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Bruce Wayne had never pictured himself as parent material. He had lost his own parents halfway through childhood. Alfred, amazing as he was, could never truly replace them.
He was also rich and famous. Some people might consider that a good thing, as he had the money to provide the best of everything, and in that sense it was. But Bruce knew firsthand how much of a curse it could be. The paparazzi, the attention, the people who pretended to be your friend but only wanted your influence. It was a lot for an adult to go through, much less a child.
And then, of course, there was the matter of his nighttime activities. There was an ever-present risk that he might not come home one night and, if his identity were to be compromised, then everyone close to him would be in grave danger.
And yet, here he was.
Admittedly, the decision to foster Dick Grayson had been an impulsive one. Not that it was a fast process. There were still many forms to fill out, inspections to pass and background checks to perform.
But finally, Dick was here. And Bruce was left to wonder: Now what?
Dick was not a happy, bubbling child, at least, not anymore. He was an orphan who had just watched his parents die in front of him.
He let his grief out as anger. Anger at Bruce, at Alfred, at the world in general.
Bruce gave him space, urged on by both his own experience being in that position and the foster parent classes he had to take about supporting grieving children. He tried his best to balance not being overbearing while still letting Dick know he was there if needed.
The first screamed “you’re not my dad!” stung, even though he had prepared for this and it was, objectively, true.
He knew it wouldn’t last forever. Grief, of course, would never truly go away, he still felt the grief of his own parent’s deaths, even decades later. But time would allow the pain to dull and the wound to scab, until it no longer overtook every moment of every day, and instead merely reopened once in a while, less severe than the initial wound.
But in the meantime, Bruce could only do his best. Being on this side of fostering, he was quickly gaining a new appreciation for how much of an angel Alfred truly was.
Of course, as with parenting every child, things didn’t go according to plan. Dick was not supposed to find out about Batman. He did anyway.
At least training to be Robin gave him an outlet for his anger. Working through his emotions through physical activity proved to be very effective. It also gave him a goal, a drive. Helping people could be as rewarding as it was noble, and Dick fell into the role as if he were made to be Robin.
Their relationship as mentor and protégée blossomed. Dick was eager to learn and brought a facet of lightness to Batman’s work that he hadn’t even known he was missing.
Outside of superhero business, it remained tumultuous. Any mention of Dick’s parents, the circus, or grief in general were shut down immediately and explosively. While Dick seemed happier more often lately, Bruce worried about whether it was genuine healing, or an act put on to cover up his grief.
Bruce knew how tempting it was to run away from your emotions and troubles, having done it for most of his life. If he was being honest–something he struggled with, but really should work on now that he had a kid–it wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism. At all.
Bruce was awoken by the soft creak of his bedroom door. He was awake instantly, but remained motionless, not wanting a potential assassin to know he heard them.
The shuffle of small, bare feet on wood told him that it was Dick. He opened his eyes and sat up.
Dick was in his pajamas, clutching his stuffed elephant, Zitka, close to his chest. His face was red and tear-stained.
“Hey, Chum,” he said gently. He knew Dick had frequent nightmares, but he had always refused the offers of comfort. He never talked about them, either, but Bruce could take a guess at what moment he was reliving in his dreams. This was the first time that Dick had chosen to come to him after a nightmare.
Dick sniffled, lifting a hand to wipe at his eyes. He didn’t say anything for a long while. Bruce waited patiently.
“I miss my parents,” he finally admitted. His words brought forth another round of sobs.
“Oh, Dick.” He opened his arms in invitation, but didn’t move towards Dick, giving him the choice.
Dick practically fell into his arms.
Bruce hugged him back. “Shh, I know, I know,” he whispered, running his hand through Dick’s hair. Tears were brewing in his own eyes.
His shirt was rapidly becoming soaked with tears and snot, but he didn’t care. Dick finally trusted him with his grief.
The second child, Jason, he foolishly thought would be easier. After all, he had done it once, so fostering another kid should be easier this time around. He couldn’t be more wrong.
Whereas Dick had been an orphan struggling with grief and anger, Jason was an orphan dealing with a past of abuse and homelessness, along with all of the emotions and trauma that came with it.
He was often standoffish, but in a different way than Dick had been. He didn’t seem to be angry at Bruce, not really. His actions seemed more like an act, a false nonchalance put on to hide his true emotions. The fostering classes had talked about this. Some kids had learned to hold people at arm's length to avoid getting hurt.
Jason didn’t trust him, that he knew. He didn’t blame him. To go from living on the streets, where he had to rely only on himself, to living in a mansion with a man who claimed to have his best interests in heart? Bruce would be concerned if he didn’t have trouble adjusting.
