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sparkypantaloons · 2 years

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Safe, Sound

Bruce checks in on each of his kids before he goes to bed. Even if most of them are adults who live in their own homes...

Most nights, Bruce does his best not to give into temptation. Well... paranoia, to be more accurate.

Contrary to the many admonitions from his children, he has actually had therapy. And whilst he's not always been the best at employing the coping tools he learned in his sessions, it didn't take $300 an hour to know that indulging in unhealthy behaviours was... well, unhealthy.

Some nights though, he can't help himself, and rationalises that indulging a little every now and then is by far the least destructive of all the available options.

Better a light rain, than all out storm.

Still, he does his best to 'reign it in', as Jason would say, as much as possible.

Tonight, as much as possible is zero.

It could be the weather, he considers, racing towards Bludhaven, through hail that is falling in sheets. All the bad things that have happened in his life have happened in bad weather. Pathetic fallacy at its worse. Dark clouds have always made him worry.

Or, perhaps, it might be the fact that he's exhausted, he thinks, scaling the fire-escape to the sixth floor apartment. Perpetually so, but particularly this week. Back to back nights facing nothing but the infantry of Gotham's worst. No detective work involved, just a battle of attrition, against thugs and goons and scum. The fatigue of it settling in his bones. Slowing him down, when he needs to be fast.

Then again, there's every chance it's Jason. He mulls it over as he disables the security measures on the apartment window, squeezing his sizable frame through the much smaller opening. Last he spoke to his second son, the twenty-four year old had told Bruce to go fuck himself, before promptly jumping off the nearest roof. Jason had always been one for melodramatics, but the first time his boy had stormed off in such a huff he had literally died, so Bruce isn't too hard on himself that a repeat performance makes him anxious.

Maybe though, he decides, stepping lightly across the wooden floor, careful to avoid the warped beams that would sing under his weight, maybe, this is just being a father. And whether your children are adults or not, whether they fight crime in disguises or not, some nights, for no reason at all, you just... worry.

When Bruce had been a boy, a little boy, no more than six or seven, his parents had bought him a rabbit. Flopsy, she'd been called And he'd been obsessed. Such a soft, fluffy little thing. He'd watched her fall asleep in the evenings, all snug in her hutch. Only to wake in the middle of the night, suddenly convinced she wasn't breathing. Having to rush over and check, carefully watching for the rise and full of her tiny body.

It's the same example he had given his therapist, when explaining why some nights he just needs to check, needs to see with his own eyes that his children are okay. That they're safe. Alive. If only to stop the runaway train of terrible thoughts that loops his mind.

He looks down on Dick's sleeping form, the younger man's cheeks flushed with warm. His hair is sticking out all over the place, his arms flung above his head. Blissfully unaware that the Batman stands over him.

Dick has always slept like the dead. Had spent his early years in the circus afterall, a perpetual hive of activity and movement and noise. Dick impervious to it all, falling asleep on whatever comfortable surface was available. Totally oblivious to the world around him.

Bruce watches the gentle rise and fall of his boy's chest. Slows his breathing to be in time with Dick's. Lets the calm of it wash over him. Then he turns to leave the way he came. Resetting the security measures as he goes.

These days he has a tried and tested routine for checking on his family. With Dick in Bludhaven more often than not, he usually has to start there, (depending on Nightwing's evening activities). Then he loops back to Gotham, and moves on to the next.

Stephanie is easy to check. Easier than he'd like, in fact. Most of his kids, and kid-adjacents, have inherited his own paranoia around security. Have layers and layers of protection around their homes. But Steph still lives with her mother. A mother who hasn't even the remotest suspicion that her daughter is Gotham vigilante Spoiler, by the way. So the former Robin can't exactly booby trap their apartment windows.

She does have a couple of cameras set up outside of them though. So Bruce's first step is always to hack their system. Set them to loop the last three seconds, so she doesn't know he's been there. Then he'll slide open the window. Sit in the frame and watch until his heart calms that fraction more.

