It had been a long night. Batman had foiled three robberies, two rapes, and four muggings before spending the next hour nearly single-handedly putting an end to a gang war that had erupted downtown, over one hundred-twenty combatants spanning three blocks. Batman had taken down ninety-eight of them, managing it without serious injury. But, he was sore.
He had come back to the Batcave and headed straight into the shower, eager to rid himself of the smell of strangers' blood that seemed to linger even after he had removed his suit. Twenty minutes later, he had dressed and headed upstairs to the manor, more than ready to collapse into his bed. He planned to sleep until noon. At the top of the stairs leading to the family's wing, Bruce's thoughts turned towards his sons, toward Dick in particular as had been his wont since the young man's death, and most especially since his resurrection at his brothers' hands.
The rage Dick suffered coming back from the Lazarus Pit was easing finally, coming in brief spurts at odd moments, set off by triggers both known and unknown. They'd learned that they couldn't come up from behind him and, God forbid anyone brush against him unexpectedly, but there were still moments when the incidents seemed random, without any perceivable cause.
Bruce's feet paused of their own accord outside of Dick's room. The habit he had developed of checking on his eldest son since his return had apparently become ingrained. It reminded the man of the first time he had done this all those years ago, when Dick was eight and had just come to live with him for the first time. Those early months, Bruce had worried that one night he would check on the boy only to find him gone. His fear was that Zucco might have come to finish the job while he'd been out, which was ridiculous as the manor's security was nigh on impenetrable. And then, there had been his fear that the boy had run away, impatient to wait for Zucco to receive justice. That last fear hadn't been nearly so absurd, Bruce remembered, as it had come to pass. Batman had barely caught up with the boy in time to save his life.
He shook himself from those memories in an effort to alleviate the nervous jitters in his gut. This wasn't the same thing.
Taking a breath, Bruce eased the door to Dick's room open to check on him, only to find the covers turned back and his nightmare come to fruition. The bed was empty. A quick glance around the darkened room was enough to assure the man that it too was empty.
"Dick?" He called. The boy could have simply gone to the bathroom, he told himself. However, when no reply followed his inquiry, Bruce stepped into the room. From here, he could see that the bathroom door was open, its light off.
Bruce frowned. He knew Dick was having some trouble sleeping but, having just come up from the cave, he also knew that Dick hadn't been there. Neither had he been in the kitchen. Bruce would have seen the light under the door as he had passed by the dining room. The young man had never made it a habit to roam the house at night in the dark. It was unlikely he would have started it now. Stepping back out into the hall, Bruce closed the door behind him. Perhaps, Dick had gone into one of his brother's rooms for company.
Walking across the hall, he cracked open Jason's door, peering in. Dick had become much closer to Jason since his resurrection. Bruce thought this might possibly be linked to their shared death experience. Jason certainly seemed to understand what his brother was going through. It would be hard not to be drawn to that.
The room was meticulously organized and spotless, with the exception of Jay's uniform thrown in disarray across his floor. Bruce knew Red Hood had gone patrolling this evening as well, though his and Batman's paths hadn't crossed. He must have had a rough night as well to have not taken better care of his things.
Looking to the bed, Bruce noticed immediately that, although Jason was present, Dick was missing. Jason lay sprawled haphazardly across the bed, arms splayed wide with one of the young man's legs hanging loosely off the side. Unlike the younger boys, Jason slept in naught but his boxers. That hadn't always been the case. When Jason had first come to live at the manor, he would start every night in a set of pajamas only to be stripped naked before the dawn. Jay didn't bother with the pajamas at all anymore. Bruce smirked. Jason must have only gotten in shortly before him. He obviously hadn't had enough time yet to have divested himself of his underwear.
Entering quietly, he made his way over, returning the discarded pillow to the bed. Bruce carefully lifted the errant leg back onto the mattress without waking him. Jason immediately snorted and rolled onto his side, pulling the pillow against his chest before letting out a heavy sigh. Picking up the covers from the floor, Bruce covered Jason against the chill of the night. It would be an errand of futility. He knew that both the pillow and the blankets would be back on the floor by morning.