Because of their first meeting, Jason knew about Batman from the start. As such, Bruce had no issue allowing him in the Batcave.
It would be some time before Jason would be allowed in the field, assuming he even wanted to, of course. There was a lot of training that needed to be done to keep him safe, as well as a lot of trust that needed to be built in order to work together in dangerous situations.
Still, Jason was taking to early training like a duck to water. He especially loved when Dick came by to give acrobatics lessons. Bruce tried to ignore the small twinge of jealousy that Jason trusted Dick so much easier than himself.
Bruce was showing Jason some of his Batman gadgets, explaining how they worked and in what circumstances he used them. Jason grinned when he got to try some out for himself, a rare glimpse behind his usual mask of indifference.
It was going well, until it wasn’t. Jason picked up a prototype weapon that would assist flinging batarangs harder and further than by hand. Just as Bruce was telling him to put it down, the weapon discharged.
The batarang flew across the room and impaled itself into the main monitor of the bat computer. Cracks spiderwebbed out across the screen, accompanied by brightly colored lines signaling the demise of the monitor.
Bruce spared only a quick glance at where the batarang had landed before focusing his attention on Jason.
Jason was standing completely still. The weapon still held in his hands, though his grip was lax enough that it might fall out of his grasp at any moment. His face… The mask was gone. He was staring at the broken screen with abject horror.
Bruce took a step forward and Jason flinched . He froze. He had only wanted to take the prototype so it wouldn’t accidentally discharge again. They had been lucky no one was hurt the first time, they might not be so lucky again.
Bruce recognized Jason’s body language. He had seen it on children he had rescued as Batman. He never wanted to see it on any child, especially not his own. Jason thought he was going to be hit.
There was a glassiness in Jason’s eyes. He wasn’t entirely here. Whether he was reliving a memory or just trying to escape the only way he knew how, Bruce wasn’t sure.
The only thing he could think to do was make himself smaller and unthreatening. Slowly, so as to not startle Jason, he sank to his knees. Jason continued to stare ahead, eyes not tracking his movement. Just as slowly, he reached out and grabbed onto the prototype. It only took a slight tug to pull it out of Jason’s lax fingers. He placed it to the side, as far as he could without moving from his position. With the weapon safely away, he could focus his attention on Jason.
If he knew Jason better, he might know what to do to bring him back without making things worse. As it was, Bruce decided the safest thing to do was wait for Jason to come back on his own. The floor was uncomfortable on his knees, so he shifted into a sitting position and settled in for what could be a long wait.
After several long minutes, Jason’s eyes refocused, darting quickly around the room before resting on Bruce. His hands clenched into loose fists. He looked scared, but also confused. If he was expecting a punishment, he was probably wondering why Bruce hadn’t done anything yet.
“Are you okay?” Bruce asked calmly, not wanting to send the boy into another panic. It was obvious Jason was not okay, but Bruce figured it would be best to express his concern simply right now.
“…what?” Jason blinked, the confusion actually seeming to ground him somewhat.
“Are you okay?” Bruce repeated, patiently.
“Why do you care?” A hint of his usual defensiveness was beginning to creep into his tone.
“Because I care about you.”
“But– but I broke your computer.”
“Yes,” Bruce acknowledged easily, “But I’m more concerned about you.”
“Why?” Jason sounded so confused and it broke his heart.
“I can replace the computer. It’s just an object. If you were to get hurt, I can’t replace you. You’re my child now. I signed that foster paperwork and agreed to take care of you.”
“They always say that, but no one ever means it.” He said it with certainty, as though it were an obvious fact. The sky is blue, and adults don’t actually care about their children.
“I do.” Jason still didn’t look convinced, so Bruce decided to address his fears directly. “I will never lay a hand on you,” he promised. “If I ever do, for any reason, you go to Alfred, you go to Dick, you tell your case worker. Hell, you can even tell the media, they’d have a field day.”
“But wouldn’t that ruin your reputation?” Jason still sounded baffled, the concept of someone caring that much about him difficult to grasp.
“If I hit a child, I’d deserve it.”
For the first time, Jason looked like he was actually starting to believe him. Bruce smiled, gently. “Would you like to head upstairs where it’s comfier? This floor isn’t the most comfortable place to sit.”
Jason nodded, and Bruce stood up, still moving deliberately slowly. Jason misinterpreted the reason for his cautious pace and let out a sudden chuckle. “Your joints giving out on you already, old man?” he asked, sounding almost like his usual self.
“Not quite yet.”
