he avoided the hospital and all the hurt he caused.

It should be me in that bed. Let the failure die, not Tim. Please, not my boy.

---

As the door slowly clicked shut for a second time, Jason snorted. “Figures.”

“Not helping.” Dick sighed exasperated. Screaming echoed unbidden through his mind once more and he fought to smother the memory. Dwelling on it, on what happened tonight, only opened the door for countless previous horrors to rear their head. And if that dam broke…

“There’s no helping that.” Pressing the ice pack back on his head, Jason dropped down on the wide windowsill to stare vacantly at the still bustling traffic. Dick was tempted to agree, to nastily spit back that it applied to Jason and Damian too because all he’d been trying to do the whole night–the whole past week even–is help. What did he have to show for it? More frustration.

How dare Bruce walk out? He truly had the audacity to leave? Again? Turning sharply on his heel, Dick shoved the door open and stalked into the hallway. Halfway down was Bruce, shoulders hunched as he stood still. Dick didn’t allow himself even a second to wonder why.

“Hey!” Kneading his temples, Bruce turned around. “Going somewhere?” Dick demanded with barely contained fury. 

“No, I–”

“Damn right you aren’t!” He snarled and stabbed a finger at Bruce’s face. “You don’t get to shut down in your little hideout and pretend like this isn’t fucking happening! Not this time.” It felt good to be angry. So damn satisfying, like flipping the pressure release and watching boiling steam come shooting out. Finally there was a place to direct everything inside of him. How many times did Bruce sit at Dick’s bedside as Batman and not his guardian? Or do a hospital drop-off for a teammate and leave once they were stable, only returning until hours later, if at all? Dick readied his retorts, already three steps ahead of the upcoming argument in his head.

But Bruce didn’t snap back. He merely nodded. Why? His pride must be smarting, why wasn’t he fighting back? “They need you here. Mentally and physically.” Dick continued anyway and Bruce…let him. “You need to stay because you’re not just their guardian or partner. You’re their father. We don’t know if our brother will last the night. One bad infection could ruin everything. I'm trying to support them, I am, but I–” 

I am barely standing. I am disappointing everyone. I can’t catch them.

Dick’s voice cracked. With a sharp inhale, he turned away and buried his face in his hands. The list of arguments slipped from his barely functioning mind. "I keep hearing the gunshot and you screaming,” He whispered instead, “I hear it over and over and–" 

That nearly feral howl burst through his mind again, making his skin crawl. It was a desperate sound a child was never meant to hear from their parent. Wrong in so many ways and now forever seared into him. 

“I’m here, chum. I’m not leaving.” Slowly, as if tending to a wounded animal, Bruce stepped closer. Dick didn’t so much as tremble. He was as still and solid as granite. Armor like this was how he survived. This was how he would hold himself together and keep going through all these years and horrors. “I’m only taking a break. Looks like you need one too.” 

A warm hand closing around his shoulder turned out to be the final straw. Dick shattered. He bowed over as silent sobs rolled through him like aftershocks, sudden and uneven. Why? He never had this problem before. He soldiered on. He sat stoically at bedsides. But now his knees were giving out under the pressure of yet another trauma.

Bruce caught him and lowered them both to the floor with their backs to the chilly wall. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left in the past. I promise you I’m not leaving this time. I’m not running.” He carefully cradled his son’s head against the soft turtleneck collar. Dick squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in the familiar staleness that came with cache clothes. It wasn’t something he would normally call comforting but right now it was the grounding he needed. “And I’m sorry I haven’t checked on you yet. You did good, chum. Thank you for making sure your brothers were okay.” 

Did he? All he did was get on both of their bad sides. Did it matter at all to them that he shouted and threatened until they were all in the same hospital room? That he didn’t curse the universe and beat the walls until his fists were bloody because he wanted them to have someone solid to go to?

Dick clutched at Bruce’s shirt and finally voiced the fears plaguing him the whole night. "What if this is it? What if we lose him? We've been whole for too long.”

I’ve been happy for too long.

Bruce sniffed sharply. Did…did his father see the world the same way? Think their luck as a family was bound to run out any minute and they'd be scattered again? 

“Our Tim is a fighter. He’s stubborn as hell, which is why he ended up in the manor lecturing both of us all those years ago. He’ll pull through.” Bruce insisted, for both their sakes, “He'll make it.” 