Jason was not a tranquil sleeper.
Bruce slipped out of the room before he could wake him. He knew without being told that Jay had earned his sleep this night.
He made his way to the room next door. Tim's room hadn't always been next to Jason's. It had once been next to Dick's room, but the advent of Damian to the family had necessitated some adjustments for everyone in the manor. Poor Tim had taken the brunt of it, having to give up his room first and his place as Robin next. Bruce wouldn't have allowed Damian so much leeway, but he had been lost in the annals of time when this had occurred. Dick had taken over both as Batman during his absence and as head of the family, and he had done a remarkable job at both even if Bruce would have made different decisions himself. It all worked out in the end and that was all that mattered.
The differences between each of his sons were no more evident than when he opened the door to Tim's room. The light from the moon shone across the room, illuminating both the bed and the mess littering the floor. Tim slept in the center of the bed in a fetal position facing the door, clutching his pillow like a lifeline. Bruce didn't have to touch it to know that the pillow would be soaked - again. The teen's mouth hung open whenever he slept, drenching yet another pillow with his drool. Alfred learned long ago to keep a large stock on hand to change out every few days.
What else the moonlight revealed was that Tim was the room's sole occupant. Again, no Dick here. Well, it had been a long shot.
No one liked trying to walk across Tim's room, particularly at night. Several of the teenager's schoolbooks cluttered the bed around him, like little soldiers, preventing anyone from finding space enough to join its owner had he wanted to. And, while Tim's mind might have been a steel trap of facts, cases, dates, and clues that he kept separated and filed with intricate precision, the same could not be said for the rest of the teen's possessions. The Riddler couldn't have done a better job when creating one of his complicated traps he loved to set for the Batman.
But, at least, Batman could wear boots when up against Riddler. Bruce looked down at his woefully inadequate slippers, sighing. Rather than leave the boy as is, Bruce carefully picked his way to the bed to remove the books. How many times had Tim showed up at the breakfast table with a book's imprint still visible on his cheek?
Several minutes later, Bruce exited the room, still wincing from discovering some long-lost LEGO amongst the clothes, books, and whatever other items littering the floor.
That left Damian's room. Before the resurrection, Damian got along with Dick best . . . Bruce frowned. No, that wasn't an entirely accurate statement.
What he meant was, that before the resurrection, Dick was perhaps the only one of the family to get along with Damian. He shook his head over that fact. Damian wasn't the easiest person to be around during the best of times, although, what Dick had done with the boy was, quite frankly, amazing. The two definitely shared some sort of special bond. During Bruce's absence, the Dick and Damian had been Batman and Robin and, even now, the evidence of that partnership and bond stayed true.
Opening Damian's bedroom door, Bruce stood in the entrance and surveyed the room. Unlike his brothers, Damian's room was kept sparse, utilitarian almost. His youngest son's only possessions that could be seen at a glance were his weapons, which he displayed prominently on the wall surrounding his bed. To look at it, one might not guess that anyone occupied the space - except for the presence of the boy currently lying in the middle of the bed.
Damian slept like the dead.
Not that he slept deeply. He didn't. It was that Damian slept in a position that resembled nothing more than a corpse laid out for a wake. It was more than a little disturbing and had taken Bruce some time to get used to. But, even from this distance, Bruce could see Damian's chest as it rose and fell with each breath. Other than that small movement, there was nothing else to assure him that the boy still lived. Unfortunately, what Bruce could also see was that Damian was alone. He didn't bother entering the room. Despite Damian's odd sleeping behavior, he woke quickly and easily to noise and vibration.
"Sleep well, Damian," Bruce whispered after he pulled the door shut behind him.
Uncertain where else to look, Bruce glanced down the hall to his own room. The door was shut, but for the first time, he noticed a faint strip of light seeping from beneath. Could it be? He moved back to his bedroom and opened the heavy mahogany door to find Dick laying on his bed atop the covers.
