Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bruce's pov

Bruce sat on his chair at the Batcomputer, letting out a sigh of pure exhaustion. He was still wearing the Batman suit, having just finished another patrol with the few usual fights, taunting and discussions between his sons that made it harder than it should be.

His children were certainly a challenge. A good one, but it seemed like they specialized in tiring him out.

The phantom of a smile formed on Bruce's mouth. He loved them so much. They could not have his claiming bites, the definitive and almost unbreakable bond between a vampire and their clan, but they were his. He simply couldn’t imagine a life without them.

It probably wasn’t what a young Bruce Wayne would have imagined for himself, maybe being the Batman wouldn't really have surprised him, but a father?

Well, he never expected or intended to have children.

He was a vampire from a long, powerful bloodline that lasted for millennia. But after his parents’ death, it wasn't his will to continue it.

Bruce had Alfred - the butler that not even Batman felt the need to question about his non-humanity and strange immortality - who was like a father to him and had all the love and care he was capable of.

Alfred might have not agreed with Bruce’s vigilante crusade, but he supported and helped him with the necessities of being a vampire, always there for him. At his worst, and best moments.

They were a family, their own little clan, and he didn't need anyone else. He didn't want anyone else.

Bruce huffed. His younger self had no idea of how wrong he was.

He looked at the picture of him and his oldest son placed in front of the screen. Dick was smiling brightly, wrapping his arms around Bruce's neck, who’s serious expression was about to break into a smile a moment after the photo was taken.

Dick Grayson had changed everything when Bruce watched him fly in that circus, as humans normally wouldn't be able to. He was like a bird in the sky, free and spontaneous, grinning like he was having the time of his life.

Bruce normally kept smirks and polite smiles for public situations, but Dick had been able to get a real smile from him.

So when the Tragedy of the Graysons happened, it shouldn't have surprised him that when he looked at the orphan boy, he couldn't help but take him as his ward.

There was only one problem, though. Dick's parents' death was caused by a vampire.

And Bruce… he was one.

A coward one. 

He still remembered clearly the chance he had to tell Dick what he was.

It was late at night, almost 5 am, the time Batman would be usually out. But since little Dick Grayson became his responsibility, he had to be more careful with his… unusual schedule.

His ward had nightmares sometimes and went to him for comfort, so Bruce couldn't spend all night as a vigilante anymore, compensating for it by working harder in the hours he could.

That was why had just closed his secret entrance when Dick entered his office, immediately freezing in place and blinking at his ward.

He knew this moment would come.

He knew it, and still, he internally panicked as Dick stared back at him, wearing his Superman pajamas like he hadn't caught Batman off guard. Bruce should have heard his steps, his heartbeat approaching, anything, but he was so tired that he didn't.

"I know about everything." Dick stated, almost accusatory.

Of course he did. Bruce mentally cursed himself. Dick was a smart boy, something Bruce was already very proud of.

It was only a matter of time until he found out his secrets.

"Everything?" Bruce repeated ridiculously, although he had prepared himself for this.

It shouldn't be that hard. The sense of logic from Batman ensured that he could do it. But what not even it could predict was how fast Bruce had gotten attached to Dick.

Nothing but a few weeks and his heart leapt every time Dick looked at him with such care and admiration, the sound of his laugh warming in a way Bruce never thought to be possible.

His instincts were going crazy, considering the little boy his clan even without a claim bite. They pushed him to do it, to mark Dick, guarantee everyone knew he was his.

Bruce contained them with all the strength he could muster.

"Yes." Dick nodded, a pout forming in his mouth, "How long did you think you could hide it from me?"

His tone was demanding, increasing Bruce's panic and adding something else to it. Fear. He didn't want to lose Dick.

He knew he shouldn't have taken in a human ward, especially one whose parents were killed by his kind. He wouldn't be able to blame the boy for hating or being afraid of him when he had lied to him from the beginning.

But he just couldn't have told him. As brave as Batman was, Bruce wasn’t nearly as much, and telling Dick he was a vampire could have meant having him freak out and ending up in an orphanage.

"Dick, look I…" Bruce sighed, trying to force the words out of his mouth. It could be better if he said it out loud before Dick did.

If he did, though, it would make it real. 

He would have to face the possibility of his ward looking at him with disgust, hatred, terror, or all of them together, and none of the injuries he suffered as Batman could hurt more than that.

"You're Batman!" Dick exclaimed, leaving Bruce unable to say anything but, "...Yes?"

Did Dick not know? Bruce thought he did. 

Weeks ago, when his parents' killer was brought to justice, Dick hugged him and whispered 'thank you' in his ear. Bruce had frozen at that moment but his ward then seemed to pretend nothing happened.

"Why didn't you tell me? I could help!" Dick gestured angrily, truly seeming upset that Bruce didn't take a human child out as a vigilante on the dangerous streets of Gotham.

Now this wasn't going as Bruce thought it would. If Dick didn't know about Batman before, but did now, then he still had no idea of what Bruce was.

And he didn't have to. Unless…

"It's dangerous." Bruce said simply, instead of giving an actual answer.

This could be a good moment to bring his vampirism up. He was never ashamed of it, he only hid it before since it was what his family had always done in a world that still didn't fully accept supernatural creatures.

He didn't tell Dick because of his bad past experiences with vampires, but Bruce could be his first good one. Maybe, just maybe, he could be himself around the boy he truly wanted to call his son…

"Yes, but you protect people from vampires!" Dick said excitedly, his words stabbing through Bruce's heart, "You're the greatest vampire hunter! The Batman!"

He carefully left his expression blank, not allowing his pain to show. Alright, that was a misunderstanding. He wasn't a vampire hunter.

He went after all bad guys, human or not. But as a strong vampire, of course he was specially mindful of criminal vampires. So untrue rumors spread about how Batman despised them and hunted them with special persistence.

He hated them like he hated vampire hunters. But apparently his title as the guardian of Gotham against the same creatures that killed Dick's parents made Bruce a hero in the boy's eyes. 

"Yes, chum." Bruce gave a small smile, approaching Dick and patting his head, "I am Batman. I just didn't want to involve you in this."

Dick didn't flinch or move away from his touch like he would if he knew what Bruce was.

"It's okay, B, you can trust me with your secret." Dick grinned in that bright way that could blind the sun.

At that moment he knew he would do anything to keep Dick’s smile there. Bruce smiled melancholically. 

He told Alfred about what happened, and although the butler didn't agree with his decision to lie, he helped him hide it from Dick out of love for both of them.

It was back then that Bruce started feeding less than he used to and mostly on blood bags, only doing it when Dick was out or drinking blood from bad guys strictly on the nights he was by himself. It took him time to get used to that new stricter diet, but it was worth it all for Dick.

The sound of light feet stepping inside the Cave called his attention, announcing the presence of his oldest son.

Speaking of him…

“Hey, B, working late? Aren’t you getting too old for that?” Dick provoked from his side, his big grin able to be heard in his voice before Bruce even glanced at him.

His older son was wearing casual clothes, his wet hair meaning he had just taken a well- deserved shower after dealing with Damian and Tim at each other’s throats and Jason not helping at all.

Bruce didn’t know what he would do without Dick, honestly.

“I’m still in my forties, Dick, and the reports won’t get done by themselves.” Bruce said lightly, knowing now that anything he said in the wrong way could impact Dick negatively.

It was just sad that it took his son leaving to live his own life, leaving Bruce heartbroken and holding onto his faded smell that barely still permeated the Manor for him to realize that. 

“Well, I could help you with that…” Dick smirked and shrugged, “But then you would owe me one.”

Bruce rolled his eyes fondly. Dick might act like the golden son many times - that was actually Duke, obviously - but he was the same smart ass that created the tradition of snarky Robins tormenting Batman.

“And I don’t want that, do I?” Bruce asked teasingly although his expression was serious, an useless attempt to maintain the rest of his dignity as Batman.

But when Dick approached him, he had to change his focus to his self-control, taking a deep breath that didn't help his case. His son’s smell reached his senses and grew more and more tempting, as if calling Bruce. 

It was normal for the blood of the humans in clans to have a stronger effect on their vampire companions, a natural evolution like the claiming bites. But he had mastered every manner to stop himself from acting over it through the years and the increase of the number of children he took as his.

“I don’t know, I could use another of your credit cards. The Titans have been missing the Bat-investment.” Dick chuckled at his own pun as he rested his elbow on Bruce’s shoulder, perching lightly on the arm of the chair.

It took all his will power to not react to that. 

Normally, Bruce wouldn’t mind his older son’s caring behavior. It was something he actually looked forward to as a comforting way for him to have, and minimally give, the physical contact he craved from Dick. 

But since Alfred was on a well-deserved vacation in London, one he had been delaying for too long before Bruce finally convinced him to go, he didn't have anyone to cover his feeding times.

They were given to Damian, who was still a baby vampire, and needed to feed at least three times a week. If he cut even one of those meals, he would start getting affected and Bruce couldn't allow that.

He would never let Damian suffer because Bruce's life was a labyrinth of secrets. 

"B, you okay?" Dick's worried question drove him out of his mind.

There was a frown between his eyebrows, the smile on his face threatening to break into a thin line in his lips. And if the sight wasn't enough to bother Bruce, the concern emanating from him was triggering his instincts.

son-worry-hurt? Son-Hurt-Protect!

He knew Dick wasn't hurt, but if his vampire side listened to him, he wouldn't have all the control problems he did.

"I'm alright, Dick, I was just…" Bruce started, losing his words for a moment when Dick leaned closer and his smell strengthened too, "Thinking."

That wasn't his quickest response, the Batman part of his mind would be honestly ashamed, but it was the best he could do while the hunger was so strong. 

“Oh, did the mention of me spending your money hit you so hard?" Dick asked teasingly, moving away to lean on the edge of the Bat-computer and face him.

Bruce kept himself from grimacing at how physically painful the new short distance was after he had Dick so close, even if for a mere moment.

It was a bonding thing for humans in clans to feed the vampires, so when they were hungry, it made them more instinctual. That meant more aggressive towards threats until they became feral, but more desperately affectionate with their clan members as a way to show their need for that bonding moment.

But Bruce had been fighting that for almost two decades, he wouldn’t lose that fight now.

"You know my money is yours, son. You can get as many credit cards as you want from me." Bruce said affectionately, smiling slightly.

It was the truth. He guaranteed that all his children, officially adopted or not, had access to the entirety of his money if they needed. After all, everything was theirs. Bruce didn’t care about his wealth as long as the right people were receiving it.

"I know, B. I've no shame in spending your money and acting like the playboy Brucie Wayne raised me to be." Dick giggled, crossing his arms and tilting his head, "Unlike little wing. Of course he loves to spend your money but he still complains about you putting him back in your will and making him an actual rich boy of Bristol.”

The little smile on Bruce’s face grew. That was very like his second son. Since he was legally pronounced back from the dead as Jason Wayne, he didn’t enjoy the fact he had to participate in the galas, events, and parties again, only doing it when Bruce or Dick asked him to.

For him even worse than Bruce dying probably would be having to deal with all the continuous money that would drop on him and the high society gathering around him like a bunch of vultures. If he knew what Bruce was, that could be the only thing he would care about.

“Speaking of your brother, will he stay here tonight?” Bruce asked, not hiding his own concern. “I didn’t see him at the end of patrol.”

He never knew when his Jaylad would spend his nights or days in the Manor, particularly now that Alfred wasn’t here to attract him with his food, but he had gotten over it. Bruce’s instincts immediately protested. Alright, he hadn’t, he had learned to deal with it.

Jason valued his privacy and freedom, which meant he liked to have the choice to come and go as he pleased. That messed with Bruce’s vampire side that required his children to stay in the clan’s nest, but he ignored the hole in his heart for the absence of some of them. He would only take what they gave him, never more.

“He had some things to resolve after provoking Tim and Damian into another fight and leaving it to me to mediate,” Dick rolled his eyes exasperatedly, stepping forward, “But he will stop by later, so hold back on the itch to track him down and get some sleep, B.” He patted his shoulder amusedly.

“I’ll try, son.” Bruce said, trying to hold back from holding him close.

He had to feed before his behavior got more humiliating.

“I bet you will.” Dick chuckled as he turned and left for the Manor.

SON-EMBRACE-SAFE

He ignored that urge, focusing on the warmth of where Dick touched him that stayed even as Bruce watched him go, probably to bother Tim and Damian into sleeping. He was lucky to have him. 

That night long ago Bruce hadn’t known what kind of man Dick would become. He knew he would be good, but his feelings against vampires could have turned him into something he wasn’t. Luckily, that wasn’t the case.

His son had grown into a caring, respectful man, one of the most admired and loved heroes, and Bruce couldn’t be prouder of him. Dick learned from him that not all vampires were bad and that Bruce wasn’t a vampire hunter, but a vigilante for everyone, no matter what they are.

He wasn't mad about that, just happy that they saved people from all kinds of threats. He was a good boy.

But his body language around the vampires they fought still ranged from aggressive and defensive to scared and hesitant, and the idea Bruce had of telling Dick about his vampirism when it was safe never became more than that. An idea. Bruce never found the courage to risk their whole relationship, even more so after how troubled it had been.

He couldn’t lose Dick. He couldn’t ruin what they had.

It didn't matter that the lies could do that too. 

Bruce turned back to the Bat-computer, starting his reports.

He was already too far into them to back out.

Chapter Text

Bruce's pov

Bruce took a deep breath, leaning back on the chair. He looked at the reports. It had been an hour since he started them.

One month ago he would have blown through them in less than thirty minutes, but back then he wasn't in a constant state of hunger. That wasn't the case now. 

Bruce pinched his nose. Decreased reasoning capacity was a sign he was reaching the third phase of starvation symptoms. Decreased mental capacity could happen in the first and second phases too, but only to baby or recently transformed vampires and he had been through the phases more than normal for his kind.

The sensation should be familiar after the multiple times he had gotten to it, but it would never be normal when there was always the risk of him going feral. It was why Bruce monitored himself.

In the first phase, the hunger was like an itch you can't scratch, an irritation that could be ignored. Now in the second one, it became a constant need, almost uncontrollable for most, and it progressively affected your mind and body.

He could deal with all of that. He already had. Bruce glanced at the medical area of the Cave, where the blood bags were kept. 

He could take a sip. 

Just a sip.

It wouldn’t be enough to feed him, but it would be something.

He swallowed hard, suppressing the ache in his stomach. This was nothing. He had it. He wouldn't break his own rule of not feeding when his children were home and risk it all.

Dick said Jason would get there that night. Bruce checked the clock. 5 am. It was around the time that he usually came when he stayed at the Manor. Which meant he could enter at any moment and if he found him feeding… Bruce tightened his lips in a thin line.

Things wouldn't end well. 

He didn’t know exactly how Jason would react, and he didn’t want to find out. He had contingency plans for that, as he had for almost everything, but they felt… unreal. 

They were a product of his fear of dealing with the consequences of his lies, that he didn’t intend to ever act over, not the same as his plans for whatever other situations arose involving his children.

Because for someone who never planned to have any kids, Bruce quickly realized he had become more dependent on them than Batman had become on Robin.

First with Dick Grayson, then with Jason Todd. 

His Jaylad. His second son.

Bruce faced their two pictures, placed on the right side of the Bat-computer. They mirrored each other, both having been taken by Alfred, at different times. 

On the first one, he was sitting on the couch, with Jason sleeping on his shoulder. Bruce had a small smile on his face as he glanced at his little boy.

On the second one, they were in the same position but with an older and bigger Jason that seemed more restless than his past self ever did. Yet, Bruce's little smile was still there as he looked at him, even if it was more melancholic.

Both pictures warmed his heart, no matter their differences. Jason could have changed drastically, he might not be the same, but he was still his son. He would always be. Even if at one point he didn’t want to be.

Bruce looked down, recalling the night they met as doubts swirled around his mind. Maybe he should have been honest. After all, it had been just them. On their way to the Manor or in the Cave, no one would know besides Jason. It was the perfect chance to start a parental relationship healthily.

But that was already ruined. The street boy wasn’t just scared of him, he was terrified. He acted too brave for someone so little, defying Batman while stealing his tires, trying to hit him and run away, but Bruce could smell the terror beneath that.

Jason didn't trust humans. Or creatures. Or men. Anyone, actually. 

It had taken weeks for him to barely believe Bruce didn't want to abuse or take advantage of him in any way, and after he did, Bruce was stepping on eggs at every act and word.

He couldn’t say the same about his vampire side. 

It hovered over the new addition to his clan, clinging to him as if that would stop him from leaving like Dick did, continuously pushing Bruce to guarantee that with a claim bite. He obviously refused to do so, but with instincts more emerged than with his first son, Bruce didn’t know how to tell him the truth. 

Of course there were many other moments he could have, but they never seemed right. Safe. For either him or Jason. More for him.

Bruce could admit to himself that he was scared, even if the Batman part of him would deny that until the day he died. He had already pushed Dick away at that time, he didn't want to do the same with his second son. 

He didn’t want to lose him.

So he lied, pretending to be as human as he could, feeding with even less frequency and only the amount needed to stay in the first phase. He read for Jason, helped with his homework and took him to eat his chili hot dogs on Friday nights. He did his best to protect him from every creature that tried to hurt him and shielded him with all the care and protection of a father and a clan leader.

But it meant nothing in the end. Bruce closed his eyes. It hadn't been enough that Jason had to deal with all the night dangers, human or not, that howled over Park Row's streets and tried to take a piece of him.

No, he had to be killed by the worst of them. The Joker. Another vampire, but a real monster. One Bruce hadn't protected him from.

Bruce clenched his teeth, supressing his fangs and claws from showing through his murderous rage against the Joker and the suffering that came with the memory of his son's death.

He believed he knew pain before that. He realized he had no idea of what it really was. 

Bruce remembered that night as if it was yesterday. The way he fell on his knees, a puppet without strings. With trembling hands, he had gathered his son's corpse in his arms, embracing it as if his care could heal the wounds and burns that marred Jason’s skin. 

Bruce cried, no, begged for Jason to wake up and not leave him, his heart shattering in a million pieces when he couldn’t hear him. He never did. He never woke up. Why didn’t he? 

Those thoughts tormented him as his being had been torn apart by the most excruciating pain, the one of the loss of a child. One he didn’t accept at first. 

Bruce wasn’t ashamed to confess he tried to transform Jason in his despair. That he bit Jason's neck and then his own wrist, ripping a part of his skin off and dripping blood in his son's mouth.

And he waited. He waited, and waited, continuing to rip off his skin as fast as it healed, waiting for Jason to come back to him. To open his eyes, whatever their colors, and look at him. 

He didn't. Seconds, minutes, passed by, and he didn’t. 

Not until two years later, as the Red Hood. 

The memories of their conflict hit him.

Bruce stared at his son, his Jaylad. He was so different. He wasn't the little malnutritioned but brave human boy that stole his tires. He was taller and bigger now, almost as big as Bruce. Stronger too, enough to give trouble even to a born vampire like him.

It was why it took him so long to corner Jason even after the beheaded heads and all the deaths through Gotham motivating him. Each crime scene was a bloodbath by itself, sights that would make any normal person throw up.

But none of that seemed to matter. They should, but they didn't. Not when all Bruce cared for was that his son was alive. Batman scolded him for that, but he ignored it. 

This was not his moment. This was between Bruce and Jason.

His son was sitting on the ground and leaning against the concrete wall behind him, his helmet and guns long lost in the streets of Gotham during their fight.

Bruce had to physically stop himself and suppress each instinct in his body to take Jason in his arms and hold him close. Jason didn't want that. And as painful as it was for Bruce, he would respect that.

"So what is going to be, B?" Jason spat, wiping the blood dripping from his broken lip with the back of his hand.

The sight crushed the rest of Bruce's heart. He didn't want to hurt his son, but Jason wouldn't stop shooting him and throwing grenades, jumping from roofs and attacking him at every chance.

The only way had been to fight him physically and then throw them both into this empty building, even if both those acts made him want to cut off his hands.

"I'm sorry, Jaylad." Bruce apologized, struggling to keep his voice steady.

It shouldn't be like this. He had only found out Jason was Red Hood a few hours ago, after their last confrontation, but the guilt for not realizing sooner was already too much.

If he had known before… regret washed over him. At least he had found out, Bruce had to focus on that. 

"Cut the bullshit. We both know what you came to do." Jason scoffed as he got up, burning with hatred.

The only outcome Bruce imagined to see his son look at him that way was if he ever found out what he was. And the fact that wasn't even needed for Jason to hate him was causing a knot to form in his throat.

"What do you mean, son?" Bruce asked, trying to understand.

What did Jason think Bruce would do? What did he suppose would happen now? Why hadn't he come home? To him?

"Oh, c'mon, don't play dumb." Jason sneered, opening his arms mockingly, "I'm a villain now, ain't I? On the same level as Joker and all those pieces of shit, right?"

Bruce scowled, not believing what his son was saying. How could he think that? He could never be like them. 

Like that monster.

"No, of course not. Jay-" Bruce stepped up, reaching out, but Jason cut him off.

"Don't call me that!" Jason snarled, pointing at him, "There's no use in lying. Where do you think you're going to take me? Arkham or Blackgate?"

Bruce froze, his mind racing. Was that the impression he had given his son? That he could ever put him in one of those places?

He almost growled at the possibility. If Bruce ever did that, he would have to end his miserable life, because that wouldn’t be him. He could never leave his baby boy with all the worst of humans and creatures. 

But Jason didn't think that. He didn't know that. Actually using his enhanced senses on his son, something Bruce had promised himself to not do unless it was strictly needed, he could smell the fear beneath all the tons of rage and pit sickness.

Fear of Bruce. Of what he would do. That wasn't right. He had to do something to fix that. Jason had to understand.

"None of them. I just want you home, son." Bruce begged, taking a step forward, "With me," another one, "With Dick," then another, "With Alfred." 

The mention of Alfred seemed to affect Jason the most, his features contorting in pain for a moment before anger took over again.

"And with the Replacement, right? Letting my killer live, that fucking vampire, wasn't enough for you! You had to replace me!" Jason shouted, resentment dripping from his voice.

Bruce finally realized what this was about. The reason his son was so angry, hurt and afraid. 

Jason thought his dad had just forgotten him. That Bruce hadn't even handled the Joker, and in addition, put another Robin in his place.

Oh, Jaylad. 

"The Joker is gone, Jay." Bruce stated, seriously.

His son didn't know. 

Jason's eyes widened for a moment before narrowing, "You mean to that shithole of Arkham? He will walk through that fucking revolving door in less than a week!"

He had no idea of what his death had made Bruce capable of.

"No." Bruce took the last step to stand in front of Jason, the comfort of his actual smell more prominent with their proximity, "His presence in Arkhan is a lie. I dealt with him."

Jason's chin dropped, surprised.

Maybe Bruce should be ashamed of his confession, Batman certainly was, but he refused to be. 

"You… you killed him?" Jason stuttered, frowning as if he couldn't believe what he was saying.

He had certainly tried to, his vampire side craving for the revenge of his dear son and seeking for the destruction of his killer. But he was stopped again, and again, and again. Until he got tired of it.

"I didn't." Bruce answered and fury immediately started to infiltrate Jason's expression, but before it could take over, Bruce continued, "But I guarantee he wishes I did."

It was the truth.

Technically, he didn't break his rule. However, he also didn't allow that monster to walk free after everything he had done, after he took his little boy from him. 

Bruce did what he had to before Dick did something he could regret, because he knew his older son would have done what Bruce couldn’t and it would have been ugly. So he finally gave in to his instincts and there was nothing better than knowing the Joker preferred to be dead than keep living as Bruce left him.

"What is that even supposed to mean? You can't just-" Jason started angrily, interrupting himself when Bruce put his hand on his shoulder.

His son looked at it confused and obviously in conflict, his body tensing, but Bruce didn't give him much time to overthink. 

He knew what Jason needed and it was all he intended to give him.

"Son… he won't ever hurt you again. Or anyone else. I made that impossible for him." Bruce explained, sparing Jason the details.

They weren't what his boy wanted. He wanted safety. It was clear now that he didn't come back to the Manor because he thought he wasn't safe. 

That Bruce wouldn't protect him from his worst nightmare. And maybe even worse, that he didn’t love him enough to do that for him.

"I…" Jason swallowed, eyes filling with unshed tears as he appeared to struggle to find his words.

Countless emotions crossed his face in a few seconds, the highlight of them being frustration.

Bruce knew that. He had seen that before. And he still knew his son better than anyone.

"It's okay, Jaylad." He held Jason's cheek with his other hand, feeling his own tears fill his eyes when he felt the warmth of his skin.

It had been so wrongly cold the last time he touched him. 

"No, it's not!" Jason shook his head, speaking through clenched teeth, "You replaced me! You didn't care, you just gave him the colors I died with!"

Bruce couldn't hear much longer, to allow his son to believe that was what happened. He had already been hurt enough.

"His name is Tim and he blackmailed me to be Robin." Bruce explained, knowing he sounded strangely proud of that.

He couldn’t help. Tim had forced his way into his life and in the beginning, Bruce couldn't stand him. He even believed he hated him. But he soon became one of his sons.

One of his most precious gifts from life, and as such, Bruce was always so proud of him.

"He did what?" Jason asked in disbelief.

That had been Dick's reaction too. 

"He knew who I was and he didn't take a no for an answer when he offered to be Robin." Bruce's thumb stroked his son's cheek.

His children always went above and beyond his expectations and even Batman's suppositions. They were the anomaly from the universe to obligate Bruce to feel things and show them and he couldn’t be more glad for that.

If he didn’t know better he could think Alfred had somehow made the universe send them to him.

"What do you mean he didn't take a no for an answer? You're the fucking Batman!" Jason said, spiteful.

It wasn't like the way Jason had talked about Batman once. A protector, a guardian, a dad. Someone that would always come for him.

Bruce failed as all of them.

"I am." Bruce sighed, not sure if he could stare into Jason's eyes when he admitted his weakness but knowing he had to, "But I wasn't okay after… I couldn't deal with the pain. All criminals looked the same, deserved the same, and it was nothing but the pain you had felt. Tim saved me from that."

If it hadn’t been for him, Bruce would have been long dead by now. He couldn’t say exactly how bad it had been, but Tim had actually saved him more than once. Not only from death.

"So he’s a little shit. Good to know you kept your pattern." Jason scoffed, with what anyone else would see as spite, but Bruce saw the vulnerability within.

His son was calling himself a pattern. Something replaceable. Not special, unique, and mainly, loved as Bruce promised him that he was.

He had to make sure he still knew that.

"You're not part of a pattern, Jaylad." He said sincerely, reassuring him, "You're my son. Nothing can change that. Nothing."

Bruce gently pulled Jason to be embraced in a tight but careful hug as he spoke. He expected to be pushed away, hit or kicked, but surprisingly, he was allowed to hold his son.

His senses were filled by MINE-CLAN-SAFE-COMFORT from beneath the sick pit smell, making it an immense struggle to suppress his vampire's instincts and stop himself from acting on them. His son never felt so much like HIS like he did at that moment, and as much as he enjoyed that, he would have to investigate it later.

"I killed people. Criminals." Jason spat, not even a glimpse of regret.

Bruce sighed. He was well-aware. He had seen the proof of it and he didn't agree or approve of that. He could never. But yet, he ignored the protests from Batman's part in his mind. That wasn't what mattered. It was his son.

"I know. It's okay, Jaylad." Bruce soothed him as he removed his mask, alarms ringing inside his head.

It wasn't okay. Not really.

Whatever this was, it wouldn't erase Bruce's mistakes or the trauma they caused Jason. The pit still had influence over his son, and until they helped him heal from that and what had happened to him, it wouldn't be entirely him.

But Bruce wouldn't force Jason to his morals after that. He would be there for him. He never would leave him again. 

"Is it? Because I ain't going to stop. I’ll keep being Red Hood and I’ll keep killing those pieces of shit." Jason stated firmly, a contrast to the way he was holding Bruce back tight, almost desperately.

It saddened him that Jason felt the need to do any of that. He shouldn't. Bruce should have protected him from the blood that he was spilling now because he felt it was the only way.

"As I said, it’s okay, Jason. You’re still my son.  You do what you have to, and we’ll talk about that later." Bruce said, taking a deep breath to appreciate his smell before cupping Jason's head and facing him, "All I care about is you." 

He meant it. He would accept and love his son and hope that he could find a way back to his code. If he never did, well, Bruce would learn to deal with that and still be his safe place. There was no other option.

"Whatever." Jason looked down and huffed, smirking, "I would do it anyway. I can totally take you in a fight now."

He definitely could, unless Bruce used his full powers. 

"Maybe. You've grown up." Bruce couldn't help but chuckle a little. 

It was good to see his son so confident.

"Yeah, and you've grown old." Jason snorted, less spiteful than he had been for most of their talk.

He probably was right. Bruce had been told that, most of the time by Dick, even if it wasn't technically possible. 

Vampires didn't age. That was just a fact. Born or transformed, they froze in time, a challenge Bruce knew he would have to eventually face when his sons realized that he wasn’t aging. But after Jason's death… 

He didn't have to worry much about that. The grief destroyed him in every meaning of the word, giving him wrinkles and thin lines of expression that weren't physical. They were proof of the emotional wreck he had become as he tried to starve to death and join his Jaylad at every chance.

"I have." Bruce agreed, thoughtful.

It had given him the chance of a restart. 

Their confrontation could have gone really wrong, or Bruce could have taken longer to figure out Red Hood was Jason. In short, the chances of their interactions ending up worse than this were high.

Bruce didn't want to ruin that with lies. With secrets. He would be a better father now, and maybe, revealing to Jason he was a vampire could avoid breaking the pieces of their already broken relationship in the future.

Maybe…

"Well, I would rather have you old than immortal like one of those leeches." Jason scoffed, clearly intending it to be a snarky joke but it cut deeper than that.

Bruce kept himself from backing away. Of course Jason would feel that way. He was killed by a vampire, goddammit, the worst one.

If Bruce revealed himself now, he could lose Jason without the chance of getting him back in the future. And he couldn’t do that. He wouldn't make it without him.

Batman would stand, but Bruce Wayne would be dead then.

His children's father would be dead.

And he couldn’t afford that.

Years later, Bruce still couldn't. 

Their relationship had progressed well, an uphill battle, but they worked it out through the years.

They had a deal that left Park Row as Jason's territory, with his authorization being needed even for Bruce to act there. About the killing, his son wasn’t using deadly ammunition as frequently as he used to, but he still did in some cases.

His vampire side liked it as much as Bruce hated it, but he learned to deal with that in the best way he could. Which honestly was easier when he had Jason's presence in the Manor almost every day, allowed to see his son in his nest and create new memories with him.

It made it all worth it, as selfish as it was.

Bruce looked away from his pictures with Jason back to the reports, his small smile disappearing from his face and making way for a frown when he realized the words were mixing in his head. 

He added that to his mental notes. As if it wasn’t bad enough already. In this rhythim, he probably would take even longer to finish the reports, and that would worsen his situation.

Unless… he did something more useful. Bruce stared at the Bat-computer, considering his options. It was 5:11 am. He could get into the reports again or do what Dick said and take a break. The second option seemed more reasonable.

Jason should be back already. He always came when he told Dick he would. But he was still out there. 

Alone. 

By himself.

Bruce knew it was his crazy vampire instincts messing with his natural paranoia. He recognized their sting motivated by the fog of hunger threatening to cloud his thoughts. The problem was that between risking feeding and tracking down his son, his parental concern was better justified.

Having made his decision, Bruce started the research process without the Oracle’s support, knowing that if he woke Barbara up for his ‘stupid controlling behavior’ as she called it, she would find a way to have her revenge. 

He went for the cameras first since he couldn't use the nano trackers on his children anymore because, apparently, that was an invasion of privacy. Bruce was still indignant about  that.

It was better to be tracking them constantly than doing what his vampire side wanted and keeping them in their nest for an undefined time. If his clan thought he was too controlling, then it was good that they didn't know how much worse it could be.

To Bruce's instincts, almost everything, alive or not, could be a threat to his children. They managed to be worse than Batman, and that was something.

Bruce turned his attention back to the Bat-computer when he found a match on a camera record from the road to Bristol, showing Jason crossing it fifteen minutes ago. 

That meant…

The noises of a motorcycle's engine echoed in the Cave and Bruce shrank at the way it sounded loudly in his ears. He mentally noted down another sign of the third phase.

Sensitive hearing. Possible reach lessening. This wasn't going well.

Bruce shut down his research in the Bat-computer, hoping his Jaylad wouldn't see it. Jason hated when Bruce monitored him, which was the cause of many of their fights, and he would rather not have one tonight.

But that became an almost non existent concern when he sensed a tempting smell.  

Fresh blood.

He tensed, swallowing hard and pushing down the wave of hunger that washed over him. No , that wasn't the time. Jason could be hurt. 

SON-HURT-PROTECT

Bruce turned his chair, maybe too quickly in his concern, to see Jason dressed as Red Hood getting off his motorcycle, blood covering him from his helmet to his boots.

That would be a terrifying sight for other people, even creatures, but for Bruce it was a conflict between approaching to check his son for injuries and staying back to contain himself easier.

NOT-ATTACK-SON

His instincts argued. Of course he wouldn’t attack his Jaylad, he never would, but it didn’t mean he trusted his vampire side to not expose him as soon as he was close to all that blood.

Jason removed his helmet and took off his mask, revealing an expression full of hostility. He seemed dangerous. Like he had a bad night. That only made Bruce want to take him in his arms and protect him from the world that had made him like that.

But he couldn’t. Despite the blood situation, his son didn’t look like he wanted any physical comfort from him. He usually didn’t. Bruce learned to live with that fact.

His Jaylad walked inside the Cave, not limping or stumbling, signs that would worry Bruce even more. He was about to say something, ask if he needed any medical attention, but Jason was quicker.

“Save it for after I take a fucking shower.” Jason spat, passing by him and towards the showers. 

Bruce frowned, wanting to stretch out his hand and stop his son, to guarantee he was okay, but he was already gone by then. Save what? Did Jason mean it because of what he did with Tim and Damian? 

Honestly, Bruce intended to talk to him about that later, as he did other times already, but Jason never felt so aloof to their “be a responsible big brother” conversations. 

Had he done something wrong? Or was it whatever happened between the patrol and now? An injury?

Bruce allowed himself to actually smell the blood with the absence of his son there, realizing it wasn’t his. Jason's was much more intense and he had memorized it like he did with all his children's blood.

It was normal for any clan with humans in it, an easy way to figure out when they were hurt and even to track them after the claiming bites. 

Bruce could never have that. That clan normality. But when was anything in his life ever normal?

He should be thankful his Jaylad was safe. That didn't explain his behavior, but Bruce would have to wait for him and then figure out how he could help him.

COMFORT-SON-NOW

He ignored the call from his instincts, hearing one of the showers turning on. His vampire side had to learn more boundaries. 

Bruce looked around, sighing when he saw the blood that had dripped from Jason or that was left by his boots. He had to clean that before it started feeling more tempting than it already did.

During the process, Bruce focused on not being lured by the smell of the blood, hating to sense his mouth getting dry. How humiliating for the Batman, this had to be one of his lowest points.

He finished cleaning the blood, taking everything he used on it as far away as possible from him, hoping then that he won’t smell it for days.

It was always like that when his children were hurt and brought to the Cave. Alfred could clean it until all the traces of the blood disappeared, but Bruce would still feel it for days and need to spend less time there. 

He was lucky this time it wasn’t from any of them. Without feeding for so long, it would make it even harder for him to control himself, even if not enough for Bruce to hurt Jason or anything.

He didn't think there was any level of hunger that could drive him to harm his children. 

The sound of the shower turning off agitated his instincts, making them anxious to see his Jaylad again. 

That was just another proof of it. There was nothing more important to a true vampire than their clan, and Bruce only came to fully understand that as the years passed by and his family grew.

They were the most important thing in his life. And if there would be a problem for his feral self, it would be to not claim them and hide them from the world.

That was reaffirmed when he watched his son leave the showers. Jason was wearing a Wonder Woman sweatshirt and sweatpants - because his children insisted on having favorite heroes that weren't him - and dried his still quite wet hair as he walked.

He looked so young and domestic. Like the boy who followed him around and spent hours in his library, reading as many books he could.

How could Bruce not give him a claim bite? An actual one? How could he be such a bad clan leader? 

He ignored the pain those questions brought him. It was just the blood influencing him. Only that.

The noise of Jason sitting on Bruce's chair settled him back to reality to see his son facing him with annoyance.

“Spit it out." Jason snarled, as if daring him to do what he told him to do.

His stance was careless, with a foot on the chair and his arm resting on it, but that didn't make his tone less sharp.

"Are you okay, son?" Bruce asked worriedly, needing to check.

Knowing something was wrong with his Jaylad was easy to him, but not exactly what it was was the hardest part.

"Don't start with that bullshit." Jason huffed, gesturing at the big screen next to him, "I saw the camera records on the Bat-computer when I entered. Just get it done already.."

Bruce felt quite ashamed for not having shut the images down fast enough, but even more for not having figured out the problem for his son yet.

Alfred was right, he was very oblivious for a genius sometimes.

"Jay, I don't know what you think this is about, but I was concerned about your well-being.” Bruce said sincerely.

“Oh yeah, sure, and I’m Superman.” Jason said with heavy sarcasm, glaring at him.

Bruce opened his mouth slightly, wanting to straight ask what exactly was bothering him, but not knowing how. He closed his mouth. He still had no idea why his Jaylad was so angry, and at the risk of saying the wrong thing, he preferred to stay quiet.

So their gazes locked, making it an involuntary stare contest that Bruce would have loved to participate in and beat him on another time, but that was driving his instincts crazy again.

It was his responsibility, as a father and clan leader, to push Jason for answers and then soothe him about whatever it was. But unlike his vampire side, Bruce knew his son, and there was nothing he hated more than being pushed to do things.

“It’s not my fucking blood.” Jason broke the silence, begrudgingly, averting his eyes.

Oh. That was what he was talking about. But that confused Bruce even more. Why was he doing it? Did his Jaylad want… reassurance? From him ? Over that ?

“Alright. I trust your judgment.” Bruce said calmly, truthful.

He did. He still didn’t agree with his son’s morals, they were a sensitive matter for him in his most human days, but it had been a long time since it was a big issue between them. 

“Really? You won’t even ask whose blood is it?” Jason scoffed, crossing his arms and facing him again.

Bruce had to? Maybe once he watched over his son, not trusting the remnants of the pit as he trusted Jason, but that was in the past.

"I don't have to know who they are. As I said, I trust you, son." Bruce insisted as he approached him, although he already had a good idea of what kind of people they were.

It was impossible not to.

Only the worst in Gotham suffered the final fate of Jason’s fury, the ones Bruce wished many times he could stop permanently and couldn’t do it. 

"Okay. Whatever." Jason scoffed, shrugging but not backing away when Bruce stood in front of the chair, towering over him.

It was never 'whatever' when his Jaylad said it like that.

"Are you truly okay?" Bruce questioned, knowing he would ask that a million times for his son to tell him what was wrong.

A few seconds passed by, making him think he would have to repeat the question or leave it to be.

But then a shadow took over Jason's expression, his now haunted look focusing on Bruce's when he spoke, "They were pedos. I caught them in the act. In my turf."

His heart shattered in a million pieces. He had seen the same before. There were countless times, too many to count, that he arrived later than he should.

But Jason…

With his story in the streets and his connection with the kids in Park Row, Bruce couldn't imagine how crushing it must have been for him.

"Oh, Jaylad…" Bruce whispered, reaching out to hug him, hold him, anything , but his hand was slapped away.

The faint pain from the slap was nothing compared to the strength that was required to stop his body from reacting to his son's anguish.

"Fuck you, don't…" Jason snarled, breath hitching even with his voice dripping anger, "Just don't. I don't want you to comfort this shit out of me. It's not why I'm here."

Of course. He shouldn't have supposed. He always supposed too much when it came to his children.

"Then what do you need, son?" Bruce asked gently, his hand hanging in the air, craving to do exactly what Jason told him not to.

"I… don't think I can sleep." Jason answered, hesitantly.

Bruce felt his heart melt. Even expecting to be scolded by him, Jason wanted his presence with him when he couldn’t sleep. He hated to be vulnerable with people, but he was asking for Bruce to stay with him. 

That was more than he thought he could have. Normally, Jason only accepted Dick or Tim with him at moments like this, and maybe he was only going for Bruce because his brothers were sleeping, but Bruce would take any chance to be there for his son.

“Well, we can talk about what you caused between Tim and Damian later…” Bruce gave Jason a reproachful look - who seemed proud of himself at the mention - and offered, “So perhaps we could watch a movie together now.”

He could have suggested the book reading they used to do, but he had a plan since Jason was back. Bruce would create new memories with him, love and care for him the way he was and not as the memory of the boy he lost.

“At 5 something am?” Jason raised an eyebrow, amused, “With popcorn, soda, all the unhealthy shit?”

Bruce sensed a headache coming when he felt the weight of what he had offered.

“Yes.” He answered anyway.

Jason snorted, “Alfred will kick our asses.”

He knew that very well, prayed that whatever God existed forbade his butler from finding out that he had given popcorn and soda instead of an actual breakfast to one of his unsaid grandkids.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t.” Bruce suggested with a slight smirk although he was risking something even worse than Alfred’s anger. His disappointment.

But he would do anything for his kids, and if comfort for Jason was a movie night early in the morning and the power of having a secret that would make Bruce be scolded by Alfred, then he would give him that.

“Okay, you got me.” Jason huffed with false annoyance as he got up, “Let’s do this before Dickiehead wakes up and bothers us for having a family moment without him.”

He sighed internally at the nickname, mainly exasperated that his Jaylad pretended he didn’t like when Dick got jealous of the attention of his siblings and annoyed them with love. It was very Jason, though. 

Everything about the next two hours were. Bruce and Jason went to the Manor and sat on the sofa, side by side, with their popcorn and soda. His son chose the movie, one of the only book adaptations that ‘were worth any shit’ as he said, and kept his distance from Bruce.

But that didn’t last long. As the movie passed by, the tiredness of the bad night he had had started hitting him. He watched Jason yawn, his eyes blinking more and the way his muscles were relaxing.

And for the happiness of Bruce’s vampire side, that ended up with his Jaylad resting his head on his shoulder and falling asleep at some point. 

He thought his heart would stop beating for that moment. There was no bigger sign of trust from Jason than him being vulnerable around you.

Bruce smiled. He was somehow lucky enough to have that in one of his bad days. He would make sure to value this moment. 

He sat motionless for a few minutes, too afraid of disturbing his son’s sleep, but as soon as his senses reassured him that he was in deep sleep, he made his move.

Bruce carefully rearranged them so Jason laid in his arms, comfortably resting against Bruce’s body with his head hidden in his neck. That was better. His hands held his Jaylad protectively, even possessively as he reached that slice of a bond buried in the back of his mind.

KEEP-SON-COMFORT

He inhaled Jason’s smell, feeling a tiny glimpse of his own underneath. It was a remnant of Bruce’s failed attempts of transforming his son that he had discovered when he tested his blood back during his recovery of the pit. 

After investigating and trying different theories, he figured out that because of his constant closeness to starvation since Dick, his venom had grown weak, too weak to transform Jason when he tried to. 

At least not instantly. For two years it had struggled to turn Jason, he had exams that proved that, but something stopped it before it could fully act on his body.

The pit.

Bruce’s arms tensed around his Jaylad as he looked down at the bite mark on the junction of Jason’s neck and left shoulder, his mark. It was a mockery, a parody of a claim bite, the pit’s creation. 

That cursed thing distorted his venom, canceling its effects and keeping Jason human, but at the price of leaving it like that. A claim bite that would never be complete. 

Bruce knew he should be glad he had at least the taste of a bond with his son, a piece of claim in one of the members’ of his clan, and he was. But he also knew he could never have it all.

Jason deeply hated that mark, probably because he thought the Joker or Talia had given it to him, and just the thought that any of them doing that burned a ferocious protective flame inside of Bruce. 

He wanted to show them that his Jaylad was off limits. That any creature that dared to hurt him would have to face Batman's fury. But he would never be able to have that. 

He had to be satisfied with the crumbs of what he could have with his son, a special bond that would connect them for life and keep Jason from ever feeling unsafe or alone again.

But it was okay.

Bruce closed his eyes, snuggling Jason on his chest and feeling the hunger fade compared to the intensity of the satisfaction of his other instincts. 

He would always do everything he could to stop his son from feeling like that. And he knew that the betrayal , the pain , the hatred that would overtake Jason if he found out what Bruce had been this entire time would destroy him.

So if he might have to lie to not risk losing him, then that would be it.

Because living without his Jaylad wasn’t a life.

It was survival.

He had been barely hanging on until he found Tim.

And if there was something more dangerous than a broken vampire who lost their clan, it was one that clung to his as a matter of survival. 

Hey, dear readers! I'm so glad for the amazing comments left in the first chapter, they motivated me a lot during the writing process and I'm really excited for your opinion about this one. I would love to know what you liked the most and your theories about what will happen, your feedback will always be very important to me.

Chapter Text

He jumped from one roof to the next, practically flying above the streets of Gotham. The cold night wind hit his face, carrying different smells that Bruce had difficulty identifying despite his enhanced senses. 

Another sign of the third phase. By now, Bruce knew he had reached it, but he had hoped more symptoms wouldn't appear so soon. 

It had only been three days since the symptoms started since the night Jason came in covered with someone else’s blood, but they shouldn't have appeared for at least another week. 

Bruce would have to be more careful until Alfred arrived this weekend.

Soon, every smell besides blood and his clan would just fade into the background, and they would be all he could sense, which wasn't suitable for his self-control or detective work, two things that he could need tonight.

The reason he was heading to the harbor made him smile lightly.

Tim. His third son.

SON-MINE-CLAIM

He struggled to repress the intensity of his instincts, not liking the way their echoes stayed in his mind for longer than they should. 

They had already been stronger since he woke up with Jason and Dick in his arms, but Tim always provoked more significant reactions from his vampire side.

Not that any of his kids didn't.

With Dick, Jason, and Damian, and especially with the latter, controlling his instincts felt like holding back a mentally manipulated Superman. And when the girls and Duke were away for too long, it felt like that without the League’s support.

But Tim… Well, Bruce had met him at his lowest point. 

Back then, he was on the edge of being feral nearly daily, hating the world and his existence for the loss of his Jaylad and deliberately starving himself as a punishment. His behavior went from depressive to aggressive, from grieving to attacking, and Tim had witnessed his lowest point.

To suffer because of it.

And even if Bruce barely had memories of that time, he knew it hadn’t been pretty. He’d never dared to ask Tim about it, like the coward he always had been with his children, but he didn’t have to.

The feelings of guilt and regret were instinctual, just like everything related to his vampire side. Which was why he supposed it clung to Tim so hard.

He couldn’t know for sure, but he remembered the shame and remorse that came from his instincts when he had come out of his almost feral state, probably since they recognized whatever he had done as the crime it was in his kind’s society.

Mistreating his clan? Treating his son as lesser than he deserved? He was a failure of a clan leader, and they hammered that into his head. 

So his vampire side decided to overcompensate and focus on Tim until he received a claiming bite and felt all of Bruce’s regret and love. 

Which would never realistically happen, but when did his instincts listen to him? Never since his children entered his life.

It was one of the reasons he shouldn't have come tonight. Bruce looked down from the building he was standing on, a typical warehouse generally used for storage. 

He could have told Dick to come instead in his place, or even Jason, and not risk anything. But…

Tim had come to him. He specifically asked for his help.

For his dad.

And that didn't happen often. Bruce felt his heart warm, and at the same time, a sad smile formed on his face.

His third son was so independent, even more so than Dick. He also was a detective as good as Bruce, so it wasn't often that he had a problem with his cases that needed Bruce's assistance.

He wasn’t eager to confront something that stumped Tim in his current state, but how could Bruce say no to him? How could he miss the opportunity to help his son when he finally came to him?

He just couldn't. He promised his children to be there for them, and he would be. Bruce could do it. He had continued his patrols as usual - with Tim even, although not alone with him - but it was a challenge he could deal with.

A growing wave of hunger hit him as if to warn him that,  no, he couldn’t. He focused on analyzing the area instead of listening to it, standing on the edge of the building. 

If he were going to stop himself from pushing his limits to their maximum, he wouldn’t have gone as far as he already had.

Bruce looked around. He knew he was on top of the administrative building of this harbor section, and he could count at least ten warehouses nearby. 

That presented many variations for a fight there, both from their side and the possible targets. There were also various possible escape routes, so if they were going after someone specific, that could make their mission harder. 

He would have a good advantage if Tim had told him why he had called him, but his son only said he would inform him when he arrived. 

Bruce didn’t know what the reason for the mystery was, but he had always been bad at saying no to his children. 

The scent of one of them reached his nostrils, preceding the sound of his feet on the concrete. He immediately identified it.

“Robin.” Bruce turned to face Tim, feeling the itch to lessen the distance between them.

He scowled. This was honestly getting ridiculous. Tim was less than a meter from him. There was no reason to approach him.

“Batman." His son said in his typical professional tone but with a slight hint of nervousness. 

What was he nervous about? Was it Bruce’s fault? Or the place's?

Bruce declined that line of thought, already feeling his instincts boiling up. He had to enter his Batman state of mind before he made a mistake. It was easier said than done, though, with his son involved.

“What would you like my assistance with?” Bruce asked in what Dick called “constipated Batman voice,” and Jason, “Batman with a stick up his ass.”

His children never lost any chance to make fun of him.

“I’ve been tracking the movements of a criminal organization, and one of their loads arrived tonight. I think it’s a good opportunity to test my theory and get them arrested.” Tim informed him precisely, although not as confidently as usually.

That wasn’t typically something that required his assistance. Bruce frowned. He did get cases like that, but Tim didn’t usually need him to deal with organized crime.

He could have called one of the others. Bruce would love to help him even if it was about a cat in the tree another time; it was just that in his current state, he couldn't risk a loss of control around Tim. 

Not with him. Not after what he had been through. But if he said it that way, his son wouldn’t understand, not when he couldn’t give him the reason. 

“And what is that theory?” Bruce decided to question, knowing that explaining what happened in his mind meant a lot to Tim.

If there weren’t enough motives for Bruce to stay, he would gently tell Tim that Dick or Jason would be a better fit to be his partner in this mission. Even if that tore his heart apart and made his vampire side want to rip off his skin instead of leaving one of his clan when they asked for his presence.

It was for the best. They could be Batman and Robin another night when he didn’t put their relationship in danger.

“I believe they are responsible for the smuggling of a new drug containing vampire venom,” Tim answered, breaking Bruce’s expectations as was usual for him.

But that was… unexpected. They had already discarded that theory.

There had been an increase in deaths involving vampire venom, and even with them doing more patrols, it didn’t go down. 

They had already considered the possibility of it being caused by a drug, but there wasn’t any evidence that vampires weren’t directly responsible for the deaths.

It wasn't uncommon in a city like Gotham, where at least half the population were some kind of supernatural creatures, and many of them were vampires.

And as much as Bruce hated to go after his kind precisely, he had sworn to protect all the citizens, no matter his feelings. 

“Robin. We have no proof there is one.” Bruce reminded him calmly.

A part of him wished they had; it would have made it much more manageable, mainly to track down the drugs. Vampires naturally produced three types of venom and could mix them or use each on their own. 

The most common and the only one that could be extracted was the kind they used when feeding, generally produced in large quantities.

It had anesthetic properties, guaranteeing the blood didn’t coagulate too quickly but sought after for how it affected humans. Besides relaxing them, the venom made them slightly more suggestible to the feeding vampire and often caused a pleasurable sensation. 

It smelled nothing to humans; only vampires and other creatures could sense it. Bruce's success rate in cases like that was so high.

“I know, B, but I’ve been investigating this organization for months. I gathered a great deal of evidence that they are smuggling, but I couldn't prove what the drug is." Tim explained, seeming a bit desperate, "Today is my chance.”

His son carried so much hope in his look, as if Bruce’s answer meant so much to him, and he wanted to believe Bruce wouldn’t dismiss his theory as he probably expected him to. 

And, no matter how hard the hunger was corroding his self-control, it was more than Bruce felt like he could bear to disappoint his son. 

"Alright," Bruce nodded, “What do you need?” 

Tim’s expression lit up slightly, his eyes gleaming with a confidence he had been lacking since their talk started. Something small and warm flared up in Bruce’s chest.

“If I get a sample of their load, I can test it for vampire venom in the Cave. But I need a distraction to drive them away from the load. That's where you come in.” Tim smirked in a planning way, and he stood next to him.

His smell hit Bruce so hard that he had to physically stop himself from reaching out.

CLAIM-SON-NOW

No.

Bruce clenched his hands into fists in an attempt to keep his vampire side under control. It took all his focus to listen to his son’s voice through the fog of hunger inside his mind.

“I’ve been watching their activity; they have diversified business, and a load of guns normally comes in twenty minutes. That will keep them busy unloading the containers. There’s always a few of them watching over the warehouse, but they will leave as soon as you show up to protect the guns since they will think you're after them.” Tim explained, more excited than maybe he should be about it.

Which was very him.

Bruce remembered how he shared the photos he took when he stalked Batman and Robin and all the information he gathered of them with the silent version of the energy of a kid speedster.

He still didn’t know how his son hadn’t discovered what he was, but he was glad for that mysterious miracle.

“That’s not guaranteed. It’s most likely they will try to move the drug load and run away with it.” Bruce argued softly and not criticizing.

Tim's plan was good, but one miscalculation and things could go very wrong.

“I believed the same…." Tim gave him a knowing look, "Until I found out they are a vampire organization."