Chatter drifted towards them as a group of nurses walked down the hall. Before Dick could even attempt to shrink further into Bruce’s tight embrace and try to hide the mess he was, Bruce wrapped another arm around his head to fully cover his bruised, tear-streaked face. Privacy for him to finally let go. To process and grieve what he saw tonight. With a shuddering breath, Dick sagged fully against his dad. This wasn’t something he was used to but…it felt good. 

---

They were still sitting in that embrace, Dick much calmer now, when Clark came rushing down the hallway in a wrinkled shirt, zip up jacket, and baseball cap pulled low. His mouth twisted at the sight and he stopped by the door, unsure. Even as Bruce’s heart squeezed painfully, recalling how it used to be Alfred hurrying towards them, seeing Cark was like a life preserver being thrown into the whirlpool.

"I need to go check on your brothers, okay chum?" Sniffing sharply, Dick sat up and squared his shoulders with a dutiful nod, ready for the world to be set on his back. Bruce exhaled, fighting to restrain a sudden and fierce surge of protectiveness, “You don’t have to go back in if you're not ready. Clark is here, if you'd like some company."

Dick's eyes lit up, head snapping to his left to see the spectacled reporter. "Yes, please." He whispered, body relaxing once more as Clark joined him with a smile, allowing Bruce to slip back into the dim hospital room.

Jason barely glanced at him, perched on the wide windowsill, one leg left dangling. Steel beams were softer than his teal eyes. Then he returned to staring back out the window and holding an ice pack to the top of his head.

Jason wasn't ready yet. Through a multitude of mistakes Bruce had learned approaching before he was only led to more hurt. Instead, he went to Damian. The teen was back and keeping vigil at Tim’s bedside, cradling one pale hand in his. It would never be normal to see such powerful hands looking lifeless. They should be flying across a keyboard too fast to follow, twirling and catching a bo staff with ease, reaching out to haul someone to safety. 

Chair legs scuffed across the floor as Bruce pulled up a seat beside Damian. It was pointless to ask if he was alright. The obvious answer was no, plus the boy would lie. 

“Do you need anything?” He asked instead. Damian shook his dark head, his face bleak. “Do you want anything?”

This time Damian took a long breath, eyes darting across Tim’s unmoving body as he processed. Monitors beeped softly in the background. “I…I want Tim to come home. I want to show him my new drawings and go to the botanical gardens together and laugh at people frightened by the bugs. I want to shake him and ask what the hell was he thinking?” 

Damian dipped his head, staring at his now clean hands. “Baba, he kept trying to protect me from the moment we were grabbed. Now he might die for me. Like Alfred. While I did nothing again.”

With soft shushing sounds, Bruce wrapped an arm around Damian's shivering shoulders. "You're here now. That matters. Tim will need you by his side as he recovers."

"This is all my fault,” Damian whimpered.

"No, sweetheart. It’s not your fault." Bruce gently tilted his chin up. "No one is to blame but Roman Sionis.” Damian merely trembled harder in his arms, eyes lowering to watch Tim’s still form. Feeling slightly desperate and very unsure of how to soothe Damian, Bruce took a chance. Slowly, and definitely awkwardly, he began rocking them back and forth. 

For a second the boy stiffened and the only movement was his uncontrollable shivering, muscles and skin twitching under Bruce’s hands. Then he relaxed and willingly leaned over the armrest into Bruce’s waiting embrace. Tucked against his father’s chest, they continued rocking. 

It felt instinctual to comfort his boy like this. Just as instinctual as wondering if this is what raising Damian would've been like. Would they have sat in a rocking chair as Bruce soothed a fussy infant to sleep like his mother must've done for him? Years later would he have sat in the same chair cradling a crying toddler in his lap?

The fantasy made Bruce's chest ache with the familiar pang of longing. So he focused back on the teen in his arms and the comfort he could give now.

---

"Figured it was only a matter of time ‘til you got to me. Checked all your other boxes, huh?" Jason looked up when Bruce approached. He had his arms wrapped around his knees, a position his brothers annoyingly declared made him ‘look his age’. The melted ice pack sat in a soggy puddle beside him.

"It seemed like you needed time and space."

He did. When Bruce came in, surprisingly without Dick, Jason was too busy being broody and bitter. But in the midst of watching Bruce put Damian to sleep on the tiny sofa, a persistent thought rooted itself in Jason’s mind and refused to leave.

I want my dad.  

Maybe that's why he was hugging his knees like he was a teen, a nagging sense of deja vu hanging over him. With a soft grunt, Jason turned back to the window. "What I said is true, isn't it? I'm your great weakness."