To his surprise, Jason shuffled closer, until he was standing directly next to Bruce. He glanced up at the man to judge his reaction, and seeing nothing but kindness, he hesitantly leaned into Bruce’s side. Equally as hesitantly, terrified he’d ruin the moment and cause Jason to run away, Bruce lifted his arm to curl around Jason’s shoulders.
Jason didn’t run. He leaned further in.
The third kid was unintentional. Timothy Drake already had a family, and while Bruce was many things, a kidnapper was not one of them.
Still, the young boy was friends with Jason and soon began spending more and more time at the Wayne mansion, often coming home with Jason after school.
Unlike the other two, Tim did not have any anger issues. In fact, he was extremely polite and well behaved. So much so, it was a bit concerning for a child of his age. He would always address the adults by their formal titles. He never asked for anything, and when offered something like a snack, agreed with whatever choice was offered first.
The more he interacted with Tim, the more Bruce began to suspect that his parents were of the outdated “children should be seen and not heard” mentality.
His concern skyrocketed the day Tim let it slip that his parents left him home alone for months at a time, with only a housekeeper to check in on him once a week.
There wasn’t much he could do about Tim’s parents. He knew CPS had a worryingly low bar to clear to be deemed acceptable, especially when money was involved. They would see that he had food and clothes, attended a good school, and wasn’t being beaten, and would say he was good to go.
If he couldn’t fix Tim’s home life, he had to focus instead on making his time at the manor as welcoming as possible.
He pulled aside Alfred that day, relieved to find that the butler had put together the same pieces as him. Together, they made a plan.
Tim would be encouraged to come over as often and stay as late as he wanted, including sleeping over. While at the mansion, he would be taken care of–not that he hadn’t been before–not only physical needs like hunger, but also the equally important emotional ones. They would do everything in their power to give him the support he was missing at home.
Tim may not be Bruce’s child legally, but Bruce had already gotten attached. As far as he was concerned, he had three sons now.
Bruce sat at his desk, doing paperwork for Wayne Industries. It was one of the most boring parts of the job, but not one he could avoid.
Today was the day the younger two boys received their middle of the year report cards. Bruce knew this because Jason had already proudly showed off his A+ in English.
He was curious if Tim would mention his, but didn’t expect him to. Tim had gotten much more comfortable around Bruce in the last few months, but there were still a great many things he struggled with.
Bruce looked up as the door to his office opened and Tim slipped inside. He set his pen down, welcoming the distraction.
Tim stood there nervously, swaying slightly back and forth and gripping a folded sheet of paper tightly in his hands.
Bruce smiled gently. Tim was confident in the field as Robin, but continued to be very timid in most other circumstances, including initiating conversations with adults.
“Here.” Tim shoved the paper at him as though it were a live bomb.
Bruce took it carefully. He unfolded the paper. It was his report card.
He read through it. Straight A’s down the line. The comments from teachers were all positive. He smiled, heart swelling with pride. Tim was incredibly smart.
He looked up to find Tim staring intently at his face with something like hope starting to bloom across his expression. He was practically vibrating from nerves.
“Good job, bud.”
Tim’s eyes widened even further somehow. “I did okay?” He asked, incredulous.
“You did amazing.” Bruce confirmed.
“Even though I got an A- in chemistry?”
“That’s still an amazing grade. And anyway, I don’t need school grades to tell me that you’re a smart and talented kid. I’m proud of you.”
Tim dashed forward, and suddenly Bruce’s arms were full. He hugged back. From the way Tim trembled in his arms and squeezed back like his life depended on it, Bruce realized that Tim had probably never been hugged by a parent like this before.
“Say it again.” Tim whispered, as though afraid to say it out loud.
“I’m proud of you.” He said it not only as a declaration but as a promise.
He had a son. A biological son. He would have preferred to know sooner, but apparently Talia thought it was perfectly acceptable to drop a nine year old child off on his doorstep without so much as a paternity test. Not that he doubted Damian’s parentage, the resemblance both physically and in personality were unmistakable.
Bruce had some thoughts about how Damian was raised. He was well aware that he wasn’t in a position to judge most people’s childcare abilities, being Batman and all, but raising a child inside the League of Assassins? That was on another level entirely.
In Bruce’s opinion, Damian was too young to be going out in the field. He would need at least another year, preferably two. Talia, however, had evidently thought him plenty old enough to train. Unfortunately, the level of skill and training he already possessed would make it difficult, if not impossible to prevent Damian from going out if he wanted to.
After some amount of thought, Bruce had eventually decided that the path of least risk was to allow Damian to go with him, where at least he would be supervised, as opposed to following along behind with no backup.