Bruce's jawline tensed. Everything made more sense. That was the actual reason his son had asked for him then.

Batman either provoked fear or anger when he appeared, the first one more frequently and stronger in humans and other creatures.

But vampires… Well, they went from being so afraid of him that they froze to attacking and even going feral on him.

It could be because they believed he was a human that wore one of their symbols to frighten them. Or because he went after the worst of them harder than other vigilantes could and came out victorious every time. 

Or maybe deep down, beyond their brain’s analytical capabilities and what they could sense, their instincts recognized Batman for who he was: 

A descendant of one of the ancient vampire bloodlines, the kind that was a predator among predators in their society. That would activate their flight or fight response without them even realizing it. 

But it was just a theory. Bruce wouldn't know. His suit was designed to suppress his smell and disguise it as human's, just like the clothes he used as Bruce Wayne, courtesy of Lucius Fox.

Still, he couldn’t deny the effect that Batman had on vampires. And it wouldn't be the first time his children used that.

“Do you think my presence will be enough to attract their attention?” Bruce questioned, raising an eyebrow.

He already knew the answer; of course, he did, but it seemed he enjoyed self-torture. It wasn't like he needed more proof of one of his children's solid feelings against vampires.

“When isn’t it, B?” Tim huffed with so much certainty in his voice. "As Red Hood says, and I quote, 'the old man is either a repellent or a lighthouse when it comes to those bloodsucking leeches .' So while they are busy with you, I'll get what I need."

Bruce choked with the sharp pain that cut through his chest at how his son repeated one of the things Jason said. 

Jason and Tim had been spending some time together, which made Bruce happy, but he couldn’t help but imagine what opinions they shared about vampires and knew they would cut deep if he heard them. 

Bruce reminded his broken heart they both had reasons for that, though. At least they weren’t actually against vampires—even Tim. 

They had just had bad experiences, and Bruce didn't have the right to force them to like the source of their trauma. Not as one of them himself.

"How long do you estimate it will take to get the sample?" Bruce asked, considering how much easier it would be if he were the one entering the warehouse.

He couldn’t identify the smell of vampire venom from here, especially in the likelihood it was modified in the process of making the drug, but he could if he was near the load.

However, it would be too dangerous for Tim to be a distraction, and it wasn't like he could tell his son that he could figure it out through the smell.

"Fifteen minutes at maximum. They have good security, but I can get through it." Tim paused, "We’re going to do it then?"

He sounded pretty insecure about the last question. As if he didn’t expect to have gotten so far. Did he? 

Tim was always ready to present his theories and work on cases, sometimes being arrogant about it with his siblings. That didn't mean he didn't doubt his skills sometimes.

Bruce felt like that was something they should talk about, but they should finish this up first. If Tim's theory were proved right, that would make any emotional talk between them more manageable.

Which rarely was.

"Yes. We will do check-ins every five minutes, and you will immediately tell me if you need more time or something goes wrong." Bruce informed in his Batman's voice but had to confirm, "Understood, Robin?"

It was for the sake of his father's heart and vampire side’s instincts. Entering his Batman state of mind was easy; however, staying in it around his Robins was the hard part.

"Understood, B." Tim smiled brightly, apparently regaining his confidence.

Bruce should have known at that moment something would go wrong.

His blood boiled up, a rage driven by worry swirling inside him. Bruce dodged between the bodies of the unconscious vampires, at least a few of them having been knocked out with more violence than necessary.

But it was all justified. They made the mistake of standing between him and one of his clan members.

He headed towards the warehouse where Tim was investigating the lead. He should have left five minutes ago when Bruce told him to. 

But when did any of his Robins ever listen to him? It was always like that. 

He told them to do something, and all of them found their way to disobey him as if risking their lives was a joke. 

Couldn’t they see losing them would destroy him? That he couldn't have another of them dying in his arms?

And specifically, why couldn’t Tim understand that?

Bruce clenched his teeth, sensing the smell of his kind strengthen as he got closer to the building. “Robin, status,” he demanded again through the communicator but his son still didn’t answer.

Dammit, Tim! 

He could get there faster. He could cross the distance between the harbor and the warehouse in less than a minute. But what if someone saw it? 

Batman couldn’t risk being seen as a vampire. He couldn't risk it even for getting to his children. Everything would fall apart.

But he wasn’t Batman anymore. He stopped being a symbol of justice when Tim didn’t answer the communicator the first time. He was a father now and nothing would stand between him and his son.

His clan.

FIND-SON-PROTECT

Bruce gave in to his instincts as he hadn't for a long time and used his increased speed to burst through the side window of the warehouse. 

He landed on one knee, immediately sensing the presence of two other vampires inside before seeing them, causing an explosion of fury from his vampire side.

One was already unconscious, probably Tim's doing, but the other was rolling on the ground with his Robin. His red eyes shone and his bared fangs snapped in the air, towards the neck, trying to tear human flesh.

Bruce's vision went red too. He grasped the vampire by his throat, pulling him up and slamming him on the ground, causing him to gasp. 

Before the threat to his clan could react in any way, Bruce kicked him in the face hard enough to knock him out.

How dare he? 

How did any of them dare ? 

Did they not know his clan was off limits? 

Did they have any idea of the mistake they had just made?

He should make them pay. He would guarantee they wouldn’t leave the hospital soon, healing factor or not. Bruce was about to act when he heard a grunt coming from behind him.

“Batman?” Tim’s voice cut through the fog that clouded his mind, clearing the red from his vision.

He slowly realized he was breathing heavily and his own fangs were bared. A surge of panic hit him and he retracted them, feeling his claws do the same from beneath the safety of his cape.

Had Tim seen it? Bruce's stomach sank with the possibility. He didn't catch any trace of fear in his voice but his son was good at hiding his emotions.

Bruce turned, almost hesitantly, to see Tim already standing, his attention instantly going to his face. His features were contorted in a mix of curiosity and concern, but no terror. 

No betrayal. 

No hatred.

Bruce internally let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, a wave of relief washing over him. 

That was close. Too dangerously close. 

But that feeling was quickly replaced by the anger that had driven him there when he noticed Tim holding his left hand against his stomach, clearly sprained.

His first instincts were to reach out, check on his wrist, hold him close, and claim him. Bruce fought to not follow any of them.

"The sample." Bruce required instead, using Batman's logical side of his mind to contain his vampire side.

His requirement illuminated Tim’s expression. "I have it. It's safe in my pocket." He smirked, so proud that it angered Bruce even more. 

His son put himself in danger and smelled like another vampire, two things that couldn't have agitated Bruce's instincts more.

"You need medical assistance. We're leaving, Robin." Bruce ordered, leaving no room for questions.

And still…

"Wait, they saw me, they will report to the others." Tim started, looking around then back to him, "We have to-"

Bruce cut him off before he continued, "I said we leave. Now." He stayed firm, but all Tim did was stare at him, a frown between his eyebrows.

It was like his eyes were telling Bruce that he was being illogical, and a part of him knew that, but his vampire side was agonizing at the sight of his son being hurt. And he wasn't strong enough to deny it now, not while he could still see another vampire so close to hurting Tim. 

His clan.

He opened the communication line. "Oracle, I need someone to clean up a site by the harbor. I'm taking Robin back to get medical assistance." 

"I'll send Nightwing to your location." Oracle informed, making a pause before asking worriedly, "How is Robin's situation?"

His instincts enjoyed that little gesture of care from one of his clan to the other between the chaos of hunger and concern. Bruce couldn’t have asked for a better clan.

"Nothing bad, O. We will just test some samples." Tim answered when Bruce was about to, his voice too light for the situation he had put himself into.

He was probably trying to not worry her, but that didn't stop Bruce's irritation from growing. 

"Alright, Robin. I'll tell Nightwing." She said, the sound of her fingers typing indicating she could be already doing that.

Bruce understood that, Dick would get worried if he didn’t know the reason Tim needed medical care, but that wasn't his priority.

This was taking too long and Tim wasn't giving the right attention to his wrist. He wouldn't let it continue. He could inform Barbara of everything and talk to Dick later.

"We are out, Oracle." Bruce spoke more dryly than he wanted it to be when he turned off the communication line.

He made a mental note to give Barbara new tech to compensate for his behavior.

"Let’s go, Robin." Bruce ordered, this time firmer. 

He was seriously considering carrying Tim on his shoulder, and that should have been another sign he was losing control, but he wasn't paying attention to that.

His entire world was focused on Tim, who sighed unhappily, but walked to the Batmobile with Bruce towering over him. He wouldn't feel guilty for that.

He had neglected his children in many moments of his life, in different ways, and none of them would happen again.

Bruce entered the Batmobile, feeling his senses being overwhelmed at the moment the doors closed. It was just him and Tim, inside a small space, with his son smelling like pain and anxiety.

That was a recipe for a disaster because now that he wasn't consumed by an uncontrollable fury, the hunger was back stronger than ever. 

He tensed, turning on the Batmobile to drive back to the Cave. Bruce couldn't stay any longer like this. 

He was already on the edge, and by the way his instincts were getting louder and louder, he needed to get away as quickly as he could.

Tim was hurt. He could have been drained, transformed, or just bitten. And it would have been Bruce’s fault. 

It didn’t matter that his son had specialized training against vampires from Bruce himself. If he had been claimed, if he was protected in their nest, none of this would have happened.

Every vampire in Gotham would know he was off limits. He would be safer than he was now. Bruce only had to give in.

He glanced at Tim, who was looking at the sample containing vampire venom in his good hand. Bruce's eyes focused on his neck, the sound of his son’s blood running through his veins thundering in his ears. 

One bite.

Only one bite and things would change. 

He wouldn’t be hungry anymore. Family's blood was worth more than dozens of regular humans'.

Tim would also officially be part of his clan. He would be safer and happier than Bruce had ever made him.

Was it so bad? Was wanting that so terrible?

They would always be connected. 

They would always feel each other.

And finally, after so many years, it wouldn't be just Bruce and Alfred. 

Bruce focused back on the road, swallowing. No , he wouldn't ruin everything. What he wanted wasn't the priority.

He had to fix Tim’s wrist and then they needed to talk about what happened. His instincts didn't control him and they wouldn’t start now.

Bruce entered the Cave, parking the Batmobile. He turned his head to tell his son to go to the medical area but Tim was out of the car before he could say anything.

He was too shocked to react but his anger came back as he watched his son head to the lab. He should have known Tim would prioritize the mission instead of his well-being.

He was always too similar to Bruce when it came to that. But the difference was that Bruce could handle even a silver sword in the heart or a shot in the head, and he couldn’t.

Bruce walked out of the Batmobile towards the lab, ready to tell his Robin to let him take care of his wrist. In case he had to make him, he would bring the big guns.

He prepared himself to call Alfred.

But when he stood by the lab entrance, Tim had a big grin on his face, seemingly having finished the analysis. Which would only be possible if he had vampire venom to compare to the samples.

Bruce felt his irritation grow out of control with a hint of possessiveness. They didn't keep it in the Cave for security purposes, so it meant he acquired it somewhere else.

"I was right." Tim said excitedly, facing him with the brightest glimpse in his eyes.

At another moment, that would have made Bruce's heart melt, and if he was being honest, it did a bit, but he didn’t forget what led to this moment.

"What were you thinking?" Bruce questioned, crossing his arms.

First his son put himself in danger by not listening to him, then he didn't get medical attention when he should and now…

Bruce found out he had gotten vampire venom in a probably illegal way. Without counting how dangerous that could have been for him, the source was something Bruce didn’t want to think about.

There were some ways to acquire vampire venom and it wasn't like Tim could have asked for it. That thought hurt deeply.

"I was right, B!" Tim exclaimed, apparently forgetting his own injury when he got up too quickly and groaned because of his wrist.

Bruce spent more of his self-control to stop himself from reaching out.

"You are hurt." Bruce snarled, but it was filled with concern.

Tim's nose scrunched in irritation, "It's just a sprained wrist, I'm fine."

As if his wellbeing was a bother. This had to be karma for all the times Alfred had to practically drag him to the medical area.

"That’s not the point." Bruce sighed, "It could have been much worse."

He could imagine every way that Tim could have been injured, from the most pessimistic scenarios to the more likely ones, and each one of them agitated his instincts.

"But it wasn't. You trained me, B, I can handle myself." Tim said exasperatedly, walking by Bruce, who forced his body to move to the side through sheer will power.

He could have stood between him and the door, but he didn’t think that it was productive to try and stop his son. 

His vampire side disagreed, as it nearly always did. He ignored it.

"It's not about training, Tim," Bruce argued, walking after Tim to the general area of the Cave, "You put yourself in a dangerous situation."

It was like that with all his children, with no exceptions.

Even as the great warriors they were, no matter how well he had trained them or how competent they had been in the past, he would always feel his heart be crushed when they were in danger.

Bruce still didn’t accept that even as the father of eight; legally, emotionally or biologically.

"I was careful." Tim pointed out, dismissing Bruce's statement even as he held his wrist tighter.

How could he distort the reality of what had happened in his mind like that? 

"Careful? I told you there were two vampires coming and you turned off the communicator." Bruce spat, following right behind Tim, "Do you know how badly that could have ended up?"

Bruce couldn't have more of that. He had already doomed his heart the moment he took Dick as his Robin, but he couldn’t lose them.

He just couldn’t . 

"I do," Tim said begrudgingly, briefly looking over his shoulder before heading to the Bat-computer, "But I calculated the risks and they were worth it." 

A mix of emotions rose up, but pain and despair overtook every thought in his mind.

"Nothing is worth your life!" Bruce shouted, his snarl thundering in the Cave from the depth of his heart.

Tim froze in place.

If it wasn't for years of discipline his fangs would be out already, but instead, Bruce fisted his hands.

He didn't want to shout. He didn't want their talk to lead to this. But everything was collapsing on him.

The hunger that corroded his stomach, his instincts screaming inside of his head and the sensation that he was losing it, that he was losing himself.

It was too much. 

But not enough to make him forget his priority. Tim was the most important thing, not his vampire side nor the weaknesses of his nature, but his son . He took a deep breath.

"Please, son…" Bruce breathed, reaching out but stopping part way, leaving his hand hanging in the air in desperation to hold , "Just let me fix your wrist."

He listened to Tim's heartbeat, the way it accelerated, pumping his blood faster for a few moments. 

That could have so many interpretations, good or bad, and Bruce could only hope that whatever it was would allow him to take care of his son. 

It was all he wanted now. No, all that he needed .

"Okay." Tim whispered, barely audible, turning to face him.

His expression was clearly of confusion but also guilt, which was enough for Bruce to know that even if he knew his son still didn’t understand what he did wrong, he felt bad for the effect it had on Bruce.

It was already something.

"Thank you." Bruce stood to the side, indicating the way to the medical area. Tim stepped up, glancing at him when he walked past him but leading the way.

Bruce's attention was focused on the purple swelling, his hands itching to hold it carefully and fix it. It was his responsibility. 

Partly as a clan leader, but mostly as a father .

They entered the medical room and his conviction failed for a moment at the sight of the blood bags in the freezer, lined up like the contents of a candy shop.

He hesitated, glad for the way the cold lessened the smell of the blood but still walking towards the table with Tim.

It was so close. Too close. Just an arm’s length away.

Bruce struggled to avert his eyes from them. He had to focus. By now even if he was to feed from a bag, he wouldn't be able to contain himself, and there would be at least a few of them missing.

One of his children would certainly notice it, if they didn't catch him in the act, since feeding was one of the most vulnerable moments for a vampire.

His children.

Tim. 

Tim was the most important thing in the world right now.

SON-SAFE-MINE

His instincts flared up again and he had to contain himself from sweeping Tim into his arms. Everything in him screamed for him to bite Tim, as if that would solve all his problems, make everything better.

Bruce couldn’t do that with a bite, so that just left words. His weakness. Either their lack or the way he misspoke, they always got him in trouble somehow.

But for the sake of Tim and quieting the storm of instincts inside him, he would try.

He motioned for Tim to sit on one of the medical beds and turned to get some supplies. When he turned back, Tim was perched on a bed, watching him closely.

Bruce felt analyzed, but only stretched out his hand for his son’s hand, which didn’t need insistence. He held it gently, minding Tim's reactions as he took care of his wrist.

“You worried me tonight, Tim." Bruce started, hesitantly, but bravely continuing, "I didn’t know what had happened."

"I know." His son tightened his lips in a thin line, thoughtfully looking away from Bruce before speaking quietly, "I'm sorry."

Bruce's heart melted, the edges of his expression naturally softening. He couldn't stay mad at his children for long, Jason was proof of that.

"It's alright, just…" He sighed, unsure of what to say, "Be more careful."

Was he being too soft though? Should he act firmer? That could guarantee he would think better next time this situation was repeated or it might just push Tim away.

But what was Bruce's delusion? It would happen again. 

Being in danger was part of Robin by definition, a weight he would have to carry for the rest of his life and a price his children would pay until the end of theirs.

"I am. I really am," Tim insisted, making a face when Bruce moved his wrist to the side, "I only wanted to prove my theory and that might have made me a bit careless."

The way it was said was so nonchalant, even if it was obvious he didn't want his actions to hurt Bruce. 

He tried not to consider if that would be the same if Tim ever found out about his vampirism.

"Well, you proved yourself right. Because of you we know what we are facing now and how to deal with it." Bruce didn't know if he sounded like he wanted to by the way Tim was looking at him with an unreadable expression.

He hated how hard conversations like these were with Tim, more than with the rest of his Robins.

Dick had always pushed him to express his emotions, never giving up until they were either arguing or actually just talking.

Jason's presence automatically forced him to communicate better because of his street past, and after his death, Bruce had to speak for both of them or risk a fight.

Stephanie didn't insist on taking down the walls of his emotional constipation, but she certainly required him to have emotional intelligence greater than a brick's when they talked.

But Tim… well, he was clearly as uncomfortable with emotional conversations as Bruce was, and that made them not such a great duo when it came down to it.

He cleaned his throat, trying what always worked. "You did a great job, son," as Bruce carefully wrapped a bandage around his wrist, trying to dismiss the pulse he could feel throbbing beneath his fingers.

Those magical words had the effect he intended, causing a small smile to form on Tim’s face, "Thank you, B." He paused, "Thanks for believing in me."

Bruce stopped in the middle of the second turn of the wrapping, continuing slower than before. 

What Tim said should have warmed his heart, at least, but it raised a matter in his mind, one he wasn't willing to let go.

"Were there any doubts?" Bruce asked, coming out as more of a snarl than a question.

He blamed it on the way he was in the same room as a dozen bags of blood and a member of his clan who he had to deny, but deep down he knew better.

Bruce was just bad at this.

"I didn't present any proof or even gave you a great explanation." Tim shrugged, as if what he implied didn't mean anything, "You only had my word to trust and I wouldn't have blamed you for not taking it."

The worst part was that Bruce could have seen himself doing it. His vampire instincts pushed him to keep his sons safe and let him do everything, while Batman was all about facts.

Either proving what he theorized or finding concrete leads, they were a non debatable requirement, and if Robin couldn't live up to that, he couldn’t focus his efforts on something that wouldn’t give real results.

But Batman was a hypocrite. At the peak of his paranoia, he was guided by the combination of his experience and instincts, not common sense. It was why he was considered a crazy or psycho man by many, and sickly paranoid by others.

He was right most of the time but he was also wrong some of it too, because in the end he wasn't perfect. And he didn't have the right to ask that from anyone.

"But I trusted you. I always will." Bruce stated sincerely.

It was the key to everything.

Tim wasn't just his Robin, he was one of his children. His son . Part of his clan, in Bruce’s feelings, even if it could never be reality. Supporting him was the bare minimum as a father, and as his partner, to go after the truth with him.

"What if you aren't here? Or I'm not even Robin anymore?" The second question was asked almost as a whisper, carrying more weight than Tim apparently wanted it to seem like.

HIS-SON-PROTECT

Bruce hurt. His instincts screamed at him that he was a bad clan leader. That it had been his fault. He started this years ago when he took Robin from Dick, as if he had any rights over a mantle he didn't create.

His older son might have forgiven him, Bruce might have made up for his mistake, but his decision still haunted the lineage of his Robins. 

He had to guarantee Tim wasn't affected by it, though. The damage Bruce had caused was enough. 

He shook off the almost overwhelming need to show his son, his clan , emotions that couldn’t be undone or misunderstood, by giving that familial bite.

No, he had to use his words.

"Listen, Tim…" Bruce started, locking his gaze with Tim’s. "Robin is yours, and if you will be it or not, it's your choice. But if you ever decide to become a different vigilante or abandon this life, you will still be my son."

He let it all out at once, the greatest struggle he had done since the beginning of their talk, but completely honest. Bruce had already spoken about it with Damian, and he was decided.

If Tim ever wished to stop being Robin and take another name, he could do it as Stephanie had done; it wouldn't be taken from him. Bruce didn’t want this life for Damian either, and maybe it was selfish, but he would keep his baby vampire in his nest for as long as he could.

"You belong with us, in this family. Always." Bruce finished, hesitantly putting a hand on Tim’s shoulder.

Part of his possessiveness shone with the last phrase, a slip he permitted to satisfy his vampire side.

Tim's eyes widened, blinking a few times as if to suffocate his emotions as a glimpse of tears threatened to fill them when he looked down, "You can't make promises like that."

Bruce understood the subtle meaning behind it. You can't make promises like them . Tim's parents.

He felt the urge to comfort him, but a stab of fear crawled through his heart that he would say the wrong thing, or worse, Tim would see through him.

That somehow, he would see the only similarity between Bruce and the Drakes. He overcame that fear as he always did, for the sake of his children.

"I can." Bruce raised his chin, a slight touch, but that allowed him to look him in the eyes, "I promise that I won't be your parents, Tim. I won't betray your trust. Ever ."

He didn’t know how wrong he was back then, but the way his son looked at him, like the key to his happiness was in Bruce's hands, meant the world to him.

He headed towards the Bat-computer, proud of actually getting Tim to go back to the Manor. 

At first his son had refused, annoyed that Bruce would bench him for a sprained wrist, but he changed his mind when Bruce told him that wasn’t the case.

He needed Tim to gather all the information he had on the organization responsible for the smuggling of vampire venom. So after Bruce came back tonight, they could deal with the whole network that must be involved in the selling and production.

That was enough for Tim to take the strong suggestion of staying in the Manor, and he quickly left to start it. Bruce never thought he would feel that way, but he was relieved to have his son leave.

It was getting really hard to contain himself, mainly when he realized that the blood bags and Tim were the only things he could smell.

Yes, he had acquired another symptom of the third phase. He knew this was about to worsen.

Bruce sat on his chair, sighing tiredly. He could feel his vampire side more present than ever, purring as a monster preparing itself with the perspective of a hunt.

Pushing it to the back of his mind didn't work anymore, neither did ignoring it or suffocating his instincts; he could still feel everything.

He sensed a headache coming, averting his eyes from the ceiling to his picture with Tim on the left side of his table. His lips involuntarily moved upwards, into a caring smile.

It had been taken right before one of their annual galas.

He and Tim were standing side by side, wearing suits, with his arm around his son's shoulders. Tim was stiff and awkward accepting his touch, as if he wanted to lean on it but also pull away.

Yet, Bruce could see that the grin on his face was sincere, just like the one on his own. It was a rare moment that he hadn't appreciated enough, but that at the same time, he preferred to not have back.

Not when the cost had been his third son being abused right beneath his nose.

He looked away from the picture, sighing as he rested his head on his fingers with a guilty expression. He should have seen it. How could he have not?

No, he wouldn’t lie to himself. He knew why he hadn't.

He was trying to die.

Batman still refused to accept that moment of weakness, but Bruce had finally gone to therapy as he had been advised for so long. He could understand the fact that his behavior had been suicidal.

It didn't make the knowledge that Tim was suffering so much while they worked together every night any easier. Bruce barely had mixed memories of that time, the fog of hunger confusing them.

But he remembered the bright light Tim had been in the darkness of his life. How the little boy faced him so fiercely, ready to force him to stop being so reckless and get help. 

It wasn't on him, he didn't have to do that, but that was Tim. Like all of his children, he was too good for this world. Too good for Bruce.

It was why he didn't understand how Jack and Janet Drake could have not valued that, and instead, chosen to hurt their child. Their vampirism wasn't to blame.

Transformed vampires or not, they wouldn't have gone as far as they did without a basic understanding of their society. No, they knew exactly what they were doing.

They had distorted the purpose of their claiming venom, the kind that vampires produced to claim their family or clan and that was also used in familial bites to strengthen their bonds as an act of love in clans.

But instead of offering comfort and safety during the feeding, they used it to keep him still, scared and vulnerable, as if Tim wasn't worthy of such bare mercy as they took his blood.

He should have expected it, the Drakes were neglectful and abusive parents before they were bitten, it was obvious they wouldn’t be better after it. They caused Bruce's vampire side to want to tear them apart, but he knew Tim couldn't see what he did.

Even after everything they had done, even as logical as his son was, he still loved them. And if it wasn't for that, Bruce would have done worse than putting them in jail. 

His instincts offered all the ways he could make them pay for hurting one of his sons, most including broken bones and mutilated bodies.

After all, they were vampires. They could survive many things and survival was mostly their whole lives. But it didn’t excuse what they had done. 

The kind of violation they had committed was among the worst crimes recognized within their race. Which made it harder for Bruce to believe he could ever reveal himself to Tim.

His son would feel deceived. Betrayed. Possibly hateful. And Bruce didn’t want to have his coldness towards him.

He still remembered the first time he had gotten through Tim’s walls.

Bruce had arrived from patrol and was sitting on his chair in front of the Bat-computer - as Dick had named it - finishing his research on a case. 

Tim and he were done for the night, which was why he didn't expect to see his son enter the Cave again.

"Tim." Bruce greeted him, frowning, "Do you need anything?"

He seemed sleepy and at the same time restless, which was normal for Bruce but he hated to see it in Tim. 

It just wasn't right.

He was too young for this. Any of this.

"No, I couldn't…" Tim paused, tightening his lips in a thin line, "I couldn't sleep."

Bruce repressed the sudden wave of instincts that washed over him, keeping his stupid excitement away from his face.

That wasn't something to be excited about.

"I see. How can I help, chum?" Bruce asked worriedly, because of course he wanted his son to sleep well, especially when he had the bad habit not to. 

The problem was that Tim never wanted him to help and that's why this messed with his instincts so badly. 

His son finally went to him, and maybe, he would ask that question, the one Bruce had been waiting and longing for. 

'Can you help me sleep, B?' Those few words would mean so much to him, as it had the other times. He just wanted to give Tim the comfort he deserved.

"I would like your guidance." Tim answered firmly, but then swallowed and added, "If it isn't a bother. I know it's late."

Bruce didn't allow the disappointment coming from his vampire side to affect him. That was okay. He shouldn't have expected more than Tim was willing to give him.

It didn't matter that by now, he should have been able to have gotten closer to his son, to give him the contact that kids his age normally needed.

Tim wasn't like Dick or Jason, his dear child. 

Bruce ignored the stab of pain from the remembrance of his Jaylad, knowing that if he let it get to him, he wouldn't be able to deal with the son in front of him.

"Of course it isn't. I'm here for you, no matter the time." Bruce soothed him, maintaining his reassuringly soft voice, "What guidance do you need?"

Because that was the problem he should be focusing on. Tim said it as if the fact it was late would stop Bruce from helping him in any way.

He was Batman and spent entire nights and days awake. How could his son think he could ever be a bother? 

Bruce was well-aware he wasn't the best when Tim entered his life, he was still trying to make up for that, but had he been doing such a bad job?

"I…" Tim frowned, a thoughtful expression on his face before he seemed to gather the courage to make his request, "I want you to teach me how to defend myself from vampires." 

Bruce tensed, incapable of controlling his body’s reaction. This… caught him off guard, even if it shouldn't. Because Tim was making sense.

He had been bitten against his will, almost drained by his parents multiple times and paralyzed by a mockery of familial bites that only caused him pain and terror, so his request was perfectly understandable.

Unreasonably, it still crushed his heart. His vampire side protested that he would never act like that vampire scum, he would treat his clan right, but Bruce didn't listen to it.

Tim's feelings mattered more than his.

"You had that training as Robin. Is there a reason you want more?" Bruce questioned carefully, hating himself for making such an inquiry.

What was he doing? Why did he say that?

He should never put his vampire side above his children's well being and safety. Never. He promised himself. 

But Bruce's instincts never understood why he couldn't treat his children as his clan, why he couldn't claim them and show to the world they were his in a vampire manner.

And after Jason… after his little boy was gone, they hammered against his head that he failed with his clan. That he should have claimed them, transformed them, to protect them.

They didn't know he would lose them if he did any of that.

"I want to-" Tim didn’t finish, hesitating and looking down.

Damn, Bruce ruined everything. He shouldn't have pushed Tim so hard. Dick was right, he had no delicacy with things like that.

He got up, reaching out just to see his son shrink and face him with a conflicted gaze. Bruce felt the need to throw up hit him at the thought that one of his sons would react that way to him.

He wished he could go back in time and beat his past self out of his fog of hunger before he had treated Tim like shit.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked, I don't know what I was thinking." Tim apologized, about to turn and leave.

No! It took everything he had to hold his vampire side back from doing something stupid like snuggling Tim to his chest.

That wouldn’t help. He couldn’t do that. He would just make things worse by acting so out of line.

"Tim!" Bruce called him, desperate to make him stay.

His son froze in the middle of his movement, avoiding contact with him. Bruce felt even worse but kept himself from approaching Tim, knowing he had to respect his space.

None of this should have happened. Tim shouldn't ever feel so insecure, doubtful and afraid here, with him. Bruce had to fix it. And not in a vampire way.

"Chum, you did nothing wrong." Bruce reassured him, pleading when Tim refused to face him, "Please, look at me."

For a moment, he thought Tim would just ignore him and walk away. Which would be totally justified, but Bruce didn't know if he could ignore what he had caused.

Not when each cell of his body would scream for him to stop his son from leaving in angst.

Gladly, Tim looked at him, speaking hesitantly, "It's okay, B. You don't have to do anything."

Bruce tried to recall all the times Tim had acted as if he was an obligation, and unfortunately, he lost count. 

How could he have not seen it? How many more wrong impressions he had given his son? There could be so many. 

What if Bruce didn't remember the worst? What if- he stopped himself from entering a guilt spiral. That was of no use for Tim now. He could drown in the misery of his past actions later.

"But I want to." Bruce insisted, reaching out and paying attention to Tim's features until he was certain that holding his shoulder wouldn't receive a bad reaction, "Talk to me. Tell me what is happening, son."

Bruce noticed Tim’s recoil at the word 'son'. Maybe he had gone too far. It didn't matter that he wanted to shout to the world that Tim was his son and they had no right to him. 

The boy might not want to be called that by him, and Bruce could have just crossed a line.

He was about to correct that when Tim spoke, "I can't sleep because I keep remembering what happened." His tone was nothing but calm and logical, "So I believe if I knew more and had specialized training, I'd feel prepared and would also be more useful to you."

There was no emotion in his son's voice, something Bruce focused on. It was like Tim was making a request for the mission instead of clearly what it was.

A scared kid who didn’t feel safe. That was outrageous for any good clan’s leader, and even if Bruce was the head of a non-existent clan, it was still his position. 

According to his instincts, he had committed another crime by not protecting another of his children.

Again.

"That’s okay. I can help you with that." Bruce leaned on one knee when he asked, "But you know you're safe with me, right, Tim?"

If he said yes, then Bruce knew it would be a lie, and if he didn’t, he would have to ask for an explanation his son didn't seem comfortable in giving. 

Both wouldn’t be pleasant.

"Of course. You're Batman, and I'm Robin." Tim snorted, a bit snarky, before continuing with a frown, "I just need to guarantee I can protect myself as a civilian when I'm sixteen."

A civilian- Wait. What would happen when Tim was sixteen?

"Tim, could you explain to me what you mean?" Bruce questioned mindfully.

He learned soon that the best way to get answers from Tim was to be clear that he wanted them.

"Well, I'll get emancipated and find my own apartment." Tim explained as if it was obvious, shrugging, "You became my legal guardian because it was the only way to keep me as Robin, but that won't be necessary when I'm an adult."

An adult? Sixteen wasn't an adult. But Bruce should have seen that coming from the boy that told him he wasn't a kid at every opportunity even being exactly that.

And why did he think that was the reason Bruce became his legal guardian? 

Bruce had wished for that even before he found out about Tim’s awful parents. He knew he had to have shown him the adoption papers and talked to him about it.

"No, chum, that's not it. I'm your legal guardian because I care about you. As not just my Robin, but as my son." Bruce said lovingly, resisting the will to hold Tim’s cheek.

Robin was always the light in Batman's darkness, driving him away from the worst of it. But before there had been Robin there was Dick, and that was the best thing that ever happened to him.

Dick, Jason, and Tim were more than the mission; they were his reason to live. Even if one of them wasn't there anymore, his third son had to know how important he was for him. 

"You don't have to say that, B." Tim shook his head, smiling awkwardly, "I know my place."

Place?! Bruce stopped himself shouting that question out of horror.

Instead he gave a small smile, "I don't know what you think that is, but you're my son. You will always be." Bruce put a strand of Tim's hair behind his ear, "And that's not debatable."

Tim's eyes widened slightly, quickly going from Bruce’s hand and face. He didn’t need to use his senses on his son to see the gears turning in his brain and failing to process the information when it didn't involve cases.

“Okay.” Tim smiled falsely, “Does that mean you will train me?”

Bruce sighed internally. He was right. Tim didn’t take him seriously. But that was okay too. Because Bruce wouldn’t give up. 

He would spend the rest of his immortal life learning all the ways he could show his son how much he loved and cared for him. Even if it meant burying deeper the non-human parts of him.

“Yes, I’ll train you.” Bruce answered, getting up and patting Tim’s shoulder, “Just not today. You have to rest for school.”

His school would be a good way for Bruce to get more involved in Tim’s life. He knew his son had perfect records, he was very proud of that, but not about the way it came to be.

His son never had any parental interest and attention in his life that wasn’t to require perfection so Bruce could start by proving he wasn’t like Tim’s parents.

Tim nodded but his jaw was tense when he spoke, “I know.”

Oh. Bruce realized what was happening. That was the moment he had been waiting for. The opportunity.

"But I would like to help you sleep." Bruce offered, gesturing to the stairs that led to the Manor.

The chances of Tim refusing were high, but Bruce knew something that would work on him. 

So before his son opened his mouth, Bruce added, "I used to read to Jason. I don't know what soothes you, but I can do my best."

It was a cowardly move that brought back painful memories of reading Jane Austen's books to his Jaylad late at night. 

But anything, any crumbles of Jason, were always enough to get Tim’s attention. It was like they had been brothers in another life.

"I don't like reading," Tim made a face, starting with something that would be a crime for Jason, "But you can read to me too. If you want. And tomorrow we can start training me to fight vampires"

Bruce frowned, feeling like something was wrong, but accepting that small victory. After all, he had already agreed to train Tim in that specialization, which could be a danger to him.

But who better to train Tim to protect himself from vampires than one, right? 

That proved to be true. Bruce sighed deeply. 

Tim was right, he should have trusted what he had taught him. His children were strong, skillful, some of the best vigilantes in the world.

Bruce's chest inflated with pride. The undeniable best in his heart, a truth not even Batman could contest in his mind.

Although that was the problem, right? He was losing his logic. More and more, his sanity was slipping between his fingers, taken away by his instincts.

Just less than an hour ago he had completely discarded the possibility of ruining a case of that magnitude in order to deal with a non serious injury of his son.

That wasn't absurd for his normal self, but it certainly wasn't normal behavior for Batman. 

It was illogical . 

But Bruce couldn't find it in himself to care and that was dangerous. 

He was all about logical thinking, emotionless and harsh decisions, and strict judgment based on rightful morals. That was what defined Batman.

The fate of the world relied on it many times. And still, Bruce had rejected that so quickly, as if never mattered at all, not even regretting anything he had done.

He had to fix it. 

Bruce put his mask back on. He’d wrapped Tim’s wrist and it wasn’t a serious sprain. It would be fine after a few days of rest. Keeping Tim away from him for the rest of the night had been the right decision, both for him and his son.

He could avoid Dick and Jason as he went after the rest of the vampire organization, at least in the harbor. It would be easier that way.

It would be him and the ones of his kind that had messed up, only possibly a few humans that could stand in his way, if there were any in those vampire's clans.

Maybe Bruce would even be able to feed, although that wouldn't be something he would risk.

Alfred would return two days from now on. He could handle it for only two more days.

He was the Batman.

He was Bruce Wayne, a father.

And he wouldn't betray his promises to both his clan and his city.

(He had no idea how many things could change in two days. He would find out the hard way.)

Hey, guys! Thanks for the comments, they mean a lot to me. I would love to know what you enjoyed the most about this chapter and what you expect to happen, your feedback will always be very important to me.

Chapter Text

Bruce dressed in his suit, preparing for patrol and assembling his gadgets. Jason, Dick, and Tim had left a few minutes ago, leaving first at his order. 

He missed them already, longing for their presence. It was unreasonable, foolish, and exaggerated, but it was a mental state typical of his vampire side since his talk with Tim when he realized he couldn’t be as close to his children as he wished.

The entire time he had hunted that vampire organization, Bruce was driven by his instincts and the need to avenge Tim, wanting to teach the vampires that invaded his territory and put his clan in danger a lesson.

Those impulses shouldn't be what spurred Batman into action against such a threat. He looked down at the batarang he was about to put in his belt. 

His symbol.

He was a protector. A defender. A vigilante. Bruce couldn’t allow personal reasons to motivate him, although he knew he had done it many times when his children were involved and justified it to himself later.

This time, it was different. He didn’t feel more like Batman than a vampire, as it should be. He could sense his body and mind on the edge, barely hanging on to his rational thoughts.

He could hear his instincts screaming clearer than ever in the back of his head.

And because of his hunt for the organization, he hadn't slept to compensate for practically starving, which made him more dangerous than he already was.

Someone that might have to be put down.

Shivers ran up Bruce's spine at the possibility of becoming the monster he promised never to be. That wouldn’t happen. 

Alfred was arriving in a few hours, early in the morning, and then Bruce would finally feed, and everything would return to normal. He just had to get through one more patrol.

FIND-CHILDREN! CLAIM-CHILDREN!!

He shook the voices of his instincts from his head and finished with his belt gadgets, ignoring how his hands were slightly trembling. 

Progressive cognition confusion. It was not as bad as it could be. Bruce clenched his hands in fists. He could handle this—only a few hours longer.

He walked to the Bat-computer and typed his password, accessing and downloading some files Oracle had sent him for the patrol. While they loaded, his attention was diverted by five photos on the opposite side of Dick, Jason, and Tim's.

The first four included Barbara, Stephanie, Cassandra, and Duke, his children, although unofficially and emotionally. 

A painful fact that crawled beneath his skin and bothered his vampire side deeply.

They were his , no matter the circumstances, and they would always be. Nothing in this world or universe could change that. But differently from his other sons, Bruce couldn’t even claim them in a human way, such as through adoption.

No, two of them still had family, parents that were good for them. Jim Gordon was a great man and father, and Duke's parents were recovering well and making up for their lost time.

Maybe Stephanie and Cassandra could accept being legally part of the family; Bruce had the papers prepared, but one of them was an adult already, and it wasn't like he was ever brave enough to ask.

To risk having them reject one of the only ways his instincts could be soothed down and, by doing so, smashing his heart.

MINE-MINE-MINE

His vampire side hammered at the same time the back of his eyes started to burn, so he averted them back to the computer screen, seeing the files were halfway through the download.

He checked the time. A few minutes had passed by. It was taking too long. 

He held the edge of the computer tight, taking a deep breath. It was just his vampire side messing with his emotions again as it had with his thoughts.

He had no rights over any of them. Every part of his being might scream otherwise, but it wouldn't make it accurate.

Bruce needed to get himself under control. Things would be alright. He would have them here soon.

Stephanie, Duke, and Cassandra would come this weekend to spend a few days in the Mansion, and they would arrive for lunch, enough time after Bruce had already fed.

He would be his same old self for his children's visit, and then he would organize his schedule better to feed again sooner than he usually would.

It was a good plan.

He swallowed down the thirst of blood coming up his throat, ignoring the hole consuming his stomach and looking at the last photo. 

HIS-BABY! HIS-CLAN!

It was Damian, his youngest and most recent son. Bruce's lips slightly moved upwards as he remembered the moment the picture was taken. 

It had been on a movie night when his baby vampire was forced to it by Dick’s influence. In the photo, Bruce was sitting on a chair, wearing sweatpants and sweatshirts, with his son standing next to him in indignant pajamas, as he called it. 

Despite the situation, Damian smiled annoyedly, an expression he would only reveal after his brother’s made an effort.

Most things were like that about him. Dick had more than accurately named Damian the baby bat of the family, but he wasn't a bat only in name. Damian was the only other vampire in the family, without the knowledge of the rest of them, of course. 

They could have suspected his true nature, but couples of vampires and humans had a 50% chance of their children being born vampires, and the stakes increased if they were from the same clan.

So since the rest of their family believed Bruce was human and he had modified Damian’s tests to have results of a human kid - something that even passed by Tim - well, they just thought he was one.

Even if that was far from what he indeed was—Bruce’s baby vampire.

CLAIM-SON-MINE!

Bruce’s instincts rose like a tidal wave, as continuously insufferable as they had been for the last days. It was like they wouldn't shut up even if for a few minutes, getting louder and louder to the point he thought they would drive him insane or feral.

He shouldn't be surprised, though.

Besides his current situation, with another of his kind and his blood near, Bruce’s vampire side was more persistent than ever, desperate for him to claim him as he rightfully should.

But he couldn't. Talia claimed Damian, and as much as Bruce wanted to erase it, she was still his mother, and that was one of the last reminiscences his son had of her.

He couldn’t take that from him by forcing him to have his claim.

Talia wasn't a great person, and she could not have been the best mother from the things Bruce learned with Damian, but his baby vampire clearly loved her yet.

Bruce’s feelings about it didn't matter, his vampire side didn't control him, and he wouldn't act on some selfish, desperate need to fill the hole in his chest.

He wouldn't do to his son what Ra's tried to do with him.

He wasn’t a monster.

SON-CLAN-FAMILY

But then, why had Bruce considered it in the last few days? Why did his instincts feel like a thousand needles drilling his brain?

CLAIM-SON

He was better than that.

CLAIM-CHILDREN

Right?

MINE-MINE-MINE!

The sound of the download finishing echoed inside his ears, taking him out of his mind. Shock waves passed through his body when he realized his claws had scratched the computer's metal in his tight grip.

His eyes widened as he also sensed his fangs bared inside his mouth. Bruce immediately retracted them, stepping back from the computer.

He had lost control.

Without even the presence of his children or any blood, he lost control of his vampire side. 

That… It wasn't good. This couldn’t happen. 

Not now. 

Not when he was so close. 

Bruce breathed heavily, looking for a solution. He could pretend he was sick and not go on the patrol, but then his children would insist on checking on him.

He could get out of the city with an excuse for an urgent, secret case, but he would have to pass by Barbara's apartment to leave Damian as he would before the patrol since he couldn’t leave him alone in the Manor with the blood supply.

The blood bags in the Cave.

A few meters from him.

He swallowed, his eyes following his line of thought to the medical area.

No. No, no, it was too dangerous. By this point, when he fed, he would lose his sense of reality for at least a few minutes. It was the reason he hadn't done it during all this time in the first place.

If Dick, Jason, or Tim came back sooner for any reason, they would find him feeding, and there was no worse way for them to find out what he was.

Bruce wouldn’t risk that.

He just wouldn't.

But… wouldn't it be worse if he lost control during the patrol? With them? If it were days ago, Bruce wouldn't even consider that. He was in control. He wouldn't break.

Now, he wasn’t so sure because he had lost control, even if for a few minutes, and it was enough to cause actual damage.

Bruce would have to fix those claw marks, erase the camera records, and substitute them with well-made fake records that wouldn't raise any suspicion to Tim.

All of that without leaving any trace of what had happened. 

That wouldn’t be fast, he couldn’t use his powers in this state, so if he fed at least enough to go back to phase one of starvation, Bruce would have time to do everything he had and clean whatever mess his feeding caused.

It was the best option in this situation he created. Perhaps the only option. Bruce needed a fail-safe, though.

He saved the files and set a perimeter alarm to warn him if Dick, Jason, or Tim crossed the road to the Manor, just for the possibility he hoped wouldn't happen.

He didn't know what he would do then. Bruce had protocols and backup plans for that, but he hadn’t actually ever thought of using any of them.

He still didn’t.

Leaving towards the medical area, the smell of the blood grew stronger the closer he was as if luring him inside. The sight of the blood bags was a relief he despised himself for feeling.

Bruce should be better than that. He was Batman, not just any vampire.

But not at that moment, with each cell of his body craving the red liquid that wasn’t fresh and still seemed tasteful.

He had been denying himself even the slightest drop of blood, but he didn’t have to do it now. Bruce stretched out his hand, ready to grab one of the bags and-

The sound of steps entering the Cave reached his ears, alarming him to the presence of another person.

Damian.

MINE

Bruce turned to face his son, his instincts going crazy as his baby vampire walked toward him.

They anticipated some connection time with the only member of his clan that he could show his vampire side, to finally claim him, and it took all Bruce’s strength to keep them down.

“Son.” Bruce greeted him with a grunt, trying to appear normal.

Initially, Damian didn't have a high opinion of him as a clan leader, indignant about Bruce’s decisions, rules, and secrets, but that had gotten better.

If he knew his father was losing control like a newbie vampire, his respect for him wouldn't improve.

“Father,” Damian stood in front of him tensely, speaking firmly, “I require answers.”

He had a determined expression that Bruce could only describe as adorable but soon learned meant trouble, which was typical for him.

His baby vampire had been nothing but fierce in his ideas, actions, and words, always straightforward. Yet, this time felt different.

HELP-SON-NOW

As if he wouldn’t do that already.

“Alright. What do you want to know?” Bruce asked softly, his hunger toning down compared to whatever Damian could need from him.

His clan was and would always be his priority.

"Why have you delayed my role as Robin? It's the most responsible decision to be made," Damian said, frustrated.

Bruce sighed. It was about that again then. They had already talked about this when Damian tried to kill Tim immediately after he arrived, which was luckily a one-time happening that traumatized Bruce enough.

Fortunately, Damian had accepted the explanation that Tim was part of Bruce’s clan, even though Bruce couldn’t claim him, and had started to build relationships with his brothers.

Of course, fights and heated discussions were still something between Tim and Damian, but although Bruce didn't like to see them fighting like that, the love they had developed for each other was also evident.

“I already told you, son. Tim is Robin.” Bruce answered simply, as he had done before. 

Damian would hear that from him as many times as needed to understand. 

“Tt, I'm well-aware, Father ," His baby vampire hissed his title, "But Drake has recently presented his human weaknesses to other vampires. That confirmed my belief he requires time to train further, and I should take his place as the obvious best option."

PROTECT-SONS-KEEP

The things wrong in Damian’s words were hard to ignore since, after staying with them for months, Bruce thought he would have changed his mind about humans. 

That he had done the minimum of his job as a parent, enough for his son to see the reality beyond the League. But maybe that was more complicated when you’re raised by the most ruthless vampire clan. 

Something Bruce was guilty of, even if he couldn’t have known about Damian’s existence. He should have. That night with Talia… he should have suspected she was up to something. 

He was inside their clan for a good time, and he couldn’t imagine being a kid, no less than the leader’s grandson, and growing under their rules. 

BAD-LEADER-CLAN

He really was one.

"Tim was barely injured, Damian, and I was with him." Bruce reassured him, even if his vampire side shared his son’s opinion about Tim’s safety, "That doesn't change his role as Robin, and you don't have to do anything."

They had discussed it when he took Damian to the Manor since Bruce's last wish was to put another of his children in danger.

All of them deserved a normal life that he had never given them, but unfortunately, that possibility triggered his son's aggressiveness. Bruce's stomach twisted at the explicit reason for that. 

SAFE-HOLD-PROTECT

He wished he had been able to raise Damian, despite his situation with Talia. He would have never imposed the League's concepts of competitiveness and ruthlessness that made his son’s life a constant run for victory.

”Tt, I'm not a child," Damian scoffed, narrowing his eyes, "But even as one, I would be able to see the danger Drake is under without our claim. If you had done your duty, those inferior vampires wouldn't have threatened his already poor well-being."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, still surprised at Damian's ability to show so much concern for someone while he insulted that same person.

Yet, his heart warmed with his hidden care for Tim that was now obvious. 

GOOD-SON-MINE

Yes, Damian was good. Maybe Bruce hadn't failed too severely with him. Or perhaps Damian had always been better than people have him credited for.

"They can't know what we are, claiming bites are out of the question." Bruce reaffirmed, quite ashamed, "Both Tim and the rest of our family have gone through enough without them."

They shouldn't have to go without them, though. They deserved the safety and happiness of a clan, so Bruce could give them all the love and the most profound connection a vampire could offer.

CLAIM-MY-CHILDREN

Bruce clenched his teeth, ignoring the urge of his instincts. Because yes, Damian was right, no matter what he said to his son and forbade him to do, unfairly even. 

He should have been ready for his son’s persistence in the case.

"Father, I have acknowledged that you are unwilling to claim anyone, although that would strengthen the bonds of what you have called ‘family’ instead of a clan and provide protection in our nighttime pursuits," Damian started as if he had prepared a speech, a cute scowl forming between his eyebrows.

Dick had a point about him looking too adorable for someone so dangerous, but that defined all of his children, including Dick himself.

GOOD-CLAN

"However, you must see that this puts them at a disadvantage when faced with other vampires. Drake’s incident the other night proves this." Damian pointed out, raising his chin, "If you are determined to keep this course of action, it falls to me to protect Richard, Todd, and Drake, as you have repeatedly referred to them as my clan brothers. Stopping me from claiming my place as Robin only hinders me in this responsibility.”

CLAIM-CHILDREN-SAFE

Bruce made a face, struggling to focus on listening and giving Damian all his attention. All his instincts, from the wildest to the closest to human, could see the logic in his words.

But as a father, he couldn’t allow himself to have that. He trusted his children. He believed in them as the incredible vigilantes they were. Tim had earned Robin, and Bruce had made a promise to him.

MY-CHILDREN-MY-CLAN

No. His vampire side didn't have any right to make his children's decisions for them as Damian was requiring, Bruce didn't have to do it.

"I understand and respect your concerns, son, they are valid. But the rules I told you still serve for situations like this, despite the danger they present." Bruce smiled slightly, hoping to be comforting, he reached out his hand to put on Damian's shoulder.

But he failed to see the irritation growing in his son's expression, the way his look was getting sharper and desperate, as calculating as he was presenting.

“You are not listening to me, Father." Damian stated between clenched teeth, snapping Bruce’s hand before it could get to him, "Tt, I am the logical decision. Why won't you agree?"

KEEP-CLAN-SAFE! CLAIM-MY-CHILDREN!

His instincts thundered inside of him, a reaction to the disatisfaction he caused in his baby vampire by being an incompetent clan leader.

MY-SONS!

Bruce failed.

PROTECT!

He had failed once again.

CLAIM!

He-

No , no, no! He wasn't his vampire side. He was Bruce Wayne, the Batman, but most importantly, a father. He was keeping Damian safe while still respecting his boundaries. 

"Because you don't have to do anything. It's not your obligation." Bruce grunted, trying to contain his frustration with his vampire side.

He was a good father. He had to be.

"But it is!" Damian growled, his little fangs appearing.

Panic involuntarily infiltrated his heart as Bruce surveyed the environment to check whether any of his children were there, although being aware he would have been warned if they were.

Even if the alarm didn't warn him, he knew he would have heard them, since no matter how skilled they were, he wasn’t hungry enough to miss something like that. 

But after years of hiding, he couldn’t help it. It was second nature for him already. Bruce scowled when he faced his son again, “No fangs in the Cave, Damian.”

He wasn’t actually mad, he knew the rules and contention of his essence wasn’t easy for Damian, a baby vampire who was surrounded by only the cruelest vampires most of his life.

He just couldn't risk losing the others.

MINE! MY-CHILDREN! CLAIM!

"That's your concern, Father?" Damian asked indignantly, still not retreating his fangs, "My clan-brothers lack of claim marks them as vulnerable to lesser vampires, who will not hesitate to harm them as you should know. Yet you insist upon being concerned with trifles like that instead of recognizing that I don't share that problem!"

The last statement threw his panic off, confusion waving through his mind with the insinuation.

"How do you not, son?" Bruce questioned, even if the words were painful for him to say.

SON-PROTECT-SAFE

It couldn't be that he had made another of his children believe that they weren't as important as the others. It couldn't. Bruce made that mistake too many times, he guaranteed they weren't repeated.

But then why did Damian sound like that? As if he wouldn't be in danger too?

"Tt, although you are unwilling to officially claim me as part of your clan, I am protected since I still bear my mother’s claim." Damian declared, not as arrogant as he usually would voice it out, and looked down for a moment, finally retreating his fangs, "Even if against my wishes."

NO! MINE-MINE-MINE!

His vampire instincts rang, reflecting what he was sensing from his son as his confusion turned into a shameful hope.

Was that what he was thinking it was? Could Bruce have been wrong about his baby vampire this entire time?

"Against your wishes?" Bruce asked hesitantly as he kneeled down in front of him, "Damian, would you like me to claim you?"

CLAIM-PROTECT-LOVE-MINE

His voice threatened to break, trying to overcome his fear for the answer. What if his son said no and this was just a misunderstanding? What if he was expecting, hoping for too much, as he always did?