"All of you are my weakness." Bruce folded his arms and stared at the city with his son. "A permanent gash in my armor. But yes, with you it's different. When you came back to us…I quickly realized I could never be the one to take you down for good."

"Because you pity me." A low blow but Jason didn’t know how else to handle this.

“Because I love you, Jason. I always have. I always will. And that is something I will never regret. If it were you in that bed, I would be equally distraught." 

He snuck a look up at Bruce only to see sincerity written plainly across his face. It sent him hurtling back in time to another night, a lifetime ago, when he sat hugging his knees on another windowsill, still growing into lanky arms and legs. Sorrowful eyes turned eagerly towards Bruce then, arms outstretched and asking for him, wrapping around his father’s neck and finding comfort he knew would be freely given.

He wanted to be that fourteen-year-old again. But he wasn’t sure he knew how.

"What you did tonight was brave.” Bruce said softly. “Insane and terrifying to watch but brave. As you've always been."

That was one way to put it. Jason rested his chin on a knee, staring at and past the city. Begging to be shot, letting those words pass over his lips after fighting for so long to feel like life was worth being brutally resurrected for…it felt like standing at the edge of a bottomless pit. Then Tim was…

Tendons rippled across the back of his hands as he clenched and released them rhythmically, soothing himself with the pattern. "It was terrifying." He agreed, speaking slowly as he picked each word with care. "Hearing all of you and knowing you’d have to watch this time…that was my only regret. But seeing Tim collapse in my lap was worse." 

Gingerly he leaned over, resting his head against Bruce's chest. Asking the best he could. "Sorry I called you an asshole." He’d been in freefall when Bruce tried to ground him. As painful as reality was, that level of disassociation was something Jason never wanted to feel again. His father’s insistence had been a rope ladder being thrown down. 

Immediately Bruce's hands lifted, one resting on Jason’s dark head, the other wrapping across his chest like a seatbelt and holding him close. "No, you're not." He said, flicking Jason's ear. 

Chuckling, Jason clung to Bruce’s arm. "Where's Dickie? Is he alright?"

"He's…taking some time to process. Clark is with him."

"Good. I need to apologize for calling him an asshole too. Having him and Dames in the room helped but…I was still working through my own shit."

"I think it would help him a lot to hear that, Jay."

"I've been biting his head off since this fiasco started. I just…I’m glad Tim wasn’t alone.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Like I was. That's why I didn't want to let go. I wanted him to-to know someone was still there.” There was no response. Then Bruce ducked down and kissed his head, probably too overwhelmed for words. They fell in a soothing silence as they breathed together for a long time, gathering what peace they could find.

Fourteen didn’t feel so out of reach anymore.

---

Tapping at the far window roused Bruce from the almost meditative state he’d fallen into. Jason, still leaning against him, stirred for the first time in thirty minutes and twisted to look at the window across the room. He huffed a laugh and fully sat up. “Dick?”

"What in the world…" Bruce marched to the window and swung it open. 

With impressively windswept hair and bright red cheeks, Dick climbed gracefully from Superman’s arms through the window. "I needed to recalibrate and flying wasn't doing it."

Bruce rounded on Clark who immediately winced, halfway through the window himself. "What did you do, Kal? Did you drop him?" That sick churning in his gut started, the one he felt every time he, Tim, and Alfred watched Dick hurtle towards the ground from tens of thousands of feet in the air. He didn’t like it but at least those times Dick had gear, parachutes, actual safety equipment to monitor his oxygen and pulse. 

"He begged me to, Bruce!” protested Clark, “Besides, I was there to catch him each time."

"Chill, B. We weren’t that high up. It was basically base jumping." Combing his tousled hair with his fingers, Dick sat at Tim's side and squeezed his hand. "Hey, Timmy."

Forcing a slow breath down, Bruce slumped onto the couch beside a bleary eyed Damian. As much as he loathed to admit it, there was a new clarity in Dick’s eyes. The tension lines carving through his face were faded, his shoulders not so rigid. 

“Next time just lie to me.” Bruce grumbled, adjusting the blanket wrapped around Damian’s shoulders. On Damian’s other side, Jason was catching him up in a conspiratorial whisper. 

It felt almost normal as Clark said his goodbyes, promising to keep an eye on Gotham for them. The boys settled down as if it were a regular weekend night, checking on each other with significantly less animosity. It wasn’t as comforting as Bruce hoped and he fought back his anxious pacing for his children’s sake. It wouldn't help, would it? It didn't seem like that counted as giving his all to them, per Leslie’s demand. He needed to be sturdy so they could lean on him. 