Except tonight, there's no way to open the window without waking her. Weather as awful as it is. Hail plinking against the pane. The best he can do is press his forehead to the glass. Watch her through the heat vision lenses of the cowl, and try to untwist the worry in his heart.

Steph sleeps like Dick does, arms splayed above her head. As though she was too tired to do anything but fall into bed. The sheets are a tangle, strewn across her sleeping form. Arms and feet and leg left uncovered, diagonal across the bed.

Bruce slips quietly away. Unloops the camera traps as he goes.

Jason is next. And couldn't be more opposite to Steph when it comes to security. Maybe most like Bruce in some respects.

He never sleeps in the same place two nights in a row; uses a complicated pattern for choosing which safehouse to stay in next. The security on each is as complex as anything Bruce has ever seen. And if it wouldn't immediately trigger a flurry of furious epithets from the younger man, Bruce would tell him how impressed he is. How proud he is.

However impressed he might be, Bruce is still Jason's Dad. Is still the one that taught him, gave him the solid foundation that his skills and training are built on. It takes him a while, but Bruce still manages to disable the security measures on the living room window of safe house 13. Makes his way carefully to the bedroom.

Jason has never been an easy sleeper. More like a cat than anything else. Ready to wake and bolt at the slightest of disturbances. He curls up like one too. Duvet and pillow hugged tight to his chest. Face set in perpetual frown, knees drawn close to his body.

He grinds his teeth too, and Bruce briefly wonders if his boy has been wearing his mouth guard, like he's supposed to.

He resists the temptation to check. Resists too, the urge to gently rub away the worry lines from Jason's forehead. Instead just listens in wonder, at the gentle snores that provide the incontrovertible proof that his darling boy is alive.

He always lingers a little longer with Jason, always so grateful that Jason's there to check at all. Instead of the cold, empty room that had been left in his place for so long.

Then he leaves the way he came. Takes his time ensuring the security measures are restored just right. Before slipping back into the wind and the hail and the night.

Tim is next. And Bruce isn't sure which is worse, that Tim now lives on a boat or that he's got a boyfriend.

Bruce hates boats. No real reason, just never been a fan. And... well, no, okay, he doesn't hate that Tim has a boyfriend. But he does hate that Tim having a boyfriend means checking in on him is now a little... weird.

Consider: doting father checking in on his much loved son? Acceptable. Understandable. Endearing even.

But: much loved son in bed with his new boyfriend, when doting father arrives? No longer endearing. No longer endearing at all. Now weird and uncomfortable and a little bit creepy.

Small mercies mean that, tonight at least, Bruce knows Bernard isn't around. And for that he is thankful. Whatever is driving this particular bout of paranoia won't be satiated by a vitals check. Even if Tim is the only one of his children willing to let Bruce monitor them 24/7. The silver lining of a missing spleen, Bruce thinks.

The real problem with Tim though, is the sleep talking. More than once Bruce has been sure the younger man has seen him, when he starts angrily garbling out sleep-tinged words. Only for Tim to then end the sentence with something utterly bizarre, like "put the gravy in the toilet", or "remember to pay the elephants".

It's adorable, and dangerous. Because Bruce is then left trying desperately not to laugh and blow his cover. It wouldn't do for the Batman to fail at his most basic stealth training because he got caught giggling, after all.

Tim is already mumbling to himself by the time Bruce reaches him. The younger man's face smushed into the pillow, one arm flung over the edge of the bed.

"I need the teapots to unsubscribe." He says angrily, words slurring together with sleep. "Why did you promise me parachutes?"

Bruce tries not to grin too wide as he makes his way from the boat.

The hail has turned to snow now, and it's nearing half four in the morning. The Batmobile cuts through the flurry, heading West across the river and out of the city. Bruce puts a call through to Cass.

"What's wrong?" She says as she answers, face appearing in the Batmobile HUD. She knows how early it is in Gotham.

"Nothing," Bruce says with a tired smile. "Missed you."

Cass rolls her eyes affectionately. "Home next week."

"How's Hong Kong?" Bruce asks, as the car pulls off the bridge.

Cass frowns, tilts her head side to side. "Unhappy." She says.

