Raising Robins

Push-ups and Pull-ups pt. 1

Damian often crept into Dick's room and spent the night on the side with a circus tent nightlight. Every morning, around four, Damian crept back to his room and read a book, one of the classics. Right now he was reading Charles Dickins. He also liked Walt Whitman, O. Henry, and Emily Dickinson. After he read until the sun, he went down to the Cave and trained, getting out his aggression- his fear.

Damian had nightmares when Dick went out on patrol and he was alone, or the nights Bruce was home and he couldn't sneak over. Tim often woke up from Damian's nightmares. He was pissed at Talia Al Ghul, the bitch who birthed him because it was her fault that he couldn't sleep... And she stabbed her kid. Damian had a pink scar from just above his navel to the back of his bottom rib. When Dick was gone, Jason and Tim took turns with a washcloth, wicking away sweat from the youngest's forehead, or changing the towel beneath him when he wet the bed from trauma, which apparently was pretty common. Especially in young kids.

After Bruce walked in to tell Jason and Tim off, as it was two a.m., he caught on to what was happening. Damian was reacting poorly to flashbacks. The kid had it rough. He had been in Gotham since just before his January birthday, making him eleven and a half. That meant he was used to the life and training of a world-class assassin, under the League- NOT being a kid. Bruce decided that there was little that he could do, except maybe tuck Damian in, which was usually Alfred's job, as Bruce left for patrol early.

He had sworn off corporal punishment for a month after the boys all took turns sitting on pillows or standing for dinner. Yes, it hurt their bottoms, but it hurt his heart. Those were his boys.

Anyhow, Bruce decided that he would start patrol at ten and return at four-thirty in the morning. That way, he could check in on Damian.

He was surprised to find Damian up at three in the morning. It was dark, and Damian was reading with the light on in his room. When Bruce came in, Damian pulled up his blankets and rolled over above his hips. He pretended to be asleep.

"Damian." Bruce said, softly. "Alfred told me that you haven't slept. What have you been doing?"

"Push-ups." Damian answered, honestly.

"Why?" Bruce asked. He couldn't figure out why his son was training in the literal dark morning. He trained enough as it was.

Damian looked sideways before assuming the coast to be clear. He lowered his voice.

"I have bad dreams at night."

Bruce pulled the blankets back before turning to get clean clothes for his son. Damian pulled the sheets up from the corners are tried to carefully bundle them together before throwing them into the laundry basket. Bruce brought it to the door, and Jason, not knowing that Bruce was handling it, walked into his father, half-asleep.

"Tim, what the fuck? I said I'd do- Oh, hi Dad." Jason stumbled. "Wait- why are you home?"

Tim opened his door. "Jay-"

Bruce sent Jason and Tim to the upstairs study and explained that he would be there in a minute. After Damian was tucked back in, Bruce made his way down the hall, where the lights were off and Tim and Jason were draped over the arms of the couches, sleeping.

Bruce sat down and checked his phone. The soft light woke Tim up, and he nudged Jason awake.

Bruce pocketed his phone and leaned over to a lamp beside the couch, turning it on.

"So what have you two been doing?" Bruce asked, a little too sternly.

Tim and Jason looked and shrugged at each other.