It wouldn’t be long before Tim woke up. Several hours had passed and Bruce knew his boys. Tim always woke up once the medicine wore off, even if seconds later he passed out for an entire day. He kept telling himself that seeing Tim merely blink would set him at ease. Just one sign that he was truly alive.

“What’s different?”

“What?” Damian lifted his head to look at Jason perched on the couch arm. 

“This isn’t the first time we’ve been through something like this.” Jason explained, “But this time…” He trailed off but it didn’t take a detective to finish his sentence. Everyone was more emotional. The stoic attitudes they’d built up after years of nightly horrors were suddenly gone. Though Bruce supposed all of them were bound to break at some point.

“Everyone has a limit.” said Dick, echoing Bruce’s thoughts. He let the topic drop but the thoughtful frown on Jason’s face said he wasn’t satisfied with the answer.

---

Waiting was miserable.

The anticipation ground at Damian's already frayed nerves. His brothers mostly sat still. Until the silence got to them too and they jumped up for a quick minute of pacing. About twenty minutes ago, Jason pulled Dick outside, saying he needed to tell him something. If Father hadn’t been there to scold him, Damian would’ve pressed an ear to the door. They returned almost ten minutes later with faint smiles, Dick's arm slung around Jason's shoulders. It further emphasized that Jason was right. Something was different this time.

He was about to nod off again, exhausted from the adrenaline crash of the century, when Father shot off the couch. “Tim?” He sat in the empty bedside chair and ran trembling fingers over Tim’s brow. With excruciating slowness Tim’s eyes opened, only to fall shut a heartbeat later. 

“Oh my God.” Dick almost sobbed and they all rushed to the bed. 

Bruce continued tenderly stroking Tim’s hair. “Take your time sweetheart. You had major surgery and still have a collapsed lung.”

“Throat.” The weak rasp escaped Tim as he continued to fight the anesthesia. Dick was passing the cup of water and straw to Bruce before he could even hold out a hand. 

“You were intubated, that’s why it hurts. Here, take a small sip.” 

The cool water seemed to stir more awareness in Tim but his eyes still rolled in his head the next time he opened them, too exhausted and groggy to focus on anything. “Jay…” He whispered, the words slurred but still demanding, “Jase.”

“Right here,” said Jason, squeezing Tim’s knee through the blanket. “I’m okay.” Tim nodded and closed his eyes again, shifting a little in the bed as if he were merely disturbed while napping at home. 

“You should sleep, Tim.” Bruce said, “you need to rest.”

Stubbornly, Tim shook his head once then pressed his lips into a tight line. The nausea must be setting in. Tim was always nauseous after general anesthesia. “Where’s Dami?”

Damian stepped forward, spine so stiff it ached as his muscles locked up. “Here.” 

“I’m okay too, you dope.” Dick teased and Tim smiled. Clumsily, he worked his right hand free of the sheets and blankets and flopped it out for Damian to hold. 

Damian hesitated, then took it, twining their fingers together when Tim’s hand went limp again. It wasn’t as cold as before. The blue tint had also vanished from his nail beds. He squeezed his brother’s hand tighter and forced the question out. “Why?”

Tim licked his chapped lips and Bruce offered the water cup again, “Jay never wants t'be resurrected again. Didn’t want you to either. Figured it was my turn 'nd you two could help me.” 

The mumbled words speared into him and for only a second, Damian wondered if he might throw up. Tim was right, of course the smarmy bastard was right. But if this was the cost…was it really worth it? 

Dick reeled back as if he'd been slapped. “That’s why you were so docile. No restraints meant you could jump when needed. Holy shit, Tim–”

A flurry of emotions raced across Jason's face leaving him looking like he too was about to be sick while simultaneously furious. “I never asked you to do that.” 

Pale blue eyes fluttered open, determined despite the grogginess. "Was gonna do it no matter who. ‘S what brothers do.” 

Jason's face crumpled. “You can't.” He whispered, gripping Tim’s knee as if it were the only thing keeping him standing. 

“But I did. So hah.” Tim shifted in the bed again, wincing a little.

“Thank you.” Damian cut in, wrapping both hands around Tim’s. Because he meant it, no matter how devastating it was to hear. His older brother took so many hits meant for him tonight, purely out of ridiculous, overwhelming love. “Will you sleep now? We’ll be here when you wake up. We’re…we're going to help you through this. I promise.” 