Bruce wasn't sure if he could recover from it if that was the case.

"What I want doesn't matter, but I know you have your motives for this rejection." Damian attempted to speak nonchalantly, as if he was making an effort to keep his emotions from showing, "I only require that you at least accept my request to protect our clan."

FAILURE! CLAIM-SON-LOVE!

A knot started to form in Bruce’s throat. He had done it again. He had hurt another of his children because of his own emotional problems. He was wrong. 

This would always be about him. Everything he did could either make his children happy or destroy them as the world had already done. It was time to fix this.

"Oh, chum…" Bruce shook his head, gently holding Damian’s cheek, "Of course it matters. I would never reject you." Confidence assumed his tone, "Never."

It was the last thing he would do. What had happened between him and Talia would always haunt him, but Damian…

Well, since the moment Bruce met him, his own being begged him to claim his baby vampire. He loved his son. Rejecting him was not a possibility.

"Then why didn't you claim me? I-" Damian stuttered, confusedly, looking away from him and clearly struggling to not cry. The sight shattered Bruce's heart in pieces. "I don't understand. Have I done something wrong, did I fail at-"

"No, no, you have done nothing wrong." Bruce raised his chin, wiping a falling tear from his cheek with his thumb, "It's me. I- I didn’t know if you wanted my claim. You have the right to keep your mother's, and I wouldn't take that from you."

MY-SON! MY-CLAN! MY-FAMILY!

It was physically painful to express what his instincts were arguing otherwise, but he did it anyway.

If someone was to get hurt on this, it should be him. He was already the reason for much of his children's suffering.

"Tt, my care for Mother doesn't interfere in my will. This is my clan. They are the responsibility you have given me." Damian so caringly and protectively referred to their family, before timidly but firmly stating, "Of course I want your claim, Father."

CLAIM-PROTECT-LOVE

Bruce lost his breath for a moment, his eyes widening as the reality of the situation settled. It was real. Damian actually was telling him that he wanted it too.

That they could be an official clan. 

MINE-MINE-MINE! 

He swallowed the knot, fighting against his vampire side to ask permission one last time, "Are you sure, son?"

He had to. This could be something temporary for Damian, after all, he was very young for their patterns and he could change his mind in the near future.

CLAIM-NOW! MY-SON!

But for Bruce, that was the moment he had been waiting since Dick entered his life. The consent to claim one of his children, to form a bond and become clan with them.

And with Damian it had been even harder to give up on that, to accept that wasn't for him. So if he did it, he didn't know if he could force himself to let Damian go easily after he had what only he had in his wildest dreams. 

It would destroy him.

SON-MINE-FOREVER

"I'm certain. You can do it, Father." Damian agreed and nodded, so confident and almost desperate for it.

His baby vampire closed his eyes and willingly leaned his head to the side, baring the place Bruce could sense that Talia had claimed him. 

There was no visible mark, a result of his son's nature, but any of their kind would perceive it. And since Damian was a born vampire and had already been claimed once, the process wouldn’t be as dramatic and he would recover faster, but the claim would be obvious.

MINE-LOVE! MY-CLAN!

He smiled, a few tears filling his eyes with the realization that they would sense his claim. He would finally do it. He was finally allowed to have it with at least one of his children.

There was nothing that could have stopped him at that moment. 

Bruce’s fangs showed themselves without any rational thought of him and he felt the claiming venom he’d held back for so long finally begin to flow as his mouth slowly approached Damian’s neck.

He would do it right. No pain. Not for his son.

He carefully bit the skin.

Time froze for a moment. His venom immediately ran from the bite through his son’s veins, overcoming whatever claim that was left in him and destroying every trace of Talia's venom.

Almost there. Almost, almost, almost- 

The claim settled. 

He felt like thousands of stars exploded inside his mind, their impacts lighting each cell in Bruce’s body. All the years of containment, control and suppression were forgotten in a blink of an eye.

MINE!

Bruce’s eyes shone scarlet red as Damian gasped in his arms, only causing him to hold him tighter as the bond formed. 

There was no way back. Nothing could change what was carving their souls.

It was only him and his son, his clan, until the end of times. Contentment . Happiness . Love . Peace . Safety . Damian’s emotions were his and also the reverse, no more division or distance, they were part of one.

A stifled high-pitch ringing, as if from an alarm, slowly reached his ears, but it sounded too far away. He completely dismissed it, feeling like his head was underwater and his entire world was resumed to his baby vampire.

He wasn’t alone anymore. He finally had a clan . He was complete .

Bruce sent a bright pulse of love through it and felt it returned instantly, sensing Damian melt in his embrace with their first small, but intense bond interaction.

This was what he longed for so long. His son would never feel unloved or unsafe ever again. He held his beautiful, miraculous child close, sending all the feelings of love, comfort, and protection.

Never again.

"Bruce?" An horrified voice echoed, triggering his protective instincts.

DANGER

Someone dared to invade his nest.

They entered his territory.

Bruce growled, removing his fangs from Damian's neck but keeping him close. He had to protect his clan. He would slaughter the intruders, kill them and-

"Dad?" Another voice, rougher, called for him at the same moment their smell hit him. 

The thunderous sound in his chest died. They weren’t intruders. They were his children. They were his nest.

The bond ignited with sheer happiness, shared between him and his baby vampire. Their clan wasn't complete, but it would be closer to be now.

He turned to face them, scarlet still taking over his vision but clearing around them. His sons were standing next to each other, wearing suits that were responsible for the danger to their lives.

Bruce snarled, already planning to take out those threats to his clan. First, he had to welcome his sons.

He stepped up, but instead of running to him, they tensed and raised their weapons. Bruce stopped in his way, sensing their confusion and terror.

He looked around, searching for the thing that was bothering them. What was wrong? Why were they afraid? 

He was there. They were safe. There was nothing to worry about.

"Step away from Damian, B." Dick ordered, raising his batons threateningly.

Why would he do that? Bruce tilted his head, watching Jason and Tim walk to the sides until they stood in the way of all exits to the medical area.

"Now!" Jason shouted between clenched teeth, aiming his guns directly at him, "We won't ask again."

A glimpse of fear cut through the bond at the same time Damian hugged his arm, causing Bruce to glance at his baby vampire, whose eyes were widened in alarm.

Bruce’s body naturally reacted to that, muscles tensing as he looked back at his sons, actually paying attention to them this time through the red.

They were in a cornering attack formation.

Anger, confusion and fear grew in their smells, to the point they stank. They were quickly looking between him and his baby vampire, focusing on the latter.

They wanted Damian.

They wanted to take him from Bruce.

His children were compromised.

They had to be claimed. 

But first, Bruce had to keep Damian safe.

He bared his fangs and claws, sensing the last straw of his consciousness fading away.

Whatever it took for it.

Hey, guys! Sorry for the cliffhanger, but I would love to know what you enjoyed the most about this chapter and what you expect to happen, your feedback will always be very important to me.

Chapter Text

Tim's pov

20 minutes before

Bruce was late.

He was supposed to be there twenty minutes ago, yet he was nowhere to be seen.

Tim didn’t understand why. It was their second joint patrol of the week and the last before their siblings, and Alfred arrived, so it was meant to be something special, the calm before the storm that was having their entire family home.

Bruce wouldn’t lose it for any reason, not when it would be his only day of relative peace for a while. 

"Where the fuck is the old man? I don't have all night." Jason complained, resting on the wall and crossing his arms.

Tim glanced at him. Besides himself, he could say his rebel brother was the most impatient among them, but something else was happening to him.

Jason hadn’t been in a good mood for days, and as usual, he had refused to speak about it. Tim felt it had to do with Bruce, which wasn’t unusual, but he didn’t have any evidence to support his theory. 

It didn’t make Jason less correct. Bruce wasn’t late, especially as Batman.

"Relax, little wing." Dick chucked from the roof's edge, hand standing and switching from one to two hands and from left to right, "I'm sure B is on his way."

Tim's gaze went to him, eyes rolling up at his games. Someone else, a saner person, would be concerned for him. Neither he nor Jason was affected at all. His older brother was Nightwing, and they were past sanity long ago.

"On his way, my ass." Jason grunted, walking toward him and kicking a poor rock in his way, "You said the same thing ten minutes ago. And five fucking minutes before that."

He was threatening in his anger as the Red Hood, one of the most feared vigilantes in the supernatural world, but Dick didn’t even flinch. Jason just couldn’t scare any of them if he wanted, and Tim knew him well enough to recognize the signs of Jason's concern beneath his tough act. 

And if Jason, out of all of them, was worried about Bruce, then Tim was right in being too.

"Yeah, that's fair." Dick flipped in time to stand when Jason stopped in front of him, his grin never leaving his face, "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong. He probably got caught in traffic."

Great excuse, Dick. Tim could swear he did those things on purpose to mess with his ‘little wing.’

"Are you shitting me?" Jason scoffed, gesturing irritated, while Dick stayed unfazed, "He is the fucking Batman! Why do you always have to defend him, you-"

He turned their voices off, smiling caringly but exasperatedly. He loved them, but he didn't have time for this. Tim crouched on the roof's edge, taking care not to rely on his bandaged, sprained wrist; he surveyed the overview of the city.

On the surface, it was like any other night. Thick pollution in the air, howls echoing through the streets, a weird smell carried by the wind, the siren songs coming from the coast, and trash in nearly every alley. The regular Gotham stuff.

But something was wrong. Tim could feel it- no . He knew it, and it wasn’t from now. He frowned, thinking back to when it started. With Bruce.

Since Alfred left for vacation, he had been acting… differently, but that wasn’t exactly a big deal. They all did since it was easier to get stressed out and mess around when Alfred was out, making the Manor a real war zone sometimes. 

Even Damian, who had arrived only a few months ago, was already attached to Alfie to miss him so badly that he was more insufferable than usual. 

Tim sighed, recalling their recent fight. He loved his little brother, he truly did, but Damian could be annoying when he wished to be; it didn't matter the improvement of their relationship.

Which was another proof something was wrong with Bruce because either he didn’t notice how crazy things were or decided not to acknowledge them as he usually would. Otherwise, instead of giving at least his weekly scolding, he spent more time with Damian than ever when Tim, Jason, and Dick were out. 

At first, Tim believed it was because Bruce would give Robin to his baby brother, which had hurt more than it should. He knew that day would come, that everything would be over at some point, but he wasn’t ready to live through it. He had only been Robin for a year, and he couldn’t say goodbye to the best thing that had happened to him so soon.

But everything changed two nights ago when he discovered that wasn't the case, and his heart could have melted with the happiness and relief he had felt. He had approached Bruce to prove his worth by taking down a new vampire criminal organization, a desperate last attempt to show his value as his partner.

He realized he didn’t need to. A small smile opened on Tim’s face at the fresh memory. As awkward as it was to have an emotional conversation with Bruce, he had been content and not worried about his position for the first time in weeks and finally slept for eight hours.

It was why he would never forget each detail from that night, and he was sure the turning point in Bruce’s strange behavior was back then. If only he-

"Hey, kid!" Jason's voice cut his line of thought. 

Tim whipped his head back to them. The amusement on Dick's face was gone; in its place, a frown was noticeable even with his domino mask on, a sign that instantly got him worried.

"What is it?" Tim asked and got up, gazing between him and Jason, who seemed more concerned than irritated.

Now that was odd. 

"We were just talking about B being different lately, little bird." Dick said with false casualty and a slight smile, "Did you notice anything?" 

Many things, but Tim didn't know if he should say them out loud; his brothers could believe him or think he was seeing stuff that wasn't there, and he wouldn't blame them if they went for the second option.

After Kon died, he could admit he wasn't at his best and would never forget how his friends had looked at him back then. He really wasn’t willing to repeat the experience, but that was his family… right? He had to rely on them. 

If he didn't, who would he?

"Okay, the thing is, he’s been distracted lately. He keeps losing focus and staring off into space before he starts working again, but that isn’t even the worst." Tim sighed, "I’ve also caught him making obvious mistakes on case files several times, and I'm not sure he’s aware of it, which is even weirder. And…" He paused to collect his thoughts, pondering about the last part. 

It was too odd, even for their standards. But Jason and Dick were expecting him to finish it, and if he didn’t say it now, he wouldn’t anymore. "B has been strange to me, okay? He comes up behind me and stands a little too close, almost like-"

“Oh my God, yes!" Dick interrupted him excitedly like he shared Tim's fear, and finally could open up, "He does that to me too! Like he’s smelling you, right? I thought he was just being weird about my new cologne, but then I changed it, and he didn't stop!"

Tim nodded and smiled in relief; although it wasn't something to feel like that, he couldn't help. He wasn’t making stuff up. It was real.

In a non-planned sync, they turned their heads to Jason, staring at him. "What?" He scoffed, crossing his arms moodily.

Tim recognized that reaction. Jason was getting defensive, and when he did, he had reasons.

"C'mon, little wing." Dick motivated him, giving that shiny grin of his and patting his forearm. He was using his famous puppy eyes to manipulate Jason to speak.

It worked.

"Fine." Jason grumbled, sighing, "Since we fell asleep on the couch that night, I've been feeling off. Don't ask me to explain how off because I don't fucking know, but I believe it has to do with B."

Tim bit his lip thoughtfully, considering his words. He expected something more concrete, but that proved him correct. In the track Tim was keeping of their father’s behavior, the night Jason mentioned preceded the one he went out with Bruce.

It could have been the breaking point, what made their father take those vampires out brutally enough that the hospital records were as bad as after Jason died when night creatures or not, Batman was the scariest thing in Gotham for months.

Tim could almost say he had supernatural strength and speed with how he invaded the warehouse, which wasn't off for Batman, who many heroes believed to have powers before they met him.

But he wasn’t them. None of them were. They worked with Bruce. They lived with him. They were his family.

So how could Tim have looked at Bruce’s back that night, catching a mere glimpse of red in his eyes that could easily be the street lights reflection, and for a moment, mistake him for Jack Drake?

Stupid , that was what he was. Bruce wasn't Jack. Besides being physically impossible, Bruce loved him; he would never do the things that had been done to Tim by his parents, so the fact he confused them, even if briefly, was very offensive to Tim.

"What is in your mind, little bird?" Dick drove him off his line of thoughts, gently tapping his forehead to get his attention, "I can see the gears turning in your head."

Tim looked up at them, realizing he had gotten too deep inside his thoughts again. Did they have to know everything, anyway? It wasn't like he was sure of anything. He wasn't . And if he said the wrong thing, with their history with vampires…

Well, it could get out of hand.

"Well, I-" Tim started but was cut off by Babs in their communicators, " Boys? " 

Did she sound quite in panic? No, that wasn't right. Oracle didn't panic. She was their guide, the brain behind it all, and the voice of reason.

But Babs… She was a person like all of them, and if Tim were to identify the emotion in her voice, he would guess concern.

"Hey, O." Dick greeted her eagerly, his smile back to his face, "Is little D already with you? Can I speak to him?"

That caught Tim's attention. Right, Damian should be with Babs. And if he did, then Bruce should be coming, and Tim was wrong.

It was okay if that was the case. He preferred to be wrong this time.

"That's what I called you for. D isn't here, and I reached out to Batman six times, but he didn't answer in any of the lines. And the cameras…." Babs informed them, pausing for a moment before concluding, "They are off."

Tim could nearly sense their bodies tensing simultaneously, Dick's smile failing for a moment.

"Trackers?" His older brother asked. His voice was a fraction of an octave higher than usual, which was understandable even if he used his Nightwing voice.

Tim couldn’t accuse him of favoritism this time, they were already worried about Bruce, but if Damian, their baby brother, was in danger too, then it was a whole other matter.

" They point out he is in the Cave, " Babs answered with more emotion in her tone than usual.

Tim's mind started to run with possibilities, and he didn't like any of them, "The emergency signal?" He inquired, tense. 

That had to have worked. They all responded to the emergency signal - even Jason - because it was the last line of communication. 

If Bruce hadn't, mainly in the Cave…

" No answer, " Babs said lower than ever, and it sounded like a death sentence.

Tim's stomach sank. He didn't want to be correct about some stupid theory he had come up with. 

"What do you mean no fucking answers?" Jason snarled, gesturing angrily.

He was starting to freak out, Tim could see so, and it was always bad when he was like that. Jason wouldn’t admit it, but he loved Bruce and Damian more than he showed.

He was a professional like them, but Red Hood was quite unpredictable when it got personal for Jason, so Tim would have to handle him carefully.

" He won't pick up, Hood, so don't give me that attitude. " Babs retorted, " I called you for a reason. "

Tim watched Jason avert his eyes from them, guilty for lashing out at Babs, but probably something he would apologize for as soon as they got it done. Because they would get it done, they just had to act now.

"We will go back to the Cave and check them up." Robin took the lead, "Thanks for the warning, O."

She deserved at least that, but being honest, Tim also could need her later if his suppositions were proven right. Getting on Babs' wrong side was never a good thing. 

" You're welcome, Robin. When you get there, if you need anything…." She took a deep breath, finishing, "I'm always here ."

The last part usually was spoken lightly - playfully even - but it wasn’t there this time.

"You will be the first to know," Dick said soothingly, their story showing for a moment.

" Oracle out," Babs called off.

In a silent agreement, they headed to their motorcycles. Tim went with Jason because of his wrist and his brothers' stupid insistence that it was dangerous to go on his own motorcycle. Like he was some kid.

He suppressed his annoyance, and they drove back to the Manor, speed higher than it was probably safe. But that was Gotham, and traffic laws were almost non-existent, and they had to get to the Cave as soon as possible.

Tim held tight to his brother, feeling like he should be sharing his thoughts with Dick and Jason. They could deal with his doubts together. That was what they did.

But he couldn’t, not when he wasn't sure what he believed in. It could be anything. An attack. A medical issue. But somehow, Tim doubted it. Maybe yes, he was a paranoid asshole in the end, but that was his… father. He could be Bruce Wayne, the Batman, but he was their father above everything. 

And pondering that he could have become a vampire was something not even Tim was ready for, so he couldn't imagine how it would be for Dick and Jason.

He knew they weren't bigots or anything; none hated any vampire without a good reason, but he could admit they weren't the best with them either. There was too much that wasn't unpacked, and talking about their emotions wasn't their strength.

Damian's presence didn't make it any better, reminding them of their traumas with vampires. Not that they didn't want him there, they had a tough beginning for sure, but Damian was family.

The problem was that their baby brother, who they didn't even know existed, had been raised by the damn League of Assassins under continuous abuse and assault, psychological, emotional, and physical. 

Tim despised Ra's, but he and Talia had conquered his hatred. He held tighter onto Jason, remembering the night they found out a bunch of adult vampires, including Damian's blood, had made his life hell. 

He had wished to kill for them, to guarantee monsters like the kind that hurt his family could never do so again, and he was proud to declare the rest of his family shared his feelings. 

League’s members should be especially cautious around Cass. Because once more, vampires had taken something from them, and they could not do anything about it when they should have.

The guilt of the impotence would always hunt them, but it was not sufficient for them to be unfair since, in the end, the League was just bad people that happened to have fangs and drink blood.

Everyone with basic knowledge of the supernatural world knew that vampire clans had some of the strongest and most profound bonds ever discovered, taking care of each other as not even most human families did.

Tim had only been unlucky that either as mortals or immortals, his parents never loved him enough to be his family or clan. That was okay, he was well aware he wasn't someone easy to be loved, but Bruce did love him.

For some reason, even after Tim invaded his life when he was grieving his dead son and practically forced him to make him Robin, Bruce still found a place in his heart for him. 

Not as Robin, but as family, the people Bruce kept his smiles for and allowed to live in his house, and in the worst time, held them as if they were the most precious things in his life.

And Tim didn't know why he had been chosen, he couldn't get his mind around it, but he willingly took everything Bruce had given him as the selfish person he was. So before jumping to the conclusion he had become a vampire without any objective evidence, he should think about all the other endless options. 

They lived in a world with every kind of supernatural creature besides the metas, superhumans, aliens, wizards, etc. Literally anything could have happened to Bruce and Damian, from someone finding out about the Cave and attacking them to a magical interdimensional creature abducting them. 

Just because Tim had noticed things that could have a variety of explanations, it didn’t mean Bruce was a vampire. If he believed that ridiculous theory so quickly when he had spent most of the month barely getting any sleep, including the night he went out with Bruce, he should retire as a detective.

That was why he decided to keep his paranoia to himself as they approached the Manor and focused on Bruce and Damian needing their help. That was the best he could do.

Jason parked his motorcycle in the entrance of the Cave next to Dick's, following their protocol for when the Cave was possibly compromised, and they had to sneak in.

It was too far for people not to see the Bats' motorcycles in the Manor's land but inside enough for them to be heard by a threat in the Cave.

"What is the plan?" Tim asked as they got down, grabbing his bo staff. He considered replacing it with his silver one for a second, but he quickly shrugged that off.

Bruce was not a vampire. It would be too ironic if the vigilante dressing as a bat became one; the universe wasn't that much of a bitch, as Jason would say.

"Secure the demon spawn, save B's ass, and fuck up whoever dared to attack them." Jason shrugged, too casual for how tense he obviously was.

Tim was reminded once again that despite Jason's problems with Bruce, he would always be the first of them to burn the world for him. And Damian… well, it wasn't even a discussion for him or any of them.

Hurting their baby brother was asking to see the worst side of their family.

"Those are goals, not plans, little wing." Dick pointed out with a small smile, but it wasn’t as bright as usual. He took his batons from his back, holding them tight.

"Great goals." Jason huffed, getting his guns from their holsters.

He had a point, although he also never had any actual plans, only goals. They needed more information to devise a plan, so they would have to rely on the protocol again.

That meant either they sent someone, probably Dick, to gather information for them to create a plan, or they entered and checked the area as they sought Damian and Bruce. There was one correct answer.

"We go in, stick together, and find them while checking for threats," Tim suggested, glancing between Dick and Jason from where he stood between them.

They couldn’t separate. Whoever or whatever had gotten to their father had been capable of taking Batman down, and temporarily or not, it was no feat to be played.

Dick and Jason nodded, the latter with a shrug, and they entered the Cave. Carefully and steadily, they walked further in and surveyed each perimeter until they arrived at the Central Computer side.

Tim's eyes widened when he spotted it. Claw marks on the edge of the computer's metal that someone had scratched so deeply it was a surprise that they hadn’t ripped a piece of it off.

He approached the focus of his attention, considering a few variable options.

Werewolves were the first thing that came to his mind, but the form of their claws didn't match the marks. Ghouls were common in Gotham, mainly in the sewers, but Croc dealt with the most violent of them before they would get to Bristol. 

There were dragons, demons-

"Vampires." Dick whispered.

Tim tensed. That was a possibility. The marks were very similar to the vampire's claws, and forgetting his ridiculous theory, he already had the main suspect.

"Ra's." Tim concluded.

Dick's expression darkened, and even if Tim couldn’t see Jason's face, the way he held his guns tighter let his feelings clear. They agreed on the supposition, which meant they had to act faster.

The League could have come to take Damian or, even worse, him and Bruce to their clan. Their father didn't like to talk about it, but the fact he spent years with Ra's was enough for them to be protective of him when the League was involved, Tim more than anyone. 

After all, from the few times they met, he was well aware of what it was like to have the Demon's Head interested in you. He clenched his hand around his bo staff. He wouldn't allow the vampire to take his father and baby brother from him.

They moved in a defensive formation with no words needed, this time with Dick in the middle, Jason on his right, and Tim on his left. The nearest area was the forensic lab and the medical facility, so they headed there.

However, when they approached the latter, the sight that received them felt like it had come straight from a nightmare. They froze in shock. A few meters from them, Bruce was kneeling in front of Damian, holding him tight with his claws , and… 

Tim felt his blood run cold.

Bruce was biting their baby brother's neck. With his vampire fangs . Because their father was a vampire . 

A thousand questions and theories hammered his skull.

When did the transformation happen? How did Tim miss it? Who had turned Bruce? They had to be on another level. Bruce wouldn't have come down without a fight, which meant it had been a violent transformation. Someone had killed his father and forcibly made him a vampire.

His stomach turned and twisted. It had to have been Ra's . He had the motive, methods, and capacity, but when could he have gotten to Bruce? When was he alone for at least a few days for Ra's to take him? They-

"Bruce?" Dick's horrified, quivering voice took him off his short mental inquisition.

Tim shook his head, focusing back on the reality of the situation. It wasn’t time for his desperate emotions to seek an explanation, not when Damian was in danger and Bruce was the cause.

He hated even considering his father a threat, but they didn't know which state he was in, and he had his fangs near their baby brother's carotid. Any wrong movement and… Tim chose not to see that far away.

They were doing the right thing. Bruce would have wanted them to prioritize Damian's safety, no matter what. So calling his attention in a calm manner that didn't present danger was a good first step, as unintentional as Dick could have done it.

It didn't entirely work, though. Bruce growled, removing his fangs from Damian's neck in a quick movement that made Tim's heart skip a beat, mainly when he didn't let him go. It could be interpreted as either a protective or threatening act, and Tim couldn’t believe he couldn’t differentiate.

"Dad?" The second attempt surprisingly came from Jason. He glanced at his brother. 

This could bring Bruce back to himself since he always reacted strongly in his typical, almost imperceptible way when they called him 'dad,' like out of all the titles he had, that was the one that mattered.

Tim wasn't sure if Jason had used it on purpose or if it slipped because he was having a breakdown beneath his helmet, but the effect was immediate. 

Bruce got up and turned to them, revealing two new facts that made Tim feel like the ground beneath him had disappeared. His eyes were dark scarlet, not the characteristic red of the vampires', but the color of blood, one of the strongest signs they were feral. 

And when he snarled, stepping up, they saw a glance of it beneath him. Damian had small fangs in his mouth. Baby fangs. Of a vampire.

They raised their weapons simultaneously, the implications of the sight waving through them as time felt to slow down.

Not only was Bruce killed and turned under their nose, but so was Damian. His baby brother. A fucking kid. And if he wasn't afraid and running away from a feral vampire like Bruce, it was very likely because he didn't believe he had a reason to.

Because that was his progenitor. Tim swallowed, keeping a blank facade but feeling like he would throw up. No, no , it couldn’t be. It couldn't . Bruce couldn't have killed and turned Damian. He wouldn't have done it. 

But the logic, the very thing that had kept Tim alive for so long, that made him the hero he was, said otherwise. 

Recently transformed vampires, mainly kids and teenagers, were incredibly dependable of their progenitors. They hardly allowed any of their race, even from their clan, to approach. And since Damian wasn't having his blood drained as they thought, this had to be a bonding moment; the only reason vampires drank each other's blood.

So it had to be Bruce. It was the reasonable explanation, and what Tim didn't want to believe, that he pleaded it wasn't real.

He tried to come up with other possibilities, how maybe Damian could have turned Bruce, done this to him, and it would be okay because he wasn't to blame. He was a kid. They wouldn’t hurt him for it.

But there were too many counterpoints for that, as much as Tim wished to deny them.

First, Damian just wasn't a vampire for too long. They would have known if he was despite him acting like one; considering Ra's and Talia had raised him, it was a miracle he didn't end up worse.

Secondly, baby vampires were terrible at hiding their race's traits and habits. Damian would have needed someone to hold him back, and in the end, it all pointed to Bruce because one fact outstood all the others: 

There was no fucking way Damian could have transformed Bruce. Even if he somehow could sneak up on him or take him down in a fight, their father would have informed them as soon as he could.

Tim was sure of that. They would help Damian and neutralize Bruce until they figured everything out, and when that happened, they would adapt his backup plans and deal with his new situation together. 

As a team . As a family . 

So everything led to the conclusion that Bruce had killed and transformed Damian, that while they lived there, their father could do so without their interference. Tim held his bo staff tightly, holding onto it.

He wanted to be angry. He wanted to hurt someone for the pain and confusion making it hard for him to breathe. He wanted to destroy Ra's, causing him so much suffering that he would beg to die by his hands for the mere possibility of his involvement.

Yet, when his father looked around, appearing confused despite how scary he was, Tim only felt… hurt. He hadn’t protected Bruce and Damian. He wasn’t there when they needed him. He had allowed part of his family to die and be violated in such a profound manner.

How could he harm them anymore? Fighting couldn’t be the way.

But his brothers didn't appear to agree with his line of thought. Dick's expression hardened, Jason's body tensed, and they slowly started moving to a cornering attack formation. Tim automatically, even if hesitantly, accompanied them.

"Step away from Damian, B," Dick ordered, raising his batons threateningly.

Bruce tilted his head in response, a movement that Damian mimicked. Usually, it would have Dick humiliating himself by going crazy over his baby brother being the cutest, something Jason teasingly called him out for.

It wasn't the case this time.

"Now!" Jason shouted between clenched teeth, aiming his guns directly at Bruce's head, "We won't ask again."

His father slightly recoiled as Damian hugged his arm, facing him up with widened eyes that Bruce encountered. God, they both looked so lost. It wasn't right. Vampires or not, they shouldn't be like that.

Was Bruce really completely feral? Could he have truly harmed Damian? Was violence actually necessary?

Tim had his answer when Bruce stared back at them, and he saw the exact moment he started fading into his new nature. The thread of humanity in his scarlet gaze disappeared, and its edges sharpened as he surveyed them with an intensity of a predator analyzing prey.

His parents were the same in their last moments together.

He clenched his teeth, keeping an eye on Damian and subtly changing his position to one that allowed him to act as quickly as possible if he had to. No, there was no if . 

He deeply hoped, but Tim had to let it go. He had to do what was needed. He was Robin, maybe not one Bruce had chosen, but he was the son he had chosen and trusted his family with in situations like this.

He wouldn't disappoint him. 

He shared a glance with Dick, who nodded at him and Jason. It was decided. They needed to take Bruce down and prioritize Damian so they could help them, and it was apparent which of them would handle each of the vampires.

Bruce bared his fangs and claws and hissed, like he could sense what they planned, finally forcing their hand. 

Current moment

Everything happened too quickly. In a moment, his father was standing a few meters away. The next, he jumped toward Tim at a speed that wasn't human. 

Tim gasped. A glimpse of Bruce saving him in that vampire organization's warehouse crossed his eyes in a flash. It was too late to deflect, so he raised his bo-staff, bracing himself for the impact until a weight abruptly pushed him, shoving him to the side.

He grunted and quickly stuck one of the ends of his weapon on the ground, his sprained wrist throbbing as he slid before stopping on one knee. Fuck, he hated to be injured. It always slowed him down.

Hearing a thud, Tim immediately looked at where he was, seeing the reason for his location adjustment.

Dick had taken his place with his batons risen above his head and Bruce’s hands grasping them as he towered over him. Tim watched his father press his brother down in shock, forcing him onto his knees and causing him to groan between clenched teeth.

And that wasn't even the worst. The batons slowly started to bend under his grip, and it didn't even seem like a real effort to him, just a flex. Tim got goosebumps.

Jack Drake used his supernatural strength many times after his transformation. Usually against him. Sometimes to keep him immobile while he and Janet fed from him. Once to hold him down as they drained him to death.

Shots . They snapped him out of his ridiculous frozen state, and he searched for their obvious source. Jason - who also appeared to have missed a few seconds of reality - was repeatedly shooting Bruce in his side, the Batman's suit blocking his bullets.

Yet, their impacts were sufficient for Bruce to back off, growling and protecting himself, which allowed Dick to move away and stand again.

Tim got up, preparing to attack, when his instincts rang at the same time a glimpse of a movement showed at the edge of his sight. It was barely visible, someone with less trained senses wouldn't have seen it at all, but Tim did in time to hold his bo-staff up to protect himself when Damian tackled him.

Shit, he had forgotten his baby brother for a moment. Tim landed hard on his back with Damian on top of him, trying to use his weapon to throw him off and immobilize him, but failing because of the weakness of his right wrist.

He grunted, and Damian growled, holding his bo-staff and pinning it down to the point Tim struggled to maintain it from pressing his chest. Taking the opportunity, his baby brother tried to bite him, his little fangs snapping in the air.

Tim deflected them with some effort, hating that he was caught by surprise. He should have known. Dammit, he should have. 

"Stay still, Timothy!" His baby brother snarled and pushed harder.

Tim frowned. Could Damian talk? Usually, recently turned vampires, mostly the younger ones, were non-verbal after bonding moments since it was too intense for them.

But Damian had always been an exception, hadn't he? It would make sense if he was forced to overcome every weakness, including the vampire ones. God, Tim despised Ra's so much.

"Dami, I know you must be hungry, but lemme help you!" Tim tried to get to him, supposing that blood was what his baby brother was after.

It was unlikely Damian would have gotten the amount of blood he should have since he had become a creature of the night, which was undoubtedly very hidden by Bruce. 

Tim would willingly let him feed on him; if he had to, he would cut himself open for Bruce and Damian to do it, but not when they were a possible danger to each other and his brothers. It would be the last resource.

"You can help me by letting me bite you, you fool!" Damian spat, back to his usual attitude.

Tim controlled his annoyance, glad to see his baby brother was still himself. It was good to know, but that meant Damian wasn't going to give up because he was a little shit like that.

He remembered well how he almost lost a finger when he and his baby brother competed for the last piece of his vegetarian pizza. Could he have let him have it? Yes, but Damian also shouldn't have hidden his coffee. He couldn’t even find his special teas because he couldn’t survive on them according to his baby brother.

"Not now, little D." Tim retorted with a tired small smile, taking advantage of Damian giving him an indignant look of 'how could you dare?!' to switch their positions.

Working through the growing pain in his sprained wrist, he used his bo-staff to immobilize his baby brother, who hissed at him and fought his grip. If Tim weren't too busy trying to avoid his fangs, he would have found it interesting how Damian seemed like a feral kitten.

He didn't have time to be like Dick, though. He had to secure Damian to come back and help his brothers with Bruce since their father was gaining more and more ground from the few glances he caught of them.

Dick and Jason were fighting desperately, and if he didn't know better, he would say even frightened. It triggered flashes of the first and unique time Tim had reacted against his parents, memories of broken bones and lasting bruises returning stronger than ever. 

He clenched his teeth, refusing to allow himself to make that comparison. Bruce wasn't his parents. He was the one that carried Tim's broken body to the hospital after Jack and Janet Drake barely left him alive, and becoming a vampire wouldn't change who he was.

If someone could overcome vampire instincts, it would be him. He wouldn't kill his brothers. They could take him down.

Tim focused back on Damian right in time to get headbutted by him, grunting at the sharp pain that cut through his forehead. That gave his baby brother a chance to tackle him again, causing them to roll on the ground.

Okay, that was it. If Damian wanted to do it the hard way, he would. He gained the leverage to turn them, ignoring his wrist's nerves being lit on fire to bring his bo-staff against his baby brother's neck. 

Not too firmly, but with the right amount of force for him to pull him up as Damian grumbled and cursed him. But Tim didn't let go. He had to take Damian to the cells, get him a blood bag, and return to help Dick and Jason.

He turned his head to check their progress but didn't even have time to react before a force hit on the back of his head, shaking his world to the point it spun. 

Black dots covered his vision, eyes rolling up as his body fell motionless to the side, about to enter in contact with the cold stone until what felt like soft hands caught him.

They reminded him of Dick's, a glimpse of his grin appearing on his sight, but they were too big to be his. He groaned when he was gently laid on his back on the ground, grimacing as he sensed a presence towering over him that got closer and closer.

Struggling to open his eyes through the pain, he was received by a big blur with scarlet dots that stared into his soul for a moment before taking the small squirming form from his arms and- 

No , no form. That was Damian . 

"What are you doing, Father ?" His baby's brother sounded even more annoyed than average.

Tim shook his head, his sight clearing to see Damian being put over Bruce’s shoulder, seeming frustrated and dissatisfied. He was like that a lot.

"This is our chance! They have to be claimed as our clan!" Damian shouted, writhing against their father, who growled reproachfully at him.

For the first time since their fight started, Damian calmed down with a pout on his mouth but no snark. How did he- wait.

Claimed? Damian wanted Bruce to claim them? Tim watched, stunned, as his father turned and began to walk out of the medical facility, gaze scattering to see Dick and Jason lying on the floor by his side.

Unconscious. Chests were going up and down. No visible injuries and... He narrowed his eyes, trying to process the lack of blood in the tiny dots on the sides of their necks. The holes that should have been pierced in their skin were non-existent. 

If they had stopped Bruce from sticking his fangs on the other, there would be at least a small cut from the sudden movement of the fangs in touch with the skin. So it was like Bruce had gotten close to biting them but had given up at the last minute.

That wasn't reasonable. No vampire he had ever met had that level of self-control, not when they were feral. A vampire in that state was a slave to their instincts, seeking two things: 

Blood and clan.

Unless… Realization hit Tim as hard as that time threw his car on him, all the pieces of the puzzle finally getting together. How did he not see it before? It was right on his face.

"Bruce!" Tim screamed without a second thought, forcing his body to move up until he stood quite dizzy.

His father froze at the entrance of the medical facility, and Damian took his face from where he hid it in Bruce’s shoulder, interest gleaming in his eyes. Seconds passed, and Tim considered drawing his blood to get the vampire's attention, but he didn’t need to.

Bruce faced him almost hesitantly. The feral features were impossible not to be perceived, and any criminal in Gotham faced with the sight of the Bat having fangs and blood in his eyes would have run for their lives.

Tim stood there. He couldn’t let Bruce leave with Damian. He couldn’t allow him to go wild in Gotham. But Tim wasn't stupid. Dick and Jason were down, and he didn't stand a chance against Bruce.

There was only one way to stop him. He needed blood. Not from blood bags, but the natural, warm thing straight from the source that made vampires commit massacres to get more and more but would be satisfied with a person alone if they were clan.

Tim dropped to his knees, the impact causing a loud thud to echo in the silence of the Cave. He took a deep breath to gather courage before facing down and turning his head to the side, a submissive position to offer blood.

His parents forced him to stay like that when they fed on him, it was familiar in the worst possible manner, and he thought he would never do it again. 

But this was his choice, and the approaching steps were Bruce’s. His father. And even feral, he didn't drain Tim, Dick or Jason when he had a chance. 

Because they were his clan. That was what Tim was missing. The information that explained everything. His heart raced the closer the vampire got to him, his body weighting with the risk he was taking there.

Tim's mind was calm, though. For them to be alive, Bruce had to think of them as his pseudo-clan, which was rarely reported among vampires but happened. They would have confused their feelings for family or friends with a clan without claiming bites.

That was his guarantee Bruce wouldn't kill him. Or at least it was supposed to be. Bruce stood in front of him, growling and hovering his fangs over the skin of Tim's neck. He recoiled but stayed still, closing his eyes. 

Was he afraid? Maybe. Could he barely stop himself from trembling? Yes. But he wouldn't back down. Bruce wouldn't drain him. He wasn’t his parents. That was his father, and Tim had to give a leap of faith. He had to trust Bruce to catch him, as he always had.

His breath hitched when he sensed a breath near his neck, anticipating the pain of the bite. But nothing could have prepared him for how he felt the moment sharp fangs pierced his skin.

He gasped, the air forced out of his lungs in a single hit as his nerves lit up like a tempest of rays burning his cells from inside out. 

A wave of emotions flooded him from every side, overwhelming him to the point his self was crushed by their intensity, and he couldn’t breathe through them.

It was too much.

He couldn’t do it.

He was drowning, suffocating, dragged to the ocean's depth, and no one would save him.

He couldn't make it through.

Tim wouldn’t- 

He inhaled deeply, filling his chest with air again. He was floating. No weight attached to him. No worries or doubts.

His body was as light as a feather, carried by the clouds beneath him filled with so, so much love. Tim had never felt like that before. 

He was surrounded, embraced by care in its purest form, a warm sensation that was everything he had craved for.

Tim was loved . He was cared for . He was enough. Those were unquestionable facts that any of the voices from his head daring to contest were immediately erased by the source of this paradise.

He should question it, find the answers, and search for an explanation, but he just… didn’t. There was no need to. He distantly knew what was happening, he was claimed by his dad, and oh, how it felt right like what he always wanted. Being where he should be, in the arms of his clan, the place he belonged.

Tim let go, and there were no thoughts for the first time in his life.

Nothing but home.

Beautiful fanart by the talented @potion-styxx

Chapter Text

Damian's pov

Damian was ecstatic. This was the finest day of his life. Not only was he claimed by his father, but so was Timothy! 

They were a clan now, undeniably and unquestionably. He wouldn't have to worry about low-level vampire scum hurting his brother anymore like they did with his wrist.

His fangs bared toward the imaginary threat. No, they would know Timothy was off limits and wouldn't dare to attack or try to acquire him for their own nefarious plans. Not unless they were to defy their clan and face its wrath. 

Timothy was theirs . 

Damian looked at where father was sitting on the ground, clutching their Timothy in his arms with his scarlet, possessive eyes entirely focused on his relaxed face as his fingers gently stroked the human’s disheveled hair.

The young vampire smiled at the clan bite on his brother's neck that fit perfectly, unlike the old, ugly bite scars that covered his skin. It was like the human was made to be theirs; Damian believed he was. 

Timothy's unworthy parents could have had him in their clan from the beginning, possibly delaying Father’s claim of him more than his baseless fears had. Still, as the abominable and ignorant vampires they were, they discarded him like his existence wasn't the only reason their miserable lives had any value.

It was their luck Father had dealt with their audacity instead of Damian. He would have used each torture method he learned to guarantee every vampire knew Timothy belonged to them.

No other clan deserved him, not even his grandfather's, who Damian knew wished to possess Robin himself.

Tt, that would not be happening. He scoffed and moved closer to Father, absorbing the happiness in their bond. Their clan leader was the only vampire his grandfather had been unable to force into submission to him, and he would protect Damian’s new clan brother at all costs as their leader. 

He hadn’t been certain of that before, not when Father insisted on acting like a human and allowing his children to go out in danger without the protection of his claim—an irresponsible behavior for the vampire of such an ancient bloodline as he was.

However, today his Father proved his value as a clan leader. He claimed Damian and fought Richard and Todd for the right to do the same to them, then he conquered Timothy's submission and claimed him too.

That was what he had expected of Father since the beginning, and he couldn't be prouder of him. It was just the beginning. Soon, all his siblings would be part of their clan, as it should have always been.

For now, though, Timothy was their priority. Damian observed his brother's features closely, still quite confused and outraged that he let Father bite him so easily but denied Damian the same. It was appalling that Timothy fought him and dared not to allow him to take his rightful place as his clan brother.

Tt, the insolence of Timothy.

At least his brother had shown Father the obvious truth Damian had been attempting to tell: that he wanted to be their clan, and there was no reason for Father to spread guilt and sorrow through their bond over the pain he caused Richard and Jason during a claiming fight.

If Timothy hadn't made that straightforward, though, they would have left without the rest of their clan because of Father's deplorable sentimentalism, regardless of the fact they won.

He should be glad he had chosen their clan well; his fears were utterly ridiculous, and Damian was correct about everything, as always. He had never seen Timothy happier or calmer than he was now.

Usually, he was tense, focused and thoughtful, restless even when he wasn't supposed to be awake. Timothy and his poor human habits of self-care , Damian huffed. He would personally guarantee there would be none of that from now on.

His brother was already better. Damian could sense him through their bond and how Father filled his mind with love and care, erasing that stinky, incomprehensible fear emanating from him before the formation of the bond.

He craved to do the same, to return to Timothy the love he had shown him despite his initial attempts to take his life and place in their clan. Nevertheless, he knew better.

Damian wasn't some uneducated, savage vampire. He was well-aware that humans could be overwhelmed by a clan bond in the beginning, and if they weren’t careful, it could break Timothy's mind, which was simply unacceptable. 

So as Father settled the base of the bond, he tried to sneak away to get closer to Richard and Todd. They were completely vulnerable and ready to receive the claiming bite, and while they waited for Father, Damian could feed on them.

His eyes sparkled with the prospect, having waited months for a drop of the clan blood rightfully his, but then an arm wrapped around his abdomen and pulled him up in the air. 

Damian snarled in discontent, turning his head to see Father giving him a scolding look. He returned it. 

He didn't do anything wrong! His brothers were his to be taken, and he was entitled to feed from them. It was hypocritical of Father not to let him when he kept Timothy for himself and didn't share for now.

Father huffed, putting him back next to him and coaxing him to Timothy's side, a sign that he should focus on him. Damian pouted but was satisfied that at the minimum he would have Timothy.

Good, the privilege to take care of the first human of their clan was also his prerogative. He watched closely and patiently as Father finished scent-marking Timothy, barely containing his excitement and staying still; he was ready for his turn. 

But when Father didn't give his brother to him, Damian sharply sent his anxiety and annoyance through their bond and demanded, "Father." He reached out his arms, "Timothy." 

The older vampire looked up at him, questioning, staring at him as if considering his request. Damian stared back although feeling the urge to submit, determined to have his well-deserved moment with his Timothy. 

It wouldn't be fair if he didn't have it. After he was denied his siblings as his official clan for months, being scolded every time he tried to sneak up and bite them, the minimum he deserved was to have the first of them.

Father seemed to see that and nodded, his eyes going to the door before mindfully putting one arm beneath their new clan member's back and knees, carrying him up as he stood with graceful supernatural ease.

At first, Damian got up but didn't grasp what his clan leader was doing. He scowled. Father was supposed to give Timothy to him. Why was he getting up? Did he expect him to carry his brother? 

He could do that with his vampire strength, but it would take some effort since, unfairly, he hadn't been receiving the clan blood he should be to grow even more robust than he already was and protect his clan like they didn't think he was capable of.

Tt, it would be different now, they would see. Damian would defend his clan from all threats, even if he had to personally go after Gordon, Brown, Cain, and Thomas and secure them in the nest after they were done with Richard and Todd.

He would - Damian was abruptly driven off his plans by Father indignantly picking him up by the back of his collar, like the mother cats he observed with their kittens.

He growled and squirmed. What a shame! He wasn't a baby vampire! He was a young one, practically an adult, and he deserved to be treated like one!

But when father's gaze sharpened, reproachful, he was reminded of his place and went motionless, looking down and baring his neck to him. He preferred not to suffer any punishment. Not like he had in the League.

His clan leader started walking, but Damian kept his eyes down, hanging by his grip. He knew his father said that the rules were different there and he would never treat him as Mother and Grandfather did, but the minimum he owed his clan leader was respecting him.

It wouldn't be unreasonable if he punished Damian for lacking discipline already, and he would take it as he always did in the League. He hesitantly and quickly glanced up at Father, realizing they were leaving the area and Richard and Todd behind.

Confusion took over Damian. Why was his clan leader doing that? He should be claiming them! They earned that privilege by right of combat, so they should act on it immediately to not give his brothers time to rechallenge Father.

Was Father still guilty for hurting them? Why so? Damian searched for his emotions through their bond, but they were focused on Timothy, and the only hint he could find toward Richard and Todd was of shame and something he would almost call fear if that weren’t absurd. 

He frowned, deciding whether he should inquire about it to Father or not as he carried them deeper into the Cave. He truly didn't want to be punished already, but he also couldn't decipher his clan leader's actions, and as his heir, he should advise him in matters like this.

However, there was a difference between advising and questioning his authority. His Grandfather taught him that very quickly, and the consequences of the latter were fresh in his memory.

Damian felt a shiver run up his spine, closing his eyes to concentrate on eliminating the weakness growing in him. He was above that, and Timothy would be affected by his emotions if he wasn't careful, which wasn't permissible for a vampire like him.

Father would definitely punish him for lacking control; that was all Damian could think of. But contrary to what he expected, a soothing, comforting wave moved through their bond, embracing him as if to tell him to calm down. 

He shyly tugged himself into it, looking up at his father, who had entered a place they called a safe room and had stopped in front of the left corner of the room, furthest from the door. His red glowing eyes were softer - too soft for his status - and Damian questioned once more what kind of vampire his father was.

The clan leader gently put him on the ground in the corner, nodding for him to sit. Damian did so, although still not comprehending what was happening and why Timothy hadn't been placed in his arms already.

That was until father slowly lowered his brother down, who had been lying over his shoulder with the older vampire's hand gently resting on his back to support him, and put his clan brother carefully in Damian’s lap.

Damian's eyes sparkled with joy, and he immediately wrapped his arms around Timothy's torso, being especially careful with his sprained wrist. He pressed their bodies tightly but carefully enough not to damage his brother's fragile bones.

A scowl formed between his eyebrows. He didn't know how Timothy could go out as Robin like that. He was a reasonably decent fighter, but even inferior beasts could break him by sheer chance.

Damian would have to regulate their human diet to ensure he grew as healthy as his other siblings, mainly now that he would feed from him. He sniffed Timothy's delicious blood smell, moving his head to the side to lean onto his claiming bite.

It was surprisingly dry as if Father hadn't taken more than a few drops or even no blood at all. Hmm, that was strange. He could sense his persistent, crawling hunger, so why wouldn't he feed from Timothy? 

Tt, Father was a peculiar type of vampire for sure.

Damian analyzed it closer, noticing it was healing quickly thus far, the standard for claiming bites. That made it perfect for feeding, and Father might have missed the opportunity, but Damian wouldn't. 

He smiled, barely believing he would finally drink from his clan.

The bonding moment he had been waiting for, that he was never allowed in the League, he would have it. And with Timothy out of everyone! The only way this could get better was if he could have done it to Richard first.

Damian bared his fangs, prepared to bite his brother, but he was stopped by Father snarling at him. He responded to it in the same tone, holding Timothy tighter and possessively.

NO-FEEDING

What? That was so unjust. It was his right to drink Timothy's blood. Damian moodily averted his eyes from Father to his brother. If he were awake, he would allow him to drink his blood. He knew he would.

Thinking back, Timothy had resisted him, but it was most likely because he was testing to see if Father was a worthy clan leader like Richard and Todd were doing. 

At first, when they showed up screaming, shouting, and ordering Father to separate from him, Damian could admit he was… apprehensive, not scared; he didn't get afraid .

Until he realized that although his brothers loved them and clearly wanted to be claimed as they proved with all their kind gestures and strangely caring behavior, they were the best vigilantes, humans or not. Obviously, they would require their father to prove he was powerful enough to protect and sustain them.

He could perfectly understand that; he had no idea why Father thought he wouldn't. Timothy mumbled in his unconscious, reminding Damian that at least he could strengthen their bond.

Tt, he would have everything he needed anyway when Timothy was awake. He only needed to wait. 

Damian carefully opened his side of their connection, releasing his emotions in the bond. He watched with hesitant awe as Timothy grunted softly, snuggling his forehead on the junction of Damian's neck and shoulder. 

He… was never in this position. Usually, Richard forced him into obligatory indignant cuddles, and Todd embraced him from behind as a mere provocation, or Timothy dared to mess up his hair.

And the rest of his clan weren't any different, all outrageously needy.

Gordon insisted on petting his head, Cain hunted him to participate in Richard's ridiculous 'puppy pile' while Brown loved to help her tackle him on the bed, and Thomas, who was supposed to be the most dignified of them, hugged him when he tried to escape.

In conclusion, Damian wasn't the one to initiate their caring interactions. He despised them - he did, he wasn't lying - and still, it wasn't so bad to do it with Timothy at that moment. He could quite feel the appeal, mainly when he could sense his brother's emotional reaction to the bare minimum of physical contact.

Tt, Timothy was so pathetic, another thing Damian would have to remedy for him. He nestled his face on his brother's neck, his grip growing more possessive as he breathed in his blood smell, his sensitive hearing focused on the red liquid roaring in Timothy's veins.

It was better than he had imagined, and he hadn't even tasted it yet, but he already knew it wasn't like the blood he had received in the League from the few human assassins his grandfather kept.

Perhaps because they weren't considered part of the clan, regardless of the fact Ra’s had claimed them. Damian grimaced. He didn't like to remember those assassins.

Not when he could only describe them as his family's pets, and honestly, he had never seen the purpose of their suffering. Yes, humans were inferior, but not even they deserved the things the vampires in the League did to them. Death was a less bad and more worthy fate.

So after meeting Father and eventually learning the value of part of humanity, like more than living blood bags, being in a clan felt good for the first time in his life. It felt good, as he always supposed it should when he observed the wild animals with their packs, herds, and flocks on the island mother had sent him.

Back then, Damian was well-aware they were his enemies in his quest for survival, but he couldn’t help but admire the companionship they shared and stupidly want it for himself. He had quickly erased those feeble wishes from his mind, accepting it wasn’t for him.

But now, all that mattered was how Father allowed him to have it. This was his clan, the one meant for him, and Damian never planned to let it go. It didn't matter what means were necessary to do so.

His brother snored, causing Damian to look back at his face, attentive. Timothy appeared even more peaceful in his vulnerable state.

"Don't worry, Timothy. I will take care of you." Damian assured him, a promise he didn't intend to fail to keep. 

A disturbance in the bond drove his attention from Timothy and back to his father. He was standing in the middle of the room in a defensive stance, staring at the door he had closed, and Damian had barely noticed it with his focus on Timothy.

Damian was about to question Father's behavior when he heard it. The sound of the door unlocking. 

Richard and Todd

He grinned at the expectancy of his brothers about to enter the room, thrilled with their presence, but then Father growled and tensed in a defensive position. 

Damian's face fell, and he tilted his head. Why was Father prepared for a fight? Their presence was a good thing. They must have come to offer themselves like Timothy.

Right? 

The door opened, revealing Richard and Todd standing by the entrance. Damian's eyes widened slightly in shock. They were wielding the silver versions of their weapons. That was… unexpected. 

He knew they had weapons to fight all kinds of supernatural creatures - his clan wasn't the best for no reason - but they had chosen to use it now. Damian was bewildered, not worried or scared, he wasn't , until it fit in.