"Hey, chum. What are you doing in here?" Bruce said softly as he approached the bed. He didn't want to risk startling the younger man. He felt relief sweep through him, thankful he had found Dick safe.
Rubbing his knuckles over his eyes, Dick squinted at him. "Oh, sorry. I was . . . I had a bad dream. I hoped you wouldn't mind."
"Of course not, son, but let's get you under the covers, shall we?" He waited until Dick was comfortable then sat beside him. "You want to talk about it?"
Dick hesitated, then shook his head. "No. I can barely remember it now. I-I just didn't want to be alone, you know?"
"Sure. I get that," Bruce smiled reassuringly, "although, if you wanted company, I'm surprised that you didn't go to one of your brothers' rooms while I was out." He stood up only to shrug off his robe, choosing to leave his sweatpants on under the circumstances.
"I-I just . . . I just wanted to feel safe." Dick stammered, trying to explain something that he didn't quite understand himself. "And this was the safest place I could think of."
Bruce nodded. "You're always welcome in here, Dick, anytime."
Heading over to the adjoining bathroom, Bruce moved to turn off the light, so he could finally climb into bed himself. He hesitated, however, when Dick held out a hand to stop him.
"Don't . . ." Dick whispered. "Please." It wasn't difficult to hear the note of panic that laced the younger man's voice.
"Any particular reason it needs to stay on?" Bruce asked, biting back a long-suffering sigh. Having a light on would make it harder to fall asleep.
"It . . .Um," he paused, clearly uncomfortable with what he had to say. "It was dark when . . ." Dick winced. "Well, you know."
Bruce blinked. "Dark." he murmured. Surely, he didn't mean . . .? Dick wasn't talking about . . . his death, was he?
Dick sighed. "You won't tell the others, will you?"
"Tell the others what exactly?" He asked, moving back to the bed.
"That I'm afraid of the dark now." Dick closed his eyes and shuddered. "I'm sorry. I'm disrupting your sleep. I should go back to my . . ." He started to slip out of the bed.
"No," Bruce interrupted, holding him in place with a hand. "No, you shouldn't. We can compromise." He then turned on the bedside lamp before flicking off the bathroom light.
"Isn't it brighter this way?"
"It is." Bruce agreed, slipping into the bed and getting comfortable. Then, stretching out an arm, Bruce pulled his son into his side.
It had been years since Dick had slept in his bed. Years since they had, he smirked a little at this, . . . cuddled. The last time, Dick had been fifteen, and came after the boy had gotten a snort full of Scarecrow's fear gas while Batman and Robin had been in the process of recapturing him. The gas had been made from a new serum and their antitoxin had proven to be ineffective. Although, Bruce had worked up a new antidote as soon as they had returned to the cave, it had needed time in order for it to take effect. In the meantime, the only method that had proven to lower the boy's heart rate and blood pressure had been being hugged by his guardian.
That had been a long night. This one looked as though it would be just as long.
"What's the compromise?" Dick asked him.
"I won't turn the light out until after you've fallen to sleep."
"Oh, well . . . um, okay," Dick agreed, but he didn't sound okay.
"I'm not leaving you, Dick. I'm going to be here holding you all night if that's what it takes," Bruce assured him.
"I'm too much trouble . . ." Dick said, pushing away.
Bruce pulled him back, shoving his head down on his shoulder. "It wasn't so long ago that I would have given anything . . . everything I owned, for you to be too much trouble just one more time." He hugged his son a little closer. "Relax. Sleep, Dick. I'm not going anywhere."
After a while, Dick's breathing evened out, eventually deepening into sleep. When Bruce was certain Dick wouldn't awaken at his movements, he reached over with one arm and switched off the light. He adjusted his position, wrapping his second arm around his boy and closed his eyes, counting his blessings. After all, it wasn't every day that death gave a man back his son.
He hadn't slept so soundly in months.
A/N sooooo what do ya think? Dickie and Bruce bonding! Have to love that.
Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, and faved this fic. I love hearing from you guys!
Thanks to the ever amazing Alex for helping me with my vision on this chapter.