And so it was that Batman gained a fourth sidekick, though of course the oldest two often took missions on their own nowadays.
Tonight, all five of them had patrolled together, and the collective mood was high as they returned to the cave. The older three boys were chatting amicably. Dick pulled Jason into a sideways hug, ruffling his hair for good measure.
Damian scoffed loudly. They turned to him, wondering what he had an issue with this time. “Hugging is for children,” he declared.
“Oh? So I’m only allowed to hug you?” Dick teased, taking a step towards Damian and opening his arms.
Damian bristled, hand going to the hilt of his sword. “You will do nothing of the sort, Grayson.”
“You’re literally a child, Damian.” Jason reminded him. Damian turned the full force of his glare onto Jason, who put his hands up, placating. “Just sayin’.”
Damian looked like he might lunge, so Bruce stepped in. “Be nice, Damian,” he said, positioning himself between Damian and the others. Damian, predictably, huffed again and then stomped off.
Bruce sighed. He wanted all of his boys to get along, but Damian seemed determined to do the opposite. He had been openly hostile to all three of them from day one, and Bruce couldn’t allow him to get away with that behavior. On the other hand, he was perceptive enough to realize that much of Damian’s behavior was rooted in insecurity. He didn’t want to alienate him further, either.
It was a narrow path to walk, not wanting to fall off one side or another, and unfortunately this time the fostering classes he had taken so many years ago now weren’t much help. They had covered a lot of topics, but how to deal with a child who had been raised by assassins and was struggling to fit in with the other kids because he viewed himself as superior to everyone else wasn’t one of them.
“Why do you show affection towards them?”
Bruce glanced towards Damian at the sudden question. “Who?” He asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
“Grayson, Todd, and Drake.”
“Why shouldn’t I? They’re my sons. Just because they aren’t related to me through blood doesn’t make them any less of my family.” It was something Bruce had explained to Damian multiple times. Damian had yet to agree, but it would take time to relearn some of the wrong things he had been taught in the League.
“It shows weakness. A leader should never show weakness to their inferiors.” He sounded as though he was reciting something he had been told many times.
“Who told you that?”
“Grandfather.”
Of course. Ra’s al Ghul. That was exactly the kind of bullshit he would say. “You know,” he began, a bit more delicately than his inner dialogue, “your grandfather is a powerful man, but even he doesn’t know everything.”
Damian frowned, and Bruce quickly continued before he could start protesting. “There are many things that I do differently than your grandfather and the League. That doesn’t always mean that one of us is right and the other wrong, sometimes it’s just… different.” In Bruce’s opinion, there were, in fact, many things that the League were wrong about, but Damian was not ready to accept that yet, so he kept it as neutral as he could.
Damian seemed to mull this over. It must be difficult to accept new concepts when he had been indoctrinated–there was no nicer word for what the League did–from a young age. Still, despite his reverence for the League, he did look up to Bruce, something he hoped could help get through to him.
“You are saying that showing affection towards your inferiors is one of these differences?” Damian phrased it half-way between a question and a statement.
“Exactly. Your grandfather may see it as showing weakness, but I’ve actually found it to be the opposite. My love for my family, biological and adopted, gives me strength. It gives me something to fight for as Batman.”
Damian chewed on his lip in thought. “Mother said that hugging is for children. I have seen you hug Grayson.” The question was clear, even unspoken.
“I believe that hugging can be for whoever wants them. I hug Dick, Jason, and Tim, though not as often as I would like. I don’t think it’s made me less of an adult, nor less of a man.”
“And it feels good?”
“Yes. Hugging feels very good, especially when it’s someone you trust.”
Damian was chewing harder now, and Bruce began to worry he might bite through his own lip. He could practically see the gears turning as Damian’s brain struggled to process everything.
Finally, he spoke. “I would like to try one. A hug.”
Bruce’s eyebrows shot up with surprise, and he quickly tried to school his face back into neutrality, not wanting to scare Damian away when they were making such a breakthrough.
“Of course,” he said, opening his arms and wrapping them around his youngest son.
As far as hugs went, it was an awkward one. Damian was as stiff as a board, and it felt a lot like hugging a robot. But notably, Damian didn’t pull away; something he would definitely do if he didn’t like what was happening. Bruce couldn’t be happier.
When they finally stepped back, Damian’s face looked like it was cycling through several emotions. “Hmm. It was…acceptable.”
“Oh?” Bruce tried to keep an even face, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Coming from Damian, that was quite high praise.
“I shall have to gather more data in the future, to determine if hugs do work as you claim,” Damian stated.
Bruce grinned.