Many thanks to Sablumadracusco for helping me with this. This was inspired by a post from notesfrombatman on Tumblr.

I make no claim to any of the characters.


They all start out the same way.

The cracking of my door. Wide blue eyes peering in. The door closing softly.

Dick always creeps up to my bed, tentatively reaching out a hand and calling a quiet "Bruce." Bright eyes lock onto mine as he whispers, "I had a nightmare." Before I can fully pull the covers back he's already jumping in, curling into me as close as he can. The contact helps, but he needs more, his eyes still haunted by lingering fears. With a few gentle prompts he begins to describe the terrible scenes he saw, while I give comfort and encouragement where I can. Slowly he starts to relax, until he's calm and rambling on happier thoughts slurred by sleep. As he nuzzles into my embrace, he always manages to mumble "Love you, Bruce" before dropping off. I give the top of his head a soft kiss before joining him in rest.

Jason is both more hesitant and less subtle. He walks straight for my bed but always pauses before climbing in without a word. Surprisingly, he, more than Dick, looks for physical comfort. Silent as he clings to me, he never shares what he dreamt, but he always places either his hand or his head on my heart. The gentle sound and my even breathing seem to do more than words ever could. Sleep comes slowly for both of us as I stroke his hair.

Tim…is different than his brothers. While he enters my room without pause, the walk to my bed is a battle. One moment he's sneaking closer to me, the next he's shaking his head and retreating toward the door until he hesitates and starts the cycle all over again. I blame his parents. He could never go to anyone for this comfort, so he doesn't feel he should. On the nights he won't reach me, I call out to him, beckoning him over. Initially, he tries to keep his distance, to disturb me as little as possible, but I gradually coax him closer, giving him the comfort he needs but will never ask for. If he tells me anything about what he saw, it's short and cryptic at best. Right now his mind is his worst enemy, so I begin to murmur the legends and stories I've picked up from my many travels. As the tales go on, exhaustion sets in, and as he starts to nod off I taper my voice off, as well.

Damian stops beside the door, staring at my bed before striding to the side of it, much like Jason would. He stands, arms crossed, as he studies me, with his mask of arrogance, of unwillingness to ask for help; however, as he glances back to the door I can see the scared ten-year-old beneath. The silence stretches on, but he eventually calls out "Father." He needs to learn to ask for support, that accepting it doesn't make him weak. I doubt his upbringing allowed for these comforts, yet he needs them more than most. Something I'll always be glad Dick recognized in my absence. He scrambles in when I beckon, though he maintains what he deems an acceptable distance and rejects any implications that he had a nightmare. Despite his aversion, the drowsier he gets, the more he slowly starts to curl towards me until I can rub my hand along his back. With one last sigh he's back to sleep.

As I wake the next day, a small smile grows as I look at my son nestled in my arms, face smooth and peaceful with sleep. I lean down and press my face into tousled black hair, enjoying the act of just holding him safe in my arms.

I'll savor this moment just a little longer.