His brothers were presenting their most powerful selves to rechallenge Father because, like most of their clan, they had their territories of their own. Todd's was one of the most dangerous places in Gotham, and Grayson’s was full of threats that if he weren't who he was, he would barely be capable of dealing with them. 

Damian could understand it now. Their heroic sense of responsibility kept them from accepting Father's claim, and Father knew that which was why he didn't claim them instantly.

He hadn’t backed off. He was merely waiting for the perfect moment.

Father hissed when Grayson and Todd carefully entered the room in attack positions. His brothers glanced at him and Timothy - Todd having taken off his stupid helmet - unreadable emotions crossing their eyes before determination shone in them.

He felt tempted to participate in the fight since, as part of the claiming side, he was allowed to assist Father, as he had proudly done by holding Timothy down and temporarily securing him. But leaving his brother without the physical contact he needed was the last option.

Father had given him Timothy and put them so far from the door for a reason, and Damian would respect his wishes to continue it by himself as long as he didn't think his assistance was necessary.

If it were, Damian would ensure they were theirs by any means.

Grayson and Todd made their move, attacking together, one by each side, and Father responded in kind. They clashed in the middle of the room, a mass of bodies entangled in combat.

Damian observed as his eldest brother's silver escrima sticks lighted up with electricity when they hit Father, the combination of two vampire weaknesses that would have easily taken down a low level. 

Not his clan leader. He took it with bravery, and Batman's suit protected him from the effect of the worse of Grayson's blows. 

The same happened with Todd's silver bullets, which were the cause of a certain concern for Damian since they were deadlier than his usual ones for a vampire, but as he expected, his brother never aimed at their father's head even when they got into hand-to-hand.

Damian let out an internal sigh of relief. He was right. Of course he was. As brutal and rough as the challenge seemed already, with Grayson and Todd violently hitting and shooting Father, it was nothing near the League's patterns. He had known it all along and hadn’t been worried.

He just had never seen them fight like this, even during training, which was why Damian held Timothy so tight and defensively. His brother grunted, the fight's impact on their bond getting to him.

Tt, if it were him, he would have ended it much sooner. Father had the upper hand, despite Grayson and Todd's blows starting to affect him, but he wasn't going hard enough. He was clearly holding back for some reason, missing perfect opportunities to incapacitate them.

Damian had counted at least three moments he could have broken Todd's arms and another four that he could have used Grayson's escrima sticks against him without touching them, both actions that could effectively neutralize them.

He clenched his fangs in frustration, struggling not to express it through their bond and failing to do so. Damian couldn't help it. Why didn't Father act as he should? He could have gotten it done.

They could be closer to a complete clan.

However, Father continued to miss those chances, and consequently, Grayson and Todd were gaining ground and systematically taking down his defenses. Father would have been out if he wasn't a vampire and the warrior he was.

Damian's body craved to interfere, to use the openings he could see to defeat them. He couldn’t do it yet, though. Father sent every sign for him to stay back with Timothy, and he would obey. For now. 

His body tensed as the fight progressed, growing increasingly aggressive from his brothers' side, who were merely injured. Otherwise, Father had burns on his hands and neck, probably more beneath the suit, alongside the bruises and contusions.

He was breathing heavily, his movements getting slower and less impactful due to the fact, for some reason, he was caring more about not harming them than getting it done. Damian's stomach sank as he slowly realized it.

 His clan leader was… losing. He couldn’t lose! This wasn't the time for misplaced care in a situation with so much at stake.

ACT-FATHER

He screamed through their bond, sending a desperate call for protection. He knew it was manipulative, that with a connection as fresh as theirs, this would set Father off and drive him deeper into his vampire self. 

But that was what they needed, proved when his clan leader reacted to his call even more intensely than he expected.

The change in Father was instantly apparent. His scarlet eyes shone more intensely, and his fangs grew even more extensive, his presence spreading through the room like a shadow swallowing the light. 

Grayson and Todd instinctively took a step back; it didn't protect them from Father's attack. He finally showed his vampire strength, jumping on the two vigilantes and kicking Grayson's chest, shoving him back.

Todd shot him in a panic, but it was too late, and Father tackled him on the ground, landing on top of him and grasping his wrists. "Fuck, Bruce, if you bite me, I'll kick your ass so badly you will need that new healing factor of yours!" Todd cursed him, and Damian rolled his eyes.

His troubled brother was always so dramatic, but he never meant anything he said. Father knew that and ignored his writhing, pinning the human down and going for the claiming bite. 

Grayson recovered and rushed to interfere, shocking Father's neck with one of his escrima sticks at the highest voltage and causing him to groan. Damian gasped when their clan leader snapped and let out a guttural roar, hitting Grayson so strongly that he broke his silver sticks at once and threw him into the wall.

"Dick!" Todd screamed as their eldest brother's back hit the concrete hard, falling on the ground on his stomach with a grunt. 

Grayson gasped as if his breath was taken from him, moaning in pain as he struggled to kneel. Father's head whipped towards him, his feral features falling apart when he realized what he had done.

It wasn't the time for weakness. Damian growled, indignant with Father. Grayson was obviously alright, or at least he would be later. It was like Father didn't truly want to win when Damian could feel he did through their bond alongside his pointless concern for his brothers.

Todd used Father's distraction to turn them, using his guns to suffocate their clan leader by pressing them on his throat, burning the skin more than Grayson already had. 

Damian hissed. That was enough. This had to be over one way or another, and if Father weren’t to take it seriously, he would. He carefully put Timothy down, ignoring his instinct to hold him again when his brother grimaced. 

It's alright, Timothy, just rest. I will take Grayson and bring him to you.

He soothed him down before stepping over him, locking his gaze on Grayson, who was panting as he struggled to get up. His eyes gleamed with that intense care he would never get used to being the target of.

It was practically a weapon that Grayson wasn’t afraid of using in the past, and he wasn't now, either. If Damian were more like Father, he would have fallen for it, but Mother raised him; there would be no mercy.

He would have his clan. 

He glanced at Todd and Father rolling on the ground, fighting for the higher ground, calculating he had a few seconds to neutralize his oldest brother. Damian smirked, getting into an attack position. It was all he needed.

Grayson frowned, realizing too late what he was about to do. Damian jumped on him, tackling him against the wall and baring his fangs. Without hesitation, he immediately went for the neck, above the Nightwing's collar.

But too quickly for him to react, he was manhandled, and his back was pressed against his brother's chest, his arms immobilizing him in a firm grip. Damian grunted, confused, irritatedly trying to break free.

How had Grayson done that? He knew his strengths and weaknesses from their sparring, and as flexible and acrobatic as he was, he wasn't up to Damian's speed and skill!

“Unhand me, Grayson!” He struck him with his elbows and hit his chin with the back of his head, squirming and swinging his legs in an attempt to cause him to lose balance until -

His eyes widened when he felt a sting on his neck, sensing the smell of a recognizable liquid entering his veins with the enhanced perception of his senses—a vampiric sedative. 

Grayson planned to take him out of the fight.

Damian struggled harder with that knowledge, forcing his weakening self to keep reacting, taking every chance to bite Grayson. From the edge of his sight, he could see that Father was doing his best to get to him, but Todd was using every bit of his skills to keep him away.

His growl turned into a shameful whimper. He had become a weakness to his clan leader, one that his brothers used against Father. Tt, he underestimated their ruthlessness, but he wouldn't allow them to get away with it.

However, his body, already affected by the first effects of the sedative, didn’t agree. It was progressively missing the sync with his mind, and the more Damian fought, the harder it was for him to control his limbs and be successful.

He didn’t give up, though. He couldn’t . There was no giving up from the claiming side unless they were to end up dead or, worse, permanently denied to attempt again. Because in the end, the final choice would be his brothers’, and Father wouldn’t disrespect it.

Grayson and Todd wouldn’t kill them, that possibility didn't even cross his mind, but they would lose them anyway. And that wasn't an option.

Damian roared and applied all his strength to throw his body back, hard enough for Grayson to stumble backward and hit the wall. It was pointless, though. His brother grunted and fell on his butt, but he didn't let go, only gripping him firmer but not even painfully.

No! How could Grayson be so nice while taking everything from Damian? It wasn't fair. He sensed his mind fail him again as his body stopped responding, going numb without authorization.

"Shhh, it’s okay, little D." Grayson whispered in a misleadingly soothing tone, cradling Damian in his arms more than holding him, "I got you. Just let it go."

Let it go? Never .

Despite his conviction, his heartbeat slowed alongside his breathing, betraying Damian. Dammit, he should be stronger than this. He wasn't a baby vampire anymore! 

He was the rightful and direct heir of the Al Ghul and Wayne clans, the blood of two ancient bloodlines, and the royalty of the vampires. He should have been able to assist Father. He should have beaten Grayson and contributed to his claim as he did with Timothy.

Instead, Damian found a fog gradually spreading through his brain, suffocating his willpower and demolishing his force to do anything but let his brother take him off his lap and lay him on the ground in the most gentle way possible. 

He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t move. His senses abandoned him, getting out of his control. The last thing he had were his eyes to witness what was about to happen. 

Through his already blurry vision, he observed Grayson take the upper parts of his broken escrima sticks while Father held Todd down, finally seeming like he would end the fight.

It was close. So close. 

Until his oldest brother charged their clan leader, throwing one of his broken weapons on Father's face and grabbing it in the air when it rebounded. The blow offered Todd the opportunity to kick the vampire in the chest and push him back, a minor distraction for Grayson to start his attack.

One strike after the other, he continuously targeted Father's head with his sticks, barely giving him time to recover. Their clan leader tried to defend himself, but Todd returned to the battle and accompanied his brother.

With a coordination Damian had never seen before, they assaulted Father, sharing the pieces of Grayson's weapons and combining their fighting styles. One blow after the other, kicks, punches, and hits, never stopping, and still , Father was reluctant to counter, taking everything with clenched teeth and a broken, feral expression.

Damian's heart hurt, traitorous tears filling his eyes and worsening his sight. That wasn't right. Father was capable of winning. He could use his powers. Still, he was refusing to do so in erroneous care and protection.

Caring was to claim them, to stop Damian and Timothy from not having their brothers and, as a result, his other siblings in their clan. This wasn't it.

In a combined checkmate, Todd gave Father a knee strike on the chin and threw the piece in his hand at Grayson, who did a flip to gain momentum to strike Father's cheek with both his sticks and then land on one knee.

Their clan leader's head whipped to the side, and he spat blood. He dropped to his knees, eyes fuzzy and breath heavy. Damian gasped through his non-functional throat as his world fell apart, a knot forming inside it and refusing to leave.

He wished to close his eyes. He couldn’t watch Father's fall. It hurt like it never did during the fights in the League, that he never expected to be there.

But he couldn't keep his eyes off the scene unfolding in front of him. 

Would Todd strike Father again? Was Grayson about to use what was left of the escrima sticks on him? Did Damian not know them as well as he thought, and they would go as far as killing Father to reject him?

Going against all those doubts in his mind, Grayson dropped his weapons and grabbed two sedatives, quickly sticking them on both sides of Father's neck, who froze.

They immediately worked on him. Father held Grayson's wrists weakly, gently, as if he wasn't trying to move them away as he should. His breathing slowed down quicker than Damian's, fangs and claws retreating as red eyes returned to blue and, somehow, cleared more than before the fog covered them.

Grayson smiled tiredly and hurtfully, removing the sedatives.

Father's eyes rolled up and closed, and like a puppet without strings, he fell forward into Grayson's arms. The human gently embraced their clan leader - as if those hands hadn't brutally taken him out - resting one of his burned cheeks on his chest; he hesitantly hid his face in Father's hair.

It was such a tender gesture, the type of kindness that a human wouldn't have with the vampire that tried to claim them unless… they weren’t wholly rejecting them.

It wasn't over. Damian choked out, feeling a wave of relief while traitorous tears streamed down his face. They would have another chance. Richard and Todd still loved them. He hadn’t lost his brothers. 

Mother was wrong; he had a place with Father. He had a family there. And he would have a clan.

As soon as he woke up.

Hey, guys! So, I hope you aren't mad at me for this lol but if you are or not, I would love to know what you enjoyed about this chapter, what hit you hard and you expect to happen, your feedback will always be very important to me.

Chapter Text

Dick's pov

Stunning art by the incredible @sykloni

Dick sighed deeply and embraced his dad's body, holding him close despite his instincts telling him to push him away and keep a safe distance. It isn't Slade. This is my dad. I'm not in danger. He mentally repeated it to himself and gently cupped the back of Bruce's head against his chest, hiding his face in his dad’s hair with tears filling his eyes.

The smell of burned skin was more pungent this near to him, reminding Dick he was its cause. Oh, Bruce, why didn’t you tell me? He thought they were beyond secrets, that after so many years of distrust, fights, and miscommunication, they were actually talking to each other and communicating better. 

Then why didn't Bruce trust him? Why didn't he come to him when he was bitten? He could have. Dick would have been there for him as he always had been. He ignored the rising panic from the last time he was this close to a vampire and tightened his arms around his dad , desperate for comfort and safety. 

It shouldn't have come to this. He shouldn't have had to beat Bruce this badly to keep his brothers safe. He shouldn't have had to choose between them and Bruce because the choice would always be the same. It wasn't fair—none of this was. But it was up to Dick to deal with it, as usual.

"Hey, Dickie." Jason's voice drove him away from his thoughts, reminding him he wasn’t alone this time.

He took his chin from Bruce's hair, turning his head to his brother kneeling next to Tim with his fingers pressed to his neck, probably to check his pulse. His breath was on hold until Jason sighed, glancing up at him and nodding.

A wave of relief immediately washed through him. They had made it in time. Tim was alive . He hadn't failed him too, and his worst fear hadn't come true. He sighed, recalling how terrified he was of what he would find when he woke up after Bruce knocked them out. 

It was like he could feel his heart jump out of his mouth with the way it was beating so fast, the worst scenarios swirling around his mind. And in the worst of them… shivers danced across his skin. He could have arrived at the equivalent of a crime scene, with his little brother as a victim and his father and baby brother as the killers. 

Dick briefly closed his eyes, holding his dad tightly in his arms one last time. He was thankfully wrong, and he had to make sure it continued like that. He carefully put Bruce down and laid him on the ground, especially mindful of his facial burns. 

It was painful to do so, to leave him like that in the cold room where he had hurt him so much, but he would come back for him later. Now he had to take care of his little brothers.

"We need to take them to the medical area." Dick got up, looking between Jason and Damian, "How is Tim?" He asked and approached the latter, knowing his little wing had Tim. He couldn’t trust anyone more to be on his side in this situation.

He kneeled beside his baby brother, tenderly holding his sides and moving him to lay in his arms. Oh, little D. Damian's features were relaxed, but somehow, he could still see how they contorted in shock and progressive horror when he sedated him. He would never be able to forget it. 

They had fought in training sessions that Dami took more seriously than him, but it wasn’t like this. Taking his baby brother out had been one of the toughest things he had done, as necessary as it had been. 

"His breathing is normal, and his heartbeat is stable," Jason reported calmly, nodding at Damian, "What about the little brat?"

Right, he had to check on his baby brother too. It wasn't the time to be guilty; Dick could make up to him later. He smiled slightly at the thought of taking Damian to an animal sanctuary as he checked his vitals, superficially searching for any injury besides the healing bite on his neck, but his little D was seemingly fine.

For a vampire . A voice in his mind reminded him of that detail, but he ignored it. His baby brother needed him, and he didn't have the time to process anything else.

"He seems okay, but we will know more with the equipment in the medical area." Dick lifted Damian, letting his head rest on his chest. If he closed his eyes, he could see himself carrying him from the sofa to his bedroom after the movie nights. It felt the same, even with what he was now. 

He faced Jason, who was carrying Tim up with a kindness he only showed when their family was unconscious. He was so soft like this that it was a funny contrast with his suit. Dick's smile grew, and he momentarily wished to have his phone to take blackmail pictures despite the risk of being chased down for it.

Jason immediately spotted it, like he could feel his itch, and grunted, "Don't even think about it." He walked by him, a murderous look briefly directed at him.

Dick snorted but didn't say anything, giving Bruce a last glance before forcing himself to follow Jason out of the safe room to the medical area. He couldn’t be worried about his dad, not when he was a vampire, he would be fine, they didn’t hurt him enough for him not to be, and his little brothers weren't safe yet. 

They might be seemingly okay, but Dick couldn’t be sure of anything without a full analysis. He couldn’t be, not when it came to Tim. He glanced at him, heart warmed by how small he looked in Jason's arms. There was barely any sign of blood on the bite, and Jason said he was stable, so he wasn't drained, but another possibility was very real.

Bruce could have had time to inject his venom, and what could that mean for Tim? Which venom could it be? How would it affect him? Had they gotten to them too late? Dick had experience with what happened when it was too late with a vampire, and he didn't want to think like that about his dad.

It wasn't his fault. He must have been turned against his will and, in a very Bruce way, tried to handle it by himself and ended up starving to the point of going feral. He probably knew that was why he had been acting so weird lately, that he was closer and closer to the edge, but refused to seek help and thought he could deal with it himself.

Irritation waved through Dick. Because Bruce was the Batman, right? He didn't need Dick taking care of him. He didn't need him risking his life for him. He didn't need anyone to deal with his problems because he could do it. It was always like that, and Dick wanted to yell at him every time. 

God, he was such a stubborn idiot that it was unbelievable. If only he had trusted him, relied on him for once… he shook his head, not letting himself get into it again. He could yell at Bruce later after they resolved this and he found out how not to let his instincts get the best of him as soon as his father woke up again. 

They walked by the medical room where his heart had stopped for a moment, the mirage of the memory following Dick as they walked past it to get to the second one. Dami was okay, safe in his arms. Nothing bad could happen to his baby brother now.

He tightened his hold on him to guarantee that to himself, not minding how close that brought his baby brother’s mouth to his neck. His instincts were strangely quiet about it, and maybe he should have expected it. Of course, Damian was the exception. 

The fangs, claws, and red eyes that usually would terrify Dick and bring back memories of pain and fear, and loss had nothing to do with him coming from his baby brother. They simply didn’t, and he was glad for it. He already had his relationship with Bruce affected, and he didn't know what he would do if the same happened to him and Damian.

Arriving at the medical room, he took the lead and carefully laid Damian on the first bed, seeing Jason rest Tim on the second one from the corner of his eye. With their little brothers set, they shared a look, entering in natural sync.

Jason started to take Tim's suit off and Dick went to the right cabinet, opened it, and grabbed the reinforced silver handcuffs padded with satin inside. He refused to use any others. He didn’t care if this comfort would make it easier for Damian to possibly escape, that it wasn't the protocol; his baby brother wasn't a real threat and he wouldn't treat him like one.

Dick turned back to Damian, hesitantly taking each of his wrists and locking them to the metal bars next to the bed. When he was done, he took a step back, observing his baby brother sleep soundly as restricted as he was now. He made a face at the sight. It didn’t feel right, and it didn’t even feel justified. 

Yes, he still wasn't used to the idea that Damian was a vampire now - he would rather not think about how that happened - but he already could see himself accepting it. His baby brother didn't scare him, actually, his first reaction to witnessing a Damian with little fangs and claws was to wish to hug him tight..

And how could he not? Dick smiled, hovering his fingers over his face until he reached his hair, stroking it and playing with his strands. If Damian was awake, he would hit his hand and huff about how he wasn't a 'feeble child needing comfort'. It was so adorable that it would backfire and Dick would go for the big guns, hugging him to defeat.

Would it be different from now on just because his baby bat had become a literal baby bat? No, it wouldn't. Damian could be the most dangerous creature imaginable and he would still be his baby brother.

"Fuck, the bite is practically healed!" Jason's exclamation brought his focus back to reality, his head whipping towards him.

Tim was already in his normal clothes and Jason was bent over him, holding his neck to the side to check the bite on the other side. Dick could see what he meant from there, it was like Tim had been bitten last week and not a few minutes ago. 

His heart started racing. That wasn't good, it really wasn't good. But Tim couldn’t have been turned by Bruce, could he? It wasn't how it worked, he knew it wasn't. Facing Damian again, he mindfully turned his head to the side to check his bite. It was as he expected.

"Little D's is completely healed, there's only a mark." Dick voiced out, frowning as he looked at Jason, "Have you checked Tim's blood pressure?"

If somehow they hadn’t seen that their little brother had been turned, that was how they would know.

"Not yet," Jason said, moving to get the device and do so. 

Dick carefully arranged Damian to be the most comfortable before moving to help Jason if he needed it, he stood nervously on the other side of Tim's bed, waiting. While the device calculated the blood pressure, he reached out to hold his little brother's hand.

His skin was warm and not as pale as usual, and bringing his fingers closer to his wrist, he could feel his calm and stable pulse, as if Tim was nothing but peaceful while they freaked out over his health. That could describe many of their moments together.

"What the hell?" Jason cursed, scowling at the device.

"What? What is it?" He asked too close to the edge of panic, trying to see the results from there. 

Was it too low? Had they missed something? He couldn't have, he had been there when people were turned and in the aftermath, Slade made sure of that . How could he have not seen the signs with Tim?

"His blood pressure is normal," Jason informed, puzzled and unaware of the wave of shock that hit Dick.

Normal?

"What do you mean?" Dick frowned, tenderly letting go of Tim's hand to walk around the bed.

"What the fuck do you think I mean?" Jason scoffed, lightly tapping the blood pressure device before giving it to him, "It's normal. No alterations."

Dick took it, checking it again. His little wing was right, but it couldn't be. 

"That’s impossible." Dick breathed out, "Bruce would have had to not take more than one or two sips. But he was feral, so that can't be." He looked between the device and Jason, "Right?"

He had witnessed the damage feral vampires could do, closely and from afar. The hunger was uncontrollable, every trace of logic and humanity was gone, only the craving for more and more blood left. They wouldn't stop. They never did until they were stopped.

Not even Bruce would have the self-control needed to keep himself from at least drinking some of Tim's blood while being feral, mainly as a newbie vampire. The change should be shown by the blood pressure. Unless… 

Realization hit him at the same time it did Jason, who crossed his arms. "Not if he claimed Tim." his little wing said quietly, something strangled and tense, so different from his usual self. Dick froze, unwanted flashes of memories crossing his mind. 

Lying on his back on the ground. The fog of dizziness took over his mind. His body numb and out of his control because of the blood loss, but still, the sting of pain was there. On his neck. Where a monster with red eyes and sharp fangs was biting him, not only to take his blood but to claim his mind, body, and soul.

And Dick couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. Slade liked when he could writhe and groan. Tears ran down the side of his cheeks. "Don't resist, little bird. You'll be mine soon." He spoke in his ear, his breath barely touching his skin before he felt it. The venom.

Dick took a shaky deep breath, a shiver running up his spine as he held the device tightly. Jason's gaze was intensely focused on him, curiosity and concern gleaming in his eyes, but when he opened his mouth, Dick didn't give him the chance to ask any questions.

"No." He said firmly, "No, little wing, B wouldn't." It came weaker the second time, reflecting the conflict inside of him, "And even if he did, Tim's body would be rejecting it immediately."

Like his body did. He could still clearly remember it, the instant excruciating pain, burning from the inside out, seizures, fever, and coughing blood until the venom had left his body. Dick shrugged off the bad taste in his mouth.

"Yeah, no shit, that's my point." Jason huffed, gesturing at their little brother, "Timmy might have not said yes, but you know all a claiming needs is emotion."

That… Dick was about to argue but the thing was, Jason was also right about this. It was the only reason Slade couldn't claim him and he had a chance to escape in the first place. His eyes fell to the ground, hands slightly trembling. Tim loved Bruce like all of them, but he was also the only one there for him after Jason died.

While Dick couldn’t bear to return to Gotham, to remember his failure, his little brother risked everything to save Bruce and since then, he hadn't left. Not like Dick did. So obviously, the claim would work with Tim, and he should be glad that was just it and his little brother's life was out of danger.

With his blood pressure being normal, and if there was a claim, his body not rejecting it, he was safer than Dick had thought. But the thought of Tim being claimed by a vampire hit too close to Slade and he… he couldn't . It was too much.

"We don't know." Dick raised his eyes to Jason, handing the device back to him, "Collect his blood and we will test it for whatever venom Bruce used. I'll get some blankets." 

"Be quick." Dick barely heard Jason grumbling as he walked away, leaving the medical area and running from his problems again. 

Like he always did. What was wrong with him? Why did he do that? Why was he still comparing Slade to Bruce, comparing this situation to what had happened? It wasn't the same, and it could never be. He knew that, and yet, it didn’t feel so. 

It had to stop. Dick couldn’t keep doing it. That wasn't him, it was what Slade made him for the longest days of his life, the one that had felt like entire months. God, before escaping, he actually thought it had been months. Sometimes he still had to look at the dates he was supposed to have been in the Titans Tower and remind himself it had only been two weeks and not more. 

Dick shivered, approaching the cupboard between the showers and the main area, where they kept the blankets. He had promised himself he wouldn't be Slade's victim, but he had broken that promise a long time ago, hadn't he? The difference was that now it was clearer than ever, and he couldn't hide from it.

He had let Slade win. Maybe more indirectly than directly, but he had. And how could he have done that? Dick owed that acrobat little boy with the biggest grins and a bad attitude to not have let that happen and he did. As humiliating as it was, by the end of the day, he was still afraid of Slade.

He was good at hiding it with a smile, at playing it cool and mocking the assassin whenever he had a chance, anything to rub in the bastard's face that he had lost. Dick became a better vigilante, his own person, and someone that could kick Slade's ass any day.

But while he had been afraid of vampires in the past, memories of his parents' death haunting him for a good part of his childhood and his time as Robin, Slade still managed to show him what true fear was. Dick ignored the goosebumps goings across his skin,standing in front of the cupboard and looking for the right blankets. His hands trembled slightly, delaying him.

It hadn’t been just the harsh training, starvation, brutal punishments, or tough conditioning that terrified him. Or even the draining and turning people in front of him just to leave them with Dick and force him to fight them. No, that was bad, but it wasn't the worst part. He wished it had been, but it wasn’t. 

The real nightmare had been the manipulation. The caring behavior, tender touches, and praising words during his lowest moments, when he hated Slade with a burning hatred but was desperate for any kind of contact that made it hurt less . It didn't matter that he was responsible for his pain, he craved scraps of something besides that. Anything that didn't cause him more suffering. 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the way they stung and the urge to block those memories. Dick had to face them, he couldn't keep running away. Slade didn't break him. His method could have worked, but it didn't. Dick liked to think he would have resisted for months at least, but with the way things were going, he didn’t wait for it. 

Dick let out a humorless, dry chuckle, melancholic even at the sight of the Nightwing blanket. Slade thought he would be easy, but he proved him wrong. The next time the assassin came into that cold cell, he attacked. Despite knowing the consequences, he fought with every strength he had, using Bruce and even Slade's training against him.

He didn't give in. 

He didn't stop. 

That night Dick had decided that he would either escape or he would die and he was ready for both. What he wasn't ready for was Slade finally losing his patience and deciding it was time. That Dick was broken enough to make one last desperate attempt to show otherwise. It was stupidly arrogant, greedy, and a mistake, which could have described the vampire himself because it didn’t work. 

Dick didn't know what was happening at that moment, but later he found out his body had rejected Slade's claim. He grabbed two blankets, pulling them to his chest in an almost childish move. He cried for Bruce, that was one of the few things he remembered, wishing his dad was there to hold and comfort him through his suffering. It had been hell, like being sick at home alone but ten times worse, and yet, compared to what could have been… 

He clenched his teeth. He would have gone through it all over again not just to give the bastard the satisfaction of rejecting him, but also to escape right under his nose that night. Slade had to take him out of the cell to his medical room to replace the blood he had lost or he would die, but he underestimated him again. 

He believed Dick was too weak, too close to death to do something when he left. Again, he was wrong. His lips contorted into a scornful smile. Dick was a fighter, a survivor, and even dizzy, exhausted, hurt, and closer to unconsciousness than to consciousness, he forced his body to move and ran away.

It had probably been dumb luck that he didn't cross with Slade on his way, or that he got far enough away to call Kori from a random public phone and she had gotten there in time. He didn't know. Everything was a blur and he had been working on pure instincts, but he made it. Kori took him to the Tower, to his friends, and although he barely remembered anything, he remembered them taking care of him.

Everything from fixing him up and showering him to giving him water and feeding him, or simply holding him close through his flashbacks and nightmares. They had been there, for him, and he knew that if he called them now, they would come as fast as they could to support him through this too. God, Dick loved them so much. 

They had his back, as he had theirs, and he could always count on that. He had no doubts about it. But this… this was a family thing.

Putting aside how Bruce wouldn't want anyone outside the family to know about his vampirism, Dick still had him. That feeling inside of him, the instincts telling him things he didn't want to hear, they weren't right. They had been built and crafted by Slade to break him, a trauma he carried and avoided like it didn’t affect him, but it did .

It wasn't who he was. Who he wanted to be. Slade had made Dick afraid of his own dad only because he had become a vampire as if he lost Bruce and was refusing to mourn the dead, when that wasn't it. His gaze was drawn to the pictures set in front of the bat-computer, an exception to Bruce's paranoia and a violation of his protocols.

They shouldn't be here. They were a possible risk of revealing their identities, and it would make sense if they were in Bruce's office instead—although other pictures of them were kept there too. But as Dick always insisted, beneath all that grumpy, serious facade, Bruce was just a marshmallow on the inside.

It was why when Dick came down to the Cave a few days ago and his dad acted weird because he was most likely a vampire, he didn’t attack him, despite it being the perfect opportunity with his son all by himself and vulnerable to an attack. Why even with Jason returning that night covered in blood, probably seeming the most tempting buffet, Bruce only comforted him and Dick woke up to see them cuddling on their sofa.

Why when he went on a mission with Tim a day ago, having the chance to feed on him and blame one of the vampires they fought, he protected Tim from them and fixed his wrist. That was his dad. Bruce might be a vampire now, but he was still the man that raised Dick and gave him the best family he could ever ask for. 

And Slade didn't get to ruin that. No, he had already done enough damage, and he wouldn't let him do more.

Maybe he was seeing too much, seeking things that weren't there, refusing to accept the facts, but he didn’t care. For the first time, Dick trusted his feelings about a vampire. If Bruce wanted to hurt Tim, he would have, they couldn't have stopped him in time.

But he only claimed Tim, and although the mention of a claim messed with his feelings, Dick knew they weren't a bad thing and meant a lot among the vampires. The real ones at least. So, maybe out of instinct, Bruce might have claimed Tim in an attempt to keep himself from draining him?

It made more sense than him being able to not drink more than a few sips of the blood he desperately needed. The theory brought a soft smile to his lips. If that was the case, he was so proud of his dad. He was still pissed about the secret thing, he wouldn't let Bruce get away with it for a long time, but his love for them had protected them even as he was a feral vampire.

That… Dick wouldn’t forget about it. He wouldn't allow himself to either when he saw his dad again. If he had two vampires in his family now, then he would care for them as he always did. It wouldn't be so bad to have a baby vampire and a dad-vamp.

He snorted. Okay, that pun sucked. 

He turned back to the cupboard, seeing a black blanket on top of a blue one. Putting the ones he was already holding beneath his arm, he took the black one in his hands. It was Bruce’s color, as everything there would be if Alfred wasn't in charge. His dad truly never left his emo phase.

Dick gathered it with the others and with a warm feeling in his heart, he headed back to the medical area and unexpectedly walked into his little wing leaving it. Jason stopped on his way when he spotted him, his expression going from concerned to angry as he approached him.

"Fuck, what took you so long, dickface?" He snarled, towering over him and not even giving him time to answer, "That wasn't fucking quick!"

Dick shrunk in guilt. He really took longer than he should have, didn't he? He needed that to sort himself out, but he didn't want to leave his little brothers like that.

"Sorry, I got lost in my thoughts." Dick apologized sincerely, giving his classic 'I'm too pretty not to be forgiven' grin.

It usually annoyed his little wing but it also worked.

"Well, find a better time to do that." Jason scoffed, seeming like he wanted to say more at the same time an unreadable gleam shone in his eyes. Instead, he sighed a low 'fuck you" and took the blankets from his hands, turning and moving away.

Dick frowned, following him. That attitude was standard for Jason, but he felt like there was something more. He was clearly pissed, it would be impossible not to see that, but little brother's anger came with four alternatives.

Fury, nervousness, hurt, and concern- oh. His expression lit up, grin growing bigger. Oh, little wing.

"So…" He hummed, stepping up to walk beside Jason, "Why are you here?" His question was only answered by a side stare, and as usual, Dick pushed it, "Aww, don't tell me you were worried about me?"

He should have known from the start. In a situation like this, taking longer could mean one of them was in danger, and to be fair, that did make Dick feel a little more guilty, but he couldn't help his happiness.

His little wing had his own new ways of showing his care, and Dick had spent time finding out each of them when he came back, but in those moments, it was good to have confirmation.

"Nah, I just didn't want to carry your drained fat ass to the medical room too," Jason huffed, refusing to look him in the eyes as they entered back in the medical room.

Yes, that was totally a confirmation.

"It's okay, little wing," Dick chuckled, putting his arm over his shoulders and whispering playfully in his ear, "It will be our secret."

Kind of, because honestly, he would get any chance to tease his little brother about the fact he indeed had a soft heart and wasn't just a killing machine, but Jason knew him too well.

"As if that big mouth of yours could keep any." Jason said with a slight smirk, and pulled Dick away less harshly than he could have to move toward Damian. He would count that as a win.

Now, Jason was right, but what was the purpose of him letting him be aware of that? He took his duties as the annoying big brother very seriously with all his siblings. And it had the effect he wanted.

"Are you sure about that?" Dick raised an eyebrow, tilting his head, "I didn't tell Steph about you and Bruce cuddling on the sofa, or send her the photo I got." His grin turned into a smirk, "Yet."

Jason gave him a deadly look that would have made Damian proud, his voice sharp, "Send it to her, and you're a dead man." Oh, what the threat of Steph having material to tease his little wing didn’t do to him.

He would have to send it to her, he could deal with the risks of getting shot in the ass for it.

"Of course." Dick snorted, raising his hands in surrender and casually heading to Tim.

Jason definitely didn't believe him but threw the Robin and the black blankets at him - keeping the Nightwing one - which Dick caught in the air, his smirk never leaving his face. He set the black one on the table, covering Tim with the Robin blanket up to his chest, gently tucking him in like he only could when his little bird was deeply unconscious.

He ignored the medical equipment to appreciate the sight of his little bird sleeping, carefully brushing a strand of his dark hair from his forehead. It was rare, he lost count of how many times he and their family had to fool, manipulate, or force Tim to sleep, but it was always worth it to see him so relaxed.

Dick moved his brother’s head to the side a bit, finally taking a real look at the bite that could mean his little brother was claimed. It was healed already. He was truly in denial, wasn't he? Vampire bites only healed that fast when someone was turned or claimed. Tim would have been so mad at him for refusing to see a fact that was right in front of him, and he could imagine the speeches Bruce would give him as well.

He smiled, wishing both of them were awake to do any of that. Maybe they were connected, which was why Tim hadn't woken up yet. Dick didn't know much about what happened after the claim; vampire bonds were pretty personal - he never went after that kind of knowledge to keep the memories away - but it was supposed to be strong.

Would that protect Tim from other vampires? Like, mark him off limits? That would be good. Dick would be less worried about them, or Slade, coming for his little bird. And having that protection… he wondered whether if Bruce was a vampire back when Slade got him if things would have been different. 

Usually, vampires respected each other's clan and territory, and Dick could not like the idea of being part of any of them, it wouldn't be that bad if it was Bruce. Vampire claims, the real ones, were considered one of the biggest demonstrations of love in the supernatural world, be it platonic, or romantic in some cases. So if he ever was to be claimed, it could be with his dad.

Maybe one day. It wasn't like Bruce needed a bond with him anyway. He already had Tim and Damian, and knowing him, he would feel guilty about it when he was himself again. Dick sighed. His little brothers were alright for now, they weren't in danger, so they had to deal with Bruce.

Looking up at Jason, he saw him adjusting the handcuffs to cover Damian's body as much as he could with the Nightwing blanket, kindness guiding his moves even when he patted their baby brother’s head. Dick felt like his heart could explode. He was lucky to have his little wing with him.

"We gotta deal with Bruce." He declared, his words raspy. 

“Okay, let's go then before he wakes up.”

They passed by the armory for Dick to get the silver versions of his batons and went to the safe room, arriving to see Bruce still there, a fact that brought immediate relief to him. He didn't want to fight him again, not like this. They’d had conflicts before because of fear gas and some sporadic mind control here and there, but despite the shared essence of 'not being Bruce', it wasn’t the same.

He glanced at Jason, who stared at Bruce with an intensity that he couldn’t read, arms crossed and stiff. Dick wasn't sure whether that was good or not, it always varied with his little wing. Sometimes he was simply sunk into his thoughts and emotions and others he was planning murder. 

He chose to believe it wasn't the second option this time. Jason was probably just worried and keeping it to himself to keep his 'reputation'. Dick stepped forward but froze when he caught a glimpse of his little brother grabbing his gun, panicking.

He quickly grasped Jason's wrist, standing in front of him and shielding Bruce from his sight. He didn't know what was happening to him, why he was reacting like that now, he didn’t say anything about hurting their dad again , but he couldn't let him.

"Little wing." Dick said firmly, dismissing how Jason stared at him, angry and confused, "Whatever you are gonna do, you don’t have to." He smiled slightly, reassuring, "We can find another way."

It was on him that Jason thought that was the only way. He was so stuck in his own feelings, his trauma, that he had neglected Jason's like he didn’t have it worse. God, his little wing had been killed by that bastard, Joker.

Bruce could have triggered something, and he wasn't thinking straight, which he would regret later. Dick knew that.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jason said between clenched teeth, eyes narrowing.

He glanced between them and the gun, nervously keeping his grip tight. Was it worse than he thought? Would he make him say it out loud? 

"Your gun…" Dick started slowly, looking for a way to say something that wouldn't upset him, but Jason didn't let him finish.

"Yeah, so what?" He asked sharply, "What did you think I would do with it, shoot my dad in the head with a silver bullet?" It was a mocking, rhetorical question, but when Dick's expression fell, it turned into an indignant shout, "You fucking did?"

"No!" Dick said quickly because no , he didn't think Jason would have gone that far. But it wasn't too far from the truth, "It's just that…" He paused, "B is a vampire now."

That was the root of the matter. Things would be different if it were one of them, even themselves. Everything would be. But it was Bruce, and what that meant, for his little wing out of all of them, couldn't be described.

"I can see that. What is your point?" Jason spat, breaking his wrist out of his grip. 

Dick let him, his panic diminishing as Jason lowered his gun to hold it by the side of his body and the clarity returned to his mind. Okay, maybe he assumed too much.

"Well…" He started unsurely, not knowing how to express his concern, "Vampires are something you're sensitive about since…" The meaning was left in the air but was clear.

He wouldn't blame his little brother for it. Slade was bad but the Joker was… the Joker. Dick couldn’t even imagine what it had been like for Jason, the agony and despair he must have felt before he died, and he had seen the mark on his neck that he tried to hide so much.

He had asked if it was a claiming bite, and he believed Jason when he denied it, but for it to leave a permanent mark like that, what the Joker did must have been truly bad. It made his blood boil. If Bruce hadn't guaranteed that the bastard never left Arkham, Dick would have killed him for it.

"Since I died? That doesn't mean shit." Jason sneered, "I hate the Joker, not vampires. Everyone can be a piece of shit, it doesn't matter if they got fangs, claws, or horns. If they cross the line, I will put them down, whatever they are." He spoke as if it was simple like that.

Dick's eyebrows furrowed. It couldn't be that simple for Jason, could it? He didn't like vampires. He made it very clear by calling them leeches, bloodsuckers, etc. But to be fair, his vocabulary for criminal humans was somehow even worse, evolving around every curse word he could put together in the heat of the moment.

And although he was harsh to vampire criminals, that could be seen as his standard brutal self. He also treated all his victims the same, always being especially kind to kids, the vampire ones too. So maybe his little brother was just… a jerk in the end?

"I don't think that sounded the way you wanted." Dick voiced it out with a chuckle of realization.

That fit Jason. He had that practical view of the world that he couldn’t totally understand, but he wished he had it too sometimes. 

"Fuck you," Jason grumbled, but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips as he raised his gun.

This time, Dick didn't worry about it. He was rather curious when he asked, "But why do you have your gun?"

He had overreacted to it, but what should he have supposed? What would Jason do with his gun at that point, at that moment, besides using it?

"Since when do I owe you explanations?" His little wing retorted, disarming his gun and taking the magazine off. Dick only stared, giving an encouraging smile. Jason rolled his eyes and sighed, "Fine, I'm checking the bullets to be sure I changed back to the normal ones."

Oh. 

Oh.

"You changed back?" Dick asked quietly, feeling guilty.

He hadn’t seen him doing that in the armory, and he hadn’t even considered it.

"Just in case." Jason shrugged, doing as he said and putting the gun back in its holster, going for the other one, "If I have to shoot him in the head to stop him, it had better be with the bullets he can survive."

Of course, his little wing would want to ensure he didn't injure Bruce badly this time. Guilt and pride battled inside his heart. He shouldn't have suspected him or doubted his intentions. Jason could be an asshole, but he also had the biggest heart Dick had ever seen, and they were lucky for him to keep most of it for his family.

"That’s-" Dick started with a grin, but Jason cut him off.

"Unexpected?" He mocked, tilting his head with a smirk, "I know it might seem like it sometimes, but I don't actually want to kill Bruce, dickwing." His gaze softened momentarily as he put his other gun back in the holster, "I'd rather have my dad alive, thank you."

Defensive. He recognized the signs when Jason got like that, and although it hurt that it was with him, he deserved it.

"Sweet." Dick corrected, putting his hand on his shoulder, "I'd say that's sweet, little wing." His grin never left his face.

It would have melted Bruce's heart to know this. Not that he believed Jason would like to kill him, but their dad was more insecure and unsure of his relationship with his second son than he showed. 

Dick found it fun to see him struggle to speak for both of them to avoid fights, but beneath all that, he could see Bruce simply being desperate to connect to Jason in any possible way and not lose him again. 

Jason looked at him, puzzled at first as if he couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. Then he snorted and playfully pushed him to the side. "Not shooting my dad to kill is sweet? Talk about some pretty low standards." He walked towards Bruce.

Were they? He didn't think like that, but he would be damned if he lost a chance to tease his little brother.

"Well, nine decapitated heads can agree with it." Dick provoked, approaching Bruce from his other side.

"You will never let that shit go, will you?" Jason said annoyed, resting on his knee next to their dad.

"No." Dick chuckled, doing the same. It slowly faded when he looked at Bruce, and the reality settled, "We've to take his suit off."

It was too much of a risk. If it wasn't for the suit, they would have been able to knock Bruce out far sooner, and they needed that advantage in case they had to fight him again. Still, it felt wrong to strip Bruce of his defenses after what they had done to him.

Jason must have felt the same way because he stayed silent, almost frozen as he stared at Bruce's face as he did before. That was a sign for Dick to ignore his feelings about this and take the lead again.

“Start with the gadgets, then we remove the suit together," Dick instructed more professionally, something they all responded to, and Jason wasn't an exception.

His little brother nodded quite absently, an unsettling look to him, and moved his hands to the belt, immediately concentrating on the task. No jokes. No acid responses. Not even telling him to fuck off and stop bossing him around. It made his arms itch to reach for his little brother, to hug and comfort him.

But Dick knew better, so he controlled himself. Jason would react badly if he did that now, and he had no idea how much time Bruce's body would take to overcome the sedative. Keeping his little wing from having to fight their dad again was the least he could do.

He methodically took the gadgets off with Jason and put them aside.  Jason unlocked the belt while Dick removed it with the minimum necessary force to not press on any of Bruce’s possible bruises, and part of Dick waited for him to wake up then in a mix of anticipation and apprehension. 

Bruce was the lightest sleeper among them, and his senses always seemed supernaturally keen at every moment. Now they literally were, but there was no reaction from him. Dick exhaled, a bit disappointed but comforted. It was better this way. 

He kneeled closer to his dad's head and put his arms beneath his, chest against chest as he struggled to lift him to a sitting position as carefully as possible, causing Bruce's forehead to rest on his shoulder. He didn't need to say anything for Jason to come from the other side and unhook the cape, setting it to his side when he could have easily thrown it.

That spoke more than anything he could have said. As his little brother worked to open the suit, Dick could process his proximity to Bruce's face again. His expression quivered with how being so close to the burns he caused again was almost physically painful.

He took a deep breath in an attempt not to focus on that, realizing something. The smell of burned skin was gone. It was a minor detail, not the first thing he should notice about them, but it was a bittersweet comfort. The burns healed faster than he expected, but they would still be painful. 

Dick didn’t think he would ever erase the sight of them from his memories, though. He slowly rested his head on Bruce's, closing his eyes for a moment. They really would need to talk about secrets again after this.

"Got it," Jason called it, and he opened his eyes, nodding.

They started the slow, complicated process of removing a suit that wasn’t made to be removed by others, being extremely careful and gentle not to aggravate any damage they had done to Bruce. Minute by minute, piece by piece, the amount of damage was revealed, and by the end, the impact finally had gotten to them.

"Shit." Jason breathed out, and Dick couldn’t suppress a gasp.

It was worse than he thought. 

There were no burns, the suit protected him against them, but that didn't make it better. Black and blue bruises covered Bruce's body, broader and uglier on the torso and arms, where he had hit multiple times with his escrima sticks and Jason had shot continuously. 

Dick reached out, hesitantly touching the area of his ribs as mindfully as possible to check their state. At least two were broken on the right side, and one from the left side was most likely cracked. It wasn't… so bad. Bruce had had worse - he had witnessed many of those times - but being responsible for some of the bruises made his heart sink.

It wasn't like they hadn’t fought in the past, and Dick hadn't had to hurt him then, or otherwise, it was part of the job. They knew and signed up for that. But this time, was it even fair? His eyes passed over the bruises, the lack of pain he felt supporting those doubts. He glanced up at Jason, whose jaw was clenched and features twisted in clear conflict.

There was not even a scratch on his face, or on Dick's. It didn’t mean they didn’t hurt; Bruce had thrown him at the wall with quite some strength, but they came out of a fight against a feral vampire, the Batman nonetheless, barely injured. That was at least odd. 

Dick knew he was a badass, thank you, and Jason was, well, the Red Hood. That made them two of the best fighters in the world, great enough to deal with the supernatural crime world with no big problems, but there was a reason why they had lost the first fight. 

They were caught by surprise, without the right weapons and emotionally compromised, and yet, they were completely at their dad's mercy when unconscious, and he did nothing to harm them. They weren’t bitten or scratched, and during the second fight, Bruce didn't seem nearly as aggressive as in the first one.

Instead, he had that same hurt gleaming in his red eyes that he did right before knocking them out, and Dick took advantage of that. As Nightwing, an older brother, and a scared boy, he saw those moments of weakness as opportunities and acted on them, and he didn't even end up injured. Or Jason. 

They were physically fine and Bruce… Dick looked up and down at his body, swallowing down. He would be once he healed, but he could have done worse to them than they did to him. Dick didn't know why he hadn't done so, but he had to make sure what they did hadn't been for nothing.

It was all he could do.

The supernatural cell area was something Bruce had made for emergencies or specific cases, and since they had more practical options outside the Cave it was rarely used. Dick couldn’t remember the last time one of the cells had been occupied. So as they walked through it, carrying Bruce between them with their arms beneath his and wrapped on his back, Dick felt like he was seeing it for the first time. 

The lights automatically turned on, so bright that he frowned at the intensity, narrowing his eyes to get used to it. 

The corridor was long, wide, and rectangular, the ceiling and floor made of metal, with the cells located on both sides, all stuck one next to another and seemingly in no particular order. They were pretty much the same, kept it as much of a secret as he did, with high-tech panels set between them that indicated what creature or creatures each was meant for. He could see the vampire indication on the panel of the last cell, at the end of the room, and the only one by itself.

His eyebrows were slightly furrowed. Weird, but B was a paranoid idiot, so maybe he wouldn't take any chances. Dick analyzed the other cells on a surface level, spotting the contrasts between them, which was pretty much the material each had on their inside and was the same as the edges of the reinforced thick glass doors. He also recognized some magical sigils and symbols in some of them, probably an additional containment to demons, djinns, and so on.

He smiled, adjusting his grip on Bruce. He wondered how his dad acquired those magical things. More than he hated magic, chaotic and illogical as he called it, he hated to deal with Constantine. So either he made that sacrifice or went to Zatanna, but she was less likely to hand him anything magical without asking questions, meaning Batman would have to do something as painful as telling her more than he wanted to.

That thought amused him at the same time he was glad she didn’t ask him many questions when he went to her after what happened with Slade. He knew it had been a tough request, after all, he asked Zatanna to erase every trace of what the bastard had tried to do to him and promise not to tell Bruce about it. She refused the second part at first but ended up accepting to do it when he begged.

Sometimes he considered if it had been a mistake. His dad deserved to know what haunted his dreams many nights and Dick could never speak to him about it all these years, or get any comfort from him. But worse, for some reason, Slade didn't speak of his actions when he fought Bruce, keeping that secret as much as Dick did, most likely to use it against him at some point.

He really let him have that much power over him, didn't he?

“The old man didn’t spare any expense on this, huh?" Jason's comment drove him out of his thoughts, bringing his attention to the fact they were stopping in front of the vampire cell.

Unlike the others, the glass was blurry, keeping them from seeing the inside, but with Bruce's constant need for surveillance, he knew that should be changeable.

“He never does.” Dick snorted, reaching out to the tech panel. He touched the open icon and his biometry was analyzed, but nothing could have prepared him for what he would see. 

Dick's eyes widened when the door opened, and the cell was revealed. First of all, everything inside was made of or infused with silver. The second option seemed to be the case for the cell itself since he could identify a metal alloy as its material. Still, the brightness of the silver was impossible to pass unnoticed, even by a human like him.

He briefly wondered how it would feel for a vampire before getting to the next concerning point. This cell was smaller than the others, no bigger than a small bathroom, with only enough space for someone to be contained. Unlike the other cells, there was no bed, chair, a place to rest, or anything beyond restraints that would have fit more in a hunter's torture chamber.

His guts twisted as he analyzed them. On the ground, a platform was set with short chains and four big attachments that probably were to lock around the legs and thighs to keep the person kneeling all the time. The longer chains passed through closed hooks cast into the side walls and ceiling, all going through a mechanism stuck to the back wall that if Dick had to suppose by the position and organization of the chains, existed to pull to constrict even more until the person couldn’t possibly move.

That was already horrible, but there were still the things coated in silver on the ends of the chains. Attached to the side ones there were big, thick cuffs. To the back one a thick collar and to the ceiling chain… Dick felt bile rise in his throat. 

A muzzle. 

Not just a normal one that would block someone's mouth, but beyond that, the kind that would go inside it and stop them from fully closing it, with four little holes that he imagined would fit the fangs. He didn't even have them, but he couldn't imagine how painful that would be, how their jaw would hurt and their teeth throb.

"The fuck is that?" Jason expressed everything Dick was feeling in four words.

This was wrong. It was cruel, inhuman, and almost punishing, as if designed not just to contain but to hurt. Dick couldn’t approve of something so sadistic. 

He had his trauma with vampires, but he rescued them from places just like this run by hunters and the state they were in… Victims were victims, no matter what they were, Dick would never deny anyone who needed help. And he knew Bruce wouldn't either; he was one of the greatest advocates for supernatural beings, so why did he make the vampire cell like that?

"I don't know." Dick breathed out, trying to understand the logic that could have brought his dad to build this.

He couldn’t. None of the other supernatural cells they passed by, including those to contain creatures more powerful than vampires, were that restricting. They were clearly designed to be as efficient as possible, but this was beyond that. Bruce wouldn't be so cruel. 

Maybe with the Joker, if he was still active, but he hadn't been for years by now, so made for him or not, Bruce would have changed it already or at least created another for other vampires. He might have been considering old vampires like Ra's, or worse, ancient vampire bloodlines, but still, there would be no need for this level of ruthlessness.

"What the hell are we supposed to do then? Put him into that death trap?" Jason scoffed, sounding nervous in a way that Dick rarely heard him, "That shit has so much silver that sticking a piece of silver up his ass would be less likely to kill him."

His stomach sank. He blinked at Jason.

"You think it might kill him?" Dick asked hesitantly. It didn't even cross his mind.

He heard rumors that the presence of too much silver around a vampire could end up killing them, but he had never seen it happen. Which probably didn't mean a lot because it wasn't like he had been in touch with many vampires beyond his job.

The vampires he rescued from hunters had overdosed from a silver injection, had had ugly burns from the prolonged contact with silver, and with injuries and wounds that didn't heal for an obvious reason, but despite being in silver cells, those only seemed to contain them.

"You don’t?" Jason raised an eyebrow, and it was fair enough.

His little wing grew up in Crime Alley, and it was his territory now, so he knew more about vampires than Dick. But excuse him for not wanting to believe that his dad would make a cell that could kill a vampire prisoner when not killing was his whole thing.

And now he had to put Bruce, a newbie vampire, in that same cell? His hold on his dad tightened as he looked at his head hanging forward. No, Dick refused. Recently turned vampires were more sensitive to silver, and- wait. Bruce hadn't been that sensitive to silver when they attacked him the second time.

"He was pretty strong for a recently turned vampire." Dick reasoned confusedly.

