Chapter Text
Bruce loved that his children were growing up. He loved watching them become more independent day by day. Yes, he cried when Dick moved out, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t proud. Watching his children grow into strong, capable adults was an honour, one that was almost taken away from him. It was the greatest privilege of his life, to witness their growth.
Bruce wanted his children to fly the nest, to chase their dreams and become the people they were always destined to be.
Yet, those rare nights, when every single one of his children was asleep under the roof of Wayne Manor were Bruce’s favourite nights. His fear that Dick would be injured and alone, so far away in Büldhaven, dissipated. His worries for Jason and Cassandra as they moved through the dangerous streets of Gotham subsided. All his baby birds in the nest, safe and close.
It was a habit Bruce had developed when he first took Dick in, and the boy had made various escape attempts out of his bedroom window in his quest for vengeance. Before Bruce could sleep, he needed to check that Dick was sleeping soundly in his bed. It was a habit that had continued when he adopted Jason, then Tim, Cass, and Damian. It settled him, to know exactly where his children were.
Eyes burning, Bruce finally stood up from the batcomputer, his spine popping as he stretched. Lethargically, Bruce stripped out of the rigid armour of the suit and into the soft material of his pyjamas. His bed was calling to him like a siren song, and Bruce’s body was begging for the rest it had been denied for hours.
But Bruce had one more thing to do.
Moving up the stairs and along with hall, Bruce came to a stop at Dick’s bedroom door. He paused for a minute, listening for any signs of movement before slowly opening the door.
The light from the hall illuminated Dick’s bedroom, and Bruce smiled softly as his eyes landed on Dick. His eldest, his first baby, sprawled out on top of the sheets, limbs akimbo. He’d never known anyone to sleep as chaotically as Dick. Still, Bruce quietly shook out the blanket that rested over Dick’s desk chair, and gently draped it on top of his son. Dick mumbled slightly, rubbing his face into the soft material.
“Sleep well.” Bruce whispered, pressing a kiss to his fingers and softly touching them to Dick’s cheek.
As silent as a ghost, Bruce left the room.
Next was Jason’s room, a soft glow spilling out from underneath the door. Bruce opened it an inch, peeking around before fully stepping into the room. Jason was curled up asleep on the bed, book open and precariously balanced on his chest. In those quiet, unassuming moments, all Bruce could see was Jason, eleven years old and eyes sparkling with wonder as he took in Wayne Manor’s library. Their relationship had become so fractured and uncertain, but Bruce did not hesitate to gently lift the book from Jason’s chest, slipping a bookmark in between the pages, and setting it down on the nightstand. Just like with Dick, Bruce grabbed the thick, fluffy blanket that Jason kept at the foot of his bed and gently draped it over his second son.
Jason’s eyes cracked open slightly, squinting against the orange light of the lamp.
“Bruce?” Jason asked, his speech slurred from sleep.
“Yeah, just me. Go back to sleep.” Bruce replied softly, resisting the urge to reach out and push the curls out of Jason’s eyes.
Jason hummed, his eyes slipping shut once more, and with that, Bruce flicked off the lamp and left the room.
Cassandra’s room was next, and Bruce knew as soon as he turned the handle that Cass was awake. It had confused Cass at first, Bruce’s desire to check she was safe when there was no danger. She’d never had someone worry about her like that, the constant fear of a parent when pieces of your heart were walking talking people you couldn’t protect from every horror in the world. Yet, every night she played along to soothe Bruce’s fear. His wonderful daughter.
Bruce readjusted her bedcover, tucking her in more securely, and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“Love you.” Cass whispered, keeping her eyes shut as if she were asleep.
“Love you too.” Bruce whispered back with a smile.
Moving onto Tim’s room was always a challenge. No matter what, Tim’s room always looked like a mini explosion. Clothes and clutter covered every inch of the room, which Tim insisted was organised chaos, though Bruce highly doubted it due to Tim forever loosing things in the blackhole of his room.
Unsurprisingly, Tim was also not asleep.
“Log off the computer, Tim. You should’ve been asleep hours ago.” Bruce said in lieu of a greeting.
Tim grumbled and groaned like he did every night, but dutifully logged out of the computer under Bruce’s watchful eye. Stumbling over his piles of clutter, Tim face planted the bed. Bruce rolled his eyes, pulling the bedcover out from underneath Tim and tucking him in, pushing away the random junk that was littering Tim’s bed.
“Hey, that was my pile of important stuff,” Tim muttered, already half asleep, his eyes shut.
Bruce sighed, scooping up the fallen notebooks and scrap metal and dumping them on Tim’s messy desk.
“Thanks, Bruce.” Tim breathed, and with that, he was out like a light.
Bruce sighed again, taking in the cluttered room. A problem for tomorrow, he decided, leaving the room, narrowly avoiding falling flat on his face over Tim’s mountains of hoodies.
Finally, Damian’s room.
The first few months of Damian being at Wayne Manor, the boy had slept so rigidly, flat on his back and a hand on a weapon, as if he was ready to spring into action at a moments notice. Now, Damian slept, truly slept. Curled up on his side, one hand rested in a loose fist on Titus’ back, and Damian’s lips were open ever so slightly, releasing soft puffs of air.
Titus perked up and Bruce opened the door, tail wagging, though he did not move from Damian’s side.
“Good boy.” Bruce whispered, running a hand across Titus’ soft head to settle him back down.
Bruce moved to Damian, leaning forwards to press a kiss to his forehead. Damian smiled softly in his sleep, his hand clenching and unclenching for a moment before settling back into a peaceful sleep. That was all Bruce could ask for; his children resting peacefully.
Finally, Bruce sank down onto his own bed, bone tired and beaten from a brutal patrol of Gotham. Yet, his soul was light, and his body relaxed into the mattress, knowing that all of his robins were safe in the nest.