Raising Robins

Edge of the Beds

A/N: DM requests for spanking/comfort chapters are coming in. I'll try!

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Bruce leaned against the doorframe of the kitchen and talked with Alfred, who was preparing dinner. When he was calm enough, he ascended the stairs. Bruce knew to never spank a child while he was angry. It could be too easy to lose control. The boys hadn't had a proper spanking for a few months. There were a few infractions that led to a spanking: disrespect, fighting, lying, and knowingly putting themselves or others at risk.

Bruce made it to Damian's room first. Damian was sitting on the edge of his bed and had been waiting for about thirty minutes.

"Damian Thomas, why are you getting a spanking?" Bruce asked.

Damian looked away, angrily at the floor and spoke. "For fighting, losing my temper, breaking the table, and biting Drake."

Bruce nodded and called Damian over. Damian refused to pull his khaki uniform shorts down, so Bruce counted to three before hooking his thumbs in and yanking them down. He lifted Damian over his knee and gave 50 hard swats, which took about three minutes, as he lectured. At ten, Damian was fine, still getting attitude, even. Around twenty, Bruce pinned back Damian's arm and stood the boy up by his upper arm and ordered his boxer briefs down before delivering the final thirty on the bare. Damian clambered up and moved to the corner, pulling his underpants up, gingerly. He got off easy, being young enough to escape the paddle. He reached for his bottom once and Bruce walked over and gave a hard swat. Damian yelped in surprise.

"You can live with the sting. In eleven minutes, I expect you to finish your homework in you room and come down for dinner when you are called."

Damian nodded. "Yes, father.", keeping his nose in the corner.

Traditionally, under twelve, the boys received a minute of hand swats per year (So basically up to twelve minutes before the paddle), and one paddle swat per year. Minutes and swats were added according to infractions, where afterward they would wait in the corner for each minute of age. Bruce kept this regime, because it was as Alfred raised him and how his father was raised before him.

Next up was Tim, who was actually asleep, curled up at the edge of his bed. He changed out of his uniform and was in a t-shirt and his boxers.

Tim was in far less trouble than Damian, as was Jason. They teased the youngest, yes, but didn't get physical. For that, Tim was allowed to choose the number of swats with the paddle. He chose ten, which Bruce thought was fair.

Tim didn't want to risk his sit-spots getting smacked. He reasoned with his father that he didn't want to have trouble focusing in school because his bottom hurt, so after he dropped his boxers and put his hand on the desk to receive five moderate swats, he stood in the corner and tried to ignore the heat in his bottom.

"Fourteen minutes facing the corner and then you can finish your homework. Dinner is at six."

Tim was inpatient, however, and wanted to get back on his computer. With six minutes to spare, Tim heard his father enter Jason's room and he moved to gingerly sit in front of the monitor. It was at that time that Bruce realized he left the pinewood paddle on Tim's nightstand and came back. Tim tried to get back to the corner and did so but as his father opened the door, the chair that Tim had just vacated, tipped over.

Tim rolled his eyes in the corner and walked over to his father. "I moved from the corner, halfway through my time."

"Hm." Bruce said. "So do you get a spanking?"

Tim thought. "Actually- I didn't lie, so no- but I broke the rule, so... yes?"

"Turn around, Timothy." Bruce instructed. Tim didn't grab the desk again. He knew that he would end up having his bottom presented as a better target as he braced upon the bed instead. Bruce reminded his son to yank his briefs down, to which he did, and received a swat from his cheeks to his thighs- one for each minute skipped. They weren't hard, but it wasn't pleasant. Bruce told his son to go set the table and left.

For once, Bruce knocked and waited for Jason to ask him to enter. Jason was waiting in sweatpants and boxers for his father. Bruce set the paddle down on Jason's desk and turned the chair around at the edge of his bed. For a moment, Jason thought that he was going over his father's knee, but was relieved that Bruce just wanted to talk, first.

"Jason, does it truly bother you that Tim is in your grade?"

"I mean, yeah, Dad. He makes me look dumb, when I'm just average. And both him and Demon Thomas are assholes about it. Dick was a good ally, but he's gone now."

"Hm." Bruce noted. "Well I'll talk with the younger boys."

Jason exhaled and pleaded. "Please, don't. I'll deal with it."

"Well you can't tease them and call them 'babies' and 'smartasses', Mr. Jason."

Jason shrugged. "I can, actually, I just-"

"Get a spanking." Bruce finished. "About that. Assume the position, Jason Wayne. How old are you?"

"Seventeen." Jason admitted.

"Well that sounds like a lot." Bruce said. "We'll call it ten."

Jason nodded and bared himself, choosing to put his hands against the footboard of the bed to endure ten pops on his bottom. He caught himself from rubbing his bottom and pulled up his sweatpants and boxers and stood to wait in the corner for seventeen minutes, but by then, dinner was ready, so he was instructed to "wait until Alfred called and finish your reflection later."

Dinner had three boys sitting, uncomfortably, but they were fine. None had endured anything excruciating. Once homework was done, Bruce admitted to the boys that he might have accidentally bought ice cream and that they might accidentally have a movie night before it got too late.

The boys wished that they could 'accidentally' go on patrol, but patrol was tomorrow night, so they spent their evening snuggled on the couch watching some action movie that Dick was obsessed with as a kid. 

It was a good night. Bruce could tell, because for once the boys stopped fighting each other and enjoyed their movie and time with their father. The movie was thrilling- kept them on the "edge of their seats". Which anyone in the Wayne household could tell you was better than on the "edge of the beds"