Looking back, his dad was stronger than maybe he should be. They beat him in the end, but now knowing that he was most likely holding back at some moments, he shouldn't have been so strong and resistant to silver. 

"He was fucking feral, of course, he was," Jason said as if Dick's comment had been stupid.

Well, maybe, but they had fought feral newbie vampires before. Were they always that strong? He considered that until he processed his little wing's last word.

"Was?" Dick whispered, following his line of thought, "Is there a chance he won't be feral anymore even without drinking any blood?"

There was no way, right? Vampires went feral because they didn't drink blood so they only came out of it when they got it. It was as simple as that. 

Right?

"Never saw something like that, but who knows? The only way I know to kick a vampire out of a feral state is with blood." Jason confirmed what he thought, but instead of it bringing comfort to him, Dick was taken to a sickening realization.

They couldn't know. Maybe if Dick had spent less time studying how to stop vampires and handle them in situations of danger, be they the criminals or the victims, and spent more time researching them as people with variations of behaviors and differences beyond patterns, he would know.

But he didn’t. He allowed his trauma to affect him in his personal life, and it didn’t matter if he didn't hate, mistreat, or see them as inferior like the hunters did, he could have been a better hero for them too. And if Jason, who interacted with them in ways that he never did, wasn't sure if Bruce would be feral or not, then how could he be?

"Why?" Jason broke the silence, "What is on your mind?"

Dick felt a knot forming in his throat. He didn't want to say it out loud—it would make it real. But he had to. Another time he could have carried the weight of the choice by himself, taken the burden, and let it corrode him from the inside out. This wasn't the time.

His little wing would always be his little brother, but he was his equal too, and his partner in this. So if they were to make any decision, they would do it together, even if Dick would still carry the weight of pushing him to it.

"If he isn't feral anymore, maybe we can just use the handcuffs and keep him in another supernatural cell." Dick suggested, his tone bittersweet, "But if he is, he will break the handcuffs and the other cells weren’t meant to contain vampires so he might find a way out."

It wasn't fair. In a perfect world, the first option would be the only one possible, and the second one, not even be a consideration. Hadn't they done enough? They had hurt Bruce badly already and he had to inject him with enough sedatives to kill a human, so if his dad came back feral, he shouldn't be as dangerous as before. 

Shouldn't . It was the keyword that physically hurt him.

"Fuck, what kind of shitty choice is that? We can't know if he is still feral or not until he wakes up." Jason said indignant, sharing Dick's feelings.

That wasn't a real choice, and they both knew that. 

"Yes…" He smiled melancholically, "But we can't risk it, little wing," Dick made a pause, "Not with them here." He didn't have to specify, not with the way Jason's features harshened at his words.

Tim and Damian. Their little brothers. If they weren't there, if it was just him and Jason, they could have risked it. No, they would have. Dick didn't need to confirm that with Jason. 

They would rather face the possibility of fighting him again than let him in that cell that seemed more like a torture chamber. But it wasn't just them, was it? 

"Yeah, yeah, I fucking know. It doesn't mean I have to like it." Jason scoffed, looking at Bruce like he wished to punch him but his grip on him was somehow tighter, desperate even, "Fuck the old man and his secrets."

"You can make him regret it later." Dick sighed. He felt that on a personal level. After this, there was no way he would let Bruce keep any secret that concerned them from him.

Entering the cell, Dick would soon realize every step of the process to contain Bruce would be as physically painful as he imagined. First, they carefully made him kneel on the platform and locked the attachments on his thighs and legs, which Bruce didn’t even react to. 

He was dead to the world, completely at their mercy, and they were putting him in a cell that was more like a torture chamber. Dick grimaced, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest. It was temporary, only until they fed him and brought him out of his feral state. They wouldn't take too long. This wouldn’t last long.

"I'll hold him. You get the arms." Jason said and knelt in front of Bruce, wrapping his arms around his torso and nodding for Dick to let go.

He slowly let their dad's weight lean on his little wing, his cheek resting on his shoulder as Jason grunted, "Damn, the old man is heavy as shit." but still moved his hand to hold the nape of Bruce's neck, fingers lightly stroking his hair.

Dick's heart filled with so much warmth at the small gesture that he thought it would explode, allowing himself to momentarily appreciate the sight before Jason realized why he was smiling, "I will tell him you said that." He said provokingly, passing by him.

"Good." Jason mumbled.

Dick snorted, but his face lost its lightness when he moved to gently take each of his dad's wrists in his hands and set the handcuffs on them. He nodded at Jason when he was done, who slowly let Bruce go and got up, causing their dad’s head and torso to hang forwards. 

Dick tried to ignore how sickeningly similar it looked to the many times Slade chained him up like that, but he couldn't when a mechanical sound echoed from the handcuffs, and this time Bruce reacted. He groaned in pain, making a face before falling back into unconsciousness again. Jason and Dick looked at each other, startled by the first sigh of their dad waking up being a sound of pain. 

"What the hell did you do, dickface?" His little brother vocalized it first, and Dick immediately reached back to find out, trying to check if the handcuffs were too tight. He frowned when he realized he couldn't open either of them again. 

That wasn't part of the standard procedure for containment - they should only be impossible to be opened once the door closed - but also, nothing about this cell was. His lips tightened in frustration. He didn't like this. Yes, that should be the last thing that bothered him there, but something felt wrong. The problem was that there wasn't a thing that felt right about what he was doing, and if he stopped every time that happened, they wouldn't get this done. 

Dick sighed, analyzing the contact of the handcuffs with the skin instead and glancing back at Jason, "I don't know, the skin isn’t broken, so it can't be too tight. Maybe it's the amount of silver."

The only damage seen was the characteristic burn of the silver that could already be seen on the edges. It made him sick to his stomach, but he knew it would be like that since the same was perceptible with the attachments around Bruce's legs. It wasn't a surprise. He made his choice, and he had to deal with the consequences of it.

"Okay, let's get this done then." Jason said moodily, patting his forearm, "The quicker we finish, the sooner we get him out of this shithole." 

Dick nodded absently. It was all he wanted, to bring Bruce back to them and out of there as soon as he could. But when he turned to watch Jason grab the silver collar, something switched. His little brother would have to collar their dad. He would have to put that thing around Bruce’s neck like he was some animal, then look him in the face when he was himself again and woke up with that thing still there.

His heart tightened at the thought. Bruce wouldn’t know who did that, but Jason would. Dick would see it in his eyes as deeply as he buried his feelings about it, because if there was something his little wing was good at was pretending he was unfazed by what he had to do or convinced himself he had to. He couldn’t let him do the same about this. Not with Bruce.

"I'll do it.” Dick said louder than he wished to. Jason stopped on his way toward Bruce, staring at him with a questioning look. Okay, he definitely wouldn’t just leave and let him do that because Dick told him so. He should have expected that.

He could tell Jason why he didn’t wish for him to participate in this part, but he knew his little brother. He wouldn’t just back away from something because it affected him. He never believed his emotions mattered, unless he was making jokes about his death that traumatized Bruce. 

Dick had to find another way then. But what? His gaze went through Bruce’s half-naked body still healing, and wrapped in silver. It came to him.

“I forgot the blanket I got for him next to Tim’s bed.” Dick declared, giving his classic grin and puppy eyes as he approached Jason, “Can you pick it up?" 

He really didn't plan it. He didn’t know how he could have forgotten the blanket, he took it for Bruce after all, but it came in handy. Jason's eyes narrowed, as if he didn't buy it though, but handed the collar to him, the chain attached to it jingling, "Fine," He huffed, "But unlike you, I'll actually be quick, so be done before I'm back."

The puppy eyes always worked. Dick held it, not giving himself time to hesitate. "Thanks, little wing." His smile came more sincerely this time, but not as bright as it normally was. The silver shone brighter anyway.

Jason passed by Bruce and left the cell, and Dick's expression immediately dropped and the air seemed heavier than it was a few moments ago. He looked down at the collar on his hands, maybe holding it tighter than he should.

It was well made, pure silver probably, and it didn’t look old. Dick's teeth clenched. He hated it. It made him want to risk the alternative of putting Bruce in another cell, and the guilt he felt for merely thinking of putting his little brothers in danger again fueled his hatred for being forced into this situation. 

He loosened his grip on it, turning to face Bruce's back. The bruises were healing, but the silver slowed the process down because the fair skin was still purple and blue. He approached him, each step weighing on his shoulders. He should go to the front. Look at Bruce's face as he did this. 

But Dick… he was a coward. He might have been able to do it when Jason was there, he could be strong for his little wing, but he just couldn't do it now. So he stood behind Bruce, and as careful as he was, the skin burned the moment he locked the collar, pulling his head back and leaving only the muzzle to be put on.

He didn’t have to do it. The rest was enough, wasn't it? The muzzle wouldn't do any good. But they would have to feed Bruce when he woke up, which meant getting their hands close to his mouth and risking getting bitten. Fuck, he could risk that if it was less pain for his dad. He would... but he wasn't alone. Jason was with him and if they had done all of this for nothing, Dick might actually cry.

His stomach twisted and turned as he mechanically walked to be in front of Bruce and grabbed the muzzle hanging above his head. He kneeled, his legs slightly trembling enough by the end that he almost dropped painfully to his knees. Yeah, it didn’t look any better seeing Bruce from that angle.

As kindly as he could, he put it over his dad’s mouth and inside it, the entire time his actions feeling wrong and unsettling like he was operating some torture device. He probably was. Because by the end of the process, Dick could tell it would be painful when his dad woke up. The muzzle was too tight, but that was the only setting it had for some stupid reason, and it gripped Bruce's fangs like it was meant to shatter them.

God, he didn’t know how a muzzle like that was even allowed to exist. He was a hero, so he knew the need for the containment of criminals of different types, but it could simply be over his mouth. It didn't have to go so far, that was just unnecessary. He made a face, questioning again, why would Bruce create something like this? 

He knew his dad, and he could be merciless sometimes, but he wasn't cruel. Did he truly need a cell Dick never saw him using during their entire time together to be so bad? Maybe he did. Dick thought they were over secrets, but he was wrong, wasn’t he? Bruce didn’t tell him as much as he believed he did. He didn't… he didn’t trust him with a matter as important as him being turned into a vampire, forcibly even, so it made sense he wouldn’t tell him about this cell. 

He swallowed the knot in his throat. He shouldn’t be upset about it. His dad was still Batman, so what should he have expected? For their partnership of more than 20 years to mean something to him when it came down to things like this? For Bruce to rely on him not only as his partner but as his son ? Was that too much to ask…? 

It wasn't . It shouldn't be. But he couldn't even yell at Bruce about this now. He couldn’t even ask him to help him understand, to tell him why everything was so wrong. He sighed, timidly moving his hands between the muzzle and the collar to stroke the skin as if it would make the silver burns hurt less.

Could he have done something wrong ? Did he do or say anything that made Bruce believe he had to hide that he was a vampire from him? He wouldn’t know. He had been self-absorbed in his past trauma with Slade, enough to let it control him and blind him to his behavior towards vampires. Could he… had he been so bad to them that his dad would be hesitant to tell his own son about becoming a vampire?

Dick wanted to believe that wasn't the case. It would have made more sense for Bruce to secretly hate vampires than that he would be afraid of them for some reason. No, who was he fooling? He shook his head, a bittersweet smile on his lips. Nothing made sense, and the more he thought about it, he realized it wouldn’t.

And honestly, he didn't need to understand. He just wanted to have his dad back, and he didn't care if he was a vampire. They could adapt for him and Damian. They would . 

"I'm sorry for this, B… but it'll be okay," Dick whispered, a promise he intended to keep, "We will make it okay."

Together, as a family. He knew Alfred would learn recipes with blood for them to still eat together. That despite what happened to his parents, Tim would search for everything vampires needed to take care of Bruce and Damian as he always did. That Jason would get fresh blood for them in case of an emergency as they would do in a few minutes. 

And Dick… he would even sleep upside down with Bruce if he wanted him to, and he would be very good at it too. Perhaps for the first time since they had gotten to the Cave, a real soft smile opened on his lips, no anguish behind it.

Yes, everything would be okay. Bruce might not have believed that, but Dick would remind him that he still had them, that although he couldn't speak for all his siblings, the only certainty he had was that an alternative was never possible. 

Not for them.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward to rest his forehead on Bruce's, needing a few moments of silence to take the courage to let go. Without his knowledge, a sliver of red eyes momentarily showed as his voice made its way into the vampire's unconscious awareness.

Hey, guys! So, the miscommunication will finally be over soon, (believe me, I want it over as much as you do lol), but for now, I hope you like Dick and Jason's angst instead of Bruce's. I also would love to know what you enjoyed about this chapter, what hit you hard and what you expect to happen, your feedback will always be very important to me!❤

Chapter Text

This fucking blanket.

There was no way Dick simply forgot it, Jason could see what he was up to. The idiot was acting dumb and self-sacrificial and trying to spare him from the worst of it as if he wasn’t a fucking adult too. 

Would it hurt to put those stupid torture devices on his dad? Of course. He wanted to kick the old man’s ass for forcing them to do something like that to him, but Dickie and he were doing this together. He didn't have the right to leave him out of it because it got ugly, that wasn’t how this shit worked. 

Jason should have called him out for it and made him leave so he knew how it felt. Yet, he was entering the cell area carrying the stupid Batman blanket that was totally an excuse. God, he was getting soft, but what could he do? 

Dick had a haunted look in his puppy eyes that begged him to simply go and let him do that for him, and although Jason wouldn’t admit it, he was weak when it came to his older brother. He didn’t have the balls to upset Dick more than he already was, not when he seemed like he would crumble at any moment in the last hour but kept smiling like he wouldn’t. 

It was so fucking annoying that Jason was torn between punching him in the face, shaking him by his shoulders, or hugging him. Unfortunately, it seemed the latter was what Dick needed when he approached the vampire cell.

His brother didn’t even recognize his presence as he stood near the door. He was gently holding Bruce’s face and resting his forehead on his, and if Jason was seeing it right, tears were running down his cheeks. He grimaced when his heart did a funny thing and looked away.

It had been hard enough to see the muzzle and the collar on his dad like he was some kind of fucking animal, but watching Dick cry too? That was a nightmare. Yes, he wanted his brother to stop comforting him as if he was someone who needed that, like Tim or Damian. But this was almost worse.

Jason sighed, wishing Alfred was here. He truly wasn’t the right person to help Dick now, and yet, he had to do it anyway. What he wouldn’t do for his family? 

He reached his hand out and set it on Dick’s shoulder, calling him gently, “Dickie.” 

Dick flinched and turned his head to him. “Little wing?” His features twisted in confusion then into shame and he quickly wiped away his tears. “Sorry, I…” He let out a humorless fake chuckle that hurt Jason’s ears, getting up, “I lost track of time.”

Oh, so crying was healthy for them and they had to allow themselves to show their emotions, but when it was him, he felt ashamed? Fucking hypocrite. Jason was surrounded by idiots with martyr complexes in his family.

“Sure, I brought the blanket.” Jason gestured with it roughly at him.

“Thanks, Jay.” Dick smiled and it didn’t reach his eyes, then reached out to take the blanket.

Not this time.

“No.” Jason said calmly, pulling the blanket from his reach, “I’ll do it. I’ll cover him up.”

Dick frowned, his smile quivering, “Are you sure? I can do it-”

“Dick.” Jason cut him off. “I’m going to do it.”

His intention wasn't to be harsh, but his brother had done enough already. 

“Okay…” Dick mumbled and nodded, stepping aside to give him space. Which wasn’t a lot because again, that shithole was too fucking small.

Jason approached Bruce, struggling not to make a face at the horrible sight of the muzzle that seemed like it had come out of a horror movie. If they didn't need it to stop Bruce from biting them when he woke up and they had to get close to feed him, he would have taken it off him and melted it.  

His dad really couldn't be satisfied with the chains and handcuffs, could he? Fuck, why did he design this cell anyway? Apparently, torture wasn’t fine when he ended up doing it, but the old man had the green light to create his own torture devices. 

Talk about unfairness.

Standing next to him, Jason unfolded the blanket and carefully wrapped it over Bruce’s back, gently settling the edges over his shoulders to cover his body the most it could. That wouldn’t make the silver burns hurt less, but at least he wouldn’t be cold. 

Jason huffed, shaking his head. As if that made it any better. The damage was done. Did he regret doing everything he had to protect his brothers? No, but it didn't mean he had to enjoy it. He had already fucked up with someone he cared about who turned into a vampire, so how could it happen twice? Fate was really a bitch.

He adjusted the blanket one last time to make sure it wouldn't fall, a memory coming back to him as he did so. It was a severely cold night, with snow falling and everything, a few months after he met Bruce. He was out as Robin with Batman, but the movement was slow.

Criminals just didn’t want to freeze their asses and even the Rogues were quiet, which caused them to end patrol earlier. Lucky for him because the Robin suit didn't store as much warmth as Batman's, and he probably had caught a cold too. It hadn’t been his best night, so he just wanted Alfred's hot cocoa and his cozy bed.

What he didn’t expect was that when they approached the Batmobile, Bruce would take off his cape and awkwardly ask him if he could cover him. Obviously, Jason accepted the offer since he wasn't willing to become a popsicle, so his dad wrapped his giant cape around him like he was some burrito, but carried him inside the car like he was the most precious thing.

Jason could still sense the ghosts of the warmth he had felt snuggling into Bruce’s chest that day, the safest he had ever felt wearing Robin's suit. Now, the remembrance of his dad’s slight smile was overlapped by the muzzle sealing his mouth.

He clenched his jaw, hating the guilt corroding him over the fact he would have to leave Bruce there. He didn’t like guilt, especially if his dad was involved, and surely not when he would lose Bruce again, lose his place in the family, just because of that damn mark on his neck.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his chest aching. Fuck it, he didn’t have time to deal with his emotions. His family needed him. He was still part of it, could still be even when this was over if he could show he would do anything for them, no matter what they were.

As with Roy, he would make sure Bruce and Damian had what they needed. At any cost.

“Just hold on there, old man. I’ll be right back with some fresh blood.” Jason whispered softer than he was used to being, but it felt worth it this time.

Dick was waiting for him outside next to the panel of the cell, arms crossed and body stiff, but with no trace of his breakdown in the facade he put on when he informed him, "It’s locked by biometry."

Expected. That was like Bruce.

"Did it accept yours?" He asked just for the sake of it since he already knew the answer.

The old man was a paranoid freak, but if there was someone he would trust with this besides Alfie, that would be Dick.

"I haven't checked yet. Wanted to do it with you." Dick said with a false casualty, a peace offering.

Jason narrowed his eyes. Yeah, he wasn't even trying not to be obvious, but he would give him that for the attempt of making up for leaving him out.

"Go on.” He nodded at the panel, standing next to him.

A small smile opened on Dick’s lips. “You can try first.”

Really?

“It won’t work, you know that.” Jason huffed.

Bruce wouldn’t trust him with something on this level. Love wasn’t the same as trust, and his dad knew that better than anyone.

“C’mon, try it out, little wing.” Dick snorted and patted his forearm, moving to give him space. 

Jason stared at him but took his place in front of the panel. Dick would see it when he was proved right. He put his hand on the screen, and the effect was almost immediate. The cell closed with a mechanic thud and the glass blurred back to what it was, startling him.

Okay. What the fuck? He looked at Dick, who was grinning widely. Asshole.

“Whatever,” Jason said dryly, fighting not to let his heart take this as some shit that it wasn’t.

So what if his biometry was registered here? It added even more weirdness to everything about this damn cell, rubbing him the wrong way. 

“Why do you think B didn't say anything about being bitten?" The question came out of nowhere, surprising him. He faced Dick, who was staring at Bruce through the reinforced glass, emotions crossing his expression too fast for Jason to identify them.

Well, ‘why’ wasn’t something he had thought about. He was pissed that Bruce didn’t tell them anything and dared to starve and go feral, but he didn’t actually wonder why he didn't do so. 

"I don't know.” Jason shrugged, “Maybe he was just being a stubborn, controlling asshole who thinks he got everything under control and keeps things from us as always.” He mocked, “Or he was afraid or something."

The first option was very alike his dad, and it reminded Jason of why he wanted to punch him sometimes for being a hypocrite. Bruce didn’t like it when any of them kept secrets or didn’t ask for help, but they had to struggle for him to let them protect or support him.

Fuck, it was a two-way street. Just because the Justice League obeyed him and didn’t question his decisions, it didn’t mean he could pull that shit with their family.

"You think so? That he was afraid of us, of our reaction?" Dick sounded hurt like he was taking it very seriously.

The hell?

"It was a joke, dickhead." Jason scoffed.

"It might not be." Dick insisted, a smile full of rueful acknowledgment on his lips, "C'mon, little wing, it's not like we have been really good to vampires."

Now this isn’t fucking fair, Jason scowled. Yeah, he had a rough time with vampires when he came back from the dead, he could admit that. It turned out that mixing how well the Joker fucked him up with a bath in the pit made Jason go into a killing rage state at any glimpse of fangs or claws. Which happened day and night because he was surrounded by a bunch of entitled vampire pricks who called him meat bag or flesh sack as they beat him up. 

To be fair, Talia wasn’t a complete asshole, so she didn’t let them get too far. But that didn’t mean a thing to the pit, and oh, how Jason made them regret it. He wasn’t truly conscious of everything he had done, the green taking over most of the time, but he remembered waking up to pieces of vampire corpses scattered around him.

After that, they didn’t dare to cross his way, and when he returned to Gotham, the vampire criminals learned the same lesson, with some of them among the ones he beheaded. Then at some point… no, who was Jason fooling? It was Bruce. From the moment his dad accepted him back and took him to the Cave to get rid of the pit, everything changed. 

Without the green constantly in his mind, he could see how he scared even the baby vampires in the streets and the vampire sex workers, the people he put under his protection. And that wasn’t right.

Red Hood should be feared, but never by who he protected. He wasn't a prick full of prejudice. He wasn't the monster the pit made him. And he definitely wasn't what the Joker did to him. He was Jason Todd, Bruce's son, and ex-Robin, a fucking vigilante, and he wouldn't let his fear control him.

Jason grunted, irritated. "Fuck you, dickhead, speak for yourself. My best friend is a fucking vampire." 

He wouldn't lie and say it was easy to deal with his traumas. Surprise, it wasn't, even if the therapy helped. But nowadays, he would never hurt a vampire without a good reason, and by that, he meant being a piece of shit. In short, his usual standards for everyone, be they supernatural, alien, magical, or just the good old human scumbag.

Yet, he admitted having Roy be turned into a vampire made him realize he could get too mean sometimes. And he was working on it, okay? Acting like an asshole came easy to him, so he was trying his best not to exaggerate.

"He is?" Dick inquired, worried and confused, "Since when?

Jason sensed a headache coming and the urge to sigh. Ah, shit. No one was supposed to know that, and with Dick saying 'he', it was clear he knew who Jason was talking about. 

His first instinct was to act it off, or just straight-up lie. It wasn't like he hadn’t done both with his family in the past, but this was Dick… Roy’s friend before he even entered the picture, as jealous as that made him for some reason. 

"Roy." Jason muttered and rested his back on the wall, "It happened a few months ago."

Sure, his best friend said it would be fine with him telling a member of his family if he had to as long as it wasn’t Bruce, which Jason knew meant Dick out of everyone. They might have grown apart through the years, but that didn’t mean their friendship didn’t last, even if they weren't the same.

And besides, his best friend’s problem was actually more that he didn’t have the courage to tell his own family. Yet. They were getting there with Roy preparing to tell Oliver and Dinah next month, and the rest of his family after that.

"I’m sorry, little wing." Dick said sympathetically and looked down, his voice quivering a bit in the end, "I- I didn't know."

As if he could have. Jason wasn't stupid, he saw through his idiot brother. He probably was blaming himself for not being there for Roy, that his friend didn't tell him because he had a reason to, and it was all bullshit.

"No shit, it was against his will so he didn't want anyone to know," Jason emphasized, blood boiling as he crossed his arms. "I had to force myself into that shithole he calls an apartment and force him to talk to me, and I'm his fucking best friend." 

He hadn’t found the vampire who did that to Roy, but when he did so, that monster would regret coming after his best friend in the first place. 

"How…?" Dick hesitated, gaze flickering between Jason and the cell, “How bad was it?”

Awful, but that wasn’t the problem. Jason averted his eyes to the ground, seeing his best friend that night… he wouldn’t forget it anytime soon.

"He was starving himself like an idiot. He ranted about being a monster because he couldn’t control himself, that I should leave or kill him for good as if any of that shit would ever happen.” Jason said bitterly, “Roy…” he paused, “Was afraid of me."

His heart did that funny thing again, the memory still as painful as that moment had been. He never thought… Roy had never been scared of him. Ever. Even when he came back wrong, not the same boy he knew, his best friend didn’t give a shit. He stood by his side. Agreeing or not with what he did, calling him out for his bullshit, and making sure he didn’t do anything too stupid, he…

Roy stayed. Jason didn’t deserve him, fuck, he didn’t deserve anyone who made the huge mistake of loving him, but Roy was still there. So having him fear him, think he could ever harm him in any way that wasn’t an accident… 

It hurt.

"Oh, little wing…" Dick reached his hand out, wanting to comfort him.

But he couldn’t have it now, so he raised his hand as a sign for him to stop. Dick did, eyebrows furrowed and clearly still worried, but stood back. 

"I proved him wrong, okay?” Jason sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. “I told him I didn't give a shit about what he was because he was still Roy Harper, my fucking best friend. And if anybody, even him, thought they could hurt my best friend, they were very wrong.” His gaze softened, “Eventually, he believed me."

Jason couldn’t say he was the best in the comfort department, that was Dick’s thing as it was proven just a moment ago, and he admitted he was kind of a shitty friend, but not when it was down to the people he loved needing him.

He would have held Roy through his tears the entire night if he had to, although he didn’t know how to feel about how warm he felt when his best friend finally stopped trying to push him away and melted into his arms.

"Aww, I knew my little brother was just a teddy bear beneath all the homicidal behavior." Dick grinned brightly, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him to a half-hug.

God, he forgot how annoying his older brother could be for a second. Also, those humor changes were fucking terrifying sometimes.

"Fuck off, Dickie, I’ll shoot you in the ass," Jason grumbled, weakly pushing him away. Not because he enjoyed the proximity though, it was more like he wasn’t in the mood to actually use force.

Of course.

"You sure will." Dick's grin faded into his expression darkening, "So what should we do for Bruce? You're the expert, after all.” The last part came out as an attempt to bring on some light.

He wouldn’t call himself an expert, he just knew more than the average human that wasn’t in a clan or had a vampire in the family. But a normal human wasn’t who they were talking about in this situation.

"In recently turned vampires, not in Bruce.” Jason scoffed, disguising the hint of hurt in his voice. “Our relationship hardly goes well most days.”

Yeah, they were on good terms, but it was different from what his dad had with the others since none of them had to compete for his love with their past selves. He could see the moments Bruce saw his young self in him, when there was blood in Jason's hands and Bruce was reminded he wasn't the same.

And fuck that, but it hurt more than Jason would ever be able to deal with. He wasn't that boy anymore, as much as he wished he was. He could never be. He knew Bruce loved him anyway, the old man didn’t stop until he was sure of that, but he felt like a fraud. As if he was taking the love and care of someone who didn't exist anymore, but as the selfish asshole he was, he couldn't stop himself from trying to sneak closer to the warmth of a family that wasn’t his.

At least it would be clear to everyone now that he couldn’t be part of their new happy clan.

"Why? You’re doing good." Dick said in an attempt of comfort, sure of what he said like he was aware of something Jason didn’t.

Well, he wasn’t.

“Sure.” Jason sneered, pushing him off. But his brother didn’t give in, which he should have expected.

"You are, Jay." Dick insisted, frowning when Jason gave him a cynical look. "You want to know how I know?” He put his hands on his shoulders, a smile growing on his lips, “Last month B couldn't shut up about that Shakespeare event you invited him to. And you know what he talked about? You. The way you were excited about everything, all the things you ranted about, and the new special editions you got. He was happy to see you happy, just like when you come in after a successful bust.”

Wait, what?

“What do you mean? B hates what I do.” Jason tried not to show he gave a shit.

But no shit, he did. He wished he didn’t, he thought he didn’t in the beginning, but it ended up that disappointing Bruce was still as fucking hurtful as it was in the past. His dad could not be explicit and pretend he was fine with who Jason was now, and yet, the look of absolute hurt in his eyes when he came back the other day all bloody spoke more than his words or actions.

That didn’t mean Jason regretted what he did or would stop, but Bruce clearly had a problem with his kills and grew better at hiding it for the sake of their relationship. There was no way he would be happy for him doing anything Red Hood-related, and Jason was again, too selfish to tell his dad he knew he didn’t actually mean he trusted his judgment. 

He just didn’t want to lose his son once more.

“Jason, listen to me.” Dick moved his hands to the sides of his neck, “Bruce trusts you. He’s proud that you’re making Crime Alley a better place, in your way. He won’t kill himself, he…” He sighed. “Just can’t do it. But he knows after the pit was gone, you only killed people who really deserved it. He loves you, little wing, and he knows you love him too."

He kept his expression blank, but the knot in his throat got tighter. A part of him refused to believe Dick. He was lying, seeing the world through a pink lens, or straight up pretending he could tell what Bruce felt to comfort Jason. 

But was it so bad that he wanted to believe him? He was sure of the emotions that crossed Bruce’s eyes, of his body tensing and jaw clenching when Jason killed or made the job bloody. Hurt, contention, anger, guilt… they were there. The real question was, did he truly wish to know why?

Jason tightened his lips in a thin line, the answer couldn’t have been more obvious. He didn’t. He and Bruce pretended things, it was part of their relationship, and if his dad wasn’t doing so to hide the fact he didn’t love him as more than just a memory, then it didn’t matter. Jason had bigger problems than that anyway. Finding out he was wrong about Bruce would only make what was to come tougher. 

He discarded the invisible force around his neck, pressing and suffocating him at that perspective. He couldn’t win without losing at least twice, could he? Jason raised his eyes to Dick, who was looking at him like he craved to be in his mind to shout he was loved inside his head.

Jason opened his mouth but before he could say anything on his turn to soothe his stupid brother down, their coms alerted them to a call. 

Babs

“Dammit, we forgot to call her back.” Dick squeaked and stepped back quite in panic, which brought a sincere smirk to Jason's lips. 

Oh, he needed this. If there was a thing that would always amuse him was how the women Dick dated could scare the shit out of him sometimes. 

"You answer it. She is already mad at me but you’re her ex," Jason shrugged, the edges of his smirk growing sharper. "She can't be more pissed off at you than in the past." 

Yeah, Babs would totally kill them one of those days, and he couldn’t even blame her. She could start with Dick.

"That’s not-" Jason answered the call and had fun with the despair in his older brother’s expression when he stuttered, “B-Babs! Hey."

"Really, Dick? If I hadn't hacked back into the Cave's system, I'd have no idea if you guys were okay.” She had mastered Bruce’s skill of sounding disappointed and pissed off at the same time, “I told you to call back immediately after you resolved the situation."

"We know and we are sorry.” Dick spoke sincerely, then gave him a deadly look, “Right, little wing?”

Fair enough, he was to blame too. 

"Yeah, and sorry for being an asshole with you,” Jason confessed, continuing when Dick narrowed his eyes. “And thanks for helping us unlock the safe room."

It was undeniable, they twouldn’t have made it without her. When they woke up after Bruce took Tim and Damian and located them in the safe room, Jason wouldn’t lie and say he didn’t panic. He did. A lot. Of course, it was internal, but how couldn’t he? The safe room was almost impossible to enter from outside, it would take hours to get into it and they didn’t have hours until his dad and little brother drained Tim!

Luckily for both of them, Dick was in his Nightwing mode and called Babs to help them. Those were still the longest minutes in his life, but he was never so thankful for the genius that was Barbara fucking Gordon to keep her own key to the safe room system in case they needed it. 

"I’m glad it worked. How are Tim and Damian? I want a full report." Babs ordered more than asked, using the Bat way of saying they were worried and needed to know every detail not to freak out. 

Jason would never get over how Bruce got them all acting like him sometimes.

Dick explained to her as requested, strangely mechanical, but understandably too. The effects of thinking they would lose Damian and Tim only a few minutes apart from each other, were still there with them.

“Alright, send me updates on their conditions every fifteen minutes." Babs easily took the lead, "I watched your fight through the cameras, but while the Cave was shut down the records were temporarily lost. I'll work on them and track Bruce's actions in the past few weeks, and run a detailed research to figure out when he was turned and who did it."

That immediately caught his attention. It had been the moment he was waiting for. Someone, a fucking piece of shit of a scumbag, had found a way to turn his dad, the Batman, into a vampire against his will. Jason would kill- no, he would slaughter them. He might not have done it to the vampire who did this to Roy, yet , but he wouldn’t fail Bruce.

They would pay for hurting his dad.

"Do the same for Damian, just for sure," Dick added, always the big brother.

Jason wouldn’t mock him for it this time, though. Whoever turned Bruce, did it to Damian too. That fucker hurt a kid, his little brother, and if there was something that made him more homicidal than an asshole harming his dad, was when they messed with his siblings. 

He would make it so pleasingly painful. The torture techniques for vampires Talia taught him and he hadn’t used since the pit would fit perfectly for the occasion.

"Noted. About the cell… was it truly necessary?" Babs’s question had them shrinking.

Dick shared a glance with him, guilt reflecting in both their eyes. It had to be done. Jason knew that, he supported Dick on his decision because it was the safest option for the sake of their little brothers, and if it was anyone but Bruce, they wouldn’t feel so guilty. That was the job.

"It's very likely he will still be feral when he wakes up. We…” Dick took a deep breath, swallowing down and looking away from Jason. “We didn’t have a choice."

As it rarely happened, Jason hated the job this time.

"I understand.” Her tone was annoyingly neutral, “You'll feed him the blood bags then?"

That frozen shit? No way.

“Well-”

"No, they won't do the job.” Jason cut Dick off, who faced him, puzzled. He explained, “Recently turned vampires, mainly the feral ones, need fresh blood in the first weeks of their transformation."

He has stolen some for Roy, but his best friend threw up as soon as he drank from them and Jason learned his lesson with it.

Dick smiled proudly at him and nodded, "So we get fresh blood for Dami too. He wasn't feral like B, but I bet he is hungry."

A rush of adrenaline ran through his blood. Finally, it was his turn. He would take some empty blood bags with him and hunt for the fresh blood his family needed, and Bruce would see he could do that whenever they needed in the future. Jason would be with them.

"I'll do it," Jason said, not a suggestion, a statement. 

"I can go with you.” Dick offered, doing that thing of trying to be there for all of them as if he could multiply himself.

God, when would he learn not everything was on him? It was his first instinct, his only way to respond to family problems like he couldn’t leave just one of them to deal with their shit by themselves.

Jason loved that about him, after all, that was part of Dickie. The big brother, the glue of their family of fuck ups, always acting on their behalf. But he had to learn that he couldn’t protect each one of them from the worst in life, and Jason definitely didn't need him doing it for him.

"No, someone has to turn the cameras on for Babs and watch over them." He gave him a side smile, "Besides, you don’t have the stomach for it, dickwing."

It would be the equivalent of asking Superman to kill. Nah, Dick wasn't made for it. He could kill as much as Bruce could, and Jason had come to terms with that a long time ago. It was okay though, he could always do it for them.

"I could!" Dick gasped, more offended than when Jason mocked his discowing costume, "Tell him, Babs."

He stopped himself from laughing. Right, even if he was capable of such, there was no chance of Jason letting him get stained by the weight of taking a life. Not his older brother, not Dick. 

He should stay bright and smiling, as the ridiculous fucking sunshine he was, inspiring other heroes and bringing hope to the world. While he did that, monsters like Jason would do the dirty work where they belonged the shadows.

"No, you couldn't." She was smug about it, which he was enjoying until she concluded, "But don't worry, I'll help Jason."

Oh, that wasn’t happening. He didn’t need a babysitter tonight.

"You will?" Jason asked ironically.

"I've already found a target for you and I'm getting a list of options. If you want them, you'll take help." Babs didn't leave any room for a choice, knowing exactly what she was doing.

Jason sighed, unable to argue about it. Why did she have to be so good at her job? Or at blackmailing? Tim must have had some guidance from her because dealing with him during a case was just like that.

He blamed Bruce. It was all the old man's fault.

"You make a good case," Jason admitted begrudgingly. He would have it her way for the sake of their goal. 

His hunt would be much faster and easier with Oracle's access to information, something necessary if he wished to come back before the effect of the sedatives were gobe for Bruce and Damian.

"Traitors," Dick said dramatically, pouting.

And the others still claimed he was the dramatic one in the family. 

"You'll live." Jason snorted, punching his forearm affectionately.

The pout didn't leave Dick’s mouth.

"Focus, boys." Babs said tiredly, and he could imagine her face of an ‘I don’t get paid enough for this’. "What do we do about Alfred and the others? Stephanie and Cassandra will arrive at the airport early in the morning and give a ride to Duke. Alfred will be at the Manor two hours after them."

Shit, that was right. He almost forgot they were coming. 

Alfie wouldn't be a problem, he would figure out what to do with Bruce and help him more than any of them had. But Steph, Cass, and Duke had their own traumas with vampires too, and that turned things more impredictable.

"I think they have the right to know." She added in conclusion.

Jason found himself agreeing with her. That could be the difference. They would be prepared and with no need for explanations when they arrived, with the expectations settled. Whichever emotional reaction they had would happen without any risk to Bruce, Damian, or even Tim.

"Yes, but not now. Not over the phone." Dick argued, his expression thoughtful, "If we tell them before they arrive, they will rush and get worried, without mentioning their pasts. We all have our stories with vampires and this…" He shook his head, "This is something you talk about in person."

Good point. That kind of news was the ones they told each other something was up, but only said anything more than that when they arrived. And as much as he hated that and would like to know what was happening as soon as possible if he was in their place, that wasn’t the case.

He was on the other side this time and had never denied being a hypocrite too.

"I'm with Dick. There's no need for them to know until they get here, we practically have everything handled." Jason reasoned, ignoring the thankful smile his older brother aimed at him.

"Okay, but if anything goes wrong, I'm informing them to be prepared," Babs stated, not asking for their approval.

Which was fair, she was probably still upset they didn't call back soon enough. Jason would be too, the difference was that he would shoot Dick in the ass for not keeping him updated. 

"You’re the boss," Jason smirked, walking towards Dick and putting his hand on his shoulder. He locked their gazes, "Call us if any of the boys wake up. I mean it."

He couldn’t be in the dark about this. Getting the fresh blood would mean nothing if Damian ended up hurting Tim or Dick somehow. It was unlikely he was able to do so, he was like a kitten when he attacked Tim and Jason couldn’t wait to train with him again to mess with him about that.

But after what happened with Bruce, Jason wouldn’t risk it and say it would be impossible for Damian to cause harm, mainly if he managed to find Bruce and release him.

"I will. But be careful out there, little wing." Dick put his hand on his arm, features contorted in concern. "I know you got this, but it might still be dangerous."

Dangerous? Oh, Dick, he had no idea.

"You shouldn't be worried about me, Dickie." Jason chuckled darkly, patting his shoulder, "The poor doomed idiots of Gotham will have a surprise tonight"

Jason jumped from one roof to another, getting close to the address Babs had sent him and he quickly recognized when he gave a deeper look into it. It was an illegal club where members of different gangs gathered to play poker and discuss business, but only humans were allowed.

That was uncommon in a place as mixed as Gotham, even more in Crime Alley where they had a big population of supernatural creatures ad hybrids, but there were always the asshole criminal humans who thought they were better for being humans. Honestly, Jason called it bullshit. They were all pieces of shit, what they were didn't change that.

But he had to go to that hell hole a few times for business matters, which didn't help his anger issues at all, and those were enough to increase his blacklist. So it made sense Babs would choose this place, with no creatures to get in the way, and on a late Friday night? The place would be full of options, making it the perfect place for his hunt. 

The rush of adrenaline kicked in at the perspective, running through his veins. Jason landed on the roof of the neighboring building of the club, approaching the edge, he looked down. As usual, he was right. The movement was high, and the table was set. There was only the menu left. 

"I'm outside, O." Jason informed when he opened the coms, turning on his helmet camera and its transmission.

That wasn't his first time going live with Babs, they had done that during their group missions, but it was the first in a bussiness like this. He wondered why she offered to help him out when she knew what he would do tonight.

"Can you go to the top or inside to get a better view for me?" Babs asked as he watched the criminals going in and out with an idea forming in his mind. She added as if she could read his mind, "Unnoticed?"

Jason rolled his eyes, stepping back. He got it, the criminals would chicken out as soon as he showed up, and even if he stopped some of them, he might miss others that could be good options to drain. 

In short, he had to go in stealth mode for the sake of Bruce and Damian, but that didn't mean he should be happy about taking the boring path.

"On my way." Jason sighed, walking to the middle of the roof. 

He faced the edge and ran towards it, jumping from it at the last second and flying over the alley for a moment, he landed with an effortless roll. He looked back to see if anyone saw it, and as expected, they didn’t. See? I can be stealthy.

"That was quite unnecessary." Babs pointed out exasperatedly, but he could hear a hint of amusement in her voice.

As the oldest after Bruce, she was used to all their shenanigans by now. Or at least, she convinced herself to deal with a family of fuck ups when she still had a father for some reason he didn't know, but it wouldn't be him to adviser her to rethink that decision.

Well, not so much. Messing with her was still part of his job.

"I'm unnoticed." Jason shrugged, a slight smirk on his lips, "You got a list for me?" He approached the skylight of the VIP area, checking what he had in his hands.

There were four guys, two lazily sitting on one sofa and the other two on the other, a small table between them with beers, snacks, and white lines of drugs set on it. He huffed. It was too easy.

"Yes, but Hood..." She paused, a warning of her following words, "About B-"

Oh no, he had to stop her right there. Jason quickly cut her off, "I'm fine." It came off harsher than he wanted it to, once more. "Just…" He sighed, voice softening, "Please, treat this like any other night, O."

Besides his perfect fitting for the task, it was one of the reasons he had offered to get the blood. He had to do this as much as Dick had to stay and watch over their little brothers and Bruce. No one else could.

"Alright." Babs said quietly, then getting back to her professional self, "Will you get in?"

"Yeah, I'm back in five minutes." Jason turned off the coms.

He broke through the skylight.

Grabbing his guns. he easily took the criminals out. They were drunk and high anyway, so it was a piece of cake, but it was good because, for the first time that night, Jason didn’t feel helpless. He didn’t have to fight two of some of the most important people in his life or deal with his feelings about it.

Here, he was Red Hood, and he was doing this for his family instead of against them. 

When Jason was done with the criminals, they were unconscious on the ground. He checked if the other criminals had heard anything through the glass on the wall, but the sound isolation of the VIP room was never more useful. He looked at the clock, a smirk opening on his lips.

"Three minutes,” Jason bragged when he turned on the coms, proudly arrogant. “I'm so fucking good at this."

"Not the time to show off." Babs sounded annoyed in a caring way, and he could imagine her tired smile.

What could he do? It was part of being the best in his job.

"It's always the time to show off." Jason snorted, leaning over the metal railing near the glass.

He could feel her rolling her eyes, "I identified everyone there and separated them for the selection. Are you sure you know how to do it?"

"This isn't my first time." Jason pointed out, diverting the matter before Babs could ask any more questions. “So, how do we start?

"You tell me, expert." She teased, but there was some trust coming from her to let him take the lead in a situation like this.

He had to admit, he wasn’t used to it. He had led operations with his family but he avoided doing so when he would get deadly. Just because they knew he killed sometimes it didn’t mean they had to see it; most of them had had enough of killing in their lives.

"First eliminate the ones with blood diseases and STDs. Vampires are immune to them, but it makes the blood taste like shit.” Jason explained, remembering how Roy barely stopped himself from throwing up when he made that mistake. “I'm not getting B and D some crappy blood."

He wasn’t one to repeat mistakes, and his family would only get the best.

The sounds of Babs typing the computer echoed through the coms. “What's next?" 

"No sexual offenders of any kind, the risk of undiagnosed STDs is too high, and give preference to violent crimes and domestic abuse. I'm in the mood to kill some of those scum." Jason sneered, eyes scattering the sight of the criminals down there.

Contrary to popular belief, he didn't like killing. Yes, he enjoyed punishing the worst of the worst, but that wasn’t what he was into this for. He wanted to protect people, whether innocents or simply who he loved. Some people just deserved a shot in the head, and Jason did them the favor.

"Remember not to confess future crimes to me, Hood, you-know-who is still the commissioner." Babs warned, not so seriously.

Right, Gordon wasn’t really his biggest fan because of the whole beheaded heads and crime lord thing, which he got why although he still thought it was quite petty. But it was enough to have the Gordon that had his back like him.

"I'll try.” Jason huffed, reasoning, “No addicts or alcoholics, they don't taste very good either."

It wasn’t as bad as the STDs’ taste, but Roy still grimaced when he drank it, scrunching his nose in that funny way. And yeah, Jason might have laughed or not at his face, but he made sure that was never on the menu for his best friend after it.

"You do know a lot about it," Babs commented, and Jason recognized that tone.

Fuck no. He had opened up enough with a member of the family today.

"I told you so.” Jason straightened up and held the metal railing. “How many do we have on the list now?"

"Thirteen.” She typed something again then suddenly stopped. “What about the blood types? Does it influence the taste?" 

That.. he hadn’t thought about it. Shit, Roy never told him anything about it, and he was literally his only source in this whole thing. He would have to talk to him, wouldn’t he? He sighed.

"Lemme check," Jason said quickly and grabbed his phone, staring at it.

Not that he didn’t want to talk to Roy, there wasn’t a moment when he didn’t, it was just that he might ask too many questions and Jason wasn’t in the mood to answer them now. Mainly because his best friend would know his feelings about Bruce being turned into a vampire better than anyone.

But this wasn’t about Jason. Bruce and Damian deserved the best fresh blood they could get, and he wasn’t about to fail the only thing he could rely on was to be part of the family. When his dad was back to himself, he had to know Jason could have a place in their future clan.

He texted Roy.

What blood type tastes better?

It couldn’t be more direct than that. After a few seconds, he got an answer.

Not even a "hey, dude, how are you doing" first?

Jason smiled wider than he should with his goal of keeping things objective being slightly ruined.

Be a doll and answer the question, Roy. I'm in a hurry so let me know before the snack leaves.

Should he have written the last bit? Maybe not. But the day he missed the chance to fuck with his best friend would be the day he was dead. 

Again.

Instead of a reply, Roy called. Jason frowned at the consequences of his actions. He could simply not answer, send another message, but he knew Roy. He would refuse to reply and keep calling him until he picked up, and Jason didn’t have time to waste on that.

Why were all his friends as annoying as his family? That must have said something about Jason himself.

He picked up, “Which part of in a hurry you didn't-"

"What are you doing, Jason?” Roy was the embodiment of exasperation, “Tell me you didn't go all psycho and are bringing a buffet again."

The way he said it made it seem worse than it was. That was once and he panicked, okay? A few days after giving his best friend his blood he was still hungry as fuck, and Jason had never fed a newbie vampire, or for that matter, any vampire. So he didn’t know what kind of blood would be best and had to improvise.

Maybe in the end that did mean beating a bunch of criminals and interrogating them about their sexual habits, drug or alcohol problems, and blood types, just so in the end he brought all of them in for variety. Did that make him a psycho? No, he liked to think of himself as practical.

"You wish.” Jason huffed, deciding that lying wouldn’t work on Roy now. “But no, I'm not hunting for you this time.”

"I thought I was the only vampire in your life." Roy teased although there was a certain question in his words that Jason purposefully ignored.

"Why? Jealous?" He teased back, a smirk on his face. 

There was no reason to be. Roy wasn’t the only vampire in his life anymore, but he would always be the first.

"C’mon, Jaybird.” Roy sighed, “What is happening?" 

He could sense his best friend’s annoyance but also his concern from there, which was a sign for him to come clean.

"Can't tell you.” Jason quickly continued. “Not yet. Family shit."

Neither too much information nor too little. It should be enough for Roy to get that he didn’t want to talk a lot about it for now.

"Need me to back you up?" His best friend offered, more professionally.

If Jason said so, he would probably be in Gotham in the next few hours, despite how much more scared he was of Bruce since becoming a vampire. Shit, he really had a better friend than he deserved. 

"Nah, it's not like that. I’m fine.” Saying that out loud made it more internally clear that he wasn’t, but it wasn’t what mattered at that moment. Jason leaned back over the metal bar, “It would help if you answered my damn question, though."

"I was rightfully concerned, dude, but fine, it depends. The AB and O you brought tasted better than the others, but yours was the best. I don't know why, but I guess it might be an emotional connection thing." Roy explained, leaving Jason curious.

His best friend never told him that, maybe because if he had, Jason probably would have given it to him more times instead of hunting for others’. It wasn’t like it had been unpleasant for him anyway. He wouldn't admit it, but after the initial pain, it was kind of… nice.

And he wouldn’t elaborate on that, but he would use it.

"So I was the best you ever had?" Jason chuckled provokingly.

"God, you're so arrogant,” Roy said annoyed but there was a smile in his words that got Jason grinning imagining it. “I'm hanging up, try not to make a mess."

Tough, that was kind of his specialty. 

"No promises." He hung up not to let Roy say anything else. 

Jason put his phone back in his pocket, turning on the coms. "We should go for the AB and O. Tell me there’s at least one of them who got it."

The universe couldn’t be that much of a bitch that among all the criminals down there none had those blood types.

"Lucky night. There are two AB and one O." Babs informed, and a wave of relief hit Jason.

It seemed like Bruce and Damian would have all the blood they needed.

"I'll get one of which.” Jason moved away from the glass, walking towards the door until he realized he didn’t have where to drain them with privacy, “Is there some place-"

"A vet one quarter mile from there, I'll send the exact location," Babs said quite smugly.

Honestly, she was right to be smug. She was the mind behind all their operations for a reason.

"Damn, sometimes I wonder if you can read minds, O." Jason smirked and opened the door, the sounds of the club finally reaching him, "I'm turning off the camera. Get back to you later."

Jason rested his back on the side of the window, one leg hanging and the other bent, his arm supported on the latter. The cold wind of the night hit his face, the smell of trash and dirt barely perceptible with the smoke of his cigarette filling his lungs and senses. He blew it up into the night and exhaled, facing the criminals.

The blood drained from them progressively, filling the blood bags. They had stopped their attempts to struggle against the bonds halfway into the process, already too beaten up when the blood loss kicked in and dizziness took over. Soon, they would pass out, which was more than the pieces of shit deserved.

"So…” Babs’ voice suddenly in his ears startled him, but what she said next froze him in place, “Roy?"

No fucking way. How the hell did she find out so quickly? She was great, but that was- oh. 

"Fuck.” He sighed, pinching his nose, “I left the communication open, didn't I?"

He was so stupid, and Roy made him even stupider.

"I'd have figured it out anyway, it was a matter of time. I narrowed it down between him and Kory. You don’t have many friends, Hood."

That wasn’t… okay, he didn’t, but pointing it out was unnecessary. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t make his own superhero team before dying, and then he had to hope someone could bear his shitty personality.

"Rude,” Jason grunted, inhaling the smoke and blowing it up. “Just keep it a secret as I mentioned."

He was so fucked up when he went back to Roy’s place. His best friend would be fine with Dick, probably, but Babs too didn’t help his case. 

"I will.” She said, and Jason believed her. Babs kept the secrets of the entire family, so if he asked, she would do the same for him. The problem was, she was as stubborn as all of the Bats, “Is he the reason you didn't want to talk about Bruce?"

He fought not to crush his cigarette. No, he wouldn’t do this. He didn’t need to. Why face something that wouldn’t change no matter what he did? He was fine like that, doing what he had to do, and not thinking too hard about it.

Everything was fucking fine.

"You really won't let that shit go, will you?” Jason grumbled and rested his hand with the cigarette on his bent knee. “What are you, a therapist?" 

If he wanted to talk to a therapist, he would go on his own and not be here. And he didn’t even plan to go so soon to be reminded that his coping mechanisms were shit, despite how right she was about it.

"No, I'm just worried about someone who is being a real asshole right now." Babs's tone was sharp, but not irritated.

She should be irritated, it was a waste of her time. 

"I'm always an asshole," Jason said dryly, bringing the cigarette back to his mouth.

"Look, Jason, if you don't want to talk about it, then don't." She seemed tired and worried like she was pushing against a wall that wouldn’t move. "I thought you could use a talk with someone who understands at least part of it. Of what that clown did."

His stomach twisted, blood running cold in a way that heavily contrasted the smoke warming his lungs and leaving his mouth. It was more than obvious who she was talking about, but he couldn't believe she was bringing that fucker to this and hitting the spot so perfectly on what was tormenting him. 

"It's not the same, Babs." Jason forced it out of his mouth between clenched teeth.

She didn't understand, she couldn’t . Their situations were different, not like he had it worse than her, it was just… different.

"I know it's not, but he is in my nightmares too." Babs murmured, voice more vulnerable than he had ever heard her, "You aren't the only one he took something from."

What? He straightened up, scowling. He didn't say it like that, he didn’t- Why did he fuck things up even when he wasn't trying? Jason sighed, gaze going between the criminals passed out and the blood bags half-full.

He averted his eyes to the ground. He was closer to coming back to the Cave and… he wouldn’t be able to run away from it, would he? Bruce would wake up, they would figure things out and he would have to tell his dad.