"Hn." Bruce replies. He's been following news of the unrest relentlessly since Cass has been gone. It's not even a week, but he'll be happier once she's home. Always worried she'll make the trip permanent, like she had once before.

"Bad night?" Cass asks.

Bruce shakes his head. "No." He lies.

Cass sees through it. "More sleep." She admonishes gently, and taps her watch on the screen. "Nearly home?"

Bruce chuffs a small laugh, he's meant to be the parent here. "Nearly home." He reassures her.

Cass nods, blows a small kiss to the screen then clicks off the call. Bruce pulls into the Cave.

Alfred is stood waiting by the car bay. He looks unipressed. "What time do you call this?" He asks, eyebrow raised as Bruce climbs out of the car.

Bruce looks sheepish. Shucks off the cowl. "Sorry," he says "I—" He cuts himself off. Chest tight again as he thinks back to the start of the night. The all-consuming worry for his family. The inescapable need to check, to know that they were okay.

Alfred gives him a sad smile, holds a hand to Bruce's face. "You need more sleep, lad." He says gently. "Let's get you to bed."

Bruce nods. "That's what Cass said." He leans into the touch ever so slightly.

"Smart girl, that one." Alfred says with a grin, gently helping Bruce remove the cape and gauntlets.

"Let me check the boys first." Bruce says, once his uniform is off. Alfred leading him out of the Cave.

Alfred heaves a sigh. "Safe and sound asleep for at least four hours, Bruce."

"I know, I just..."

Alfred nods knowingly. Squeezes Bruce's shoulder. "Sunday brunch is at 11am. I expect you to be on time." He says.

Bruce gives him a small smile. "G'night Alfred."

"Goodnight, son."

Bruce heads to Duke's room first. The teenager isn't often at the Manor. Stays with his cousin Jay in The Narrows most nights. But the commute to Gotham Academy is shorter from the Wayne Estate and he has exams this week.

The teenager's lights are still on, school work strewn across his desk. He's half sitting in bed, a physics text book open against his chest, glasses still on. Bruce crosses the room quietly, easier now he's in slippers and pyjamas, and gently pulls the book from Duke. Carefully slips his glasses off his face. Duke stirs ever so slightly, sliding further down the bed to be more horizontal. Bruce tugs the covers up. Switches off the light.

Damian's room is next to Bruce's and as he pushes the door, Bruce is ready for the night to be over. For the tightness in his chest to finally ease, and the unbidden thoughts that taunt him with unfulfilled horror to cease. But Damian isn't there, his bed empty, sheets kicked to the floor.

For a moment Bruce's vision whites out in panic, his lungs paralysed as he tries to make his brain work again. Kick-start his mind's hard drive and scan all the contingencies it stores, because his boy's, his darling littlest boy is—

"Father?" Says a small voice, thick with sleep. A warm little hand, slips into Bruce's own. Damian looks up at him. He's wearing dinosaur pyjamas. Rubs at his eyes with a small fist.

Bruce picks him up without thinking. Sits the nine year old on his hip and hugs him close.

Damian settles his head against Bruce's shoulder. Pushes his palm to Bruce's chest, frowns at the rapid beating of his father's heart.

"Wosswrong?" He mumbles, eyes already slipping closed.

Bruce squeezes him tight. "Nothing son, nothing at all."

He considers for a moment putting Damian back down in his bed, but the nine year old's fingers cling to his shirt.

Instead Bruce takes them both to his own room, settles the pair of them under his own covers.

Damian falls asleep almost immediately. He's curled into Bruce's side, clinging to his arm like a baby koala. Bruce runs a hand through his boy's hair, let's out a long, slow breath.

Sleep is calling him now, the world outside muted by the snow that steadily falls from above.

He has one more check to make. Reaches for his phone and thumbs in the passcode for the interface that will show him the status of his team, his family. A text comes through the encrypted comms chat before the information loads.

Oracle > Batman: About time you got home. Safe & sound here. See you for brunch x

Bruce smiles, finally gives into the temptation to sleep as relief washes over him at last. He fires off a single character response before he slips away to dreams.

Batman > Oracle: 🦇

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