With a sigh, Tim nodded and closed his eyes. But because he was Tim and mulish even after an hours long surgery, he still kept talking. “Y’okay, B?” 

“Yes, I’m okay. Just worried about you.”

“Stay?” 

“Yes, sweetheart. I’m staying.” Father continued stroking his hair as Tim finally stopped fighting the drugs and slipped back under, a hint of a smile still on his lips.

Heavy silence blanketed the room, everyone frozen in place. Processing. Damian felt hollow, unable to release Tim’s hand because he didn’t have the capacity to even contemplate starting a new action. 

Until Jason took a shuddering breath and staggered back onto the couch. “He shouldn’t have. Not for me." He buried his face in his hands. "I'm not worth it.” 

Dick circled around and lay a hand on Jason’s back. “It’s not your fault. Either of you. And you’re both worth it.” 

Damian looked mournfully down at Tim’s hand, still laced with his. “Am I?”

“Yes.” Bruce added in Batman’s no-nonsense growl. “All of us would and have done the same.” 

“You don’t get it–” Jason nearly wailed in despair.

“I do! Tim lost his spleen looking for me, you don’t think I feel guilty every time he gets sick or an infection? And now he’s injured again when it should be me in that bed!” Frustration spurred Father to his feet and he paced like a caged lion, “Tonight…tonight I failed you. I couldn’t save you from this. Just like–”

Just like before. Suddenly, Damian understood. All the times Dick and Jason spoke of when Father would hide outside their hospital rooms but never come in. Or when he avoided Damian and Tim’s room for hours after they’d been bandaged, unable to look them in the eye when he finally came in. It was a new, raw side of his father. A side riddled with grief, shame, and guilt.

“Batman or Bruce Wayne, it doesn’t matter. You’d all be better off without me. Tonight proved it.”

His siblings chimed in immediately. “Bruce, you know that’s not true.” said Dick, eyes shining. “You saved lost, angry kids who had no one and helped us heal.”

"Get this through your thick skull, jackass,” snapped Jason, his red-rimmed eyes boring into Bruce’s. “I was scared tonight. Truly scared. But then you woke up and suddenly I could think a little clearer. You know what I was thinking, waiting here for my brother to wake up after nearly bleeding out in my lap? It wasn’t ‘gee, I wish Batman didn't exist.’ or ‘I wish Bruce never adopted me.’” Jason’s voice wobbled but he pushed through. “I just kept thinking ‘I want my dad.’ And there you were. Because that’s what’s different for us this time. You."

Bruce swallowed his own tears. “I'd damn the world for you boys. Rip open heaven and hell if I had to.”

“You already have, baba.” Damian lay a hand on Father's arm to stop his pacing before hugging him. “I wouldn’t be here if you’d given up. I know we’ve had a lot of fights but…I do need you." Warm arms wrapped tight around Damian as Bruce held him like the child he always insisted Damian was allowed to be.

“There’s no need to destroy the world, we know you love us.” Dick chuckled, hugging Jason's shoulders as his little brother wiped his cheeks. “For now just stay with us, dad. That’s more than enough.”

–--

Pain. Pain. Pain.

Throat hurts. Chest hurts.

Hard to breath.

Each heartbeat ached.

Pain. Pain. Pain.

Something foreign was speared into his arm, any twitch of the muscles triggering alarms in his body that screamed "wrong, wrong, wrong!"  

Thoughts were clanging discordantly through his mind. Tim couldn't grasp hold of any of them. Where was he? Need to protect Damian. He's flying and covered in warm liquid. Jason? Where's Jason? Hospital. Panicked faces staring down at him. What happened?

"Bruce?" The plea fell from his lips like instinct. Bruce knew. Bruce made sense of the chaos for him when he couldn't. Safety. Tim wanted safety and that was Bruce.

But Bruce wasn't there. He never–

"I'm right here, Tim." A hand with familiar callouses took his. "You're alright sweetheart. I know you're disoriented but everyone is safe and so are you." Bruce's voice was a low, familiar rumble. Distant thunder from a storm that just passed over. The kind Tim liked to fall asleep to.

"Dad." He sighed.

"Yes, I'm right here, honey. I don't plan on moving anytime soon. I promise."

Serenity settled over Tim like a blanket thrown onto him. Soft and gentle with a reassuring weight enveloping him. The chaos faded, chased away by a kiss to the temple and fingers lovingly combing his hair. Only one thought remained now.

Dad.