"That’s not…" Jason took a deep breath, sighed, and blew another smoke. He had to be careful not to say the wrong thing. "I didn't mean that. I didn't mean he didn't hurt you as badly as he hurt me, Babs. I…" He swallowed down and rested the back of his head on the window, closing his eyes for a moment, "He marked me, okay? In a way, I can never get rid of what he did. In a non-human sense."

There. He confessed how fucked up he was to someone that wasn’t Roy. He didn’t feel better, he wasn't relieved or took that fucking weight from his chest. No, it only made things even more real. And he didn’t want it to be real. He didn’t .

His shoulders slumped. Not until it actually happened.

"What do you mean, Jason?" There was a certain urgency in the question, something beyond the concern and getting too close to a glimpse of panic.

What did she imagine? He was afraid to find out, but simultaneously, he felt like he owed her the truth.

"The fucking bite mark he left on my neck…" Jason breathed out, a force coming from the depth of his self gripping his heart tight and boiling his blood beneath his skin. "It's not just a scar. I did my research with some magical people I know and found out it should be a turning bite, but it's a partial claim. I thought it was Talia at first, but it turns out it’s from before I died. From the Joker. There’s no one else it could be." 

It was too ironic. When Zatanna checked the mark, she attested it was a turning bite, which meant the Joker had no intention to claim him. As the scumbag he was, he probably just thought it would be funny to turn him into a vampire for Batman to find. Jason would have preferred it.

He didn’t know if Bruce would have taken him back as a vampire back then, but it would have been better than the alternative option, than the pit. That shit was responsible for distorting the venom and connecting him to his murderer, for making him the most unlucky bastard in the world.

And the worst thing? This had never happened. Venom didn’t change after it left a vampire’s mouth. Even the venom drugs altered chemically or magically could never do something that venom wasn’t meant to. But not everyone got the pleasure of bathing in green toxic magical waters, did they? 

"So since I came back, I'm connected to that fucking bastard, in life and death. I’m lucky enough it doesn’t stink of him, even to vampires, but I can't be fully claimed by anyone but him." His tone was full of barely contained anger, but also, bitter acceptance of his fate.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair. But not only for the reason he told Babs, but because… he would never be able to have that. A bond with a vampire. To be part of a clan. And yes, he didn't give a fuck about that before Roy was turned, but then he did.

Roy was his best friend. He was his… person. He wasn't ready for a clan yet but he said he would like Jason to be in his when he did so. Back then he laughed it off, but after Bruce became a vampire too, the realization hit him. 

His family would become a clan. Tim and Damian were already in it, and despite the complicated feelings of the rest of them over vampires, it was Bruce. He was the difference. He would always be for them. So eventually, he would claim all of them and Jason…

He would be the only one left out. He would be on the edge of the family, of the clan, and Bruce wouldn’t be able to claim him even if he wanted to. Once more, Jason Todd would be left behind while they lived happily together, closer than ever, and without him. Fuck, didn’t he have the right to such a deep connection? Didn't he deserve that? Clans were everything to vampires, their greatest gestures of love, or at least to the ones who weren't sadistic psychos. 

Why- why? Was he the problem? The mistake? Maybe. Maybe Jason should have stayed dead if there was no chance of him rejoining the family he threw away as a stupid child.

"Jason, I..." Babs started, breathed out words, but he didn’t let her finish.

He didn't need pity. He was sick enough of getting it from himself.

"It's fine. Bruce dealt with him, right?” Jason scoffed because he wasn't that much of an ungrateful bitch. “I still don’t know what he did to that prick but he never came back so I'm safe from him completing the bond."

It was the only reason he could sleep through the night since he found out. He tried to find the villain, had spent months looking for him to find out what the hell his dad did to him that he claimed to be worse than death, but the clown was nowhere to be found. For a time, Jason wondered if Bruce had actually killed him and lied to hide it, but he quickly realized it was a stupid thought.

Whatever his dad did became Jason's guarantee that he would never be forcibly claimed by the monster in his nightmares. Bruce didn’t lie; he was safe from him. If only that was enough for someone like Jason now that his dad was a vampire. If only he didn’t want more than safety.

"Is there some way to reverse it?" Babs asked like she was already doing her research already.

And despite how much that meant for him and brought a small smile to his lips, he had to stop her before she lost her time with the irreversible.

"No. I checked with Constantine and Zatanna, even with Jason Blood.” If it was a forced claim they could have tried something, but he wasn’t that fortunate. "Vampire bonds are just that messy to fuck with, and I…” Jason despised how vulnerable he sounded as he spoke the last part ironically, "I gotta be the luckiest guy ever.”

Lucky . He supposed that he was lucky to come back. Lucky that Bruce and Dick accepted the remnants of the child he once was. Lucky that somehow, they could bear the kind of vigilante he had become. Really lucky that he could meet his little brothers and get to even have sisters.

Yet, that luck soured at the thought that it wasn’t enough. It would never be. He’d come back wrong, it was a fact. He couldn’t fix it. He couldn’t change it. He could only live with it.

"I’m sorry, Jason.” The words provoked his irritation a second time, but unlike the last one, it quickly died down. 

There was no pity coming from Babs. It was more of a mutual understanding, minimum sympathy for someone that had lived through what no one should in the hands of a monster like no other. 

“I said it’s fine.” Jason dismissed it, throwing his cigarette out of the window. “You had it worse anyway.”

In the end, she did understand him even if it truly wasn’t the same. No, in her case, the Joker didn’t need a supernatural mark to take something from her.

“It’s not a competition.” She reinforced as if she had that talk with too many of them.

Well, she wasn’t the one who had had to talk about her trauma for the last few minutes. Actually, it should be her turn.

“Guess not." Jason pondered and got up, approaching the criminals. "You never said how you felt about Bruce being a vampire.”

Silence reigned for a few moments as he removed the needles from the criminals’ arms, but Jason didn’t push it. She had watched their fight, she saw the scariest Bruce had been, and he wouldn’t judge her if that had affected her feelings. Shit, he got goosebumps remembering the terror that took over his body with a feral vampire, his dad, attacking him so brutally.

“I'm glad I wasn't there when he was feral.” Babs broke the silence, “I don’t fear or hate him, but you can say I…” Her voice quivered, “I haven't fully mentally recovered from what the Joker did to me.”

Jason sealed one of the blood bags rougher than he should have. He couldn’t claim he had either, or that he would in any near future. Some nightmares refused to disappear. A few triggers couldn’t be erased. 

"That piece of shit really fucked us up, didn't he?" Jason sneered, hoping Bruce meant it when he said the Joker was wishing to be dead.

It was the sole comfort he would ever get from his failed revenge.

"Maybe. But we are here, right? And he isn't. He didn't take everything from us.” Babs wasn’t optimistic, on the contrary, but Jason chose to believe in her. “I just need some time, and I know Bruce and Damian will be in good hands with you until then."

He froze for a moment. Babs trusted him. In the past, she… she wasn't the first one to do so when he came back. Fairly. He wasn't the most reliable and didn't even try to prove himself at first to show that, so he couldn't blame her.

But she was giving away her trust like it was nothing, like he always had it and there was never a doubt. Did he? Should he have it? A voice in his head screamed no! reminded him he didn’t deserve such things from his family, and after they were a clan, he would lose that forever.

Honestly, Jason didn’t give a fuck about what that voice had to say now. Why should he? Because the universe was telling him again, and again the same thing? Well, the universe could be saying something else too.

His mom overdosed on a drug made of vampire venom, a piece of shit of a vampire killed him and he came back in a nest full of prick vampires that made his life a hell for the time they had him. If he was superstitious or some shit like that, he would think the message couldn't be clearer and put a silver bullet between Bruce’s eyes before he could hurt him as anything vampire-related did.

But the universe had proved to be a bitch a long time ago so fuck it and every message it wanted to send. Jason could never have the bond his family would have, he might be left out and thrown away, but he wouldn’t abandon them this time. Maybe he would end up worse than when he was under the pit? Yeah. Maybe it would hurt more than his death when they got tired of the outsider clinging to them like a real leech? For sure.

Yet, things were what they were, and all he could do was do his best and deal with them. He was the Jason they chose to love and trust even after everything, and he would show that to Bruce and his family. Jason would take whatever scraps of love and family they gave, and be happy. 

Clan, or no clan, Jason would never leave them again.

He just hoped they didn’t leave him first.

Hey, dear readers! This is a chapter that reveals a lot of stuff and hints others, and it will influence a lot of the next one so I would love to know your opinion about this, what you enjoyed about this chapter and you expect to happen. Your feedback will always be very important to me!❤others

Chapter Text

|This chapter includes suicidal thoughts and implied self-multilation so be careful if that's a trigger to you|

Chapter 9

Bruce’s pov

Excruciating pain.

That was all Bruce could feel when the threads of his consciousness rose from the darkness.

It burned. Everywhere. 

From the tip of his toes to the inside of his eyes. Thousands of needles piercing and scraping his skin. Lighting up his nerves as a trail of fire to incinerate them. Digging through his body and twisting his organs from side to side.

Again. 

And again. 

And again.

An all-encompassing pain that offered no escape except within the depths of his own mind.

Bruce recognized it. Despite his thoughts waging a war to connect. His mind shattering into pieces and then struggling to put them together. He was all too familiar with this pain since it first gripped the core of his being when he narrowly escaped death at the hands of the hunter who killed his parents.

Silver

Not once so intense. Never to the point it had his body craving for unconsciousness if it meant it would stop, just stop , for a small moment of something beyond pain.

But it was a familiar pain. 

From the frequent companion of his efforts to force his body past its limitations with Ra’s only then to have it used against him when the demon head tried to claim him, to fighting others of his species as Batman with the very same thing made to kill him. 

There was no getting used to silver for vampires, but Bruce got the closest to it. Only now, it was nothing like that. 

The deadly material was all around and inside him. It ran through his entire self in waves, crushing the breath out of him, a continuous effort to push him back into the darkness. 

And so it did.

At some point, red replaced the dark. A soft touch overrode pain. 

It smelled like home. 

Felt like a clan.

For a few seconds, his heart was warmer than the flame coursing across his veins.

Then it disappeared as if it had never come, and his tormentors drowned him deeper.

Bruce couldn't breathe.

Every inhale hurt. The slightest move left him paralyzed in agony. Thinking tore his mind apart too.

It was like his body was bathed in acid, an endless massacre of his insides.

It hurt, it hurt so bad, and it didn't stop.  

It wouldn't stop. 

Bruce was losing this battle. 

It was a fact whenever he fought his way back to the surface. He was losing continually, and he couldn’t fight anymore…

He didn't want to…

And maybe, he shouldn't.

Maybe, you're better off gone.

In pain or the darkness. He didn't know. But something was telling him he deserved both of them. 

They were all he deserved. 

So Bruce let himself sink into whatever would catch him again.

Seconds

Minutes

Hours

He went from pain to darkness, a cycle in which he was entirely helpless. 

Not Batman.

Not Bruce Wayne.

A simple immortal overwhelmed by so much silver he might be on the verge of death as well.

But then… the hurt wasn’t his anymore. It didn’t come from him, it wasn’t in his body, it came from - 

Time froze when Bruce’s mind was ripped from his body, detached from anything that wasn't the fact the pain wasn't his . 

No

They came from the lights. 

Two bright lights at the end of a tunnel of darkness, so bright they could be compared to two suns emerging in the cold, vast space. 

Warm. So warm. 

Despite burning, Bruce was cold, always cold, the dark space to these lights. Yet, they were the ones hurting.

They couldn’t hurt.

S houldn't hurt.

They needed him. He had to be there for them, to comfort them. And so he did. Nothing mattered anymore but reaching out to embrace the lights. 

Bruce hesitated but craved to comfort them, wrapping his shattered mind around them like a blanket. His world exploded with a thousand shining stars in the blink of an eye.

With every fiber of his being, he showered them with abundant love, pouring his heart out until all the anguish and suffering dissipated, leaving a serene aura of joy and comfort. They reciprocated his love with open arms, enveloping him in a tender and affectionate embrace. 

Complete

He was complete again.

It was him and the lights. No more pain or hurt. They were his , and he was theirs . 

Bruce immersed in the alluring sensation of this connection, unafraid to sink too deep. The lights were happy with him. They wanted and accepted him. They were his everything.

One by one, the fragments of his mind began to unify, evoking the feeling of being alive again. It reminded him of how people talked about feeling the sunlight's warmth. He had never sensed it as it was, the gentle touch of the brightest star forbidden for vampires, whether immune to the damaging sunlight or not.

But this sensation had to be that.

It was too good to be anything else but…

Bonds?

Bonds

Was this what he sought his entire life?

Bruce had… bonds? 

It couldn't be. 

He wasn't allowed to have them; he had accepted what he was long ago. A vampire with no clan. One day, without a family, too.

Bruce approached the lights with hesitation, timid of purely being near them.

Tim. Damian.

His sons.

He claimed his sons.

But he wasn’t with them.

Not safe in a nest with physical touch strengthening new mental bonds.

He started to move but was abruptly stopped by the resumption of agony.

Bright lines of agonizing fire. Around his neck. Wrists. Legs. 

Stopping him from reaching his sons.

Silver

Silver wrapped around him, restraining every one of his limbs.

Silver flowing through his veins, weakening and poisoning him. 

Silver wrapped around his head and tearing into his mouth, blocking off any advantage of fangs or senses he might have had.

But the thought of his sons, his bonds, his blessings , compelled him to dismiss the pain and weakness as mere inconveniences. He needed to get to them.

Forcing his eyes to open, he blinked slowly for long minutes to dissipate the blur in his vision, shock, and horror battling inside him when he could finally see.

Bruce knew exactly where he was. He had meticulously planned and built this place himself - a vampire cell situated deep within the Cave, with a singular purpose in mind: 

To contain the most dangerous monster in Gotham.

Flashes and blurs of memories cut through his mind, each of them crushing his chest under the growing, overwhelming guilt that twisted his guts as a knife.

No . 

It couldn’t have been. He couldn’t have done it. He couldn’t have let it happen. 

After so many years, every night of hunger and starvation, all his effort to be in control, to protect them from himself at any cost…

Bruce couldn’t have attacked his children. 

It couldn't be real.

Yet, the flood of memories rushing through his mind screamed otherwise. They swirled in a chaotic dance of fury and blood like a never-ending loop, replaying repeatedly, etching themselves deep into his subconscious. It was a mess, but clear.

Too clear.

Dick and Jason tried to stop him. Of course they did, his brave sons wouldn't back down facing a threat like him, but they also didn’t fight as brutally as they should have in the beginning. Maybe some part of them still held onto their affection for who they believed Bruce had been, and they had paid the price for it.

It was the hands of their monstrous father that gripped and smashed their bodies against hard stone. That pressed them down to the point bones almost snapped in half, which was only stopped by the bone-chilling moment in which eyes gleaming wide in panic replaced their grunts of pain and hurt expressions.

When they weren't Nightwing and Red Hood anymore, and struggled to push him away like little kids desperate to live and protect each other.

Afraid of Bruce.

Terrified by their father.

It took being their nightmare for him not to kill his own children, and Tim…

Oh, Tim. Bruce hit him. He hit his son. 

He felt like throwing up in his mouth, the bile rising to his throat but forced down by the silver collar tightening around his neck. 

They weren’t even fighting. Tim wasn’t hurting his baby brother , no, he was solely trying to contain him, hardly pulling up a fight. And Bruce hit his head. 

Hard.

It was like in the nightmares where Tim would leave the training room black and blue, blood shed by the man who was supposed to take care of him. 

By another vampire. 

By another monster. 

But it wasn't the worst part yet. Because Bruce hadn't stopped there—if only he had. He left, wanting to take his baby vampire to a safe place to protect and comfort him, but that was no excuse for all the harm he had done to Dick, Jason, and Tim.

He shut his eyes, the hurt in his chest suffocating him more than the silver encasing his body. And then…  

Tim had to call him, kneel for him, bare his neck, and offer everything Bruce had ever wanted. 

Why? How could he do it, how could he-

No. Bruce wasn't doing it. This wasn't Tim's fault; how did he dare insinuate so? 

His son was always like that, sacrificing himself and doing what he believed was needed at the cost of his life. He had already loved monsters before, let them take everything from him without complaint, and Bruce had fooled him into doing it all over again.

Jack and Janet might be abominations of parents and vampires, but not even they crossed such a line. Their fangs weren't the ones that claimed his son without consent.

It was Bruce. 

He stabbed Tim in the back, the last straw in his transgressions against his children.

He promised.

"I can." Bruce raised his chin, a slight touch, but that allowed him to look Tim in the eyes, "I promise I won't be your parents, Tim. I won't betray your trust. Ever.”

Deceiving monster. 

That was what he was, and Bruce couldn’t punish himself enough. Despite closing his jaw and forcing his teeth into the muzzle so the silver threatened to break his fangs like lightning snapping in his mouth, the agony of the fact wasn’t hurtful enough.

He deserved much worse. Having his fangs ripped out again and again wouldn't ever get close to the punishment he should receive for what he had done to his children, for harming his clan. 

Not like he had done so many times before. By lying to them, pushing it too far, or saying the wrong things. Those were the human mistakes Bruce tried to be better for them, things he was able to fix about himself, but this…

It was him losing control of his true self. Revealing who he was beneath the human skin used to hide his nature for all these years. And he could try to find every reason to explain his actions, saying he was feral and feral vampires weren't in control of their actions, claiming he was desperate to defend his baby vampire and protect his new clan. 

They wouldn't be lies, and yet, none of it would justify it. 

Batman would have attempted to rationalize his actions, seeking potential justifications and excuses for his behavior. However, Bruce was able to see through it. If he had only attacked his children, it would have been terrible enough, so much so that burning his hands with silver would have been the lesser punishment for himself.

But then, at least, a slight chance of redemption for him would be possible. He would spend the rest of his life making up for it and showing them he didn’t have to be the monster they witnessed, nor was he like the ones who hurt them in the past.

That he was still capable of being their leader, mentor, or father.

Maybe, Dick, Jason, and Tim would have found in themselves not to hate him at some point in the future. Cassandra, Duke, and Stephanie wouldn't want to stay away longer than they already did. Barbara wouldn't look at him and believe he might harm her.

And maybe Bruce might have tried to believe he was worthy of their love, or at least their forgiveness. Anything they wished to give him.

This wasn't it though.

He claimed Tim without his consent. That was the least of the three crimes a vampire could commit to a bond, but it didn't make it any better.  

It might not be a forced connection, born from the mental domination of a stronger will over a weaker one, such as the abominable violations Ra’s gloried in and had once attempted to force upon Bruce. On the other hand, it wasn’t the sick, twisted, false bond of a vampire manipulating someone's emotions into a toxic mockery of a relationship seeking to mimic the sincere emotions needed for a real one.  

Such things would need to be broken at once to hopefully avoid the scars of the corruption of something so pure, and Bruce would have known instantly if the nature of his bond with Tim was like it. A forced or corrupted connection would never equal the purity and clarity of the undefiled stream of emotions he felt from Tim. 

His son. 

Was he still allowed to call him that, or had he lost the privilege? He reminded himself that wasn’t the point. The monsters who raped the minds of others for their false clans would never perceive the full emotions and pain of their victims. No, Tim had an actual bond with him.

In the end, it didn't matter.

Bruce took advantage of his son. He used his affection, trust, and loyalty to him and his own love for Tim to create a real bond and selfishly fill the emptiness in his existence that would always be there in the place of each of his children.

If Tim had consented, it would have been everything he’d never dared hope for. But he hadn’t. The emotions were real, but Tim hadn’t agreed to them.

He didn't want this.

Everything he had vowed never to do, promises he made for the sake of his clan… was gone after this, leaving only the truth.

He could have left the Cave for Dick and Jason's safety. He could have ignored Tim's call. If he had humanity or a piece of the father his children loved once left in him back then, he would have walked away from them with Damian. 

He didn't, though, because he didn't have.

As he had always known, Bruce was a monster. The monster that he tried to restrict under Batman's cloak in a false belief it would make him anything else, but it, in the vain hope would make him good enough to be a father. 

Lies.

He had deceived his children for so long that he started believing his own lies. 

Alfred was wrong. He was blinded by his love for the child he raised. Bruce didn’t deserve the title of father—he never had. His vampire side, at least not letting him deny it, was a mere vindication of that.

Dick and Jason should have killed him as the beast he-

STOP

Every cell in Bruce’s body froze, all the physical agony overloaded by the angst waves invading his bonds with the pleas of his clan . The realization sank as a heavyweight in the pit of his stomach. He was affecting his sons, tormenting them a gain .  

A flip switched in his mind.

Bruce didn’t hesitate to halt his train of thought, forcing the spiral of emotions that suffocated him to dissipate. He couldn't afford to be distracted when his clan suffered because of him. Taking a deep breath, anything but Tim and Damian cleared from Bruce’s mind. Despite his vow to keep contact to a minimum, he couldn't stop himself from pushing against the silver keeping him in place with his sons writhing, countless negative emotions coming from their bonds,

Away from his clan.

The chains creaked, and the handcuffs tightened around his wrists, thighs, and neck in response, burning as if they sought to melt his skin to his bones. This time, it scarcely reached Bruce, who was numbed to the world beyond his sons. No amount of silver would come near the pain of shiny bonds stained by the darkness of hurt and sorrow that reflected his own feelings. 

Bruce exhaled, not allowing himself time for guilt. He couldn't afford for it to affect Tim and Damian again. Instead, he focused on linking their minds with his own and strengthening their bond. 

His sons were still unconscious, he sensed it, but their subconsciousness was as determined as they were because Bruce couldn’t have been ready for the wave of comfort bringing down his defenses aided by insistent tugs of concern.

A faint smile played at the corners of his mouth, his eyes glistening with love. He didn’t deserve his children; he truly didn’t , but this wasn’t something lasting long enough in his thoughts for him to undergo guilt again. No, his boys were insistent despite being asleep, and with the intensity of their recent bonds, they took care of him like usual.

Bruce had no choice but to hold tighter on them and respond with his own love, sharing the great joy that always overcame him with the knowledge that his kids were simply alive and well. However, if he believed this would calm his sons, they proved him wrong.

Tim's bond was gentler in his care but somehow more intense than Damian's, who wasn't content until his clan leader was free of any angst. They worked together to surround Bruce with their presence; his baby vampire latched onto Tim like a whole army would struggle to separate them.

He smiled wider. Bruce took a moment to forget his mistakes and let the comfort of his loved ones wash over him. As he reassured Tim and Damian, he felt a selfish desire to stay with them a little longer. The instincts buried deep in his mind awakened, urging him to remain in their little world of strong bonds.

Would it be so bad? 

Shouldn’t that be his place? 

With his clan?

It was what he was a clan leader for. To have his sons in his arms, safe and happy, sheltered from any potential threats. To be their stronghold and sanctuary. And as so, Bruce couldn't die. He couldn’t do it to Tim and Damian. 

Bruce could wallow in every way he fucked things up as much as he wanted, for as long as he wished, and it wouldn’t matter at all. The damage was done. He had a clan to protect, and they needed him to stop drowning in guilt and regret. He couldn’t change his decisions, and in the end…

This wasn't about him. It had never been. 

The pain in his chest and bones, the burning through and beneath his skin, his anguished feelings and thoughts—they meant nothing. His children were still the priority and would be until the end of his life and beyond. He couldn't forget about it now because the consequences of his actions were finally getting to him as he expected it would happen one day.

The alarm of the door unlocking echoed in the cell, leaving Bruce no time to organize his thoughts before it opened. He tensed, barely registering the pain of the handcuffs tightening in reaction when three tempting smells invaded and overwhelmed his senses at once.

But only one prevailed. 

Blood.

It was good.

Too good. 

He inhaled deeply through his nose, unable to control himself. This wasn't the smell of the blood bags, a weak reminiscence of life's essence frozen in plastic and drowned in preservatives. No, it was more like the alluring aroma humans naturally exhaled from the liquid flowing through their veins, still warm and fresh. It wasn't exactly the same, but it was close, and he missed it terribly.

Fresh blood

Bruce clung to the collar and handcuffs keeping him still and to the ground, enduring the pain to quell his hunger.

He absolutely despised these moments. They always filled him with the sensation of addiction, a complete lack of control over his needs and wants that were his terror in a way not even Scarecrow might replicate. 

After a few seconds that felt like endless minutes, he eventually grounded his mind back into reality, identifying the source of the other smells before lifting his eyes to face them.

His sons .

They towered at the cell's entrance in their Nightwing and Red Hold suits, with their silver weapons in place, appearing as if they had come straight out of the blurs in Bruce's memories. The only difference was that they were each holding blood bags in one of their hands, revealing the source of the fresh blood.

A nauseating sensation of shame seemed to coil around his insides, more intense than any silver would ever be. Had he just overlooked his sons’ presence over blood like some mindless beast?  

After only a few seconds of contact with his children, Bruce had already acted more like a wild vampire than their father.

How fitting.

Jason entered the cell first, followed closely by Dick, who hovered over his little brother in a way that Bruce had seen him do countless times in the face of threats. The perception didn’t sting for too long, but he didn’t think he would ever forget the exact beginning of what would be the normality from now on.

No more of Dick’s surprise hugs and cuddles or Jason laying on his shoulder during a movie night. Tim wouldn’t lean on him seeking comfort because he couldn’t ask for it, and Stephanie wouldn’t use his arm as a pillow whenever she decided to.

Bruce would lose Cassandra going to him when overwhelmed, the comfortable silence they could share with her cheek on his chest as he stroked her black strands. His weekly meals with Duke after school and before he visited his parents wouldn't happen anymore.

And Barbara… she would never forgive him for concealing his true nature, only to hurt their family. He would be a constant reminder of what happened to her.

"Hey, B.” As usual, his oldest son was the light pulling him out of darkness. His tone was soft, and if Bruce didn't know any better, he would have thought it was something besides how people talked to dangerous, cornered animals.

He had used that tone too often in the past not to recognize it.

Dick left the bags by the door and moved towards Bruce, passing by Jason, who watched over with an unreadable glimpse in his eyes. For the first time in a while, he preferred not to analyze what it might mean.

“It doesn’t seem like it, but I've gotta check…” Dick let out a humorless snort and crouched in front of him, his presence soothing despite the situation. “Are you still feral?" Their gazes locked, and although he wanted to look away so his son wouldn't notice his red eyes, he knew he owed him at least that much.

Slowly, in a mindful movement, he shook his head. It was reasonable to ask if the blood bags indicated their next move to remove the threat of his feral state.

Dick sighed in relief, "Good. It's good to have you back.” A slight smile opened on his lips, as deceiving as confusing, it still warmed Bruce’s heart.

Why was his son like this? He should be cold, professional, and ready to do the necessary for his family. If it was bad enough, his fury on Tim’s behalf would be bubbling beneath the surface, one moment away from bursting.

Why would he be so… normal?

Why act as if Bruce still meant the same to him?

A hint of hope threatened to sprout like one of Ivy’s venomous plants within him. Could it be?Might he have been wrong?Was there a slight possibility his son didn’t ha-

Dick turned his head and nodded at Jason, and for just a moment , red flicked through Bruce’s vision at the tempting sight of his bare neck.

No

As quickly as these feelings came, he crushed them without hesitation. 

How did he dare have hopes after what he did? How could he view his sons like prey again ? Hadn’t he failed them enough? 

Shame washed over him, and Bruce forced his gaze back to the silver ground, clenching his jaw until his gums were on fire. The familiar rotten taste of his blood became everything to feel, throat burning as his bile rose at the wrongness of it all. 

Drinking from animals or other supernatural creatures? The flavor would vary depending on the species. Feeding on other vampires? If it weren't among clan members, it would not be as delicious and sustainable as a human. 

To ingest your own blood? 

Biting himself to avoid losing control at the lowest moments of his hunger taught him why it was abominable. Like many predatory creatures, vampires were made to satisfy their hunger in others, but never by themselves. 

Bruce wished it wasn’t the case—he would have fed on himself a thousand times not to do it on his children.

“B?” Again, his voice reached among the darkness.

Kind . He sounded so kind that Bruce was incapable of not facing him.

It took every ounce of willpower to swallow his blood down, but he was able to do it before raising his head, so at least he encountered Dick's eyes without drooling with it and seeming more like a wild animal than he already did. 

His oldest son had a frown between his eyebrows, not out of concern, of course , but out of suspicion. 

And Jason…

His hand rested on his gun while the other held the blood bags tightly as he stared at Bruce with a tense stance.

Suddenly, everything was clearer. This was a deception tactic. 

One person would do the emotional manipulation and trust-building to avoid conflict; the other would essentially play the bad cop to keep the threat under control. The roles exchanged to confuse the target as long as a delicate balance was maintained until they made the confrontation safer.

Bruce was the one to teach them in the first place. How had it gotten past him? But mainly, why ? 

What was the reason for it? 

Dick and Jason had the advantage. He was willing to submit to whatever they wanted to do, whether they were in control or not. It didn't matter how torturous these things might be; his fate was at their hands. Bruce wouldn't ever consider fighting it.

Do they know that, though?

The question arose at the same time Jason spoke for the first time, his expression impassive. "You good there, old man?" It came out harshly, but the emotion beneath confirmed his last thought.

His boys truly didn’t know. 

They couldn’t have. 

Back to himself, Bruce possessed the combined abilities of Batman and a vampire, making him a greater danger to his children than when he was feral. One they would use everything learned with him to neutralize, including pretending not to hate his guts. 

He tried not to let such realization consume him, nodding at Jason.

“Okay.” Dick paused, looking him up and down. “ Now I know you must be really lost, but we're gonna start by removing…” Hesitancy stole his words momentarily, features contorting in contempt as he gestured at the muzzle. “That from your mouth. Are you going to bite us?"

His response was immediate. Quickly shaking his head, he needed them to grasp the absolute truth that he wouldn’t. Bruce would rip his fangs off before doing so.

"Careful. He might not be able to help it." Jason warned and dropped the blood bags, approaching from the other side.

Having his distrust after everything they went through was as if a fresh wound opened, but it didn’t equate to the coldness of Red Hood in his boy’s voice when he towered over Bruce, "I want to make it clear I’m gonna fuck you up if you try to bite him, or me, again."

Not throwing up on the muzzle under the overwhelming guilt drowning him was a tough quest, but he refused to lose control of his emotions this time. 

This wasn’t about Bruce. 

It meant nothing that he wanted to beg Jason for forgiveness, to comfort and take him in his arms as he had done the night before— it wasn't on his right anymore. If his son needed him to just not hurt him and get away from the feral state, he would comply.

Bruce gave Jason a slow nod, relaxing and shrinking his body in an attempt to make himself less of the threat he was. The increasing silver burn hit him as usual.

His boys exchanged a look, but he didn’t try to understand their nonverbal communication; he only waited for their verdict. After a few seconds, the decision seemed to be made when their hands moved towards his face. 

The moment Dick and Jason's fingertips entered in contact with his skin Bruce froze, caught between his instincts of leaning to it or getting away for being undeserving of such small comfort. 

Ultimately, he stared at the ground, choosing to remain still. 

At their mercy.

Bruce didn’t flinch when they unlocked the muzzle, and the sound echoed loud inside his ears, high-pitched and scraping through them like a saw scratching metal. Surprisingly careful hands had to detach the silver from his face with how deep it carved into it, into his gums and fangs, and yet, he didn’t shudder or move away from the pain.

He refused to react.

His sons’ pained expressions were blurred and unreachable as his breath and the very air itself felt like melting his face by a thousand blazes. Hanging by the handcuffs, not the smallest sound left his mouth when the muzzle was finally removed, abandoning him to the healing burns and agony.

Without the device toning down his senses, his body might only have felt the same torment as before, but Bruce dove head-first back into a new layer of a world he had left behind long ago. With that, he realized the faint but gentle comfort of a fluffy blanket over the shooting pains of the silver tormenting him. Something about it stirred up memories of happier times with his children.

He saw red again, not blindingly, but with a sharpened and clearer focus on two faces. Dick and Jason. Their mere presence lit up the bleak cell, and those smells...

He could have picked them up a thousand miles apart, and oh, it was so indelibly his sons.  

Relatively new hints of cologne and gunpowder, and alongside it, every little thing that had changed over the years and Bruce had hardly let himself appreciate. Then, under it all, immutable to time and unable to be hidden by dust and silver, there were the scents he knew were meant to be his clan from the moment they met. A taste or maybe a fleeting memory of it. 

He groaned, thinking he was imagining it until- Bruce's pupils dilated. Blood! His sons’ blood. A miracle that never should have happened. 

By some means, it smelled even sweeter and more inebriating than before, pulsing through their veins loudly enough to echo in his ears as their heartbeats lured him at every beat like drums. 

“C’mon, don’t let it take over. Stay with us, Bruce!” A tense voice demanded, one of those he would have recognized in his sleep, Jason , and it was softer than it had ever been this night.

And how could he not obey such a request? His clan required his return to them to serve his sentence as a human, or at least, as much as he could be.

His eyes closed, and all focus shifted to the sounds he always trusted to tell him his children were alive since Jason’s death, the very same things he wasn’t capable of sensing at the moment his heart shattered. 

He made their breaths his entire world, steady but harsh, a nervous response. The rhythmic beat in their chests, steady despite a rush of emotions, a vigilante skill. It only lacked the warmth of their skin, living beings not cold like a corpse, but such privilege wasn’t his anymore.

Bruce would never again take more than was given to him.

Raising his gaze, he almost recoiled when he was received by the unexpected sight of their shared grins of relief and their proximity to him. Jason was leaning on one knee right in front of him, too close for his own safety, with Dick bent a little behind him, resting his hands on his knees.

What were they doing? Why risk it when Bruce posed a constant danger to them and their siblings?

“You probably don’t get what I’m saying, but damn, B. You’re still gonna give us a heart attack at this rate.” Dick chuckled and patted his brother’s shoulder as if completely unaware of everything wrong about displacing such an attitude near Bruce.

"Stop messing around, Dickhead," Jason huffed, though the small smile still lingering on his lips gave him away. He rose to his feet and gestured at Bruce with what had to be disdain. “He needs to feed. We can leave the talk for later."

Dick rolled his eyes, filled with affection, and followed behind Jason towards the blood bags. 

Bruce's expression softened as he watched the interaction before him. Although he was well aware he should focus on why they thought he couldn't understand them or the mention of feeding, he was too captivated by what he was witnessing for probably the last time. 

It felt like just another routine night patrol with Nightwing and Red Hood, bantering with each other after working together to subdue a threat that wasn't him. But that wasn’t the case. 

Instead, his head spun when they approached him, holding two bags each, already intoxicated by the scent of the flesh blood mixed with theirs. Bruce mustered the strength to resist his impulses, finding solace in their heartbeats again and using them to ground himself. He couldn't lose it—not after coming this far.

Thu-dum Thu-dum

Jason put three of the four bags on the ground, out of Bruce's reach but close. 

Thu-dum Thu-dum

Dick held the other one, glancing at his brother before stepping in Bruce's direction.

Thu-dum Thu-dum

Bad idea. Really bad idea. 

Thu-dum Thu-dum

They kneeled in front of him, now holding the bag together.

Too close. The fresh blood, his sons, they were too close.

Thu-dum Thu-dum

Bruce weakly shook his head, fighting the luring darkness within.

He couldn't give in or break down. If he did, he wouldn't stop, and he couldn't be trusted, not with them-

This time, Bruce couldn't help but recoil when the blood bag was shoved right in his face, breathing heavily in a vain attempt to keep a strain of control.

With a compassionate deceiving smile, Dick destroyed all of his willpower with five words, "It's okay, B," His tone was more of an offer than a command, but still firm. "Go on."

He should refuse. It would be the right thing to do. 

But Bruce didn't want to. He felt so tired. He was hungry like he was all the time, and it was tiring to resist that permanent void in his stomach, always there to ache and grow. 

Why should he fight? 

Fresh blood was presented to him. Yes, it wasn't like in his wildest, stupid dreams, in which his family accepted him for what he was and fed him out of love. Bruce wasn't delusional enough to believe that could ever be, but this was their request—their will. And hadn't he vowed to give himself into it?

If they wanted him to drink the blood and see more of the beast they were to put down in its natural state, they should have it. Bruce promised his children everything he had and would give them that. 

The hesitation was brief before the overpowering sense of absolute necessity overpowered him. His fangs sank into the bag. The first taste of the liquid hit his tongue. Red replaced his sight. 

Then, nothing existed beyond sweet, fresh blood.

He took a mouthful of the liquid, letting it linger briefly before swallowing it in quick gulps. The taste was irresistible, like a potent drug he couldn't get enough of, a far cry from the bland, unappetizing sustenance he had been forcing himself to consume for so long.

Bruce gulped the blood as the starving beast he was, practically inhaling the whole bag at once, another quickly replacing the now empty piece of plastic. He was so lost in the feeding that he didn’t respond to that or the voices rising nearby.

(“He is drinking it all quite fast. Is that normal, Jay?”

“I think so. I expected him to be messier, but it fits the old man to be so neat even at his first feeding. Fucking control freak.”)

Everything was muffled but blood. And why wouldn’t it be?

This was the life elixir returning to the walking corpse that had haunted Gotham for the last decades, bringing back flesh and bones from the human to the vampire. 

It was like taking a first breath into the living again.

Not anything compared to the thrill of his bonds, to the sheer warmth and comfort of them, but filling, and satisfying, and Bruce wouldn't, couldn't , stop. 

He didn't want to. Shame should interfere, and it would later on, but not now. Now , he gave in to his primal impulses and kept drinking without anything holding him back.

(“Have you had enough, old man?”)

The question didn't reach him, any indication of having to restrain himself blocked by his instincts.

Why should he, after all? 

Although close to clearing this bag, he detected more fresh blood and the pulses of his clan's hands holding the bag for him, tempting him with connection instead of mere nourishment.  

He hummed through the gulps, leaning more into it and drinking even quicker.

(“I think that's a no, little wing.”

“No shit, goldie.”)

Another bag emptied, and then quickly, a new, full one was headed to him immediately. By his clan. Despite diving deep into the blood smell, contentment filled his heart. It didn't matter that it wasn't their own blood, only that it came from them—they had hunted for him and now fed him with their prize. 

The sheer possessiveness of such thought grew greater than the hunger, slowing down Bruce's rhythm to longer and smaller sips as he sought to appreciate what his clan offered him so kindly. With that, a new sensation started to settle in. It wasn’t bad or uncomfortable; on the contrary, it was quite… pleasant? 

He didn’t understand it until a fragment of a childhood memory returned to him. He recalled being snuggled between his parents and carried by Alfred, safe and content after a meal, and feeling… 

The back of his eyes burned when he realized what it was.

Bruce was experiencing the basic sensation of not being hungry again.

Was this possible? Not to have a persistent sense of dread haunting him? An agonizing emptiness consuming his stomach every second of the day? 

He didn't think so before, used to starvation like they were old friends meant to walk alongside for life, but feeling how it was like to be free from it… could he come back?

Could he live without it?

The answer became obvious when he finished the bag, glancing at his sons' faces as they gave him the last one, watching him drink it with apprehension.

Yes, he could. For them, he always would.

(“This is the fourth bag. Is that normal?”

“Fuck if I know, Dickie! Just because I had one experience doesn't mean I got everything figured out. Maybe our dad is a greedy one."

"You were the one acting like some kind of specialist before, so sorry if I presumed."

“Apologies accepted. Besides, I didn't act-”)

Dad. One of his sons called him dad. 

That was all that was needed for Bruce to stop drinking, too stunned to continue. 

He had to have heard wrong, right? Jason wouldn't call him such. He knew what Bruce had done to Tim and wouldn't forgive it. 

So, was it a mockery? A test? A slip?

"Is it enough now?" His oldest son broke the silence Bruce hadn't noticed to begin with, tilting his head in what Jason called puppy classic movement.

No, it wasn't. 

If he were honest, only his clan's blood would fully satisfy him at this point, and perhaps he should have asked for it so his sons would make sense again and stare at him in disgust or laugh at his face. But he wouldn't do so because Bruce was still a coward who preferred hiding in the confusion of possibilities rather than facing the truth. 

With much more effort than he would have liked, he detached his fangs from the plastic and moved his mouth away. He nodded to respond to Dick, and his sons took the plastic away from him and got up, his gaze following them when something shifted. 

Bruce gasped, sensing an unfamiliar sensation coursing through him. A new wave of strength and energy surged through him, filling him up with a power that he hadn't experienced in years and a sense of invigoration that he'd almost forgotten was possible.  

His heart pounded hard against his chest, muscles stretching and flexing with renewed vigor that caused him to clench his fists and press against the silver instinctively. Yet, he no longer felt any pain. The previously unbearable silver burning faded to nothing more than a dull ache in the back of his mind.

And his bonds... he inhaled profoundly, feeling them better and nearer than ever, bright and happy. Everything in him yearned to go to them, and suddenly, he realized he could do so.

He watched in horror as his boys gathered the empty bags out of the cell, a knot lumping in his throat. Dick did most of the work while Jason glanced over at him, guarding his brother's back against the monster. He had no idea how rightful he was to do so, the amount of danger they were actually in because Bruce had done it once more.

He failed. 

The cell didn't work. It was supposed to contain Bruce, feral or not, at his best and most powerful, something he didn't even know what it looked like, but it was nowhere where he was now. It should have worked. It should have been enough. The alternative in the land of the living to the grips of death. 

But he was wrong. Why couldn't he stop failing? Why couldn't he have died on some mission years ago if he were just to fail in one of the only things he wasn't allowed to? 

“So…” Jason started while strolling towards Bruce, crossing his arms, “Did you like it? You know, is that shit as good as they say?” His tone was quiet, almost shy, a jarring contrast to the sarcastic grin opening on his lips.

Had his son asked him if he enjoyed the blood? Bruce couldn't stop reacting this time, and a deep frown formed on his forehead. What kind of question was that? 

The way Jason formulated it reminded him of the times he sought Bruce’s approval for the minimum things after returning. A piece of the sweet, vulnerable boy that even dead was still that clearly alive and his son. But whether it would be the case in countless situations, this wasn’t one of them. 

Jason would never seek anything like that from him again, something he had to accept already. It was more likely just another test.

Another revelation of his monstrous nature.

Bruce was about to give them one more piece himself, but Dick must have mistaken his confusion for grogginess, speaking first. "He means the fresh blood. Little Wing said it's what you needed.” He nodded at his brother, his mouth showing a hint of a proud smile.

That only deepened his confusion.

Was it what he needed?  

Fresh blood after a feral state was only necessary for newbies. Of course, it fed born and older vampires like him, or any vampires, actually, but they didn’t have to drink it to avoid going feral again, as happened with the newbies. It was why they usually attacked humans in their hunger. 

But how did Jason find that out? Was it something learned during his time in the League of Assassins? Or had he taken care of a vampire in such a situation before? Possessiveness surged from his heart, an ugly, selfish monster clawing through its walls and awakening his worst instincts.

The ones that upon his son's return had him wishing he'd kept Jason in his nest and never let him leave. It made him crave to slaughter every vampire, including Ra's, who dared to merely breathe near his clan. You still can do it all now. They whispered from the back of his mind. 

He was capable of it. He knew deep down in his bones. These chains couldn’t hold him back if he actually didn’t want them to, not now when Bruce had the power that guilt always denied him. If only he broke out, if he took what was his, for once-

"Come on, B. No thank you?” Jason asked abruptly, his voice echoing as a sneer in Bruce's mind and shutting his instincts down instantly.

He froze in the realization of what he was about to do despite everything that happened tonight. Bruce closed his eyes, wishing to have the muzzle to press his fangs against.

How could he?

Just… how?  

He was pathetic. A failed hero. A disgrace of a father. A paranoid monster that hadn’t been capable of protecting his clan, not even from himself, that lost any right left to claim them as his, and yet , dared to think he could try to have both now. 

This couldn’t happen again. Bruce had to make sure it wouldn't.

“Thank you, Red Hood and Nightwing,” He said robotically, accepting that if he allowed any warmth to infiltrate his words, it would overflow beyond his fragile control.

There were just too many things he wanted to thank them for but with little time to do so and the certainty that it wasn’t what they ought from him. 

Jason scowled, his stance going defensive as irritation glazed his eyes. This was a posture he knew all too well. His son was mad at him and about to snap, and Bruce found himself hoping he unleashed his fury upon him. 

His anger was painful but familiar and understandable, like a blade that had pierced his heart enough times to find its own cozy place in it next to Dick's. So if it were time for his boys to stop pretending, he would like that blade to be his executioner.

“Alright, B," Dick let out a humorless chuckle, exchanging a tense glance with Jason before they headed toward Bruce. "Let’s take you out of this place to get you checked.”

Check him?

No! 

What were they thinking? 

One step 

He was not safe to be around. With his new body's matching strength and how strong and erratic his instincts were, he was completely unpredictable, especially closer to Tim and Damian!

Two steps 

If they took him out of this cell, as inadequate as it turned out to be, there was no telling what he would do. Bruce had already hurt Tim beyond recovery by inflicting a bond on him. What if he ended up claiming them without their consent, too? 

What if this time he did something even worse like Ra's? 

No,no, he couldn't risk it. He couldn't do it again; he would rather kill himse-

Three steps. 

A determination spread through his being as a spark ignited in his brain.

They had to see and know what Bruce was, otherwise, they wouldn't understand it.

There was only one thing to do then.

They stood in front of him.

He had to show them exactly the kind of menace they were dealing with but that if given a chance to be kept around temporarily, just until Tim and Damian were fine with greater distances, he could neutralize himself whenever needed and wanted.

His eyes flicked between Jason's guns as his muscles tensed in preparation. There was his safeguard.

Hands moved in his direction

Time seemed to slow down, and maybe it had when with an ease that added another brick to his pile of failures, he made his move. Realization gleamed in Dick's widening eyes, but it was already too late.

He pulled the chains and pushed his body forward in a quick movement, reinforced silver snapping through the air. The chains whipped back at the walls and tore off the broken, thick cuffs from his thighs and wrists, wrenching the needle spikes out of his skin but leaving some still embedded in his bones.

The sharp pain was brief, barely noticeable when Bruce rose to his feet with wobbly knees that soon stabilized. Jason tackled Dick to the side, who stumbled into a hesitating fighting position. As expected, his younger son raised his guns with lightning-fast reflexes, but Bruce was faster. 

He took advantage of the opening to seize one of the guns out of his hand, holding it with the intent to use it if he had to for the first time. It felt wrong. A glimpse of a shooting in a dark alley crossed his mind, along with his parents' screams, but he fought the sickening feeling and pointed the gun at his own head.

Maybe there was a good world out there. One in which he wasn't the monster that made his children a family. Where he wasn't the reason for their continuous suffering and eventual death. In which they didn't fear or hate him because Bruce was a good father with whom they were happy and safe. A distant reality where he deserved their love.

But none of that was here.

Here Bruce stood, a mix of blood and liquid silver running down his arms and thighs as he placed the muzzle against the side of his head, finger on the trigger for safety, the crumpled black blanket that could only be the remnants of his sons’ misplaced care at his feet. He didn't intend to die; he wouldn't harm Tim and Damian in such a soul-crushing way, but he would do whatever it took to ensure nothing like this night happened again.

His boys stared at him in shock. 

"What the fuck, Bruce?!" 

Hey, dear readers! This chapter is full of angst and reveals some stuff about Bruce, so I would love to know your opinion about it, what you enjoy, and what you expect to happen. Your feedback will always be very important to me!

Chapter Text

Jason's pov

"What the fuck, Bruce?!" 

Shouting the question that had been hammering inside his head for the past few minutes didn't convey nearly the whole turmoil of emotions growing inside him at the dreadful sight of his dad.]

Despite clearly being in the process of healing, the burns on Bruce's thighs still had partially melted skin, while the ones on his mouth and cheeks were raw, as if he would be able to see the tissue from beneath if he looked closely enough. 

His gaze met the widened, teary, scarlet eyes that stared right through him, their maniacal intensity triggering his instincts.

However, it wasn't worse than seeing Bruce hold the weapon that killed his parents against his own head, to see him use a gun . 

Jason's gun. 

That he brought there and let it be taken from him with ease. Bile rose up his throat, the bitter taste of vomit touching the back of his tongue.

"B... what are you doing?" Dick's soft voice broke his sickness in time, repeating his question in a less freaked-out way.

Good. He had never been happier about the fact that his dad listened more to Dick than to any of them, and hopefully as much as himself.

“I'm dangerous,” Bruce said calmly as if it somehow explained whatever the hell he was up to!

Jason could only scoff in scorn, partially in disbelief and partially in despair because, as truthful as that could be, it didn't justify the fucking gun aimed at his stupid, big head. 

Yes, he broke through silver bonds like they were paper towels because Bruce was annoying enough to excel at being a vampire, too, even if that defied its laws. And sure, his bared long claws and fangs gave his stance a more feral rather than defeated appearance, making him look like a cornered animal.

But it was hard to take it all seriously when he was also barely standing straight, with his shoulders hunched and one arm dropped at the side of his body, and running down his arms... 

Jason narrowed his eyes. There were trails of blood... and mixed with it... that was...

Silver?

It was liquid silver.

His focus quickly fell to the handcuffs, his stomach sinking the moment he noticed the spikes on the inside of them. They weren't there before. They weren't — He and Dick would have seen them. 

Jason peeked at his brother for safety, comfort, or understanding, maybe just something , and found Dick staring at the handcuffs in horror, seeming to have followed his line of thought.

"I have no idea the fuck that's supposed to mean, but you're as dangerous as shit with silver poisoning!" Jason snarled, not ashamed to admit it was in panic. 

How could he not panic a little? 

As if this cell wasn't bad enough, it gave his dad silver poisoning, one of the most excruciating things for vampires! It could kill him. It would kill him with enough time and quantity, and they couldn't tell how much silver was running through his body already. 

Shit, he shouldn't be moving at all, even less standing.

Jason stepped forward, ready to find out how bad it was by force if he had to until Bruce reacted by putting his finger on the trigger. His body immediately froze in place. 

It didn't even matter that there weren't silver bullets in that gun—Jason still didn't want to see his dad blow his brains out of his face and have to hold him in uncertainty while the hole in his head healed.

"The silver isn't as effective as it should be." Bruce sounded disappointed, reminding Jason of when one of his plans went wrong, and his ego was hurt. "I'm more of a danger to you than you know, son- Jason."

Anger flamed through him at the slip. Did Bruce just correct himself not to call him son? 

Why ? Did he actually think Jason didn't deserve to be called so? A fed vampire for no more than a few minutes, and he already discarded him? 

Jason swallowed down his bitterness. How could he think it would be any different than this? He should have known. He should have fucking-

It trembled. 

His dad's finger in the trigger trembled. 

He frowned. It was just for a second, but it drew his attention to how unsteady Bruce's grip on the gun was and how his calm expression slipped into... fear? The anger drained from him as quickly as it came to the realization. 

Was Bruce scared? 

Like Roy , his mind reminded him, but it couldn't be. It couldn't be happening again, right? Bruce wasn't- Who was he kidding? Of course, his dad would; he was that kind of idiot, too.

“God, this bullshit, I can't fucking believe I'm going through it twice." Jason pinched his nose to try to organize his thoughts, a hand on his hip as he fought the urge to pace around.

There wasn't time to go over everything that might have made two of the closest people to him see themselves like that and react with fear. Bruce didn't have that time. Whatever it was, it had been enough for him to use a gun on himself, so Jason just had to clear any misunderstanding. 

Be honest and gentle. That was the key.

He sighed, glancing at Dick, whose desperate expression seemed to beg him please, don't fuck up, not now . Jason shared his feelings more than ever. 

"Listen to me very carefully. Just because someone turned you by force, it doesn't mean you're some kind of monster, you idiot!" Gentler . Jason reprimanded himself without needing to endure Dick's gaze burning into the side of his head. "Yes, you went feral on us, but it isn't your fault. It doesn't make you a fucking monster. You're still you, vampire or not. Still..." 

He hesitated momentarily, licking his lips and gesturing weakly, "Still, my dad, okay? So please, give my gun back and let us help you."

The admission wasn't hard in any way, and that was the problem. 

Fuck Bruce for worrying him this entire night, fuck him for terrifying him, fuck him for forcing him to be vulnerable and plead, and yet not drop the damn gun! Instead, his eyes held a mixture of pity and hurt as he pressed the muzzle even harder against his skin like he was facing a child who didn't know shit and couldn't do anything to stop him.

Irritation filled him, his muscles tensing in preparation to jump Bruce and prove him wrong the hard way. 

“Jason is right, B. C'mon, don't let your stupid brain put the blame on you," Dick's light tone was a blessing, easily catching Bruce's attention to him, "I promise we can figure this out later, but right now, we gotta take you to the med-bay. To Tim and Damian." 

For the first time, they had a good response. Bruce's grip on the gun faltered at the mention, his irises flashed a deeper shade of red for a moment, solidifying their theory that he claimed them. 

Jason should be scared. Somehow, a newbie vampire weakened by the presence of silver both around him and coursing through his veins like a poison, had broken out of his chains and was moving freely, apparently only reacting normally to his little brothers. 

But all he could feel was jealousy, the old need to have what the rest of his family had from his dad, like the bloodsuckers he said vampires were.

God, maybe Bruce would be right to keep him out of his clan after all.

"How are they?" It was asked so softly, hesitantly even, as if Bruce didn't feel like he was able to ask such a simple question.

Which was absolute bullshit. His dad interrogated anyone without giving a shit if that was his right or not. Human, supernatural, alien; he acted as they owed him answers, and it mostly worked. Jason might find it annoying, but that was just how Bruce was.

Now this... it was all off.

"They are fine. Unconscious, but fine," A soothing smile opened on Dick's lips, his hands reaching closer to Bruce but freezing mid-air when he backed away, stepping on the blanket Jason used to cover him. "It's okay, Bruce. The one responsible for this is the real monster, and we will get them when it's all done." 

The familiarity of that enveloped him. Oh yeah, that was more like his thing.

"No worries, they will never get near you and the baby bat again." Jason reinforced with a manic grin, already picturing everything he would do to that monster, "When I find the scumbag who did this to you, I'll make them pay for it with every drop of their blood.”

Talia didn't need to go as far as she did with him. 

She didn't need to show him exactly how to dismantle a vampire piece by piece until they were terrorized by the simple thought of him, but she did it anyway. 

From ripping off fangs and claws that grew back to breaking bones that would quickly heal again, you could cut a thousand times through layers of skin and still keep them alive to feel the agony of it. The Demon's daughter had only allowed him to go back to Gotham once she ensured that her personal project had the capacity to be as fearsome as she was if he wished. 

Jason had never been so glad for it. He would guarantee the piece of shit that put his family through all that suffering had it ten times worse.

“No one did it to us.” Bruce breathed out his answer, causing Jason to inhale deeply.

Really? Fucking really?

“I swear if you're protecting them from me even after-”

“It's the truth," For the first time tonight, his dad sounded more like himself, cutting him off with a demand for silence. "No one turned me against my will. I've been a vampire since birth, and so has Damian.”

Jason scowled, his heart racing as he struggled to process the bullshit he had just heard.

Right... as if any of that was possible. As if Bruce would have been able to hide that from them for all these years. As if Damian would have ever been able to hold back and not show off his supernatural superiority for months. As if they would have a reason to hide it from them to begin with-

Right?

“You’re lying. We would have noticed. I- I 'd have." Dick scoffed, his features twisting in anguish as he snatched away the words out of Jason's mouth, "One of us would have walked in on you feeding at least once, seen your fangs and claws or something."

Exactly! There was no way Bruce was telling the truth. 

Maybe the attacker was someone close to his dad, and that was why he was going to such lengths to protect them? Or were they close to Damian, and he didn't want to upset the baby bird? 

Might it be Talia? He didn't think she was that angry to have a human son, but it wasn't like he had seen much of Damian or their interactions during his time with the League. Would she truly go that far?

“I've rarely exposed my vampire traits or fed. Only blood bags, and only when absolutely necessary.” Bruce emphasized, making even less sense.

That had to be another lie. 

Vampires needed to feed frequently and they certainly couldn't survive without fresh blood for long. So yeah, this shit had to be a lie because otherwise, it meant Bruce had been practically self-mutilating under their nose since they met, and Jason- he didn't... he didn't see it? Not even once? 

What the fuck was wrong with him, and even more so, what the fuck was wrong with his dad?

“So you've been starving?" Jason didn't believe his own words. If any of this was true, then, "Was hiding it from us really that important?"

That was the million-dollar question that tugged the threads of his heart, leaving him breathless in wait for at least one answer that didn't confuse him more. 

He knew the pain of hunger very well. Not for too long, thankful to Bruce, but for the years that it gnawed at the walls of his stomach almost every fucking day and night, hurting until that was all he could think of, Jason had become familiar with it.

How could someone inflict that on themselves for so long? What was the reason for it? He couldn't think of anything. 

"I never meant to hide it, Jason. But I couldn't-" Bruce paused, swallowing down in... fear again? Shame? It was hard to tell by this point. "Every time I took each of you in as family, or a partner, you didn't need a vampire. You needed Batman, a mentor, a father , not another monster like the ones that hurt you."

Jason watched in indignation as a bittersweet smile opened on Bruce's lips. Fuck, what kind of shit was he on? He was just as capable of being all those things while still being a damn vampire!

Okay. To be fair, maybe he would have trusted him even less if he had known about it that night they met, but he was a dumb, traumatized kid who tried to steal the fucking Batmobile’s tires. He had already thought Bruce might rape or traffic him as a human anyway, so it couldn't have been too worse than that. 

Eventually, he would have gotten used to the vampire thing, and it would have gone just as it did, with his dad little by little gaining his trust and showing him love. 

Shit, that actually might have helped him after he came back to life. He would likely have coped better with vampires surrounding him at the worst time of his life if one of them had given him the best time of his life. And he couldn't speak for the others, sure, but it wasn't like-

"You could be dead. You should be." Dick broke his line of thought with a snarl. "Why aren't you?"

Dead . As always, his big brother paid attention to the most important thing. 

Jason looked stunned as he gazed back and forth between Dick and Bruce, truly getting how serious it was. They could have lost their dad and wouldn't have known why until it was too late. 

And a starving vampire for so long exposed to so much silver at once... 

His stomach dropped. They might have killed their dad. A few minutes ago, they might have walked into a corpse.

"I come from one of the oldest lineages of vampires. I can last longer without blood and keep better control of my hunger. Tonight night was an isolated incident." It came out like a routine explanation, momentarily subduing Jason's horror with more confusion. 

"You mean the fucking royalty?" He raised an eyebrow, adding when Dick side-eyed him, "Talia called them that once."

It had shown up in one of her conversations with Ra’s when he was barely conscious. Although Jason was too busy coming back from the dead to pay attention to many of the things she said then, he remembered this because there was actual fear in the way she said such a term, which didn't make sense at all.

The only person Talia feared was the one talking to her, so whatever she was referring to had to be worse. 

But Bruce wasn't even close to that, no matter the bullshit he said. If those guys were true evil, then Jason was proud to say his dad was the exception.

"That's one of the ways ancient lineages are referred to, but not exactly. It's more complicated than that." Bruce sounded almost ashamed, his shoulders slumping even more.

Jason didn't like it. 

He was starting to believe his dad and everything that came with it, and it was tearing his insides out in a way that ached with the absolute absurdity.

"If your parents were vampires too, how did they-” The knot forming in his throat cut him off, taking all his strength to mutter his realization, "Alfie knows, doesn't he?"

Unlike most of their talk, Bruce was quick to answer this time, “He never wanted to lie to any of you. Ever. He would have told you the moment I brought you here, both of you, but I didn't let him." There was some level of despair in his words that didn't exist in any of his justifications for himself, and oh, how that only rubbed salt on the wound his words ripped in Jason's heart.

“No one can make Alfred do anything. Not even you.” Once more, Dick said everything he couldn't, despite his firmness faltering.

Jason wanted to reach for him and return the reassurance he had been given, but he didn't. Couldn't . He didn't know how the storm growing inside him made him feel because that was it.

His Alfred, his source of safety and comfort even before Bruce was, who meant home even after he came back wrong and didn't expect to have it anymore, had known the whole time. Just like their dad, he had been lying to them and probably helped him hide it all, then dared to act as if Bruce wasn't killing himself behind doors.

And the way his dad seemed somehow paler at Dick's response... 

Dammit, Jason didn't think he had ever been mad at Alfred, but he was now, and he fucking hated it. It hurt, and he didn't fucking get it. Alfred didn't take his dad's shit, so why would he support something like this? 

“It's not that simple. He didn't- Alfred loves you more than anything." Bruce said firmly, choking out with a surrendering conviction, " He won't stand in the way. ”

Jason turned his head to Dick, sharing a concerned look with him. What the fucking hell did that mean? A part of him was too afraid to find out, sensing something worse was coming, but he couldn't not do it. He had to do it.

“In the way of what exactly?” Jason asked slowly, coming off as dangerous when, in fact, he was struggling not to scream in a growing panic.

“Of whatever you choose to do with me. I'm aware of what I have coming. I understand, and I won't fight it, but…" Bruce swallowed, and it was like Jason watched his dad head to the slaughterhouse and plead his case one last time, "You don't have the entire picture. I can give you that then you can make your decision having all the information you need.”

Goosebumps danced across his skin at each word that left Bruce's mouth. What kind of shit was he expecting them to do with him? It had to be something messed up because Jason had never heard such hesitation from him before, so why wouldn't he put up a fight? And the fuck did he mean with the 'entire picture'? What more had they missed?

How much worse could it all be?

More and more questions spun around his mind in a matter of seconds, each one worse than the others, giving him a thousand painful scenarios that boiled his blood with all the things he had no idea of. 

And you know what? He was fucking tired of this shit. If Bruce wanted to do it like that, fine, he would give it to him.

“B." Dick started, back into his Nightwing persona, "Whatever you think this is-”

“Give my gun back, and come with us to the med-bay," Jason demanded, his stance nothing but Red Hood at that moment, "Then, and only then, we'll listen to you."

He would get to the bottom of it, but he would do it in his way. Bruce wasn't going to keep forcing Jason to watch him hurt himself while he was helpless to stop him. 

Not again. Jason didn't think he would be able say or do any of the things he would have to if that was the case.

"This is all for your safety, Jason," That soft tone, that fucking tone that told him Bruce wasn't taking him seriously. "The cell has already proven not as ineffective, and if I lose control again, I can-"

"What? Blow your brains out to keep yourself under control or something?" Jason couldn't help but scoff, taking a step forward with empty confidence and an ache that only worsened. "Well, guess what, that's my fucking job, not yours. If I think I need to shoot you in the head to deal with you for good, I will!" He pointed his finger at Bruce's head aggressively, watching him shiver but not step back.

He wouldn't. He wouldn't do it. Jason kept thinking he could if he had to during their fight, but now saying it out loud like it was a fact, he realized he couldn't. His dad should know that. 

Why didn't he? 

Jason disregarded the look of 'you’re acting insane' Dick shot his way, focusing on how close he was to retrieve his gun from Bruce, anxiously awaiting his response.

God, he better do as he said. Jason was on the very edge of disarming him by himself, as painful as that would be for both of them, but he was running out of options!

Eventually , Bruce nodded, a rigid movement that had never brought him so much relief before. "You're right. I apologize for taking what was yours to do." Despite the wrongness of his entire, ridiculous apology, Jason barely waited for Bruce to lower the gun and hand it to him.

When he did, Jason carefully took it from his hand, trying really hard not to throw up with how much worse the bleeding silver holes on his wrists seemed up close. 

I fucking did this. I almost poisoned my father to death. The thought swirled around his neck like an invisible rope that crushed his windpipe as he put his gun back in the holster, keeping his hand on it for safety.

Jason raised his eyes to meet Bruce's again, almost giving up. The gleam of hurt in them itched his arms to wrap around his dad and hold him close, to tell him everything was alright and they would fix it. They would do it together. 

Did he truly have to figure it all out now? Was it that important? 

Unfortunately, Bruce had to ruin it with his stubbornness, "I won't leave the cell. I-" He faced down for a moment at his hands that, with long, deadly claws capable of cutting through their skin as easily as paper mache, still trembled. "I can't risk it. Please, don't make me risk it, son."

Oh, so he still called him son? 

Jason clenched his teeth, despising the very sound of Bruce's pleading. That wasn't his dad. It wasn't. On another day, he would have enjoyed seeing Bruce beg for his attention and understanding, treating him like his opinions and decisions were everything that mattered to him.

And could you blame him? 

He was just a fucking man, after all. He never fixed that part of himself that wished for his dad to love and be proud of him like he wasn't the failure that died on him. Now though... it was nothing but sickening. It reminded him why he had to figure out the hell was going on inside that twisted mind.

"Fine, with one condition. From now on, no more lying or omitting shit. You tell us the truth, and you start now." Jason left no space for arguing, asking the question that truly decided whether he would drag Bruce to the med-bay or not, "Is the liquid silver killing you?"

"No. My body is expelling it quicker than normal vampires' would, and if it was to kill me, it already would have." The answer came swiftly, but the confirmation of Jason's theory wasn't as comforting as it should have been.

Bruce would be dead if he wasn't a super vampire. Jason would have killed his dad, and nothing could force his brain to stop spinning that fact over and over.

A grasp on his forearm whipped his head to Dick, who stood right next to him in apprehension, "Are you sure, little wing? I don't think this is a good idea." Strangers might have mistaken it for a plea, but Jason knew better than that.

That was Nightwing warning him that he didn't like how this was going, and yet, he would trust him to lead. 

Shit, how he wished to sink into Dick's arms and let him end it. It felt so easy. Dick made it so easy with his stupid gentle blue eyes and ridiculous natural offer of comfort, but fuck it, he couldn't. 

Jason had to do this, and he wouldn't let his big brother carry the weight of the world on his shoulders for him.

"The old man owes us answers, Dickie," His hand rested on top of Dick's, a gesture he hoped conveyed everything he couldn't say out loud. 

Dick sighed, letting go of him with a last look. He rested his back on the wall next to them, creating a distance between him and Jason and Bruce.

Such trust was not only in him but also in their dad, something Jason had instinctively given Bruce in keeping his focus off him even for a few seconds, which usually meant life or death with powerful threats. He turned back to Bruce, outraged to find him kneeling down on the blanket, he had to hold back from pulling him up by his shoulders.

How? How the fuck did Bruce see this and feel like he had to kneel? Was it possible for vampires to hallucinate from silver poisoning or something? Jason didn't have the answers to any of that, but he was gonna find out.

"Go on. Tell us exactly what we need to know to make that decision you talk so much about.” He crossed his arms and stepped back, unable to tower over Bruce when he was relieved for something as simple as being heard.

Again, it was sickening wrong.

“My bonds with Tim and Damian are too new to be broken safely." Bruce declared, his hands raised as if he didn't expect them to let him continue, "I can break them, this is no excuse, but time is necessary. Their emotions have to settle in, and their young minds need to fully adapt to the bond. Breaking it before that happens..." 

He seemed haunted by the mere imagination of it, "It can seriously harm them for life. As a human, Tim's mind might shatter and affect his body enough to make it grow sick. And Damian is only a baby vampire; his soul could easily tear apart, never to be healed again."

It became harder to breathe with the picture his dad had painted, of seeing his baby brothers decaying day after day until they were only shadows of themselves, being unable to help them. 

They were right after all, then. Bruce did claim Tim and Damian, but at no point had any of that crossed his mind.

"What's your point?" The question was asked through clenched teeth.

"Getting rid of me or sending me away will only make things worse, so for their sake, all I ask for is time. You can deal with me as whatever you wish after it, but for now, they need me." The minimum. Bruce glanced up at him for the minimum, like he had to convince them of it.

He was filled with annoyance, feeling like he was going to burst out in a scream. Of course! Of course, they would have the time they needed! 

Break the bonds? Why would they have him do that? Yeah, if Tim wanted to when he woke up, that's what they would obviously do, but Damian didn't act like he had any problem with the claim. Not to mention, what did he mean by dealing with him however they wanted? 

Something never sounded more ominous and murderous, the kind of threat he would make to a criminal, which motivated him to push it through. He had to push it.

"And what do you suggest we do with you while you do that? As you said yourself, this cell has proven itself ineffective. What, you didn't take yourself into account when you created it for... the Joker? Maybe for the old creep Ra´s?" Jason sneered, gesturing at the walls around them as he paced around in frustration.

Clearly, there was a lot of bullshit going on with Bruce, but he wouldn't have gotten to that point. It had to be for them. He ignored the indication that it wasn't, refusing to consider it even when it was impossible not to notice where this was going,

Bruce had no problem breaking his illusion, though. "None of them. I designed it for myself, but I..." He inhaled deeply as if that was the fucking problem. "Miscalculated. I didn't have the knowledge of how deep my inexperience with my own nature was until now."

Jason had to huff and throw his head back to stare at the silver ceiling instead of Bruce. This wasn't a cell, it was a torture chamber—his dad created a torture chamber for himself. For years, he had sat at the Batcomputer and planned every detail of it, and the only reason its goal wasn't achieved was that he didn't know himself enough. 

He... he didn't think it would be worse than Roy, but he should have, shouldn't he? His dad never did anything by halves.

The back of his eyes burned, forcing him to gather all his strength to face Bruce, "Why should we trust you with anything else about it then?" 

How should we trust you with yourself?

"Because I experienced what worked, even if not as much as I planned." His posture straightened, the Batman's scowl on his forehead that once Jason outlined with a black marker when he fell asleep on the sofa, "The collar and muzzle contained my heightened senses almost completely, so with some reinforcement, they should keep me relatively under control."

A fucking report. 

He was talking about those things like his neck wasn't covered with burns around the collar, and Jason hadn't been able to see the bones of his cheeks for a moment there when they took the muzzle off! 

"The muzzle almost ripped off your face." Disgust dripped from Dick's voice, but Jason didn't even have to glance at him to know he was as close as he was to throwing up.

"You won't have to take it or the collar off," Bruce said as if it were the most obvious thing.

Oh no, his dad did not just suggest that, for fuck's sake! He clenched his fists, craving to be out there, to punch something hard and be punched until it hurt, anything but this.

"You're fucking kidding, right? Are we supposed to walk with you on a collar, muzzle, and leash around the house like you're some kind of mad dog?" Jason scoffed in disbelief as the masochist he was, feeling like he was talking to a more insane version of his Bruce.

If only the League arrived to say they had entered a dark alternate reality of some sort, and none of this was real.

"You won't have to take me that far; I'll obey. Tim and Damian will need my presence for a few hours a day in the first weeks, now and then in a few days, and eventually once every few weeks. During the bonding time, you can take me to the Cave and then bring me back here when we are done." The mere suggestion of such a dehumanizing scenario devoured the walls of his stomach, and yet, Bruce informed them of a whole plan that had them doing it over and over.

Jason knew he was a broken record by that point, but he couldn't help it. Seriously, what the hell was wrong with his dad? 

He might have considered kicking Bruce's ass a few times, and Dick definitely did it far before him, but to think they would ever do any of those things to him? Shit, it was already a nightmare to put him in this hell hole despite the fact he was a possible danger to them. 

They wouldn't do it again or worse, even if somehow that was necessary. They just wouldn't. 

That was still their dad. 

Why didn’t he know it?

"And how the fuck are we supposed to feed you? Or are you planning on starving again?" Jason tried to keep asking the important questions, the ones that needed answers, but it was becoming more of a struggle to steady his breath.

A simmering fury gradually rose inside him, intensifying with each passing moment, and he had no idea of what to do with it.

"No. I can't risk getting feral again or letting my hunger affect the boys. But it was one of the things that worked out as I supposed. Until you fed me, the silver kept me weak, with the liquid showing the best results." Bruce reasoned with a slight, apologetic smile, "Obviously, it wasn't the right amount, but I can calculate a larger one that will work, and if you feed me a sip between weeks, that should keep me more docile."

Docile. Under control. Obey . 

His skin erupted in goosebumps as blaring alarms hammered against his head, more and more insistent. 

It wasn't right—none of that was. Those terms were used for animals or by hunters who believed supernatural beings to be nothing but beasts, and it boiled his blood that Bruce would use them for himself. 

Why? Why was he being so cruel to himself?

"Won't all that silver affect Tim and Damian? Through the bonds?" Dick inquired with a controlled calm, but his fists trembled, a sign that he was as close to losing it as Jason was.

It was quite comforting to find out he wasn't going crazy alone.

"I've been able to feel Tim and Damian and calm them down, but they haven't felt my pain as much. It will become easier to keep them away from it with time, and it will help them prepare for the breaking of the bond." Bruce said, this time, not an ounce of emotion behind it.

Jason stopped his pacing, slowly turning to face his dad. 

He wouldn't fucking dare, would he? Bruce wouldn't do all of this and hide behind a mask, behind Batman, when that was the last thing they needed, right? He observed Bruce's expression go blank, a new kind of despair starting to infiltrate his heart. 

No fucking way, Jason wouldn't let him do it to them! Not this time.

"Which has to be consensual from both parts, from what I heard. Are we gonna have any problems with that? Are you gonna be a problem?" He was as harsh as possible on purpose this time, and the sole reason it worked was that his dad couldn't hear his heart break under the weight of his words.

It was like Dick could, though, standing behind him with a hand on his shoulder. The tension slightly left his muscles with his brother's soothing presence but came back stronger when Bruce spoke.

"Tim will want it broken as soon as possible, and I'll guarantee Damian accepts it as well as possible. I..." The choking pause spoke more than his dad's words, and he seemed to know that because soon after, he gave them a robotic nod, "I'll let them go when the time comes. As the claimer, I can take more of the pain of the breaking, so it won't hurt them too much in the process and aftermath."

That- was it even possible? 

His eyebrows furrowed as he realized not from his quite limited knowledge and little experience from Roy. Maybe that came from the fact he had only interacted with vampire claimers that were either pieces of shit that forced a bond on others or victims of hunters, but it had to be excruciating, right? 

If parting a bond was already the greatest suffering, then taking more of the pain to yourself...

The thought of his dad hurting himself even more, sheer torture by that point, and only because he believed that was what he had to do for their good, ignited the growing flame inside Jason.

"You'll have to watch over Tim closely," Bruce continued, but the rush of blood in Jason's ears muffled him. "As a human, he will be intensely affected, so give him as much physical and emotional comfort as you can, even if he pushes you away. Zatanna might also be able to help his mind and body heal faster." 

Fists trembling, he wanted to scream for him to stop. None of that shit would happen. Jason would never let it, not on his fucking watch. 

Again, if Tim wished the bond gone, they would help and be there for him, but the difference was that Bruce thought they would require it. He thought they would demand that he do it, and Jason... 

He couldn't. It was all snatching away the air from his lungs and devouring his insides as much as when he was in that damn coffin.

"And Damian... he is a good kid. I know that he gave you some problems in the beginning, but he's learning. Talia raised him as well as she was able, but the kind of clan that's the League... I think she figured out he would be better with me. And she was right. You can't send him back there. As much of a monster I am, Ra's and his vampires are ten times worse, and if Damian wasn't spared of it before, he undoubtedly won't be if he returns. So if you can't bear to keep him around... at least leave him with Alfred." Sadness fueled his dad's tone as if he was already mourning their 'certain' decision.

He felt like he had to tell them how good their baby brother was. That he had to ask for them to do the fucking bare minimum and take care of him instead of sending him to that hell hole. That he had to appeal to their humanity and not their love for Damian.

How could he? What had they done, what had happened to Bruce for him to believe they would be such monsters with him and Damian? Jason didn't get it. 

His body heated up as he panted, his mouth opening and hand raised like he was capable of saying something without crying out, but Bruce must have seen it as a bad sign.

"Please." His gaze shifted to Dick, begging him. Not Jason. "He's still your baby bat; that didn't change."

He was Jason's too! 

Fuck it, he knew his big brother and Damian's bond was unique and shit. Yeah, his relationship with him couldn't compare. It might never compare. 

But that in no way meant that that little shit wasn't as important to him! It didn't mean he wouldn't kill and die for him as he would for the rest of his family, and it definitely didn't mean he would let Ra's be even near him ever again.

"Okay," Dick muttered before Jason had the chance to argue, whipping his head back to him, but his brother wouldn't look at him. He was completely locked in on Bruce, "We'll take care of him."

Did he- what the heck was he doing?

He frowned at Dick, trying to communicate it to him without speaking, but he decided to act like a jerk, ignoring him and crossing his arms again.

Really? This was it, the moment they had been waiting for. They knew everything they needed to. So why was Dick still pushing it?

"Thank you." The sound of Bruce expressing gratitude made Jason take a deep breath. He had never thought he would be so mad at his dad for something that, in any other situation, would have made him feel smug. 

It was wrong. This was all wrong, and Jason had fucking enough!

He turned his head to Bruce with a determined nod, who must have believed it to be his agreement since he dared to continue and rip the rest of Jason's heart from his chest. 

"Now, if you decide to permanently eliminate the greater threat to you and get rid of me, there are options. The knowledge on how to kill vampires like me is scarce, but I believe we can start with silver bullets or blades to the head and heart." It evoked vivid images of a knife through his dad's skull, dull eyes staring at him with a hole between them, but nothing could have sank his stomach like what Bruce said next, "Of course, you don't have to do it yourselves if you don't want to. I can-"

" Enough! " The shout came from the depths of his lungs, an order, a plea, a scream for it to stop.

Enough of this hell. Enough of these shitty misunderstandings. Enough of everything that was going on in Bruce's mind that they had to fix.

Jason finally allowed tears to show as he stared at Bruce's lost expression, not holding back the hurt that drove his question, "What the fuck is wrong with you, Bruce? You-" He had to swallow down the knot in his throat, "How could you think we would do any of that to you?"

His dad flinched with concern gleaming in his gaze, shaking his head slightly. "Jaylad, I-"

" No ." Jason didn't let him keep going, not again. 

He had heard fucking enough, and now it was time for Bruce to listen. 

"I know I'm an asshole. And I know I'm a bigger one to vampires sometimes, but I don't hate them, okay? You're the second person to think so, and yes, maybe I did when I woke up in that hellhole of the League, but not anymore. I'm doing better." He was, but was it enough? Roy, then Dick, and Bruce... he was doing something wrong, that was for sure, but the problem was that the rest of his family weren't. "I'm a piece of shit, not a fucking monster, and Dick isn’t either. So what the actual fuck?"

He would have been fine if his dad had only believed he would do such things. 

No, who was he fooling? He wouldn't have been. It would have still made him hate himself more and fueled the fury burning in his chest, but at least it would have been reasonable. 

If there was one thing Jason had always known, it was how good his family was, and he thought Bruce did too.

"Of course, you aren't a monster, but I'm-" Bruce sighed, "I'm not those other vampires, Jason. I lied to you. I attacked you. And then I claimed Tim without his consent. You don't have to pretend your hatred isn't a mercy to me."

Hatred? What hatred? 

"But we don't fucking hate you!" Jason claimed tiredly, taking a step forward, "You were feral-"

"It doesn't justify anything I did." Bruce argued through clenched teeth, itching Jason to punch him in the face if he didn't look so miserable.

God, it was like he was speaking to a wall! A stubborn bitchy wall!

"You were fucking feral, you idiot!" He shouted with a desperate gesture of his arms, frustration obvious in his every move. "Do you actually get what that shit means? You spent decades starving, with no clan, and we walked in on you after you just claimed your first clan member in what I suppose you considered your territory. I've met feral vampires that went for the kill in better conditions, and you could and should have killed us for it."

How did Bruce not see that? 

In any other situation, with another super shitty vampire, this might have ended very badly for them. Jason, and certainly Dick, too, had enough experiences with feral vampires defending their clan to be sure of that. 

The brothers shared a look of confusion, both thinking the same thing. Bruce should have figured it out by now, what the fuck was stopping him?

"But you didn't ." Dick emphasized, holding his dad's gaze, who seemed lost and doubtful, "Why is that, B?"

Jason hadn't thought about that, about why exactly Bruce hadn't acted as he should, and maybe because a part of him was hesitant to know. 

Could it be...

"I don't know, I—" Bruce swallowed, a frown forming on his forehead. "At first, I saw you as threats, but then... you smelled like clan. You always did." He stated this as if it were an easy fact.

Always? This whole time, in the depths of his mind and intricate fibers of his heart, they were already their dad's clan? Even Jason ? 

"See?" A snort of shock left his mouth, a new euphoria running through him. "How can you think that-"

"I still hurt you!" Bruce insisted with a glare, finally fighting back and raising his voice, but just to spill more bullshit.

"Not as much as you should have!" Jason insisted back, leaning to face him close, "You're a super fucking vampire, right? You can't tell me it couldn't have been much worse if you weren't you ."

It would. He knew that, Dick knew that, and Tim probably figured that out before all of them! Everyone fucking knew it but Bruce!

" It was the worst, Jason !" In a matter of a second, his dad went from kneeling to standing toe to toe with Jason, his glimmering scarlet eyes shedding tears of clear anger as his fangs snapped at his face.

It would have made a goon shit themselves. It would have had mafia bosses freezing in fear. And it would have made most Rogues run away. But Jason didn't even recoil because that was just his dad, and there he finally was, opening the insides of his chest to them and showing how much this was corroding him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Dick fixating on them with a pained look, yet he didn't move either. They had no reason to. Bruce wouldn't hurt them. 

Of course, the idiot didn't seem to agree, stumbling back as quickly as he had gotten up, a shocked and hurtful expression on his face as he looked between them before staring at the ground with his fists clenched. 

God, Jason couldn't stand it. He scoffed, stepping forward but halting in place the moment Bruce raised his hand, still not facing them.

"What I did to Tim... I claimed him against his will." His dad breathed out, filled with shame as he looked up at them, the emotion practically dripping from every word he spoke. "Don’t you understand? There's no excuse for that."

Right. If he had forced a bond on Tim, Jason didn't think any of them would have been able to forget it or forgive him. But that would have taken malice. It would have taken their dad to feel that one of his children didn't want it and yet force it upon him and enjoy the twist of a bond. 

And it couldn't have been it. Jason couldn't buy it. 

"How do you know it was against his will?" He pointed out, arms open in his questioning, "I'm not saying you and Tim won't need a long talk later, but I've seen what a forced bond seems like to the victim." So many times. More than it should be, and each one was as heartbreaking as the other. "That wasn't Tim. He loves you-"

"Love isn't consent," Bruce said with a haunted look on his face.

Jason backed away some. As wildly impossible as it was tonight, his dad was right. Loving someone didn't mean you consented to everything. But the way he talked about it, as if he was a rapist or the equivalent with vampire bonds, something fucking Ra's was known for even to humans... that wasn't him.

"No, it isn't." Dick agreed, holding his arm and taking the lead for him, "But you're guessing just like we are. Only Tim can tell you if he wants it or not, and if he doesn't, we'll solve it together, and he will get what he wants." 

He turned his face to his brother, his heart warming with the fact he was always able to deal with things. That was it. The exact stuff he was trying to put into words that had been bothering him this entire time about how Bruce was acting.

Confidence regained, Jason supported Dick's statement, "You'd have known that if you had waited for him to tell you in the first place instead of assuming everything like the fucking asshole you are! Or do you truly believe he would have wished for you to go through any of the shit you listed anyway?" He couldn't help but hesitate in the last part, "That any of us would have?"

That I would? It was what he wanted to ask, but as much of his own hypocrisy, he wouldn't do the very shit he was fighting Bruce for doing so. 

Not now, at least.

"I wouldn't have blamed you, but it isn't about wanting." Bruce crossed his arms, pinching his nose and irritating Jason even more with his disappointed dad stance, "Your judgment is clearly more clouded than I expected it to be. You don't know what you need to-"

Oh fuck no!

"Don't you fucking dare tell us what we need to do! You're the one with the judgment clouded here, not us. It has all been about you, what you think, what you believe, and you just ignore us!" Jason screamed in Bruce's face like he should have done from the beginning so he would finally listen, for once! "We're trying to talk to you, and all you can talk about is that we punish you, and for fucking what? Why do you insist so badly that we hurt you?!

His glare dared his dad to do it. To fuck it all up, and god, how he did.

"Because I deserve it!" Bruce snapped, gesturing with so much anger at himself. "Your anger, your resentment, your disgust; it's all deserved, and you don't even know half of what I did to you before tonight!"

Jason rubbed his hands through his hair and shouted, "Then tell us!" It was so fucking simple. "How should we get it if you don't tell us everything?"

They wouldn't unless he said it. That was all Jason was asking, begging for him to do. He would go down to his knees if he had to, do as Bruce did, but he would also fight him in case that was what he required from him. If, once more, fighting was all he could give to his dad, he would do it as always.

"The bite mark on your neck after you came back... it was me, son."

It was only a few words, spoken slowly and full of hesitancy, but enough to turn his world around. The bite mark, the thing that had destroyed him for so long... his hand quickly went to it, fingers hovering over the teeth marks. Bruce? It was Bruce all along?

A conflicting mix of emotions hit Jason, overwhelming him with an intoxicating joy and consuming him with a fury unlike any other. So, he did the only thing he knew to do.

"You motherfucker!" Jason jumped on Bruce.

Chapter Text

Bruce’s pov

“You motherfucker!” 

Bruce was Batman, and so he was prepared for anything when his son jumped on him. 

A punch was his first bet, any kind of strike next, the resulting pain a definitive anticipation. A much deserved one. Despite how blinded by their emotions his children were, there was no way what he said wouldn’t provoke their anger. 

And a part of him wanted it. Oh, how it wanted to feel Jason’s fury in his bones, to know this was it; if somehow he hadn’t lost him before, he did now. Finally, a monster like him would have it coming, and Tim would be avenged. He could finally stifle the last bit of painful hope.

Instead, Bruce was... hugged?

It shocked him to his core to find himself in a grapple hug so tight that, if he wasn’t a vampire, it would have been hard to breathe. His rigid body braced for a blow that never came, fighting to relax into the crushing hold as Jason’s arms wrapped around him. The weight of his son’s head rested heavily against his sternum, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his undead heart. 

He stared at Dick, who seemed as shocked as him, his arms stretched out almost as if he had tried to stop Jason from what he also imagined would be violent.

“You idiot! You fucking moron!” That was expected. 

The screaming. The cursing. The names. 

But not on his chest, where Jason buried his face, reminiscent of the times he did so as a little kid, furious yet still yearning for the comfort only a hug provided. It didn’t... it couldn’t make sense. What was happening? How did he have such a privilege?

His hands hovered over Jason’s shoulders, unsure, the blood from his wrists already dry a reminder of what he was capable of as he breathed out. “Jaylad...” He didn’t have the right to call him like that anymore, but he couldn’t help it.

“You tried to claim me?” It was a muffled question, quiet but incisive, his hands gripping him tighter.

Still from his chest. God, his son couldn’t even look at him. 

“No, I...” Bruce shook his head. No excuses. He wouldn’t give any more excuses. “You were dying. You were dead. I held your body in my arms, and there was no heartbeat, no life, nothing but cold” 

The contrast was all in his mind. From that haunting coldness to this overwhelming warmth against his body, “And I couldn’t do it, Jaylad. I couldn’t lose you. I had to try to save you.”

It was a mere justification but the truth. They couldn’t possibly grasp what it had felt like; none of them could. 

Bruce hadn’t understood until that moment when every fragmented piece of his soul seemed to stab at his heart, each pang a reminder of the unbearable void. It hurt—everything hurt—because his son wasn’t there anymore, and so the world around him lost any semblance of meaning or sense. The laughter, the light, the everyday moments that once sparked joy now felt hollow, echoing the depth of his loss. 

Jason tensed, his limbs stiff as he quietly concluded, “So you turned me.” 

Bruce exhaled carefully, ashamedly looking between the back of Jason’s head and Dick’s lost expression. 

“Didn’t work. My venom must have been too weak after the years of starvation, and it didn’t matter how hard I tried, it didn’t...” His voice hitched, a flash of blue, dull eyes staring at him crossing his mind, a constant reminder of his failure. “It wouldn’t work. So I buried you, but they took you away and threw you in the pit.” 

He struggled to prevent his possessiveness from tainting his words, his fingers digging into his palms as he clenched them. The physical pain was a welcome distraction from the overwhelming need to wrap his arms around Jason, to hold him so tightly that nothing would ever pry them apart again. 

Ra’s didn’t have the right. Bruce would always be glad to have his son back, but the things he lived through in the League, the experience itself that caused him nightmares, all of that fed the beast inside him. A relentless creature forged from the darkness that had long threatened to consume him and one that now stirred restlessly, its hunger for control and vengeance gnawing at the frayed edges of his sanity. 

“Somehow, it must have distorted my venom to claim you, but it ended up halfway. A partial claim.” He offered the feeble justification he’d been clinging to, the truth he’d fought to conceal, aware of the inevitable outcome yet compelled to make the attempt. “I promise you it wasn’t my intention. I didn’t want to claim you.”

Silence filled the cell once more as Bruce waited for his judgment. Jason hadn’t moved even an inch yet, worrying him. 

Liar. Fucking liar . It echoed from the back of his mind, sounding just like Jason, and it was right. There wouldn’t be a day in which he wouldn’t regret the outcome, that someone like Ra’s had his son for so long, and that he had tied his son to him forever in a way he didn’t ask for. The guilt would linger, a festering wound that would never completely heal.

But if his poison had at least played some part in bringing Jason back from the dead, in giving him his miracle, he wasn’t able to force himself to wish he had done it differently. In the darkest recesses of his mind, a twisted justification took hold—the end had justified the means, no matter how reprehensible those means may have been. 

The alternative, a world without Jason, was too unbearable to contemplate, and so he clung to the fragile solace that his actions, however misguided, had yielded the one outcome he couldn’t have lived without. 

His gaze flickered upward, a fleeting instant of recklessness as he turned to gauge Dick’s response, but he swiftly refocused his attention on Jason.

Coward. Still a coward.

Suddenly, his second son gave a muffled laugh that got clearer as he took a step back and faced Bruce. The vampire hardly had the self-control to not pull him back, and it was only because of the tears.

Jason Todd, his son, who refused to react to injuries most people would sob and scream at, was crying. Being impaled by a silver lance would have been less painful.

“Of course. Of-fucking-course, you didn’t!” His features were a mix of hurt and fury as the bitter sound echoed, interrupted by a snarl. “Don’t want the killer of the family in your little perfect clan, do you? I bet you’d rather get rid of this stupid partial claim now if you could.”

Wait, what? Why was Jason speaking as if that partial claim wasn’t one of his most precious treasures? As if all he wanted wasn’t for it to be complete? As if he wouldn’t tear apart every little piece of his soul not to lose him like that?

“Wouldn’t you ? You don’t want it, Jason.” Bruce tilted his head, trying for the hundredth time that night to understand what was going on in his son’s mind.

Nothing was going as he expected, not one thing, and he didn’t know what to do with that. Dick looked at him as if he was an idiot and sighed right before Jason snapped.

“Fuck it, are you fucking kidding me?” His son waved his arms in disbelief, “Yes! Fuck, yes, I want it, you-“ He rubbed his hands through his hair. “God, I fucking hate you. I hate you so much.” 

Bruce flinched. One of the most dangerous vampires in the world flinched, knowing that was coming, but it still cut his heart and twisted his flesh like he didn’t. And how would it not? That phrase was a venom he’d grown all too familiar with over the years, yet Jason was the one syringe capable of injecting it straight into his soul. 

The acidic sting of his son’s hatred would always be a pain he couldn’t numb, couldn’t dodge, and couldn’t heal from. And he had it coming because Jason had every right to it, just like Tim would have when he woke up.

“Oh no, don’t you fucking dare give me the kicked puppy look, fuck, I didn’t mean it. You should know I didn’t mean it, I just-“ Jason’s chest heaved as he inhaled, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. 

He wished to gently wipe them off.

“You should have told me! Do you have any idea how much I’ve wanted this?! Of course, you don’t because, again, you keep assuming shit like you are inside our heads or something.” His son sighed, annoyed, hands on his hips and averting his eyes as if it was too much for him to face Bruce, who was frozen in place.

A knot formed in his throat as he grappled with the significance of the information he had just acquired. Each syllable felt like it was smashing his ribs, rendering him momentarily speechless and stunned. 

No, Jason couldn’t mean what he thought he did. It couldn’t be real. He had to be dreaming.

“You knew about the partial claim? You can...” Bruce extended his hand, halting it just before touching Jason’s shoulder. “You could feel it this whole time?”

“Yeah?” Jason faced him with a frown between his eyebrows, wiping some of his tears with the back of his hand before huffing, “I even asked Zatanna to check it out for me and found out what it was, if not who it was. Why? Wasn't I supposed to?”

Bruce ignored Zatanna’s mention, not able to deal with the fact she knew right now. Instead, he focused on the sense of hope that blossomed within him, entwining around his heart like a thorny vine, its barbs puncturing his insides. 

His son shouldn’t have known. He should never have felt it, not like Bruce did, not-

“Not unless you wanted my claim,” Bruce spoke out loud, widened eyes searching Dick’s for guidance.

Yet before he realized it, his back was pressed against the frigid wall. Jason’s hold was like steel on his forearms. His instincts didn’t dare to react despite the fire in his son’s gaze, hurting for his clan even more with his next words.

“You fucking imbecile.” Jason seemed like he wanted to strangle him, a sneer in his face when he stopped himself. “You have no idea, right? Okay, since you’re so good at assuming, then assume this: I couldn’t tell who had done it, so who the fuck would I think had claimed me in my death, huh?”

In his death- 

Bruce’s breath caught in his throat, his heart racing as the world around him spun out of control. Panic surged through him as the realization struck like a bolt of lightning—there was only one vampire his son would have thought could have claimed him back then. 

“The Joker.” Dick breathed out in horror, coming to the same conclusion.

It was like Bruce could hear his heart break in sync with his. 

“Yeah, the fucking Joker, Dickie.” Jason briefly turned to Dick before glaring back at him, frustration radiating off him in waves. His face twisted between fury and agony, hands trembling slightly as they gripped Bruce. “All this time, how do you think I felt knowing that it was the Joker? That I’d never be fucking free of him?!”

Bruce’s stomach churned at the revelation, dread pooling inside him like a heavy stone. He couldn’t even begin to imagine it. 

The Joker had been his personal monster for years, and he had let him become his son’s that day, but he never considered… he was so focused on his secret, on himself, that he didn’t- he simply didn’t. 

His guilt crushed him as he thought about all the times he could’ve intervened, done something, anything, to prevent Jason’s pain from festering like an open wound. God, the nightmares, the disgust, the haunting presence that Jason must have sensed every single moment, and all because he did the very thing his son accused him of. 

He assumed. And he got it wrong, so wrong. 

“How do you think I felt getting blood for you and knowing I’d never be part of your clan? Thinking that the Joker still had part of my soul and I would never belong with you?!” Jason’s tone fractured, every syllable cutting into Bruce like a knife. “How could you do this to me? Why would you do this to me, Dad? “ 

The last phrase barely escaped his son’s lips before he collapsed into his arms, his forehead resting on his shoulder. Bruce immediately wrapped his arms around him, holding him firmly as Jason’s fury faded into hopelessness. 

He felt his son’s body shudder, the sound of muffled sobs echoing through his lungs, and nothing in this existence would have kept him from soothing his Jaylad, from holding him close and whispering into his ear what he hoped would comfort him.

“I’m so sorry, son.” Bruce trembled under the weight of regret as he gently rocked his son, trying to absorb some of the suffering he had caused. 

What had he done? 

All this time, he had believed so many things, considered the bad outcomes, and tried to prevent it from happening just to end up here. He had planned everything thinking that he was only hurting himself.  Finding out he hurt his kids by doing so, and ultimately, he was wrong about everything at the cost of his son. The irony was a bitter pill to swallow—in trying to shield Jason he had only managed to wound him deeper, leaving scars he feared might never close. 

Such excruciating knowledge seeped into his bones, making his arms tighten around Jason as if he would somehow undo the damage by holding him closer. He couldn’t. Nothing could.

“It’s fine. You got rid of him without killing him somehow, right? I trusted that. I was fine.” Jason murmured against his shoulder. “But then tonight happened, and you know what was my first thought when I saw you were a vampire?” Another bitter laugh left his son’s lips. “It’s fucking pathetic even for me, but... you would claim all of them eventually. Our family would turn into a clan, and I wouldn’t be in it. You wouldn’t claim me because the Joker had finally done it. He actually took me from you.”

His reaction was immediate.

“Never, son. Never.” Bruce declared, his arms wrapping more firmly around Jason. “You have always been my clan, far before this, and even if that monster had claimed you, I promise you this. I'd have walked through hell to find a way to break it.” 

His tone left no room for doubt. He stated facts, such as that the earth revolves around the sun and that silver is a vampire’s weakness.

And he meant it. 

He would have endured his eternal existence in agony, seeking a way to liberate his son from that monster if he had to, and not even the most formidable of supernatural beings could have deterred him from bending the rules for him. On that, he and his instincts had not an ounce of disagreement.

“Then why?” Dick was the one to press him, stepping forward.

At the question, Jason pulled back slightly, searching Bruce’s face for something he desperately needed, a flicker of understanding, perhaps. And he… he could have said a hundred things, done what he did the entire night, and hid behind the reasons that haunted his choices to this day. 

But Bruce owed them the truth, as painful as it was.

“I thought you would hate me for being a vampire, for lying, for biting you. I believed that all of you would hate me for it. And I… I was selfish. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.” He choked out, holding his son’s cheek with a tenderness that belied the turmoil he felt inside. “And even if I don’t deserve to be your father, that’s the greatest joy I ever had.”

Jason took a step back, the color draining from his face as if he was hit. He turned to Dick, their eyes locking in a silent exchange. His instincts warned him, urging him to soothe them, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it when he was the cause of their distress.

Would they finally give up on him? Would that be it? That same question hammered into his head again, the anticipation eating him from inside out. 

They should. Alfred should have done it years ago, the League should have, but for some reason, they hadn’t. Every time he’d slipped into paranoia, every mistake he’d made guided by distrust, they’d been there, holding out a lifeline, pulling him back from the edge.

It would be much better if he ended it already. A clean break, a swift cut, and they’d be free of him, free from the toxic cycle of pain and guilt he’d dragged them into. He knew he couldn’t keep doing this, keep hurting the people he loved, but the thought of letting go, of walking away, left him breathless and lost.

“That’s why I understand if you don’t want me as your father.” It was a battle for Bruce to say it, the burden pressing down on him.

“B. How can you still think that?” Dick asked, disbelief lacing his tone.

Bruce was about to gather his thoughts to respond when Jason approached him again, reaching out his hands and… cupping his cheeks? The tenderness of his touch almost scared him for a moment.

This wasn’t like Jason. His son had a big heart for sure, and Bruce found him being soft with his siblings more times than he could count, but their dynamic… This wasn’t it.

And the way his son looked, with those familiar deep-set eyes, brought back a flood of memories—moments long buried yet vivid, reminiscent of the way he had gazed at him as a child, full of trust and admiration like Bruce was a hero carved from the very essence of strength and safety.

“Listen to me, old man. You are our father. Yes, I’m upset with you. Fuck, I really am. But you don’t get to make decisions for me ever again. I fucking get to be in your clan! I fucking get to belong!” His voice rose, unwavering, as if he declared a truth that had always existed but he had never spoken aloud.

Bruce felt Jason’s words wrap around his heart like an iron chain, a binding he was neither able to resist nor ignore. Stunned silence gripped him as he processed everything his son had said—each utterance like a balm to old wounds, everything he had ever wished to hear—but the sweetness of it felt almost too good to be true.

“You get it, Bruce? You can’t keep me out of this shit. I’ve fucking claimed you as my dad, and you can’t change that!” Jason snarled through a smile that held both defiance and affection.

“We have.” Dick came to his other side, placing a reassuring hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “It doesn’t matter what you are or what you had to do. You are ours, Dad.”

Bruce swallowed down the knot in his throat, the dry click of his Adam’s apple the only sound he could hear.  It was one thing for Jason or Dick to not want him dead or suffering for what he did, but to want to be in his clan? To fully, unconditionally, and without reserve accept a creature like him as his father? 

It shook him, sent tremors beneath the surface, a seismic shift in the foundations of his existence, threatening to upend the walls he had built, the certainties he had clung to for so long.  It couldn’t have been possible this whole time. Because if it was... 

“No... no.” Tears began to roll down Bruce’s cheeks, and he shook his head, struggling against the tidal wave of feelings that washed over him.

How could they still see him as a father? After everything he had done to them, to Tim?

“You deserve us,” Dick said, squeezing Bruce’s shoulder tighter, anchoring him in the fierce love that surrounded him.

“You don’t understand what I’ve done. If you felt that way, if you have always felt that way, then tonight, and every other night… “ Bruce struggled to say it out loud, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling with emotion as he faltered at the end of his sentence.

Remorse churned in his gut; memories surged unbidden through his mind. Decades. Not merely years but decades he had spent ensnared in suffocating darkness and overwhelming despair, allowing his rooted fear to dictate not only his identity but also the relationships he shared with his beloved children. 

How would he come back from that? How would he ever make up for it?

“But we do get it,” Jason’s tone took on a gentle quality, his gaze intense and genuine, ablaze with a resolute passion that kindled promise. “You made choices for us when we were kids, and I won’t pretend to like that, but now it’s our turn to choose. So prove to us you are gonna let us fucking choose for once.”

He held his son’s wrists and closed his eyes, unable to face them for a few moments. How were they capable of offering forgiveness so freely when he’d spent years convinced he was unworthy? Believing with all his heart that he was a monster and they would despise him for everything that made him what he was? 

Bruce didn’t know how to deal with that. His chest hurt, but at the same time, his instincts were screaming for him to accept it. For him to believe them. His sons wouldn’t be cruel like he had somehow painted them in his mind, distorting everything he knew about them to fit the fact they had to hate him. That he had to have been right so that every choice he made was justified.

But that wasn’t who they were. 

He opened his eyes to see his boys waiting for his answer, more tears in their eyes and desperate anticipation in their expressions, but not a single crack in their determination. No, they wouldn’t lie about this. They wouldn’t fool him just to stab him in the back later, as Batman expected almost everyone to do. 

Those were his children. His clan, in their own opinion.

If Bruce didn’t trust them with their feelings and choices now, then when would he? When he harmed them more with his assumptions? After they left, not because he was a vampire, but the moment they got tired of his making decisions for them as had already happened in the past? 

“How?” He risked it all, knowing it was now or never. “How can I prove it?”

For the first time, Bruce didn’t falter in his conviction. There weren’t any doubts for him at that moment. He wouldn’t wait for any of that to happen, to cause any more harm to his children in his mistakes and spend two more decades pushing them away.

He... he couldn’t. He would rather die, to drown in silver, than to keep living like that and with the knowledge of what he was doing to his family.

Jason peeked down before giving him a soft smile and saying something Bruce never thought he would. 

“Claim me.”

Shock hit him like lightning. Bruce stared at Jason, the words echoing in his mind like a haunting refrain. Claim me . The phrase reverberated against the walls of his heart, jarring him from the chaos swirling around them. 

Despite the rising sense of rightness in his very soul, he couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be what he said, what he wanted so desperately.

Could it?

Jason had always been independent, a wild spirit that thrived on autonomy like his older brother. He forged his own path, carving out his own territory in Gotham and the rules that he lived by. This was the son who had often turned away from Bruce’s guidance, leaving when he wanted and coming back only on his terms.

Yet here he was, offering himself so openly, so vulnerably. The thought nearly knocked Bruce off his feet. Another part of his clan, one of the children he’d yearned for and loved for so long, was there, asking for him!

“Are you sure?” He barely broke through the lump in his throat.

He had to check. After Tim… he just had to.

And even though he felt utterly unworthy of asserting any sort of claim over his children, regardless of what they said; a bond was meant to last a lifetime. It ought to be. He didn't know if he could truly claim his son, as he had always yearned to do, only to be forced to let him go. 

Bruce would go through with it; naturally, he wouldn’t compel Jason to remain with him, but a part of him might be shattered irreparably.

Jason’s expression hardened for a moment as if offended by the question. “Don’t you dare pull that bullshit with me right now.” He softened a bit as he continued, “It’s my fucking turn to choose, and I choose this.”

Bruce searched his son’s eyes for hesitation but found none—only steely resolve and an openness that terrified him. 

“He is telling you what he wants, B. You are not forcing him, but if you want it too, what’s the problem?” Dick interjected, his voice steady yet with an emotion underneath that Bruce wasn't capable of identifying. 

Forced? Of course not. The desire had burned in his heart from the moment he met Jason, and for years, the mere prospect had sent his instincts into overdrive. 

But was this truly what Jason wanted? Did he really wish to bind himself to such a vampire like Bruce when he had spent so long suffering because of not only other vampires but of his own father?

“I want it. More than anything, I want it.” Bruce admitted with a small smile at Dick, then facing Jason again, “Do you know what it means, son?” He insisted gently, though uncertainty gnawed at him. 

It was his obligation to make sure Jason did when Tim hadn’t even had the chance for this. Bruce wouldn’t assume, he wouldn’t , but he hoped he was wrong about it too, and his other son had been wishing for the claim as much as him. 

“Yeah,” Jason replied firmly. “It means I’m choosing my family. It means no backing down.”

His words settled heavily between them, reverberating with a truth that Bruce scarcely accepted. 

“You have your answer. Now it’s on you,” Dick said, stepping closer with a determined gleam in his eyes. 

The two of them stood there—his sons—waiting for him to respond, and Bruce felt every heartbeat echoing in his chest like thunder. A hundred questions swirled around in his mind, each one more pressing than the last, demanding answers he wasn’t sure he could provide. 

What if he claimed Jason, and it shattered something precious between them? What if he made things worse instead of better? What if he ended up being a bad clan leader and ruined everything? What if his son regretted it? 

But as he looked into Jason’s defiant gaze and felt Dick’s stable presence beside him, their warmth enveloping him despite the coldness of the silver, it sparked something deep within him. A flicker of faith amidst the shadows that clung stubbornly to his soul, igniting a small flame of possibility that had long been extinguished.  

A chance to belong and give Jason belonging. 

After all, that was the very thing his son told him was his will, and never again would Bruce assume something without speaking to his clan. He would wait for Tim to wake up, for when he met Cassandra, Stephanie, Duke, and Barbara again and talked to them, and then, only then, would he act on their wishes.

“I’ll claim you, Jaylad.” Bruce declared, feeling a tremendous weight lift from his shoulders as he looked into Jason’s beaming face, a radiant smile that seemed to light up the room around them.

“Fuck, I was starting to think I’d have to beg, old man.” The laughter bubbled up from his son, bright and infectious, spilling forth like sunlight breaking through a canopy of clouds, warming everything in its path. 

However, the hurt lingered in Jason like a shadow. 

Bruce shook his head, brushing away the thought that had clung to him for too long. 

“You were mine the moment you hit me with that tire iron, son.” He cupped Jason’s face, sensing the smoothness of his skin beneath his hand. “There wouldn’t ever be a world in which my clan didn’t have you.”

There was a shift in the atmosphere when his eyes gleamed deeper scarlet for just a heartbeat. Unease gripped him, yet as he gathered the determination to meet Dick and Jason’s stares directly, he didn’t find any fear.

Instead, his second son’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as he snorted, wiping them away quickly. “You can’t just say that kind of shit.”

“Aww, little wing,” Dick chimed in, wrapping an arm around Jason’s shoulders, who squirmed under the embrace but couldn’t quite shake off Dick’s affection. 

No one ever could or really wanted to.

Bruce watched his boys, realizing how fortunate he was to still have them by his side after everything he’d put them through. His love and gratitude swelled inside him like a tidal wave.

In one swift motion, he pulled both of them into a tight hug. Their bodies, rigid with the lingering tension of surprise, pressed against his, grounding him in reality. The steady rhythm of their heartbeats served as a reminder of the present, the tangible proof that they were here, his , together. 

This was his anchor, his tether to the world when it threatened to spin out of control—the unyielding presence of his boys, safe and sound in his embrace. 

How he wished he had his other children there too.

“Huh, B?” Dick asked between breaths, causing him to loosen his grip.

“Thank you for letting me be your father.” Bruce’s voice cracked, each word quivering as it left his lips, laden with unspoken feelings that surged from him.

Thank you for choosing me , the thought lingered in his mind like a cherished secret. It was what he wished to say, to articulate the profound gratitude that swelled within him, but the moment felt too fragile, too significant for mere words to capture their full significance.

I’m chosen. He longed to scream it to the world, to proclaim it with all the fervor in his heart to every other vampire out there that his clan had chosen him in return. The exhilaration coursed through him like wildfire, igniting a sense of pride in him.

He felt his sons’ bodies stiffen momentarily, a brief tension that hung in the air like a suspended note before they exchanged a look—a silent understanding that spoke volumes — and sank deeper into the hug. 

Bruce held them close as if afraid they might slip away.

“Shit, any day, Bruce. Any day.” Jason’s smile could be heard, his head resting against Bruce’s shoulder, and his presence like a soft blanket. 

“What he said,” On the other side, Dick chuckled and nestled close, a reassuring weight that completed their small circle. 

At that moment, all his doubts faded. They would be all right if they did this together. His oldest son had been repeating that during their talk, and Bruce hadn’t believed him, but now he saw it.

They had been a clan already this whole time.

His instincts were right, had always been right, and Bruce was the fool who tried to prove them wrong, and it almost cost him everything. They told him his children wouldn’t reject him, that they would still want him and love him even as a vampire, and until now, it was all true.

The choices he had made out of desperation, the times he had pushed them away to protect them from the monster he believed he was… These moments were not just shadows but stepping stones leading him to the past he had tried to hide from for so long. 

“Bruce?” Jason broke through his thoughts with a hint of worry. 

He pulled back slightly to look at his son’s face, replying softly. “Yeah?” 

“You good?” 

The question struck him like a hammer on an anvil. Was he good? 

He glanced at Dick, who watched him with a gaze that seemed to carry all the trust in the world. They believed in him. After everything, they chose him—not just as their father but as their clan leader. 

“I’ve been afraid,” Bruce admitted, quiet. “Afraid of my vampire side and what I might do.” It hung between them like a confession—raw and vulnerable.

“Then don’t think about it.” Jason shrugged and said as if it was that simple. “Just be what you are. That’s who we chose.”

Be what he was? That was the very exact thing he hadn’t done since his parents died. 

Bruce blinked a few times to brush off the prickle of tears. They had taught him to hide his vampire side since he remembered it, just for them to get killed even after still refusing to be the kind of vampire they were meant to be and helping people instead.  And Bruce…

He wondered still if he could have saved them like he did every single day of his life. If he had used his powers, would they be here to embrace their grandchildren? Then the only time he truly did, he made the mess that haunted Jason for years.

What did it mean for him? Was he the monster that craved blood while saving innocents, that wished to tear apart every criminal who laid a touch on his children, who wanted to keep them in his nest forever to never leave?

Maybe. And maybe, if his sons could find love and acceptance for such a monster, then so could he.

 Bruce took a deep breath and let it fill his lungs with clarity. He wouldn’t shy away from who he was any longer—no more hiding in darkness or living in fear of becoming a monster.

The decision settled into his bones: He would embrace this vampire self fully, as much as he embraced the man who fought for justice every night as long as that was what his children wanted.

“You’re my clan, claimed or unclaimed,” Bruce declared, putting his hands on their shoulders and this time when his eyes gleamed scarlet, he didn’t hesitate. “And I’ll always be here for you.”

He knew this was only the beginning—a step toward healing wounds that ran deeper than blood—but together, as a clan, they would navigate whatever lay ahead until the very end.

Chapter Text

 Bruce wasn’t used to his sons hovering over him like that.

With his arms around Dick and Jason because of their insistence, he fought the urge to shake off their support as they made their way through the Cave’s winding passages. The blanket hung heavy across his shoulders, a reminder of his current state that didn’t sit right with him.

He was Batman. Now, their clan leader. He didn’t need—

“Stop that.” Dick’s grip tightened on his arm, not hurting, but to call him out for sure.

Bruce recognized that touch, firm yet caring, a silent language they had developed over the years. It said, ‘I know you, and I see through your bullshit.’

“Stop what?” He tried to keep his voice steady, betraying no hint of the discomfort that was creeping in.

“That thing where you pretend you’re fine when you’re not.” Jason scoffed, matching Dick’s pace on Bruce’s other side. “We can feel you tensing up. It’s like walking next to a coiled spring.”

He relaxed his shoulders, caught in the act. He had always prided himself on his ability to conceal his pain, to bury it beneath layers of stoicism. But his sons, it seemed, had become fluent in the subtle language of his body. The walk to the med-bay stretched longer than he remembered, each step accompanied by concerned glances from Dick and Jason’s deliberate slow stride as if they were prepared to catch him should he falter.

“This isn’t—” Bruce cleared his throat, the sound echoing slightly in the sterile corridor. “It should be the other way around.”

He had always hovered over them, shielding them from harm. Then, they would complain about their overprotective father, rolling their eyes and insisting they could handle themselves. That was how things were.

“What, you mean us getting hurt and you mother-henning us to death?” Jason snorted, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Yeah, well, tough luck. Our turn now.”

A possessive beast purred inside his chest, satisfied that his children recognized his position of protecting and taking care of them.

Dick’s thumb traced soft circles on Bruce’s arm, a gesture both calming and disarming. “Feels weird being on the receiving end, huh?” he teased.

It did feel strange.

Bruce’s instincts warred fiercely within him, battling between the urge to embrace their care and the instinct to maintain his role as their ever-vigilant protector. The voice in his head whispered weak , a cruel reminder of his vulnerabilities, but he pushed it aside with a mental shove.

If his sons wanted it—needed it after what he put them through—he wouldn’t deny them.

“I’m not used to this,” Bruce admitted, the words spilling out as they rounded another corner.

“Yeah, no kidding.” Jason adjusted his grip on Bruce’s arm, his expression softening just a fraction. “But you’re gonna have to deal with it.”

He would. But maybe, he thought, that wasn’t such a bad thing.

Some time ago, he expected the worst from his sons to be hurt, maimed, and killed—an absurdity that he could see currently and that even left him ashamed—and now they were taking care of him as if he was deserving of any of it. How could he complain?

The med-bay doors came into view, and immediately, the scent of the rest of his claimed clan hit him like a physical force. Bruce’s senses were flooded with the familiar notes of Tim’s earthy cologne and the fainter, sharper edge of Damian’s sweat. His pupils dilated, the world around him sharpening into focus as his instincts surged within him.

The bonds in his mind flared to life, reaching out for him.

“Wait, B—” Dick’s voice barely registered as Bruce propelled himself ahead, the pull of his sons’ proximity a call he couldn’t, and wouldn’t , refuse.

He knew from the beginning that Tim would be alright, that Jason and Dick would have taken care of him well, but Damian… the reminiscent of his fears brought up images of his baby in agony, bound by silver that would sear his flesh, chained and muzzled like a beast. But the scene that greeted him differed completely from the nightmare he had conjured.

There, in the med-bay's center, lay Damian, his wrists secured with plush handcuffs that hung almost comically loose. The bed was a nest of blankets, and his head rested on a soft pillow. His baby vampire’s brow was furrowed, a scowl etched into his features even in sleep.

Bruce’s heart clenched at the sight.

He moved closer, his steps silent on the cold floor. As he approached, Damian’s expression shifted, the scowl melting into something softer, more vulnerable. Their bond thrummed with an intensity that brought Bruce to his knees, and he gladly went with it. He reached out, gently settling his hand on Damian’s chest. The rhythm of his son’s heartbeat soothed him down.

Oh, his baby.

Using his other hand, he cradled Damian’s face, the stubbled cheek warm against his palm. Bruce leaned in, pressing his forehead to his. The moment their skin connected, a spark ignited along their bond, a surge of raw emotion that left Bruce breathless. He took a deep breath, the air heavy with the scent of his son, enjoying what he thought he would never have again.

God, how could he think his Jason and Dick would hurt Damian? It was clear to him now more than ever that they wouldn’t. Even when they believed he was a recently turned vampire, they put him in the med bay instead of a cell and allowed him near Tim.

His logical self wanted to scold them for it, tell them how reckless and sentimental they had been, but a greater part of him only wished to snuggle them in his arms and thank them for loving his baby vampire so much. To think Damian was so worried about his new human family not loving him in the beginning… he really had no idea.

“We’re safe, son. We’ve always been.” Bruce whispered, pulling back to look at him again.

Instead of the relief he expected, his son’s features twisted into a scowl. Confusion knotted in Bruce’s stomach. What had he done wrong? Had his emotions slipped through the cracks? He tried to gauge the bond between them, searching for that familiar light, only to find it reaching out toward another presence.

Tim.

Bruce turned his head to the side. Tim lay on the parallel bed, nestled among pillows and blankets, connected to the IV and monitors that pulsed softly in the dimmed room. A swell of pride filled him—Dick and Jason had checked on him. Good. After what happened with the bite… Bruce swallowed hard, trying to push down the guilt that threatened to consume him.

He wouldn’t assume. Not after everything. He needed to wait until his son woke up before they dealt with it together.

Repeating it to himself like a mantra, he glanced back at Damian, and an idea sparked in his mind. He released his hold on Damian’s cheek, his fingers trailing away from the soft skin they had so tenderly gripped. Without hesitation, Bruce moved to swiftly remove the blankets that had cocooned his son, then to the plush handcuffs that had secured him to the bed. With deft precision, he unfastened the cuffs, freeing Damian from their gentle restraint.

The moment he finished, Bruce lifted Damian into his arms with ease, cradling him against his chest. Damian instinctively wrapped his arms around Bruce’s neck, snuggling close to it. A smile broke across his mouth, and he nestled his face on his son’s neck, allowing himself to snuggle him back as a vampire parent would.

The warmth of that tiny body pressed against him reminded him of all the time he had lost in his early years and all the time he gained from now on.

As expected, though, Damian was insistent, doing what he could only describe as poking him in his mind to get to the other light he held onto so tight through their bond. It saddened him that his baby vampire was already so attached when Bruce couldn’t even tell if his claim on Tim was willing and they would continue to be a clan.

Not now. Don’t think about it. That isn’t what they need, he said to himself as he carried Damian to Tim’s bed, noticing how his body unconsciously moved towards them. His light was the same, as if attracted by a magnet as much as Damian’s seemed to be.

He was about to put Damian next to Tim when-

“Wait, B. Are you sure of that?” Dick asked from somewhere behind him. He looked back to see him and Jason standing side by side, concern gleaming in their gazes, Dick’s arms reaching but hesitating as if he wanted to physically stop him but held back. “You mentioned the bond needs closeness, but is that secure?”

Bruce couldn’t not tighten grip around Damian, who squirmed in discontent at being so close to Tim but unable to be with him.

Had they changed their mind about something? Perhaps seeing his baby vampire like that, more of himself, made them doubt? It shouldn’t. They had seen the worst of him and still decided to accept him, so it shouldn’t be different with Damian, but with Tim involved after what he had done, it was possible.

“What do you mean?” Bruce inquired, sounding more like Batman than he ever had tonight.

Dick made a face and pulled his hands back, but Jason stepped forward, arms crossed. “Look, Dickie, and I are just worried that our baby bat is hungry and might want a taste of our Timbo here. Don’t you wish to feed him first?” he suggested and gestured at his younger brothers.

Oh, it was simply that. Bruce’s muscles relaxed. He had to stop assuming the worst of his boys like that. It was genuinely insulting by that point. Alfred would give him the biggest ‘I told you so’ look before scolding him for the next weeks.

“There’s no danger of that.” Bruce smiled, something small and soft, stroking Damian’s hair. “The bond is sustaining him for now, but I’ll recognize when he needs blood. I’m aware it’s a lot to ask for you to trust me with Tim, though-“

“What? No, B, it’s not that.” Dick shook his head, looking between him and Damian’s face hiding in his neck, and smiling. “We trust you with both of them. We were just worried that since you have been starving… well, we needed to be sure Damian would have enough, too.”

A wave of joy coursed through him. His boys were too good for him still.

“It’s okay, I understand, but Damian has never starved. Perhaps he might not have been feeding as much as he should…” Bruce looked down for a moment, snuggling his son more against his chest. “But I made sure he always had enough. I wouldn’t put him or any of you in that danger.”

It was the one thing he had made sure of for the last months. His son wouldn’t starve, ever. He wouldn’t allow it. But he also could admit to himself Damian hadn’t been as full as he could be, and he regretted that. Maybe from now on, things could be different.

“We know that. You did well.” Dick said, soft, so soft, and Jason nodded.

Yes, they would be different. He shouldn’t have expected any less from his children.

“Thank you.” Bruce’s fingers lingered in Damian’s hair for a moment longer, the silken strands slipping through his fingers like water.

Then, with a gentle nudge, he guided Damian to lie down next to Tim, the boy’s dark hair fanning out on the pillow. The younger boy immediately clung to his brother, his small hands wrapping around him as he cuddled him. In exchange, Tim shifted closer to Damian, resting his cheek on the top of the baby vampire’s head.

Bruce straightened, his gaze flickering between his sons. The bond they shared crooned in the back of his mind, a fragile thread yet. It was new, this connection, still raw and tender from the recent revelations and acceptance. But it was there, and he wasn’t alone in his head as he had been for so long.

Taking a deep breath, he enjoyed the sensation.

“How about your injuries, old man?” Jason’s sudden question pulled Bruce’s attention back to his older sons, cutting through the quiet moment.

Right, he had completely forgotten about them. In the chaos's aftermath, the adrenaline had dulled the pain, but now, as he shifted his focus, the lingering ache made itself known.

Bruce looked down at his wrists and thighs, noting that the punctures where the liquid silver had seeped into his system were already closed, the edges of the wounds knitting together with the efficiency of his vampiric healing. However, the burns from the silver’s corrosive touch were still raw, the skin angry and red, healing at a slower pace. Brushing his fingers over his face and neck, he felt the same uneven texture, the faint sting of damaged tissue mending itself.

“They’ll be healed soon,” Bruce answered, his voice calm and measured.

He didn’t want to worry his sons, not when they’d already been through so much.

Dick narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing. “We can see that. And the liquid silver? You said you could deal with it, but we should check on you. You’re not exactly the best at being honest about how much pain you’re in.”

A wave of warmth hit him. It was sweet, though unnecessary. He’d endured far worse in his long years, and this was nothing he couldn’t handle.

“The pain is at an acceptable level, so—”

“Acceptable level?” Jason huffed, cutting him off with a roll of his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression full of exasperation. “Yeah, no. We’re checking on you.”

Bruce considered arguing about it but the smell of his boys’ concern was stronger and at this point, it was better to let them do it.

He exhaled deeply; the sound carrying a mix of resignation and exhaustion. “Alright.”

Dick was already moving, pulling open a drawer to grab a medical scanner. Jason lingered closer, arms crossed, but his eyes tracked Bruce’s every move like he expected him to collapse at any second. The scrutiny made Bruce’s skin itch, but he stood still, letting them work.

Give them what they need, he reminded himself .

The scanner beeped as Dick ran it over Bruce’s arms and torso. Jason leaned in, his brow furrowing as the readings flashed across the screen. “What the hell?” Jason muttered, glancing up at Bruce. “Your body’s... absorbing the silver. It’s not just healing the internal burns—it’s breaking it down like it was never there.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. He flexed his fingers, testing the lingering stiffness in his hands. The pain was fading faster than he’d expected, but this—this was new. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

Dick paused, lowering the scanner to stare at him. “You didn’t know ? B, how do you not know what you can do? Did you never explore your vampire side during those travels you made or something?”

That was a reasonable question. He had tried at some points, mainly with Kho- Ghost Maker and with the League, but both situations ended up badly, so he decided to restrict his powers for the best.

Bruce shifted under their gazes, hiding his discomfort for being asked things he had never shared. “A few times, but after they didn’t present good results, so I thought there was no more reason to explore this side of me. And after you came into my life…” he looked between Dick and Jason, hoping they could see in his eyes how much they were worth giving any of that up. “I wouldn’t risk it.”

It seemed to have the opposite effect on his sons, though. They stared at him with an emotion that Bruce couldn’t decipher, and his instincts flared up. He said the wrong thing, didn’t he? How could he fix it?

Before he could figure it out, Dick cleared his throat. “So, what, your body just processes silver now? Absorbs it?”

“Apparently,” Bruce said, his tone dry.

He glanced down at his hands, the skin already smoothing over where the burns had been. He truly had miscalculated his skills, hadn’t he? What more was he capable of?

Jason whistled low, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Well, that’s handy. Guess we don’t have to worry about you keeling over from silver poisoning anytime soon.”

“Small mercies,” Dick murmured, though his expression was thoughtful as he set the scanner down and grabbed the other tools.

Bruce allowed him to run some other tests, his body still and composed as he waited for Dick to finish. The silence between them was heavy, not with tension, but with something more comfortable. Bruce’s mind lingered on the bond he hadn’t yet formed with Jason, the one he wasn’t sure he ever would with Dick.

He shouldn’t hope for it. Neither with Dick, nor with any of the others.

When the tests were finally complete, he rose smoothly and glanced at his eldest. “Done?”

“For now.” Dick snorted, a hint of amusement breaking through his seriousness as he returned the tools to their designated places.

Bruce was about to turn to check on Tim and Damian when Jason held his arm.

“Look, I... I’ve something to tell you.“ Jason started, immediately getting all of his attention. His son’s expression was torn, and he glanced away for a second as if searching for courage in the shadows of the Cave.

The moment stretched out, his vulnerability growing.

“I love you, old man.” He paused, taking a deep breath that rattled slightly in his chest. “I understand I don’t say that shit a lot, and I thought you knew I loved you, but—”

Oh, Jaylad.

“I did, son.” Bruce stepped up and placed a firm hand on his son’s shoulder. The warmth of his skin, the fact he could still have this, brought a small smile to his lips. “I do.”

Because that was never the problem. He didn’t doubt that his kids loved him. He only doubted whether they would love him for what he was, and they made sure to show him they did.

But Jason tilted his head, pain twisting his features like a knife turning in an open wound. “So why? How could you think anything would fucking change that?”

His chest hurt at the question. God, there were so many stupid reasons, the kind that he knew if he told them, they would tell him how dumb they were. But there was also what he liked to call evidence, and that was what he could give them.

“You never seemed to have a high opinion of vampires,” he began slowly. The weight of past conversations pressed against him, careless words thrown out replaying in his mind in an endless loop. “And I…”

He closed his eyes for just a second. No more excuses. No more hiding behind justifications. All that remained was brutal honesty.

“I was a coward.” His gaze shifted toward Dick, who stood by quietly absorbing it all. It is clear to me you don’t hate vampires, that none of you do. But sometimes you made some comments, and I was reminded that I was one of the leeches who had hurt—and was hurting you.”

It had consumed him for years, decades even, and yet admitting it out loud for the very people he feared talking about it at any point was unlike anything he had imagined.

“The little brat heard us too, didn’t he?” Jason’s voice was heavy with guilt, his hands clenching at his sides as if he could physically grasp his mistakes.

“He did?” Dick echoed, seeming as heartbroken as his brother.

Bruce sighed, pinching his nose. A part of him wished not to give them the confirmation, to keep hidden, but he couldn’t do it to them. Not after promising they would be a clan, and there shouldn’t be secrets in a clan.

“A few times,” he confessed, though quickly adding and reaching out. “But I made sure he knew you didn’t mean it and loved him.”

The revelation only seemed to coil tighter around Jason and Dick, their breaths turning shallow. The air between them crackled with a dangerous energy, thick enough to choke on.

“How does that make it any fucking better?” Jason exploded, gesturing angrily. The faintest tremor ran through his extended arm. “You thought we’d ship him back to fucking assassins like damaged goods!”

Dick’s shoulders hunched as if physically burdened, a horrified expression on his face. “You believed we might have sent him back to the League, Bruce.” His voice broke over the admission, raw as an open wound as he shook his head. “Christ, we really messed up.”

His instincts flared when a violent tremor coursed through Jason’s body. He rubbed at his hair frantically, his fingers tangling in the strands, as if he could pull the words out of his head.

“I’m sorry. Fuck it, I—” The confession seemed to get caught like barbed wire in his throat, his tear-bright eyes locked onto Bruce’s, reflecting years of misplaced anger and fresh regret. “It shouldn’t have gotten this far. I’m so sorry.”

“No.” Bruce stepped forward instinctively, the urge to shield overriding logic. His own suppressed Bond impulses buzzed beneath his sternum, that ancient vampiric instinct to comfort his clan no matter what. “You didn’t know any better—”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Dick’s hand shot out between them, palm raised. Tears tracked freely down his face now, and something twisted deep inside Bruce in being responsible for it. “We did , B. It doesn’t matter if we don’t hate vampires, but keep talking shit like that.”

His words landed like a blade between Bruce’s ribs. He didn’t want to admit it, but there was truth in that, a truth that gnawed at him more than any physical wound ever could. Still, his fingers twitched with the need to physically pull them close, but Dick pressed on.

“We hurt you,” earnest sincerity etched across his face. “And we’re sorry that it had to get to this point for us to realize it.”

Bruce opened his mouth to argue because he didn’t mind. They could have ripped his heart off his chest with their bare hands, and he still wouldn’t mind, but Jason didn’t let him say anything.

“Dick is right. We didn’t need to know to not be assholes,” he shot back, fire replacing his previous sorrow. “That’s on us, and you gotta let us take some fucking responsibility around here.”

His older son nodded, wiping his tears with the back of his hand and straightening to his full height. The Nightwing steel returned to his tone. “We’re not your soldiers to protect from consequences. We’re your partners, and we are actual adults. So let us act like it and fix it.”

Everything in Bruce rebelled against that in the beginning. They didn’t know because he said nothing and took away their choice by doing that. It was on him. It had to be on him. But he made the mistake of only listening to himself for too long, and now that they knew, they were telling him exactly what they needed and wanted.

So it wasn’t just about protecting them anymore—it was about letting them stand beside him as his equals. God, it would be the hardest thing he had ever done, wouldn’t it? Sometimes he couldn’t even stop hovering over Oracle and Nightwing, and they had worked as his partners for a good time now.

“Alright,” Bruce sighed, and put his hands on their shoulders. “You’re adults, and I should treat you like that.”

If he refused to do so, he’d be disrespecting their will all over again, just as he had done countless times before. And now, there were no excuses left—no shadows to hide behind, no justifications to shield him from the truth. To ignore that now would be to repeat the very mistakes that had driven them apart in the first place.

Jason snorted, eyes narrowing. “That easy? No twenty-step plan?”

The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitched. “Not this time.”

Dick huffed a laugh and nudged Jason. “Cut him slack. First time not being a self-sacrificial idiot in…”

“Three decades?” Jason supplied, but the venom had seeped out.

Bruce’s heart filled with joy and he couldn’t help it again. He pulled them closer. Jason stiffened for a fraction of a second before sagging into the embrace, forehead knocking against Bruce’s collarbone. Dick’s arms wrapped around them both, warm and anchoring, as the cave’s chill retreated from his bones.

Through the bond, he felt it—the faint pulse of Damian’s contentment bleeding into Tim’s quieter hum of security.

Alive. Safe. His.

Jason’s muffled voice vibrated against Bruce’s sternum. “Don’t tell me you’re purring or something.”

His body froze for a heartbeat, the warmth of his sons pressed against him clashing with the sudden spike of self-consciousness.

“I wasn’t—” he started, but Dick’s laugh cut him off.

“Relax, B,” Dick said, pulling back just enough to grin up at him, his blue eyes glittering with mischief. “We’re just messing with you. It’s kind of cute, actually. A little unsettling, but cute.”

“Cute?” Bruce echoed, his voice flat.

He wasn’t cute in any way.

Jason snorted, still leaning into the embrace but clearly enjoying himself too much to let it go. “Yeah, like a cat. Big, scary, brooding cat. Who purrs sometimes.”

Bruce leveled him with a stare, but Jason just smirked, unrepentant. The audacity of his children.

“I’m not purring,” Bruce said firmly, though he could sense the faint rumble in his chest betraying him.

It wasn’t like he could control it after it started. And after years of containing it,

“Sure you’re not,” Dick said, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. “You’re just… vibrating with paternal pride. Totally different.”

For a moment, Bruce just stood there, his gaze shifting between them. Dick, with his serene smile and the faint glimmer of tears still clinging to his lashes. Jason, his smirk sharp but his eyes softer than they’d been in weeks. It wasn’t mocking. They weren’t trying to make him feel bad about his purr or something, no, they were just being his children and so, teasing him about everything.

And most importantly, they were… happy. That was the only way to describe it. Despite it all—the fear, the pain, the guilt—they were here, with him, and they were happy.

So when Bruce sighed, letting his hands drop from their shoulders, a slight smile that showed he wasn’t truly upset. “My sons are insufferable”

Dick chuckled, and Jason snorted. “It took you that long to realize it?”

And maybe, just maybe, he could let himself be happy too.

There was an aspect about watching Bruce’s vampire side flourishing that twisted something deep inside Jason.

As they walked to the nest, he carried Tim in his arms, his little brother sighing as he snuggled in the junction of his neck and shoulder. It was a nice feeling. But Jason couldn’t help but observe his father’s movements were fluid and deliberate, his vampire side on full display with his eyes shining scarlet.

Bruce cradled Damian against his chest, the boy’s small frame tucked securely under his chin. The way Bruce’s fingers brushed through Damian’s hair, how his voice dropped into a low, soothing rumble—it was all so vampire . Not the monstrous, feral kind that had haunted Jason’s dreams for so long and Bruce presented to be at first, but something… different.

Something tender.

It was unsettling to see Bruce like this. Not because it was wrong, but because it was so right . Bruce’s fangs glinted faintly in the dim light of the Cave as he murmured a few words to Damian, a soft purr that seemed to vibrate through the air. And it wasn’t just Bruce’s voice. It was his presence, the way he moved, the way he was .

It was like watching a predator, but one that had chosen to be gentle.

“It’s nice to see him like this, right?” Dick asked from where he walked next to him, his eyes sparkling as he stared at Bruce and Damian.

Jason nodded. It was.

But he didn’t know what to do with the feeling clawing at his chest. It wasn’t anger, not really. It wasn’t fear, either. It was something else, raw. He’d spent so long having a complicated relationship with vampires that only got any better after Roy and now.... and now here was Bruce, the man who’d raised him, showing him how different everything was on the inside.

Bruce paused at the entrance to the nest, glancing back at Jason with those piercing scarlet eyes. “Coming, Jaylad?”

Jason didn’t hesitate, and neither did Dick. They stepped into the room, the air carrying the scent of clean linen. It was massive, and the bed at its center was an absolute monstrosity—king-sized didn’t even begin to cover it. It was more like a fortress of comfort, piled high with pillows and blankets that looked softer than cloud fluff.

Bruce had clearly gone all out, but the perfection of it all screamed restraint like he’d been waiting for the right moment that never came.

His dad broke the silence as if he had read his mind. “I expected to have time to bring Damian here, but we never made it.”

Dick, ever the opportunist, slung an arm over Bruce’s shoulder, his grin wide and teasing. “Well, now you have all the time in the world,” He leaned in, lowering his voice to a mock whisper. “I’m kind of never forgiving you for hiding the perfect cuddle place from me for years, B.”

Jason snorted, rolling his eyes. Of course, Dick’s first thought would be about the cuddle potential. But he couldn’t help the way his chest tightened when Bruce smiled—small, genuine, and so damn rare, like seeing one of those rare birds in the wild. It hit Jason as if he was punched, the realization that they could’ve had this from the start if they had been worthy of Bruce’s trust sooner.

He turned away, his gaze landing on the tables lining the walls. Sweatpants, shirts, and neatly folded towels were stacked with military precision alongside three minibars stocked with what he assumed were drinks and snacks. Four bathrooms were on the other side, their doors half-opened.

This… it wasn’t just for Damian; that much was clear. The setup felt intentional, like Bruce had been preparing for more than one kid.

“Why all that stuff?” Jason asked, jerking his chin toward the tables.

Bruce’s answer came quietly, almost sheepish. “I had non-logical hopes that I couldn’t get rid of.”

Jason’s throat tightened. He didn’t like the way Bruce said it, sounding as if he’d been holding onto some fragile dream he knew would never happen, and that was simply being himself and having his kids in a place meant to be home for vampires. He glanced at the tables again, at the stacks of clothes and the minibars, and something in his chest twisted.

Bruce had planned for this. Not just for Damian, but for... them. For all of them. The thought was too big, too raw, and Jason had no idea what to do with it. So, as usual, he poked the tiger.

“Non-logical hopes, huh?” Jason said as he approached the giant bed, glancing over his shoulder, “Sounds like a whole lot of over-prepping to me.”

Bruce didn’t take the bait. He just followed him with Dick, holding Damian close. “Maybe. But I wanted to be ready. Just in case.”

“Well, looks like your just in case finally showed up.” Jason scoffed, but it came out weaker than he intended.

Damn Bruce for making him so emotional tonight,

Dick, still draped over Bruce’s shoulder as they walked, said. “And we’re not leaving anytime soon. Right, little wing?”

Jason glared at him when he finally arrived on the side of the bed. “Don’t drag me into your cuddle cult, Dickface.”

He tried to ignore how warm the memories of being forced to cuddle with Dick made his heart. Moments of weakness. That was all.

Dick raised an eyebrow, his grin turning into a smirk. “Too late. You’re already here, and if I remember the pictures I got on my phone right, I wasn’t the one cuddling Bruce on the sofa a few days ago.”

That idiot-

Jason opened his mouth to argue, but Bruce cut in, approaching his voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

Oh, god, not that again.

“I know that.” Jason snapped, taking a deep breath not to lash out. “I’m not a kid, Bruce. I don’t need you to coddle me.”

Bruce’s expression didn’t change when he stopped next to him, but something in his eyes softened. “I’m not trying to coddle you. I just... I want you to understand it’s an option.”

Jason looked away, his jaw tightening. Was his dad having doubts about claiming him? If he was, Jason would get it. Despite all Bruce said, he knew his place. He stared down at Tim, wishing it had been him who had been claimed already. It would make things much easier, and he could free his dad of any guilt that was haunting him.

“I don’t want that option. So what are you gonna do? Kick me out now that we are finally here?” Jason dared, but didn’t look up long enough to see the pain across Bruce’s face.

Instead, he turned his attention to Tim, carefully maneuvering his limp form onto the bed. As he laid him down, Tim’s body seemed to melt into the plush mattress. Damn, the shit was of good quality. He arranged his little brother, ignoring the steps approaching him.

“Look at me, son,” Bruce said, and Jason was many things, but he wasn’t a coward.

So he straightened up and faced Bruce, who, despite still being half-naked only with a blanket to cover him and the dry blood and silver sticking to his skin, shouldn’t be allowed to have such a commanding and comforting presence.

Bruce’s hand settled on Jason’s shoulder, grip firm enough to ground but not restrain. The silver burn scars along his neck and face caught the dim light as he leaned in. “Don’t you ever think I’d throw you out. Not today, not ever.”

Jason’s pulse spiked. He wanted to crack a joke, deflect, but the rawness in Bruce’s stare pinned him in place.

“I didn’t build the nest for Damian alone.” “Everything you see here, it was always for you . All of you. I’ve waited decades for this and claimed or unclaimed, you’re mine .” His words were enrolled in sheer possessiveness with a hint of his fangs, as if the fact Jason belonged was unchangeable.

Dick’s sharp inhale cut through the silence. Jason didn’t dare look at him, too busy wrestling the lump in his throat because shit, he never thought it would hurt so much to hear everything he ever wanted to hear. His chest hurt, he couldn’t breathe straight, and he-

He belonged. His dad said so, and he wouldn’t lie, not about this, so it had to be for real. Jason felt like a child again, holding onto Bruce for dear life, and for the first time since then, he didn’t hate himself entirely for it.

“ My son,” Bruce said, the words stripped bare. “Not because I bit you. Not because you’re useful. Because you’re Jason ...” His hand slid to cradle the back of Jason’s skull, forehead nearly touching his. “And that’s all I need you to be. So no, I’m not kicking you out, but if you still allow me, I’ll claim you as you wish.”

The proximity forced Jason to meet his eyes—no shadows, no cowl, just exhaustion and a flicker of hope so fragile it made his ribs ache. Fuck, he was about to become undeniably part of his family. No one would be able to take this from him. Not even himself.

“Of course I allow you. Took you long enough,” Jason rasped, knuckles whitening where they gripped Bruce’s forearm.

Not pushing him away but anchoring himself. Shit, he needed it, okay?

A huff escaped Bruce, almost a laugh in his language. “Stubbornness runs in the family.”

“Yeah, you two remind me of it every single day.” Dick said in false tiredness, his hand landing on Jason’s back. “I’ll still get you to admit you like my cuddles, little wing.”

The lack of a baby vampire in his arms bothered Jason, who looked beyond him to see that Dick had put Damian next to Tim, and the two boys were already tangled again. Dammit, would he become so clingy, too, after the claiming?

Jason snorted, turning his head just enough to glare at Dick over his shoulder. “Says the guy who still sleeps with that raggedy elephant Alfred dug out of a dumpster for you.” He didn’t shrug him off, though. “At least I don’t name my cuddle buddies.”

Cuddle buddies . It even sounded ridiculous. The closest thing he had to that was Roy chilling on his sofa with him.

Dick’s grin didn’t waver as he flopped onto the bed, sending a pillow tumbling to the floor. “Mr. Snuffles is a war hero, thank you. Survived three explosions, and that time, you ‘accidentally’ set my place on fire.”

“ You left the stove on—”

“Boys.” Bruce’s voice carried the barest edge of a growl, but not like he was mad. More like a vampire thing?

Jason didn’t think too much about it and pivoted toward Dick, “Point is, you don’t get to lecture me about—”

“Being a hypocrite?” Dick stretched out on the mattress, propping his head on one hand. “C’mon, Jay. You’ve been angling for this since you demanded Bruce to bite you. Own it.”

Heat crawled up Jason’s neck. He kicked the fallen pillow at Dick’s face. “Own this , asshole.”

The pillow smacked Dick’s chest with a dull thump . He didn’t flinch; he just raised an eyebrow in that infuriating I-know-you-better-than-you-do way that made Jason want to put a bullet in his ass.

Before Jason could say anything, Bruce cleared his throat.

“Enough.” His hand settled on Jason’s back, grounding despite the dried blood crusted under his nails. “Let’s clean up and change clothes for the claiming.”

Jason rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. He wasn’t about to admit that the idea of cleaning up and changing into something more comfortable sounded good, but it really did.

“Fine,” he muttered, stepping away from Bruce and heading toward one of the bathrooms. “But if you two start some weird bonding moment while I’m gone, I’m out.”

Dick’s laugh followed him. “No promises, little wing.”

Jason flipped him off without looking back, but there was a small smile tugging at his lips. The bathroom was as spacious as the rest of the room, with a shower and a bathtub next to it, both big enough to fit at least three people. He didn’t dwell on that thought. Instead, he stripped off his Red Hood suit and stepped under the hot water, letting it wash away the blood and sweat and whatever else had accumulated over the past few hours.

The heat was a relief, but it also made him feel raw, like he was scrubbing off layers of armor he hadn’t realized he’d been wearing.

When he stepped out of the shower, he found a stack of clean towels and clothes waiting for him on the counter. Sweatpants and a black shirt in his size. Of course, Bruce had thought of everything. Jason dressed quickly, avoiding the mirror. He didn’t need to see the tension in his face or the way his hands shook slightly as he pulled on the shirt.

When Jason stepped back into the nest, Bruce and Dick were already there, both looking cleaner and more put together. They had changed into the same simple black shirt and sweatpants, too; in Bruce’s case, the silver scars on his face, arms, and neck were less stark against his skin.

And Tim and Damian also wore a fresh set of clothes, probably put on them by Dick, looking quite domestic although still tangled. Yeah, he was doomed to that clinginess for sure. Jason looked at Dick, who lounged on the bed next to them, his hair damp, then at Bruce, sitting on the parallel side.

“Ready?” His dad’s eyes shone red as he looked up, but it didn’t scare Jason.

No, instead, the way they were locked onto Jason as if he was the only thing that mattered, warmed his heart as he approached. Damn, he was really getting soft.

Jason kneeled on the soft mattress, his heart racing in anticipation, the steady rhythm of his pulse echoing in his ears. His fingers twitched at his sides, restless.

“Well, I know it’s kind of late, but does it hurt?” he asked, trying to mask his anxiety with bravado, though the slight tremor in his voice betrayed him.

He wasn’t afraid, not really—he’d faced far worse—but this was different. This was deliberate. This was forever . And most of all, it should be the best thing to ever happen to him.

Bruce chuckled, the sound low and reassuring. “For a moment, then it will feel better. Are you sure you want this?” There was a tenderness in the question, a vulnerability that Jason rarely heard, but that tonight seemed to be taking over Bruce.

“Really?” Jason huffed, raising an eyebrow. But the playful spark faded from his eyes as he caught Bruce’s serious expression, the weight of his gaze grounding him. “Yes, I fucking do, B. It’s all I want.”

He’d made his choice, and he wasn’t backing down now.

Bruce’s frown melted into a soft smile, the kind that made Jason feel like he’d done something right, something worthy of that rare, unguarded affection. He leaned forward and enveloped Jason in his arms, a hug that had always had him safe from the worst in his mind.

“Thank you for being my clan,” Bruce murmured against Jason’s ear, saying it like his son was giving him the greatest gift he could ever have, and Jason didn’t know how to react to such devotion.

As Bruce leaned in closer, his cool breath tingled his neck, sending a shiver down his spine that was both thrilling and, somehow, comforting. He clenched his fists against Bruce’s back, the fabric of his shirt crumpling under his grip.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He was ready.

“Just do it,” he urged, determination hardening his tone.

Bruce’s hands cradled Jason nearer as his teeth pierced the skin. And fuck, he was right; it hurt. Even if he could sense the careful balance of strength and restraint in the bite, Jason’s gasp echoed through the room, a momentary catch in his breath that turned into a grunt.

But then... it was gone. It was all gone. 

His eyes widened. This incredible warmth spread through Jason’s body from where they made contact, like a wave of pure affection that didn’t stop. His world perception was shattered into a thousand pieces, and stars shone in his mind, suffocating whatever wasn’t good.

The self-doubts, the deep hatred for himself, the sorrow that consumed him every day for failing— it all didn’t stand a chance. Every unspoken feeling, every shared memory, everything poured into his mind with more and more love.

God, how was it possible? How could there be so much love for someone like him?

That slight bitterness was pushed away, overwhelmed by more love and devotion to him, to his goals, to his feelings, as if he were a priority. As if he hadn’t died on the most important people in his life. As if that was all he deserved, and for the first time, for the first moment of his life since that fateful night, Jason felt like it was. 

There were no lies. No secret. No hidden feelings.

Nothing for his mind to twist, only the sheer care his dad held for him that turned his entire self soft and warm, and that he could feel . In the very fabric of his soul, Jason Todd, broken, angry, and twisted, had always been and would always be loved by Bruce Wayne. And there wasn’t a damn thing in this world or others that would change it.

Jason leaned back against Bruce’s embrace, a peaceful smile breaking across his face. A sensation of belonging filled every crevice of doubt within him. The world outside blurred away; all that existed was the connection between them, the bond with two other lights that slowly joined them, snuggling into their warmth. 

Oh, and Dick. It took all of his strength to half open one of his eyes in search of the third light that he couldn’t feel but that he knew was there. He was received by the sight of his little brothers cuddling still, or more like Damian snuggling Tim tight and Dick with his arm over them. 

Good. He had to be there. It was where he belonged, too.

​

Bruce held him closer, cradling him as if he were the most precious thing in existence. Their hearts beat in unison—a slow rhythm echoing within the warm cocoon of their shared space and wrapping them deeper into their own sanctuary where nothing else mattered.

​ 

Amazing art by @sykloni on Tumblr

Chapter Text

Dick lay on the bed, his arm draped protectively over Damian and Tim, the soft rise and fall of their breathing filling the room, a rhythm that soothed him. The adrenaline that had kept him sharp was finally ebbing, but sleep felt like a distant possibility. His gaze lingered on the scene before him: Bruce and Jason, wrapped in each other, now closer than they had ever been.

Watching Bruce claim Jason had been... something. He had done it with a vigilance that bordered on obsession, his eyes scanning for any flicker of discomfort in Jason’s expression. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Bruce, he did, more than anyone, but the memory of Slade’s attempt to claim him years ago still lingered like a ghost in the back of his mind. That had been violent, invasive, a violation of everything Dick was.

This… this was different.

Bruce’s bite had been careful, steeped in a love so palpable Dick could almost taste it in the air. Jason’s reaction, the way he’d melted into Bruce, the quiet peace that had washed over him, had been nothing short of miraculous.

But Dick’s instincts had screamed the entire time, his muscles tense, ready to leap forward if something went wrong. He’d watched Jason’s face for the slightest flicker of pain, the smallest sign of hesitation. He’d waited for the moment Bruce’s control might slip, for the shadow of Slade’s cold, predatory claim to rear its head again.

It hadn’t come. It never would, not with Bruce.

And still, Dick couldn’t relax.

His eyes drifted to Jason, who was curled against Bruce's side, face softer than he’d ever seen it. The usual tension in Jason’s jaw was gone, the lines of anger and pain smoothed into something peaceful. Into… contentment. Even in sleep, Jason looked lighter, as if a weight he’d carried for years had finally been lifted, and he finally felt like he belonged.

His lips curved into a smile. He’d never seen Jason like this, not truly. Not even in their best moments, when laughter and smiles had come easily and the world had felt a little less heavy. There had always been something lurking beneath the surface, a shadow that Jason couldn’t shake.

But now? That shadow was gone.

He glanced at Bruce, whose hand rested gently on Jason’s back, fingers splayed as if to anchor him there. His dad's expression was tender, the lines of his face smoothed by an affection that Dick had always known was there but had rarely seen so openly displayed, something that Dick hadn’t realized he’d been missing until now.

He let out a slow breath, his fingers absently brushing against Damian’s shoulder, whose small frame was curled into Tim’s side. Tim, too, was deep in sleep, his face calm and untroubled. Looking between Damian and Tim curled together, to Bruce and Jason wrapped in their newfound bond, they…

They looked whole. Complete. While he was just there.

His chest ached, and Dick didn't know why. He should have been happy for them. He was happy for them. Everything he was afraid of happening didn't happen, and they were all pretty better than ever. So he should sleep. He knew that. But he couldn't, so what was wrong with him?

“Dick.” Bruce's voice cut through his thoughts.

Dick stiffened, his gaze snapping to his dad’s. Bruce’s scarlet eyes were open, piercing, and fixed on him. The intensity of that stare was enough to make Dick want to look away, to remind him of another pair of scarlet eyes that had nothing to do with these, but he didn’t. Couldn’t. Because this was Bruce, and he could never be like Slade.

So instead, he forced a smile, the kind he’d perfected over the years; easy, reassuring, practiced. “Yeah, B? You need something?”

Bruce didn’t respond right away. Dick felt exposed under his gaze, like Bruce could see through the mask he’d just put on. He shifted slightly, his fingers tightening around the edge of the blanket draped over Damian and Tim. The silence stretched, heavy, until Bruce finally spoke.

“Are you okay?” It was spoken softly, almost tentative, but the question hit Dick like a punch to the gut.

His smile didn’t falter, though. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” He gestured vaguely toward Jason, who was still sleeping soundly against Bruce’s side. “You should go back to sleep. I got us.”

Bruce didn’t move. His scarlet eyes stayed locked on Dick, unblinking. For a moment, Dick thought he might just let it go, might close his eyes and drift back to sleep. But then Bruce’s expression shifted, something more knowing flashing across his face.

“I don’t need a bond to know when something’s wrong with you,” Bruce said, so sudden that he didn't know how to react. His dad paused, then asked softly, so softly, "Dick, talk to me."

Dick’s smile vanished, his chest tightening as the question clawed its way out. “Why didn’t you tell me about being a vampire?"

He regretted it immediately when Bruce's expression fell apart. His dad should be happy. God, he had been heartbroken enough when he thought they would kill— fucking kill him, and Dick hadn't even gotten over that yet. The fact Bruce truly believed they hated him and decided to just… take anything they threw at him.

And here he was, making everything worse again. He should stop right there and tell Bruce to forget about it.

Still, what came out of his mouth was. "Look, I get why you didn’t tell the others, I do, but I was— we were partners." A knot in his throat stole his words for a moment before he could say it. "Did I do something wrong?”

Bruce glanced down at Jason, still sleeping soundly, then back at Dick. “It wasn’t you, Dick. Never you.”

Really? The "it was me, not you" bullshit?

“Then what was it?" Dick’s jaw clenched, his fingers digging into the blankets. "Because I was the first, so I must have done something wrong for you not to want to tell us, right?"

He must have. It had to be something he’d done, some mistake he’d made, some failure Bruce couldn’t overlook. Why else would his dad have kept this from him? They’d been partners before all of them, or at least, Dick had thought so. But Bruce had chosen silence, had chosen to hide this part of himself, even from him.

So it must have been his fault. It had to be.

Bruce’s gaze dropped, his shoulders slumping slightly. “You were a kid. I was your guardian, and I chose to hide it from you from the beginning. I wanted to tell you. I did, but I… was selfish. I was—" his dad cut himself off, seeming to search for words he couldn't find.

“I lied to you,” He finished with something too close to a whisper, “You couldn't have known.”

A scowl formed between Dick’s eyebrows, hurt gleaming in his glaze alongside tears that were only held back by the sharp edge of a storm quickly taking over him. Couldn't have known? Maybe, but he should have. Kid or not, he should have seen the signs, and most of all, Bruce shouldn't have felt the need to hide it from him in the first place.

He got up and turned away from Bruce.

“Did you ever try telling me?” Dick asked quietly, trying to keep his emotions off his tone but failing and quivering. “At least once?”

He could hear Bruce moving from the bed and getting up too, but didn't have the courage to look at him as he spoke.

“The night you told me you knew about Batman. At first, I believed you meant you found out I was a vampire." Dick could hear the bitterness in the way Bruce said it. "Then, when I realized that wasn’t the case, I still considered revealing the truth. But I couldn’t go through it.”

Dick's stomach sank like a stone in dark water as he heard his dad approaching him from behind, but his head felt like it was underwater. He remembered that night with painful clarity, the adrenaline rush of his discovery, the naive pride swelling in his chest as he confronted Bruce. He'd practically beamed when declaring he knew the truth, thrilled that Gotham's legendary vampire hunter had chosen to protect him. The irony now tasted like ash on his tongue.

Oh God… he'd said those words right to Bruce's face, hadn't he? Praised the very thing that would have made his father recoil inside. The memory twisted something deep in his gut, sharp as fangs. He turned to face Bruce and couldn't even bear the way Bruce looked at him anymore.

"Oh, Bruce…" Dick breathed out, shaking his head and trying to push away the burn behind his eyes. "I said some bullshit about your being the greatest vampire hunter, didn't I?"

“You didn’t understand at the time, chum.” Bruce said it with such acceptance, such resignation, and his words pressed against Dick’s chest.

The weight of them made it hard to breathe, hard to think, as if the air itself had turned to lead.

“Didn’t understand?” Dick scoffed, something bitter and filled with self-hatred as he gestured at himself, cracking under the strain of his own guilt. “I’m the reason you thought you needed to hide what you were all this time. I’m the one who made you feel like you couldn’t be yourself.”

One moment Bruce was farther away, and the next he was standing in front of him, his scarlet eyes burning with an intensity that made Dick want to shrink back, to retreat into himself. But he refused to do so when Bruce reached out his right hand to hold his face because this wasn’t Slade, this wasn’t fucking Slade, and he wasn’t going to let him hurt his dad even more. Bruce’s touch was tentative, but soft, so soft, as if he was holding something precious, something fragile that might shatter at the slightest pressure.

Dick didn’t allow himself to lean into it, though, didn’t let himself take the comfort he so desperately wanted.

“Don’t do that. I won’t let you.” Bruce’s tone was firm, but there was a tremor beneath it, a vulnerability that Dick wasn’t used to hearing. “It was my choice, my fear of losing all of you, but never you.”

Never him? Never him?! God, he was the whole reason this started! Dick’s jaw clenched. “I gave you that fear, Bruce. I was the first to reject you.”

If he had just… not been a stupid kid, if he had just seen beyond his trauma, if he had just… not been Bruce’s first kid, maybe things would be different.

Bruce scowled in that paternalistic and condescending way that usually made Dick want to punch him, holding him closer by his face, his grip firm but not unkind. “You didn’t do any of that.” His voice cracked, raw and unguarded as he spoke slowly, “And you couldn’t have known.”

“But I should have!” Dick snapped, trembling with frustration, speaking louder as the dam of his emotions began to break. “I should have. You… I know I don’t say that often, but you are my dad. And I see through you, all the time. But that… how could I not know my dad was suffering like that?”

Years. Whole decades. And he never even suspected. How bad of a partner was he? How bad of a son was he?

Bruce’s expression softened, but the pain in his eyes only deepened, a well of sorrow that seemed bottomless. “You were a child, Dick. And yes, you grew up to be the incredible adult and hero that you are, but I kept this from you and your siblings, not because you said something when you were a little boy.” A bittersweet smile opened on his lips, tinged with regret and something else Dick couldn’t quite place. “I kept it because I allowed my fear to control me, a fear I had from the moment I decided to take you in, before you could say or do anything to feed into it. It was not your fault.”

He shook his head, tears filling his eyes, blurring his vision as he tried to make sense of it all. "No, I should have—"

"Son." Bruce’s other hand cupped his cheek, his face closer now, his expression twisted into a certainty that couldn’t be denied. "It was not your fault."

Dick opened his mouth, but no words came out. It had to be. It had to, because if it wasn’t his fault then… what was wrong with Bruce? Who had hurt him? And mostly, what happened to him to be so afraid? This was still the Batman they were talking about after all, the man who faced down gods and monsters without flinching.

What could have made him so terrified of losing them?

“Then who was it?" Dick asked, his chest tightening when Bruce frowned, the lines on his face deepening as if the question had struck a nerve. "You said you had that fear before me. Who made you believe we couldn’t love you as a vampire?”

Somehow, Bruce's smile turned even more bittersweet. “I’m not sure it was someone, chum."

Dick exhaled, frustration simmering beneath the surface. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice soft. “So tell me from the start.”

When Bruce didn’t respond, Dick pushed again, “C’mon, B, you…" His eyes burned into Bruce’s, refusing to let him look away. He knew exactly what he was doing, how manipulative he was being, using Bruce's guilt against him like that. But he had to understand. "You owe me at least that.”

He could hate himself for this later.

His dad's jaw tightened, his scarlet eyes flickering with something unreadable. For a moment, Dick thought he might retreat, might shut the door on this conversation forever. But then Bruce sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for Dick to see the cracks forming in his armor.

"Let's sit and get comfortable first," he said, moving his hand to Dick's shoulder and guiding him to the bed.

At first, Dick didn't intend to follow him, not with the storm that was raging inside him. Get comfortable? This wasn't supposed to be comfortable. But he paid attention to Bruce, actually paid attention, and noticed the minute tremor in Bruce's fingertips, the way his nostrils flared slightly with each controlled breath, tells Dick had catalogued through years of partnership.

Right, the world's greatest detective probably needed that when exposing a part of his life he never intended to reveal in the first place.

So Dick allowed Bruce to guide him to the edge of the bed, his legs folding beneath him as he sat. But instead of sitting next to him, Bruce grabbed a blanket from the nest and wrapped it around him with a precision that bordered on obsession. His scarlet eyes were laser-focused, his hands tugging the fabric tight, adjusting it so it draped perfectly over Dick’s shoulders.

Dick watched, stunned but also… it was kind of adorable, too? He never thought he would use that word for his dad, except when he found him cuddling with his siblings sometimes, but there was something almost childlike about it, the way he fussed over the blanket, the way he seemed to genuinely believe that this was what mattered right now.

“Uh, B?” A startled chuckle bubbled up, and Dick raised an eyebrow as Bruce tucked the blanket around his waist. “What are you doing?”

Bruce froze, his hands still clutching the edges of the blanket. For a heartbeat, he looked exactly like the young father who'd once spent forty minutes perfecting the Batman symbol in snowflakes on Dick's hot chocolate. He blinked, red irises dilating then contracting as if snapping out of a trance, and his expression shifted into something resembling embarrassment.

He cleared his throat, stepping back slightly. “Getting you comfortable,” he said stiffly.

It was almost like he hadn't realized what he was doing until Dick called him out—like some primal subroutine had taken over.

Dick blinked too, glancing down at the blanket, then back up at Bruce. “Why?”